#reveals a song hed love to play on the guitar one day

[patrice-bergerons]

Was reading a recent interview with bergy and this answer took me out, I love him so much

[sporecollection]

all i need is my boys pt.1

summary: just some parental shit with roman and patton as virgils dads

pairings: royality, analogical eventually

word count: 1856

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17852207/chapters/42127025

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Virgil gave a little huff, adjusting on the couch. Patton had just finished gently scolding him over his slipping grades in his classes. It wasn’t that he wasn’t smart, the whole family knew that Virgil was one of the brightest kids in the family, it was just that his motivation was slipping rapidly. “So, bud, are you gonna try just a little harder for us?” Patton asked gently, leaning forward in his chair. He wore a patient smile, hands clasped together in his lap. After a brief pause, his son sighed and shifted again. “... Okay. But just for you guys,” Virgil spoke, voice almost annoyed in that typical way that most middle schoolers spoke. “I can always ask Logan for help or something, too.” He huffed gently, his father pointedly ignoring the flush on his cheeks. “Okay. You can go back upstairs. Your father’ll be back from work soon and we can order a pizza tonight. Sounds good?” “Sounds good.” Virgil repeated softly, standing from the couch and starting back to his room. He paused when he thought his dad wasn’t looking, turning and giving him a quick hug from behind, before hurrying down the hallway and into his room. The Thomas house was surprisingly small, compared to the money the two husbands were pulling in each year. One story, three bedrooms, one bathroom, an office, and a joint kitchen/living room/dining room situation. The office had quickly become Roman’s personal home, with various instruments, recording equipment, art supplies, a good computer, everything he felt he needed in order to work his job at the theatre. He owned the theater, put on productions, and even ran some of his own. This, of course, lead to him having to design sets, and cast people, and make demos of songs if a play or musical had any, and anything else he decided he would be in charge of. Virgil was in the room almost more than his father, tinkering on the piano or strumming a guitar idly, and trying desperately to get his work done on time for school without calling one of his fathers in every ten minutes. Patton was in there the least, usually just to help his husband or son with whatever they were working on. He’d run lines with his husband late into the night, or harmonize softly when he needed help figuring out a part. He’d point out Virgil’s little errors in his math, like forgetting a negative, or gently remind him that he was using the word infinitesimal wrong on that science paper. It just worked that way, and no one had any problems with it. That is, no one had any problems unless both Roman and Virgil needed the office at the same time. It was kind of like a sanctuary for Virgil. Bedrooms were free reign until 8pm. Anyone could barge into anyone’s room until then, no knocking or anything. The office was sacred, though. No one could go in without a knock or some sort of warning. Roman was bad at that rule. He would push the door open after a long day to find his son paused with his fingers lifted just above the keyboard instead of over his math assignment where they were supposed to be. He’d find Virgil nearly sobbing over an assignment, clearly stressed out of his mind, only for his son to immediately cease his tears and get back to work, muttering a quick excuse as to why his face was so blotchy and red. He’d enter to see Virgil quietly working on something or other, and get quickly told to leave, sometimes angrily and sometimes playfully. He would always leave with a quick apology, though, so there weren’t ever any hard feelings. Patton and Virgil took the rules seriously, though. Virgil would knock gently, even if he knew no one was inside, before slipping inside gently and doing whatever he had to do. Patton would call in, and if someone was inside who didn’t immediately need his help, he’d apologize and leave to do something else. It just worked like that. Patton gave a tired breath, glancing around the living room area for a short moment before standing. There was really never any telling when his husband would get home on rehearsal nights. He always just told Virgil soon. Sometimes soon meant within the next thirty minutes. Sometimes soon meant within the rest of the day. Tonight, soon meant right now, because Patton’s thoughts were interrupted by his husband stepping inside, shifting off his coat, and moving to kiss his him. Patton reciprocated the action, kissing his husband gently before pulling back. “How was work?” He asked gently, watching as Roman moved to the couch and sat down, giving a soft noise and rubbing his face, smudging his foundation and revealing a splatter of freckles across his cheeks. Apparently coverage was light today. “It was frustrating, but tolerable. Did you talk with V yet?” “Yeah, we just finished a little bit ago. He said he’d try harder. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that this is his last chance before we start taking things away.” “That’s alright. I know you’re not generally the one to handle punishments.” Roman smiled as his husband took a seat next to him, resting his head on the shorter’s shoulder. “Yeah. I told him we’d order pizza tonight, since I didn’t know when you’d be getting home.” “Patton, dear, how do you always know exactly what I want to eat?” “Because you have the same appetite as our twelve year old son.” Patton teased lovingly, before sitting up. “I’ll call it in really quick.” Roman watched as his husband stood, relaxing into the couch as the soft sound of his voice calling in two large pizzas filled the air. He hadn’t ate yet, and he honestly doubted his son had either, so he was glad his husband knew the both of them so well. He glanced over at the sight of Virgil emerging from his room, and smiled at his son’s grin. “Hey, dad.” He mumbled, and Patton glanced over for a moment before looking away and continuing his soft chatter with the pizza place. Virgil wandered over to the couch, sitting himself down next to the aforementioned dad. “How was work?” Virgil asked quietly, leaning against his father at the gentle tug on his shoulder. He was being half-hugged now, which he enjoyed. “Oh, it was work. You coming to help me with set next week?” “Of course, dad. You know I like helping with that stuff.” “Yeah. You’re a good kid, V.” “That he is.” Patton intervene, dropping onto the couch to wedge his son in between the both of them. “The pizzas should be on their way in a while. In the meantime, would my two favorite freckled boys join me in a screening of Alice in Wonderland?” Virgil, who had flushed gently at the mention of his freckles, grinned a bit, nodding. Roman gave a soft laugh, nodding. “Well, let me change into something comfortable. And take off this makeup.” Roman gestured to himself, a smile on his face. Virgil nodded, shifting away so his dad could stand easily. The taller of the three did so, kissing his son on the forehead, his husband on the lips, and turning to go change. The remaining two on the couch looked at each other for a moment, both grinning. Virgil slipped off the couch easily, grabbing the movie and sliding it into the player, before climbing back onto the couch. Patton patted his cheek, grinning softly at the freckled child. His son gave a soft smile back at him, listening absentmindedly to the soft sound of the movie beginning in the background. It wasn’t long before Roman was returning, clad in a hoodie and shorts, still fashionable when lazy. He sat next to his son and husband, scooping the both of them into his arms. It was about halfway through that pizza delivery man knocked on the door. It was near the end that Virgil fell asleep against his dad, pizzas long forgotten and replaced by the festivities of the night. It was a few hours after the end of the movie that Roman scooped up his son, carrying him to his room even with the little, barely covered giggles that just proved Virgil was awake. Roman gently dropped his son on the bed, laughing and kissing his forehead gently. “Night, dad.” Virgil spoke up softly, smiling up at his dad. Roman smiled warmly, pulling the blankets up over his son and patting his chest gently once they were smoothed out. “Night, bud. See you in the morning.” “More like at twelve.” “Ha. Nice try. See you at ten.” “Fine. Tell dad good night.” Virgil asked gently, Roman nodding. “Love you, V.” “Love you too.” Virgil shifted under the covers gently, rolling onto his side and tugging the blankets up over his shoulders. Roman smiled gently, slipping out of the room, turning off his lights, and shutting the door behind him. He kissed his husband gently, pulling him to bed. The next day Virgil had his first ever panic attack. It wasn't anything serious, the three of them had just gotten very separated at the mall, and panic crept up and grabbed the twelve year old until he was shaking and crying in the back of whatever store he had been abandoned in. They hadn't been apart long, an hour at most, but Virgil had always assumed the worst. When his fathers found him, they immediately went the comfort route, getting their son home where they could care for him properly. It wasn't serious, they would tell him, but it honestly was. “Patton, you know what this means.” Roman spoke softly, as not to wake Virgil. He was asleep in Patton's lap, having fallen asleep after a long cry and the gentle methodical rhythm of Patton combing through his hair. He sighed, continuing the motion even despite Virgil having fallen asleep hours ago. “Yes, I know. I'm going to have to call the Picani’s. Hopefully he can get Virgil in soon.” “Well, we should talk to him about therapy first instead of jumping right into it. There's no saying how well he'd take it.” “Yeah, you're right.” Patton sighed gently, pausing for only a moment, until a soft whine from his son prompted him to continue. “I feel so bad that he had to go through that.” “I know, love, but we can't do anything now. Everything's said and done. We just have to stay to support him.” “Yeah.” Patton shifted just enough to rest his head on Roman's shoulder, receiving a gentle kiss on the forehead. “I'm honestly glad that it happened today of all times. We were both here to help after all.” “Me too.” Roman murmured, glancing at their son with a gentle sigh. “I’ll carry him to his room if you want?” “No, this is fine. I have both my boys here with me.” Patton smiled gently at his husband, before closing his own eyes. “This is all I need.”

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Because I’m selfish could you do a shipping me with members thing? I’m short, half Greek and Scottish but raised in Australia (yes, I do have an accent) I have really long brown hair and hazel eyes, and I play bass and sing. I love to read and write, and I almost always have headphones on and music blasting. I also am a drama student and I love to act. Thank you so much xxxxx Love your blog btw.

hi! don’t feel selfish for this, i’mma keep it real with you pal - i have asked for several ships before nO SHAME

anyways, in relation to BoRhap - I ship you with Gwilym!!! At first I was going to say Joe, but I think I see you meshing with Gwilym really well:

When Gwilym got cast as Brian in BoRhap, you were the first one he called. First, to break the news. Second, to ask you for a little help brushing up on his skills. He knew you played bass, and it wasn’t exactly lead guitar, but he still wanted to know all of your little tips and pointers in case there was something he could use when he finally met Brian.

In fact, he came over the next day with his guitar, already ready to learn. You were happy to oblige, but you admitted to him early on that you didn’t exactly know how well you’d be able to translate your bass-centered ideas to the guitar.

“What’s different about the two?” he’d asked, seated across from you and leaning forward over his guitar, genuinely interested in what you had to say. He considered you a great mind on the subject.

“Well, the mechanics are similar, you know, as far as that goes, but the fingerings aren’t going to be the same…” you rambled on for a minute, Gwil transfixed by everything you were saying.

After you were done speaking, he’d grinned at you proudly. “You’re brilliant, love.”

He calls you brilliant a lot, actually. It’s his favorite thing to say to you, because of the way your eyes light up when he says it. They are already brimming with all kinds of energy, but after he calls you brilliant - that’s when he’s the most captivated.

You heard that word - brilliant - coming out of his mouth the most often when he was reading over your latest writing, no matter what style it was. Poetry, prose, he loved it all. 

“Can I keep this one?” he’d asked one time, holding up a piece of prose you’d written specifically about him. You grinned and took it back from him, looking over it for a moment.

“What’s so special about this one?” you’d asked as you sat back on the bed, preferring the poem you’d written about him a few months ago much more than this piece. But boy, did he have an answer for you. In fact, you’d never heard someone speak as passionately about something as Gwil would once he got going.

He stood up and gave you a 10 minute speech about why he thought you should let him keep that short story, introduction, body, and conclusion to the speech all included.

“So, can I?” he’d asked after a moment of you sitting there, dumbfounded. He gave you a toothy smile as he sat back down next to you.

“You were definitely born to be an actor,” you mumbled, handing the prose to him and shaking your head in disbelief at how much he’d fought for those two pages of writing. That’d gotten a chuckle out of him, and he peppered the side of your face with kisses before happily taking the story back.

Speaking of acting, Gwil LOVED coming to your performances. He took a whole week off of filming once just so he could see every night of your theater company’s Anything Goes. 

He’d posted a big long paragraph about your performance after opening night, telling all of his loyal followers how brilliant you had been, and how proud he was of you. And, of course, he’d put some sentences in there about how much he loved you and loved going on this journey with you.

And then Joe commented “-Bri” just to make fun of how eerily alike Gwil was to his elder double. Classic Joe.

Now, if we’re talking Queen, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I really think I ship you with Roger - HEAR ME OUT, I have some (probably weak) reasons:

The reason I think you’d caught Roger’s eye before any of the other boys is because of your accent - he’d latched onto it almost immediately after hearing you speaking to Deacon, who had hired you as a bass tech. You were both eagerly discussing some kind of system that Roger hadn’t a clue about, but your voice was like a drug to him.

He’d made a point of inserting himself into the conversation, introducing himself and chastising John a bit.

“How come I haven’t met your friend here sooner?” Roger scolded John playfully, John just laughing and shaking his head.

“This is Y/N, she’s my new tech. I figured I’d introduce her to the most sane members of the band first, but first I have to figure out who those are.”

You’d laughed at that, particularly because of the mock hurt on Roger’s face before he’d reached out to shake your hand, you introducing yourself this time.

“That accent,” he’d had to point out, letting go of your hand, “Where is it from?”

“Australia. What about yours?” you’d countered, noticing a bit of a different lilt to his words than John’s.

Roger scoffed at that, shrugging. “Cornwall. Exciting stuff, eh?”

After that day, he’d always find reasons to come and talk to you, sometimes the reason being no better than him wanting to hear your accent.

The day Roger realized he actually might fancy you was when he’d noticed you writing on one of the off days and asked to see a sneak peek of what you were doing. Roger loved writing songs, and wondered if you had any good material.

You did. In fact, he was thoroughly impressed by your work, and spent the rest of the day work-shopping with you, which spilled over into a late night coffee run before it was time to go hop on the bus to head to the next tour stop.

You were in the coffee shop, talking about what Queen had coming up after this tour, when Roger had redirected the conversation.

“You know, I’ve never asked, what did you study back home?” he’d inquired, curious to see what kind of person you were. He’d pegged you as some sort of major similar to John based on your identical knowledge of his bass, so he was pleasantly surprised when you revealed that you were a drama student. “An actor, huh? That must be why you’re so seemingly interested in all of Brian’s stories. God, explains so much now.”

You had to laugh at that, shaking your head. “No, no, Brian actually has some good stories and knows how to tell them. Now you, on the other hand…” you’d trailed off, Roger recoiling in slight insult at what you’d suggested. 

Someone who could keep up with his humor and insult him while they were at it? You were growing on him quickly.

One thing he always really enjoyed doing once you grew more comfortable around him was (carefully) taking your headphones and listening to a little bit of whatever you were currently listening to.

At first, it annoyed you a bit, but when you realized he was genuinely wanting to pick up on some of your music taste, you allowed it to happen with little to no issue. 

Also, he’d started slipping you song recommendations on tapes of his, labeling them cute things and drawing little smiley faces on them. Though it was difficult to understand his scrawlings sometimes, you cherished those tapes.

While we’re talking about songs, Roger liked to hear you sing. One time, you were trying to explain a part of the song where you thought Deacon wasn’t getting a good sound out of his bass to another tech, and you started singing the chorus part where it started sounding off.

Roger was, for lack of better words, shook.

Like, he loved your voice.

So, clever little gentleman he is, he found a way to start getting you to sing around him more by pretending to hear issues with the bass in the songs they’d play during their sets.

“It was like, it was muted during the last part of the second chorus, you know?” he’d said one time, working his way into it nonchalantly. “Like, the part where, you know, Fred goes, ‘and I love the things…’“ he’d trailed off, pretending not to remember the next part.

You thought for a moment, then you sang in a soft voice just to clarify.  “And I love the things, I really love the things that you do, oh, you’re my best friend? That part?”

“Yeah, yeah!” he’d say, smiling and pointing at you like you were a genius for remembering the simplest lyrics in the whole set.

You caught on after a few times of false alarms from him, but you let him keep believing that he had you right where he wanted you. It was honestly really cute that he’d go through so much work to hear you sing, even if he didn’t necessarily need to try that hard.

(But don’t tell him that, for God’s sake.)