#sander sides writing

[part-time-zombie]

Virgil is Logan's closest friend.

In case it wasn't already clear, he truly means a great deal to Logan. He won't admit it, but he can't necessarily deny it either.

Who else among the sides knows Logan so well, and knows exactly what gifts he'd love the most and why he'd love it? Who else ever cared to put in the time and effort to actually cater to his interests so thoroughly, or bothered to at least try to meet them?

Who else does Logan feel like he can actually converse with, who he can let his guard down around and actually relax for once? In all honesty, who among the sides would he fully enjoy being around without feeling like he were holding his breath the whole time?

Other than him, who would actually listen to Logan talk without interrupting, never once making him feel bothersome for sharing his thoughts?

Everyone else has already shut him up and cut him off more than once. Logan has been interrupted, ignored, and outright entirely removed from conversations more times than he'd like to count, and the only one who hasn't done so to him yet is Virgil.

Honestly, that in and of itself is a miracle.

So of course Virgil is Logan's closest friend, maybe even his only friend. And that's more than fine, because he's also Virgil's friend.

Or, he hopes he is.

Because when he sees how Virgil is with the others, how he seeks them out and prioritizes his time with them above all else as if he truly cherished it more than anything, he can't help but wonder...

...how important is Logan to Virgil?

[theokusgallery]

A bunch of fanart for @greenninjagal-blog's fics I either made during the weekend or never posted for some reason. Names of the fics for each image is in alt text -- in order, we have: 600 Pieces of Eight, Dead Men Break No Codes, Deja Vu (2 images), Details in Gold, and With an Enemy Like You (Who Needs a Lover?)

First image there is called "re-reading 600 Pieces of Eight". Because I'm normal about that fic and its Janus. Second picture is just there because I wanted to show off Virgil's face + I hate how Janus' body looks

And a very small Janus from A Cactus and Nothing More because I j. I just. love this fic so much. It's so cute and rmgjhlfkd.

[delimeful]

a promise softly sung (1)

BTHB: Rendered Mute

Summary:

Stripped of both his ability to speak and his willingness to communicate, Logan has resigned himself to his new position as the latest hopeless case in the intergalactic version of a wildlife rehabilitation center. None of the staff has managed to identify him as a Human or even as sapient in general. It's not the easiest on his dignity, but in the interest of avoiding more pain, he'd like to keep it that way. Now, if only the strangest alien he'd ever met would stop trying to put enrichment in his enclosure.

warnings: severe dehumanization, miscommunication/assumptions, mentions of violence and injury, mentions of euthanasia, references to torture

-

Logan woke to the familiar buzz of the lighting system flicking on, illuminating the cell around him and agitating the other denizens of his current prison.

He didn’t bother trying to turn back over and go back to sleep; even if the other creatures around him miraculously settled down enough to allow it, the harsh noise of the lighting system was at just the right irritating pitch to keep him awake whether he liked it or not.

It probably wasn’t intentional— from what he’d heard and observed thus far, this facility wasn’t anything close to the first one he’d been kept in. There weren’t any training sessions or punishments for bad behavior, nor was he constantly eyed by speculative buyers.

During the first few weeks he’d been here, he’d frequently observed his neighbors through the thin window that ran along the front of the cell, and most of them didn’t show any signs of discomfort or even irritation at the noise, meaning that it likely wasn’t intended as a deterrent.

He felt fairly confident in his assessment. Early on, he’d gleaned that this was the intergalactic version of an animal shelter, and one that seemed to value proper care for its unwilling residents. He didn’t expect that the aliens running it were intentionally trying to agitate the fauna they were trying to adopt out or rehabilitate.

His daily headache arrived regardless, but it soothed what little remained of his temper to know that this particular suffering wasn’t inflicted purposefully, just to be cruel. Ignorance was hardly an excuse, but he’d found it was far preferable to intentional cruelty.

The thought made him snort as he slowly, painstakingly pushed himself up to a sitting position. The Logan of five years ago would never have been placated by knowing his captors were simply ignorant. If anything, it would have only made him more furious; how could anyone pretend to be fulfilling an animal’s needs without doing sufficient research to understand the animal?

Then again, the person he’d been five years ago wouldn’t have accepted the idea of being trapped in an alien animal shelter, seen as little more than a mindless beast. He would find his present self unrecognizable, unable to reconcile with the very idea of sitting sedately in the alien equivalent of a kennel, silently waiting for the start of a day that was virtually indistinguishable from yesterday or tomorrow.

Sometimes, Logan missed being that person. He’d been overwhelmingly naive back then, but even when things had been at their most painful, there had been a sort of thrilling vindication in seeing his handlers grow furious, a heady satisfaction in his own stubborn refusal to give in.

It had been pointless, of course, just as his nostalgia for that vivacious attitude was pointless. His pride had only earned him more pain.

He began his usual morning routine of simple stretches, keeping one ear on the ruckus around him. There likely hadn’t been any notable new arrivals overnight, but trying to guess which creatures were nearby by sound alone was one of the few sources of entertainment left to him.

Most of the closest noises were dog-like, growls or barks or heavy rumbling. Further away, the cacophony took a much higher pitch, full of the whining, squeaking, and whistling of smaller, less aggressive beasts. As always, Logan was glad for the distance. There may have been more daily variety— the more harmless creatures got adopted out much more frequently— but it wouldn’t have been worth upgrading his daily headache to a daily migraine.

He paused mid-stretch, finally picking out the source of his unease. There was a sound missing, no sign of the familiar rattle of the food and water dish being pulled through the bars and refilled. It was almost always the first thing the employees here did after the lights came on, and while inherently degrading, he had found the routine reassuring.

If they weren’t yet offering the morning meal, there were two prevalent possibilities as to why. Logan didn’t think any of the animals had injured itself or passed away overnight, since there was no urgent calling or somber conversation. That meant an alien had come in to adopt as soon as the facility had opened, a rare but not outstanding occurrence.

If he strained to hear past the growing noise levels, he could make out the mechanical chatter of a translator, confirming his suspicions.

To his surprise, the voices seemed to be coming closer. He shifted out of his stretch, drawing his knees up under him and adjusting the makeshift toga he’d created for himself from one of the provided linens. After being actively dehumanized for years, Logan had long since lost any sense of humiliation or modesty, but he still found some small comfort in clothing, and most aliens didn’t think much of it. There were apparently plenty of animals out there that created simple coverings or incorporated materials around them into fur or feathers.

(At one point, Logan had mistakenly believed that one of his neighbors had been another sapient creature after watching it meticulously tie shredded fabric into little strips and tuck it between feathers in a decorative display. He’d wasted a week attempting to communicate in various ways before realizing the futility, and had accidentally unnerved the poor creature enough to get his cell moved to a different part of the holding room.)

It was unusual that he saw a client approach this section of the shelter so quickly. He was well aware that this was the area designated for undesirables, higher-risk fauna that was more aggressive or feral, similar to how humans would take care to isolate dogs that had been rescued from fighting rings or cats that hadn’t ever been socialized. They didn’t often get visitors, and adoptions were even less frequent.

On his end, Logan hadn’t lashed out too severely at the staff or scared potential clients away like most of the others, but he’d still been relegated to this section. He knew why, of course. Suffice to say, his previous “adoption” had ended poorly.

His mood soured at the memories, and by the time footsteps reached his aisle, he’d shuffled to one corner of the cell and seated himself solidly on the floor, leaning his shoulder against the wall. It would be easier to focus on translating what he could of the conversation if he didn’t have to worry about a sudden headrush or the fatigue that occasionally swept over him after standing for too long.

“—great to hear!” The voice of a staff member trailed into proper hearing range, chirping a phrase used so frequently that Logan had no trouble parsing it out in accented Common.

They launched into a well-worn recitation of what Logan was assuming was standard information about the facility and its available fauna. He still didn’t know enough Common to keep up with the more complicated terms, and could only guess at the general meaning.

Frankly, his attention was diverted by the number of overlapping steps he could make out as they approached. Entire family units came in to look around occasionally, sure, but not to this section. Some of the creatures here were vicious enough to give children nightmares.

There was the clicking sound of a button, and Logan watched dully as the front wall of his cell slowly shifted from opaque to transparent, gradually revealing the muted colors of the narrow hallway outside the cell. Most of the staff used the small viewing windows to check in on them during meals, but when a prospective client came to look, they made sure everything was fully visible.

Two figures came into view as the wall turned almost entirely see-through, with only a faint grey tinge to the material. One was a staff member he’d seen often enough before: a small, feathery alien with big eyes, fluffy antennae, and a poncho that draped over most of its dust-colored form. The other was no species that he’d ever seen before.

It was built vaguely like a centaur, with four stubby legs, two upper limbs, and a long, prehensile tail. Nearly every inch of it was encased in a shining, thick layer of what Logan could only describe as goo. It was as though the alien was covered in an outer shell of vibrant radioactive green gelatin, with only indistinct shadowy shapes visible to indicate that there was any sort of underlying structure at all.

It had no mouth or nose, only two flat black eyes that didn’t blink, and a discolored gray spot below them that was uncannily reminiscent of a handlebar mustache. There were two large, shell-like protrusions on either side of its head, extending past the gelatin layer. From the crown of its head to the base of its spine, there was a stretch of brown plantlike tendrils that writhed subtly in place, looking like a horse’s mane if a horse’s mane was also made of rotting seaweed.

Logan’s interest sharpened despite himself. Most of the shine of being in space had worn off somewhere in the first two years of methodical torture, but occasionally he still felt a glint of that familiar curiosity.

The unknown alien watched him right back, taking in every detail of the small room. A thin pad with blankets piled on it in one corner, and Logan sitting slumped in the other. A few simple toys scattered on the floor, largely untouched.

It asked a question, and Logan noted the way it seemed to hum in different tones before the translator echoed its words. Vibrations produced by an internal organ? Unlike humans, it had no mouth to shape the noise with, so the language must have been composed of variations in the tonal humming itself.

The employee chirped back an affirmative, keeping their gaze averted from meeting Logan’s dull stare directly in the automatic way that he’d noticed in most aliens. The staff especially were careful about eye contact, presumably they received some sort of training to reduce agitation in the fauna they were looking after.

It was somehow refreshing, the way the new alien unabashedly locked eyes with him. He hadn’t realized how much one could miss simple things like eye contact until he was suddenly entirely deprived of it.

It couldn’t last, of course. Logan hadn’t followed most of the conversation thus far, mostly out of general disinterest, but he knew more than enough to recognize the phrase that always came up when he was spoken about.

“There are recorded violent incidents with multiple previous fosters,” the employee recited, the cadence of the phrase so familiar that Logan could have imitated it perfectly, if he was feeling masochistic.

Instead, he kept his mouth firmly closed and idly waited for the duo to move on to the next cage.

The new alien shifted slightly, the reflections of the overhead lights warping along its glossy body.

“What are its—,” it asked, the translator adding a questioning tone indicator. Logan didn’t recognize the last word, but the employee’s response cleared things up within a few sentences.

“Not good,” they answered, antennae angling back in a display of upset. “It’s already been here for a while. If we can’t find the source planet and nobody takes it in, we’ll have to put it down.”

Those weren’t the words exactly, of course. The employee was using a strange euphemism, but unlike most of the creatures here, Logan had more than enough memory retention and cognitive processing to notice just what inevitably happened to the creatures that were referred to as such.

He waited for the spike of panic, the natural response of his body to the threat of death, but it didn’t come. His heart rate may have jumped by a beat or three, but he mostly felt a strange sense of distance from it all.

What difference did it make? Could what he was doing now really be called ‘living’ by any stretch of the imagination?

Logan met the alien’s eyes plainly, still oddly numb to it all.

The alien hummed a long, toneless note, one that didn’t translate into any specific words, and then stepped forward and tapped on the clear material with one of its thick fingers. As though everything up to this point hadn’t been dehumanizing enough.

If things were different, maybe Logan would have tried to snap out a demand or insult to cover for his wounded pride. As it was, he only turned his head further into the wall and closed his eyes.

This didn’t remotely deter the alien. The resulting thunking noises continued to be loud and repetitive, and Logan gained a sudden and unhappy empathy for every fish he’d ever witnessed being pestered by a child in a pet store. Even the employee looked uncomfortable, feathers fluffing out slightly, though surprisingly enough they didn’t try to stop the stranger’s irritating behavior.

Finally, Logan turned back to it with a glare, letting his lips curl back to bare his teeth in an odd configuration, half-sneer and half-snarl. There, he’d confirmed it. He was scary and aggressive, nothing more than a beast waiting to be executed. Now, move along already.

The tail behind the stranger began to wag slightly, a rapid back-and-forth movement that was so reminiscent of a happy dog, it genuinely startled Logan for a moment. Not many species would react to a threat display with playful excitement. Surely, the matching body language was just a coincidence?

Without hesitation, the stranger turned and asked something that Logan heard almost daily, though never before about his own person.

“Can I go in and meet it?”

[swhhdr-wthhr]

i know i haven't uploaded a new chapter for this fic in over half a year... and i probably won't any time soon... but here's some lore explained w/ virgil

[loganslowdown4]

Roman: Wha- and just WHAT do you think you’re wearing?

Virgil: Uh, a hoodie and jeans… like always-

Roman: We’re going to a wedding!

Virgil: Yeah, and..?

Roman: It’s our wedding!!

[not-sure-what-im-feeling]

Hc that even though Virgil is red/green colour blind (specifically like a dog) and even though he can’t see purple, it’s his favourite colour.

He had just recently broken things off with Janus. It was messy, and loud, and he would rather die than have anything to do with Janus ever again in his life.

He went to the only person he could think to help him with it. The romance extraordinaire, creative prince himself, Roman. He went to him for a distraction.

“Uh, what’s your favourite colour?” Roman asked after Virgil’s sobs had died down for a bit.

Virgil looked up from the tear soaked satin pillow he’d been wailing into, Roman just a blurry grey mess in front of him.

“I don’t— fuck. I don’t *know*!” He almost screamed, shoving his face back in the pillow.

Roman’s hand rubbed his shoulder, and he muttered to him softly in his efforts to comfort him. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. Do you want to pick one now? Hm… which colours *can* you see again?”

“Uh… blue, grey, and—“ Virgil’s voice came out muffled until he choked on tears again. “Fucking yellow.”

“Ah.”

“What’s the farthest away from *yellow* that I can get?”

Roman didn’t even hesitate before he answered. “Purple. It’s on the other end of the colour wheel.”

“*That*. Purple’s my favourite. Anything that isn’t close to *him*.”

Roman nodded, barely stifling a laugh. “Purple’s a good colour. The colour of royalty!”

Virgil’s tears stopped for a moment. “Are you purple?”

“No— No, I wear red and white.”

Virgil pulled his head back up, a broken grin on his teary and mascara stained face. “You’re a prince and you don’t wear purple?!”

[lefaystrent]

Virgil wanders into the living room looking for something to do. Or someone to terrorize. Eh, he's not really picky at the moment.

He finds Logan sitting on the couch with a paperback book and pencil in hand. So entranced is he that he doesn't stir at Virgil's entrance. He marks something on a page. His foot idly rotates where he's got it crossed at the knee.

"Whatchya up to?" Virgil asks.

Logan's eyes remain focused. "Sodoku."

"Bless you."

Virgil has the satisfaction of seeing Logan's eye twitch. "Virgil, I know that you know what Sodoku is."

"Yeah, but can you prove it?"

"Yes, but as you are being willfully obstinate, I feel no inclination to."

Virgil snorts good-naturedly. He ambles closer and kind of sways back and forth. He's in a good mood and doesn't feel inclined to take Logan's dismissiveness to heart. Besides, if he's being a true bother, Logan would plainly tell him.

"Willfully obstinate is a step up from anxious mess, so hey, I'll take it."

Logan frowns and glances up now, but when he sees Virgil's smirk, he levels an unamused stare that shows he clearly knows what Virgil is up to. He lowers the puzzle book. "Virgil, you seem to have an abundance of free time at the moment."

"I wouldn't say abundant, but yeah, I'm free."

"Fantastic. You should join me in my downtime. Perhaps you will glean the intricacies of Sodoku via observation."

Virgil rolls his eyes. "Yeah, L. I'll help you with your puzzle."

Virgil doesn't sit down so much as falls onto the cushion, letting his body drop against Logan's side. Logan bounces slightly and adjusts, but doesn't move away or discourage the closeness. He holds the book up so Virgil can see from where he leans his head against Logan's shoulder. There are some squares filled in with numbers, but overall there are only two rows completely filled in. Most of the other blank squares have tiny numbers penciled into the corners. Probably Logan's way of systematically ruling out possibilities.

After a moment of scanning, Virgil ticks his tongue. "I see where your problem is."

"What? What do you see?" Logan asks, way too invested at the thought he may have overlooked something or made a mistake.

Hiding a grin, Virgil points at a random square. "This one is supposed to be eleven."

There's a pause in which Virgil definitely does not cackle. His amusement is all inward, but he watches Logan like a hawk for the beautiful moment of realization.

Logan doesn't disappoint. He goes on an entire face journey that starts with, "Oh, maybe Virgil's right," and ends with, "how dare you." The last bit is directed straight at Virgil and Virgil merely gazes back innocently. It's not a look that comes across naturally on him and he knows it, but that's not the point.

Virgil shrugs. "Then again, what do I know about Sodoku?"

Logan bookmarks the page with his pencil, then reaches up to tap Virgil on the nose. "Ob-stin-ate." He punctuates each syllable with a gentle tap.

Virgil giggles afterwards, airy and care-free, but he'll deny it later.

[prodigal-explorer]

how to write children's personalities

(this is part of my series, how to write children in fanfiction! feel free to check it out if you want more info like this!)

this is the main aspect of writing children that i see people mess up so often, especially in the fandoms i'm in (sanders sides and undertale). children are not adorable little noodles with no brains and no concept besides being cute and silly and crying. children are beings that are just as complex as adults, and they deserve personalities to match. this will make them way more interesting to read about! let's get started!

since there are so many aspects to personality to talk about and i don't want to sit here typing for ten years, we're going to do this guide a little differently. i'm going to divide these issues into archetypes, write a short description, and then make a list of do's and don't's for each one!

archetype one: the cute little baby

okay. babies are cute. we all know this, and i'm not saying it's a bad thing to make your babies cute. a lot of people love reading about moments with adorable little babies. but here are some ways to step this kind of thing up, and some things to avoid if you want to improve upon writing this archetype.

do's:

give the child character another archetype besides this one. though "cute" is the foundation for a lot of child characters, it's not a personality. and if a character is vital to your story, then it needs a personality. that's just a rule. you will read more about other archetypes further along in this post!

make the moments symbolic. though it doesn't seem like it from an outsider's perspective, basically everything a baby does is for a reason, and every action a baby makes can say something about their personality. if you want this baby's personality to be energetic and curious, have them crawl around and explore things, and laugh a lot, and babble. if you want this baby to be more sullen and shy, have them cry quietly instead of wailing, or have them squirm when being held by new people.

make the actions of the baby's guardians affect the mannerisms of the baby. babies act differently depending on how the people taking care of them act and react. for instance, if the baby's guardians are very busy people, then maybe have the baby cry very loudly whenever they want something, since they know that it's the only way to get the attention of their guardians. stuff like that can add depth to a character and to a general story.

don't's:

decide that the baby is cute and call it a day. sweet little babies are cool and all, but they get very boring to read about after a while. this can barely even be considered an archetype because of how bland it is when it's by itself.

keep this archetype around for too long. as babies turn into toddlers and then children, they don't act even remotely the same way. it's strange and off-putting to read about a seven year old acting like a two-year old, unless it's a very clear character choice that is a result of explicit actions and events.

make the baby know that it's cute. realistically, children don't understand the concept of cuteness until they're around toddler age. if then, you want to make the kid be like "i get what i want when i'm cute, so i'll act cute!", then sure, that's hilarious. but when they're two months old, they're not batting their eyelashes because that's their personality. they're batting their eyelashes because they got something in their eye. the main thing that makes a baby cute is that they don't know they're cute. they're just figuring out how to do ordinary things.

make everything a cute moment. while babies are awesome, raising them isn't always sunshine and rainbows. make the baby do something wildly chaotic, because babies do wildly chaotic things all the time. not only does this make things more realistic, but it makes things very interesting!

archetype two: the shy kid

as a former shy kid, i know good and well that these types of children exist, and they are very real and valid. however, there are certain ways i've seen them written that are just terrible because once again, this archetype cannot be considered a full personality on its own. let's get into the do's and don't's.

do's:

make their shyness a deliberate choice. kids aren't usually naturally shy. kids are usually more curious than cautious. is there a reason why the kid is shy? there doesn't have to be a reason why the kid is shy, but there could be a reason why the child is NOT outgoing/curious. try and give something like this some deliberate cause, instead of just making them shy so they can seem more precious and infantilized.

make their shyness manifest in diverse ways. not all shy kids cling to their guardian's leg and sit alone during recess. there are different ways to be shy. you can be aggressively shy, or fearfully shy, or shy due to general unwillingness to change.

make their shyness have realistic consequences. someone who's shy is probably not going to have many friends, if any. not all shy kids magically meet an extrovert who adopts them. someone who's shy probably has underdeveloped social skills, which can lead to them being less emotionally intelligent down the line. this makes the shy kid archetype a lot more three-dimensional than just a wet noodle of fear.

don't's:

infantilize shyness or treat it like it makes the kid some sweet, precious angel. not only is this very uncomfortable for shy people to read, but it's generally unrealistic. shyness doesn't affect how good or bad somebody is - it's a neutral trait.

use shyness as a tool to make characters seem younger. shyness does not indicate age. fear manifests in many different ways, and shyness is not the only way.

rely on cliches. not all shy people have the same journey, and the idea that a shy person becoming more outgoing is the "goal" is not only a bit offensive, but it's very cliche. shyness is not always an obstacle to be overcome.

archetype three: the happy-go-lucky kid

oftentimes, the reason why children characters are written into stories in the first place is to give a little bit of lightheartedness and innocence. to add a unique voice among all the cranky, stingy, burdened adults. but you have to be careful when writing this archetype. i personally really dislike this archetype as a whole, but i'm going to put personal feelings towards it aside because honestly, there's no valid reason to dislike it besides opinion.

do's:

give the kid a trademark. maybe this kid makes a lot of little jokes, or maybe they always see the best in a situation. give the kid one thing that makes them happy-go-lucky instead of just giving them everything because nobody is endlessly happy all the time in every way.

go deeper. while happiness is very often genuine, sometimes, it's a mask that hides something else. this can be an interesting way to sort of spice up your happy-go-lucky kid character. maybe the kid is hiding a big secret behind all those jokes.

don't's:

make the character always happy. while children tend to have simpler thoughts, they don't have simpler minds. this child needs to have thoughts, real, genuine thoughts that aren't just happy things.

see happy-go-lucky as a trait that is exclusive to children. comparing happiness to childhood and viewing them as the only places where the other can exist is just wrong, and it's kind of depressing. maybe give happy-go-lucky kid a happy-go-lucky adult to exchange jokes with!

---

those are the archetypes that i see a lot. but now, i'm going to suggest a few child character archetypes that i LOVE that i don't see enough in fics! feel free to use any of these that you like. alter them, combine them! these are, in my opinion, some of the most fun child character personalities!

the spoiled brat: "i want this, and that, and that, and- why aren't you giving it to me?? if you don't give me what i want, i'll tell on you!". spoiled brats are so fun to read and write about, especially when they have absolutely no reason to be spoiled given the current situation (think riches to rags). they've got everything, humor, angst, and best of all, lots of pockets for personality. think about why the child is spoiled. were they enabled by their guardians? did they grow up rich, with access to everything they wanted? think about whether you want the child to stay spoiled. does something change? do they learn how to improve their materialistic and selfish tendencies? there are so many opportunities to play with the personality of this child!

the know-it-all kid: while i do see a lot of know-it-all kids in media, oftentimes, they don't actually have personality besides bossiness and intelligence. i love know-it-all kids who have depth to them. kids who are constantly spouting information because of their sheer love to learn. kids who have one specific thing that they know everything about, so they never stop talking about it. kids who tell people what to do and act like they know best because they don't have a lot of control over anything at home, so they grasp at whatever control they can find elsewhere. i think this archetype could open up a lot of ideas for personality further down the line. it also has a lot of variety with humor and angst, and general depth.

the serious child: this is an archetype that i cannot get enough of. i love a child that doesn't think they're an adult, per se, and still enjoys kid things, but just has such a calm and regal air about them that isn't learned. it's just natural. think of the kid that doesn't really get excited about things conventionally, but you can tell they're happy by their faint smile. the kid that seems to live in slow motion, and doesn't mind this fact at all. the kid that sits alone at recess just because other kids scare the birds away, and they want to see how a bird acts when it doesn't think its being watched. i love kids who have poignant thoughts, because their thoughts are so creative and different from adult thoughts.

the adult-ified child: now this is another archetype i can't get enough of, but it's for a different reason. this child, on the other hand, does think that they're an adult for one reason or another. maybe their guardians forced them to grow up too quickly. maybe they just wanted to grow up quickly by themselves. but this child has thoughts that are too big for their little bodies. they explore things that aren't meant to be explored when their brains are still so small. they do everything too quickly, they stumble through life as if a clock is ticking somewhere. to me, they're just haunting to read about. it feels wrong and dangerous to just watch them do things that hurt them because they don't know any better, but they're on a page. nobody can stop them. it's just so tragic, i'm obsessed.

the prodigal child: this archetype isn't really as deep or detailed as the others, but i do appreciate it. this archetype is for a child who knew who they wanted to be from an early age. a child who wanders into a ballet class and finds out they're better than the ten year olds by the time they're five. this archetype often pairs really well with the know-it-all kid or the adult-ified child because usually, children don't experience what it's like to be the best at something until they're a lot older. this is just a really cool archetype when you aren't quite sure what to do with that main character's little sister.

the chaotic child: this archetype is so much fun to read and write, to be honest. this is a child that just does as they please, whether it's out of curiosity or for pure enjoyment. think of the crazy stories that your guardians have about you or your siblings being absolutely insane. scribbling in a book and then demanding that the library publish their version. trying to ride the dog like a horse. cutting up clothes in an attempt to be a fashion designer. this one is just plain fun!

---

now, there are so many more archetypes out there, but those are just my spotlights and recommendations! i hope after reading this, you feel more equipt to write child characters that have real, engaging, interesting personalities!

[soysaucevictim]

I just felt like scratching out the Begotten!AU Dork Sides for the helluvit.

Probably scheming abt their next Family Dinner and trolling Roman in the process, somehow.

(The four of them being Beasts with the souls of monsters and all that.)

[greenninjagal-blog]

Hi hello I was wondering if you would be willing to tell me more about the pretty god Janus design/au/whatever is going on with it because I love it so much I desperately want to know more lol

Hi! I am!! So spoiled!! By the amount of art that @theokusgallery has been feeding me directly for this idea that I've been working on. He is so pretty. I'm going to cry. And every new art piece he just gets prettier. Can you believe it??

Pretty God Janus(TM) is part of a dnd themed au called "Kiss the Stars (And Worship the Ground)" that I'm working on writing right now (literally- I'm taking a break from writing it to scroll through tumblr, lol) where Janus is a legendary god of old, who got bored of humanity centuries ago and has since been trying his hardest to find something entertaining to do with all the power he has.

Virgil, on the other hand, is a devout follower of the Goddess of Justice, right up until his entire village is ransacked by raiders waving the banner of Janus's emblem, and he's the last of his people alive, meant to be ritually sacrificed to Janus in exchange for his followers to receive a blessing according to this really old stone tablet a few guys found. Except well. Virgil doesn't end up being the one dead on the altar, Janus is extremely entertained for the first time in millennia, and they strike a deal:

Janus will give Virgil the power to avenge, revenge, whatever, and Virgil will continue to provide entertainment for Janus, all for the price of one kiss per day.

[part-time-zombie]

Headcanon that remus likes to take some idioms very literally, as in he'll physically manifest symptoms of them as a joke.

He's daydreaming and all of a sudden his head is surrounded by clouds. Patton freaks out thinking his head is on fire, until remus tunes back in and they disappear. (Head in the clouds)

Someone gives him a compliment or shows him genuine kindness and he immediately throws up a bunch of butterflies. Logan shrugs it off as him just eating things he's not supposed to again, and remus doesn't try to correct him. (Butterflies in your stomach)

This idea just came to me and ngl I kinda love it

(if you have any other metaphors/idioms please add them to this, I'd love to see how much other stuff he could do)

[let-roman-bite-someone]

the way Roman started off as a proper prince; regal accent, poetic catchphrases and all. and then that accent started disappearing as he started speaking more and more like just a normal guy, disguising his pain with cringy jokes, trying desperately to get everyone's attention, no longer self-assured and prideful, because he's no longer Thomas's hero.

[nb-octopus-writes]

once you're in the hive, the other bees assume you're supposed to be there

[Masterpost]

Summary:

Virgil accidentally gets absorbed by his best friend's brother's polycule.

In his defense, they keep feeding him every time they see him, and Patton's cooking is really good.

Chapter 1: Halloween Party

Wordcount: 1.9K

~

There are a lot of people Virgil doesn't know at this party. Remus is here, somewhere, and Virgil needs to find him again before the party ends, because Remus was his ride and he doesn't want to get left here. Janus is here too though, and Virgil doesn't think Janus would let Remus leave without him, and he's sure Remus wouldn't desert Janus, so he's trying not to worry too much about the fact that he doesn't currently know where Remus is.

But that's it for people Virgil knows, and Remus didn't even bother to introduce him to anyone before fucking off to who knows where, and Virgil’s certainly not going to walk up to a random stranger and introduce himself, so he's currently appreciating the snack table. If he's eating or deliberating on what to eat next, he can't be expected to talk to anybody, right?

“’Scuse me, itsy bitsy,” someone says from behind him, and Virgil turns to see a vaguely familiar man in a dazzling prince costume holding a fresh plate of deviled eggs.

Virgil moves so that the prince dude can set the plate down on a clear spot on the table, and frowns. “I'm taller than you, Princey.”

Prince dude shrugs, plucks one of the eggs up, and takes a large bite. “Lucky you, or we'd've had to ask you to vacate the premises,” he says. “No little spiders allowed, real or fake.”

Which, yeah, now that he's mentioned it, Virgil had noted an extreme lack of spider-themed decorations, which is unusual for Halloween. Usually there'd at least be spiderweb cupcakes, but the cupcakes at this party are mostly cute ghosts.

There's probably a good reason for that, Virgil realizes with a sinking feeling. “Should I change?”

“You got another costume handy, or were you planning on spinning a spider-silk cocoon and metamorphosing into a butterfly?”

Virgil grimaces. “No,” he admits.

Prince Dude considers him. “It's not very realistic,” he says, which is true. Virgil hadn't been going for realism, he'd been going for passable costume I can make on short notice. He's wearing black jeans and a black hoodie, and he'd cut some pool noodles in half and wrapped them in more black cloth and stuck them to his back for the other four legs. It had been a pain to get them to stay in place properly, actually, and he'd ended up sewing their wrappings to the back of his hoodie in order to keep them where he wanted them. He'd been pretty proud of it, given that Remus had dropped “we're going to a costume party at my brother's house” on him like an hour beforehand, but now he's wishing he'd come up with any other idea. He could have put a sheet over his head and been a ghost, or something. Granted, that would have required him to have a sheet that was both white and that he was willing to cut holes in, which he didn't, but still.

Prince Dude continues to quietly scrutinize Virgil, and he wants to squirm under his gaze. Eventually, the guy shrugs and says, “Might be best to ask the scaredy-cat himself. Wait here, I'll be back.” And he saunters off before Virgil can answer.

For lack of anything better to do, Virgil picks up a deviled egg and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. It's really tasty, actually, and now he's wishing he'd taken smaller bites rather than horking it down in one.

Virgil had thought that Princey was just being mean with the “scaredy-cat” thing, but the guy he's talking to now actually is dressed as a calico cat. Prince Dude points back at Virgil, and Mister Calico Cat glances in his direction, then turns back to Princey. Virgil can't hear what they're saying, but he supposes Prince Dude must've asked Calico if Virgil’s costume was too creepy crawly scary.

They talk for way longer than Virgil had expected, and he can't tell if Calico's response was more like “No, he's fine,” or more along the lines of “Yes, that's terrifying, please have him removed immediately from my sight and also my home.”

He occupies himself with another deviled egg. If he's going to get kicked out, he might as well enjoy some more of this tasty food first.

Oh, fuck. Remus.

Remus isn't going to want to leave early just to take Virgil home, and Virgil still doesn't know where he even is! Fuck!

Well, Remus could have warned him not to be a spider, so if Virgil gets kicked out of the party it'll be at least partly Remus's fault. Virgil doesn't know anybody here, but Remus knows at least half these people, and if Calico’s spider aversion is enough that there are no spider-themed decorations in the house on Halloween, that sounds like the kind of thing Remus would know about.

Granted, Remus revels in being gross and annoying, but still! He's not a total dick. He should have told Virgil.

Fucker.

Calico vanishes into the other room, and Prince Dude comes back over to Virgil. He doesn't look like he's about to kick Virgil to the curb, at least. Virgil braces himself anyway.

“Good news!” Princey says with a grin. “Li’l Mister Muffet says you don't look like a creepy crawly death dealer and he doesn't have the urge to remove you with arson!”

Virgil blinks. “...gooood?” he says slowly. He hadn't even considered kill it with fire being a potential response to his costume. That would have been worse than just getting kicked out of the party, actually.

“Honestly you're much more Doc Ock in silhouette, Spider-Man,” Princey continues. “That helps a lot.”

Virgil glances back at where Prince Dude and Calico had been chatting. “So he didn't leave the room because he can't stand the sight of me?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, he wanted to make another plate of horse devours,” Princey says, reaching past Virgil to grab a cupcake off the table. This one has a little frosting bat.

“A plate of what?” Virgil says, because surely he didn't hear that right.

“Little snacks,” Prince Dude clarifies instead of repeating himself. “Our fridge is crammed with delicious bits and bobs. It's been so hard to resist the temptation to eat them before the party.” He bites appreciatively into his cupcake, then adds with his mouth full, “You'd think he wouldn't notice what with how much he made, but nooo, sneak one chocolate covered cherry before party time and it's a lengthy scolding for you!” Princey sighs dramatically, then cheerfully devours the rest of his cupcake.

“...hors d'oeuvres?” Virgil says hesitantly.

“Yeah, a couple ordervs of deviled eggs, cheese and crackers, and those scrumptious little pinwheel things,” Princey says. Virgil’s not sure if Princey actually doesn't know how hors d'oeuvres is pronounced, or if he's messing with him, but then Princey gives him a mischievous grin that one, confirms that yes, Princey does know what he's doing, and two, is so familiar that it freezes Virgil in place as the pieces click together in his brain.

The lack of a mustache makes Prince Dude's face look different, and so does the way he did his makeup, and he carries himself differently, but it's undeniable all the same: Virgil knows that grin.

This is Remus's twin brother.

Now that he's connected the dots (you haven't connected shit) the family resemblance is clear even to Virgil’s honestly rather faceblind eyes.

This is Remus's brother, and it's his house they're partying at.

… Virgil doesn't remember the guy's name.

Fuck, he should've made sure he at least knew who the party hosts were, especially the one related to his mischief goblin of a best friend.

Well he can't exactly ask now, can he?

“Also like, five types of cupcakes,” Princey continues, oblivious to Virgil’s inner turmoil. “Seriously, have you tried the cupcakes? Chef Boiardelightful made multiple separate batches of different flavors, from scratch. And they're all delicious!”

Virgil smirks. “And did you try to snitch them before the party too?”

Princey gasps theatrically, pressing a hand to his chest. “How could you accuse me of such a thing!?” he protests with exactly as much dramatic emotion as Virgil would expect from Remus's twin. “For your information, I did not! I merely sampled a portion of the batter left on the spatula after the cupcakes had gone into the oven. Also some of the frosting.”

“He means that he licked the bowls clean,” says a new voice, and Virgil does not jump out of his skin, thank you very much. And even if he did jolt a little, it's nothing to the startled squawk Princey emits.

Calico's back, holding a platter of little finger sandwiches on toothpicks. He offers them up to Virgil, who takes one. “Thanks.”

“No worries, kiddo!” Calico says cheerfully, and puts the rest of the platter down on the snack table. Princey plucks up two sandwiches by their toothpicks, and gets a stern look in response. “Make sure to leave some for the guests,” Calico scolds.

“My delightful and beloved Patissier,” Princey says, cupping Calico's face gently with his free hand. “I assure you that each of our guests could have a heaping plateful of food and we would still have leftovers until next Tuesday. No-one will be going home hungry.”

It really is an impressive spread. Everything Virgil’s tried has been really good. Remus really could have played up the ‘free food’ angle more when trying to convince Virgil to come. If he'd known the food would be this good, then overriding his usual party-related reservations—it's gonna be loud, there will be a lot of people, I don't know anybody, etc���would have been a lot easier. Then again, Virgil probably wouldn't have believed him. He'd mostly been expecting pizza and cheap beer, honestly, not– not homemade delicacies.

The tiny sandwich Calico gave him is lightly toasted, with some kind of sliced-meat-and-cream-cheese filling, and a little green leafy garnish on top. It definitely looks much fancier than most things Virgil eats, and he can understand why Calico doesn't want Princey to eat them all. That probably took a decent amount of effort. He almost feels bad eating it himself, except that Calico had offered it to him specifically, and it would probably be more rude at this point to not eat it.

“Are you sure my costume is okay?” Virgil asks, interrupting the minor squabble Princey and Calico had fallen into.

“Oh, yes, you're fine,” Calico assures him. “Trust me, if you were pinging my brain as an actual spider I wouldn't be in the room right now, let alone standing next to you.”

“Really, cause most cats I know would eat a spider soon as look at it,” Virgil quips, and is rewarded with Calico laughing.

“That wouldn't be very good host-ly of me, now would it?” he says. “I would never eat a guest!”

“Not unless they're a reptile with scallions,” Princey teases, and Calico flushes.

“Hey!” he protests, swatting Princey's shoulder with one hand and trying to cover his extremely red face with the other. Virgil wonders what the reference was, exactly, but doesn't think it's his place to ask. It seems rather personal, from how hard Calico is blushing.

…maybe he'll ask Remus later if he knows what the story there is.

~~~~

Chapter 2: The Morning After

[loganslowdown4]

Roman: I was at the park today and people were installing one of those spinny… things. Like a horse tornado… for kids—

Logan:

Logan: You mean a merry-go-round?

Roman: Look, I’m not the wordsmith you are brain boy—

[exhibit-ayyy-look-at-this-nerd]

a day late but!! this is for @intrulogicalweek day 3! the prompt was coffee. i combined it with the alt prompt lesbians cuz i skipped day 2!

[libiemoon]

If any of you have watched Golden Girls you'll know what inspired me to make this incorrect quote 😂

Roman: Wait, how many boyfriends could the figurative personification of a heart have had?

Patton: 16.

Roman: Excuse me?

Patton: I had about 16 boyfriends, of course that was before I knew Logan. I probably would’ve had more but I wasn’t allowed to start dating until I was a senior in high school.

Roman: 16?. . .16?!

Virgil: Oh god stand back he’s gonna blow

Roman: What do you mean you had 16 boyfriends?! You told me you were a virgin until you were in college!

Logan: *trying not to laugh*

Patton: Hey you can have a boyfriend without going all the way

Roman: You cannot! If that were true, Patton, then that would mean you were a slut.

Janus: Oh come on Roman how can you say that? So the man had 16 boyfriends in 1 year. He's not a slut.

Patton: Thank you Janus.

Janus: He is THE slut.

Roman: * trying not to cry dramatically*

Virgil & Remus: *Crying on the floor laughing*