#platonic analogical fanfiction

[virgil-my-emo-son]

Spiral Out, Try to Float--Logan and Virgil, Hurt/Comfort

Requested by @amateurmasksmith a very long time ago 😭 Apologies for how long this took. School's been crazy!

Summary: Logan has an anxiety attack. Virgil helps him.

Relationships: Platonic Analogical

Words: 610

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51837730

The world was spinning. Which, of course, it was supposed to, but not like this.

Logan put his head in his hands, breathing fast. Snippets from his extensive to-do list whirled in his brain. Write current skit. Brainstorm next skit. Schedule meeting with Roman. He squeezed his eyes shut. Deep-clean kitchen. Write next week’s schedule.

Logan knew what he should do, Patton had talked him through things after the last time he’d had an attack like this. Close his eyes, take deep breaths, think of calm imagery. A still lake. The peace of deep space.

He couldn’t seem to get enough control of himself to do any of that now, though. I’ll never get all of it done. Never. He could feel the corners of his eyes begin to prickle with tears. I shouldn’t be feeling this way. I shouldn’t be crying over this.

“Logan?”

Logan’s head snapped towards the door. Virgil leaned against the doorframe, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, his face contorted in concern.

“Will you—will you—will you close the door?” Logan stammered. Virgil pulled the door shut, walking into the room.

“You okay? Well, I mean, clearly… what’s up?” Virgil sat on the side of the desk; one hand emerging from his pocket to run through his hair.

“I’m—” Logan forced himself to take a long, shuddering breath. “I just have a lot going on.”

“And you’re having an anxiety attack.” Virgil said gently.

Logan took another breath. “No… you have anxiety attacks. I don’t.”

Virgil laughed. “Logan, you absolutely have anxiety attacks.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You’re shaking.” Virgil pointed out. Logan looked at his hand, and sure enough, it was trembling. “You’re having an anxiety attack. It’s okay.”

“I need to get things done. I need to get things done. I don’t—I can’t—it’ll never get finished.” Logan’s breathing got quick again as he refocused on his issue.

“Logan.” Virgil’s hand hovered above his. “Can I touch you?”

Logan’s eyes flicked up to Virgil’s as he nodded. Virgil took Logan’s hand. “Can you focus on me for a bit? Focus on my hand, how it feels in yours.”

Logan closed his eyes, moving his entire awareness to his fingers intertwined with Virgil’s. He noticed every little twitch of his fingers, the weight of Virgil’s hand, the sweat on his palm. His breathing began to slow.

“Good.” Virgil murmured. “Now can you imagine space? Neptune, or the butterfly nebula, or… anything like that?”

Logan almost smiled at that. He’d rambled enough about space that Virgil knew it was an interest of his, but he talked about his favorite planet and nebula more than other topics.

He envisioned the butterfly nebula, its vibrant colors, its ever-shifting forms and shapes. He lost himself in it, Virgil’s hand his tether as his breathing evened out and his heart rate slowed back to normal.

Virgil squeezed his hand. “Logan?”

Logan exhaled, opening his eyes. “Yes.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“Yeah?”

Logan nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.” Virgil gave Logan’s hand another squeeze, then released it.

“Don’t—” Logan swallowed. “Don’t leave.”

“I won’t leave.” Virgil gave him a soft smile. “Do you want to do something, and then if you want you can come back to your work? When I’m stressed, I make myself tea.”

“I believe that would be a prudent step to take.”

Virgil laughed a little. “Prudent. Back to your vocab already.”

Logan smiled a bit, too. “Prudent isn’t an excessively difficult or complicated word.”

“I guess, but it’s not the most common word in the world, either.”

“I suppose.”

“Come on.” Virgil hopped off the desk. “Lets’ get you some tea.”

[moonbeam-dragon]

High school AU. Virgil is a Freshman. Logan and Patton are seniors.Virgil gets left at school during the winter. He can't get a hold of his mom or dad and is starting to panic. Luckily, there are a couple more people he can rely on.

[the-sympathetic-villain]

Logan, Virgil, protector, fae

And 5. "I didn't realize I was such an inconvenience."

<3

I didn't mean to follow a pattern from my last prompt, but apparently I got a soft spot for teen!sides getting protected by powerful supernatural creatures this week. And I absolutely fell in love with these boys already so I hope you enjoy!

This is prompt number two of four for this game, so there's more coming <3 

What You Deserve

Read on Ao3

Description: Entering the fairy ring to meet the master of the forest, Virgil knows he has one choice. Sacrificing himself to save his family was an honor, and it was his responsibility. Right? 

Fortunately, not everyone agrees.

Word Count: 2792

Warnings: Shame, Manipulation, Implied Child Abuse/Neglect, Narcissistic Parent, Slavery Mention, Food Mention, Abandonment, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending (Let me know if I missed anything!)

--

    “This way, Virgil.”

     “Yes, mother.”

     “Stop dragging your feet.”

     “I'm not—”

     “Speak up and stop mumbling.” Virgil’s mother put a hand on to his back to urge him down the path into the forest. “and don’t you dare wrinkle that shirt.”

     “Yes, ma’am.”

     The silver light of the full moon filtered through the trees, sparkling on the dewy grass like tiny gems dotting the landscape. Bright, purple mushrooms grew in bunches underneath the trees. Their gills gave off a faint, pink glow that illuminated their path toward where the fairy ring was known to appear. It would almost have been pretty, if he didn’t know why his mother had brought him here.

     “We’re almost there.” His mother turned back over her shoulder to glare at him. “You will remain silent and let me do the talking. I don’t need you screwing this up for us.”

     “Y-yes, ma’am. I won't—”

     “And no crying.” His mother reached to his cheek to brusquely wipe away the tears before dragging him forward into the open clearing. “Have some pride, Virgil. You’re doing this for your family.”

     Virgil swallowed back a biting comment, ignoring everything he'd ever been taught to willingly follow his mother into circle of mushrooms at the center of the forest glade. The fairy ring. He felt a rush of power sweeping around them as he wiped the last of his tears from his eyes and stopped behind his mother. The subtle pink glow of the forest floor grew brighter as Virgil stared at the ground, curling his arms across his chest as a figure emerged from shadows.

     “Human, I do not believe my instructions were unclear.” The deep voice of the fae carried an aura of warning as he addressed Virgil’s mother from the shadows. “You and your bloodline are no longer welcome in this forest. Begone before I lose my patience with you.”

     “Good master of the forest, we are here to humbly request your audience.” Virgil’s mother bowed her head. “We seek not to anger you, but to appease you for the wrongs we have committed. Will you hear my offer?”

     The figure stepped into the moonlight and Virgil had to stifle a gasp. Thin antlers rose up from man's soft, brown hair and his soft features radiated a gentle beauty unlike any he had ever seen before.

     “I see no need for me to bargain with your family. You chose to ignore my warning not to take more than you need when you hunt the creatures here, and as a result you have suffered for your trespasses into my forest.”

     The fae began to turn away, but Virgil’s mother dropped to he knees, reaching her hands up to plead with him. “Master fae, I need to feed my family—"

     “The fault for your misery lays squarely on your own shoulders.”

     “I know, but if we are to survive, our needs remain unchanged.” His mother’s voice trembled as she folded her hands together in a silent prayer. “Please, allow me to replace the life that was taken from your forest.”

     The air felt heavy as the master of the forest turned back to them. His eyes moved slowly from Virgil’s mother up to Virgil, lingering uncomfortably as Virgil bowed his head.

     “Explain yourself.”

     “I come to offer my secondborn. If you will accept h—"

     “Ha, and I'm to understand you sought not to offend me.” The fae’s lip twisted into a cruel sneer as he bared down on Virgil’s mother. “You come to beg for your life, and you do even follow the word of legend. Do the stories not say that we fae barter for the firstborn child?”

     “Please, my grace. We need my oldest for the harvest.” His mother dropped her forehead to the ground. “Without him we'll starve, but Virgil is not meant for such things. He is neither our brightest nor our strongest, but he works hard—If you'll have him, he will serve you faithfully in penance for our sins.”

     Virgil's lip twisted in disgust as his mother all but begged the fae to take him away. “I didn’t realize I was such an inconvenience, mother.”

     A withering glare flashed across his mother’s face as she turned her head over her shoulder towards him. Her movements lacked subtlety and her message was clear. She wanted nothing more to do with him, and if he messed up her plans, she'd surely make him pay for his mistakes. Fortunately for her, not all hope was lost. The faerie’s piercing, blue eyes had fixed their attention on Virgil.

     “Virgil, child.” The fae paused as though he were taking the time to feel Virgil’s name on his lips. “What do you have to say about all of this?”

     A subtle, tingling crept across Virgil’s skin as the man spoke his true name. His mother had given it so freely, he hadn’t even considered the power the forest fae already had over him. “I, um—I don’t—”

     “He's a good boy who does as he's told. You won’t regret taking him—”

     “My question was not directed at you, madam.” The fae's eyes flashed a cold warning at his mother that sent shivers across Virgil’s skin. His stomach had been doing nervous flips since they entered the forest, but now that he was face to face with the powerful fae, he felt like his wobbling legs might finally betray him. “I wish to hear Virgil answer for himself.”

     “I, um—whatwasthequestionagain?”

     His mother looked poised to strike him for such a pitiful display of composure but the man in front of him seemed to find his incompetence pleasantly amusing.

     “You are being asked to forfeit the only life you've come to know.” The cold tone of the fae's voice was tempered with a comforting softness that started to still the pounding in Virgil’s heart. “Surely you have feelings about what your mother is asking of you?”

     “Umm—”

     “And keep in mind,” The man paused as Virgil looked up at him with wide eyes. He kept his tone soft and reassuring, but firm as he addressed Virgil. “it is unwise to lie to one of the Fair Folk like myself.”

     “No—Of course not, sir.”

     Virgil’s mumble was nearly lost to the wind as he bowed his head to his chest, considering his words carefully. His mother had made it clear that this was his responsibility. If they failed to win the fae’s favor, his family may not survive the winter, and he was the only one with the power to change the creature's mind. He had not other choice. He would make his mother proud of him, if only this one time.

     “If you will spare my family of their suffering, I am prepared to go with you.” Virgil dropped to his knees next to his mother and gave a deep bow to the ruler of the forest. “Please accept my mother’s offer.”

     “I asked of your feelings, and yet you offer nothing of substance.”

     “I know, sir.” Virgil’s forehead pressed to the dewy ground. “I’m sorry, but I do not wish for my emotions to sway your decision.”

     The fae's silence weighed down on his shoulders as Virgil trembled and begged for the fae to take him. This was so simple. He couldn’t screw this up too.

     “Very well. I accept the terms you’ve laid out for your family’s penance.”

     Virgil lifted his head to the faerie ruler as he crossed his arms across his chest. His expression remained unmoved as Virgil looked to his mother. Relief spread across her face as she rose to her feet, oblivious to the despair twisting Virgil’s stomach.

     “Really, sir?”

     “To be clear, I expect to take the boy.” The man's leering glare landed on Virgil’s mother as she rose to her feet. “And in return, your family will be given passage into my forest to take only what you need to survive. Choose to get greedy again, and you will find that mercy is not something I grant twice.”

     “Yes, sir.” His mother looked like she may weep with relief. “Your grace’s kindness knows no bounds. May peace be with you.”

     “It would be wise if you to leave before my patience runs thin, human.”

     The fae’s cold tone didn’t falter as his mother nodded. Virgil felt a numbness overcome him as his mother turned to wrap her arms around him.

     “Take care of yourself, Virgil. You've done your family proud."

     She pressed a kiss to his temple before letting him go and rushing back down the path, leaving him weeping at the feet of the stranger.

     “Come with me, child.”

     “Y-yes, master.”

     “There is no need for you to address me as such.” The forest fae offered Virgil a hand as he scrambled to his feet obediently. “If it is acceptable, you may refer to me as Logan.”

     Shaken, Virgil could do nothing but stare as the fae offered him a hand to his feet. “L-Logan?”

     “I know I have you at an unfair advantage as I do not intend to share my true name, but you need not harbor any fear in your heart that I intend to hurt you.” Logan’s voice was soft as he rested a hand on Virgil’s back and guided him deeper into the forest. “Despite the ideas your mother undoubtedly in your head, I have no intentions of making you a slave.”

     Virgil didn’t dare voice the many thoughts racing through his mind as his heart fluttered with a faint hope. He knew that the Fair Folk didn’t lie, but that didn’t mean that Logan did not hide his true intentions behind fancy words.

     “T-thank you.”

     “That is not a sentiment worthy of your gratitude.” Logan's voice sent a tingling rushing over Virgil’s skin as the fae pulled him to his feet. He was quiet as the fae pulled off his cloak, wrapping it around Virgil’s shoulders as they walked deeper into the forest. “I can assure you I only wish to honor the sacrifice you were willing to make.”

--

     “This food is not of fae origins.” Logan’s expression remained gentle and patient as Virgil eyed the bowl of stew with suspicion. “You need not worry about any possible adverse effects to your health.”

     Mere hours had passed since the fae had brought him to this realm, but settling into his new home had gone smoother than Virgil could have expected.  Logan had been nothing less than pleasant, presenting Virgil with an overly extravagant bedroom with silk bedsheets and pillows for him to scream into the second Logan left him alone. He’d been allowed to sleep in as the thick shades kept out the morning light, and since he'd woke, his host had allowed him enough space that he'd been mostly able to simmer down from his overstimulated state. The respectful distance had been a welcome comfort, and he'd certainly been grateful for the fae's patience, but now the man had returned with a stubborn desire to feed him.

     “What can I say to convince you my intent is not to hurt you, Virgil?”

     “Nothing,” Virgil muttered as he forced his muscles to relax, realizing a moment too late that he had risked offending the fae. “I mean—Of course, I will accept the meal you've been gracious enough to prepare for me.”

     Don’t thank the Fair Folk, lest you admit you owe them a debt.

     Offering his life to Logan surely came with complications he didn’t fully understand, but he had no intention of giving away anymore of himself for free.

     “I understand your caution is a rational reaction given your situation, but I hope to prove to you that it is unnecessary.” Logan’s soothing voice was quick to lull Virgil into almost believing his words were genuine. “Perhaps, we can set some base expectations about your time here to help ease your discomfort.”

     Virgil chewed on his lip as he propped himself up on the edge of the bed. The silky, sheets felt like heaven on his aching body as he nodded and sipped on the savory broth. Meals brought to him in his own room were more than he'd ever dreamed to expect, but maybe now he could get an idea of what Logan would ask in return.

     “Alright, Virgil. The first thing I need you to understand about my choice to invite you here is that you are free to leave at any time and for any reason.”

     A sudden burning filled his nostrils as he accidentally inhaled his soup, choking as he looked up at Logan's patient smile. “What?”

     “I do not believe that children should be made to pay for the sins of their parents.”

     A shiver ran up Virgil’s spine as he looked up into the unsettling blue eyes of his captor. “That line might work better if you hadn’t accepted my life as payment only hours ago.”

     “On the contrary, though I did not say so at the time, I viewed our transaction very differently than your mother.” Logan's lip curled into a smile as he moved away from Virgil to drop into a purple tufted chair a few steps away from the bed. “She believes sacrificing you was the price she paid for her life, but I would say granting her passage to my forest was the price I paid to bring you here.”

     Virgil chewed on his lip as he focused on the bowl of soup in his lap. “Yeah, well, it all sounds the same to me.”

     “I understand why you feel that way, but the difference is quite sizable in my eyes." Logan curled his hands in his lap. His narrow antlers stood like a crown on his head as he stared seriously at Virgil. “You see, I paid a price for your life with no ulterior motive but to give your freedom back to you.”

     “Liar.”

     “You know well enough that the Fair Folk do not lie, and despite what you may know of my people's reputation, I prefer to be straight forward about my intentions.” Logan let his serious tone drop to speak earnestly to Virgil. “Come morning, if your mind remains unchanged, you are free to return to your family. I only ask that you reflect on your situation for one day and one night before making any decisions.”

     Virgil couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The Fae didn’t lie, but surely what Logan was saying couldn’t be the truth. “You are deceiving me.”

     “Falsehood.” Logan’s eyes narrowed on him. “You may test my boundaries all you like, but I assure you there is no hidden motive in my words.”

     “There's no way.” Virgil muttered as he stabbed at a crumbling potato with his spoon. “Why bother to take me if you were planning to release me all along?”

     “No honorable parent uses guilt and shame to motivate their child, much less manipulates them to sacrifice themselves for said parent.” Logan paused to steady the growing anger in his voice. “Her job should have been to protect you, not the other way around, and I couldn’t abide such deplorable behavior.”

     Virgil stirred the bowl of warm broth and root vegetables in his hand, grateful for the grounding sensation of heat as he listened to Logan’s words. “That’s a low blow to insult my mother.”

     “You are the master of your own fate, Virgil. If you believe I am ill-informed, you are free to return to her and your brothers at first light tomorrow morning.” Logan's lip curled into a reassuring smile as Virgil chewed on his words. “But know, whether it is for a single night or a lifetime, you are welcome to stay.”

     “As a slave, you mean.”

     “As an honored guest, child.” Logan smirked at Virgil’s stubbornness as he rose to his feet and turned towards the door. “I am offering you a sanctuary from the shame and fear your family has convinced you is normal, but whether or not you choose to accept that offer is entirely up to you.”

     Virgil’s chest clenched with a mild anxiety as Logan turned to leave him. “You’ll be back in the morning?”

     “Bright and early, as promised.”

     “Maybe—” Virgil’s voice trembled.  He couldn’t believe he was starting to trust this fae. “Maybe not too bright and early, if that’s okay?”

     “As you wish, Virgil.” Logan smiled as he headed towards the door. “Good night."

     “Night.”

     Virgil put his empty bowl on the tray at the end of the bed. The lights dimmed automatically as Virgil turned to collapse on the impossibly comfortable bed. Having the space was definitely a different experience than being crammed together with all of his younger brothers. Perhaps he could risk staying for just a few more nights.

-

This is prompt number two of four for this game, so there's more coming <3

Prompt Game

Prompt #1 - Janus/Remus/Protector/Werewolves+"Hold still. I don't want to hurt you."  

General Taglist (Just ask to be included or taken off!):

@justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

[lily-janus]

Happy birthday to my dear friend @theimprobabledreamersworld ! I love you so much, Angel, I know you've been through a lot lately and I'm very proud of you^^ you're doing great! I always feel lucky to have you as a friend and I hope this short fic I wrote expresses that💜💙

The Best Gift I Could Ask For

Summary: Virgil's plans for his friend's birthday... don't go as planned.

Pairing: platonic Analogical

Warnings: mild sickness and I'm pretty sure that's it, it's mostly fluff. But be sure to let me know if I missed anything

Word count: 1,042

"Ah… here ya go Lo, it's okay if you don't like it, there's a return card… I just thought you might so…" Virgil shrugged, trying to play it casual, burying his hands in his hoodie pocket. He sniffed a little, his nose feeling stuffed ever since he woke up.

"Are you okay, Virgil?" Logan asked him with a slight frown, to which Virgil dismissed quickly.

Logan nodded and took the present from him curiously, unwrapping it carefully, even though it wasn't wrapped very well, despite Virgil's best efforts. His eyes widened a bit when he saw the book Virgil got him. "I… thought they sold out."

Virgil shrugged again, feeling a headache setting in, "well… you know, I have a cousin that works at a bookstore and I asked him to pull some strings… it's no big deal you've just been talking about this book non-stop." He huffed fondly at that.

"...you were listening?" Came Logan's quiet response as he hugged the book to his chest.

Virgil blushed slightly, "ah… yeah, of course, it's nice… hearing you talk I mean, I don't know."

There was a gleam in Logan's blue eyes as he looked at his friend, "you really think so? I understand most people find it boring…"

Virgil huffed again, "well, good thing I'm not most people then. I find listening to you somewhat relaxing… sorry if that's a weird thing to say."

Logan shook his head, "not at all it's… well, thank you, Virgil, I appreciate it."

"No problem, happy birthday, Logan." Virgil said with a small smile.

"Thank you for stopping by to give me this, I'll see you at school tomorrow?"

Virgil snorted at that, making Logan frown, "did I say something funny?"

"You thought I only came here to give you a book? C'mon, I got more stuff planned." Virgil laughed a little, getting up from Logan's bed, Logan following suit soon after.

"I hope you don't mean a part-"

Virgil raised an eyebrow before he can finish.

"...right, forgot who I was talking to." Logan smiled slightly in amusement in response to their similarities, "so where are we going?"

Virgil smiled at that, "you'll see."

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

"We're at your house?" Logan asked when they arrived.

Virgil nodded, the short walk making him feel more tired than it should… "Yeah, you know, none of us likes big parties and stuff so I thought we'd just hang out at my place. I ordered food from your favorite place and I thought we can binge the new season of Doctor Who you didn't have time to watch yet…" he shrugged, "we can do something else if you want, I just thought-"

Logan shook his head, smiling, "it sounds perfect, Virgil, thank you."

Virgil went ahead to unlock the door and let them both in, trying to hide his faint blush, "oh… it's no problem, Lo."

They went inside and got comfortable on the couch with their steaming ramen bowls.

As Virgil pressed play on the first episode he suddenly sneezed loudly, cleaning himself quickly with a tissue. His head was pounding now.

"Virgil? Are you sure you're okay? You look a bit pale…" Logan scooted closer to gently press the back of his hand to Virgil's forehead, "your body temperature seems to be high too, I think you might have a cold-"

"No, I'm fine… just a little-" he sneezed again, "tired." He finished. He can't be sick today! Today's about Logan, not him.

Logan gave him one of his stern looks that told him he wasn't buying it, "Virgil, you're clearly sick, your parents are away right? I'd be happy to take of you-"

"I'm okay! Really, let's just… have fun together." He insisted, a practiculary painful pound from his head making him wince slightly.

Logan huffed in annoyance, "you're obviously in pain, come on, let's get you to your bed." He got up and offered his hands to help Virgil get up.

"But… your birthday-" he protested weakly.

"It's just a day, Virgil, your health is much more important. Besides, you know I like taking care of you. Now, up on your feet." Logan urged him, pulling gently on his arm.

Virgil went to argue again, but he sneezed again, making his headache pound harder and he sighed in surrender, getting up slowly. "Okay…"

….

As he laid in bed, Logan gave him a steaming mug with herbal tea.

Virgil took it, sighing again, "thanks Lo… and sorry… for ruining your day."

Logan smiled softly, "you didn't ruin anything, Virgil. Getting to take care of you is the best gift I could have asked for."

Virgil grimaced at that, "but you always do that… just wanted to take care of you for a change… you deserve it, you know?"

"What are you talking about? Of course you take care of me, you do it all the time!" Logan said honestly.

"I do? Like when?" Virgil asked in surprise.

"Well, you told off Zack the other day after he made fun of me." Logan said, making Virgil huff.

"He had it coming."

"You helped me finish my art project when I was too busy with my physics project." Logan continued to list things off.

Virgil shrugged, "it wasn't very hard…"

"You got me a book I thought I'll only see in another 10 years at least, if not more." He said, showing him the book he got him for his birthday.

"Most of the credit for that is for my cousin…"

Logan rolled his eyes, "what I'm trying to say is, you're a good friend, Virgil. I always feel like I can rely on you and I'm always grateful when I get to return the favor."

Virgil smiled at that, "really?" To which Logan nodded, "gee Specs… I don't know what to say."

"No need to say anything, just finish your tea while I make you some chicken soup." He said, getting up from his place on Virgil's bed.

Virgil rolled his eyes fondly as Logan walked away, "okay mom."

Logan chuckled, turning around at the doorway, "that mug better be empty when I get back or else you're in big trouble, young man."

Virgil snorted and Logan closed the door, so maybe he didn't really ruin this birthday…

[i-am-bitterly-jittery]

Friends? (pt 1 Logan /4)

Soulmates? (Unhappy Accidents): Part 1, Part 2

Friends?: •, Patton, Roman, Part 4

Word count: 2595

Rating: teen

Pairings: platonic Analogical, Anxceitmus, background Royalogicality

Warnings: anxiety, strained relationships

~~~START~~~

My apologies, but I am running fifteen minutes late  

Virgil felt his heart rate spike just from reading the text. Logan was considerate enough to text him forty minutes before they were supposed to meet up, but Virgil was already almost to his destination. Now forty-five minutes early.  

Ever since the accident two months ago, just being in a car was enough to give him a panic attack. Even when he was walking sometimes if a car was coming his way, no matter how slowly or how far away, he’d freeze up in fear, praying it would stop before it ran him over. It was so bad that even when he took the bus — somehow the least stressful form of transportation for him — he had to have his head buried in his phone the whole time, lest he notice a car outside slightly too close for comfort.  

Knowing how public transportation was, coupled with an anxious desire to be slightly early, Virgil had given himself a half hour cushion time, none of which had been used up.  

He could still go to the café he and Logan had planned to meet at, but then he’d be faced with a dilemma, order a drink and wait out the time, or wait out the time without ordering anything. If he ordered a drink, he’d likely finish it before Logan got there and would then either awkwardly not have a drink while Logan got his own drink, or order a second drink and risk getting too wired. But if he ordered nothing and just hung out, he’d feel like the employees would hate him, he’d be taking up space without actually funding the function of said space — which was basically trespassing.  

Virgil spent the final ten minutes of his bus ride in an anxiety spiral.  

Caffeine was definitely out of the question, and Virgil was beginning to resign himself to the employees hating him when he noticed a bookstore right next to the café. A bookstore was perfect! He could kill time without feeling like a nuisance.  

He ended up wandering the bookstore thinking more about how he got here than the books themselves.  

A couple weeks before the accident, he’d been laid off from his job, and then after the accident, he could barely stand to leave the house at all. He’d never had many friends, and then he was only ever talking to Janus and Remus — except for that one day when they’d gone to Remus’s brother’s house to talk to Virgil and Janus’s soulmates… 

He hadn’t wanted to contact them afterwards — not because they didn’t seem nice, but because he thought Janus and Remus might be upset. He thought Janus would be upset because he hated the concept of soulmates and only accepted Virgil because they’d been together for years before either of them had known about the connection; and he thought Remus might be upset because of how insecure he was about both his brother and the topic of soulmates.  

In the end, it was Janus who snapped at him to “stop looking like a kicked puppy and call them if it means so much to you!” 

He’d decided to start with Logan because he seemed to be the one that Remus liked best. Logan had been quite amenable — to use his words — to hanging out explicitly in a friendship capacity and had suggested a café halfway between Virgil’s home and Logan’s university.  

Five minutes before Logan was set to arrive, Virgil entered the café with a small bag from the bookstore containing a book on snakes and a toy octopus whose eyes popped out of its head when you squeezed it — he couldn’t just leave the store empty handed after wandering around it for so long. Virgil sat at a table, and exactly fifteen minutes after their previously scheduled meeting time, Logan Sanders walked through the door.  

Logan was wearing a crisp black polo shirt and a blue tie, leaving Virgil feeling awkwardly underdressed in his well-worn hoodie — which he had luckily not been wearing the day of the accident.  

“Hello Virgil,” Logan greeted him, making a beeline straight for Virgil’s table rather than the counter to order. “I hope I did not inconvenience you too much.” 

“Uh, no, it’s all good,” Virgil shrugged awkwardly.  

“Ah, I see you have already discovered the bookstore next door,” Logan observed, gesturing to the bag on the table. “I suppose my undiscussed idea to go there after coffee can be crossed off the list of potential activities.” 

Virgil’s face grew hot. Of course Logan had plans beyond coffee, and of course those plans involved books! How could Virgil be so stupid! 

“S-sorry,” Virgil managed to stutter over the staccato of his heart. “I didn't mean to ruin your plans.” 

“Not at all,” Logan waved him off. “I did not discuss my idea with you, and I had no expectations that you were a mind reader. There are plenty of other activities around here, the bookstore is just one thought of many. Have you ordered yet?” 

“Um, no, I was waiting for you.” 

“Excellent! Then allow me to treat you, as remuneration for my tardiness.” 

“Isn’t anticipating your thoughts supposed to be one of those soulmate things?” Virgil asked as they got in line, still hung up on the bookstore.  

“Not at all. In fact, I find open and explicit communication to be much more effective than relying on some sort of soulmate-driven precognition — heaven knows that if I tried to anticipate Roman or Patton’s desires without speaking to either of them first that I would, at least half the time, be wrong.” 

“Right,” Virgil answered, still somewhat skeptical.  

“And even if that were not the case,” Logan continued. “You have met me on two separate occasions, and on neither of those occasions did my love of books come up.” 

Virgil couldn’t press the matter further — not that he particularly wanted to — as they were the next to order. Virgil ordered a plain coffee with cream and sugar since it would be the cheapest option, while Logan ordered a surprisingly foofy drink.  

“Roman called my order of a black coffee ‘boring’ and insisted I try this once,” Logan explained after he’d paid, noticing Virgil’s raised eyebrow. “I am quite hooked.” 

Virgil shrugged, fair enough. Remus had certainly turned him onto his fair share of odd orders over the years.  

“So, what else is there to do around here?” Virgil asked as they waited for their orders. He had expected coffee to be the entire thing, he hadn’t put any thought into other activities.  

“There are quite a few stores we could look at, including an odd gift shop and a music store that has quite an impressive array; there are also three different museums in the area, an aquarium if you don’t mind a slightly longer walk, and a park. I am, of course, open to any other suggestions you may have, but these are the things I know about.” As Logan spoke, Virgil looked for any twitch in his face, any tone in his voice that might suggest which option was his preferred one, but Logan’s genuine demeanor gave nothing away. He sounded just as interested in one option as the next, it seemed it was up to Virgil to choose which one he wanted to do.  

“A music store sounds good,” Virgil said, somewhat noncommittally so he could change his answer if Logan seemed disappointed.  

Logan’s face lit up. “Excellent. The music store it is.” 

Coffee in hand, Virgil followed Logan down the street and around the corner to a music store absolutely stuffed with CDs, vinyl, and cassette tapes. The sheer amount of stuff in such a relatively small space was overwhelming.  

“I know that not everyone is a fan of structured time,” Logan said as Virgil took in the organized chaos. “And I certainly respect if all you would like to do is casually look around, but I have a suggestion if you’d like to have an activity.” 

“Yeah, activity is good,” Virgil shrugged, shoving his free hand into his pocket to hide his nerves.  

“In the interest of full disclosure, this activity is adapted from one of Roman’s favorite date night activities, but I do not believe that there is anything inherently romantic about the activity itself.” 

“Sure.” From what Virgil knew about Roman, romance was kinda his thing, so whether or not this activity would cross any of Virgil’s boundaries — and whether or not Virgil would let it — was now another entry on Virgil’s list of worries.  

“When Roman, Patton and I are here, we are each tasked with finding an album for one of our partners that combines our musical tastes with theirs. I do not know your musical tastes and I do not believe you know mine, so if you’d like, I suggest a music exchange where I will find you an album that I feel is important to me, and you find an album important for you.” 

“Important how?” Virgil asked nervously. Logan was right that this wasn’t inherently romantic, but music was something that could get intensely personal very quickly and Virgil was not ready to bear his soul to Logan.  

“In any way you choose to interpret it,” Logan answered. “It could be something your parents liked to listen to when you were young, it could be an album that has your favorite song on it, it could be something you pretended to hate in middle school; you do not have to justify your reasoning to me, I merely thought this could be an enjoyable icebreaker, so to speak.” 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Virgil shrugged, mind already racing with possibilities. “Sounds good.” 

“Excellent! Let us reconvene in ten minutes, unless you feel like you need more time, of course.” 

“Sure.” 

It took Virgil a couple minutes to figure out the layout of the store, and then the whole rest of the allotted time was spent trying to choose an album that he knew well enough to justify its importance, but he was emotionally removed enough from that Logan wouldn’t be able to read too much into it. When he finally ran out of time, he panicked and grabbed a CD of The Black Parade — an album he was decidedly not emotionally removed from — before rushing to meet Logan back at the front of the store.  

“Hello Virgil, did you find something?” Logan asked, Virgil had noticed him wandering around the store too, but he didn’t look nearly as anxious as Virgil felt — what if Logan hated emo music and decided never to talk to Virgil again? 

“Yeah…” Virgil fiddled with the plastic case in his hands. “It’s stupid.” 

“No such thing,” Logan replied, matter-of-factly. “If you asked Patton to do this, he would likely bring you a CD from the television program Arthur; Roman would likely choose multiple CDs as one would not be enough; I do not consider either of these choices to be ‘stupid’.” 

“The… the children’s cartoon?” 

“Yes.”  

“…okay. Uh, here,” Virgil shoved the MCR CD at him. “Is that how this works?” 

“Thank you, Virgil. This one is for you.” 

Logan handed him a CD of 8 Mile. Virgil blinked at it. People could like any genre, of course, but Logan did not strike him as a rap guy.  

“This is the first thing I bought when I got my first paycheck,” Logan explained.  

“C-cool,” Virgil shifted uncomfortably, he hadn’t offered an explanation for his choice, and he wouldn’t unless Logan asked for one, but he still felt like he was failing at something. “Um, what do we do now?” 

“We can look around some more if you would like. I do not mind if you don’t buy the CD, picking one out was just meant to be a small activity.” 

“No, it’s cool. I, uh, I don’t have this one.” Logan smiled and the knot in Virgil’s chest loosened a little. Logan didn’t hate him and he wasn’t completely bombing this social interaction.  

Virgil and Logan spent almost an hour looking around the store together and discussing music. Virgil did end up buying 8 Mile, as well as a couple albums for himself; Logan bought The Black Parade. After the music store, they actually did go back to the bookstore so Logan could purchase a few items from his personal wishlist.  

“Where did you park?” Logan asked as they were wrapping up at the bookstore.  

“I didn’t. I took the bus here.” Virgil had actually been enjoying himself, to the point where he’d completely forgotten that he'd need to take the bus home, but now that thought was at the forefront of his mind. He needed to look up the bus schedule.  

“Ah, well if you would like, I could drive you home.” Virgil knew he’d been trying to be friendly, to help Virgil get home quicker, but Virgil's heart still tried to leap out of his chest at the suggestion.  

“No thanks!” He said, much too quickly. “I mean, it’s fine, I like the bus.” 

Logan gave him a strange look, but nodded anyway. “If that is what you wish.” 

“Yeah. Uh, bye.” 

“Goodbye Virgil, I hope the rest of your day is satisfactory.” 

“Yeah, you too.” 

^(^.^)^ 

Virgil's heart didn’t stop pounding until he was off the bus, standing a block down from his building. Logan’s innocent suggestion to take a car had put Virgil so on edge that his phone was barely enough to keep him from having a panic attack on the bus.  

Much to his surprise, Janus and Remus were both sitting at the apartment’s kitchen table when he finally made it up to his floor. Remus’s head whipped around to stare at him with the most heartbreakingly anxious look in his eye while Janus stayed staring straight ahead, a tightening around his eyes was the only indication he’d noticed Virgil’s arrival.  

“Um, hey,” Virgil waved at Remus awkwardly, hoping that would be enough to get his boyfriend to stop staring at him like that.  

“You’re back late,” Janus commented, still not looking at him.  

Virgil frowned. “Sorry, mom, I didn’t realize I had a curfew.” 

Janus’s fingers twitched around the coffee mug he was holding.  

“Damn right you do, young man!” Remus said suddenly, slightly too loud and with a forced-playful look in his eye. “Your mother and I have been worried sick!” 

Virgil rolled his eyes and tried to get a handle on his temper. “I got you both something.” 

He tossed the octopus at Remus and set the book down in front of Janus, more forcefully than necessary. Janus stared at the book, taken aback; Remus put the octopus in his mouth and shook it like a dog with a toy.  

“Thanks, Virgie!” Remus said after spitting the now wet toy into his hand. “Love you!” 

“Love you too.” Most of the anxiousness had drained from Remus’s face, and the rest disappeared at Virgil’s words.  

Janus pulled the book to him and tapped his fingers on the cover a few times before speaking. “And how was Logan?” 

“Fine,” Virgil answered quickly. “Good. It was good. Nice to hangout with someone as a friend — been a while… since I’ve had a friend.”  

With every word, Virgil could feel himself losing confidence, but when he was done, Janus turned to him with a soft look in his eye.  

“Good, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” 

Tension he hadn’t even known he’d been holding drained out of Virgil’s shoulders as he returned Janus’s smile.  

“Yeah, it was good.” 

~~~END~~~

I love writing Logan, he can just explain everything without the dialog reading as weird

I got rear ended a few months ago and ever since I’ve been really anxious about cars coming up behind me when I’m stopped (I was stopped at a stoplight when the guy behind me for some unfathomable reason thought the light had turned green and just didn’t realize that I wasn’t moving?), and I can only imagine how bad my anxiety would be if I had actually gotten injured

Soulmates? taglist:

@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple @aeternum-ablaze @misunderstood-shadowling @vash-the-trans-catboy @dazzling-in-diamonds

[kamiana-ruzha]

so i saw this post by @klinefelterrible

and... let's talk Transformers sex.

i can't say that i am a very big specialist in that area, but some time ago i had to dive deep after realising my mistake after translating tf anatomy dictionary, so yeah, with a few dozen hundreds of read fics too i feel authorised enough to talk about that.

this post is more of a simplified summary on fanlore tf sex page, which is here. for more detailed and specific post i recommend this one by @/sweet7simple it's a must read for any tf-ficwriter, especially the ones that explore the theme of sparklings in their works.

so. let's begin with what was my mistake: assuming that tf sex, which is mostly called "interface", has only one type. in fact, it has three: sticky, plug'n'play and the mindfuck. sparkmerge/bond occurs in them all but will be covered briefly.

i won't cover the "squishy" as no-one really uses it.

let's dive in 🫶

sticky interface is the most popular, i'm sure it's the one you've seen in most of E&M rated tf fanfiction on ao3.

it's quite simple: "spike" is a penis-analog and "valve" is analog of vagina.

valve has sensitivity nodes, calipers, labia, and is formed meshed sleeve. it also has a 'seal' which, you got it, indicates if a bot had been penetrated or not.

all words you use in ordinary dick description apply to a spike, BUT for more detailed description of its structure really go check out the post by sweet7simple.

both organs may have biolights, modifications (think sex toys functions); during intimacy they work the same human organs work. yes, they can make kids too.

the interface panel for valve is called a "valve cover" and for a spike - a "spike housing". both may be called an interface array

interface stands for sexual intercourse of any type.

most transformers have both spike and a valve, exceptions can be created in your fics.

plug'n'play is second popular tf sex type. in some cases, it's more platonic, in others - almost like sticky interface. sometimes penis-analog is called 'cable', vagina one - interface array.

this type is based on electric charge, sent or downloaded from one partner to another. the friction doesn't usually occur.

i've seen it barely five times so i'd be thankful if someone more educated in that matter shares their knowledge.

the type i called mindfuck is almost like cordial psychic cord, that thing from tfp. this fic, for example, is great at exploring that type. unfortunately, i can't find another example, but the concept is the same.

basically, it's the same plug'n'play but the cords join at the backs of their heads and they share pleasant memories or download cute cat memes or smth. it's more of a mental pleasure and the mindfuck was a joking name.

sparkbond is almost the same, but they share all the memories during literal bonding of their souls. but, the bond is not required to feel pleasure - it could just be an extra tool, for example, to sent a em-wave of pleasure or comfort or whatever other emotions that can be sent. i will do more research and post about sparkbond once again in the future.

i'd also mention the heat modes – basically, they are the same ones animals have in nature and people have in omegaverse fanfiction. usually, the purpose is the same – bitlet. hot body temperature, heightened libido, excessive lubrication - you name it.

i'd be glad if that long read was useful in any way 🫶

have a flower💠

and go write robot porn

i bless you

[transfemlogan]

And When The Moon is High Masterlist

Read on AO3 | all fanfiction masterlist

———

Summary: A bed squeaks along with cracking bones. A loud crash, followed by a thud and a bang. Fabric rips, metal clangs, and glass shatters.

The wind screams with a howl.

--

After 5 months of dating, Logan wants to share his full moon with Virgil. Virgil promises to do everything in his power to help him.

Then Logan makes a mistake. He didn't mean to.

He swears he didn't mean to.

———

Warnings: hurt/comfort, (off-screen) murder in self-defense, minor character death

An analogical fic with witch!virgil and werewolf!logan. Background pre-platonic logince.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

[yellowloid]

hello dear! i just read your songs analysis and i think they’re really insightful and clever! i would be so happy to read other song analysis from you (both from tlsp and am)! also i love that you wrote the analysis from a personal view but not under the milex lens (although i would love to read your take on that version)!

hi anon, and thanks!! i'm happy to hear you appreciated my analysis, i love overanalysing lyrics so i'd be 100% down to make more. just drop the am/tlsp/mk songs you want me to analyse in my inbox (and whether you want the analysis to be strictly personal or you want me to go Full Milex Demon TM), and you can bet i'll end up writing a long-ass analysis post. i have so many theories (sometimes even different ones for the same song lmao like in this case) and they're just waiting to be put on paper.

now, since we're on the topic...

✨️mr. schwartz and body paint milex analysis✨️, by yours truly

(once again, this is just fan analysis. it's just as valid as any milex fanfiction i've ever written - meaning that it's completely fictional and i'm not in any way shape or form implying anything about them as real people. just having fun with lyrics and possible interpretations!)

(+ as i said in the other post, i'm analysing them together because there are so many interesting analogies between them and i think they might be connected. brace yourselves because this is gonna be long)

so in the other post i talked about anyways (and the ultracheese, but we could also add star treatment to the mix) as an introduction to the new album, how from what we've seen so far of the car it seems to be a very self-reflective album.

the vibes are quite similar, but if the tbhc self-reflection was done on purpose, almost calculated, the one that seems to characterize the car appears to be almost... annoyed. there's this subtone to it, a faint hue that gives it a sense of reluctant introspection. he's not doing it willingly - he's almost forced to do it, incapable of bottling his thoughts up any longer. like he finally understood he can't run forever (could be the effect of the pandemic, who knows). Also, the tbhc lyrics were absolutely cryptic, and even though the car ones are just as cryptic in some instances, we also find very straightforward, concrete lines ("come here and kiss me before it gets too cute / [...] and if we guess who i'm pretending to be / do we get a prize?" from Mr.S. as well as "watching your every move i feel the tears are coming on [...] and i'm keeping on my costume [...] and if you're thinking of me, i'm probably thinking of you" from BP). if tbhc had ten layers of mysterious metaphors covering it, the car has like... eight, i'd say. still very cryptic, but with a tiny bit more clarity to it. there’s still a lot of smoke covering it, but we can make out shapes a bit more clearly than we did in tbhc.

speaking of anyways specifically, i'd like to focus on that for a moment. everyone knows how it's a very, very personal song - but i don't see enough people talking about the evident parallels with see ya when i see ya:

"what a place for both the opposite sides of my double life to finally collide"

"you're feeling alive, a jekyll and hyde / [...] leading that double life"

like. do i even need to say anything. see ya when i see ya as a whole just screams of alex, but those lines? that's just miles telling everyone "yeah, this is about my absolutely platonic no homo bro", except it’s full homo and he knows he couldn’t make it any clearer even if he tried

also special mention:

"spilled the unspillable beans" (from the bourne identity)

"i put myself on mute before i spill the beans / oh, not again" (from SYWISY)

like. are you getting the vibe? because i sure as hell am

now, taking into consideration the whole discourse about double lives, masks and façades, let's get to Mr.S. and BP. as i said in the other post, in both songs it feels like he's talking to two different 'you's: himself (alternating it with 'i') and a mysterious interlocutor who appears to be someone he has history with. you and i both know who i’m thinking about lmao

body paint comes before mr. schwartz in the tracklist. he starts off strong, straight to the point:

"for a master of deception and subterfuge / you made yourself quite the bed to lie in"

these first two lines seem to refer to him not being able (or not being allowed) to be his true self; this is also confirmed by the 3rd and 4th lines, which are all about the need/urge to keep up (false) appearances and the misery that comes from it: "do your time traveling through the tanning booth / so you don't let the sun catch you crying". the sun could be spotlight, the media and the world's eyes on him, watching his every move. this whole “façade” aspect could easily be interpreted as him hiding his sexual orientation from the world for fear of being judged.

in the second stanza, this awareness also translates into self-deprecation (possibly internalized homophobia):

"my teeth are beating and my knees are weak / it's as if there's something up with the wiring / you can poke your head behind the mountain peak / you don't have to leak that you've gone into hiding"

he blames himself for this situation, for "having gone into hiding": the guilt takes up the form of physical symptoms and he asks himself whether there's something wrong with him ("something up with the wiring"), but at the same time he won't "leak" it, he refuses to admit it.

then there's a turn and he seems to be talking to the other person: "i know what you're thinking", which has Big Milex Telepathy energy, because who else could he share that kind of connection with?

now let's consider these lines from mr. schwartz:

"might be half a love song in it all for you / timing wise it's probably for the best / come here and kiss me now before it gets too cute"

at first he seems to be considering the possibility of giving himself and the other person a chance - the timing is right, they should just live in the moment without dwelling too much on anything else ("kiss me now before it gets too cute"). but then, after the chorus, this happens:

"gradually it's coming into view / [...] as fine a time as any to deduce / the fact that neither you or I has ever had a clue"

it's a bittersweet realisation slowly hitting him: right after he's almost been able to say fuck it and just live in the moment, he realises that neither he or the other person really knows what they're doing - what they've been doing all this time, maybe in terms of how deep they were really in, or how getting that deep would only inevitably end up hurting them both. he’s justifying them and at the same time almost criticising them, because they didn’t know what they were getting into and they really had no idea what they were doing (although, may i add, the other person might disagree on that. they certainly did know and he's just looking for excuses).

and then we have these lines from body paint, which seem to continue on that same route:

"watching your every move i feel the tears are coming on / it won't be long / it won’t be long"

he can't stop lingering on everything the other person does, almost obsessing over them - and at the same time this makes him even more miserable, because of two possible options:

a) he considers giving their relationship a chance, but fears it won't last

b) he feels like he's running out of time, and he needs to make a decision because the other person is still moving around, they won’t wait for him forever, and he feels "it won't be long" until they'll eventually move on. (may i add 2.0, if he thinks miles could ever move on and forget about him then he's even dumber than expected. oblivious king 😔)

however, stubborn as he is, he's choosing to keep up the façade despite his pain ("mr. schwartz is staying strong for the crew"; "and i'm keeping on my costume" in BP), keeping up his appearance ("wardrobe's lint-rolling your velveteen suit"), because he knows that's just how the industry works ("mr. schwartz is having tea with the grips / asking after all the wives and the kids / it's at the heart of what the business is"); he can’t live freely – he’s committed to the role he plays in the industry and he’s convinced breaking character and living his truth is simply not an option. neither he or the other person can change that, it’s just how things work ("there's not one god damn thing that you can do about this"; this also reminds me of these lines from star treatment: “i found out the hard way that / here ain't no place for dolls like you and me”).

but deep down he knows that, no matter how hard he tries to ignore his and the other person's feelings - it doesn't change the fact that those feelings are there, they exist and they can’t just pretend they don’t ("and if you're thinking of me, i'm probably thinking of you"). because that's what they've been doing for years – thinking of and obsessing over each other.

i also find this very interesting:

"and if we guess who i'm pretending to be / do we win a prize?"

it feels like he's responding to miles' attempts at deciphering him, of reading through his behaviour over the years after 2016 (through the entirety of coup de grace + some change the show songs). all these years, miles has been telling him through the veil of song to drop the façade and just be who he is, to stop being afraid and give them a chance, because no matter what he'll always be next to him. this is alex's reply: cynical, because the rose-tinted glasses (the same "rose tint" he mentions in mirrorball, perhaps) are gone, he can't see things the same way he did in 2016 because he forced himself to wake up from that dream. because he's convinced it was just that, a dream - one that could never come true.

but he knows the facts are there, he hasn't forgotten about the past and he knows miles hasn't either. and they can pretend everything is absolutely platonic on the outside, for the sake of their public image, but they both know what used to happen behind closed doors: "straight from the cover shoot / there's still a trace of body paint / on your legs and on your arms and on your face"; photoshoots representing their public side, and the two of them being the only ones who are able to see through each other's public façade. they marked each other in some way, and that mark is very much still there - but it's only completely visible to them, because they're the only ones who really know what happened. it's between them, a secret hidden in plain sight.

(+ these lines sound 100% fully sexual, i'm sorry it's the truth. we all thought about it and i won’t hear anything else about it) (also shout out to @haonsworld for speaking the truth about this part. you're braver than the us marines)

and yeah, alex may be skeptical about the possibility of them ever being something again ("having attempted twice, both incorrectly"), at the same time he can't let go of a tiny spark of hope, asking both himself and miles: "do we get a third try?"

this could also be interpreted as the other anon was saying - that is, them discussing the possibility of tlsp3, and how to make it happen.

either way, although a bit scared of failing, he's asking for a chance. he's hoping for it, despite maybe not knowing exactly how to handle it. but miles has been waiting for him all these years, hasn’t he? and he's ready to stand next to him in that journey.

after all, miles says it himself in caroline: "let me save you from yourself because / caroline, you're living on the edge this time / [...] take my hand / and go and lead the life that you've planned / 'cause you're gonna be just fine / my caroline" ❤️

[ainulindaelynn]

5 Writers / 5 Things:

Tagged by the wonderful @aeide & @brasideios - thank you!

5 Things you might find in a story of mine:

1. Obsessive Character Study - I really like to know what makes people tick, especially with perspectives I don’t immediately understand. The one thread that connects all my past romantic partners is that they’re all just baffling. All logical, but along completely different channels than most people. Even my husband — after 7 years — and that makes life so interesting. This is possibly the whole reason I write Fanfiction. I just want to understand the chaos and beauty that pin us all together. I want to know what drives people. I want allll of it.

2. Family Dynamics - Whether it’s found or biological, something to be overcome or something that holds you up — there’s just so much there. Close long term relationships are complex and messy. I’m lucky to come from a very close, relatively healthy family and even so, the ebb and flow, all the angles on it… endless. The chaos and the staying power… I’ll be trying to pin that down in words forever I think.

3. Platonic Intimacy - Connecting to the last point, I’m obsessed with this concept. Non-romantic relationships and the way they shape us... In my non-fandom work, I actually bar most romantic physical affection because I feel like it just overshadows everything else. I find myself skimming for it that one romantic relationship, which is fun, but also there’s so much more xD. I’ll happily write fandom smut, but even there, I tend to be heavy handed with the non-sexual intimacy alongside it :)

4. Waaay Too Much Body Language Minutia - Again, building on the last… I didn’t realize this was a thing until I started writing last year. I think it’s because I’m something of an ultra-empath (for lack of a better way to describe it). My whole life is in the abstract and the subtext, so I have a hard time conveying tone without it. I’m always trying to push angles through body language. It’s a bad habit, most likely.

5. Endless Analogies - Apparently coding everything in metaphor is a trademark of mine — people in my life joke about it and ever since it came to my attention, I’ve noticed it bleeds into my writing too. It’s not a stylistic choice — It’s my brain. Can’t outrun hardwiring, for better or worse xD

I also want to put a little twist on this since most of my (known) writer mutuals are already tagged and I love seeing these…

IF you’ve already been tagged and/or prefer, I’m curious about the same for artists. 5 things commonly found in your artwork!

As always, these are are no pressure :)

@newengland-shrike

@merelyafigment

@ruzzsta214

@fikali

@brasideios

[askaniritual]

like i've always been Extremely interested in the way that love and relationships are represented in the locked tomb, because i think the books convey a very unique intensity of emotion and are specifically concerned with relationships that are emotionally intense but presented in a way that seeks to explicitly deny a comfortable romantic/platonic categorization. much like people talk about tomgreg in succession.

i dont think like you have to say "oh tamsyn muir was a bnf in the homestuck fandom so any similarities that can be drawn between homestuck and the locked tomb books are automatically intentional or referential". but that being said she has described her own real life relationship as a moiraillegiance so i think its fair to say that she is very interested in and invested in this framework, and in moiraillegiances specifically (which is the relationship quadrant that is most unique to homestuck) and thus i think its fair to do a reading of the text through this framework.

where the serendipity gospel comes in as a point of focus for me in looking at how homestuck quadrant shipping influences the locked tomb is that fanfiction in general is often very very concerned with articulating the exact details of a relationship. and i think within the serendipity gospel there are times where relationships are explored that feel very analogous to certain relationships in the locked tomb but are given a lot more time and a lot more interior context.

[spectacled-renegade-writes]

The Moon is Bright. It’s Better Than This Cold Bridge.

THIS IS A VENT FIC. PLEASE, PLEASE HEED THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. Keep yourself safe.

Summary: Tonight is going to be his last night on Earth.

Pairings: Platonic Analogical

Trigger Warnings: Suicidal, suicidal ideations, suicidal thoughts, mention of death, mention of parent in jail, loneliness, brief religious commentary, swearing, hopelessness, implied child abuse, numbness, depression, mention of anxiety, angst, vent fic

Other Tags: This story gets sad before it gets happy, angst with a happy ending, hopeful ending, they live

Words: 1128

Ao3: Here

Part of him was annoyed someone else got there before him. The other part of him intrigued.

“You can’t talk me down,” The stranger, whom was sitting on the railing of the bridge, said to him.

“I’m not planning to,” He replied, climbing on the railing and sitting next to the mysterious man. “I was actually planning on jumping too.”

“Is that so?”

He nodded, “Maybe we can jump together, Thelma and Louise type shit.”

The stranger breathed out a laugh, and it was quite humorless. “At least let me get to know you first.”

Stretching his arms and popping his back, he shrugged and said, “Why not? It’s our last night on this damned planet. Might as well make it worthwhile.“ He exhaled. "Let’s start off easy: Why are you killing yourself?”

The stranger snorted. “I think you need to rethink your definition of easy,” He sighed, “Nevertheless, if you must know, I lost my job today. It is, or rather was, all I had. I know it was my fault, too.”

He prodded the stranger to keep going.

“I was a college professor. I lost my family as a young adult and I haven’t any friends. My students were the best part of my days.”

“So? What did you do that got you fired?”

The stranger shook his head. “I’ll continue my story after you start yours.”

He held onto the railing and leaned back a bit, extending his legs out. “My favorite professor got fired today.”

The stranger’s gaze snapped toward him.

“Kidding. My mom died yesterday. She’s been sick for a while, so I knew it was going to happen eventually, but I still wasn’t ready for it.”

“And you have no support system?”

He shook his head. “I’m just like you, buddy. Bitter and alone. Well, my dad’s still kicking, but he’s got a life sentence in a nice, cozy prison cell. It’s not like I’d want him around anyway, he didn’t do any favors for mom and I growing up.”

“I see,” The stranger said. He got quiet for a moment as he turned his head and looked at the full moon staring back at him. “I got fired today for losing my temper with the faculty one too many times. I suppose I was wrong in thinking that it was quite justified.”

“Hm,” He stared up at the moon, too. “Been there before. Got expelled from two schools. They all thought I’d turn out like my dad.” He looked down at the ocean. “Mom never thought so, though. ‘You are who you choose to be’ and all that jazz, that’s what she always told me.”

“Your mother sounds like a beautiful person.”

He froze, and choked on his breath. “Yeah… She was.” He looked over at the stranger, who had the same face he saw in the mirror this morning. Glazed, numb… resigned. There was something liberating about the feeling. Every anxiety in his mind all went away the second he decided he was going to jump off this bridge. For once in his life he just felt… nothing. It was the most peace he has ever felt in his entire life. He closed his eyes and took a moment to just bask in it.

“Do you believe in an afterlife?”

He opened his eyes and looked at the stranger. The stranger was staring back at him, it seemed he was just making conversation for the sake of it because there was no real curiosity anywhere on his face.

“Do you want there to be?”

The stranger hummed and looked back out at the night sky. “I’m not sure… I’ve never believed in religion but sometimes I wonder if perhaps it’s all true. Then what? Will I be damned to hell for not following the book?”

He took that into consideration. “I’m not big on religion either, but if there is a big guy upstairs, I’m sure he’d forgive you if you didn’t do anything really bad.”

The stranger seemed to consider that.

A wind picked up and sent chills down both their spines. It seemed to shift the mood between them. They both looked down at the black water below.

“How long do you think our bodies would be down there before we’re found and marked as a couple of unclaimed John Doe’s?”

The stranger took a minute to think on it. “Well… I’d say it depends on the weather, how strong the waves are, if there are any boats around, and the wildlife. So, who’s to say?”

He remained silent. The stranger spoke up again.

“May I tell you something personal?”

He nodded, eyes remaining on the ocean.

“I do not actually wish to die.”

That caused him to stiffen. His jaw clenched and his hands held tighter onto the cold railing. Something deep and sad, and full of… something, settling in his stomach. “Then why?”

“I see nothing else in my future. Many people die before they want to. I believe now is my time.”

He hated the calm, matter-of-fact way the stranger said that. It pissed him off. He missed the numb he’s been feeling. He didn’t know why he was mad. He realized it’s because he felt the exact same way… He let out a shuttering breath.

The stranger tilted his head. “Do you feel the same?”

He clenched his jaw once more to stop the tears from spilling. They were the first warm thing he felt all day. He nodded.

There was something quite sobering about this fact. The two fell into silence, losing themselves in their own thoughts.

-

The seconds ticked into minutes and the minutes to hours, and they just continued to sit there.

It was odd, when the sun came up. It destroyed their small liminal space that they created for themselves.

When the first boat of the day appeared before them, the stranger spoke again.

“Perhaps we were meant to meet each other here tonight?”

“…For what?”

“To find that someone.” The stranger replied.

And all at once the nothing vanished. He imagined he was staring just as intensely into the stranger’s eyes as the stranger was in his.

The stranger turned around and climbed off the railing, and held out a hand. “Would you like to get a coffee with me?”

Though the nothing was gone, the deep, deep, feeling that has been in his stomach lately was gone too. Instead, something warm and new blossomed inside. He, too, climbed off the railing, and accepted the stranger’s hand. “I’d like that.”

So, even though they didn’t know each other, and even though they just met, they walked off the bridge hand in hand.

“I’m Virgil, by the way.”

The stranger continued to stare straight ahead as he smiled. “Logan.”

–

General taglist 

@i-am-avacado @cdragontogacotar @rptheturk

(Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist!)

[yandere-toons]

Could you do yandere Mandela Catalog please? Go crazy with it please, I wanna hear your throughs.

Yandere Alternate Gabriel (Platonic Scenario - "The Judgement of Satan")

Warnings: body horror, reality warping, Christianity, near-societal collapse, home invasion, apocalyptic setting, implied aphasia, violence.

A.N. - A true tragedy.

The walls of the bedroom were lined with missing person posters, most of them children. They ranged from decades ago to hours ago, and you wondered how many of them would be able to see adulthood. These already bleak images were cast in the darkness of a room with no lights, which made the faces appear faded or even monstrous.

The glare of the streetlight outside the window illuminated a paper on the desk. Previous drafts had been crumpled and dumped in the trash bin next to the desk until it overflowed, and the handwriting of the latest attempt was scarcely better than a toddler scribbling with a crayon.

Bowing your head over the desk, you rested your hands on the crown of your skull. A slow sigh blew past your lips as the ache of nights spent peeking out of shutters and checking locks rather than sleeping drilled into your brain like knives poking your temple. The tiredness poisoning you was not the kind that climbing under the sheets would solve, for it did not allow you to be calm enough for sleep.

There was always a reason to avoid the bed in the corner of the room, no matter how trivial or similar it was to another reason that you had debunked or, in your exhausted state, forgotten. The ceiling fan squeaked on its hinges as it tried and failed to spin on loose bolts and limited electricity. Empty cans and takeout boxes littered the desk and floor, and it would not have been a surprise to learn that the waste had attracted a healthy population of bugs.

The stink of going several days without showering was thick in the air, not that it registered with your nose anymore. The quick thumps of your heart produced an uncomfortable heat that contrasted with the cold sweat threatening to build on your face. Your eyes stung from not blinking within the last minute or two, but succumbing to the urge only poured another layer of fatigue onto your shoulders.

After lifting your head away from the fruitless attempt to write, you recoiled and nearly toppled over in the chair at the long face hanging upside down in front of yours. It bore a generous smile that resembled a grotesque scowl at this angle. Shaggy hair fell along the sides of its elongated head, which stretched to the length of your forearm and contained a ghostly lack of pigment.

With the teeth of a horse but the facial structure of a human, the proportions of its skull and orifices were all mismatched in a pale imitation of humanity. Looking into its black and white eyes filled your stomach with unbearable nausea, and your innards roiled as if set aflame. The dizziness threw you to the floor as the chair clattered in the opposite direction.

Your muscles seemed to turn into sludge that was too heavy to move, and an outbreak of pain erupted in your forehead like hundreds of tiny spears puncturing the skin from the inside.

As darkness enveloped you and lent a brief moment of rest, the ground beneath your hands went from the tough texture of floorboards to the dampness of a shallow pool. The water was as black as ink, as calm as a windless day on the ocean, and just transparent enough to reveal an unimaginable depth.

The instinct to retreat from the danger of falling overtook you like the surge of a tall wave, but even when you jumped up, your feet continued to stand on the water. It was as if there was a floor made invisible to you, one that still rippled every time you took a step. The void had no walls or ceilings that were perceptible to your eyes.

Its blackness ran in all directions with no end or change, its existence seemingly comprised of nothing but an idle body of water. The light that glistened on the surface of the liquid was golden, and you followed its increasing brightness to a heavenly figure cloaked in white, feathery wings. Dozens of disembodied eyes levitated around it in a spherical formation.

The eyes vanished in a stream of sunny light as the wings unfurled to greet you with the face of an angel, whose scratchy voice teetered on the thin line between welcoming and facetious. “I am the good angel Gabriel, sent to you in a time of need.” The word “need” was said with an abrupt deepness of tone, and in a second that passed quicker than the time it took you to blink, His head mutated into a gargantuan amalgamation of blue skin and yellow eyes before reverting to its original shape.

The curled fingers of His left hand opened to reveal what appeared to be a lily sprouting from His palm. Its green stem rose from the centre of His hand, winding and lengthening into a grown flower within seconds. The yellowish glow around it flickered with a divine gleam, but the petals unfolded into the fuzzy texture of a stinging nettle.

As Gabriel tilted His head and crinkled His large eyes, dozens of tiny thorns blossomed along the sides of each slender leaf. The prickly roots of the stinging nettle curled beneath the edge of His sleeve and hugged the skin as if seeking to fuse with it. Despite the thorns sliding across Him, none of His blood was shed. “Your heart is burdened with guilt. Let this forgive your sins.”

He extended the barbed plant to you, but when you eyed its spiny nature and made no move to take it, the stinging nettle began to wilt. Its leaves and stem withered into dark brown clumps before dissolving into piles of ash. Most of the grey specks fell through the crevices between His fingers, while some were blown away by a gust of wind that died as quickly as it arrived.

The heat of the air was suffocating, and where Gabriel walked, shadows fled and the light was rebirthed as a halo. It shimmered above His head as if it were a beacon calling for you to approach. For all the comfort its brightness supplied, the lack of movement in His mouth when He spoke gave the illusion of a puppeteer manipulating strings from the shadows.

“You deny yourself the life you are given.” His words sounded more like an automated message than a genuine voice, and His ever-present and oversized smile was a mockery of the soothing aura depicted in so many biblical paintings. Wincing at the headache that overcame you every time you dared to look Gabriel in the eye, you turned and showed him your back.

As you began to raise a leg to walk away, your feet sunk into the ground as if it were a tar pit. The inky liquid swallowed your ankles and thickened to encase them, but the rush of cold this supplied was countered by the warmth of Gabriel fluttering in front of you. His jaw was detaching from the rest of His skull and drooping lower than the bones would have allowed for a human.

There was more black in His eyes than white, and His voice was glitching to the brink of incomprehensible drones. It seemed that His body, once regal and unsoiled, was melting like a wax figure held to a great flame. “I will send one of my flock to enlighten you.”

As if struck by a lightning bolt and revived, you lurched to your feet in the darkness of the bedroom. Your heart rate was spiralling and clouding your mind with a struggle to breathe. The pain in your forehead returned in spurts as the adrenaline ebbed, and strips of paper were draped over your fingers.

The sensation of a soft material running down your hand drew your gaze to the ash staining your palm, atoms of it dropping to your lap and stinging your nostrils with a smoky odour. It smeared dark blotches on your skin that only spread when you wiped them against the tips of the paper and your clothes. With eyes scratched out, several of the missing person posters had been torn to shreds and bore no resemblance to the reminders they once were.

It was as if the bedroom had been violated until it was no longer yours. The dark and shabby atmosphere of the room was forever tainted with sinister anger, and the overwhelming hostility radiating from the torn faces of lost children sent you staggering out the door. The unnatural thickness of the air in that bedroom weakened as you neared the kitchen and rested on the counter, laying your upper body across it and enjoying the cold texture.

After a few minutes of controlling your heartbeat with deep breaths, you scanned what rooms of the house you could see without moving for fear that the long-faced beast had ridden to reality through your dream. The absence of silvery light that came with a new moon caused the world to appear far emptier than it did by day.

The lifeless shadows masking every piece of furniture seemed to tease movement if you looked at them for more than a few seconds, and this awareness of the vulnerability you held in an environment where your eyes were as useful as those of a mole drove you to examine the kitchen.

There was a sideways bag next to a couple of twist ties, which you fashioned into a makeshift cross. The object was lukewarm and pointy in the palm of your hand as you squeezed its metallic frame and approached the bedroom. Having it there to clench relieved some of the stress building in your posture, but the door creaking open like a prolonged groan was enough for the tight fist of dread to seize your breathing.

The room that greeted you was identical to the room from which you had fled. There was no looming silhouette in any of the corners, nor had the posters returned from shreds hanging on the wall by tacks. The memory of the angel's glitches pulled you to the bedside table, where a corded telephone sat near a pocket Bible.

The malformations of His smile prompted you to take the small book. It had been collecting dust in one of the drawers when you first stumbled into the house, and as soon as you read the top line, the once sweltering temperature of the room plummeted. Eyes staying on the verse, you retraced your steps to the door with a hesitancy to make the slightest noise.

The orangeish glow of the streetlight flowed from the dark of the night, cast a glare on the sheen of the kitchen window, and pooled on the floorboards. It was partially blocked when a stone was flung through the glass. The middle of the window shattered into a wave of knife-like debris, and the eye of the streetlight illuminated the stone rolling to a stop at the foot of a sofa.

The Intruder leapt through the jagged opening and caught multiple shards of glass in the thin fabric of his black hoodie. Loud rips echoed in the silent house as strips of cloth were peeled from his body, yet the damage was not enough to reveal his face to be more than a snow-white blur. He crushed bits of smaller glass under his calloused hands and tennis shoes while landing on all fours, shifting most of his weight to his curled legs and planting his fingertips on the floor.

From where the Intruder sat upright like a hound, he surveyed the gloomy environment for signs of life. One was found in the form of the bedroom door creaking shut after a wisp of your hand disappeared into the room. The torso area of his hoodie was stationary as if he were not breathing, yet he sprung from his crouch and began speeding in your direction with the energy of a track star.

A higher power seemed to be betting against you as nearly every floorboard that you stepped on, no matter how gingerly, creaked and popped like brittle bones. With rapid footsteps pounding towards the door and the idea of stealth becoming more like a dream than reality, you spun around two or three times in search of a portable weapon and snatched the corded telephone off the bedside table. The police were not a thought in your mind, and you pulled with the mighty strength of an adrenaline rush.

The metallic rattle of the handset bouncing off the cradle reverberated through the room as the cord was ripped out of the wall along with chips of paint and plaster. This cacophony of tears and raps was replaced by the idle hum of a dial tone, the handset dangling from a wire and tapping the side of your leg. When the Intruder burst through the door a second later, you hurled the busted telephone at him and succeeded in striking his face with it.

The handset pivoted on its wire and scored an additional hit on his cheek, which stunned him long enough for you to sprint past his disoriented shape. The inky black of the corridor surrounded you once again, and the shuffling from behind spurred you to turn and shove the Intruder farther into the bedroom. Before he could charge at you, the door was yanked shut by your hand clutching the doorknob.

The object twisted back and forth as you fought the Intruder for control of the door like two kids fighting over a toy. It started to open and then be closed at the same moment, and your awareness of your own deteriorating stamina was causing a dreadful level of queasiness to sprout in your gut. A cursory scan of the house revealed a couple of doors, both hanging ajar with unused locks and lending views of either a toilet or a dryer, standing a short distance away.

Glancing at the end of the hall, you let go of the doorknob and began to dash towards the bathroom. No sooner than your first step did the bedroom door swing open with phenomenal strength and collide with your left shoulder blade. The pain was like the area had been stabbed or pelted with sharp rocks, and the aggressive push of the door caused you to stumble for an instant.

You scrunched your face and regained your balance with a stressed grunt, only for two hands to stick barbed fingernails in your back. Just as the bathroom door was almost within reach, you crumpled under the weight of an adult man jumping on you and dragging you to the floor. He lacked body heat and mimicked the icy skin of a corpse in the morgue, yet, despite this apparent breeding ground for rigor mortis, he maneuvered his limbs with fluid ease.

It was when the cold of the Intruder vanished that the air seemed to catch fire, rippling with a sudden warmth too potent to be comforting. The beeps of the thermostat as it neared its maximum temperature alerted you to the sweat beginning to gather on your forehead. The Intruder had retracted his arms and stood up, but instead of brandishing a weapon, he merely watched you as if having no further goal.

After a few seconds of observing your tremble and visible pain, he turned and marched to the broken window. The clop of his shoes against the floorboards quieted to leave you in silence, and the Intruder leapt out the window from whence he came. Clenching your teeth, you shut your eyes and hissed at the stinging that exploded in your left arm when you attempted to support your weight with it.

A pair of white wings rounded the corner, unfurling from a tall back clothed in a pearly robe. The wings were made of shimmering feathers like those of the noblest dove, and they stretched outwards until the furthermost feathers grazed the bumpy texture of the walls. Both wings sloped down to the spine of an angelic figure, whose shoulders were obscured by curly blond hair.

The palms of His hands were pressed together in front of His chest, and His arms were raised to equal heights in a rigid pose that more closely resembled a sculpture than it did a natural movement. The hem of the white robe, tied to His body with a golden ribbon around His waist, concealed His bare feet and made Him appear to levitate through the corridor.

Despite not flapping, the wings remained outstretched as if to emphasize their bright quality among the darkness. They hovered with such magnificent strength that the threat of a single beat promised to stir a whirlwind and carry you away like a fallen leaf on a breezy Autumn night. The eyes of the figure were unblinking and moved downwards as He flew closer without lowering His head, the smile on His face so wide and static that it exposed His teeth and gums to an unnatural degree.

The speed at which He approached you was unconcerned and confident that the tremor in your limbs would not compel you to rise from the ground and flee behind the weak shield you called a locked door. The robotic voice that came from Him had a layer of artificial fogginess to it like a machine reading a script, darting from one word to the next without a pause in between and giving an inconsistent inflection. “You have lost your way.”

Slowly, He parted His hands and offered one for you to hold. “I will give you purpose.” The skin of His palm was devoid of blemishes and imperfections of every kind and was covered in a soft glow, but the stench of rotten eggs and sulphur clinging to the air around Him like a parasite deterred you from accepting it. The stink was enough to splatter vomit on the floor if you had anything in your stomach besides a dull ache.

The angelic figure waited with statuesque stillness and an unchanged face as if filled with all the patience of the world, His eyes elongated so far that they seemed to spill over His upper lip. You raised a hand as though seeking to intertwine it with His, only to reach over and unveil the pocket Bible. Gabriel hissed like a serpent, and He retreated from the holy book in a fit of glitches and flashes of blue and yellow.

The wings on His back flickered in and out of reality. As the pocket Bible flipped open and the first prayer on the page sailed from your mouth, Gabriel started to flail and shriek with the dolorous howls of a banshee. His arms stretched until they dragged on the floor, and His face writhed as if shrinking and expanding at the same time. His cries evolved into demonic roars that shook the home with a deepness far beyond the capabilities of any human.

Just when you were managing to stand up, Gabriel flew at you and knocked you against the rear wall. His touch was like brimstone, its scalding effect beginning to burn patches of your skin. The wall had collided with the back of your head to shoot the agony of a splitting concussion across your brain, and a tired weakness was invading your muscles.

The words of the prayer were leaving your mind. Your tongue no longer remembered how to pronounce them, articulating with strained grunts that matched the pell-mell thoughts fracturing into smaller, more disjointed pieces. They drifted further and further apart from one another until the pocket Bible was as useless and unknown to you as a hairbrush was to a lizard.

“I will make you my disciple,” Gabriel spoke with the raspy voice of a creature struggling for air. It sounded as if His throat had not tasted water in days, yet His black eyes, wider than the hands of most people, gazed into yours with an inexhaustible determination.

The longer you were forced to look upon Him, the flimsier your memory of the past few weeks became. This infection spread to months past and swallowed years of life in a single instant, some of the details resurfacing for a moment and then vanishing again in the next. It was like walking in a storm that only intensified, taking more and more bites out of your senses.

Gabriel released you before Death arrived, and in the second between consciousness and unconsciousness, you saw hellfire at His back. “When you awake, you will be reborn.”

[just-your-average-author]

A Cuddly Emo

Logan could never understand Virgil. Logan had been friends with him for eight years and lived with him for the last four of those years, yet Virgil still never ceased to baffle him completely.

There was the time that Virgil purchased a bright orange sweatshirt that he wore on a random Tuesday for seemingly no reason. Another day, he heard Virgil listening to Arianna Grande, a stark contrast to his usual punk rock genre. And here recently, Virgil had been extra cuddly.

It wasn’t unusual for the emo to come into Logan’s room at midnight and silently cuddle up next to him because of a nightmare, or when he was stressed and panicking to ask for a hug. But never like this. For the past two weeks, Virgil had all but entirely laid on top of Logan in an attempt to cuddle.

One day, Logan was simply reading his new novel when Virgil, wrapped in a throw blanket, pitter-pattered over to the couch where he was sitting.

“Hi.”

Logan looked up and couldn’t help but smile at the adorable sight. Virgil’s hair was messy and unkempt, the cowlick in the back particularly prominent. His face was bare of makeup for once, considering the time of day, and Logan admired his freckles. Overall, he resembled a young child.

“Hello, Virgil. I was just reading. Would you care to join me on the couch?”

Virgil simply nodded and plopped down on the couch next to Logan. He sat upright for only a minute before laying his head down to rest on Logan’s shoulder and eventually decided to fully lay down curled up on the older man’s lap.

Logan sighed fondly and set his book down. “Virgil, are you perhaps needing something?”

Virgil turned a light pink at the comment. “No. I just wanna cuddle.”

Logan nodded. “Yes, but it seems as if here lately, you’ve wanted to cuddle a lot more, hm?” he inquired.

“I guess,” replied Virgil nonchalantly.

Logan shook his head slightly but still smiled down at him. He took his hand up and ran it through Virgil’s hair, scratching lightly at the scalp. Virgil let out a deep sigh and melted into it immediately.

“I take it you’re touch-starved?” observed Logan, continuing the comforting motion. Virgil let out a soft hum and leaned into Logan further, enjoying the touch so much that he ignored the conversation.

“Shhh, no more talking.” Logan chuckled but acquiesced. It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when Logan’s scratching hand trailed down to Virgil’s neck, that he made a sound. A rather high-pitched sound.

“What was that?” asked a very amused Logan, who was currently raising an eyebrow at the man in his lap. He felt Virgil shift.

“Nothing.”

“Oh?” Logan lightly caressed his neck again, hoping to elicit the sound again. He succeeded. “That sure doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Virgil scrunched his shoulder slightly, and Logan watched, delighted at the pink color that betrayed him once again. “Well, I’m not ticklish or anything if that’s what you’re thinking,” he mumbled quietly. That certainly made Logan perk up.

“Oh no, of course not.” Logan’s fingers traveled up and down the boy’s beck, this time with more purpose, and he watched the tiny hairs stand up. “If you were ticklish,” he continued. “Then you would be laughing. Correct?” The fingers never stopped as he spoke.

“M-” Virgil bit back a smile when Logan switched to using his fingernails.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“M-mhmm,” Virgil’s eyes were squeezed shut now as he tried to suppress the giggles threatening to spill.

“Of course. The great Virgil Sanders would never dream of being ticklish,” he cooed. Virgil held out- until Logan started spidering the back of his neck.

“Ah! Hehehey!” Virgil broke into soft, bouncy giggles and rolled over onto his back in an effort to escape. But that didn’t stop Logan’s fingers from their mission.

“Why Star, what is this? I thought you said you weren’t ticklish?” he teased.

“Ihihihi’m NAHAhahat!” he laughed out, squealing as Logan reached his ear. Logan snorted at that.

“Oh yes, my bad. This-” he moved the tickling hand down to his back and upper ribs. “-doesn’t tickle at all.”

Virgil’s laughter increased in volumes, as did his thrashing, and he leaned his head back. “Lohohoho!”

“What? If you aren’t ticklish, then this shouldn’t be an issue!” Logan moved his left arm down to secure Virgil’s hips, smiling at how the laughing boy’s thrashing instantly got more desperate and rested his right hand on Virgil’s belly. Logan had barely touched down on his stomach before booming laughter came out. “I’m barely touching you!” Logan laughed. Virgil didn’t reply; he simply laughed his little heart out as Logan lightly skimmed and tickled his tummy.

“Well, I believe you’re going to have to retract your initial statement, dear. You are indeed ticklish." Virgil knew he was on thin ice, but hey, this is what he’d wanted for over two weeks now.

“Nohohohoho!”

Logan raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. Apparently, Virgil loved this more than he initially thought. Who was he to deny him? “Oh no? So if I do this-“ Logan attacked Virgil’s stomach, this time squeezing the pudge and muscle all around the sensitive area and even around the naval.

Virgil all but screamed and fell into the most resounding belly laughter you could ever imagine. Logan chuckled evilly, yet his facial features betrayed his complete adoration. “Hm, still not ticklish?”

Virgil shrieked at the wandering finger now dipping into his belly button and began cackling hysterically. Finally, at that point, he started fighting back. Logan noticed and pulled away. He let Virgil sit up and lean into his side once more, still letting out the leftover giggles. Logan watched him lovingly. “Are you happy?”

Virgil nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

Logan smiled warmly. “Of course. Come to me anytime.”

Virgil mumbled a sleepy “Okay,” before drifting off, leaving Logan to finish his book with a happy emo in his lap.

[the-sympathetic-villain]

L’Appel Du Vide - Chapter 6

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Logan has been captured by a government agency who researches human with supernatural powers. Able to manipulate the world with his mind and tell what others are thinking, Logan finds himself in one of the most high security government prisons in the country that’s run by a sinister Dr. Emile Picani.

Endgame pairings: Lociet, Intruality, Prinxiety

Word Count: 5743

Chapter warnings: Captivity, Food Mention, Withholding Food for Control, Psychological/Physical Torture, Violence, Abuse, Attempted Murder/Near Miss on a Major Character Death, Swearing, Needles, Manipulation, Injuries, Guns, Restraints, Mentions of Human Experimentation (Let me know if I missed anything!) 

--

    Logan rubbed his eye with his wrist, hoping the friction against his dry eyelid would be enough to force himself awake. The ever-present glow of the red lights made his eyes ache deep into their sockets as he slowly pulled his knees up to his chest and held his head in his hands. Only the sensation of Virgil curled up against his side was keeping him from losing the last of his sanity.

    For better or worse, he and Virgil had given up on hiding their concern for each other shortly after the attempted escape of the other man in Dr. Picani’s captivity. Logan muscles jerked and he suddenly felt like he might choke on the knot in his throat. Virgil’s night terrors had grown steadily worse since that horrid night. They'd been left chained to their beds until they'd passed out from exhaustion, and though he had suffered, the experience seemed to have broken something in his friend.

    Virgil was convinced the doctor would come to take him to another facility where his torture would begin anew, and Logan would be left terribly and dreadfully alone. It had taken all his remaining composure to patiently reassure Virgil that his fears were unfounded, but as time went on, it was hard to ignore the fact that the doctor had been notably absent from his usual routine the last few days. Deep down, he lacked the same certainty he maintained for Virgil. The doctor was planning something and that was enough to set them both on edge.

    So they waited, taking turns sleeping while they maintained the façade that they could avoid the inevitable. He was awake now, sure. But even if he stayed up all night, prepared to fight tooth and nail against the guards if they came for Virgil, the truth remained that he was sleep-deprived, malnourished and physically weak. This effort wasn’t sustainable and ultimately useless, but this suffering paled in comparison to the dreadful thought of waking to find his friend gone without a trace.

    “Logan?”

    The soft voice drew his attention to the shifting lump under the thin blanket next to him. He waited for Virgil to rise unsteadily up next to him and lean against the headboard, wiping the sleep from his bloodshot eyes as he looked over to Logan

    “Good evening, Virgil.”

    “Fuck you. You don’t know what the hell time it is right now.” Virgil grumbled as he tucked his arm around his chest to hold his grumbling stomach. “There could be two suns in the sky right now and we'd never know.”

    “Perhaps not, but vitamins are typically administered in the morning.” Logan shrugged as he rested his head back against the headboard next to Virgil and allowed his eyes to close. “So, assuming the injections they give us each day are a means of preventing malnutrition rather than serving some ulterior purpose, we know we are about halfway between our morning doses—Hence, we can approximate that it is currently evening time.”

    “You think too much.”

    “I’ve been told before that that is my curse.” Logan continued to rest his eyes as Virgil curled over the edge of the bed, dangling haphazardly as he dug through his stash of food. He listened to the sounds of Virgil shuffling items under the mattress, feeling the bed jostle lightly as Virgil swung back up. “Maybe one day, the thoughts will stop, and I’ll be less miserable.”

    “That's called being dead and you can’t tell me that’s what you want. You’re not allowed be a hypocrite.” Virgil muttered as he broke a stale nutrient bar in half. He waited for Logan to crack open his eyes before offering half to him. “It’s not much, but it's better than nothing. Picani's been keeping too close of an eye on his shit lately for me to snatch anything.”

    “I’m fine.”

    “You’re a goddamn liar.” Virgil hissed back at him. “Take the bar.”

    “Calorically speaking, extended exposure to stress increases the rate at which you burn your body's energy stores.” Logan started to close his eyes and lean his head back onto the headboard. “Given your tendency to worry about me, your need for food intake is undoubtedly higher—Ow!”

    “Every damn word that comes out of your mouth is bullshit.” Virgil smirked as Logan rubbed the skin of his elbow where Virgil had pinched him. “You won’t convince me that caring about you is somehow a bad thing.”

    Logan’s eyes narrowed on Virgil for a moment before letting his shoulders drop in resignation to his friend’s persistent grin. “In all fairness, nothing I claimed was technically untrue.”

    “Alright, brainiac.” Virgil teased as he dangled the gray bar in front of Logan’s face. “Are you really telling me your overthinking is any less draining than my anxiety?”

    Logan pursed his lips, knowing lying to Virgil wouldn’t get him very far. “No.”

    “Good, then sit up and eat it.” Virgil prodded him less than gently. “You’re not going to fool me into believing you passed out again while were switching shifts.”

    Disgruntled, Logan raised an eyebrow at his companion as he reluctantly eased upright. The dark circles under Virgil’s eyes stood out against the gaunt, pale look his skin, and Logan still didn’t feel right taking food from him, but he had to admit that Virgil’s assertions probably had some value. His body needed the nutrients and resisting Virgil’s attempts to care for him only wasted precious energy for both of them.

    “Come on, L.” Virgil smirked as he pressed the bar into Logan’s hand, refusing to take his hand back until Logan’s fingers reluctantly closed around the meager offer of food. “It's not a lot, but you need to keep your strength up.”

    “I'm said I'm fine.”

    “And I told you that you were a goddamned liar.” Virgil muttered as Logan’s stare dropped to his lap and he hid his guilt by fidgeting with the unappetizing, gray bar. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you've hardly slept or eaten in the last three days.”

    Logan nodded stiffly as he took a bite. It tasted like dust, but the nutritional value a full bar was nearly that of a full meal, even after being left to grow stale in Virgil’s stash for a few weeks. It was all by Dr. Picani’s sadistic design. He couldn’t remember the last time he'd had a meal that left him feeling satisfied, but choking down these bars would be enough to keep him alive.

    “Seriously, Lo.” Virgil interrupted Logan’s silent train of thought as he forced himself to swallow another bite. “I want to know you'll be okay when Picani takes me away.”

    “Worrying about me is a waste of your energy.”

    “You know, this would be the one time I would’ve liked to hear you say you'll be fine.”

    “I know.” Logan lifted his head, wincing as his skin pulled tight over the patched-up wounds across his body. He glanced over at the red light glistening in Virgil’s eyes underneath his dark hair. “But I'm not ready to consider the thought of facing this place with neither you nor Patton around.”

    “Don’t forget Picani will be gone too, L. That bastard won’t be able to hurt you anymore." Virgil whispered breathlessly. “You'll be better off without having me around to put a target on your b—”

    “Don’t—Don’t say that to me.” Logan snarled at him, immediately regretting the harsh tone in his voice as Virgil winced and pulled his hand back. He took a moment to stare at Virgil’s nervous attempt at a smile as he backed away before starting to backtrack. “I'm sorry, Virgil. I shouldn’t have snapped."

    “No, you’re right.” Virgil swallowed back the tremble in his voice and waved away Logan’s attempt to comfort him. “That was a low blow and I should’ve known better.”

    A weight sank down on Logan’s chest as Virgil pulled his knees to his chest and he looked away from him. Each night that had passed since the other captive’s attempted escape, the man who had pressed a knife to his throat on his first night here disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a battered shell. He was vulnerable in a way that made Logan worry he wouldn’t last long if Picani really did decide to take him.

    “It’s my turn to keep watch. You should get some rest.” Virgil turned a tired smile back to him and Logan was grateful to see there was no bitterness in his expression. “We don’t need to do this tonight.”

    “Virgil, I’m worr—"

    Logan's voice was cut off by the ear-shattering blare of the alarm resonating over their heads. He was on his feet before his mind even fully registered what was happening. His knees buckled automatically at the edge of the bed, and he put his hands on his head, pressing his forehead to the stiff mattress. He’d only experienced this alarm once before, but it was a lesson that didn’t need to be taught twice. He shot a glance across the bed and breathed a sigh of relief as Virgil’s knees fell into place, hands on his head as he leaned his own forehead against his mattress.

    At least this time, he wouldn’t have to watch Virgil get shot.

    The sound of the seal on their cell door releasing sent a violent shudder through his entire body. Oh god, it was really happening all over again.

    “Virgil, I-I can’t—”

    “Keep your mouth shut, L.” Virgil hissed back under his breath. He bared his teeth in a silent growl as the door inched open. “Whatever happens, you just keep quiet. Got it?”

   Dread seizes him as he nodded stiffly back at Virgil. A glaring white light blinded him as the sound of the guard’s combat boots pounded on the white tiles behind him. Half a dozen figures in white uniforms charged into the room and it took every bit of restraint left in Logan’s body not to scream as a guard took a handful of his hair and slammed him down on the ground.

    A sickening crack filled his ears as his arm was twisted around his back and a white, hot pain spread like wildfire from his wrist to his elbow. He was flipped around and his back was forced against the bedpost. They’d broken his wrist. He was sure of it as he let out a weak whimper, his mind reeling from the surge of adrenaline.

    “Quit struggling, you little pest.”

    Logan held his breath as the guard ripped his uninjured wrist from his chest and began to chain him to the metal bedpost. The pinch of the tight metal cuff on his uninjured wrist was still enough to bring tears to his eyes as he curled his knees to his chest, choking back a sob as the guard lingered by his face as if daring him to react.

    “Bring him here.”

    Dr. Picani’s voice sent shudders down Logan’s spoke as he yanked his head around toward the door. A choking sense of dread paralyzed Logan as he watched Virgil being dragged by his collar toward the doctor’s silhouette, his hands bound by the same ability-negating cuffs that the guards had put on him.

    “I think you know what happens next.” Picani’s sadistic grin widened as he raised a thin syringe up next to his head, leaning over Virgil as his victim squirmed in the guard’s grip. “Don’t you, Virgil?”

    “Leave him alone, please.” Glistening light reflected off the wet streaks on Virgil’s cheeks as he tipped his head to expose his neck to the needle in Picani’s hand and closed his eyes. “I won’t fight anymore. Whatever you want from me, I swear I'll give it to you.”

    “Oh, I’m not worried about that.” The doctor’s voice dripped with venom as his eyes flitted back to the door.” I already know you’ll do exactly what you’re told."

    A pained screech from the hall sent chills down Logan’s spine as another pair of shadows appeared behind the doctor’s shadow. One of the other guards dragged a semi-conscious and bruised Patton into the room by his arm. Patton’s knees buckled from underneath him, and the guard twisted his arm into an unnatural angle behind his back, pulling a weak whimper from their friend’s lips.

    “Patton, no.”

    The doctor’s crooked smile widened as he raised a finger to Virgil’s jaw, tipping his head to the other side as he pointed the syringe at his neck. Logan’s heart skipped a beat as Virgil’s eyes moved in his direction and only emptiness stared back at him.

    “Like a fairy when a child stops believing in magic, the light's gone out in you.” Picani’s dry chuckle dripped with venom as he gripped Virgil's jaw and forced his eyes toward Logan. “I can kill your friend and you will do nothing but watch, because you’re selfish. You don’t want be alone, so you’ll sacrifice one to keep the other. Isn't that right, Virgil?”

    “I know you won’t k-kill Patton. You can’t manipulate me.”

    “You’re right. Patton’s blood is worth too much for me to simply dispose of him, but I can certainly keep him from you.” Picani’s hungry grin widened as Virgil’s eyes connected with Logan and his friend immediately looked away in shame. “You could be in isolation for a long, long time. How long do you think you’d survive? A couple months or maybe a year?”

    Virgil’s closed his eyes as the syringe’s tip brushed his neck, not quite breaking the skin. His cheeks seemed to glow in the remnants of the red light, reflecting light from the tears streaming down his face as a whimper escaped his throat.

    “Say it for me, Virgil.” Another blood-curdling shriek from Patton made Logan shudder, and the satisfaction in Picani’s voice deepened as Virgil tensed in the doctor's grip. “Tell me you will watch as I kill your friend.”

    “Fine.”

    “Louder now. I can’t quite hear you.”

    “I said 'Fine.' I’m watching, you sick fuck.” Virgil’s lip curled into a snarl, but Logan could feel the defeat creep into his voice. “You have my fucking attention.”

    The broken sound of his friend’s voice doused the last bit of hope in Logan’s heart as he turned away. Patton's weak attempts at struggling became distant, blurring with the sounds of Virgil’s shallow breathing as Logan curled his legs to his chest. The lingering stare of a half dozen guards burned into his skin as he cradled his injured wrist against his chest. He could feel each of them shift their feet around him, waiting for orders.

    “I'm sorry, Lo—I'm so sorry. Please, I never meant for you to get hurt.”

    “Quit your babbling.”

    The guards started to move toward him as a thundering boom echoed down the hall like a distant explosion. Logan sucked in a breath as the room shook around him and he turned his head toward the sound, flinching and backing away as he realized the doctor had closed the distance and was practically on top of him.

    “Such a terrible waste. I had so much more to learn from you.”

    The long point of Dr. Picani’s needle tipped to the side as the doctor knelt in front of him. Logan started to edge away, but the doctor’s hands moved swiftly. His iron-tight grip closed around Logan’s broken wrist, pulling a gut-wrenching scream from Logan’s lips as the pressure increased on his tender, swollen muscles.

    “You should thank me.” Picani sneered as he twisted Logan’s injured wrist to force him onto his side. “I'm saving you from growing old. Drift off to Neverland, another lost soul for my collection.”

    Logan’s own screaming burned in his throat, muffled by the searing pain spreading like hot oil from his wrist to his chest. The doctor’s needle pricked Logan’s neck as his face pressed into the cold, white tiles and the contents of the syringe began to empty into his neck. The burning liquid began to spread out from the wound as another explosion rocked the room, even harder than before.

    “What the—How did they get this close?”

    The pressure on Logan’s wrist released as the doctor was knocked aside by another blast. Picani's lip twitched with irritation as he rose to his feet and stepped away from Logan, leaving the needle still hanging from his neck as he gestured to the guards in a sudden fit of rage.

    “Get Patton out of here.”

    Logan sunk to the ground as he watched through blurry vision as the doctor crossed his cell in two strides. Involuntary shudders racked his body as he lay on the cold floor, vaguely aware as one of the guards slipped an arm around Patton’s waist, tossing his tiny struggling body over his shoulder as though he weighed nothing. They disappeared through the door, not hesitating for a second as Virgil started to scream after him.

    “I want Patton in the first truck. No one leaves before him.”

      “No! Bring him back!”

    “Shut up, Virgil. You’re going right along with him.” Picani’s hand latched on Virgil’s throat and the doctor pulled him from the guard's grip. His bruising grip held Virgil tight as he slammed Virgil into the wall nearest the glowing white light from the exit flickered out. “Looks like I don’t have time to make your friend’s execution swift, so it’s time to say goodbye.”

    Another blast rocked the room, nearly sending Picani tumbling over as he shot a manic glance through the doorway. The sounds of explosions were getting closer at an alarming rate and Logan’s ears were ringing as he helplessly watched the doctor tuck himself into the shadows near the exit, holding Virgil in a chokehold as he peered down the hall.  Virgil wheezed weakly, struggling to draw a full breath as his body was held in front of the doctor like a human shield.

    “Virgil—”

    His friend’s eyes flashed from the door back to him lying on the ground as he pulled at the doctor’s elbow wrapped around his throat, managing to wheeze back at Logan. “Lo, stay down. It’s gonna be oka—”

    “Shut your fucking mouth.”

    The next moments passed by Logan’s fading vision in a blur. A dark shadow appeared in the doorway just as Picani clapped a hand over Virgil’s mouth and pulled him out of sight, choking away his voice as the strange figure stepped into the cell. The point of their gun pointed directly at Logan on the ground, and he couldn’t do anything but hold his breath as the figure approached.

    It was silent as he laid prone on the cold, hard floor, his connection to his powers severed by the cuff on his wrist. He thought he'd grown used to the absence of the comforting mumble of other's thoughts, but nothing filled him with dread quite like a world gone silent as he waited to die.

    “Janus, look out!”

    “You pest. Don’t you kick me—”

    Logan blinked as another shadow appeared in the doorway. Everything happened so fast he'd barely opened his eyes to see Dr. Picani shoving Virgil into the second shadow, ducking down as he disappeared through the doorway.

    “Get down!”

    The figure closest to him shouted at his partner as he raised his gun and rushed back to the open doorway. His partner pulled Virgil out of his way, curled their body over Virgil to protect him, but the doctor and the last of the guards were already. The taller figure pointed their gun down the empty hall, as though still considering going after them, until their eyes flitted back to Virgil and their tension melted away.

    “Roman, holy shit. You’re here. You’re actually here in front of me.”

    “Stormcloud, it's so good to see you.”

    Logan's vision darkened as Virgil threw his arms around the stranger’s neck. There was a rush of quiet whispers as his friend greeted the strangers, his voice slowly devolving into sobbing as the figures returned his emotional outburst with reassuring whispers. The voice grew less clear as the void of dreamless sleep threatened to claim Logan’s aching body and he sunk back to the ground.

    “Wait, Logan—”

    “Virgil, we don’t have time to waste.”

    “I'm not leaving him.”

    A soft touch on his shoulder made Logan flinch. On instinct, he started to pull away, but another hand came down to hold him in place. His reaction was automatic, instincts trained by the ghost of memories of nights spent at Picani’s mercy. Resisting would only make his punishment worse. His body braced for pain, but instead, the thin point of the syringe was drawn from his neck with an unexpected gentleness.

    “Come on, Lo. Wake up. Don't tell me that bastard got you.”

    Logan’s stomach twisted as his eyes cracked open. His heavy head dipped as he tried to stare up at Virgil sitting over him, the two unfamiliar shadows lingering behind his shoulder as his face went slack with relief at Logan’s subtle movements.

    “Fucking hell, you’re alive.”

    “Virgil, I'm sorry. We have to go now.”

    “Not without him.”

    The gentleness of Virgil’s touch was a welcome comfort as his friend eased his head into a more comfortable position. Logan's brain was too full of haze from the residual pain throbbing in his wrist to fully understand what was happening, but he did know one thing for certain. Virgil was once again putting himself in danger for him, and he couldn’t let that happen, not if it meant his friend was giving up his chance to be free.

    “We have twenty-five minutes to be at the rendezvous point or we’ll all be stuck here.” The deep voice over Virgil’s shoulder seemed distantly familiar. “We don’t have a choice.”

    A heavy pause hung in the air as Virgil considered the stranger’s words. “Is Remus—"

    “Remus found his way home a few days ago. He's safe and far away from here.”

    “What about Patton?”

    “We're still on his tail, but we need to keep moving if we want to keep up with the bastards holding him.” The stranger was surprisingly gentle as he lingered at Virgil's side. “Now’s your chance to say goodbye.”

    “No.”

    “Dammit, Virgil.” The smooth voice sighed with frustration. “We don’t have a choice. Do you see any way to get those damn cuffs off him?”

    “I'm wearing the same cuffs.”

    “You are not attached to a goddamn metal bed frame that's bolted to the fucking ground.”

     “If I was, would you leave me too?”

     Another long pause as Virgil’s eyes shot up to the stranger.

    “Roman, get him out of here.”

    “What—No, don’t you dare touch me!” Virgil’s voice dropped to a threatening hiss as the other figure approached him. “Janus, please no! Don’t do this! I'll never forgive you if you do this!”

    “I don’t have a choice, Virgil."

    “Fuck you.” Virgil snarled as the other figure started to wrap an arm around him and Virgil pushed him away. “Fuck you both! Let go of me!"

    “Virgil, don’t—”

    The movement in the room stopped as Logan’s weak voice broke through Virgil’s protests. He forced his eyes open as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the shooting pains in his neck and arm as he curled his body upright.

    “You’re not going to get another chance to get out of here.” Logan’s voice was hoarse from screaming, but he managed to squeeze out the words. “Go with them. I’ll be fine.”

    “No.”

    “You survived in here without me, and I'll do the same.”

    Logan looked away as the stranger his opportunity to pull Virgil to his feet. The loss of his friend's touch left him aching, but it was better this way. If Virgil was allowed to hold him, he may not be able to let go.

    "You deserve to be free from this place.”

    “So do you, Lo.” Virgil streamed down his face as Logan looked up at him. “I won’t leave you to suffer without me.”

    For the first time, Logan got a chance to see the faces of Virgil’s rescuers. The slender man whose arm was wrapped around Virgil’s waist had a pained expression on his face as he held Virgil back from rushing back to Logan. His skin was flushed with a dark shade of genuine guilt and distress at Virgil’s reaction, unlike the other stranger whose lip curled with impatience.

    “Roman, I told you to get him out of here.”

    Logan winced as the cold stranger squatted next to him, his finger lingering suspiciously on the safety of his pistol as he gestured for his partner to drag Virgil away. The reaction was enough to make Logan tense, but he kept his eyes faced forward, trying to ignore the man's threatening aura even as Virgil’s reaction intensified.

    “Janus, what are you doing?”

    “I’m giving him a choice.”

    “Don't you dare—” Virgil threw himself forward to break Roman’s grip, though his efforts were quickly stopped. He was too weak to put up much of a fight, but that didn’t stop him from growling his fury at the man lingering next to Logan. “If you hurt him, I’ll fucking kill you—Please, Janus. Just leave him alone—"

    The quiver of Virgil’s voice sent shudders down his body as Logan watched the two strangers share a knowing look over Virgil’s shoulder. It was chilling to watch the stranger pull Virgil into their chest and whisper to him.

    “Let Janus handle this, Stormcloud." The man’s voice was deep and patient as Virgil’s hands held his forearms so tightly that Logan could see his fingernails dig red marks into the man's arms. “We need to get you out of here.”

    “I won't go.”

    The man's forehead rested down against Virgil’s greasy, black hair as he gently coaxed Virgil down. “You’re not thinking straight right now.”

    “Fuck you.” Virgil’s voice cracked as his fingers curled into the fabric of the man's shirt. “I know exactly what I'm asking.”

    “Go with him, Virgil.” Janus’ emotionless tone sent chills down Logan’s spine as Virgil leaned into the comfort of the other man’s grip. “I’ll do my best for your friend, but I can’t focus on solutions if you’re still in harm's way.”

    “Don’t patronize me, Janus.”

    “I don’t have time to argue with you.” The stranger’s voice was dry as Logan watched the man’s weapon as the red light still flickering above them. “Roman, this is your last warning to get him out of here, or I'll carry him kicking and screaming out of here myself.”

    “Fine.” Roman nodded, gently taking Virgil’s shoulder to guide him away. “Come with me, my little raincloud. Let’s get you to safety.”

    “Wait—Just one more moment, please.” Virgil’s voice cracked with a hoarse desperation as he shot a glance back at Janus. “He saved Remus. That’s how you found me. Isn’t it?”

    “Virgil, we’re not having this discussion any longer."

    “If it weren’t for Logan, you wouldn’t have found either of us.” Virgil’s voice cracked from strain as the other stranger lifted him of his feet and carried him toward the door. “God, Jan—Please, just don’t hurt him.”

    “You have no need to worry, Virgil.”

    Janus’ tone softened and Logan could see Virgil relax in his rescuer’s arms as he was carried away. The sentiment would almost have been sweet, if the barrel of the man’s gun wasn't still inches from Logan’s side. He kept his eyes trained on the ground in front of him as he listened to the sounds of Virgil’s murmuring disappear into the hall. The struggle left a deafening silence behind as he found himself alone with the serious stranger, paralyzed with fear as he eyed the man's weapon in his periphery.

    “Did you really save Remus?”

    “My last measure of defense is gone.” Logan felt his stomach twist as he struggled to contain his anxious shaking. “You are free to act as you please now.”

    “Answer the question.”

    The corner of Logan’s lip twitched as he shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t say that I saved anyone.”

    Janus tapped his finger impatiently. “Care to elaborate?”

    “I was asleep.” Logan chewed on his lip as his limbs curled closer to his chest. “The doctor was hurting him, and your friend used my dream to guide my powers to free himself. I didn’t do anything, but let him take control.”

    “You're not really making much of a case for yourself.”

    “I been through worse without having to resort to begging for my life.”

    “Relax, I was telling the truth, I didn’t stay behind to hurt you.” The deep voice attempted to lull him into a false sense of comfort, but his stomach twisted as the man leaned closer. “You have a choice.”

    “What choice?”

    “You can choose to stay here and wait for the guards to get this facility up and running again.” Janus' low voice hummed in a hypnotic drone as he watched tears well in Logan's eyes. “but I think we both know that route has no other end then a slow and painful death at the hands of miserable men.”

    Logan swallowed his fear, lifting his head to make eye contact with the stranger. The man's hair was jet black like Virgil’s and his golden eyes all but glowed in the red light. The sight of him was otherworldly and unsettling as his eyes dropped to sleek reflection of the light on the gun in Janus' hand.

    “So, you’re offering me a quicker death.”

    “Don’t be so hasty.”

    Janus drew his weapon and Logan’s heart pounded in his chest as the man leaned over him. He closed his eyes as his body went rigid with terror. The heat of Janus' body radiated close to his chest as held his breath, shaking as the man moved his gun into place.

    “I said I don’t intend to hurt you.”

    Logan blinked open his eyes as Janus' movements slowed to a stop. He stared at the gun in Janus' hand, pointed not at him but at the chain on his wrist. “But I thought—”

    “I'd begun to give up hope, but Virgil and Remus are going home, and we may even have a chance at getting Patton back because of you.” Janus moved a hand to toward Logan’s back, waiting for him to relax and nod before wrapping his arm around to support Logan’s weakened body. “I can’t guarantee this will work, but I'll give it a shot."

    Equal parts of awe and distrust stirred in Logan’s stomach as the man looked down at him. “What do you expect in return?”

    “Nothing, but that doesn’t mean this plan is without risk.” Janus’ golden eyes lowered to meet Logan’s look of unease. “These tiles are designed to be impenetrable, so the bullet could ricochet, killing one or both of us before we even had a chance to react.”

    Logan’s eyes flitted up to Janus’ carefully neutral expression. “You know nothing about me. Why would you take that risk?”

    “Because I've been chasing my brother’s shadow for years.” Janus whispered back. “That bastard doctor has stayed one step ahead of me, just out of reach as he torments him.”

    “Your brother?”

    “Virgil.” Janus whispered quickly. “You ended his suffering, so I only have one thing to ask of you if you survive.”

    Biting his lip, Logan bowed his head and nodded. There was always a cost.

    “If the ricochet takes me, you head north down the corridor. There are a couple vehicles waiting to take anyone we rescued to a safe place.” Janus pointed the barrel of his gun to indicate the correct direction before returning it to the chain on Logan's electronic cuff. His reply came without a hint of bitterness as he rested his finger on the trigger. “If you live, you head there and you keep fighting for the life we've given back to you.”

    Logan blinked back at the stranger’s glistening eyes in disbelief. “That’s all?”

    “Tell Virgil that I'm sorry I didn’t make it back.”

    Logan looked up into the stranger’s eyes, feeling a familiar sensation of nervousness as he searched Janus' eyes for signs of deception. The man's black tattoos stood out in the dark as Logan pulled his swollen, throbbing wrist against his chest.

    “Fine, you have a deal.”

    Janus seemed to relax as Logan nodded. “Thank you.”

    ‘If—If I’m the one who dies,” Logan murmured. “Tell Virgil I do not wish for him to be angry with you.”

    A thin smirk curled on the stranger’s lips as he dropped his voice. “I doubt telling him that will be enough for him to forgive me.”

    “Tell Virgil that the first night we met, he held a blade to my throat but he also was kind enough to offer me food. You and I weren’t enemies in the end either.” Logan cut him off, feeling a slight tremor in his words as Janus’ eyes narrowed on him. “At least, I hope not.”

    Janus nodded as he held the gun pressed against Logan’s chain and closed his eyes as his finger rested on the trigger.

    “We’re not enemies.”

    Logan didn’t look up at him. Janus' statement lacked certainty, but the man didn’t seem hostile toward him either. “Good.”

    “If you need to make peace with your beliefs, now is your chance.”

    “I've met the devil.” Logan shook his head as he closed his eyes. “I have nothing left to fear.”

    Their bodies tensed together as Janus finger eased down on the trigger. The sound of the gunshot shattered Logan’s remaining composure, forcing him to shake as the sound of the ricochet bounced off the tiles.

    An eternity seemed to pass as Logan’s wrist dropped from the broken chain and he waited for the echoing bullet to stop. His body flooded with adrenaline that blocked out all other sensations as he leaned into Janus’ soft chest, waiting with bated breath until the bullet landed with a thud into the mattress.

    Inches from his head.

    Blinking, Logan looked back at the hole. He'd narrowly escaped death and suddenly Janus was rising to his feet, muttering about how they need to get moving. The ringing in his ears drowned out his companion’s voice. Even as Janus' arms scooped him off the ground, he was still with shock as he was carried into the dark hall.

    He couldn’t believe what was happening.

    He was free.

--

L’Appel Du Vide/ Logan-Centric Taglist:

@demon9980 @brightfluorescentlighting

[sleepyvirgilprompts]

Roman burst into Logan’s room. “Hey Logan, did-- what is that villain doing here? What the hell is going on?”

Logan was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall, and Anxiety was lying facedown on top of him with Logan stroking his hair. “Normally it’s considered polite to knock,” said Logan mildly. Roman gaped at him. Logan sighed and removed his hand from the other Side’s hair, saying, “You’d better wake up now, Anxiety.” Anxiety shifted and groaned softly. “Wake up now, please,” Logan repeated.

Anxiety mumbled, “M’tired, Lo.”

“I know,” said Logan. “Come on.”

Anxiety rolled off of Logan and sat up, blinking.

[candied-peach]

ao3: “sticker time” rating: T genre: fluffy hurt/comfort (more fluff than anything) warnings: platonic analogical, age regression, spiders mention (on a sticker) description:  Logan makes everyone a schedule, starting with Virgil. (prompt: "Can you do Logan getting so much work to do (deadlines, schedules, the other sides asking him to check things, keeping track of what Thomas should know, etc) that he gets stressed and regresses. But he still knows he needs to do Important Work so he makes little crayon drawings of schedules and Important Kid Things and of his family and gives them to the sides in hopes he’ll get a sticker for doing so good?")

If Logan actually stopped to pay attention to how he felt, he would know that he is getting too stressed out and that something would have to change and fast, if he doesn't want to regress.

Unfortunately, Logan just has too much work! Deadlines pile up like crazy straws, his schedule is jam packed with things Thomas needs him to accomplish and the other sides have asked him to do, and he's so overwhelmed, he's had five cups of coffee in three hours.

It's too much. He knows it's too much, but by the time that really sinks in, it's too late.

Logan has regressed.

"Oh no," he says, his voice childishly high pitched. The words on the screen swim before his tired eyes and before he can stop himself, he finds himself closing his laptop. His laptop is for important adult things, and he's not an adult right now, as much as he would like to be. He knows why he's a child right now. He's put himself under too much stress. It's a coping mechanism. It doesn't make it any easier, although he supposes he could at least thank some deity for small favors- he hasn't actually ended up in the body of a child this time. He hates when that happens. He has a hard time reaching the doorknob to his room, and that makes it harder to ask for help.

But he can't go and talk to his family anyway. Not yet. He's not done with his schedules. And okay, maybe he can't make his real schedules, but that doesn't mean he can't come up with something, right? He pulls out a fresh pack of pastel construction paper from his special desk drawer that has all his regression office supplies, as well as wavy scissors and a 48 pack of crayons. Maybe he can make everyone a new schedule out of this, and then- Logan smiles in hopeful anticipation, already cutting out the first schedule. Maybe he can get a sticker.

He gets stickers sometimes for being good. They're usually planetary stickers, although sometimes Patton will bequeath him a gold star sticker for being exceptionally good. He beams. That would be the best, but he knows better than to ask for one. They always come at the most unexpected of times, and that is what makes them so special. It wouldn't be as special if he just asked for one.

He bends his head over his work, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he carefully writes. Everything has to be perfect, down to the stickers he places on each schedule (for all of the others deserve stickers, too, and he has a sticker pack that's perfect for each side, even Remus once he discovered that Remus likes cephalopods).

When he's finished, Logan carefully takes each schedule in hand and marches out of his room in search of the others. He's wearing his star barrette, a subtle sign that he's regressed that the others have all agreed was a good idea because Logan wasn't necessarily obvious when he was regressed. Not enough to risk it anyway.

"Hey, Lo," Virgil says, perched on the kitchen counter. His eyes flick to the star barrette and he smiles. "Whatcha got there?"

"Schedules," he announces, then shyly hands Virgil his. It's on lavender construction paper and in dark purple crayon, he has carefully lettered in:

Morning: Work for Thomas

Afternoon: Free time with Logan :)

and added a spider sticker. This spider sticker is cute enough that not even Patton gets too freaked out by them, although Virgil still tends to hide them from him.

"Thanks, buddy," Virgil says, tousling his hair the way he likes. "That's really sweet of you to write out my schedule like that. Sticker time?"

"Sticker time!" Logan agrees enthusiastically. Virgil rummages around in the pocket of his hoodie for a minute before pulling out a page of holographic planet stickers. He pulls the kitchen scissors out of a drawer and carefully cuts one out, handing it to Logan. The paper backing ensures that Logan can put it wherever he wants, and he gleefully pockets it.

"Thank you," he says, beaming. "Wanna help with the rest?" He flaps the rest of the stack of schedules. Virgil hops off the counter.

"Sure thing, little astronaut," he says. "I think Patton's in the living room, wanna get him next?"

Hand in hand, Logan happily agrees, the stress of the morning already starting to disappear.