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prince-rowan-of-the-forest · 1 year

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Ribbons and Rainstorms

Chapter 1 : That Fateful Day

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Roman Edevane has been terrified of storms since his twin brother's death when they were small children. He sits and he watches the dark clouds roll from his window, too afraid to sleep but unable to tear his eyes away. Then, one night, lightning strikes the temple on the hill and he forgets all about the storm in his rush to protect it. When he finds not a burning temple, but the God of Storms himself.

After that he kept coming back—Why? He wasn’t sure, and though meeting the god responsible for the storms doesn't abate his fear completely at first, Vi was… nothing like Roman could have ever expected. The God of storms was kind, he was sweet, a little shy and not to mention a whole other level of handsome. Somehow Roman can’t help but fall for them.

But he can’t be in love with a God… can he? Even if he was, could a God ever love him back?

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-Ao3-

Masterpost | Next ->

Art For This Fic by @anxious-mess19

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Warnings: Past character death, touch starvation, panic attacks + flashbacks, non-graphic injuries.

Pairings: Prinxiety, platonic DLAMPR, background Remile

Word count: 42,585

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Thunder terrified Roman.

The fear started on a night like this. When he and his twin brother were only six years old. The night he lost him.

He couldn't help but think about it whenever there was a storm, curled up in the bay window seat of his bedroom wrapped in blankets that couldn’t quite bring him the comfort he wanted. He kept a lantern on the other side of the window seat, but it was still the lightning that brightened his room, water that raced down his window and thunder that shook him to his very soul.

Neither of the servants knew. Of course, he had never told anyone aside from his parents about his fear. The servants would think him weak, a hopeful Protector of the Storm being afraid of thunder, and his tutor would think it an issue he must overcome.

And while he rejected most notions of fear, this one he kept close to his heart.

As much as he hated it while the storm itself raged on, when his fear took control and made him weak. When there wasn’t a storm to scare him he kept that same fear safe in his heart, reminding him of his lost brother, lost to the fire that struck him down from the sky. He had been there when it happened and seen Remus afterwards, drenched in water and coated in mud in their garden but so severely burned that he didn’t even look like his brother anymore. He had screamed and cried until a maid had rushed down from the house to find the young Roman cradling his twin close. He had still been alive, though barely, and unconscious. They had rushed him to the closest healer, still in the darkness of the storm. But in the end he hadn’t made it, and died with Roman clutching his hand.

After Remus died, Roman had refused to leave their room for nearly a week, and for every thunderstorm since he had sat in his window wrapped in blankets, praying to the great God of the Storm that his brother was safe in the afterlife and no-one else would be hurt.

His household by now knew not to bother him during a storm, even if only his parents knew why.

From beyond his window, one stormy night that was the same as most, Roman saw a flash and flinched, before his eyes widened, lightning had just struck the temple that stood tall on the hill in the forest beyond their house. He watched as lightning struck once more, twice, then three times and that… couldn’t be normal? Wasn’t it said that lightning never struck twice? But here it was, striking the temple over and over.

Not to mention, that was the temple the lightning had hit. The temple dedicated to Vi, the storm God. The temple he, Roman, was supposed to protect, ironically.

Storm almost entirely gone from his mind in an instant, Roman ran from his room. Grabbing his sword from its hook by the door as he went. He ran through the house, grabbing his cloak with one hand and throwing it over his shoulders while he tugged on his boots with the other.

“Roman?” Taz, called, shock lacing her voice, “Honey, what in the name of the Sun himself are you doing? Where are you— Roman!?”

“No time, Ma! I have to go, I’ll— I’ll be back— I’ll explain later,” he called, throwing open the back door and running straight out into the rain.

His boots slid a little when they hit the soaked, mud coated grass. But his years of training — agility courses and races against other trainees through rough terrain — helped him to keep his footing as he ran through their gardens towards the forest. The sky lit up once again with lighting, and Roman’s attention was drawn back to the storm. The thunder crashed as he ran, the fear in his heart somehow guiding him towards the temple. He ran faster, not even hesitating as he leapt over the wall that separated their gardens from the road and the forest on the other side. He didn’t stop running until he stood on the steps of the building.

The temple was grand, as it should be, built from bricks of black marble, streaked with white like lighting strikes. The large brackets that usually held flaming torches — which he lit and replenished mind you — were put out by the rain that had soaked the front steps and a large portion of the inside of the temple too, though the braziers at the back nearer the altar were still glowing bright with fire. The sight had Roman wondering if he had been seeing things. The temple didn’t seem damaged from the lighting strikes in the slightest. The only damage the temple faced was the constant wasting of time and abandonment — he had always been one of the very few to come here, after all.

His instincts still urged him forward though, so Roman mounted the steps to the temple, trying his best to get some of the mud from his boots. As he entered the temple at last he noticed a figure stood next to the altar. They dressed in black and a deep, rich purple, they looked almost like a shadow in the firelight.

“Hey!” Roman called, raising his sword, he was the lone defender of this temple, after all, and his gut was telling him there was something strange about this figure, some kind of… strange aura, they didn’t turn, but their head lifted, “What is your business here?”

“You’re not going to fight me with that sword, are you?” The stranger said, still facing away from him, Roman thought he could hear the smirk on their face through their voice.

“That depends,” Roman answered slowly, this figure sent a spark of adrenaline through his heart that he hadn’t felt for a reason other than rumbling thunder for years and years, “Do you wish to do harm to this temple?”

“I do not,” They said, running their fingers over the old silver candelabra that sat on the altar in a way that seemed much too delicate for their imposing presence, “You are the one who sits and watches the storms, fearful, from your window, are you not?”

Roman wasn’t sure what to say, his sword now lowered to the ground. He still wasn’t certain this stranger wasn’t a threat. Besides, how on earth did this stranger know that?

“I see you there often,” They said by way of explanation, “But I don’t understand why you’re here now? The storms make you afraid, yet you have left your safety, here in the Storm’s temple itself, don’t you think you’re in more danger?”

He had to take a deep breath, the words stabbing through him, he noticed then that his hands were shaking. Only now did he realise that yes, he had left the safety of his windowsill, why? What was it that brought him here?

“I… I saw lightning strike the temple,” He said, “So…”

“The temple is undamaged by the sky’s fire,” The stranger told him, resting a hand fully on the altar and lifting the other to gesture to the ceiling, “It is the storm God’s temple, after all,”

“Oh… of course” Roman said quietly, admittedly, he now felt a little stupid. He should have had faith that the Gods could protect their own temples.

“The temple is safe, why don’t you go home?” The stranger asked. Roman turned to look back out the door, just in time to see a lightning bolt strike somewhere in the far distance. He flinched, the idea of staying in the temple with this stranger seemed far superior to going back out into the storm now that he had come to his senses.

“No I… I think I’ll stay,” Roman said, clutching his sword tightly, his drenched cloak heavy on his shoulders. He honestly felt rather pathetic in front of the stranger, whose robes seemed to be of finer quality than any noble he’s ever seen, definitely more expensive than anything his family owned. They may be rich for their small village, but in comparison to other families… they had barely anything. He was soaking wet and in his nightclothes underneath the cloak and boots, he hadn’t been expecting to meet a pretty, well-dressed stranger in the temple, though he wasn’t sure what he had been expecting either.

“Oh, really?” The stranger asked, “Shouldn’t you go home to your mother? She’s worried about you, after you ran off into the rain without a warning nor an explanation,”

“How do you… know that?” Roman asked slowly, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

“I know of all that takes place in my domain,” They said, turning a little, black hair and glittering silver circlet giving way to moonlight pale skin and piercing silver eyes that glowed slightly in the darkness, Roman took another step back that must have been instinct, “And you, little protector, just happen to be quite interesting."

“You’re…” Roman trailed off, gaze flickering from the stranger’s face to the tapestry that hung between the flaming torches on the back wall of the temple. The same pale skin, though depicted with purple eyes, and black hair splayed out like a dark halo. The figure on the tapestry was wearing dramatically flowing purple and midnight blue robes and held a lightning bolt within their hands. The figure who stood in front of him had black streaks under their eyes, as if they had been crying black tears and he wore simpler clothes than the tapestry depicted, but Roman had no doubt that they were the same person.

The God noticed Roman’s line of sight and turned to look at the tapestry as well, before turning back with a smirk on their face. He noticed distantly that his eyes now glowed purple like the tapestry, and his hair had gained purple streaks amongst the black. What on their good earth.

“Perhaps,” they said, glancing back at the tapestry, “It’s quite unflattering, really, I look far too…” They paused, bringing a hand up to their chin, “Villainous, maybe, is that why no-one comes here?”

Roman spluttered for a second, his mind tripping over the fact that he was talking to a literal God right now far too much to form proper sentences. After a moment of opening and closing his mouth, though, he finally found a sentence, “I— I don’t know… most people I meet say that the Sun God is more friendly or the God of Stars more appealing, even my mother doesn’t understand why I worship here,”

“Of course,” Vi sighed, “Why do you?”

“Why do I… what?” Roman asked, confused.

“Worship here,” they said, “You’re afraid of me and my storms, yet you still pray to me and see that my temple is clean and protected. I do not understand why.”

“Oh…” Roman sighed, looking down, he didn’t want to talk about this, God or not. He supposed he would have to, a direct request from a God was not one to be refused, “I— um— well— my brother— twin brother— he died, when we were a lot younger…”

Vi’s eyes seemed to soften, but he didn’t tell Roman to stop.

“He was struck by lighting, during a thunderstorm,” Roman said, his voice growing small, “I started worshipping you afterwards because— I guess because six-year-old me thought since your lightning killed him, you’d be able to protect him in the afterlife, which is, stupid, I know, Jay probably would’ve been better, but I guess I’ve hoped— whatever, storms remind me of the day it happened, that’s— that’s why I’m scared at least.”

When he looked up he found that Vi was now right in front of him, like, right in front of him. He had to look up to look at their face, this guy was unfairly tall, and unfairly pretty too, it probably came with being a God.

“I’m sorry for what has happened to you,” Vi said, his deep voice unfairly soft. Was everything about this God unfair? “Storms are forces of destruction, it’s true, but I never intend for them to take the lives of those so young and undeserving.”

“Thank you-?” Roman stuttered, when on earth had he started crying? One corner of Vi’s mouth pulled up into a half smile as he leaned forward and kissed his forehead. The spot they had touched felt almost like it burned but… in a way that wasn’t unpleasant, somehow.

“I accept your thanks,” Vi told him, hands on his shoulders, the touch burning even through his clothes made him jolt slightly in surprise. He wondered if that burning sensation was something that came with Vi or if it was something else, “I will see you another time, for now you must return home, the storm is clearing up,”

True to his word, the rain outside the temple was starting to calm and the thunder was sounding much further away. When Roman looked back to Vi, he found him gone in a swirl of purple sparks.

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Masterpost | Next ->

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Taglist: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @reptilianrapscallion420 @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti

(i'm only tagging you all in this first chapter because today is going to be a longggg day of spam!)

#sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #prinxiety #sanders sides fanfiction #fanfic #ts roman #ts virgil #Ribbons and Rainstorms #rowans writings

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edupunkn00b · 6 months

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My WIPs Summarized Badly

Many thanks to @penna-nomen for tagging me!

Following your model, here are my WIPs in my planned order of completion. Let's see how this goes. Some have been partially published, some are only glimmers in my head (and Google Docs).

There are some spoilers in the notes below but so few people are likely to see this I think I'm safe. :D

Dystopian future man (who got eaten an Amazon Abracadabra (tm) packing bot in the last story), runs away to live with the local superhero clan and falls in love. (Meus ex Machina; intrulogical, oranceit, familial morange)

The gods must be crazy. (Villains Aren't Born. They're Made; intruality, intrulogicality if we're really, really good)

And they were roommates. (Where the Air Is Sweet; logicality)

A formerly enthralled new vampire learns how easy it is to enthrall another human. Well, werewolf. Well, you know what I mean. Oh, and did I mention he and his friends need to save New York City's supernatural beings from bigoted normies? Yeah. (Thrall; intruanaloceit, orange-tinted royality, logince zest)

There is a mage in the South. (Just Like Magic; platonic (?) loceit)

There's something strange going on in the Mindscape. (Echoes of Our Future; intrulogical)

Patton Croft is two years old. (Fatherhood, part of Overruled; intruloceit)

Janus likes wine. (About Janus; intrulogical)

And they were roommates. Again? (Roomies; intruality)

Dracula learns to love. (untitled, from the Beside Me-Dee-Thrall universe; Intruanaloceit)

Once upon a time, Remus and Logan get married. Remus has a nightmare. (Dreams and Nightmares, Logan-Janus-Roman-Remus/Happily Ever After universe; intrulogical, roceit, remile)

Remus and Logan get married. The end. (Love You Madly, from the Love and Madness/Play Us a Song universe; intrulogical)

An android falls in love. (Welcome to the Hive; intruloceit)

There's a reason bodyguards shouldn't fall in love with their clients, you know. (With My Life; roceit)

Time loops have been done before. (Time After Time; intrulogical)

Janus is the Doctor’s soulmate, reincarnated through dozens of characters in their search for them across the universes. (More Time With You)

[ redacted ] ([ redacted ]; loceit)

Did I boop you on the 1st? Please consider that a tag! :D

#Meus ex Machina #Villains Aren't Born. They're Made #Where the Air is Sweet #Thrall #Just Like Magic #Echoes of Our Future #Fatherhood #About Janus #Roomies #Dreams and Nightmares #Love You Madly #[ redacted ]#untitled #WIP Ask game #Welcome to the Hive #With My Life #Time After Time #some have already begun being published #some have not

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thepenguinclub · 2 years

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floriography

virgil/mental health, brotherly virgil & remy, background remile, virgil & emile, virgil & janus, platonic dlamp, soulmates, lots of flowers, mental health struggles, self harm, PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS

word count: 11,104

Summary:

It was the next day when he felt the familiar itch, and instead of looking for something sharp, he looked at the box. He pulled out a few brushes and a few colors and sat, staring at them.

He stared for five minutes before the itch became unbearable and he sighed, reaching out.

He painted a vine of pink and white flowers curling around his left forearm, and when he was done, the itch was gone.

He started doing it more and more, until he found himself painting on his skin even without the itch that had first motivated him to do so. Remy was elated, and complemented every piece of artwork he could see.

Virgil’s soulmates were confused, at first. He had told himself he wasn’t going to read their reactions, but he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t think he could bring himself to keep doing it if they hated it.

They didn’t.

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Virgil, on starting at rock bottom and working his way up. Flowers are also important.

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hello, all. just gotta start off by saying that i am extremely proud of this. it's the longest individual work i've written and i think i did a pretty good job, if i do say so myself. i hope y'all like it.

next, thank you to @sunbrightshadows for helping me through this process and being the best beta i could ever ask for, and to thein273 for providing some insight on the characters.

a few notes:

1. heed the warnings. please. if i missed anything, let me know.

2. anything that doesn’t seem explained is most likely explained later. The flower meanings should be explained by the word or few words directly before/after the flower name, but anything that was unclear was added in italics next to the parentheses.

3. also, homophobia does exist in this universe. soulmates are generally expected by society to get married if they’re the opposite sex and be best friends if they’re the same sex. (obviously sibling bonds are not included in this, society does not encourage incest).

enjoy!

WARNINGS: purposeful self harm (cutting), scars, depression, anxiety, abandonment, child neglect, eating and drinking (no alcohol), feelings of self-loathing, cruel words said in anger (situationally cruel, nothing inappropriate or offensive), passing mention of murder and rape (nothing actually happens, just virgil being a little mean and sarcastically paranoid)

stay safe.

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The bond is formed on everyone’s fifth birthday.

Whether the other person has had their fifth birthday already or not is up to chance and the powers of the universe, so it isn’t uncommon for a five year old to sit with empty skin for a while.

Virgil wasn’t so lucky.

On his fifth birthday he woke up early and excited, eagerly checking his arms for signs of writing that he hadn’t put there. Sure enough, light blue doodles and yellow scribbles greeted him. He ran down the stairs to show his parents.

That was a mistake.

More than one soulmate was unheard of. Documented as rare cases and generally shunned by the world, and, freshly five years old, Virgil learned that lesson harshly. His parents brought him to a doctor, showed him the two different colored writings, and were told the verdict. After that, things changed. Quickly.

His mom and dad were called away on more and more business trips, especially once the indigo, green and red writing showed up too. When the clock struck midnight on December 19th, the night of Virgil’s tenth birthday, he hadn’t seen his parents in a year, always gone on some business or another.

Virgil wasn’t a dumb child. He knew what that meant, and he knew that he was the reason his parents left, and he knew that what he had was bad.

Remy was Virgil’s older brother by almost ten years. He was fifteen when Virgil turned five, and he didn’t like his parents very much to begin with. Remy liked to do what he wanted to do, and his parents were very caught up in their own image. Even before they left, they were neglectful.

Remy was the one who raised Virgil. The kindest thing their parents did was continuously send them money, because it couldn’t get out that they disowned their own children, so Remy had all the assets he needed to give Virgil a relatively lavish childhood.

Still. Virgil was greatly affected by his parents' abandonment. He was riddled with chronic anxiety, with the constant thrum of depression in his veins. He didn’t make friends, didn’t do well in school, and spent his time locked in his room. The only thing Virgil did that meant anything to him was draw.

He had a sketchbook, one Remy had bought him ages ago. He filled it with sketches, doodles, figures and landscapes. Anything that came to mind, he drew.

When Virgil was thirteen he looked at a razor one day and thought ‘fuck it’.

It was almost addictive, to him. It gave him something to focus on, something to take his misery out on, and it only seemed to work in his favor that what he happened to be taking such feelings out on was himself. Lines, neat and even, grew into the skin of his thighs, hidden by the long pants he was never without. He knew it was wrong, and that it wasn’t good for him, but he wasn’t doing anything he didn’t deserve, and no one had to know. Not even his soulmates.

See, his soulmates were a whole can of worms he preferred to keep locked up in a box at the bottom of the ocean. There were five of them, which was five too many, in his opinion. They talked to each other constantly, and Virgil was a silent observer, trying his hardest not to read their conversations but having no choice. It was one of the things he hated about himself (one of the many, many things).

He had never written them. Not even when he was a kid. His parents forbid it, and once they left he was too deep into the throes of his anxiety to even try. It had been too long, he thought. It would be creepy, learning there was someone else basically eavesdropping on all the conversations you had in private. Then added on insecurity. What if they didn’t like him? He was a miserable, jagged person with so many problems it filled his too big, empty house. They would hate him.

Remy knew, of course, and tried to help, but he was woefully unequipped to handle such an issue, and when it became clear that every attempted conversation about the topic was going to end in an argument, he eventually stopped trying.

However, all of that, everything, came to a head a few weeks before Virgil’s seventeenth birthday. It was completely an accident, what Virgil had been referring to as ‘The Incident’, the one that had happened a month beforehand. The one when Remy had accidentally walked in on Virgil and seen the freshly weeping wounds, along with countless old scars.

They had talked, and Virgil had felt so defeated, so at his worst, he agreed to try and stop cutting himself. Just for Remy, who, despite being twenty-seven, was still living with Virgil, at least until he went to college.

It hadn’t been going very well, to say the least. Virgil would get an itch under his skin that needed to be let out, one that had him reaching for the first sharp object he could find, and then he’d be right back where he started.

So, it was a few weeks before Virgil’s seventeenth birthday, and things were looking down.

“I got you something,” Remy said apropos of nothing, walking into the living room with a box in his hands. Virgil had been making his food run of the day and was trying to stealthily creep back to his room, but, seeing that he had been caught, sank down onto the couch reluctantly.

“Why?” he asked, suspicious. Remy dropped the box onto the coffee table in front of Virgil, and sat on the couch beside him.

“It’s almost your birthday,” he explained casually. “And I saw them and thought you might like them.”

Virgil reached over to the box and pulled it onto his lap. It was fairly light. He poked it experimentally.

“It’s not gonna blow up.” Remy rolled his eyes. Virgil glanced at him out of the corner of his eye before cautiously lifting the lid off and setting it to the side.

“It’s… paint,” he said blankly. Inside the box were at least two dozen medium-sized tubes of paint in a variety of colors and paintbrushes of various shapes and sizes.

“It’s skin-safe paint,” Remy corrected carefully. Virgil narrowed his eyes, still looking into the box. Remy continued. “I know you’ve been… struggling, and I thought that, maybe, instead of doing what you had been doing, you could do this.”

“What exactly is ‘this’?” Virgil asked, looking up. Remy gestured to the paint.

“You’re an amazing artist, Virge.” He shrugged. “You could do art. Paint on yourself whenever you get that urge. It might not help,” he added, “but it couldn’t hurt.”

Virgil was silent.

“You realize this would transfer to my soulmates, right?” he finally asked. Remy cringed.

“Well, yeah, but-”

“I don’t want to talk to them,” Virgil interrupted definitively. He went to put the lid back on the box.

“You don’t have to talk to them,” Remy said, stopping his movements. “You don’t have to even acknowledge them. They don’t have a reign over your body, Virgil, you’re allowed to paint on it without their approval. Just… do it in places they could cover up, I guess,” he finished.

Virgil slowly put the lid back down. He thought about it. He thought about Remy, and how much he had sacrificed for Virgil, and how hard he was trying to be helpful without being overbearing. About how much he cared.

“Okay,” Virgil finally said quietly. “I’ll try it out.”

Remy’s smile looked relieved, and Virgil tried to ignore the guilt churning in his stomach.

It was the next day when he felt the familiar itch, and instead of looking for something sharp, he looked at the box. He pulled out a few brushes and a few colors and sat, staring at them.

He stared for five minutes before the itch became unbearable and he sighed, reaching out.

He painted a vine of pink and white flowers curling around his left forearm, and when he was done, the itch was gone.

They didn’t, though. Once they got past the initial confusion over who was actually painting, conferring with each other below the vines until Logic had suggested the idea that there was an entirely different, previously unknown member of their bond, they had loved the painting.

As Virgil painted more and more, they seemed to get more and more used to the idea of a sixth person, often attempting to prompt him into responding. He never did, sticking to painting whatever he felt whenever he felt like it and essentially ignoring all of their messages.

He read them all, though, and every time one or more of them left a kind review next to one of his paintings he smiled for the next fifteen minutes. Remy noticed, and all of a sudden there was a lot more smiling in their house.

Virgil went to a small school for art and art history. He ran up the money that their parents had stopped sending as soon as he had turned eighteen with tuition, so when he graduated he moved into a small two bedroom apartment in New York City with Remy, who was working as both a barista and at a small startup business that provided tailored help to those with disabilities in the workforce, and Remy’s boyfriend Emile, his soulmate, who was working as a therapist.

Emile made a lot of money, actually, but the majority of it went to the hospital bills for both his ailing mother and his little sister, who was born with a chronic illness that kept her in a bed for the majority of her life, so they were scraping by as a group as best as they could, keeping one eye to the future and one eye on their bank accounts.

Virgil found work at an art museum, acting as a tour guide, and selling his paintings online. It wasn’t until he had been working there for a few years that one of his coworkers had been promoted to the manager and offered to give him a section of the gift shop to sell some of his work as long as the museum got a cut of the profit. Virgil, obviously, agreed, and his bedroom was slowly but surely absorbed by painter's tarp and half-finished canvases until the only way it resembled a bedroom was the small twin bed stuffed in a corner and a dresser that looked like a paint palette threw up over it.

There were good days and bad days.

Sometimes Virgil sold three paintings and made more money than he previously would have made in a month, and sometimes on those days he would paint a field of green clovers and simple yellow wood sorrel flowers on his shoulder to signify his joy, or maybe a little yellow and white pod of coronella for his success, and whenever he did his soulmates would always comment on how beautiful and nice it was.

Sometimes painting wasn’t enough, and Virgil had to lock himself in the bathroom and breathe through the itch under his skin, and sometimes he would cover himself from neck to waist in aggressively messy purple hyacinths, aconite and black roses, because he hated himself and didn’t see a light in the murky throws of his depression. His soulmates learned not to comment on those.

It was on one such day that he came home from work in a mood of insecurity (foxglove) and anxiety (hellebore), dropping his bag on the ground and immediately falling face-first onto the couch. Emile didn’t look up from where he was sitting on the end of the couch, going through some papers. He patted Virgil’s head, which had landed next to his thigh.

“Bad day?” he asked casually, shuffling the papers slightly. Virgil grunted into the couch cushions. He spoke, but it was muffled. Emile put the papers on the coffee table and turned to face him better.

“Sorry, honey, I don’t speak couch-cushion.”

Virgil groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows with a huff, blowing his purple bangs out of his eyes. Emile had matching pink tips, with Remy sporting a rainbow undercut.

“I don’t know how you put up with me,” he said. “You’re living with your boyfriend and his little brother, that has to be annoying.”

Emile furrowed his eyebrows and patted his lap. Virgil flopped down again, but scooted forward so his head was resting on Emile’s thighs, turning onto his back so he was looking up at him. Emile started running his fingers through Virgil’s hair.

“I don’t “put up with you,”” he replied, doing air quotes around the words. “Virgil, I love living with you. I love you just as much as I love Remy, you’re just as much my family as he is.”

Virgil frowned.

“Why?” he asked quietly. “I’m not very easy to love.”

“If I did everything in my life just because it was easy, I would be at a job I don’t like in a city I didn’t want to live in with no family and no loved ones,” Emile stated bluntly. “You have to work for what you want, and what’s good for you. And your love is good for me, Virgil, despite what your brain is telling you.” He ruffled Virgil’s hair and smiled down at him. “I am more than happy to work for it.”

That was a lot of positive emotion (pink hyacinth), something Virgil wasn’t overly used to, so he grunted and turned his head into Emile’s stomach, wrapping his arms around his torso in a loose hug. Emile let out a breathy laugh and rubbed his back. Virgil pulled away a little bit.

“I love you, too,” he mumbled, so quiet he wasn’t even sure if Emile heard it. It didn’t take a second for Emile to squeeze him closer, though, so he was pretty confident the message (yellow rose) (platonic love) was received.

A few days later, when Virgil was in a much better mood and sporting a curiosity (sycamore) leaf next to one of Logic’s excited lectures and carefully painted pride (hundred leaved rose) under Prince and Duke’s newest news of performances, he walked up to Emile confidently (hepatica). Well, semi-confidently, but that was as much as Virgil ever got.

“What’s your favorite thing?” he asked, causing Emile to look up from where he was typing on his laptop. He tilted his head slightly, pushing up his glasses.

“I don’t know if I have one,” he answered slowly, “I like a lot of things.”

“Yeah, but if you had to choose something.” Virgil pulled out one of the other chairs at the table and sat down heavily. “The first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word ‘favorite.’”

Emile considered the question for a second, then, oddly, started to look embarrassed (downturned pink lilium).

“Well, I- I’ve never actually told anyone this before,” he started, and Virgil leaned forward attentively, “but my favorite animal is actually a unicorn.”

“Really?” Virgil asked. He had always heard Emile say his favorite animal was a cat, and told Emile so. He laughed self-consciously.

“That’s what I told people,” he explained. “Unicorns have been my favorite animal since I was a little kid, but I knew my dad wouldn’t be very happy with that answer, and he was already concerned I was ‘turning gay,’” he stopped to roll his eyes, and Virgil snorted in amusement (hybrid delphinium), “so I never told anyone.”

“So when you needed to choose a fake favorite animal,” Virgil replied slowly, smiling “you chose the one animal you were allergic to?”

Emile hit his arm lightly and laughed.

“I was six and it was the first one I thought of!” he defended. “And I wasn’t lying, I do like cats!”

“Alright, alright,” Virgil put his hands up in surrender (peace lilies).

“Any reason for the question?” Emile asked after a second. Virgil shook his head.

“No reason at all,” he lied (red dahlia).

Two weeks later, Emile found a 17 by 24 inch painting of a white unicorn with a pink mane and tail running through a field of yellow agrimonia (gratitude), yellow roses (platonic love), chinese chrysanthemum (cheerfulness in adversity) and dots of purple bluebells (kindness).

At work, Virgil had a routine. He took the first two tours, and then he worked in the gift shop until his lunch break. He repeated the process until he was off for the day at seven, and he liked it that way. Too many tours and he got burned out from all the talking, too little tours and he got stir crazy in the gift shop.

It was an hour before his lunch break on an otherwise uneventful Thursday that a woman came up to the counter with nothing in her basket. Virgil slapped his customer service face on.

“Excuse me,” the woman started, “I was wondering about the paintings on display over there?”

She pointed across the store to the small gallery of Virgil’s paintings. There was a sign in the middle, saying that they were for sale and to ask the cashier for more information.

“They’re by a local artist,” Virgil said kindly, having learned that stating he was the artist right out of the gate was not the best marketing strategy, “and all are for sale, I’d be happy to help you with anything you’d like. Is there one you had in mind?”

“Well, they’re all amazing,” she gushed, and Virgil’s smile became a lot less fake, a warm feeling blooming in his chest (lathyrus) (pleasure), “but I absolutely love the orange one in the middle on the right.”

The painting she was referring to was one depicting a dark forest clearing with figures of orange and yellow fire dancing around a small fountain. It had been a spur-of-the-moment (the moment being 2:46am) work after a weird dream, and Virgil wasn’t actually the biggest fan of it, but he was glad someone else was.

He told the woman as much, and she smiled brightly. Virgil came out from behind the cashier desk and gestured for her to follow him, talking as he walked. t

“That is an eighteen by twenty-four inch canvas, so frames should be relatively easy to get,” he said. Coming up to the painting, he glanced at the small tag hanging off of one of the corners. He turned to the lady. “It’s nine hundred dollars not including shipping, but if you would like we can ship it at a seventy percent discount with free packaging.” Virgil finished his spiel with a little flourish at the painting, and the woman laughed.

“That sounds perfect,” she replied. “I would love the shipping option, please.”

Virgil nodded, and directed her to the other cashier on duty while he took the painting down and started to package it. The woman came back after a few minutes and answered the questions he had about the shipping, then asked one of her own.

“Who’s the artist that does these?” She swept an arm along the wall. “I’d love to get in contact with them for other pieces!”

Virgil glanced up from where he was carefully wrapping the painting in bubble wrap, before he looked back down.

“That would be me,” he answered. “Virgil Storm, at your service.”

“Oh, wow!” She placed her purse down on a table. “You’re very skilled, do you take commissions?”

“I do.” He finished taping the bubble wrap, taped the paper he had written the information on to the front, and set the painting aside. “I’d be happy to work with you on anything you’d like. Here,” he pulled a white card with dark purple text on it, “is my business card. Either email, text, or give me a call and we can figure out what I can do for you.”

The woman took the card carefully, putting it in her purse.

“Thank you!” she said kindly (yellow lilies). They exchanged goodbyes, and, soon, Virgil was left alone. He wandered back to the cashier desk, but the gift shop was practically deserted, it being around lunchtime, so, to entertain himself, Virgil reached into his bag.

He pulled out a little travel-sized paint palette and brush, popping open the lid for the pink, yellow, and green paints as well as grabbing a tissue to wipe excess paint on. He rolled up his left sleeve and started to paint a simple pink flower with a yellow center and green stem, a cosmos flower (peacefulness). Prince drew a little red heart with exclamation points next to some of the finished flowers as Virgil continued to paint, and Snake left a simple ‘cute,’ which Virgil had learned was a genuine compliment and not him being sarcastic.

Virgil didn’t know much about his soulmates. Most identifiable information like names, addresses and phone numbers didn’t transfer over the bond, so they had all chosen fake names to make everything easier. Logic because he was smart, Heart because he was sweet, Prince because he was dramatic, Duke because he was even more dramatic, and Snake because he was sarcastic and liked snakes. Virgil hadn’t chosen one, seeing as he had never actually written to his soulmates, but they had taken to calling him by the names of flowers.

They each had colors, too. With so many people in one bond, it became confusing quickly when it came to who wrote what, so they had all chosen colors early in life to be more identifiable. Red for Prince, yellow for Snake, green for Duke, light blue for Heart, dark blue for Logic. Virgil sometimes found himself contemplating what color he would use if he ever wrote to them. He always ended up leaning towards purple.

He knew that Prince and Duke were twins, Snake and Logic were roommates, and Heart lived with his mom but made frequent trips to the other’s apartments. He knew that Prince was an actor and Duke was a dancer. He knew Snake was a lawyer, and Logic was a professor at a college, and Heart was a preschool teacher and volunteered at an animal shelter. He knew they were extremely close.

Virgil floated on the edges.

He knew they cared for him, they had told him so enough times, but he knew that they knew next to nothing about him. They knew he painted. They knew he liked flowers. That was it. They didn’t even know his pronouns, always using neutral ones.

Which, that should have been easy, right? It should have been easy to just tell them that. He was a cis man, it should have been easy to write a quick ‘he/him’ somewhere, but no. He couldn’t bring himself to do so. Despite being in a league's better mental state than he had ever been, he still hovered a pen over his skin, never touching, until he sighed and placed it down. Sometimes he threw it.

But Emile had been telling him he needed to be nicer to himself, to talk about all the facts, which Remy had wholeheartedly supported, so it beared mentioning that he tried.

He painted masculinity (sweet William) next to gender neutral pronouns. He painted gratitude (eustoma) next to their compliments. He tried, and they didn’t understand, but that was okay. He was perfectly content to paint flowers for them, as long as it made them happy (dandelions). He was fine (fungus) (resilience, loneliness, solitude).

“Excuse me,” a voice said, causing Virgil to jump and snap his head up. There was a young woman, probably a little younger than him, with a man around the same age slightly behind her.

Virgil straightened up, setting his paintbrush on the tissue.

“How can I help you?” he asked in his customer service voice, slipping back into the persona swiftly.

“Those flowers are beautiful,” the woman replied, gesturing to the fresh painting on his forearm. Virgil felt the intense urge to pull his sleeve down to cover it, but he had gotten wet paint on the inside of clothes before, and it was Not Pleasant, so he restrained himself.

“Thank you,” he said politely. He never knew how to react to compliments. Usually he either ended up being really awkward about it or turning so red he resembled a blush colored flower more than a blushing person.

“Would you do one on me?” the woman continued excitedly. Virgil paused.

“Sorry,” he spoke after a moment, “what?”

“Would you paint a flower on me?” she repeated in the same excited tone. The man behind her rolled his eyes fondly. “Like facepaint, although I was thinking on my arm. It’s gorgeous, and it would transfer over to Lenny,” she gestured to the man behind her, and he waved, “which would just be perfect because we’re on our honeymoon and the pictures would be amazing!”

Virgil blinked blankly after the woman stopped talking, processing.

“I would pay you,” she added after a moment of him standing there, and it was probably not a good thing that he immediately spurred into action with those words, but also money was a great motivator and he would die on that hill.

“I mean- sure?” he tried, sounding less like he was agreeing to something and more like he was five and asking a stranger to help find his parents who he lost in Target while trying not to cry.

That didn’t seem to phase the woman, though, who clapped her hands excitedly.

“Great! My name’s Penelope, by the way.” She handed her purse to Lenny, who took it automatically. Penelope turned back to Virgil, a megawatt smile on display. Virgil’s face hurt just looking at it.

“Uh, I guess I’ll get some chairs,” Virgil stammered, mentally trying to figure out what the hell he was doing. “Meet me over by those paintings?” he asked, pointing over to his gallery, which had the most floor space available. Penelope nodded, brunette curls bouncing, before turning on her heel and heading the way he pointed, Lenny following obediently.

Five minutes later, Virgil was sitting on a chair with Penelope perched on the other one, facing him. He had his paint palette resting on a stool next to him, brush in hand. He thanked any gods he could think of that it was a really slow day today.

“So, what flower would you like?” he asked as Penelope showed him the spot on her upper arm that she wanted it on.

“Which do you recommend?” she asked in return.

“Well, it depends if you’re going for a specific look or a meaning,” he answered. Penelope looked up at Lenny, who was standing behind her. Virgil had offered him a chair, but he had insisted he didn’t need one, planning on looking around the gift shop.

“What do you think, babe?” She smiled up at him, and he smiled back, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Maybe one that shows we’re newlyweds?” he offered shyly, and Virgil took a second to admire their completely opposing personalities that somehow fit together perfectly. They seemed to have a good relationship.

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Penelope exclaimed, looking back at Virgil. “Are there flowers that mean that?”

“Of course,” Virgil replies instantly. “There are flowers for almost anything. Here.” He set his paintbrush down and pulled out his phone, typing in a few words before turning it to show the couple.

“These are peonies,” he explained as Penelope gently took his phone and started scrolling through the pictures, Lenny leaning over to watch over her shoulder. “Generally they symbolize love, happiness, wealth, and romance, but the different colors mean specific things. White is used in wedding bouquets, but it isn’t actually related to weddings symbolically. Light pink, however, symbolizes romance, luck and prosperity. Hot pink and red are more intense feelings of love, but yellow is for new beginnings and fresh starts.” He paused to take a breath, flushing slightly when he realized he’d been rambling. He cleared his throat uncertainly (daffodil). “Anyway, yeah,” he finished lamely.

Penelope looked up at him brightly.

“That’s amazing that you know that off the top of your head!” she said enthusiastically, handing him his phone back. He tucked it into his pocket. “I think we’d like the light pink, right honey?”

Lenny nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

Penelope settled into her seat, and, with an assurance she would be fine if he left, Lenny disappeared to wander around the store. Virgil adjusted his chair so he was on Penelope’s side, her arm a blank canvas in front of him. He didn’t paint peonies very often, never really identifying with the meanings, but he did paint some flowers just for fun, and their petals were a nice challenge, so he wasn’t going in completely blind.

With a quiet warning that the paint would be cold, he started, losing himself in the familiar process. He didn’t notice when his lunch break came and went, until he was brought back to the world by the finished painting in front of him. Three light pink peonies took up Penelope’s upper arm, white baby’s breath (everlasting love) interspersed with the leaves and blush colored petals.

Virgil straightened and arched his back with a slight groan, spine popping loudly. He was getting too old to sit hunched over for so long. He glanced around quickly, noticing that the other cashier had switched out, but they were reading a new book than they were yesterday, which meant there had hardly been anyone in.

Penelope put her phone down, turning to him in anticipation.

“Are you done?” she asked politely, and, when Virgil replied in the positive, she quickly called Lenny over. Penelope stood up to meet him, and they both admired the flowers on each other with matching expressions of awe.

“These are amazing,” Lenny murmured quietly, tracing his fingers lightly over the flowers on Penelope’s arm. It was the type of statement that didn’t require an answer, so Virgil just left them to each other, cleaning up his paint. His poor little travel palette wasn’t built for such detailed pieces and was on its last legs, and Virgil made a note to grab a new one when he got home.

For now, he clicked the lids shut and wiped his brush off, walking to throw the tissues he had used away. When he got back, it was to Penelope accosting him cheerily, shoving money into his hands.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She backed away from him slightly, leaving him flustered and clutching the bills so tightly he heard them crinkle. “You’ve made our honeymoon that much better, and that’s saying something!”

She laughed brightly, and Lenny chuckled quietly, grabbing her hand and intertwining their fingers. (light pink rose) (joy of life, youth, romance)

“Happy to be of service,” Virgil said, smiling slightly, and it was the most genuine one he had had all day. Penelope was a bit much, but he was glad he did something to make them so happy.

“We have lunch reservations,” Lenny muttered to Penelope quietly.

“Oh!” she spun around, grabbing her purse. “You’re right!” She turned back around again, hair settling around her shoulders in a way that looked almost unnatural. “Thank you so much…” she trailed off expectantly, and Virgil stared at her for a moment before he realized what she was asking.

“Oh, uh, Virgil,” he stuttered. “My name’s Virgil, sorry.”

“Thank you so much, Virgil,” Penelope said without missing a beat, her smile softening.

“It’s no problem,” he replied, giving another small smile.

She and Lenny walked out the door hand in hand, and it was only then that Virgil dared to look at the cash in his hand.

“Oh my god…” he whispered to himself, feeling like his eyes were bugging out of his head.

The door to their apartment cracked against the wall with a bang, and Virgil heard someone (Remy) swear loudly. He slammed the door behind him and sped into the living room, sitting on the edge of the couch while Emile and Remy took a second to hastily back away from the heart attacks that had just been triggered.

“What is wrong with you?” Remy whisper-shouted, hand on his chest.

“I sold a painting today,” Virgil answered, practically vibrating (rhododendron) (energy). He set his bag heavily on the floor in front of him, pulling eight-hundred and ten bucks out of his backpack and setting it on the table. The museum took ten percent of his earnings from selling the paintings, so that was what he made out of nine hundred. He preferred to get the money in cash, so at the end of any day he sold a painting he took the money from the museum’s store of money. His manager was well aware of this, and had no problem with it.

“That’s great, Virge,” Emile encouraged with a smile (goldenrod). Remy narrowed his eyes suspiciously (mint).

“And?” he asked. Virgil vibrated more. (rhododendron!)

“This lady saw me painting on myself and asked for me to paint on her,” he said quickly. “And she was really nice so I painted some peonies for her and her soulmate.”

“Did she pay you?” Emile asked, seeing where the story was going. Virgil nodded jerkily, and pulled another few bills out of his backpack. Three Benjamin Franklins stared up at them.

“Three hundred dollars?” Remy screeched, diving for the money as if to inspect if it was real.

“She paid me three hundred dollars to spend two hours painting on her arm!” Virgil shouted back, sounding panicked. “By the time I realized how much she paid me they were gone!”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Emile soothed, holding his hands out. “Deep breaths.”

Simultaneously, both Remy and Virgil sucked in breaths loudly. Emile huffed a laugh out.

“Virgil,” he addressed calmly (lavender), “did she ever indicate that she felt like she had paid too much?”

Virgil shook his head.

“Did she seem generous when you talked with her?”

After a second, he nodded.

“Then I don’t think there’s a problem here,” Emile finished confidently (fern). “She probably thought you were sweet, thought your art was worth a lot, which it is, and felt comfortable spending that much money.”

Virgil clenched his hands into fists.

“That’s a lot of money,” he whispered, staring at the cash on the table.

“Which,” Emile put an arm around Virgil’s shoulders, tugging him in for a hug, “is a good thing. Right, Remy?”

“Right, yeah,” Remy replied absentmindedly, holding the money up to the light and squinting. He suddenly turned to look at them quickly, possibly sustaining whiplash in the process. He grinned (clematis) (mischief). “How much coffee do you think I could buy with eleven hundred dollars?”

Virgil was still worried (christmas rose) and a little shaken up about the money, but he walked into work the next day armed with a new palette and positive reinforcement from Emile and Remy, so he wasn’t too upset.

Which was good, because if he was any more anxious (foxglove) he probably would have fainted when people started asking for him.

Apparently, Penelope and Lenny had gone out the previous night and recommended a bus full of people to hit Virgil up for some flower paintings, providing eager instructions to where they could find him.

And his boss, the jerk, had only found this predicament amusing, as well as seen a golden opportunity for more money.

So there Virgil was, a full sized palette on his lap, a sign reading “Skin-safe paintings! Seniors and Children - $15 Adults - $20” propped up next to him, and a line seventeen people long, wrapping around the store.

Still, by the end of the day Virgil had made more money than he usually did in a week, and sold three paintings. Three! In one day!

So the trend continued. Every day, Virgil gave one tour, set everything up, and painted on people for the rest of the day. He still did mostly flowers, regaling people with as many symbolisms as they were willing to listen to, but he moved on to simple requests as well, a dinosaur here, a sunset there.

When he really thought about it, the only downside was that he didn’t get to paint on himself much anymore. He spent all day painting on other people, and then spent his free time painting on canvases, because more work meant more exposure meant that Virgil had a backlog of five different commissions he needed to complete before he could even think about painting anything for fun.

But he still loved art, and he loved seeing the happy faces that his art created, and he was making enough money for Remy to be able to move from a full-time barista to only part-time, so he could focus on his business. He was making enough money for the worry lines on Emile’s forehead to ease, not having to balance hospital bills and utilities and food on his paycheck. He was making enough money to seriously consider buying the worn-down greenhouse on the roof from the owner of the apartment building and turning it into an actual studio, instead of working in his cramped bedroom.

Which meant that painting on himself was at the back of his thoughts. He still kept up with his soulmates, of course, painting little amaryllis flowers (pride) next to announcements, drawing bells of Ireland (luck) on days when there was a big event happening. And, on a particularly good day, he even painted ambrosia (love is reciprocated) next to Heart’s nightly “I love you!”

They still didn’t understand. Virgil didn’t think they ever would. He had never wanted to talk to his soulmates, never wanted to be more than little doodles in the corners of the pages of their lives, but-

But now he did, a little. He wanted them to know him, to talk with him like they talked to each other, like he tried to talk to them. He wanted them to be happy for him, for how his life was finally getting really really good. He wanted them to laugh about how Remy was so scared to buy Emile a ring that Virgil had to do it for him. He wanted them to hold him when things got too overwhelming. He wanted them to be there, be in his life, and it scared him. (aspen)

Because when it came down to it, it was Virgil who was keeping them at arm's length. He was the one that had never taken those first steps, and he was the one that felt like he never would. Despite the fact that he tried to talk to them, he wasn’t doing it in a way they could understand him, and that was his fault, not theirs.

So what did he do, now that he finally thought that maybe he could take those first steps? It was up to him and him alone to make that move, and it was something he didn’t know how to handle.

Lucky for him, he didn’t end up having to.

“Thank you!” the little boy said cheerily, waving. He had a manatee on his forearm, something he had, according to his father, been excited (red and yellow roses) about getting all week.

“Of course,” Virgil replied with a smile, waving back. “Come back any time.”

He plopped his brush into his paint glass, replacing it with another one that had been soaking for a while. He wiped it off on the rag draped across his leg, cracked a few of his joints, and glanced up at the next person in line.

“You can take a seat here.” He waved a hand at the seat, seeing them sit down delicately in his peripheral. He was focused on getting the leftover paint out of his brush, and he talked as he worked. “Do you have an idea of what you would like?”

“I was hoping for a flower,” the person responded after a moment. Their voice was masculine and even, sounding elegant.

“Do you know which one?” Virgil asked, finishing up with his brush and finally meeting the person’s gaze, adjusting himself in his chair.

They were attractive, definitely. Brown hair with blonde highlights, skin just a shade darker than a natural tan, piercing heterochromatic eyes, one a deep brown and the other a lighter version, shot with something that looked like gold in the sunlight shining through the windows.

“I was hoping you would choose.” They held out their hand. “Would you do it on the back, please.”

“Sure,” Virgil managed to get out through his teeth. The stranger’s stare was assessing, almost judgemental, or suspicious (mint).

Virgil took the stranger's hand in his, breaking eye contact and dipping his brush in the yellow.

Pansies symbolized thinking of someone, so he figured they sort of fit. Mostly he chose them because they were black and yellow, a dramatic enough color combination to fit this person, as well as match their outfit, which was an all black suit with no color but the yellow stripes on their black tie.

When Virgil was done, he let the stranger’s hand drop, turning to put his brush in the water as they inspected the artwork.

“What’s your name?” the stranger asked. Virgil looked back at them.

“Virgil, he/him,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“Janus,” the stranger said, his lips twitching up into a miniscule smile, “he/him as well.”

Virgil nodded, setting his palette to the side so he could stretch. Janus watched him.

“Virgil,” he started after a moment. Virgil stopped stretching to meet his eyes. “What’s that on your hand?”

“Uh, probably paint,” Virgil laughed self-consciously, looking down at his hands only to freeze in place.

Yellow and black pansies, on the back of his hand. He stared at them. He stared up at Janus. His hands started shaking, so he busied himself with his paints. He swallowed.

“You should go,” he got out, amazed at the fact that his voice was working at all. “I have more customers.”

“Okay,” Janus replied easily. “When should I come back?”

“Never” was on the tip of his tongue, years of darkness conditioning his response, but he managed to wrangle himself before he could say it. His hands stilled.

“My lunch break is at 12:30 tomorrow,” he said quietly. Janus nodded, reached into his wallet that he had pulled out at some point, and gave Virgil a fifty dollar bill. Virgil stared at the money, and, by the time he could bring himself to say something, Janus was already out the door.

As it turned out, Virgil had chosen very well when he decided to paint pansies, because “on my mind” was exactly what Janus was. Throughout the rest of the day, and night, Janus and their prospective meeting was all he could think about. His thoughts manifested themselves in a painting half the size of his wall, depicting a lone, shadowy figure staring at an incoming storm.

Janus was waiting for him outside the exit of the gift shop, dressed the same as the day before, a black suit with small yellow accents. Virgil briefly contemplated just turning around and acting like he forgot, but that was when Janus spotted him, waving him over with a small half-smile. Virgil tried to smile back as he made his way over, but it probably just looked like a miserable grimace.

“You look nice,” Janus complimented (purple iris), once Virgil had stopped in front of him. Virgil blushed up to his ears (broom). He had dressed a little better than normal, replacing his typically paint-stained black clothes with clean black clothes and his customary hoodie, and he even let Emile do some of his makeup, which was a terrifying experience. His worn black messenger bag didn’t exactly fit, but no way was Virgil leaving it behind.

“Thanks,” Virgil muttered, ducking his head. “You do too.”

Janus nodded at him, and started walking. Virgil walked alongside him. They didn’t talk much beyond the customary ‘how has your day been,’ both giving bullshit answers. At least it wasn’t only Virgil who was feeling awkward.

They stopped at a cafe not far from the museum. Janus walked in confidently (pink tulip) while Virgil shuffled in behind him.

The cafe was completely and totally average looking. Brown and beige with green furniture, a chalkboard menu with reasonable prices, topped off with two bored looking employees leaning with their elbows on the counter, chins resting in hand. They looked up when Janus and Virgil approached the counter.

Janus ordered “his usual”, which Virgil blinked at. The employees seemed to know, though, because one just started pressing buttons on the screen while the other moved to start making the drink. Virgil stuttered through ordering a plain coffee and a croissant, pulling his wallet out of his bag only to freeze when Janus started leading them away, apparently having used Flash powers to speed pay before Virgil could.

Virgil didn’t know how to react to that.

They sat at a two person table next to the window, and the light from the overcast day outside gave the left side of Janus’ face a silver glow that directly contrasted with the warmer brown in his left eye. Virgil twisted his fingers together under the table.

A moment later, the barista was calling Janus’ name and he was out of his seat, leaving Virgil alone as he went to get the drinks. Virgil stared at the table. He was starting to itch for his paints.

Janus sat down again and set Virgil’s coffee and croissant in front of him without a word. Virgil immediately dug into the croissant just to have something to do, and Janus observed him with a blank face. Virgil didn’t meet his eyes as he finished his croissant and washed it down with some of the coffee.

Janus still didn’t say anything even when Virgil was clearly done eating and drinking for the moment, leaving him to squirm in his seat and get more and more uncomfortable (balsamine). Virgil was heavily resisting the urge just excuse himself to the bathroom to paint on his fucking pinky finger if he had to, both because he wanted to make a good impression and also because Janus would know that was what he was doing.

It was another full minute before Virgil’s hand started gravitating to his forearm, and as soon as he started subconsciously scratching at his hoodie he knew he was done. He gripped his arm so hard his knuckles were white.

“Are you going to fucking say anything?” he hissed out through his teeth, gaze fixed firmly on the table in front of him. He was not relapsing in any form because of this asshole who apparently just liked to watch him squirm.

“I was waiting for you to start,” Janus replied coolly. Virgil scoffed, hackles rising. (petunia) (anger)

“Right, because I so obviously look like I’m about to jump into twenty questions,” he spat, readjusting his position on the seat to face more towards the room with his back to the window. Janus put his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “I should have known by now that you’re not one for starting conversations.”

It hit Virgil like a slap to the face.

Of course. Of course Janus was mad and frustrated ith Virgil. He’d- He’d been waiting his whole life to actually learn anything about Virgil, been waiting his whole life to meet him, and when he finally did, it was fucking… Virgil. Virgil would be mad too.

What was he even doing here? (love lies bleeding) (homelessness)

Janus had quickly blanched after he spoke, eyes widening and mouth snapping closed, but the damage had already been done. Virgil stood up sharply, swung his bag over his shoulder and pushed his chair in behind him. Janus followed him up.

“Wait, Virgil, I didn’t mean-”

“Yeah, you did,” Virgil interrupted quietly. “It’s okay.”

He turned on his heel and walked out the door and onto the street, turning in the direction of the museum. Janus followed him out and placed a hand on his shoulder, turning him around.

“I’m sorry,” Janus rushed out. “You’re right, I did mean it, but I-” He stopped, looking angry at himself. “Don’t leave.”

“You look like a black tulip,” Virgil replied, voice barely a whisper above the hustle and bustle of the city around them. “I think you’re a bit more like a thorn apple, though.”

Janus looked dreadfully confused.

“That’s okay, I think,” Virgil assured him with a smile he forced onto his face. “It’s used for medicines.” He paused. “Thank you for the coffee, Janus. You don’t have to see me again.”

And with that, he ducked his head, spun around, and got lost in the crowd, leaving Janus standing in the flow of people with a furrowed brow and a frown adorning his face.

Virgil was quiet after that. He spent the next few days in a haze of self-loathing (lily) and the worst bit of it was that his one escape, one alternative, had been taken away from him. He couldn’t paint on himself anymore, because Janus and the others would see it loud and clear when they so obviously didn’t want him to be a part of their life.

Obviously, because they hadn’t said anything either. The soul-link had stayed completely and utterly silent, until the last of the ink and paint had washed away and, for the first time since Virgil was four, his skin was completely blank.

“I ruined it,” he said miserably (rue) into Remy’s thigh, where he was smushing his face as he laid face down across the couch. Emile rubbed his ankles soothingly.

“You did not,” Remy replied hotly (tiger lily). “That dickhead was the one who ruined it, you did nothing wrong.”

“Uh, yes I did?” Virgil looked up at him, flabbergasted. “What do you call twenty years of radio silence?”

“You working through life without catering to your soulmates?” Emile piped up from the end of the couch. “Virgil, you weren’t allowed to talk to them, and then when you were, you weren’t in the right headspace to. There’s nothing wrong with that, and if they can’t respect that then you don’t want to know them anyway.” (alchemilla mollis (lady’s mantle)) (comfort, I'm here for you)

Virgil dropped his head into Remy’s thigh with a groan.

“But that doesn’t actually stop you from wanting to?” Remy guessed. Virgil nodded. Remy ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair. “We’ll work on that,” he promised. “But for now, just take it one day at a time, paint on whatever the fuck you want, and know that you haven’t done anything wrong. Okay?”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed, although it was muffled by Remy’s sweatpants. Remy ruffled his hair.

Virgil tried really, really hard to believe what Remy said. He threw himself into work and got through a record amount of commissions, enough that he did actually buy the greenhouse on the roof from the apartment owner and started hiring people to help him renovate it by adding insulation, drywall, and all the other important things that Virgil had spent hours hyperfocusing on at three in the morning that were needed for creating a place paintings could be in safely.

That was what was on his mind as he cleaned up his paints for the day two weeks later, having closed his little station in the shop ten minutes ago. What was on his to-do list for when he got home. He was meeting with his neighbor, also conveniently a builder of houses, to go over the stuff they had to still acquire before they could start installing stuff, and he had to call the electrician to get him to come out and see how to hopefully hook up the greenhouse to either a generator or the building’s main powerline.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize someone was standing next to him, waiting to be noticed, until they cleared their throat.

Virgil jumped, head snapping up, only to fall back down again with a sigh. Janus crossed his arms.

“Well, I feel welcomed,” he deadpanned. Virgil set all his paints into their tray and picked it up, carrying it over to the storage closet. Janus followed him, leaving an imaginary trail of pink begonia flowers behind him (beware).

“Are you here to follow me home? Murder me in my apartment? Rape me in an alley?” Virgil asked tiredly, sliding the tray onto its shelf as Janus hovered at the doorway. He sputtered at Virgil’s words.

“Wh- no! What is wrong with you? Why would you think that?” Janus stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. Virgil ignored him as he locked the storage closet behind him and went back to fold the table and chairs up.

“I thought I told you that you didn’t need to see me again,” Virgil pointed out, just in case Janus had forgotten and a guilty conscience had driven him to seek Virgil out.

“I know,” Janus said, looking painfully out of place in his suit surrounded by overpriced gift shop merchandise. “I wanted to see you.”

“Didn’t get a chance to say everything you wanted to?” Virgil asked, placing one of the chairs against the wall and moving to fold up the other one.

“No,” Janus said again, and, when Virgil risked a glance over at him, he even looked a little sheepish. A little ashamed (white peony). “I’m here to apologize for what I said, actually. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“It’s okay,” Virgil shrugged. He moved on to the table, lifting two of the legs and laying it flat on its top, then crouching to push the legs in.

“It’s not,” Janus insisted. “I didn’t want to make you feel bad, that’s not why I invited you for coffee.”

“Why else would you have invited me?” Virgil’s tone was absent-minded as he focused wholly on the task in front of him and not at all on the man watching him. He picked up the table and leaned it against the wall, then went to go collect his things.

“Because I wanted to get to know you,” Janus answered seriously. “But I made you uncomfortable and then was exceedingly rude, so I apologize. That wasn’t my intention when I asked to meet with you, but it’s what I did.”

Virgil’s steps halted just barely, but he managed to save it in time to look like he had just tripped a little. He hurried over to his bag. Janus continued to follow him.

“Are you going to say anything?” he asked, a little desperate. Virgil felt bad, he did, but he wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to say. Emotion was swirling in his chest and he wasn’t used to it. He was a little concerned he was going to start crying, which would be incredibly stupid and embarrassing. He swung his bag onto his shoulder.

Janus had been perfectly clear at the cafe. He was probably only apologizing because the other’s wanted their chance too. Or because he wanted Virgil to get his hopes up.

Yes, Virgil was self-aware to know those thoughts were paranoid. No, Virgil was not going to do anything about them until he was alone in his room.

He was pushing open the door, one step away from freedom.

“You stopped painting,” Janus called, obviously a last-ditch attempt. Unfortunately for Virgil, it worked. He paused. “Why’d you stop painting to us?”

“Why’d you stop writing?” Virgil asked without permission from his brain, turning around and letting the door close behind him. Janus’ shoulders relaxed when he got a response.

“We were trying to give you your space.”

“I was trying to give you yours.”

They stared at each other. Virgil, again, had no idea what to say. He contemplated turning around and leaving.

Janus must have been able to tell, because all of a sudden words were rushing out.

“We liked your paintings,” he said. “They’re very good. You’re very good. But we didn’t really get them, right?” Janus was desperate again. It wasn’t a good look on him. “Didn’t get what you were trying to say.” He stopped, then scrambled for the phone in his pocket so abruptly it made Virgil flinch. He swiped it open with fervor and navigated to something quickly, before turning it towards Virgil.

On it was a painting of a sycamore leaf with a little maroon puff of a flower, next to a paragraph of pen. The skin tone it was on wasn’t Janus’.

“Curiosity, right?” Janus asked. He swiped the picture. It was a hundred-leaved rose. “Pride.” Bells of Ireland. “Luck.” Sweet William. “Masculinity.” Eustoma. “Gratitude.” Cosmos flower. “Peacefulness.” Amaryllis. “Pride again.” Ambrosia. “Love is reciprocated.”

Throughout Janus’ apparent slideshow of flowers Virgil had painted on himself, Virgil had had mixed reactions. The blood had drained steadily out of his face and his hands had started shaking, but he thought he might be smiling a bit, and he knew the warmth in his chest was a good thing.

They understood. They got it. They hadn’t before, but something had changed. They understood (snowdrop, caduceus) (hope, growth and healing).

Janus swiped to a picture of someone’s shirtless torso. It was covered in so many purple hyacinths Virgil couldn’t tell which skin tone was under them.

“Depression,” Janus said slowly, before lowering his phone. He pointed to himself. “Power, elegance and strength, but also disguise and deceitful charms.”

Virgil closed his eyes, the blood in his face that had left quickly making its way back into a light blush.

“Sorry,” he apologized. He didn’t know why Janus seemed to take away his voice, but here it was again, barely a whistle in the stale air of the empty gift shop. He opened his eyes. “I didn’t think you would understand.”

“I didn’t,” Janus assured him. “Until I went home. We, uh, we compiled all the pictures we had into an album and spent days getting the meanings for them.”

Well. Now they were both blushing.

“I, uh,” Janus stopped, turning his phone back towards himself for a second, pulling something up, before handing it to Virgil. He took it gingerly, looking down at the picture. “Blue hyacinths are really hard to come by in a city,” Janus said. “But they were the ones that the internet told me meant-”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil finished, staring down at the picture of the blue hyacinth flowers. “Making peace.”

“Right,” Janus confirmed lamely. They stood there. Virgil stared at the phone.

“Do you want to get coffee?” Virgil blurted out after one second too long of awkward silence, looking up suddenly. He cringed. “We can… play twenty questions?”

To his infinite relief, Janus started laughing. He walked towards Virgil.

“Yes.” He smiled. “I would very much like to get to know you.”

It was four months later, and it was hot outside.

The dead of summer was not kind, and Virgil wiped sweat away from his forehead. He had just hauled three new canvases up to his studio, and he was steadily dripping with exertion. Thank all the Gods that the studio was insulated, because the fans had been running for a while, and stepping into the room was a breath of fresh, blessedly cool air.

Virgil struggled with the canvases (all the size of building murals… why was this his life) to the wall, plopping them down gracelessly. He breathed out aggressively, cracking his back.

“Okay,” he said out loud, talking to himself. “Now just gotta finish this bad boy.” (anemone) (anticipation) He turned to the wall opposite the door. Stretched across the entire wall (which was over ten feet, both upwards and side-to-side) was a sheet of canvas, pulled taught with a frame that Virgil had to make himself. It depicted an ocean scene, with a reef shark as the focal point among colorful corral and vibrant fish.

He’d been commissioned by a museum in California, who was paying him a truly ridiculous amount of money to create this portable mural for them. He was rather enjoying the big size. (laurel) (ambition, success)

Of course, it was a little bit of a challenge to get the higher up and harder to reach parts.

Which is how, thirty minutes later, Virgil found himself swaying to the beat of My Chemical Romance as he hung upside down off of a pipe he had temporarily installed to run parallel to both the painting and the ceiling, at the perfect height for Virgil to either perch on or hang from, as he needed to.

(Yes, he knew there were things made for this type of thing. He had ordered one, but it wasn’t there yet. Plus, this was more fun.)

His knees were hooked over the pipe, his pallet held securely right-side up next to his head as he focused to paint some of the finishing details on the school of fish he was working on.

It was only when the blood had well and truly rushed to his head that he transferred his brush to between his teeth, crunching sideways and grabbing the pipe with his hand to hang a little less upside down and a bit more sideways, to give some of his internal juices time to return to their proper spots before he swung back down to continue.

This was also when he conveniently noticed the other presences in his studio. He turned his head with a raised eyebrow.

Remy raised his right back.

“I swear, I don’t know where he gets this from,” he told the others. Patton giggled slightly, Remus following his example but doubling every aspect of it. Roman and Janus appeared to be fascinated. Logan just looked absolutely gobsmacked.

“How are you doing that comfortably?” he asked, dumbfounded. Virgil shrugged. He set the paint palette on his stomach and grabbed the brush out of his mouth.

“I’m creative,” he answered simply.

“Obviously,” Roman cut in with obvious awe. “That’s absolutely incredible, Virgil.”

Virgil blushed, and Remy snickered at him. He managed to glare at his brother through the heat in his face.

“Out,” he ordered, half joking and half not (hydrangea) (brotherly love). Remy seemed to understand, because he put his hands up in surrender.

“I’ll leave you to your monkeying around,” he replied, cackling at the groans he received and amusedly returning Patton’s high five on his way out. (larkspur)

“How do you get down from there?” Janus asked after the door closed, coming closer, until he was almost under Virgil.

“It’s not very hard,” Virgil answered. He put the brush back in his mouth and grabbed the palette, unhooking his legs so he was just hanging from his hand. From there, it was only a few foot drop, and he bent his knees in a practiced motion as he landed. When he stood back up, Janus was less than a foot away.

“You,” he said, something in his voice Virgil couldn’t decipher, “are a very interesting person, Virgil.”

“Thank you,” Virgil replied, deciding to take the comment in stride. He walked over to his workbench and set his palette in the sink and put his brush in the cup full of paint water, making a note to clean them later. He also grabbed a damp towel, ringing it out and then turning around to face the room as he cleaned paint off his hands.

His soulmates wandered around the studio curiously. It occurred to Virgil that they’d never been in there before. He leaned against the counter and watched them.

Remus was going through the pile of scrapped canvases, oohing and aahing at some. He appeared to be sorting them. Patton had gravitated towards his little gallery of half-finished paintings, the ones he had hung as a reminder to complete them soon. He seemed to have made a game of guessing what they would turn into. Virgil made a note to have him do that when he was in the mood to make something new, some of the ideas sounded really good.

Roman was tracing the flowers Virgil had painted on the walls when he first was finishing up the studio a few weeks ago, running his fingers against the raised paints of a field of brilliant marigold (creativity). Logan had stopped in front of the mural, inspecting the dozens of different sea creatures that were depicted. Virgil had done his research to make sure that they were all accurate, as well as realistic to that kind of coral reef. Logan seemed pleased with the product, hands flapping lightly at his sides as he muttered under his breath at the painting.

Janus settled next to him, dressed in casual black sweats and a yellow t-shirt. Apparently, even he wasn’t immune to the heat.

“What do you think?” Virgil asked him as they surveyed the studio. It had come a long way, and was something Virgil was extremely proud of. Next to finally, finally, meeting his soulmates and having not done anything to himself since he was sixteen, it was probably his greatest accomplishment.

“I think it’s amazing,” Janus answered him softly. Virgil let out a breath, a weight he didn’t know he was holding lifting off his shoulders. Janus turned to him fully, his gaze pinning Virgil in place. “You’re amazing, Virgil. I’m sorry we didn’t see it sooner.” (white orchid)

Virgil swallowed, and looked back out to the studio. At his progress, and his life, and the people that he had known for all of it but only met a few months ago.

“White tulips,” Virgil said, equally as soft. He looked back at Janus with a smile. “Forgiveness.”

Janus smiled back, shuffling closer until their sides were pressed together and his arm could lay across Virgil’s shoulders.

Daffodils

White roses

Yellow peonies

Plumerias

Yellow orchids

Calatheas

(new beginnings)

————

hopefully you enjoyed reading just as much as i enjoyed writing it!

let me know what you thought in a reblog/notes, they make my day every time. likes are also appreciated.

check me out on ao3 if that's your thing at thepenguinclub.

have a good rest of your day, and know that you are loved! <3

#sanders sides fanfiction #ts virgil #ts sleep #ts emile #ts sides #ts janus #i feel like tagging the other sides is clickbait because they all have one to zero lines...#penguin writes

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more-incorect-quotes · 4 years

Text

Emile: What are you drinking?

Remy: Tea.

Emile, doubtfully: What kind of tea?

Remy: Tea...quila

Emile: Remy we've talked about this

#incorrect sander sides #ts incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #thomas sanders #sanders sides #remy sanders #emile picani #remile #tw alchohol mention

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spacegayparty · 3 years

Text

[The sides, about to go to the cinema together]

Janus: I am hungry. Can I have something to eat first?

Remus: Oh yeah, hand over the food, lighties!

Patton: I think we only have bread left-

Logan: We also got some cornflakes, how about that?

Janus: Sounds about as adequate as it will get here. *starts pouring the milk first, then adds cornflakes*

[The background music changes suddenly, the world seems to become black and white]

Virgil, with a lot of eyeshadow under his eyes: Milk first?

Janus:

Virgil, fidgeting: They say,, only really,,, non good people do that.

Janus, eating: uhu?

Roman, voice quivering: Only those capable of causing pain to others would ever-

Emile, on the radio: Apparently, a dangerous criminal is still on the run! He wears a classy hat, looks like jazz! haha, what a description. Oh, he also wears a cape? Like a super villain, how cool! - uh, not that there is a potential murder on the loose, no-

Virgil, squeaking: uhh, wanna watch a dumb romcom, something chill?

Remus: What? Nah, lighties, let's watch some good old horror!

Janus: There's a great documentary on violence and crime on, too.

Logan: !

Roman: I WOULD RATHER NOT *already grabbing at his katana*

Virgil, voice distorted: YEAH I THINK ACTUALLY I AM BUSY HELPING PATTON

Patton: I am right here

Virgil: YEAH YOU HAD TO HELP ME HELP YOU IN HELPING SOM-fdskj WHATEVER WE ARE BUSY *ducks out with Patton*

#tw food mention #tw caps #ts remile #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #incorrect sanders #incorrect sanders sides quotes #incorrect quotes #sanders sides incorrect quotes #ts incorrect quotes #madebyree #made by ree

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roman-sing-despacito · 4 years

Text

Textbooks are Finally Useful

Day 14 - The first words you hear your soulmate speak are written on your arm.. @tsshipmonth2020

Pairing: Remile. Analogical mention

Summary: Remy has been pining after one of his college classmates, yet he hasn’t even spoken a word to them. Now he finally will...

Word count: 1.1k

“Gurl, I’m telling you!” Remy lowered his sunglasses, his eyes dead serious, “Emile is the most gorgeous person I have ever laid eyes on.”

His serious expression quickly morphed into a pout when Virgil snickered at his friend’s antics.

“Oh please Rem, you change who you think is hot about twice a day.”

Even with the loud chatter from other students in the Dining hall with them, Remy still heard Virgil’s tease.

“But this time I’m serious! It’s like they glow or somethin’! They have this infuriating smile that—on it’s own is adorable—but when they answer something right in class, or they’re talking with one of their friends, they light up! My gay heart can’t take anymore of their beauty!” He stabbed a piece of his pasta and shoved it into his mouth.

“They must not be human because I don’t melt into a puddle around humans, but when I’m around Emile... ” His sentence trailed off as he blushed profusely, seemingly lost in thought.

Virgil playfully rolled his eyes. Even though Remy did point out a “hot” person every day to him, Virge had to admit that he has never seen Remy so infatuated with someone. Once he points out someone attractive, he never mentions them again. But it has been three months of this conversation, and Emile was the only person Remy had mentioned.

Finishing up his last bite of pizza, Virgil wiped his hands with a napkin and balled it up to launch at Remy.

It bonked him on the forehead.

“HEY!”

His indignant shout was drowned out by the full on belly laughter of his friend.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny babes.”

Virgil’s only response to that was to stick out his tongue.

“Listen dude, just go talk to them about how you feel! I love you and all, but I am getting sick of you pining. You’ve dated people before so why are they any different? Besides, Emile is really nice so I see no reason why you can’t just go up to them and tell them how you feel. Or even just to say hey.”

Remy sputtered. Say hey? Hey?!

“No! Your first words to someone should never be ‘hey’!”

There are so many stories where the words on someone’s arm was a common greeting like “hey” and that usually caused a lot of problems. Stories of soulmates getting mixed up because the other person replied “hello” without thinking, were one of Remy’s fears. He never wanted his first words to his soulmate to be so...common.

Virge stared at Remy from across the table. “Rem?” He said in a suspiciously monotone voice.

“...yeah?”

“You’re telling me that you have been talking about Emile for three months, and haven’t even had a conversation with them?”

Remy sheepishly shrugged, “Maaaybeee.”

The over exaggerated breath that Virgil took in was definitely not a good sign.

“Sugar, listen. I haven’t gotten the nerve to approach them, so—”

“You have been pining for three months and have not spoken to them!?” Virgil shook his head in annoyed exasperation, “THEY COULD BE YOUR SOULMATE!”

Remy sat stiffly.

“In my defense, I didn’t know if I was ready to meet my soulmate.”

That stopped Virgil cold.

“Oh.”

“Oh is right.”

Virgil nodded numbly, “Sorry for shouting. I just...I don’t know I guess I thought you had already spoken to Emile with how much you seem to know about them.”

“Don’t sweat it babes. Besides, I think I might be ready to find out if they really are my soulmate.” He glanced down at his wrist where the words: Even after all these years, I still don't know what to say Stared back at him.

His whole life Remy feared what those words could mean. Did his soulmate not like him? Did he say something to offend his soulmate? Every scenario Remy imagined didn't exactly begin well.

“Well...good luck Rem.”

“Thanks. Now, how would you feel about talking to Emile for me.” He asked while blinking his eyes innocently.

Virgil laughed and stood up, heading for the door to the cafeteria. “If you keep up with those doe eyes, Logan might get jealous.”

They both laughed at that absurd statement. Logan never got jealous, xe trusted Virgil way too much for that to happen.

~*~*~*~*~

The sounds of Professor Sanders dismissing the class early for the day were faint as Remy hurriedly packed up his stuff, hoping to catch up to Emile who sat four rows down.

He marched down the steps, walking with intent. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. But one look at Emile’s smiling face as they said goodbye to a friend who was leaving the lecture hall caused Remy to halt. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t—

Emile’s textbooks came clattering out of their bag, their smile quickly wiped away with an annoyed frown as they started to pick up their belongings.

Seeing one of Emile’s textbooks nearby, Remy rushed to pick it up. But in doing so, he didn’t notice Emile going for the same textbook as him.

Their hands grabbed opposite sides of the book, and startled eyes met confused ones.

All thoughts of introducing himself had flown out the window as he saw Emile’s sparkling eyes. Remy practically short circuited and he said the first thing that came to mind.

“Woah babes, your eyes are much more green than I thought.”

Remy’s heart stopped. Did he really just—? Hot embarrassment seeped through him. Remy dropped the textbook and a faint blush quickly covered his dark skin.

But Emile simply smiled. “Even after all these years, I still don't know what to say.”

Remy’s heart stopped for a second time as his jaw dropped.

“Are you—?Are we—?”

“Soulmates?” Emile gave him the brightest smile Remy had ever seen. “Did Toph Beifong invent metalbending?”

Emile’s smile quickly turned sheepish, “Oh sorry, I just really like cartoons and uh—”

“That Queen sure did.”

Remy smiled as Emile’s expression turned to pure joy.

Once all of the textbooks were collected, Emile showed Remy their soulmark on their arm with an ecstatic grin.

To see the words made Remy realize that this was really happening. He finally met his soulmate. “Wow. I really did get lucky.”

Emile chuckled and Remy decided right then and there that he would make it his life’s goal to make sure his soulmate was always happy and laughing.

“I’m glad it’s you Remy.”

“Wait, you know my name?!”

Emile smiled sheepishly, “Well...I’ve kind of been uh, watching you for the past year? Nothing creepy I promise! But, when I saw you at the beginning of this semester I kind of…”

“Started pining?”

Emile laughed. “Yeah something like that.”

Remy nodded, “Trust me babes, my friend Virgil said I was doing the same thing with you too.”

“No way! My friends kept telling me the same thing too.”

“Well, I guess we are just too gay to function, huh?” Remy laughed.

Emile pushed a strand of hair behind their ear, “Yeah, I guess so.”

The smiles that they gave each other were full of blooming love. And both of them couldn’t wait to see where it took them.

#tsshipmonth2020 #ts soulmate au #remile #ts remy #ts emile #ts virgil #ts picani #remy sanders #virgil sanders #emile picani #ts college au #ts logan #analogical mention #delilah writes

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princeanxious · 5 years

Text

The Royal Librarian- Chapter 1

Chapter 1- “The Road to Perfection is Destructive.”

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ships: Future analogical, future sidelines royality, sidelines established dukeceit, background remile

Word Count: a little over 3k

Warnings For This Chapter: Virgil’s got anxiety and is a bit self depricating, brief mentions of panic attacks, Virgil stays up and works himself for so much longer and harder than is healthy for a normal person in one session, boi highkey overthinks a ton when he’s not occupied. Don’t work yourself for 24 hours straight like Virge does, it’s not good for you.

Minor notes on Virgil’s mental state in this fic: Virgil has ADHD(as reflected by my own life experience) that shows up in different ways here and there, and he suffers from RSD(Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria) which drives Virgil’s need to be perfect or fail till he damn near collapses from exhaustion, which also just feeds into his chronic anxiety. Thats all for now!

Chapter one(you are here!)|Chapter two(coming soon!)

Bonus stuff:

-the Rough Library Layout

[[MORE]]

Quiet. Such a word was practically synonymous with Virgil’s existence. The young adult practically grew up in silence, sought quiet spaces out like a moth drawn to a flame. And like a deer spooked by a snapping branch, he often fled from loud groups larger than three. He had been a quiet child, content to lose himself in any book he could get his hands on, reading for hours in any quiet atmosphere he could find. Alone, and content because of it.

So it was really no surprise he picked up a local library apprenticeship when he’d turned fifteen, and was a well-versed and well-read librarian by age nineteen. He had his lifelong friend Patton to thank for making him apply alongside hundreds of others to the opening position of the Royal Astra Family’s castle Librarian position, a year later. And, to be fair? He’d only applied because he’d been sure his resume would never have been seen, let alone selected, if only to simply placate his best friend’s excited begging.

He didn’t account for Patton’s connections as the Royal Head Cook to shift that margine of possibility to reach at least being seen. Though Patton chalked it up to the fact that he’d always talked about Virgil around the royal family anyway, long before the position had needed a replacement. It seemed to be just Virgil’s luck that ‘Virgil’ just happened to be a very uncommon name.

The panic attack that followed after he received a letter that his resume had been selected alongside a select few others for further evaluation had been a rough one. Still, he held out hope that his perceived inexperienced youth would save him, the stress and responsibility of such a serious job couldn’t be trusted with some ambitious kid like him, could it?

And, besides, it’s not like Patton’s constant praises carried that much weight, right? That's just how Patton was, a personified ball of sunshine! It was why Virgil was never surprised to hear Patton mention the royal family and staff by name on accident, or mention a silly story involving them in private, he’d clearly become close to them as the Head Cook. Though, the more he thought about it, he realized that.. Well, it’s not like the royal family had known Patton as long as Virgil had. Patton could be too trusting, and tried to see good in everyone, and well, perhaps the royal family trusted his judge of character over just simple skills. And wasn’t it just peachy that Virgil was lifelong best friends with said ball of personified sunshine? (Not that he’d ever trade their friendship for the world, never. It was just Virgil’s problem that he could never seem to tell Patton no, huh?)

Eventually, a nerve wracking week passed before Virgil finally had his answer in the form of an acceptance letter hand-delivered and an accompanying uniform and granted permissions to traverse and move into the castle grounds, all ordered and signed by King Thomas himself.

Apparently, his suspicions over Patton’s influence had indeed won out.

Three days later, Virgil finds himself silently saying goodbye to the home he’d made on his own, not as terribly forlorn over the loss as he thought he’d be. The small cottage he’d been renting didn’t feel much like home to him, anyway, not like a library did. Still, there was a longing to hide from the large change crashing into his life, and thrice he’d hid under his covers and cursed his weak will against Patton’s puppy eye’d pout. Eventually though, he’d talked himself out of his panicked haze, just in time for his first shift the following day.

“I can’t believe I let Pat talk me into this.” The ravenette grumbled as he leaned to the side. Using his weight and momentum to shift the sliding ladder he was perched on, he slid closer to the next book he’d been reaching for.

“Become the castle’s new Librarian! It’ll be fun, he said! It’ll help sooth my anxiety to work with even more books and even less people, he said, the head cook who works with at least 20 other staff each hour to maintain a steady meal plan for the entire castle staff daily!” The little librarian huffed to himself, resignation seeping out with each controlled breath.

His first day hadn’t been an easy one, and though he hadn’t expected it to go smoothly, he certainly hadn’t expected it to become such a mess. It wasn’t his first time working as a librarian, but leave it to good ol’ Virgil to let life make his days as eventful as possible!

From the moment he woke to the time he had his lunch break, not that he would actually willingly take a break nor need one yet, the day had been.. busy, to put it lightly.

It’d been storming when he woke, and though he was on time to get ready and leave, he’d only realized that his umbrella had broken the month prior. It had left him to make a twenty minute dash in the pouring rain when he found no other options.

He was plenty grateful for a bathroom stationed just inside of the library building entrance, where he hurriedly rushed inside to change out of his soaked attire. He’d been smart enough to pack away his official Royal Librarian uniform into a water resistant bag with a few additional dry essentials, and let his common clothes get soaked instead.

In a short six and a half minutes, Virgil was changed and mostly dry, though there was little he could do about his damp hair aside from comb his fingers through it. With his wet clothes packed away, he made it into the library on time to begin his first very long shift.

He’d already been sworn into secrecy when it came to occasionally dealing with the royal family’s history and artifacts in the future, and with his first and hopefully one of very few ever meetings with King Thomas out of the way, he was officially the new Royal Librarian. And now, also the only. As he was told in no certain terms that the last had retired and fucked off into obscurity before anyone had realized that the library had been left in disorganized chaos.

The old coot had apparently made his own system for everything, and hadn't bothered to write any of it down. From sorting sections to assigning books to genres, none if it clear and often very, very unorganized.

Virgil’s first big task was to comb through the entire damn building and use a new system, one that made sense. He was to reorganize every book and every section, using the appropriate genres and sorting. This way the royal family could actually functionally use the library and not waste time sorting through chaos.

This was where Virgil found himself three hours later, on the verge of a minor mental breakdown as he’d just barely sorted an eighth of the books on the main library floor into the Dewey Decimal system.

He’d had plenty of empty tables at the beginning of his journey, and right now every single one had some few stacks of books on each, labeled accordingly. Aside from his muffled ranting and the pattering of rain, the library was relatively silent.

It was odd, being alone in such a gigantic library. It almost reminded him of home.

He paused for a brief moment, having set down the final few books taken from the bookshelf he’d been working on. He’d gone through just one row of 6 bookshelves, and had 7 rows left to go, and that was just barely counting putting books back in the previous shelves as he went. A whine left him as he realized just how long this project was going to take.

“Fucking fuck.”

Somewhere between the second row and the third, Patton had stopped by to check in on Virgil. He found him hard at work sorting the fiction section on the left side of the building, tables half forgotten as Virgil attached unobtrusive non-damaging number labels to each and every book. Stacks of books lay carefully placed on the floor against each shelf, seperated by label and lack of label.

“You already look so at home, Virge!” The head cook whisper-shouted, though the sentiment was not necessary as the only other being in the library was the librarian himself.

“Yeah yeah, hush you. I’m a bit too swamped for ‘I told you so’s at the moment. So, what's up?” Glancing up at the taller man, Virgil briefly noted a small package wrapped in cloth was held in his hands.

“Can you spare a minute to eat?” Patton giggled, but Virgil knew better. He’d known Patton since they were kids, it wasn’t a question. Or a decision to be made. With a sigh, he placed the book he was holding in its place before turning to the cheery cook. “Yeah, I can.”

“How’s the kitchen today?” He asked lightly, having eaten the light meal quickly in order to get back to sorting. Patton hadn’t commented, nor had he been shooed away when Virgil began sorting again. He contently sat out of the way to finish his own lunch, his original goal having been accomplished.

“Oh! It’s going great today, honestly. Not too many mishaps from the newbies today either, so that's a bonus! And well, you know, making mistakes is in human nature but, they’re learning so quickly, I’m so proud of them! They’ll be taking my place by fall, just you wait and see! And, well, Roman stopped by earlier to swipe some snacks for Prince Logan, his brother, and himself. You know, the usual.” Patton chuckled, and if Virgil had looked, he’d seen the besotted look Patton always had when he talked about the head knight of the prince, he’d seen it a hundred times and was bound to see it a hundred or so more.

“Oh, speaking of,” Virgil butted in playfully, “I’ll finally get a chance to meet this knight and shining armor you’ve been swooning over for over a year now, huh?”

He watched Patton’s freckled face flush bright red, sputtering and then coughing on his mouthful of food. Virgil just cackled delightedly, stepping over to give Patton a few hard pats on the back to be sure his friend didn’t choke.

He laughed again when Patton gave him a pout and a soft “You’re so mean to me, Virge!” Eventually Virgil was able to placate Patton with a gentle hug, and the cook was sunshine and smiles again.

A finished lunch break later had Virgil finally sending Patton off, back to the warm bustling kitchens in the main castle building while he moved on to the next portion of his task.

He quickly found the steady back and forth rythme soothing. Pick a few books up, put them away. Pull a few books out, sort it by number as per their section of genre, set it in the right place. It was a blessing to find that there was just enough of a consistency to the previous plan that he could find up to five to six books in the same category in a row, and each set of books could be similar in subject, usually ending up just one section away. Often was the wayward book that found itself out of place, though he had assumed that these were often books just placed back haphazardly considering their subject patterns.

Often the most scattered and random books had ended up being of a few select categories. Without fail, he found that it would end up being a book on Space and Astronomy and/or Mathematics, in-depth Anatomy of Plants and Animals, young adult Fantasy Adventure novels, or Horror novels. It was.. Sort of odd, how there had been no section for each and all of these books, and yet there were so many evenly scattered. Perhaps that had been on purpose then, not haphazardly placed. But why?

Too busy to think deeply about it, he designated spots fitting each book type, and decided he’d figure out what he’d do with the puzzle later.

It was 6 pm by the time he’d finished the fourth row, and Patton had stopped by briefly to check on his best friend. He watched Patton’s merry expression drop some, concern seeping in as he took in his best friend’s progress.

“It’s almost 6:30, Virgil. Have you had another break yet?” He asked, watching his best friend continue moving back and forth. “Aren’t you tired? It’s been a little under 12 hours at this point, kiddo.. dontcha think it’s time to call it for the day? I mean, you’re already halfway there!”

“Library hours, at least Librarian work hours, don’t end till 9. And yeah, I guess I’m a little tired? But I’m in the zone, Pat. You know how I get when I’m in The Zone. If I stop now, who knows how long it’ll take me to finish sorting the other half?” Virgil rambled, half distracted and still trying to keep a vice grip on his concentration. “And besides, King Thomas said he’d be checking in on me tomorrow.”

“But Virge, you know he doesn’t expect you to have it done in one day. Thomas isn’t like that! That’s why he gave you a whole week to settle in, so you could move into the Library’s living quarters-which you haven’t done yet, might I add!- and get the library situated.” Patton stood stiffly, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. Virgil was as stubborn as he himself was when his mind was made up.

“Look, Pat.. just, I’m sorry. You know I hate to worry you. I’ll try to stop at 10, go home and get some rest, and tomorrow i’ll move my stuff into my new home here. And, i’ll take a break from sorting for a few hours. Okay?” Virgil reached out, taking Patton’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He let Patton pull him into a tight hug, and didn’t resist when Patton briefly rubbed at his tense shoulders.

“Okay. Just, take care of yourself, Virge, okay? If I find out you stayed out an hour later than 11 pm, you’re gonna be in big trouble mister!” Patton giggled, lightening the mood the way he knew how.

“Yeah, yeah, hear ya loud and clear, Dad.” He watched Patton beam at the nickname, and moments later he watched Patton disappear behind the library’s main entrance door as his friend left him be, reassured. Virgil gave a heavy sigh, looking down guiltily at the stray book clutched in his hands.

“Let’s just hope ‘trouble’ just means a week of disappointed reprimands like last time…”

Hours later, Virgil’s head jerked up from his sorting as a father clock somewhere in the library dinged, signalling 10 o'clock. Biting his lip, he walked to the front doors and examined his options. He found he could lock the library from the inside, and pulled down the shutters. Briskly, he moved to cover each large window with their thick drapery, finding the adorning cloth thick enough to keep the low artificial light from seeping out. He dimmed the inner library lights so the library looked closed, but otherwise the building was still functioning from within.

Unless someone else had keys to the doors of the library, no one would know that the librarian was still stationed and working within. No one could see out, and more importantly, no one could see in. Which meant that Virgil was safe from Patton’s wrath if the Cook came to check on him, temporarily at least.

“Fuck, Patton’s gonna be so mad..” He muttered to himself, leaning against the librarian’s desk with a deep sigh. He’d briefly admired the beautiful desk earlier in the day, from the intricate carving to the beautiful dark mahogany. It would serve him well in the future, he hoped, after the thorough ‘grounding’ he knew he was going to get from Patton.

He shook his head to free his thoughts. There was no sense in getting in trouble and feeling guilty about it if he didn’t do anything to learn from in the first place. It was time to get back to work, and if he was lucky, he’d finish the main body of the library by the time his next shift started. Then, he could try and play it off, like nothing had ever happened, he’d just keep Patton out of the library till tomorrow to hide his finished work.

11 pm came and passed as he worked, and when he looked next at the clock, he found it was nearly 4 am. Tired but determined with only one row left, Virgil trekked on with a new vigor. All-nighters weren’t anything new to Virgil, not in the slightest. He was a creature of the night who rarely got a full night's rest to begin with. And sure, it was rare he worked his body so hard and for so long, but fixations were hard to break once in The Zone, it’s not like he could feel it past the hyperfixation haze.

Patton had often told him off for it when they were young, but as time passed they’d come to realize that’s just how Virgil was. Laying down did nothing to lure his mind to sleep on even the tiredest of nights if his insomnia had something to say about it. Better that he used the extra time to be productive, rather than spend 6 hours tossing and turning in bed, numbers and thoughts crowding in his head, and only getting up more restless than before. Patton often just tried to ease the aftermath if he could help it.

Sliding the last book into place was like sliding a final puzzle piece into a massive puzzle. The triumph of accomplishment had never felt so good, not like this.

Though, he quickly found himself aimless not 10 minutes later, seeking errors to fix and lost books to give a home. His brain wasn’t ready to let go of it’s fixation just yet, but as each second crawled by, he found himself recentering into the real world.

His body ached, and he was exhausted. His stomach gnawed at him weakly in hunger and his eyes watered from staring unblinkingly for so long. He eyed the chair behind the librarian’s desk, his desk now, he reminded himself.

“Screw it.. The Library’s sorted enough, I've got the rest of the week to make it perfect. A ten minute nap won’t hurt, right..?” He huffed to himself as he pulled the window curtains open one by one. Shuffling over to the main library doors, he unlocked them and raised the shutters. Soft morning sun rays fluttered into the connected windowed hallway just beyond the doors. He smiled at the tiny beauty of life, spotting the main library windows letting in the same comforting, dappled light.

Pulling his cloak tighter around himself, he plopped into the chair at his desk, finding it soft and comforting. Leaning forward, he rested his head on his arms, and under the fluttering morning light, succumbed to sleep’s gentle embrace.

Unknowing of the rude awakening that was soon to come.

Chapter two

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starlocked01 · 4 years

Note

“All I do is drink coffee and say bad words.” Remile?

Carnations and Bad Boys

Words- 1,448

Summary- Remy decides his recent behavior doesn't warrant his fiance's kindness and decides to get Emile a sight-shopped gift

Content warning- Knife, Injury, blood, hospital mention, food mention, swearing, referenced animal death

"Shit!"

"Darling? What's wrong?" Emile stood quickly from his desk cramped in the corner of the living room, rushing to the kitchen where his fiance was cooking dinner/breakfast.

"Damn it I cut myself chopping the onion. Look at this mess- it is too early for this. Fuck!" Remy groaned around the wounded finger stuck in his mouth.

Emile jumped into action, rushing to the bathroom for the bandages and disinfectant, "Rem, you know I could have made dinner."

"No, babes. You've been at work all day. That's not fair to you," Remy whined softly as Emile directed him to wash the injury in the sink, "I'm fine, just fucking frustrated."

"You're half asleep still. When did you get to bed?" Emile asked gently, tugging Remy's finger from his mouth and rinsing it under lukewarm water, "this is the second time this week, darling. I'd rather do it myself if it means you don't end up in the ER from cooking while drowsy. You know this reminds me of an episode-"

"Yeah, like every cartoon ever has an episode about sleep deprivation. I know." Remy scoffed and grabbed a paper towel to dry his still bleeding finger, "do we have any leftover cold brew? I can't remember what I left in the fridge this morning."

"I haven't checked," Emile shook his head and maneuvered so Remy could reach the fridge and pull out a half-drunk cup of Starbucks. He pursed his lips with a quiet command to hold still as he poured anti-bacterial disinfectant on the cut.

"Damn it that hurts, Emile!" Remy snapped, pulling his hand away and frowning as he sipped on the old coffee.

"I know. Please let me finish," Emile replied gently, one hand rubbing the other man's shoulder.

Remy sighed and gave his finger back to Emile who wrapped it up efficiently, kissing the bandage when he finished.

"Gawd, you're so... so precious," Remy murmured, staring at his finger and taking a long sip of coffee.

"Thank you. You're welcome," Emile chuckled, turning to the mess on the cutting board.

"No, babes. Go rest and I'll finish dinner. Just.. sans onions. Overrated little bitches," Remy pushed Emile away from the mess with a bump of his hip.

Emile stayed and watched as Remy finished their meal, talking softly about small incidental stories from the office, of course, nothing that would breach doctor-patient confidentiality, and even made his fiance laugh a few times as they sat down to eat.

"I just want to go one night without an emergency or having to call an ambulance, you know?" Remy whined, poking at his onionless taco.

Emile nodded thoughtfully, "but I bet the residents are glad to have you there."

"I guess," Remy shrugged, "it's just been crazy the past few nights and Rob refuses to schedule more people because it's not supposed to be crazy at night. I can't stop three different grannies trying to get out of bed and find their cat that is definitely at least a decade gone."

"You know they don't know better."

"I know, Mr. Psych Eval. Sorry, babes. I just want a calm night for once. Don't you ever wish your patients came in to just.. chat instead of bringing every single problem in their lives to you?"

Emile hummed in response to that, thinking the question over, "I don't know. What I do know is that you need to get ready to go in." Remy groaned and shoved the rest of his dinner in the fridge, sauntering back to their room to change for his shift. He came back out and finished the coffee, determined to grab a new one on his way in. Emile smiled and handed him a bagged lunch and gave his fiance a sweet kiss on the cheek, "I hope it's a quiet night for you, darling."

"Have a good night, babes. I'll see you tomorrow after work," Remy smiled at the kiss and pulled his fiance into a proper kiss before leaving for the night.

Remy hadn't realized a quiet night at the assisted living home would mean plenty of time to think. He sipped his iced coffee and stared at his bandaged finger, wondering how in the hell he got so lucky with his fiance. He also wondered why Emile hadn't realized his horrible decision yet and broken off the engagement. Several hours later when the morning shift came in to take over, Remy was dead on his feet from making rounds all night and convinced Emile could do one hundred times better than him.

Remy stopped at a gas station on the way back home, preoccupied as he shopped for a snack and grabbed a cup of hot coffee to get him home in one piece. On a display near the register, a small yellow teddy bear with a red shirt smiled absent-mindedly at him. Remy smiled and grabbed the little Winnie the Pooh and set it on the counter with his snacks. He glanced around and found a nearly decent-looking bouquet of carnations in reds, pinks, and yellows that he snatched up as well, setting it on the counter before an exhausted-looking cashier.

"In hot water with your girl?" the cashier asked to make conversation despite looking like conversation was the last thing they wanted to make.

"Nah, he just deserves better than me so why the hell not?" Remy laughed to himself as the cashier rang everything up and bagged it all except the coffee, "thanks, babe. Try to make it a good day, yeah?" Remy glanced at them from over his sunglasses.

"Whatever," the cashier waved Remy off and went back to stocking the shelves behind them.

Remy hurried home with renewed purpose, running inside as soon as he parked the car. He found a vase, trimming the stems and setting the flowers in the vase, and adding water. He set up the flowers and teddy bear on Emile's desk and turned to video games to relax after the long night and feeling pretty good about his little surprise for his fiance. Before long, Remy passed out on the couch mid-level.

Emile came home after a long day at the office, several of his clients had had particularly difficult weeks. He quickly noticed Remy asleep on the couch and made an effort to be quieter as he unpacked everything and started dinner. Once he got a chance to relax, Emile turned to his desk and gasped at the flowers and Winnie the Pooh.

"Remy! Oh, dear, wake up! did you do this?"

"Wha- you can't pin anything on me!" Remy bolted up with a start, "what? What did I... do?"

"Did you get me the flowers and little buddy?" Emile asked with a broad grin.

Remy shook the sleep out of his head and sat up. He blinked a few times and saw the gifts and nodded, "oh yeah, actually yes. Those are for you, babes. I- I just thought you deserved something for.. ya know. Don't read into it."

Emile tilted his head in confusion, "I- what do you mean? Thank you, I very much appreciate it. What do you mean by 'read into it'?"

"The bear reminded me of you, especially since you said your little Stitch got misplaced. I thought you'd like him- I just- babe, why do you like me? I'm an asshole. All I do is drink coffee and say bad words. I'm like the antithesis of everything else in your life- the cartoons and toys and your sock collection and all that. Why do you like me?" Remy looked up at his fiance, unusually open and vulnerable.

Emile nodded thoughtfully and sat down on the couch next to Remy, running his fingers through his fiance's messy hair. He glanced over at the flowers then smiled at Remy, "darling, I like you because I like soft things."

"Soft things?"

"Soft things, like carnations and bad boys. You care for people who are so often forgotten and neglected by their families, and you do it every night. You bring me toys because you know I'll enjoy them. And most importantly, you are always authentically yourself. You aren't afraid to show your rougher edges, and that makes you very soft indeed. I don't just like you, Remy. I love you. That's why I asked you to marry me and why a few curse words are never going to change that."

Remy stared at his fiance, mouth agape for a moment before pulling Emile into a tight hug, "I love you so much."

"I know. You show me every day," Emile hugged him back, resting his chin on Remy's shoulder with a happy sigh, "I know."

#sanders sides #remile #ts emile #ts remy #tw knife #tw blood #tw injury #tw hospital #tw animal death mention #tw swearing #I swear this is actually fluff #with a small bit of hurt comfort #asks #ace asks #thanks angel

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wisherbysharlight · 4 years

Text

WHAT IF... SANDERS SIDES BUT MAKE IT A TROPEY TEEN BEACH AU

Endgame!LAMP. Dukeceit, Remile

Just 2k stream of consciousness words from a plunny that grew legs TW for v slight underage drinking, one joking mention of violence, and a non-specific discussion of intrusive thoughts

-Janus has just moved there because his parents wanted to start a new "adventure" and he is a Stereotypical Teenager. Very "ugh MOM I wanna go back to my FRIENDS for my LAST SUMMER BEFORE COLLEGE"(most of his friends suck. He should not spend time with them. He does not know this)

His Parents buy him a surfboard and tell him to try it out as a way to get him to Shut Up

Hes a Skater Boy(cue music) so he picks it up super fast from like,,, youtube videos

-He gets told to Get a Job if he wants to like, keep buying surf gear?

All the local kids work at like one restaurant/yacht club type place right on the beach

Janus gets hired as a host

-Logan is a beach badge checker, Patton, Roman, and Remus are beachfront restaurant waiters but Roman just Really Wants To Surf, Emile and Virgil are Lifeguards, and Remy is a bartender

-Janus is Very Good At Customer Service because Fake Smiles

Patton recognizes this Immediately

He shows him the Rage Closet which is a tiny room with an arm chair that locks from the inside where you can punch a pillow on your break when it gets to be Too Much

-Janus is Attached now and there is no getting rid of him

Patton Fully Endorses this and introduces him to the rest of the group

Janus Knows Immediately that LAMP is In Love but says nothing because he aint no snitch

-Remus surfs, but he also always wear a thong while doing it

Roman wears a full wetsuit and somehow still gets Board Rash. Remus is somehow immune and it infuriates him

-Janus, not knowing that the twins live right on the beach cuz they are RichTM: Hey Ree I kinda wanna learn how to surf would you be able to teach me

Remus, who religiously watches Janus surf every morning, but is absolutely willing to play this game: Yeah absolutely

Patton, later: “lets rinse off at the twins they’re right here” Janus: theyre.... What?!

-Meanwhile, elsewhere, Virgil and Roman are double teaming Logan to drag him into the water with them cuz he’s pouting about losing a debate with their manager about how he didn’t really be mean to the dudebro who wanted to get his buddies onto the beach without paying, he was just enforcing the rules. And if the dude was so offended by Logan’s Very Accurate Dragging that he complained to management then, well, that’s his problem not Logan’s

-Logan is never without a book. Ever. And its always a different book. Janus is starting to think he owns a library

One day he is just... reading a Physics textbook. Not taking notes or anything. Just reading.

Roman is Very Very Alarmed by this because he is Gay and Math is Scary

"Roman I'm also gay that is not a determining factor"

"Yeah but you can't drive"

"...fair"

-the first time janus has a shift with the twins, he cant stop staring, not just because hes like,,, super attracted to Remus but also because they are like Chaos Incarnate and yet somehow get the most tips??? He doesn't understand???

It's just cuz they are both Huge Flirts and Flatterers and the patrons dont care that they're not-so-subtly beating the shit out of each other right there on the dining floor because theyre just so charming

-one of the bartenders gets aggressively snapped at by a customer and called "sweetheart" and before Janus can even begin to react Remy is there, sunglasses off, fire in his eyes, telling them to settle their bill and get the fuck out

Janus, used to City Restaurants- "Wont you get in trouble with the owner?!"

Remy, who knows Nothing Else But This- "What?? Not likely I only did it cuz Thomathy wasnt here to do it himself"

-the restaurant is closed Monday and Tuesday so that is the Pseudo Weekend for the staff where everyone hangs out at the beach

Emile and Virgil take Tuesdays off but still work Monday’s cuz they feel better being the one watching over their friends

-Roman, staring at Virgil on the lifeguard stand: ugh he’s so pretty I almost wish I was drowning just so he could give me cpr

Janus: you wanna potentially get your ribs broken just for lip contact?

Remy, staring at Emile on the lifeguard stand: listen, if that’s what it takes, I’ll take it

Remus, immediately going up to the lifeguard stand because he has 0 impulse control: hey my brother and cousin want you to break their ribs

Virgil and Emile: excuse me?????

-Patton will literally spend hours in the water. Logan physically drags him out to put sunscreen on him every two hours to the minute. Patton does not admit that he purposely "forgets" just so Logan will do so

Logan is Dark and has never used sunscreen ever but Patton is so pale and he just gets so concerned about him. Patton thinks its adorable

He has pages of research on proper spf determination.

Roman and Remus use spf 15 just on their faces and have never once burned in their lives

Logan wants to submit them for scientific study because that shouldnt be possible

Virgil calls Logan out on the fact that he also should be wearing sunscreen and Logan like... blue screens he cant believe in all his research he missed that

-Patton is like... a ridiculously strong swimmer. Virgil still has a heart attack every time he goes for laps when there is the slightest hint of an undertow

Patton Knows This so he tries to stay in Virgil's sight line for the most part if there is an undertow. Or just dives over the waves again and again.

His nickname is Ariel. He thinks its just cuz of the swimming and the fact hes a red head. LAP all separately also tack on that its the swimming, the red hair, and the hnng pretty 10/10 would follow out to sea ala Prince Eric

-first beach bonfire Janus goes to Remy is Fully In Emile's Lap like... half an hour in

he has had like maybe a sip of a beer

Remus says he still claims this is because he is a Clingy Drunk

no one will call him on it, least of all Emile

-there is truth or dare. Roman may or may not skinny dip you have no proof

-Logan gets infuriated that he cannot roast a marshmallow properly

Patton does it perfectly every single time but its ok cuz he shares and Logan eats it right from his fingers and Roman and Virgil are just in the background Trying and Failing not to be the Most Jealous

Patton thinks theyre upset they didn't get marshmallows and makes some for them too and there is lots of Significant Eye Contact involved

Janus is going to spontaneously combust if they don't get their shit together

-Janus is out walking on the beach one night on a full moon cuz he cant sleep with everything so quiet around here when he sees a bright green patch out in the water and goes ...wait

he calls out to Remus and he comes into shore and is like "waves are perfect at night you should join me" so janus goes back and gets his board and they surf and chat for like the entire night

Janus finds out Remus couldn't sleep cuz intrusive thoughts were keeping him awake

Janus listens and doesn't judge, just lets Remus talk it out

They go back to shore and fall asleep on the sand next to each other like mid sentence still talking, now about whatever creative business idea Remus had, and get woken up by Logan's morning rounds like "come on guys you know you're not allowed to sleep out here" but they dont care theyre both just *blushing emoji*

-Logan Always Has A Notebook right? And a regular book he reads. And everyone assumes they are like Notions and Observations, but no, it’s actually blank paper and he uses it to sketch and then one day he leaves it behind and someone either Virgil or Patton finds it and flips through it and it’s all sketches of them and Roman and they’re like??? Actually really good? Anyway that’s how they find out Logan is actually minoring in art even though he’s majoring in something Very STEM

And he never told his best friends because like almost all his pre college art is Them and he doesn’t want to be caught having Feelings and by the time it gets to college it’s been too long and he can’t tell them now

Roman takes one of the sketches of him surfing and makes it his profile picture on All Social Media He Has and Logan is so flustered he nearly breaks his damn phone

Patton is so offended he didn’t get invited to Logan’s first showcase that he doesn’t talk to him for like two whole hours

Virgil quietly asks if there is any art of all four of them, finds out there is, and makes a print and keeps it on his bedside table

-They are all Pining Outwardly Now and its Worse

-Remus : you have known them since pre-k please ask them out I beg of you

Roman: You just dont get it

Remus: I asked Janus out after 4 weeks what is your problem

Emile: Virgil, I love you, you are my Partner in Anti-Drowning but you are so stupid

Virgil: What???? All I said is that you and Remy are really cute and I'd love to be in a relationship like that

Emile: I am not a violent person, Virgil, but I have the strong urge to smack you

Patton, in the Rage Closet: They're all just so hOT and ReSPEctFUL

Janus, waiting for his turn, trying to act like he cant hear him: I Am Looking Elsewhere

Logan: I just don't understand why they were more upset that I didn't tell them than that I'd been making art of them for years?? Shouldn't that second part be worse??

Remy, who has been partial to Every Single One Of AMP Waxing Poetic About Logan: Yeah, no idea /s

-the twins get into a surfing competition as a pair and everyone goes to see them and support them

Thomas airs the competition on every tv in the restaurant cuz he’s Proud of his Bois

They WIN cuz they are Creative and Talented and came up with all sorts of crazy tricks while they were fucking around in the water but it earns them Major Bonus Points for originality

-Roman does the run off the podium and into Love’s arms trope with just like... whoever’s closest lets go Patton because he is a Waif and forced himself up front so he can see

The other two are Devastated because well shit but then Roman pushes through the crowd, still holding Patton’s hand, and gives them this smile and is like “remember in like second grade when we said we’d do everything together and made a pact on this beach”

Analogical: uhhhhhh yeah

Roman: holding you both to it. No take backs. This counts. Now kiss me, dammit, we WON and they DO MANY TIMES AND ITS REAL CUTE

-Meanwhile dukeceit have Mysteriously Disappeared and No One wants to be the ones to go find them. They show back up, eventually. Janus has a branch in his hair and remus' hair is sticking straight up and when he opens his mouth roman glares at him and tells him in no uncertain terms that they do not want to know

AnYWaY these are my children and I will gladly answer any questions about them. I left out Janus Backstory and Creativitwins Angst and Many Individual LAMP Scenes and Remile/Dukeceit getting together and Epilogue but can absolutely provide such things on request

#romantic lamp #dukeceit #remile #ts fic #sanders sides fic #remus mention #tropey beach au #listen im not responsible for what i do when on the beach with discord open #this is so self indulgent my god

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mallowbees · 5 years

Photo

Flat moth Remy and cabbage butterfly Emile-

Thank you for your time-

#cartoon therapy #ts shorts #Remy Sanders #Emile picani #ts Remy #ts sleep #ts emile #k draws art #insects #remile #moth mention

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prince-rowan-of-the-forest · 1 year

Text

||-Ribbons and Rainstorms-||

Hello everyone! This is my masterpost for Ribbons and Rainstorms, my fic for the @tss-storytime big bang!!

Big thank yous to @anxious-mess19 for creating such wonderful !!ART!! for this fic! Go check it out!!!

And to @edupunkn00b for being such a wonderful beta reader!! Love you guys !!!

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But he can’t be in love with a God… can he? Even if he was, could a God ever love him back?

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Warnings: Past character death, touch starvation, panic attacks + flashbacks, non-graphic injuries.

Pairings: Prinxiety, platonic DLAMPR, background Remile

Word count: 42,585

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+ Chapter 1 - That Fateful Day +

+ Chapter 2 - Blanket Nest for Two +

+ Chapter 3 - Ribbons Between Friends +

+ Chapter 4 - Temple of Chores +

+ Chapter 5 - Blankets are a Remedy +

+ Chapter 6 - Picnics in Springtime +

+ Chapter 7 - Stars, Libraries and Knowledge +

+ Chapter 8 - Dancing Beneath Clouds +

+ Chapter 9 - Smite Thee, Karen +

+ Chapter 10 - Once Reunited +

+ Chapter 11 - Sacks of Flour +

+ Chapter 12 - Apple and Mango Juice +

+ Chapter 13 - Stargazer Lilies +

+ Chapter 14 - One Communal Banquet +

+ Chapter 15 - To be a Protector +

+ Chapter 16 - Dinner With Family +

+ Chapter 17 - Eye of the Storm +

+ Chapter 18 - To be a God +

+ Epilogue - 2000 Years Later... +

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Taglist: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @reptilianrapscallion420 @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #masterpost #tssstorytimesubmission2023 #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders

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swordladywritesthings · 4 years

Text

Pillow Forts Are God’s Best Gift To Mankind

Pairings: remile

TWs: a lil food mention, a heated kiss, and one suggestive joke. For the most part this is a fluff-fest

Words: 2833

AN: requested by @patton-cake sorry this took so long Tess!! (last night was a shitstorm so i didnt write anything, so now yall get a double length fic) I love this one a lot ok its my first time writing remile and it may or may not have turned into an incredibly fluffy proposal fic (that’s exactly what it did)

“Remy! I’m home!”

Emile’s singsong voice rang through the apartment cheerfully, and Remy couldn’t help but smile. He stood up from his desk in the attic, setting his sunglasses on the dark wooden surface, and went downstairs to meet his boyfriend.

The moment Remy descended the stairs, Emile’s face lit up. “Hey! I missed you!” He chirped, making grabby hands toward the man in the leather jacket. Remy went without complaint, savoring the feeling of Emile’s cardigan against his cheek. Remy pulled back, giving Emile an opening to rise up onto his tiptoes and give him a welcome-home kiss.

“I missed you too. I know these public speaking gigs are good for you and your career, but damn if they don’t take way too long. I had to go a whole week without hearing a single cartoon reference!” He practically whined, and Emile giggled.

“Oh, I know. An entire week without your coffee breath kissing me good morning? Pure torture.” Emile remarked, playfully rolling his eyes.

“Well you better get used to that coffee breath, cuz coffee and I are a package deal, you can’t have one without the other.”

“Good thing I like coffee then.” Emile grinned, leaning in to give Remy a proper kiss. They stood in their doorway for a bit, trading kisses and soft jokes, until Emile started complaining that his feet hurt and he was jetlagged. When he went to pull away and start unpacking his suitcase, Remy made an impulsive decision.

He swept Emile off his feet dramatically, making Emile squeal in surprise then burst into giggles. “There’s no way I’m just gonna let you get away like that, babe.” He grinned, flashing a dazzling white smile.

Still giggling, Emile looped his arms around Remy’s neck, threading his fingers through the short hairs at the base of his scalp. “How will I ever escape this cruel imprisonment?”

“There is no escape, you’re doomed to a lifetime of snuggles and coffee breath kisses.”

Emile pressed the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically and went limp. “Oh what a cruel world! How will I ever survive?”

Remy gave him a peck and smiled, eyes sparkling. “Well, maybe there’s something you can do to convince me to let you go…”

“Hmm, I’ll have to think of something,” Emile purred, straightening up again and closing the distance between them, giving Remy a kiss that was definitely more than a peck. He pulled back with a sigh, and burst into giggles.

Remy, who had just been staring at Emile in wonder, pouted. “What’s so funny, doc?”

“I don’t think,” he spoke through his laughter. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over the way you look at me when I kiss you. You look at me like I’m the creator of modern animation or something!”

“Do I?” He asked, pressing a bunch of small kisses all over Emile’s face, making him squirm and push playfully on Remy’s chest.

“Stop it! If you’re not careful, I’m gonna-” Emile’s sentence was cut off by a loud “whoops!” and a heavy thud as he fell out of Remy arms and onto the floor. “-fall.”

Remy’s face transformed from happiness to fear and guilt as he knelt down next to his boyfriend on the floor. “Babe, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t even thinking about the fact I was still holding you! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, chuckling and waving off Remy’s concern. “Just a little bump! But gee, you really know how to welcome a guy home, huh Rem? First I’m accosted by your kisses, then I’m captured, then you dropped me on the floor! I think this is the best welcome back party I’ve ever had!” He winked, reassuring Remy that he was only joking. Remy snorted in response. “Yeah, I’m not great at this today, huh?” “I think you’re doing just fine, darlin’. But as payback for dropping me like a sack of potatoes, you get to help me unpack!” He grinned, mischief gleaming in the brown eyes behind his tortoiseshell glasses. He made grabby hands at Remy again, and he obligingly took his hands and pulled him to his feet. Emile turned and grabbed his suitcase’s handle, then handed it to Remy. “To my room, if you please!”

Remy rolled his eyes teasingly, but picked up the case and started down the hall to the bedroom they shared. Together they started unpacking, Emile chattering happily about his trip.

After all of that, the two had decided to have a calmer day of catching up and spending time with each other. They had sat down on the big brown couch in the living room and turned on Avatar; The Last Airbender, Emile curling into Remy’s arms and pressing himself against his side.

They got through about six and a half episodes before Emile’s stomach growled and he looked up at Remy sheepishly.

“Hungry, babe?” Remy asked, and he nodded.

“Could we order pizza? I’ve been living on hotel buffets and sandwiches for the past week, and I would kill for a slice of pepperoni.”

“That kinda means I gotta get up though, Em.” Remy looked over at the kitchen table. “My phone is over on the table, and I still have to clean up the debris of my latest project in the attic.”

Emile just tightened his grip around Remy’s stomach, burying his face in his jacket. “No get up, only pizza.” He grumbled, and smiled at the sound of Remy’s boisterous laughter.

“I’ll order the food, you go clean up.” He said, reluctantly letting go and sitting up, and pulled his phone out of his cardigan’s pocket. He tilted his head when Remy stood up, presenting his cheek for a kiss. Remy delivered, then gently ruffled Emile’s hair. Then, as he was walking away and climbing up to the attic, he said something that made Emile freeze.

Emile stared at the wall for a few moments, feeling a dopey grin grow on his face. He shook himself when his stomach growled again, reminding him of the task at hand.

A few minutes after he had placed the order, Emile had a sudden idea. He grinned and started gathering the appropriate materials; pillows, sheets, blankets, clothespins, and as many stuffed animals as he could carry. Taking advantage of the fact that Remy was still upstairs, he got to work scurrying around constructing the world’s best pillow fort.

About five minutes later, Emile had the framework of the fort done when there was a knock at the door. He set down the pillows that he was holding, and grabbed his wallet from an end table. He thanked the delivery person with a smile, laughing a little at the confusion on his face seeing the giant pillow fort in the middle of this grown man’s apartment. He set the boxes on a table to cool, and got back to work on his masterpiece.

When it was finished, the fort spanned pretty much the entire living room. Emile had used all the blankets in the house, pulled the extra sheets out of the linen closet, and even used the decorative pillows that were usually on their bed and the throw pillows from the couch. He stood back with a satisfied sigh, hands on his hips. He crawled in, grabbing the pizza boxes on the way, and made himself comfortable before calling for Remy. “Rem! Pizza’s here, honey!”

There was a thundering of feet on the stairs, and Remy appeared, wiping his hands of extra paint on a hand towel. He looked up when he reached the bottom of the stairs, and his face burst into a smile. “Babe, you remembered?”

“Of course I did, darlin’! I wouldn’t skip our anniversary tradition for anything! Now wash your hands and get in here, the pizza’s gonna get cold.”

Still smiling that smile, Remy rushed through washing his hands in the kitchen sink and shuffled into the pillow fort, motioning for Emile to scoot over. He settled against Emile’s chest, almost lying completely on top of him, even though he was the taller of the two.

“Love, you’re gonna squish me,” Emile chuckled, burying his nose in Remy’s hair.

“Hey, this is what you get for leaving me for a week and making me think you forgot our anniversary.” Remy declared, snuggling further into Emile’s arms.

“You know, this is strangely similar to our first date.” Emile laughed, clearly baiting Remy into the next topic.

“Huh, it’s almost like that’s why we’ve been doing it for the past three years.” He said sarcastically, making Emile snort.

“C’mon, play along!” He playfully reprimanded. “Do you remember our first date?”

“Of course I do,” Remy said quietly, his voice losing all of the sarcastic edge, leaving only the soft adoration that laid beneath the surface. “When you first asked me out, I thought you were doing it for a dare. You, a tiny high school sophomore in a pastel sweater, a skirt, and flowers in your hair? I had no idea what you wanted with a delinquent like me.”

“Hey! You are not a delinquent!” Emile swatted his arm, though it lacked any actual sting. “Nobody talks bad about my boyfriend!”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it Doc.” He grinned, the love so blatantly obvious in his eyes.

“I thought you were the coolest thing since Toy Story, with your leather jackets and your motorcycle that you were definitely too young to drive,” He laughed, earning a small pout from Remy that he quickly kissed away. “I thought for sure that you were gonna turn me down. But you didn’t! What did we do after that?”

“You asked me out to ice cream, like the rom-com protagonist you are,” Remy teased. “But I showed up late and I wouldn’t tell you why. You sensed that something was up with your magic psychology brain.”

“It really wasn’t that hard to figure out, baby. You showed up in wrinkled jeans, your shirt torn, and there was blood on your jacket.” This was where the story got rough for both of them, and Emile squeezed his hand.

“I asked, well, I begged you to tell me what was wrong, but you just told me that you couldn’t say anything in public. So of course, my first response was to invite you to my house to talk about it. I made you shower and change, and I set up a pillow fort like this one.”

“It was probably the most unusual first date I’d ever been on,” Remy chuckled. “I mean, I was hoping eventually I’d end up in your bedroom, but I wasn’t expecting you to shove me toward the shower while you made a pillow fort.” Emile shoved his shoulder, blushing red as a tomato. “Remy!”

Remy just cackled, then put up his hands in surrender when Emile threatened to kick him out of the fort. “Alright, alright. So I did what you told me, and when I came back there was a giant blanket fort in your room, and you were sitting in it with a pizza box and a laptop.”

“You were so nervous to join me,” Emile recalled. “I thought I was gonna have to force you. But my trusty puppy-dog eyes did the trick, and you eventually sat next to me and took a slice of pizza. You still didn’t want to talk about it, so instead we turned on a movie.”

“Your only rules were that it had to be PG and it had to be animation, so I went with Puss In Boots, because of course I did. I’m glad I did, because then I got to watch you mumble lines under your breath and your eyes light up in excitement basically the whole time. I’m still sure that was the beginning of the end for me.” Remy said, combing his fingers through Emile’s curls.

“Even after the movie was done you still wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, so I just said that we’d just have to schedule a second date when you were ready to talk, and then I picked another movie.” Emile giggled, rolling his eyes at past-him. “Possibly not the smoothest approach.”

“We got halfway through Tangled when you fell asleep on my shoulder, which again, was the beginning of the end. Cute boy changes date plans to take care of you? Check. Cute boy builds you a pillow fort and watches movies with you? Double check. Cute boy then falls asleep on your shoulder? It’s a wonder I didn’t ask you to be my boyfriend right then.” Remy laughed again, and Emile pressed a kiss to his cheekbone.

“Trust me dear, the feeling was mutual, but of course we had to spend another year dancing around each other and going on ‘dates-but-maybe-not-dates’.” He said, making air quotes with his fingers.

“Thank God we got over that phase.” Remy mumbled, giving Emile a short and sweet kiss.

They laid in silence for a bit, just taking comfort in the other’s presence, before Emile broke the quiet.

“Remy, I have something important to ask you about.” He said, strangely serious.

This got Remy’s attention quickly, and he shifted to look Emile in the eyes. “Anything, babe. What’s the matter?”

Emile seemed to have second thoughts, fiddling with his fingertips. “Earlier, when you went upstairs to clean up before dinner… and this is just what I heard, I could be wrong, and I could be blowing this whole thing out of proportion-”

“Babe, take a breath. I’m sure it’s fine. What did you hear?” Remy asked, taking one of Emile’s hands in his own and pressing it to his chest so Emile could feel his heartbeat.

“Did you say you wanted to marry me?” He blurted out, then covered his mouth with his free hand.

Remy stared at him for a moment. “You heard that?”

Emile looked equally baffled. “You did actually say that?”

“I mean yeah, but I assumed I said it quietly enough that you wouldn’t hear me.” Remy said, scratching the back of his neck and avoiding Emile’s eyes. “Not exactly how I planned proposing, ya know?”

Emile just continued to stare, and Remy just got more worried. “Is… is that not okay for me to say?”

Then all of a sudden Emile was moving, pressing his lips against Remy’s fervently, like a starving man at a feast. Remy responded in kind, one hand curling into his hair and the other snaking around his waist. Emile moved to straddle his lap as he deepened the kiss, cupping Remy’s face with both hands.

It was clear when Emile pulled away that he was only doing it because he needed to breathe. The two men just looked at each other for a long moment, and when Emile spoke it was breathless.

“You… you want to marry me?”

Remy let out a breathy relieved laugh. “Of course I do! I’ve wanted to marry you for two years! I was trying not to rush you.”

Emile let out a teary laugh. “I can’t believe this. Wait here.” Before Remy could ask any more questions, he was already crawling out of the fort and dashing to their bedroom. He heard things being shuffled in a drawer, then a victorious “aha!” followed by Emile rushing back out.

He held something small and dark in his hands, though he didn’t allow Remy to actually see it until he was successfully back in the fort. He handed him the black velvet box, grinning brighter than the sun. “Open it.” He whispered, almost reverently.

Remy opened the box to find a black band with a ring of gold in the center. Tears involuntarily rose to his eyes as he fumbled for something in his jacket pocket. He pulled out a similar box and handed it to Remy, hands shaking.

Emile stared at the box as he opened it, already crying by the time he actually saw the ring. It was the exact style of Remy’s but silver instead of black. He looked up from the box when Remy gently took his hand and removed the ring from the box.

“Emile, I’ve wanted to marry you for so long it’s ridiculous. I love everything about you, and I want to be your shoulder to cry on after every hard night you have, every difficult case, and every loss. I want to celebrate with you over every little win, every dog that you see on the street, and every new patient that opens up to you. And I really, really wanna marry you, babe, if you’ll have me.” Remy stammered through the words, fighting back his own tears as he recited them from memory.

Emile gave a watery laugh. “Your proposal speech is so much better than mine.” Then he launched himself at Remy for another breathtaking kiss.

When they pulled apart, Remy grinned. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, you dork, that’s a yes. Help me put my new ring on.”

TAGLIST

General: @definitely-a-living-human @my-friends-art-and-writing @arodynamic-enby @ari-the-writer-enby @me-a-mess-morelikelythanyouthink

holler at me if you wanna be on the taglist, or if you wanna be tagged in a specific ship or fic series

#kat's writing #remile #romantic remile #emile picani #sleep sanders #food mention #kissing #one suggestive joke #this is just a really fluffy thing #yeah i cried while writing this what about it #nanowrimo days 3 and 4

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