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today-only-happens-once · 5 years ago

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all the truth i could tell

Title: all the truth i could tell

Word Count: 4864

Summary: The court case is about keeping them together. But Roman’s testimony during the trial might just tear Logan apart. For Isa’s Sanders Bro AU. Familial/Brotherly LAMP angst/hurt/comfort.

Warnings: angst/hurt/comfort, detailed discussion of past abuse (physical/emotional/psychological), courtrooms, badgering witnesses, threats, threats about children, vomiting, second-guessing and self-doubt, emotional breakdowns, arguments, guilt (trauma related and also misplaced in so many ways), cursing, crying (some more than others but a lot across the board woops)

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write this fic for months and months. Perhaps one of the angstiest fics I’ve ever written. Got a little emotional while writing it, so I mostly just hope the emotions of the fic translated from my brain onto the page well enough because... I’m not sure, honestly. But I’m never sure about these things. Heh. My immeasurable thanks to @justisaisfine not only for letting me play in the Bros AU again, but for all the work and love and dedication they’ve put in to this universe’s creation. Edited by yours truly. All continuity errors, typos, and spelling/grammar mistakes are mine.

Inspired mostly by these posts from their AU.

Title is taken from “Praying” by Kesha; a cover of which appears in Isa’s playlist for this AU.

…

“Roman Sanders.”

The courtroom is packed, though Logan can’t say at this point that he finds that particularly surprising. It had been packed for the past several days, ever since it first started. And despite this fact, Logan is reasonably confident he hears the inhale of breath that his older brother sucks into his lungs. It is not entirely steady. Roman stands up from beside their lawyers at the defense table and casts a quick glance over his shoulder to his brothers and Thomas. Logan doesn’t know what his own expression is. He hopes it’s reassuring.

Anything to ease that flicker of fear that crosses his brother’s eyes.

Late afternoon sunlight streams in through the windows on the far wall and leaves squares of light on the wood floors. The benches are hard and uncomfortable to sit on, but Logan had gotten used to their discomfort days ago. Besides, a hard seat was hardly the most pressing issue on his mind. He casts a furtive, fleeting glance over at the back of his parents’ heads at the prosecution table.

Roman makes his way to the witness stand, lays his hand on the Bible, swears the oath they’d all heard half a dozen times by now. It’s all very business-as-usual. Logan wonders if Roman’s hand feels like lead to him. Logan’s had felt that way when he’d sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth.

“You may take your seat.”

Beside him, Patton shifts, fiddling with the sleeve of his gray suit jacket. Logan glances at him. Patton doesn’t take his eyes off their oldest brother.

Their lawyer—Walter Coleman—stands, buttons his suit jacket, and casually makes his way over. Logan liked him; he’d been the first person Thomas had called after Logan explained that he’d been gathering evidence just in case their parents came back. He was practiced, successful, and very thorough. Patton had described him as kind, but kindness mattered significantly less to Logan than whether or not Coleman could win.

“Roman, could you do the record a favor—just for clarity—and describe your relationship to the prosecution.”

A routine question, Logan tells himself. One they have practiced several times before. He tells himself this as if it will ease the tension that stretches his spine ramrod straight. It does not.

Roman clears his throat and leans into the mic. “I was their first child.”

“So you are the oldest of the Sanders children, yes?”

“Yes.”

“How old were you when you left home?”

“I was fifteen.”

“Could you describe the nature of the night you left? We have heard your brothers’ testimony regarding that incident, but I think it would benefit to have yours as well.” A brief pause. “Do you remember that night?”

“Vividly.”

“Then please tell us about it.”

Roman nods. Takes a breath. “I came home from school that day. It was late May, I think, and we could hear crashing and yelling coming from inside the house. I ran inside without even thinking about it, really—”

“Could you clarify whom you mean when you say ‘we’?”

Roman clears his throat. “Two of my brothers, sorry. Patton and Logan. Virgil wasn’t in school yet.” He pauses, glances at their lawyer, and continues after his silent, encouraging nod. “When I got in the house, it didn’t take long to realize the sound was coming from the kitchen. Mom was screaming. Shattered plates were all over the floor, and my—and Virgil was sort of hiding in the corner in the middle of the mess.”

Roman’s voice is… wrong, to Logan’s ears. Distant and detached and so unlike his oldest brother that it twists his stomach. Roman’s eyes are boring into their lawyer’s as if he’s afraid to look anywhere else right now.

Roman continues. “Mom was yelling something about Virgil, and she had a plate in her hand and she looked like she was about to throw it at him. So I yelled for her to stop, I asked what she was doing even though it seemed pretty clear, and I grabbed the plate from her hands because I was afraid she was going to throw it at him anyway. She left, after that.”

Their lawyer has his back to the courtroom, so Logan cannot see his expression. “She just walked away?”

Roman’s lips press into a thin line. “I think ‘shoved’ may be a bit more accurate, but yes.”

“And then what did you do?”

“I attempted to talk to Virgil.”

“Attempted?”

For the first time since he took the stand, Logan sees a flicker of something pass through Roman’s eyes. Logan remembers with startling clarity the look in his brother’s eyes when they watched Lilo and Stitch a lifetime ago—and then promptly never watched it again.

“I couldn’t—Virgil wouldn’t respond to me for a really long time.” Roman takes a deep breath. His gaze flickers from their lawyer and drifts out to the crowd. It settles on Thomas, who is sitting on the other side of Patton, for a brief moment before he returns it to their lawyer. “His eyes were kind of unfocused and… eventually, I just picked him up and took him upstairs to patch him up.”

“He was injured?”

Roman nods. “Yeah. He… There were cuts all over his hands. I think he might’ve been trying to pick up the pieces off the floor. His arms too. Maybe his head. I—Truthfully, I don’t remember the specifics of his injuries.”

Another line they’d practiced, Logan thinks. A truthful statement, but a careful one. Not I don’t remember. Not the details are hazy. Roman’s memories are vague around the particulars of Virgil’s injuries, but there is no doubt he was injured.

If he’s being honest, Logan is vaguely surprised at how well Roman seems to have remembered that night. It was a long time ago. And Logan doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the somehow both vacant and desperate look in his eyes as he’d bandaged their baby brother that night.

“Then I told my brothers that I thought leaving was the best decision.”

“Was staying with your parents going to leave you or your brothers in immediate, direct physical harm—”

“Objection.” The interruption comes from the prosecution table, a voice familiar now to Logan from his own experience on the witness stand. It still sent chills down his arms and turned his stomach. The prosecuting lawyer—Tyler Jacobs—is still sitting, but he’s looking directly at the judge. “That question is purely based on speculation. Witness is unable to know what would have happened had they not left.”

“Sustained.”

“I’ll rephrase,” Coleman says patiently. “Did you believe that staying in that house would mean danger of imminent harm?”

“Yes.” The question is immediate, clear, and divisive.

“Did you, Roman Sanders, forcibly remove any of your brothers from their home without their consent or agreement?”

“No. Their own testimonies speak to that.”

“And why didn’t you contact proper authorities rather than leave?”

“I was…” Roman’s voice seems to die for a moment in his throat. His gaze flickers over to the prosecution table for a brief moment and Logan swears some color drains from Roman’s face. “I was scared.”

“Scared. Of your parents?”

“Yes,” Roman says, his voice returning to that unnatural evenness. “But also of being separated from my brothers. I was fifteen, and they were all I had.”

There’s a surprising pause. Someone a few rows behind them coughs. Coleman regards Roman silently. Roman stares back at him. Logan cannot tell if they’re communicating somehow, or why there’s such a long pause, but then eventually, Coleman speaks again.

“We’ve heard from your brothers about their understandings of the nature of your parents. But could you, in your own words, describe your relationship to them?”

Beside him, Logan feels Patton sit up a little more.

“It was…” Roman hesitates, and Logan doesn’t understand why. “It was uncomfortable.”

“In what way?”

Silence.

Logan feels himself tense. His older brother was a damn good actor but Logan had spent his entire life reading through Roman’s bravado. Alone on the witness stand, it seems unusually brittle to Logan, and he doesn’t understand the tinge of what he can only describe as panic in his big brother’s eyes.

“Roman,” Coleman prompts, in a surprisingly gentle voice.

Roman’s jaw works. He looks away. The panic gives way to something else. Shame?

“You promised this court to tell the whole truth,” Coleman says, still with that surprising gentleness. “All of it, Roman.”

Roman doesn’t look at anybody when he finally answers. “It was… threats, mostly.”

And Logan’s blood turns to ice.

“When none of my brothers were around,” Roman presses on, speaking quickly, like the faster he speaks the sooner he can get it over with and Logan’s head is spinning. “My father would ask if I’d rather he hurt my brothers instead, or said he’d burn Logan again if I didn’t shut up about it, or he’d be sure to tell Mom to hit Patton harder next time if I said anything about the bruises at school, or that he’d lock Virgil away from us for hours—days—if I didn’t—”

Roman’s voice chokes off. He swallows hard, squares his jaw, and looks up. “Sometimes it happened at night. Virgil and I shared a room, and sometimes he’d… he’d come in, knowing Virgil was fast asleep in the bed next to me, and we could both hear him breathing, and he’d ask if I’d imagined what it might be like to not hear that breathing, or to hear it… stop, and that I might find out if I didn’t…”

Patton seizes Logan’s hand and squeezes hard enough that maybe it should hurt but nothing seems to register to Logan right now. Things are spinning and nothing fits together and God damn it, how could he not have known?

Logan doesn’t know if his hand is shaking harder or Patton’s. When Patton clasps a second hand over Logan’s, Logan realizes it’s his own.

“Do you have any regrets about your decision to remove yourself and your brothers from that situation?”

“No,” Roman says honestly. Earnestly. Logan thinks he can barely hear him over the roaring in his ears.

Coleman nods once, then steps back and returns to the prosecution table. Logan watches as if he’s seeing it from miles away as Coleman removes his glasses and scrubs a hand across his eyes as Jacobs stands up.

“How old were you when you left the Sanders’ residence that night?” Logan instinctively tenses at the sound of his deceptively smooth voice.

“Fifteen,” Roman repeats.

“Do you think, Roman, that a fifteen-year-old child is the best judge of what is and isn’t best for other children?”

“I was afraid for mine and my brothers’ safety.”

“But you made that decision for your brothers rather than allowing them to reach their own conclusions, did you not?”

A crease appears between Roman’s brows. “No. Patton said he wanted to leave, too. And I wouldn’t have made Logan come if he didn’t want to.”

“Yes, yes.” Jacobs waves a dismissive hand. “But didn’t you say that Virgil wasn’t responding to you when you tried to talk to him?”

If Logan hadn’t been looking for it, he would have missed the way Roman’s eyes widened imperceptibly. “I… Yes, but—”

“So how could you have known what Virgil wanted? He was five at the time, yes?”

“Yes—”

“So he was capable, physically, of speaking in full sentences. Yet did Virgil, at any point, indicate clearly and without equivocation, that he wanted to be removed from the Sanders household?”

“He had just been—”

“Please answer the question asked, Roman.”

Logan feels Patton’s grip tighten around his own. Logan squeezes back. He wants to look at his younger brother, to see if he is okay, but Logan can’t take his eyes off his oldest brother. Something is squeezing Logan’s chest like a metal band. Sharp and painful and the air feels too thick for it.

“No,” Roman says. “He didn’t. But he wasn’t safe, and I was doing what I thought was right.”

“What you thought was right,” Jacobs repeats with a skeptical glance to the jury. There’s a weighted pause. “Tell me something, Roman, had you ever had a job before you left?”

“No.”

I can’t believe he never told me about dad.

“Had you saved up the money your parents freely gave you?”

Through the weird haze of Logan’s thoughts, he thinks he sees Roman’s jaw tighten. “No.”

“Had you had any prior work experience?”

“No, but I—”

“Legal guardianship experience?”

“No, but—”

“Did you have a specific place in mind when you left?”

“We found—”

“A place you owned that could provide certainty of safety and security from inclement weather?”

“No—”

“And yet you think it was the right decision,” Jacobs cuts in, doing nothing to hide his incredulity. “The right decision for you, a fifteen-year-old child, to remove your younger brothers from their home with no plan, no experience, no job, no nothing. You really believe that was the right thing to do?”

“I—I was—”

“Objection!” Coleman roars over Roman’s stuttered, desperate response. “Badgering the witness!”

The gavel bangs. Logan, Patton, and Roman on the stand all jump in unison. There’s an immediate, ricocheting silence in the courtroom. “Sustained,” the judge says in a tense voice. “Jacobs, you will proceed carefully or not at all.”

“Apologies,” Jacobs says as if its more reflexive habit than legitimate contrition. “Roman, have you ever made a mistake?”

Why didn’t Roman talk to me about any of it? Why didn’t—

Roman hesitates. “Yes.”

“And did you learn from that mistake? Were you capable of change?”

Another beat. “Yes.”

“Do you think your parents are capable of similar change?”

Dad used us to threaten him, and he never—

Roman has a desperate, pained look in his eyes and Logan realizes—so suddenly it jars him—that he’s looking at him and Patton for the first time. “I…”

“You are under oath, Roman,” Jacobs says with a bit of an edge. Or perhaps Logan is imagining it. “You must state your honest opinion.”

“No,” Roman says eventually tearing his gaze away from his brothers. He says the word like it devastates him. “No, I don’t.”

Jacobs eyes narrow. He purses his lips. “Perhaps you have not grown up quite as much as you believe you have,” he says. Coleman jumps to his feet again but Jacobs waves him off. “No further questions.”

Roman scrubs a hand down his face and Logan realizes then that he can see how badly Roman is shaking all of a sudden.

Why didn’t Roman tell me? There’s something hard settled in the core of Logan’s chest that is painful to breathe past.

The gavel bangs. Logan jumps again. “Let’s take a brief recess.”

Patton has jumped to his feet and is out of the courtroom almost before the judge has finished speaking.

…

Logan finds his younger brother forty-eight seconds later in the restroom. He hears the retching before he sees him, kneeling beside a toilet with the stall door still open. Something unnamed clenches impossibly tighter in Logan’s chest.

“Oh, Pat,” he says, as his younger brother flushes and sits back, wiping his mouth. His eyes are dry, and for some reason he can’t explain, that surprises Logan. He grabs one of the paper towels and quickly rinses it in the sink before crossing to his brother and kneeling in front of him.

Patton leans his head back against the tiled wall. “He…” Patton lets the statement go unfinished, his gaze distancing.

“I know,” Logan says, softly, as he wipes away the residue lingering on Patton’s lips.

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Know? Did you know what…what he…”

Logan’s throat is closing. He coughs in a futile attempt to clear it. He still feels a little bit like the ground beneath his feet has shifted. “No,” he manages. “I didn’t.”

And the admittance, out loud, makes something burn harshly in Logan’s chest. Something like anger. Something like grief. Something like… Logan grits his teeth. He had never been good at identifying emotions. But it hurts.

Patton swallows hard. The steel band around Logan’s chest tightens, and Logan moves to sit beside him. He wraps an arm around his shoulder and rocks them side to side. In the back of his mind, Logan is a bit surprised that nobody else had come into the bathroom yet. He figures it doesn’t really matter much.

Patton doesn’t say anything else, although Logan has the odd feeling that he wants to. Patton keeps taking in a breath as if he’s about to say something, then decides against it. Logan doesn’t ask. He hopes Patton knows that he can talk if he wants to, but that Logan won’t press him if he doesn’t.

Minutes pass. He continues to rock Patton side to side a little as his own thoughts wonder, replaying—in a way that never eases the gutted feeling in Logan’s stomach—Roman’s testimony about their father. Logan had always thought Roman was the favored son; Roman was the one that was left untouched, forced instead to use their parents’ unwillingness to hurt him to protect his brothers. Logan had known—had seen—the psychological scars it’d left on his brother.

But that….

Dad used us to threaten him. Logan leans his own head back against the wall and stares hopelessly at the ceiling. Why the fuck didn’t Roman say anything about it? They were supposed to talk about stuff like that. Maybe not Virgil—sure, Logan could rationalize that. Virgil was the baby of the family, and even though he wasn’t much of a baby anymore, Logan certainly understood if Roman was afraid of scarring Virgil more than he’d already been by their parents.

But Logan… He should have felt like he could talk to Logan about it. The world in Logan’s vision blurs further.

How did Logan miss it?

Beside him, Patton sniffles and pulls out of his brother’s arms a little. “Logan?”

“Yeah?” Logan replies, his voice thick.

“I’m kind of worried about Roman. Could… could you go check on him for me?”

Logan’s brow furrows. “You don’t want to check yourself?”

Patton shakes his head quickly, grabbing some toilet paper and blowing his nose before tossing it in the toilet. “I don’t—I don’t think, er… I don’t know if Roman wants to see me….. like this,” Patton offers, but Logan doesn’t miss that the words like this sound like they’re mostly added as an afterthought.

“Patton,” Logan tries, squeezing his arm, but Patton shakes his head.

“Just… Please?”

Logan hesitates, then caves. He gives one more gentle squeeze to Patton’s arm before he stands. “Okay.”

It’s not until he’s opened the bathroom door—a part of him wanting to ask Patton why he seems to think Roman wouldn’t want to see him—when he suddenly understands. With it comes an answer to the question that had been repeating in Logan’s mind with dizzying urgency.

Why didn’t Roman tell me?

Perhaps it was because he blamed them.

…

As it turned out, nobody had been in the bathroom because the couple that had been their neighbors growing up—Martha and Alice—were essentially standing guard at the door. Logan stumbles, startled by the two women flanking the men’s restroom door.

“Easy, dear,” Martha says, catching Logan’s elbow to help steady him. “Is your brother still in there?”

Logan tries to swallow past the growing lump in his throat. “Yes. I… If you could continue to ensure his privacy, I plan to be back very soon.”

He didn’t like the idea of leaving Patton all by himself right now. At least not for long.

Alice nods. “Of course. If you’re looking for Roman, I believe he and that nice movie star he’s always with went in the conference room around the corner. We’ve been keeping a close eye, and I don’t think anyone’s gone back there to interrupt them.”

Logan nods his understanding, surprised at the surge of unnamed emotions that rush through him at the otherwise simple act of kindness. “Thank you,” he says, unsure of how to express to these two women just how much he means them.

Martha winks at him. “Anything for you boys.”

Logan quickly turns around the corner to the first door on the right. Through the long window to the left of the door, Logan sees Roman and Thomas, and something makes him freeze.

Through the door, muffled, Logan can only make out part of the conversation.

“…down, Roman.”

“I’m fine, okay? I’m just...”

“Are you sure?” Thomas sounds like he’s trying to be gentle. Through the glass, Logan can see the vaguely lost and pleading look on the actor’s face. Roman’s got his back to the window, facing Thomas. “Because you don’t… seem…”

“Damn it, Thomas, just—I… Maybe he’s right, y’know? Maybe I… Maybe he has a point.”

“Who? Jacobs?” Roman’s silence is answer enough. “Roman, you can’t think like that.”

“I was fifteen, Thomas. Maybe I… Fucking shit, I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Roman—”

Logan opens the door. The conversation cuts out abruptly, and Logan freezes suddenly as Roman whirls around to face him. Roman’s eyes are red and puffy and startled. He looks suddenly so young and vulnerable and Logan can’t remember the last time he saw Roman like that.

“I—Apologies,” he forces out. “Patton wanted to know where you were and, I… Sorry.”

Because the only thing echoing is his head is that he is, at least in part, responsible for the haunted, broken look in Roman’s eyes and the frantic way he can see Roman trying to piece back together the bravado he so often wore.

“Logan, wait—”

But Logan turns and rushes back towards the bathroom so quickly he isn’t even sure which one of them said his name. He tells Patton that Roman is with Thomas. He’s grateful when Patton seems to relax at that and doesn’t press Logan for other details.

…

When they all go home later that night, Thomas drives Roman and Patton drives Logan. Initially, Logan had refused the offer. But Patton explained that he thought it would help to have something else to focus on—to feel like he was doing something, that it would help alleviate the feeling that he’d been a bystander all day long. And right now, Logan is pretty sure that Logan was incapable of denying his younger brother much of anything.

But Logan can’t get the look on his brother’s face in the conference room scrubbed from his mind. He thinks about texting him.

He also can’t stop thinking about how Roman probably doesn’t want to see or speak to him. Your fault, a voice hisses in the back of his mind. His stomach rolls with guilt. His chest burns with anger.

Logan shifts in his seat. He decides to text Thomas instead.

How is he?

He doesn’t expect an answer for a while. Thomas is driving after all.

Neither Logan nor Patton says anything the entire car ride. It is the longest car ride of Logan’s life.

…

Logan is through the front door before Patton is. Roman and Thomas are already sitting on the couch—Logan and Patton had needed to stop for gas—with their suit jackets discarded on the armchair. Roman has untied his tie, letting it hang loose around his neck. One hand hangs between his knees, covered by one of Thomas’s, and the other is in his hair. He his head snaps up when Logan steps through the door.

Roman opens his mouth like he wants to say something. Logan doesn’t have a fucking clue to say to his big brother. His chest feels like it’s caving and he doesn’t know why except that it presses on the anger that is simmering in his ribcage.

Patton—as he barrels in through the door a moment after Logan—is the one who breaks the silence. “Roman!” Patton’s voice cracks with the name and Roman is on his feet in less than a second. Patton barrels straight into his chest.

“Pat, hey,” Roman says, in that painfully familiar, soft and soothing voice. He wraps his arms around his brother. “Hey, sssh. I’m okay.”

“You really expect me to believe that? You—” Patton’s voice chokes and it’s half-muffled from Roman’s chest but Patton is clinging to him like Roman is the only thing that can keep him afloat. Like he’s afraid to let go. “Roman, you’re my brother and you… you just…”

Logan watches Roman swallow hard. “Yeah,” Roman whispers. He turns a pained gaze on to Logan, still standing by the door, who matches it before his stomach rolls again with a leaden weight. Logan looks away.

“I… How—” The question chokes off with a broken sob and it’s like the dam has finally crashed open. Patton shakes with the force of his sobs against his big brother’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Roman whispers, and he tightens around Patton like he can feel the way his brother is falling apart and he’s trying desperately to keep him together. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Patton’s breath is hiccupping. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

Roman releases a breath. He smooths a hand against Patton’s mess of curls. “Yeah. Of course, Patton.”

“You-you shouldn’t have had to…. You…”

“Hey, hey, hey. Sssh. It’s okay. I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m sorry.”

Something is breaking inside of Logan—maybe a dam of his own—and the words burst from his mouth before he can think to stop them. “Damn right you’re sorry.”

Roman and Thomas’s gazes both snap towards Logan. Logan’s hands ball into fists to get them to stop shaking. He clenches his jaw.

“Logan,” Roman tries, but Logan can feel his heartbeat against his ribs and shakes his head.

“You never told me.”

“I…”

“We had a deal.” And damn it, his vision is blurring a little around the edges but Logan ignores it. “We talk to each other. We tell each other things. We don’t… Fuck, Roman, we don’t hide things like that from each other.”

Roman looks like he’s floundering a bit, something fracturing in his irises. Like splinters of ceramic. “I didn’t see a reason to bring it up with you.”

“Bullshit,” Logan grits out, storming away from the door and closer to Roman. “We’re there for each other, Roman. That was the deal, from the very beginning. I was true to my word, even when I didn’t want to be. Even when it was hard to be. Because I thought… I thought you trusted me too.”

“I do—”

“So imagine my surprise,” Logan presses on, even if the heat in his eyes is a bit more pronounced now, “when I find out today that you were threatened by dad. Using us. Using me. Imagine my surprise when I learned it’s my fault that my big brother—”

“Whoa,” Roman jumps in suddenly and defensively. His brows are knit together. “That’s not true.”

Logan scoffs and when he blinks, his blurry vision abruptly clears and he can feel the tears tracing down his cheeks. He scrubs frustratedly at them. “Yes, it is, Roman. Dad used us against you and you never said shit about it. I mean, how am I—” His throat closes and Logan gestures helplessly at Roman, who looks stricken. “You used to patch me up. All those times, all those burns, it was always you that took care of… And not once did I even think that…”

Logan swallows hard and shakes his head. “So yeah,” he manages with a wobbling voice that he wishes would be steady. “Yeah, it’s my fault, Roman. I just wish you would have told me anyway.”

Logan suddenly can’t manage the weight of the silent gazes bearing down on his shoulders—that might be more weight than he can manage—and he turns to head towards his room.

“Logan, please,” Roman says desperately as Logan feels him grab his elbow to stop him. In one fluid motion, Roman pulls him closer and hugs him. Logan is suddenly engulfed in the smell of his older brother—linen and cinnamon and salt—and he feels his resolve buckling.

Logan feels Roman press his face into his hair, one hand cupping the back of his head.

“I’m telling you three times,” Roman says in a choked whisper. “It’s not your fault.”

And just like that, Logan is thirteen again and knowing that no matter what may come next, his brothers are the only place he feels safe. Roman had spent his entire life trying to make sure his younger brothers felt safe. Standing here in the living room of their house, Logan tries to make sure Roman feels that way too.

Logan doesn’t let go of his big brother for a very long time. And if Roman is holding onto him just as tightly, well. That’s what brothers were for, isn’t it?

...

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#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders bro au #sanders bro au fanfiction #logan sanders #angst #hurt/comfort #court #abuse #abuse tw #cursing #arguing #crying #if other warnings should be in the tags specifically please let me know #hhhhhh always nervous to post yikes

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villlainarc · 5 years ago

Text

Black Hole Sun

Won’t You Come

(this is So Long and ik read mores don’t always work for asks sO jic i’m using a screenshot of the ask for this one)

Summary: Deceit is a villain. Deceit is a villain, so her taking Virgil hostage shouldn’t be shocking. Deceit is a villain, so it should come as no surprise when she asks Roman for their heart in exchange for their friend. Deceit is a villain, and this is what she does.

Pairings: Prinxiety of Some Kind (even the author doesn’t know what to call it at this point), eventual Roceit and/or Anaroceit (the author has not yet decided which)

Warnings: mind control (it’s technically consensual but not. Super Consensual), threats of violence and murder, swearing, alcohol drinking

Word Count: 6568

Taglist (ask to be added!): @max-is-tired @raaindropps @sssounds-gay-im-in @main-chive @emo-disaster @heavenly-roman

Notes: fun fact this my second try at writing this prompt because the first attempt simply had The Wrong Vibes also i really didn’t like it fhdjdksk

also i split this into two parts for my own sanity so you can expect the second half at Some Point In The Future (hopefully soon but i’ve said that Several Times about things i haven’t touched since november)

also also if you’re curious about What The Hell is going on with the prinxiety here,,, uh send me an ask or something because a) it’s Complicated, b) it’ll take me a while to explain, and c) that gives me time to think up a Proper Explanation that amounts to more than a Vague Idea (or send me an ask about Anything going on in this au that you may be curious about i have Many Thoughts to share for this)

also also also this is my offering for roman’s birthday. it was written in june and involves roman. This Is All That Matters. no i will not be acknowledging that this is over a week late thanks for asking ✌️

100 stars in the sky prompts

ao3

_________________________

“Deceit!”

“Phoenix,” Deceit replied calmly, offering them a flourishing bow as they dropped from the roof and landed in front of her.

“Let’s get right down to business.”

“Do, let’s.”

“Give me my friend back.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific. You have so very many friends, and I’ve captured more of them than you could possibly imagine—”

“Alright then, give me my girlfriend back.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

“Then I’ll find him myself.”

“No you won’t,” Deceit said, a confident smirk spreading across her face. “I can assure you that you won’t.”

“Deceit, where is he?”

“As if I’d tell you,” she laughed.

“Please,” Phoenix said, their bluster and heroic persona slowly falling away. “I’d do anything to keep them safe, to get them back.”

Deceit raised an eyebrow. “Anything?”

“Anything,” they confirmed.

“As sickeningly sweet as that is, all I want is your heart.”

“My heart?”

“It’s symbolic. By taking your heart, I take the heart of this city and hold it in my very hands.”

“Oh. I just— isn’t there another choice?”

“Not if you want to save your precious Virgil.”

Phoenix narrowed their eyes, fixing Deceit with a contemplative look. “You want my heart?”

“That is what I said, yes.”

“Well… then what if I fell in love with you instead?”

Deceit blinked. “Sorry?”

“That’s another way to give someone your heart, right?”

“I suppose so,” Deceit replied, frowning. “What is it that you want me to do, then? Force you to fall in love with me?”

“You can do that, can’t you?”

Deceit blinked again, startled by the bluntness of their words. “Not exactly. My powers have similar restrictions to those of the genie from Aladdin—I can’t make people fall in love, and I can’t bring people back from the dead. The wishing for more wishes thing isn’t really relevant here, but I probably wouldn’t be able to do that either.”

“Can you do something similar then?”

“I suppose if you were to… figuratively give me your heart, I would have control over everything you said or did that’s even remotely emotionally charged. A similar result would be achieved, yes, but I feel that option is a bit more iffy, ethically speaking. So while I could do that, are you sure you’d want it? I don’t— I don’t want you to regret this.”

“Oh, so murder is alright with you—ethically speaking, of course—but that isn’t?” Phoenix scoffed. “Yes, I’m sure I want this. I’d say sacrificing my emotions in order to save Virgil is far preferable to dying.”

“I don’t think you realize the fact that functionally, you will be dead. Since you in particular think with your heart first and foremost, my dear Phoenix, me taking that away from you would be taking away who you are. I may be cruel, but I don’t want to do that.”

“Deceit, I think you’re overlooking the fact that most importantly right now, I don’t want to die. There’s always a chance I can break your control, but there will never be a chance for me to come back from the dead.”

“Your conviction is amusing, but it’s also incredibly misguided. Unless something drastic happens, there will be no getting out of this for you.”

“We’ll just have to see then, won’t we?” Phoenix said, a bitter smile on their face. “Do it.”

Deceit took a calming breath before asking one final time, “You’re absolutely certain?”

“There’s no other way for me to save Virgil, is there?”

Deceit found herself hesitating. Technically, she could easily just lead Phoenix to the place where—

She cut off that train of thought sharply. She was so close to having everything she’d ever wanted; there was no way she was going to let Phoenix slip out of her grasp now. Deceit shook her head.

“Then yes. I want you to take my heart.”

“As you wish.” She shut her eyes and turned her focus to the sound of Phoenix’s beating heart, forcing its steady rhythm to the forefront of her mind. It grew rapidly in volume as she gathered more and more power from deep within her, drawing it into her fingertips. “I need a name. Your full name, specifically.”

“Why?”

“Names have power, and by using someone’s name, the command has a stronger hold on them.”

“I don’t want that though, do I?”

“I shouldn’t think so, but I believe you don’t want to die even more. We’re doing this my way or not at all.”

“Roman Hoàng.”

“Roman Hoàng,” she repeated, breathing in time with each beat of Phoenix’s—Roman’s—heart and feeling the way the air vibrated with the sound of them. Concentrating on pulling those vibrations together and turning them into raw power, she commanded, “Give me your heart.”

Roman’s eyes glazed over, and Deceit gasped at the surge of feeling that struck her chest. She directed that feeling to her left hand, watching as a golden string formed from it. The string twisted over itself in midair, only halting its intricate movements and floating about aimlessly once it had tied itself around her fingers.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, looking up from the string and searching Roman’s face for any trace of emotion, any indication that she’d done something wrong.

Roman continued staring at her blankly, and Deceit gave a satisfied nod before directing the golden string through the air with her other hand, moving her finger in a circular motion once it reached Roman’s chest to tie it around their heart.

“Roman Hoàng?”

Blinking for a moment as they regained their bearings, Roman’s face remained blank. Once the string appeared to have properly gripped their heart though, they smiled. “That’s me.”

Letting out a breath, Deceit plastered a smile on her face and tried to assure herself that everything was going according to plan.

_________________________

“What have you done to them?”

“I’ve merely taken their heart.”

“You took— What— what does that mean?”

“Virgil, darling, calm down. There’s no need for you to panic, Roman is perfectly safe.”

“How do you know their name?!” Virgil’s voice had started to take on a hint of hysteria, the pitch of it rising as the look in their eyes grew more frantic.

“They told me, of course. Surely you know by now that to properly take someone’s heart, I need their name.”

“Yeah, of course I know that, but would did Roman tell you theirs?”

“This was their idea, dearest.”

“It was—” Virgil frowned, pausing in confusion. “What?”

“Well, you see, I told them that for you to be freed, I wanted their heart. They then offered to figuratively give me their heart, for me to take control of each and every one of their emotions and— well. I’m sure you can figure out the rest,” she said, gesturing to Roman’s lifeless form with a smirk.

“So you control them now.”

“Very good, Virgil! How truly observant of you to notice.”

“I— Deceit, words cannot express how much I completely despise you.”

“Mm, yes, fantastic, but I’m afraid I must be going. I have a city to take over now, after all.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, actually, though it’s truly flattering that you want to.”

Virgil let out a genuine growl at that. “I’ll get them back.”

“Oh, of course you will. I believe that whole-heartedly.”

“And you should. I promise you that one day soon, you’ll regret everything you’ve done to them.”

“I’m terrified. Honestly, I’ve never feared for my life more than I do right now.”

Virgil hissed, narrowing their eyes and Deceit was hit by a familiar feeling of cold, paralyzing fear. She shook it off easily—Virgil was incredibly out of practice, and Deceit’s will was stronger than his would ever be—but a few traces of that all-encompassing cold remained. “Nice try,” she said, a simpering smile on her face.

“I will save him,” Virgil insisted once more.

“Cute,” Deceit replied, turning away from him and gesturing for Roman to trail after her. “I await your attempts with baited breath.”

Even after she’d made it a full two blocks from the abandoned park she’d met Virgil in, Deceit still clearly heard the scream of fury they let out.

_________________________

Deceit was on top of the world.

Or, at least, she should have been. She owned this city now, after all. Everything she’d ever wanted was at her fingertips.

So why did it all feel… wrong?

Deceit sighed, pulling her legs up onto the couch and turning so she was lying down on it. She turned her head to the side, glancing over at where Roman was sitting down on another couch to her right. “Do you know what’s wrong?” she asked, knowing perfectly well that she wasn’t going to get any sort of response from them.

Roman, of course, didn’t answer. Deceit sighed again. “Didn’t think so.”

She stood up and walked over to the window, suddenly feeling thoroughly restless. Gazing out at the city that—if she tilted her head just so and held her finger at the right angle—was held quite literally beneath her thumb, she pondered once more why she wasn’t happy.

Deceit stepped back from the window, turning to pace the length of the room. She had everything now: more power than any one person should reasonably possess, people that would bend to her will if she so much as raised an eyebrow at them, money, influence—she even had Roman, the city’s favorite hero, the epitome of everything she said she hated—everything she did hate. She glanced back at them, ignoring the guilt that had been gnawing at her more and more often recently. It didn’t matter, whatever the reason for it was. She had everything.

She had everything.

Deceit returned to the couch she’d gotten up from barely a minute ago, sitting down with a huff and letting her head fall against the back of it. She stared up at the ceiling for a solid minute before the silence got to her again.

“I’m missing something, aren’t I?” she asked no one. “What else do I want?”

Running through a mental list, she shook her head, still coming up empty. Well, empty save for one thing. She didn’t particularly want to acknowledge it, but if it would help stop whatever she was feeling… “Roman,” she began, breaking the silence as she lifted her head to look at them as she patted the white cushion to her left. “Come sit over here, if you please.”

Roman did so, seeing as they quite literally had no choice in the matter.

“I want you to tell me the truth, alright?” Roman nodded in response, and Deceit decided that was agreement enough. “Do you think I’m lonely?”

Roman blinked. Their eyes, still glassy under Deceit’s control, glittered dully. If she’d thought it were possible, Deceit could have sworn the spark in their eyes had been an amused one. “Yes,” they finally stated, any sign of life having faded when she searched their face again.

“Yes,” Deceit repeated, her voice almost robotic in its monotone. She sighed, looking away from Roman’s blank features in favor of glaring at the ceiling. “Well, in that case, fuck.”

As the annoyance at her situation slowly faded, she glanced over towards Roman again. “Is there—” She stopped, shaking her head and doing her very best to ignore how strange it was to be asking for advice from someone who was essentially her puppet. “Is there anything I can do to… I don’t know, stop being lonely?”

This time, Deceit was almost certain she wasn’t imagining the amusement in Roman’s eyes when they once more replied, “Yes.”

Letting out a frustrated hiss, she glared at Roman before asking, “Care to elaborate?”

“No.”

“Can you say anything else?”

“No.”

Deceit made another angry hissing noise in response to that, cursing her own powers for giving the victims of them so little control. “What the hell are you good for then?” she muttered.

Roman shrugged, and this time, Deceit was actually certain there was something strange in the look they were giving her.

She groaned, wracking her brain to come up with a way around her own powers. The silence and Roman’s brown eyes—that currently seemed to be lit from within with a golden glow, not that the fact was relevant—on her were steadily growing more uncomfortable. “You know what?” she said, deciding that anything would be better than this, “Roman Hoàng, tell me a story.”

“Gladly,” they began, the first smile of theirs Deceit had seen in a very long time spreading across their face. “Once upon a time—”

Deceit made an exaggerated gagging noise. “Not one of those stories.”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “Once upon a time,” they repeated, blatantly ignoring Deceit’s objection, “there lived a knight.”

Deceit sighed, resigning herself to suffering through whatever story Roman came up with. It would give her time to think without being the sole focus of those damned eyes, at least.

“This knight wanted nothing more than to protect their kingdom, and they did so as best they could. They trained day after day, relentless in their pursuit of perfection.

“One day, they met the heir to the throne. They didn’t know he was the heir though, not at first. This was the first person they’d ever felt comfortable calling a friend, and the knight had no intention of searching for ways to ruin that. So they ignored any indication that the person they’d met may have been royalty, swearing to protect them without regard for who they were.

“The knight would one day discover that their friend was the heir to the throne, of course, but that wouldn’t be for a long, long time—long enough that the knight had time to be promoted to the captain of the guard, rising in station as people finally began to take notice of their power and skill. They were moving up in the world, and the knight couldn’t have been happier about it, nor could the heir have been prouder.

“Around that time, the knight met someone else. It’s important to note, at this point in the story, that the heir to the throne wasn’t all that he may have seemed on the surface. There was a certain darkness to them, a darkness that, like their royal status, the knight willfully ignored. No matter how the heir tried to hide it, his past simply wouldn’t stop haunting him. He wanted to keep his new friend as far from it as possible, but that was not to be. For you see, a few months after the knight met the heir, they met the mage as well.

“The mage wasn’t evil. That was the first thing the knight figured out upon meeting her. Contrary to what all the stories about her may have said, she very clearly wasn’t evil. Misguided, yes, and most certainly lonely, but far from evil. And despite themself, the knight found themself rather taken by her. She was fascinating and truly, it would be more of a shock if the knight hadn’t been enamored by everything about her.

“The heir to the throne had known the mage, once upon a time—she was a part of his darkness, after all—and he constantly reminded the knight that she was more than what she appeared to be. She wanted power, she wanted to rule the kingdom, she hated the heir, she was evil. This is what the heir told the knight, and he wouldn’t listen to anything that might dispute it.

“The knight was convinced that their friend was wrong, though. The mage didn’t want to hurt anyone, the knight knew that as surely as they knew their own name. And yet— something about her still gnawed at them.

“They told their friend this one day, and that was when the heir finally admitted to who he was. ‘I’m the heir to the throne,’ he said, and the knight wished they could have said the revelation came as a shock. ‘I knew the mage, once upon a time, but she betrayed me. She’s evil, I can promise you that. I wish you would believe me.’ The knight agreed. They wished they could believe him too.

“There was still something distinctly wrong about that tale, though. The knight didn’t believe that the mage would have betrayed the heir to the throne without reason, and they made it their goal to find out why. They claimed it was to protect the kingdom—after all, it was in everyone’s best interest for the captain of the guard to know the kingdom’s enemies well—but there was another motivation hidden behind that mask of heroism and selflessness, a motivation the knight very much didn’t want to acknowledge. So they didn’t.

“The heir to the throne insisted on coming with the knight on this mission, and who was the knight to say no? The heir too claimed it was to protect the kingdom, but the knight sensed an unacknowledged motivation behind his words just the same. They weren’t going to mention it though, not when they were just as guilty of having staunchly ignored ulterior motives.

“The heir and the knight traveled for days before finding the mage. Neither could decide what to do from there. The knight wanted to talk to her, but the heir reminded them once more that she was evil and not to be reasoned with.

“Debatably, then, it was a good thing that the mage made that choice for them. She dropped from above, like an angel from heaven, and very much unlike an angel, she snatched the heir right off of his horse.

“With that, she vanished.”

Deceit blinked at Roman, momentarily stunned. That wasn’t like any sort of fairytale she’d heard before and quite frankly, she felt it was a thinly veiled retelling of Roman’s own life story. She couldn’t quite figure out where they were going with the whole thing, though the slightly heavy-handed angel analogy did point her in what she believed was the right direction. Still, the whole thing was very curious and taking an awful lot of rambling to get to whatever point Roman was trying to make. “Roman, darling, while this story is simply fascinating I absolutely adore you, I’d very much appreciate it if you could get to the point soon.”

Roman flashed her a classic smile, continuing as though she hadn’t interrupted at all. “The knight, naturally, decided that they had to find and save the heir, even if it killed them to do so.”

Raising an eyebrow, Deceit couldn’t help but remark, “The knight in this story is rather foolish, don’t you think?”

“The knight,” Roman said, a slight glare marring their features, “cared deeply about the heir, and they weren’t going to let someone, even the beautiful mage—”

“Beautiful, hm?”

At that, Roman gave Deceit a look that quite clearly told her ‘no more interruptions.’ Raising her hands in what she hoped was a placating manner, she went silent again.

“The knight wasn’t going to let anyone take away their closest friend, so they dedicated themself to searching the whole world if that was what it would take to find him. The knight searched the countryside, traveling through three separate towns and wandering aimlessly for nearly a week before they found the mage again.

“Relieved and desperate, the knight asked for the heir back without preamble, offering anything the mage would be willing to take.

“The mage, in response, requested their heart.

“‘My heart?’ the knight asked, incredulous. ‘Why would you want that?’

“‘I’m evil, darling, why else would I want it?’”

“Hey! That’s not what I—” Deceit cut herself off upon seeing Roman’s glare returned anew. She sighed. “Go on.”

Roman continued as though they hadn’t been interrupted at all. “‘I’m evil, darling, why else would I want it?’ the mage replied, smiling with false sweetness. ‘Besides,’ she said with a careless wave of her hand, ‘you did say anything, didn’t you?’

“The knight really didn’t want to die, so they thought their way around the mage’s request. ‘What if I fell in love with you instead? That’s another way for someone to give up their heart, and you can do that, can’t you?’ the knight asked, hoping their words would ring true.

“‘I wouldn’t be able to make you fall in love with me, but I suppose I could take control of the rest of your emotions,’ the mage agreed, though she warned the knight about how much control she’d have over them if they did choose this option. The knight thought it odd how much she cared all of a sudden, but they eventually opted to ignore it. They figured that when she wanted to tell them about her feelings—whatever they may have been—she would.”

Deceit frowned. She hadn’t thought her own hesitation was that strange—not strange enough to notice, at least, and besides, physically harming someone was far different than taking over their mind—but perhaps she ought to think about why that particular request had troubled her so much. Roman seemed to think it was worth noting, and they clearly knew more about this whole situation than they had originally let on. Deceit stayed silent, listening as Roman continued to tell their story.

“The knight—deciding that even losing their free will was preferable to death and feeling secure in the fact that somehow, someway, they would find a way out of this—allowed the mage to perform her spell on them.

“After that, the knight’s mind went quiet for a while. They couldn’t think clearly, not while they were under the mage’s control. They were only able to take in the barest hints of their surroundings, and the world seemed to pass them by in a sort of surreal blur. That is, it did until they heard the voice of the heir to the throne.

“Hearing their friend's voice snapped the knight back to reality, and though they still weren’t able to do anything, at least now they were aware of what was going on.

“‘I’ll get them back,’ the heir said of the knight. ‘I can promise you that.’

“In response to that, the mage laughed. ‘That would be a fool’s errand, but I wish you luck in your endeavors nonetheless.’ With that, the mage swept her cloak out to the side and dropped into an exaggerated curtsy.

“Watching as the mage turned to leave, the knight trailing after her, the heir couldn’t help himself when he spit, ‘You’re evil, you know that? I don’t know what you hope to achieve here, but I can promise you that there isn’t a single person in this entire kingdom who thinks otherwise, not even your precious knight.’

“The mage froze upon hearing the heir’s words, though she didn’t turn back around. The knight couldn’t see her face, but even standing several feet behind her, they could feel the waves of hurt rolling off her.

“But the thing was, the knight didn’t think of the mage that way at all. At the very least, the knight thought of her as a friend despite everything that she’d done. If they were feeling brave, they would have admitted that they may have harbored a few romantic feelings toward her as well. The point still stood though: the knight really, truly didn’t believe that the mage was evil. They wished they could tell her this, but they didn’t exactly have the free will to do so.” Roman looked rather pointedly towards Deceit at that, though she pretended not to notice. What they were saying, what they were implying—she didn’t know how to handle that. So she stayed silent, waiting for Roman to continue their story once more.

Seeming to realize that Deceit wasn’t going to acknowledge any of what they’d just said, Roman sighed. “No matter what the knight believed though, the heir was right. The kingdom still saw her as a villain, and knights didn’t fall for—weren’t even friends with—villains. There was nothing the knight could do to change that, not until the spell that the mage had put on them was broken.”

Deceit raised an eyebrow. “Roman, I’ve told you that’s not possible. There isn’t anything in the world that can break my hold over you.”

Roman raised their own eyebrow right back, a clear challenge in their eyes. “The knight had heard that true love’s kiss would break any curse.”

“So?”

“So the knight thought an ideal scenario would involve kissing the mage.”

Deceit scoffed. “True love’s kiss doesn’t actually work in real life. Besides, the love has to be reciprocated for it to work, and I’m so sorry to break this to you, but I don’t love you.”

“The knight thought that was absolute bullshit.”

“The knight can stop talking about themself in third person now.”

“The knight actually enjoys thinking of themself as a knight, so they won’t.”

Though she tried to hide it, Deceit let out a genuine—albeit quickly stifled—laugh at that. “Fine then. Roman Hoàng, please, please stop talking about yourself in third person.”

Roman pouted at her as though to say, ‘You’re no fun.’

She waved away their complaints with a casual flick of her hand. “I’m aware, but it’s difficult to decipher what you’re trying to communicate when you’re doing so through a fairy tale.”

Roman sat there, watching her with an air of impatience about him.

“Oh! Yes, right. Roman Hoàng, tell me whatever it was you were trying to communicate through that little story of yours, and do so clearly and concisely, if you please.”

Though their pout remained, reminding Deceit that she was, in fact, no fun, Roman began speaking once more, this time unhindered by the need to translate what they wanted to say through a fairy tale lens. “I don’t think you’re evil.”

“Well, I am, so I’m afraid your beliefs are rather naïve, if flattering.”

“I may or may not be in love with you.”

“That’s not at all clear.”

Roman rolled their eyes. “I am in love with you.”

“Mm, I was afraid of that. A terrible choice really, especially if you plan to keep trying to save the city.”

“This isn’t exactly my choice, you know. For the record though, even if it were, I wouldn’t regret it.”

Deceit pretended she hadn’t blushed even a little bit at that.

“In any case,” Roman continued, trying and failing to hide the smug look on their face, “there’s one more thing I wanted to say.”

Shoving aside the fluttery feeling in her chest, Deceit slipped on a mask of poise and calm, saying, “Do tell.”

“While I am, of course, very much aware of the fact that true love’s kiss doesn’t work in real life, I still believe that love is a powerful force. If it were strong enough, I don’t doubt that a kiss backed by that sort of love could break me out of your control completely, especially if you wanted that to happen.”

“And why would I want that?”

Roman raised an eyebrow, saying nothing.

Rolling her eyes, Deceit continued, “I’ve already told you, Roman, I’m not in love with you. I have everything, and I don’t believe giving that up would be in my best interest.”

Roman remained silent, fixing Deceit with an impatient stare again.

She sighed. “Fine. Roman Hoàng, respond to what I say if you have something of importance to contribute.”

“You’re lonely,” Roman said, pointing out what Deceit had been afraid they’d say from the start.

“And? I don’t think a little bit of companionship is worth losing everything else I have.”

“What makes you think you’d lose everything?”

Deceit laughed. “Do you expect me to believe that once you’re free from my control you wouldn’t immediately try to free the city as well?” She paused, waiting for Roman to dispute her claim.

They didn’t.

She waved a hand at their silent form as though that proved her point completely. “Exactly.”

“Deceit, there are more important things than power.”

“But few are as reliable. How would I know you wouldn’t one day betray me? Trust is a fickle thing, Roman Hoàng, and I don’t like to rely on it.”

“Power can fade at any moment too, you know.”

“Mm, but I can win it back in the blink of an eye. I’m not worried about that, not as long as I have you.”

“Why me, though? You can beat me, you’ve done it… possibly more than I’d care to admit.”

“It’s not about that. I know I can beat you. It’s the fact that you give people hope. As long as you’re free, I could control every other person in this entire city and they would still fight. Give yourself more credit.”

“Do you think so?”

“Oh, I know so. Do you see anyone fighting now?”

“No, but—”

Deceit held up her hand, halting Roman’s argument. “Before I had you, I did essentially control the entire city. You realize that, right? I had some form of control over every city official, every villain that I felt may have been a threat, and every other hero was afraid to show their face. But the city still had hope. You must have felt it yourself, surely.”

“I did, but I— I didn’t think it was because of me.”

“Well, it was. I had suspected it before, but I proved that after I took you out of the picture. No one wants to fight anymore. It’s rather boring, honestly.”

“You could always free me.”

“How many times do I have to—”

“I’m kidding. I know you can’t, and I forgive you.”

Deceit looked at them curiously. “I’m sorry, you what?” she asked, the hint of a laugh beneath her words.

“I forgive you.”

“I never apologized.”

“I know,” Roman replied, and the smile they gave her was full of such warmth that Deceit didn’t even know what to think of it. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at her with such kindness.

“Oh,” was all she managed in response. She would have asked for clarification, but judging solely from the look on Roman’s face, Deceit could tell with absolute certainty that they were forgiving her for more than just not being able to lift her control over them. “Oh,” she repeated, softer this time. Watching them for a little while longer, Deceit felt a warmth rising in her chest to match the look on Roman’s face. She couldn’t tell if she liked the feeling or not. Either way though, she took a breath. “Roman—”

Whatever Deceit had been about to say was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass. She startled, turning towards the noise behind her. Peering down the dimly lit hallway, she frowned, watching carefully for any disturbance. She stood up, reaching into an inner pocket of her fur coat for a dagger. “Show yourself,” she commanded, threading as much power as she could into the words.

A figure stepped out of the shadows to the right of the hallway, just as Deceit had ordered them to.

“Walk to this end of the hall and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Seeing as they had no choice in the matter, the figure obeyed once more.

Deceit blinked, shocked recognition suddenly washing over her at the feeling of numbing cold now pulsing through the air. “Virgil?”

The figure kept walking.

“Virgil, stop.”

They stopped.

So it was Virgil, then. “Tell me why you’re here.”

Deceit knew why he was here, of course, but she was going to search in vain for a different answer before she accepted it. She gripped the dagger tighter, preparing for the worst—preparing for what she knew Virgil was going to say.

“I’m here to save Roman.”

Deceit sighed rather dramatically. “I was afraid you’d say that,” she said, lifting her right arm before hurling the dagger at Virgil’s shoulder. He dodged it easily, escaping with only a graze to his hoodie, but Deceit hadn’t really been planning on hitting them anyway. The brief distraction gave her time to vault herself over the back of the couch, pulling another dagger from behind her back as she closed the distance between them.

“I’ve been practicing, you know.”

“I’m terrified, truly.”

“I really think you should be this time.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so openly flippant, but Deceit rolled her eyes at Virgil’s words anyway. Her heartbeat had sped up slightly with the instinctive onslaught of nerves at his threat, but she didn’t honestly believe he’d be able to do enough damage to incapacitate her.

Virgil seemed to realize this, a sharp-toothed grin spreading over their face. He raised his hand, fingers extended to guide the shadows emitting from them towards Deceit. It could have been her imagination, but the approaching cold felt a good deal worse than it had last time. She felt her heart begin to pound harder. Raising a hand as though to stop them, she began to say, “Virgil, stop usi—”

She was cut off with a scream as the shadows shot like the quickest flash of lighting from Virgil’s fingertips and a feeling of intense cold struck her chest.

It was far, far worse than it had been last time.

All she could feel was cold. Cold, and now an ever-growing fear that held her frozen in place. She couldn’t place what it was that she feared yet, but the feeling closed in like a vice around her heart and she couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t think, couldn’t—

“Deceit.”

She took a gasping breath, the darkness that had been clouding her vision lifting more with each passing second. “Virgil,” she finally replied, plastering on the fakest smile she’d possibly ever given, her heart still feeling like it was trying to escape her chest.

“How do I free them?”

“Oh, you can’t,” she laughed, her mask of confidence falling back into place with ease. “My control over Roman is permanent, I’m afraid.”

“Is it, now?”

“Very much so.”

“Would true love’s kiss break it?”

“You know, Roman asked the same thing,” Deceit said, amusement coloring her voice. “I told them no just as I’m going to tell you no, because as I said, there’s no way to break my control over them.”

Virgil glared at Deceit from his place in front of Roman. “I don’t believe you,” they said, promptly kissing Roman on the lips.

When he pulled back, Deceit couldn’t help but roll her eyes, saying, “See, I told you it wasn’t going to—”

“You lied.” Virgil’s voice pierced through the residual fog that still lingered in Deceit’s mind from the fear that had gripped her a few moments before. “You lied,” he repeated. “Not that I’m surprised, of course, but—”

“I didn’t lie,” she insisted, walking back around the couch so she could see Roman’s face for herself. “A kiss shouldn’t have worked, not unless…” she trailed off, unsure of what, exactly, she’d been about to say. “It shouldn’t have worked,” she echoed, trying to convince herself just as much as Virgil.

Virgil ignored her protests, placing a gentle hand on Roman’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Roman’s eyes, which had been closed just moments before, shot open. They blinked, taking in their surroundings. “Did you— did that—”

“Can you stand?” Virgil asked, avoiding the question for the time being as he rose from where he’d been kneeling on the ground, offering a hand out to Roman.

“I— yeah.” Without any prompting from Deceit at all, Roman stood up from the couch, allowing Virgil to latch onto their arm and help them stay upright.

“That’s— that’s literally impossible,” Deceit insisted once more.

“Well,” Roman began, stretching out each finger individually, “I did say that I thought true love’s kiss combined with you genuinely wanting to free me would be enough to—”

“And if you’ll recall,” Deceit hissed out through tightly clenched teeth, “I told you that I didn’t want to free you so your point was not only irrelevant, it was also wrong because, once again, that’s not how this works.”

“Do you have a better explanation?”

Deceit paused. “Not exactly, but—”

“If I know anything about you, Deceit, it’s that you lie.” Virgil’s sharp smile was back again, and though the look he’d given Roman was as gentle, his tone was anything but. “Whether it’s to others or to yourself, even, you lie. I think you just don’t want to admit that you might actually care about someone.”

Roman frowned. “Virge, I really don’t think that was necessary.”

“No, he’s right, Roman. As sweet as it is of you to try and defend me, it’s not—I’m not—worth your time.” Deceit smiled in a way that was intended to come out far more mocking than she felt it had succeeded in doing. She feared that it—and her words as well—had come out more self-deprecating than anything else. “I think you should leave.”

“Are you— you’re just going to let us go?” Roman made to take a step forward but was stopped before they actually did, their arm suddenly held in place by the hand Virgil gripped it with.

“Well, I don’t particularly fancy feeling that—” she gestured towards Virgil, not even attempting to describe whatever it was that his magic had done to her, “—again, so yes. I’m just going to let you go. Getting you back will be easy enough anyhow, I don’t mind,” she added with a dismissive wave of her hand.

A concerned frown was growing on Roman’s face. “I don’t—”

“Ro,” Virgil interrupted. “Let’s go. Before she changes her mind.”

“For the record, I’m not going to,” Deceit assured them both, turning towards the kitchen in search of a glass of wine, “but I would still very much appreciate it if you left.”

With a final squeeze of Roman’s arm, Virgil let go of it and walked back down the hallway and towards the window they’d broken through on their way in, trusting that Roman was following him.

They did for a few steps, but stopped again almost immediately. “Deceit—”

She turned to face them with a glare, a newly poured glass of wine now in her hand. “What?”

“I just—” Roman frowned, seeming to search for the right words.

Deceit raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter and gesturing with her already half-empty glass for them to continue.

“Thank you,” they said finally.

“Thank y— what are you thanking me for?” Deceit asked, a feeling of confusion washing over her.

“Just… thank you.” Roman shot her a soft smile following their words as though either had helped her understand what was going on.

Before Deceit could say anything else, Roman turned to follow Virgil, hurrying down the hall after him.

Deceit stared at the spot where Roman had been standing moments before, an almost stunned look in her eyes. Reaching behind her for the bottle of wine she’d set down, she refilled her glass nearly to the brim. She took a sip, sighing once more. Something strange was going on, and the only thing Deceit could conclude about it all was that she was going to need far more than one bottle of wine to deal with it.

_________________________

find other stuff i’ve written in my masterpost

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alteridolriley · 6 years ago

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forever protector

a/n: this is based on this pic by @justisaisfine for their sanders bros au that i absolutely adore please enjoy~ v short but hopefully still good

tw: cursing, yelling, glass shattering

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME I SHOULD SMACK YOU."

"FINE! DO IT THEN! YOU'RE ALWAYS BITCHING TO ME ABOUT THE SAME SHIT DAY AFTER DAY MIGHT AS WELL CHANGE IT UP!"

"FUCK YOU YOU STUPID BITCH WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT?"

Roman sighed as he leaned his back against the closed door of the hall closet. He couldn't have been more grateful that both Patton and Logan were at a friend's house. However...

He looked down to see Virgil trembling in his arms, dried tear streaks down his cheeks. The three year old had pretty much cried out all of his tears and now everything was dry sobs as he buried his face into Roman's shirt.

"Shhh..." Roman whispered into Virgil's ear, rubbing his back. "I'm right here my little prince..." he took the opportunity to adjust himself towards the back of the closet. Virgil barely moved but it was too much as he dived back into the safety of his oldest brother's arms. "Hey hey it's okay. I'm not letting you go."

Virgil nodded, still taking rather short breaths. He held onto Roman's shirt with his left hand and Roman's hand with his right, white knuckled. "Ro..."

A sudden large smash of glass collided with the closet door and Virgil immediately sobbed as Roman pulled his youngest brother even tighter into his arms, protecting his head just in case.

"Now don't you worry. I will never leave you. As long as I am around they will never harm you." Roman promised.

He grabbed a jacket hanging above them and covered Virgil with it, tucking him around tightly. Roman placed his mouth just above Virgil's ear and began to sing.

A dream is a wish... your heart makes...

When you're... fast... asleep....

Roman could feel Virgil become less tense as he continued singing softly, the shaking calming down. Roman continued to hug his brother, rubbing his back for comfort. He would never let him go.

#sanders sides #sanders bros au #roman sanders #virgil sanders #vigilantvirgil writes #gift writing #ts fanfic #ta fanfiction

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mogai-moirails-archive · 4 years ago

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prologue part 1

cw: blood, character death

word count: 1095

ships: none

a/n: i need to accept this is just a homestuck sideblog now, anyways you know that apocalypse au i talked about?

Your name is DAVE STRIDER and you are currently walking back to your apartment with the groceries you just bought with the generous 20 bucks your Bro left you. As you’re walking you notice that the streets are more empty than usual, despite the fact that it’s actually a bit cloudy out and usually you’d see people out walking and taking the chance to not get melted into the sidewalk from the usual Texas weather. You shrug it off, it’s not like you’re going to complain about the lack of people with annoying kids whining as you try and just make it home with a bag full of mostly apple juice and Doritos. You enter the building that you, Dirk, and your Bro live in and make your way to the stairs. As much as you wish you could take the elevator, it’s been out of service for as long as you remember. You push open the heavy door with your hip, due to your hands being full, that protects the stairs and start making your up to the top floor. You really don’t know why your Bro insisted on living on the top floor, oh wait, you do know. Roof access. Still, you don’t think it was necessary to live on the top floor. You should probably stop complaining and just get back to scaling the mountain that is these stairs. Every breath you take and every step you take reverbs against the concrete stairwell, you rap under your breath so you can hear something other than your heavy breaths.

You put down the bags in your hands as you reach the final concrete landing, you sink in on yourself, take some heavy breaths, unlock the door, grab your bags again and push open the door. You have to kick aside some smuppets on the floor but you make your way into your apartment, you drop the bags in the kitchen and look around for Bro or Dirk but considering you don’t see them and you hear some commotion on the roof it doesn’t take much brainpower to guess they were probably strifeing. You decide it’s probably best to just put away the groceries while you wait for them to be done. You open the fridge in a moment of stupidity, as several swords fall out. You manage to force them back in with a couple of boxes of apple juice and the energy drinks your brother Dirk drinks. Any actual food you bought goes up in the cupboard, beside a large ass-ed teal smuppet that you try your best not to touch. Cool, now the rest can go in the food pile in your and Dirk’s room. You drag the bag down the hall and into your room. You dump everything in a box near a couple of strategically placed cinderblocks, as you finish with that you hear steps coming down from the roof. They are obviously Dirk’s which is odd considering usually Bro comes down first after a strife, maybe Dirk actually won for once but somehow you doubt that’s what happened. You hear the door open and Dirk’s voice call out for you.

“Dave? Are you home?” Dirk’s voice has a waiver under it you don’t usually hear, maybe Bro got injured? That would make sense for why he isn’t pounding down the stairs. Nonetheless, you close the box and head out into the main room.

“Yeah dude, I’m here. Just got back.” You hear your brother let out a sigh of relief and you take a look at him. His triangle sunglasses are askew and his shirt is stained with blood and what looks like paint, but you have no idea where he would have gotten teal paint on him. It’s not unusual for there to be blood after a strife but considering the fact that it’s obviously not from him from how it splattered and everything else with his demeanor you’re pretty sure it wasn’t the usual strife.

“What… happened?” You make an obvious show of looking him up and down, “Did Bro get hurt or something?” You hear your brother let out a shaky laugh.

“Something like that.” Dirk’s voice shakes and he sounds out of breath, “Just come look.” He holds open the door and you make your way up the stairs to the roof. Dirk follows behind you but as get to the landing and open the door to the roof you feel time stop around you.

There is blood everywhere, and two bodies lay dead on the ground. Your Bro is lying in a pool of blood with several bullet holes in him, you can’t take your eyes off his body. As your eyes trail his body you see his face, his ironic sunglasses remained unharmed and his expression was stuck in the same poker face as always, just looking at his face you could almost pretend he was fine. But he wasn’t so you rip your eyes away and look anywhere except his body, you see his katana halfway across the roof and… you see the other body. It was surrounded by a pool of what you had thought was teal paint but now you can see its blood. Or at least you assume people don’t have paint pour out of them when stabbed in the heart with a katana. Oh right, the katana. Specifically, Dirk’s katana is sticking out of the body. You looked at the foreign body a bit more and see it has a gun loosely in its hand, guess you know who killed Bro. The body is also grey and has horns, did you forget to mention that? You can’t see its face cause it’s wearing a helmet with what looks like the Pisces sign on it in pink, well its more fuchsia but that doesn’t matter cause your Bro is dead on the ground and there is the body of the alien that killed him on your roof. In an attempt to not look at the bodies you look up instead, which turns out to be a mistake considering you now have a full view of what is, you assume, a fucking alien spaceship. You feel your vision start to fade and your brain starts to feel fuzzy and for once you agree with your body’s decision to shut down. You feel your brother catch you and the last thing you see is the same symbol as before this time in red on the spaceship as your brother pulls you inside.

You really hope you forget all of this.

#this doesnt have a name yet #if anyone has one ill take it #also i need a beta #cause my moirail isnt great at reading so like them being my beta wouldnt really work #anyways hmu if you want to beta this shit #this is technically my first homestuck fic #also i haven't uploaded a fic to tumblr since my sanders side fic which i do not want to discuss ever #oh shit actual tags #homestuck #homestuck fic #fanfiction #tw// gore #tw// death #dave strider #long post #dirk strider #bro strider #apocalypse au #god this needs an actual name

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sa-gt-tarrius · 3 years ago

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Fanfiction Masterlist

Updated: October 10th, 2022

Total works: 23

Ace Attorney [13]

Super Mario Bros. [3]

Sanders Sides [4]

Among Us [1]

Transformers [1]

Original works [1]

Ace Attorney

The Tiniest Turnabout In progress | G/T AO3 Link Phoenix is hit by a shrink ray while investigating the murder of a local inventor. With the help of Miles Edgeworth, he tries to solve the case and get back to normal size before his client is sentenced for a murder she didn’t commit.

Occupational Hazards In progress | G/T AO3 Link While Klavier and Apollo are fetching old evidence, they accidentally activate the exact shrink ray that shot Phoenix years earlier. A tentative sequel to The Tiniest Turnabout.

Amicus Curiae: Friend of the Court In progress | G/T AO3 Link Apollo is a borrower and secret law enthusiast. When Kristoph, a renowned defence attorney, discovers Apollo snooping around in his office, the young borrower’s life is bound to take a turn for the better… or the worse, once Phoenix Wright is put on trial for murder.

That Would Be Enough Oneshot | Complete | G/T | 3k words AO3 Link A continuation sometime after the events of the Apollo Borrower AU. Klavier visits Apollo at the Agency, realizes how hard the life of a borrower is, and asks Apollo for a favour: to teach Klavier how to borrow.

New Take on a Familiar Face Oneshot | Complete | G/T | 4k words AO3 Link Klavier is kidnapped by ransomers but manages to escape their car and flee into the Californian desert. Just as he collapses from heat exhaustion, an old friend stumbles upon him by accident—a friend who’s much, much taller than Klavier remembered.

The Rattatiniest Tourneybout In progress | G/T 1 + 2 A speculative, silly crossover between The Tiniest Turnabout and the Ratattorney AU by @spirit-small. Two miniature Phoenix Wrights meet after an inter-dimensional mishap.

Don’t Drink the Zheng-Fa Oolong Tea In progress | G/T AO3 Link Klavier brings some rare imported tea to the Prosecutor’s Office, which results in them being shrunken to four inches tall. Luckily, Sebastian is De Beste at solving problems! He can totally fix this!

Coming Up Short In progress | G/T AO3 Link An alternate version of the Apollo Borrower AU, from the perspective of 17-year-old borrower Klavier and his brother Kristoph.

Wish Fufillment In progress | G/T AO3 Link Apollo is hired to find a magical artifact hidden in the desert. What he doesn’t expect to find is a genie, offering to grant him a single wish. Apollo should’ve known it was all too good to be true.

The Brave and the Bold In progress AO3 Link In the aftermath of his brother’s arrest, and with the failure of the Jurist system, Klavier Gavin takes up the mantle of a superhero. If the court can’t uphold justice, maybe he can instead.

Traffic Violation Oneshot | Complete | 1k words AO3 Link Dick Gumshoe pulls over a speeding car. To his dismay and horror, the driver is none other than Miles Edgeworth.

A Word of Advice Oneshot | Complete | 3k words AO3 Link Franziska and Apollo have a lot in common, except for one thing: Franziska has managed to accept her father’s fate and move on, while Apollo is still grieving the loss of his mentor. Franziska decides to sit Apollo down for a talk.

Enchanté, Enchanté In progress AO3 Link A loose adaptation of Pixar’s Coco. Apollo’s foster father finds a burnt photograph of his parents, which leads to a startling and horrifying realization that Apollo can’t quite face.

Super Mario Bros.

Larger Than Life In progress | G/T AO3 Link Mario and Luigi are humble blue-collar workers in a poor neighbourhood. Their lives are turned upside-down when they find themselves stranded in the Mushroom Kingdom, a strange land populated by giant creatures.

[OLD] G/T oneshot collection In progress | G/T 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 A series of oneshots in which Princess Peach discovers two tiny brothers living in her castle walls. They claim to be humans, but that’s ridiculous because humans are extinct. Right?

[OLD] A Visitor In Castle Bleck Incomplete | G/T | Discontinued 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 A second-person POV fic. An unnamed borrower roams the halls of Castle Bleck after being teleported there by mistake.

Sanders Sides

The Violet Forest Oneshot | Complete | G/T | 5k words Tumblr Link Prince Roman has been acting strangely after emerging from a cursed forest near town. His ex-friend, renowned alchemist Logan, is hired by Remus to investigate the issue.

Everything is Okay Oneshot | Complete | G/T | 2k words Tumblr Link Logan gets separated from his friends while on a hike. When he loses his way, and with a storm fast approaching, he’s certain that he’s done for. Luckily, a friendly giant happens to find him and bring him to safety.

Done Deal Complete | G/T | 11k words Tumblr Link Borrower Virgil’s trust in people is shattered when his roommate Deceit leaves him for dead to make his own escape. If he can’t trust his fellow borrowers, how could he possibly trust two humans who seem weirdly concerned about his health and safety?

How To Survive the Fall Incomplete | G/T | Discontinued Tumblr Link Virgil has two brothers, two cousins, and no parents. But one evening, he gets a text from someone who says they “survived the fall”—and claims to be just one of Virgil’s long-lost siblings.

Among Us

Liars Ahead: Proceed With Caution Oneshot | Complete…? | G/T | 9k words Tumblr Link Henry’s childhood dream was to become an astronaut, and it’s finally coming true. Too bad no one mentions the giants who operate the facility he’s staying at... or the man-eating Imposters that roam the planet.

Transformers

Untitled Oneshot Oneshot | G/T | 700 words Tumblr Link A second-person POV. A human wanders into the Decepticon base and is promptly discovered by Megatron. Cue the clown music.

Original Works

Birdsong Oneshot | Complete | G/T | 2k words Tumblr Link Scarlet Beowulf has the ability to speak with animals. This attracts the unwanted attention of Mythnir the Invisible, a shapeshifting dragon.

#really hope i didnt mess up any links sdjkgdfkja #thought it was about time I organize all my stuff #for my own benefit mostly dkgsjs

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your-mom-is-a-hoe · 4 years ago

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A Poisoned Love’s Kiss

So,, I guess I post fanfics here now? Sometimes-

Anyways, I wanted to do this because recently I’ve been absolutely fanpersoning over Roceit, so here you goo!

Based off of this lovely person’s comic:

https://waokevale.tumblr.com/post/618959675571978240/reverse-au-roceit

Title: A Poisoned Love’s Kiss

Genre: Umm- Angst. Whole lotta angst. With no happy ending. (Unless..?)

Fandom: Sanders Sides!

AU: Villain Swap!AU

Ship: 100% Roceit

Word Count: 2429

TW: Spiders

It was a normal day. Janus was cooking in the kitchen, stirring what seemed to be a soup of some kind. He was humming a small tune, completely unaware of the other sides’ presence as Roman spoke. “Oh, Januuus~”

Janus’ eyes went wide as he took a deep breath, turning around. Roman walked into the kitchen as Janus replied. “What do you want, Pride?”

Roman smirked, a glint of evil in his eyes as he mused. “You know exactly that that is not my name, dear Janus..” As he spoke, he walked closer and closer to the yellower side, now towering over him as Janus looked at him with fear. “And how can you not know what I came for?”

“R-Roman..” Janus spoke, reaching for the spoon placed carefully on the countertop behind him. “I wasn’t expecting you…” As he took hold of the spoon, he reached over to Roman, exclaiming “Here..!” and “S-stay back!” as Roman held his hands up to defend himself from Janus’ attacks.

Roman sighed, repeating himself as he took the spoon, now having both of the sides holding different ends. “Jannie, Jannie Jannie..” He pulled himself closer to Janus as Janus stared back with fear, a few wisps of their hairs meeting. “We both know.. That you would never hurt me.” Janus, now being forced to meet Roman’s eyes, stuttered on his own words. “I-I..”

Roman smiled, placing a hand to the side of Janus’ face as his thumb rubbed his cheek ever so softly. “My dear, sweet Jannie..” About a quarter of Janus’ iris went red, parting from it’s usual yellow. “Can’t you just give in and let me love you..?” Janus’ fearful face now looked tired, almost hazy as the rest of his iris went a bright, almost pale red. Roman smiled, now bringing his face closer to Janus’ as Janus didn’t seem to react. “That’s right, darling. Give in..”

As Roman was about to meet Janus’ lips, there was a shout coming from the kitchen entrance. “HEY!” Roman picked up his head, away from Janus as his face turned into pure shock.

Virgil spoke, shouting at Roman as Remus followed. “Stay away from him, Pride!” “Yeah, leave him alone, brother!” Roman let go of Janus’ face, now turned towards the other two as Janus seemed to be broken from his trance. “Ugh.. Caution.. Brother…”

Roman shrugged, now smiling once again. “Oh well..” Janus blinked, looking around confusedly before collapsing on the ground as Virgil and Remus spoke in unison. “Janus!” Roman continued, not even looking to see if Janus was alright. “I guess you caught me this time..” He hunched over, meeting Virgil’s eye level. “Just so you know.. I’ll be back~” Virgil now stared at Roman with fury on his face. “I hope the fuck not.”

After Roman sunk down, Virgil and Remus immediately ran over to Janus, crouching down next to him. Virgil was the first to speak. “Janus, are you okay?” Janus looked up at Virgil tiredly, still confused. “W... What happened?” Both were holding Janus up for support, making sure he could at least stand straight as Remus spoke. “Bro-bro did something to you..” Virgil, now hugging Janus, smiled. “We’re glad you’re okay, though.” Janus gave a small laugh, accepting the hugs. “Haha, thanks.”

However.

What if everything wasn’t as it seems? What if it was all an illusion? What if, indeed, this story might not get a happy ending?

C’mon, I’m not all fluff and fluffangst. I know how to write with an evil mind.

Janus’ eyes went wide as he took a deep breath, turning around. Roman walked into the kitchen as Janus replied. “What do you want, Pride?”

Roman smiled sinisterly, placing a hand to the side of Janus’ face as his thumb rubbed his cheek ever so softly. “My dear, sweet Jannie..” About a quarter of Janus’ iris went red, parting from it’s usual yellow. “Can’t you just give in and let me love you..?” Janus’ fearful face now looked tired, almost hazy as the rest of his iris went a bright, almost pale red. Roman smiled, now bringing his face closer to Janus’ as Janus didn’t seem to react. “That’s right, darling. Give in..”

Roman smiled, leaning in towards Janus as he lifted the entranced sides’ chin up. Slowly, their lips met, and when Roman pulled away, Janus took in a sharp inhale. Virgil and Remus ran in as Virgil gasped for air. “We’re- We’re too late..”

Janus had a tint of yellow in his eyes, just a circle, as Roman lifted his chin up one more time. He leaned in again, this time whispering something in Janus’ ear as Janus collapsed, the color completely drained from him. His eyes, his pale skin, even tips of his hair which he had died a tiny bit of yellow had been neutralized as he hit the floor. Remus ran up to Janus as Virgil froze from fear. His thoughts echoed all around his head. Fight or flight, Virgil? C’mon, you gotta choose! Remus crouched next to Janus’ unconscious body, trying to find a pulse, trying to seek any signs that he’s alive. Remus looked up at Roman, tears in his eyes as he started to shout. “How COULD YOU?!” Roman smirked, leaning towards Remus. As he reached a hand out, Remus swatted him away. “NO- Don’t tOUCH ME, you VILLAIN!” Roman was about to retoil, but stopped in the middle of his sentence. “Oh, sweet little bro-” He took in a sharp, shuddered inhale as Remus realized what he had just done. Roman looked at Remus with such amounts of rage, not even I could explain it. His voice sounded tense, like you could cut through it with a knife. “What did you just call me?” Remus became furious. His eyes narrowed angrily as he replied. “You v i l l a i n.” And just as he appeared, Roman was gone. No signs of leaving, no trace of ever being there, except for- “JANUS-” Virgil finally mustered out. His breathing was rapid, more rapid than usual as he grasped clutches of his hair. Remus flinched, turning to Virgil’s panicking body. “Shit- shitshitshit- I-is hE WAKING UP?” Virgil ran over, sitting next to Janus’ unconscious corpse as Remus pleaded. “Please, please, please, just- wake up!” ...After what seemed like hours of failed attempts to bring Janus back to “life,” Virgil sighed. “...It’s no use. He’s gone, isn’t he?” Remus shook his head. “No. There has to be SOMETHING we can do to help him! What- What about true love’s kiss, huh? Those always seem to work in- in fairy tales and Disney movies!” Virgil placed a shaky hand on Remus’ shoulder. Although he himself was freaking out, he tried to keep his composure as his thoughts echoed around his head. Fight or flight, V i r g i l? Virgil took a shaky breath as he spoke. “Remus, we’re not-.. We’re not in a Disney movie, or a fairytale, or a fanfiction of any kind! Plus, even if it did work, who would even BE Janus’ ‘true love’?” Remus, in a sudden outburst of rage, shouted. “I DON’T KNOW! Maybe ROMAN could, like, REVeRSe it?!” Virgil looked into Remus’ eyes for a moment, frozen, as his thoughts continued. FIGHT OR FLIGHT, VIRGIL? His breathing quickened as he shifted between Remus’ two eyes. Remus blinked a few times before realizing that was a mistake. “Shit- Virgil, I’m sorry-” Without saying anything, Virgil took a shuddered breath as he picked Janus up. He started walking to Janus’ room as he mumbled a few words, just within earshot of Remus. “Yeah, maybe he can..”

It had been quite some time as Remus and Virgil searched for Roman around the mindscape. Patton was crying as ever, seemingly unable to talk through the sobs. Logan was of no help. Apparently to him, the whereabouts of all sides is “entirely confidential,” as he put it. Remus sighed as Virgil paced around Janus’ room, where Janus had been laid down in his bed gently. “What if he’s dead? Gone, forever? W-what if we never see him again, or Roman doesn’t wanna help-” He hadn’t noticed he had stopped moving a while ago, just walking in place as Remus held his shoulders. “Of course Roman’s not gonna want to help, so we’re gonna have to make him help, duh.” Virgil took a deep breath. “Right, yeah, shouldn’t be too hard! ..Right-?”

There were the traps. There were traps everywhere, set up specifically to catch Roman and make him bring Janus back (If he even could, for that matter). As Roman walked throughout the hallways, he noticed something. A patch of leaves, just sitting there, in front of him. He crouched next to the leaves, making sure no one was watching as he moved a few of them.

Then, all of a sudden, he was hanging upside down, his legs wrapped in some strong rope. No, not rope- Silk.. Weird- But anyways, Remus walked out of Janus’ room, happy that his trap was a success as Virgil stayed by Janus’ side. Roman rolled his eyes as Remus began his speech. “Well, well, well, how the turns have tabled!” Roman cut him off, snapping at Remus as his patience ran thin. “Remus, what do you want?” Remus crossed his arms. “Wow, alright, cutting right to the chase, I see- Well, we want you to bring Janus back.”

Roman smirked, finally bursting into laughter as he hung from the ceiling. “YOu- You want ME to bring JANUS bacK? PFFFFt- Remus, I knew you were daft, but not THIS much!” Remus frowned, crossing his arms. “Says the side being hung from the ceiling.” Roman shrugged. “You’ve got me there. But what makes you think I’d want to help you anyways?” Remus’ lips formed into a smile as he looked up at Roman. “Well, you are being hung up there, aren’t you? Don’t you want to get out?” Roman rolled his eyes, trying to squirm out. If he could just summon his sword..- Roman screamed. Like, a banshee screech. He couldn’t help it, there were 4 pairs of eyeballs and 8 little furry legs staring back right into his eyes, just sitting on his face. “Oh, yeah, there’s also them.” Roman nearly fainted, taking a moment to process Remus’ words. “Wait- There are MORE?” A few more spiders crawled onto Roman. He could feel them, he knew they were there, but he didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare look away from the spider right in front of him, threatening to rip out his soul if it tried hard enough. Roman weighed his options as Remus tapped his foot impatiently. Try to help Janus and probably fail, or decline the offer and get a bath full of spiders? It seemed he had only one choice. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

Remus smiled. Maybe there was hope for Janus after all! He called to Virgil and the spiders retreated as Roman fell to the ground, face-first. He sighed, trying to stand up, but alas failed, as he had no arms. Remus steadied Roman, forcing him to walk inside the room and up to Janus’ bed. When they got to the bed, Virgil finally took his precious silk back, stuffing it in one of his hoodie pockets as he eyed Roman suspiciously. Roman rolled his eyes, leaning down to Janus before mumbling something. “How are you even sure this won’t kill him any more?” Virgil snarled, “Just do it.” as he continued to stare Roman down. Roman sighed, planting a soft kiss on Janus’ lips as he stood back up, waiting to see what would happen. After the longest minute of everyone’s lives, a few of Remus’ tears fell to the ground. Virgil started panicking. “No- nononono, this can’t happen! This WASN’T supposed to happen. FIX HIM, Roman, BRING HIM BACK-” Virgil stood there, shouting at Roman, not even realizing that the prideful side was wiping away his own tears. “I’m sorry, Virgil, but it seems that he is a side that cannot be saved.” Remus looked at his own hands, then up at Roman, punching him in the face. By the time Roman had recollected his senses, Remus had already placed an arm around Virgil, trying to make sure he was okay as he carried him to Virgil’s room. Roman sighed, “I supposed that’s fair..” as he, too, made his way out of the room, shutting off the lights, not daring to see Janus’ sleeping face one more time. Not having enough courage to look back at what he had done, even though he wanted so badly to do it.

But, alas, this is one of my stories.. And, well, you know how those end. I did indeed only say “might,” after all...

As Janus’ eyes fluttered open, he caught a glimpse of the prideful side’s cape, picking his head up as he reached out to him. His head quickly fell back down onto the pillow (with the arm following), feeling heavier than he had ever felt before. He heard the faint sound of a clicking door, as his body was still hazy from being in that trance. The last thing he saw before blacking out again was himself, in his mirror, and the bright yellow eyes he had been with for so long.

#ts #ts roceit #ts roman #ts janus #janus #roman #roceit #ts swap!au #ts villain swap!au

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what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me · 5 years ago

Note

Hey, uh, by chance do you have any Sanders Sides FanFiction recommendations that fit my unrealistically high expectations of angst that DP has given me? Also you’re an amazing artist keep up the good work

Thank you so much :D!! My bro, im gonna be 100 with you real quick when I say I haven't seen any Sanders Sides angst that matches the level of angst from Danny Phantom fics. Though, I can and will give a few honorable mentions. I will preface my list by saying: when making this I stayed away from romance also i haven't gone thru the ao3 angst tag for every side so its a bit incomplete rn. Most of these are hurt/comfort or AUs with a DP level of creativity, though read tags & take care of yourselves!

Ok first of all, literally anything by @delimeful is worth a read, but for this list in particular: watch it burn and rust, how easy you are to need, the shapes in the silence,and Repressed

If you stopped (you’d let them down)

is this moving forward?

The Man With Many Sides

Rooftop friendships

MIRROR | ЯOЯЯIM

Stay in the Equation

On Opposite Sides

Monachopsis

Caught Red Handed

finding the light hidden in darkness

In These Tangled Webs

Also, these fics were recced to me, but I haven’t had time to read them personally: Starved for Sunlight and It’s Just an Experiment

#sanders sides #asks #fic recs #angst #fic tag #ask to tag #danny phantom

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half-bro-sides-au · 5 years ago

Text

Characters - Logan, Virgil and Patton

Logan Sanders:

He/Him

Age: 15

Birthday: November 3rd

Sign: Scorpio

bisexual & -romantic

1.73m/5′8″

2nd to join the fam

mom died when he was 9

space nerd

insists that tie makes him look professional

proud owner of an army of houseplants

(patton named every last one)

bursting at the seams with fun facts

OCD (refuses to acknowledge it)

debate club

tech assistant for plays

somewhat addicted to Crofter’s Organic

huge crush on (book) Sherlock Holmes

has an affinity for science

likes big words

has a seemingly endless collection of jigsaw puzzles, sudoku, etc

Virgil Sanders:

He/Him

Age: 15

Birthday: December 19th

Sign: Sagittarius

gay

1.76m/5′9″

original child

(grew up at Dad’s)

very emo

writes fanfiction

knits

dyes his hair himself

godfather of Klaus the Cactus

anxiety & panic disorder

mom/grandma friend

has a tumblr/myspace page

(goes by skyler online)

lives in hoodies

tech kid

sucks at eyeliner, still transforms into a raccoon every morning

so done with his brothers’ bullsh*t

Patton Sanders:

He/They

Age: 15

Birthday: Janary 15th

Sign: Capricorn

homosexual and aromantic

1.68m/5′6″

3rd to join the fam

was kicked out when he was 13

transmasculine

was raised catholic

plays the drums

struggles with depression

PUNS

likes to bake, sucks at it

pretty well-known at school

cheerleader

has a huge squish on Emile Picani from literature

scared to wear dresses/skirts in public

at the bottom of each image:

@half-bro-sides-au

writing by @daring-elm

art by @wowimsogoddamnoriginal

#logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides #familial lamp #half brothers au #characters

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ironwoman359 · 5 years ago

Note

I know you're busy, but I have a question... I'm writing romantic Fanfiction on some uncommon Sander Sides ships like Patton X Deciet and Remy X Virgil. I was wondering if you maybe had any suggestions or tips??? Thank you for your time ^^

The thing that I like to focus on when writing the ships are what makes the couples work together. What makes them click well together, why they’re good for each other, something cute about them, etc. Highlighting these things that make the ship work is especially important for the lesser shipped pairings, because you’re partly selling your reader on a ship they may have not considered.

For instance, @justisaisfine sold me on Moceit in their Sanders Bros AU because Patton brings out emotional vulnerability in Dee and Dee accepts Patton as he is, despite all his baggage.

For Sleepxiety, does Remy bring Virgil out of his shell? Does Virgil help Remy with commitment? If you spend time on what makes your ships click in your story, the audience will be far more likely to fall in love with it!

#sanders sides #writing #advice #imbasicallyshakespear #asks and answers

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esperinkdraws · 6 years ago

Text

writing commissions

Hi! It’s your local enby, Esper! I’m in need of some money, for pet rent, pge, etc. So I’m opening writing commissions!

Payment will be through ko-fi.

Here is my AO3, if you’d like to see my work.

Let’s start with fandoms. I’m willing to write the following:

Be More Chill (2015 production)*

Dear Evan Hansen

RENT (movie version)

Jacksepticeye Egos*

Markiplier Egos*

Sanders Sides

Steven Universe

Welcome to Night Vale*

*stuff I’ve actually written before

Here’s what I will not write

sexual content or kinks

adult/child ships

any -phobic or -ist stuff (transphobic, racist, etc.)

graphic self-harm

suicide

graphic violence or gore

certain pairings (boyf riends, tree bros, kleinphy, any squip ships)

fics are on a case-by-case basis, if something else comes up that makes me uncomfortable, I have the right to decline the commission.

Here’s what I can/will write

fanfiction

headcanon lists

rarepairs

age regression

original works

OCs (with enough info)

reader-insert (though I don’t have much experience in this area)

AUs

Polyships

Prices

One ko-fi ($3) - 500 words and under, or a headcanon list

Two ko-fis ($6) - 501-800 words

Three ko-fis ($9) - 801-1.1K

Anything longer than that will be discussed in DMs.

If you’re interested, please send me a message! (or an ask, if on anon, though be aware if anonymous it WILL be posted on AO3) with the following:

fandom

estimated word count

prompt (doesn’t have to be very specific, just something to work with)

any other specifics (ship, gen fic, specific character in mind, etc.)

whether or not it’s okay for me to post onto AO3

#bmc #be more chill #deh #dear evan hansen #jacksepticeye #markiplier #rent musical #rent movie #sanders sides #steven universe #welcome to night vale #ink.txt #commissions post

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today-only-happens-once · 5 years ago

Text

Patch Job

Title: Patch Job

Word Count: 4168

Summary: A pipe bursts. Roman is close to breaking, in a different kind of way. For @justisaisfine’s Sanders Bro AU. Family LAMP, platonic Thomas/Roman.

Warnings: angst/hurt/comfort, arguing, implied trauma, implied eating disorder, mention of/implied depression, overworked!Roman, imposter syndrome/feelings of inadequacy/insecurity in DROVES, crying, cursing, probably inaccurate plumbing stuff because I don’t know how pipes work, financial struggles and bad landlords, light embarrassment at lack of knowing things about plumbing.

A/N: Me? Projecting months-worth of emotions and insecurities onto Isa’s Roman? It’s far more likely than you think. Heavily inspired by parts of an episode of Freeform’s Party of Five, but no knowledge of that show is needed for this fic. It’s just where the inspiration came from (specifically the broken pipe and the “sh**ty patch job” line). It’s not my best writing, but I’m a little rusty and my brain is very full of lots of different things lately. My deepest gratitude to Isa for letting me play in their AU once again. It’s always meaningful to me.

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff , @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge, @bibbidy-bobbity-booyah, @procrastinations-my-middle-name, @theburntesttoast, @monroig, @secretlyawyvern, @puddinglec4t

…

Roman startles awake, and for a brief moment, isn’t sure why.

Then he hears muffled cursing, and a panicked, strangled “Uh… Roman?!”—Roman places it as Logan’s voice immediately even in his half-awake state—and kicks off the thin blankets that remain tangled between his legs. He scrubs a hand across his eyes and blinks blearily around him. The pull-out couch is empty, which means his brothers are all awake. Roman checks the time on the clock hanging on the wall.

The boys had ten minutes before they needed to be ready for school.

“Roman!”

Logan’s sharp, strained voice is definitely coming from the kitchen. A second later, Roman thinks he can hear… hissing?

The eldest Sanders brother scrambles over the corner of the bed and nearly trips into the TV in his urgency. He skids to a stop in the kitchen entryway and freezes at the sight before him.

The cabinet under the sink is open, water spraying out from the pipe inside of it. Roman looks immediately for his youngest brother, seeing Virgil—frozen and pale—by the fridge. Patton is soaked, a plastic plate at his feet with three sandwiches on the floor quickly getting drowned by the water gushing from the burst pipe. His gray sweatshirt and jeans are soaked through. Logan is holding his hand out to block the spray as he blindly fumbles through a drawer that is just barely in arms reach.

Roman doesn’t know where to start. “What happened?” he asks, crossing quickly over to Virgil who is far too pale for Roman’s liking.

“Pipe just suddenly burst,” Logan answers as he clumsily pulls a towel from the kitchen drawer.

Roman nods, kneeling in front of his baby brother and trying not to cringe as part of his pajama pants are immediately soaked with the water that is rapidly flooding their kitchen. “Hey,” Roman says softly, “V, it’s just a pipe.” Roman counts it as no small miracle that Virgil looks at him. Makes eye contact, however brief.

It hadn’t been a guarantee. A loud, sudden noise. In the kitchen. The yelling that followed.

“Quite a wake-up call, huh?” Roman offers with a small smile, reaching a hand towards him. Asking. Inviting.

Virgil doesn’t smile back, but he looks at Roman for a moment before placing his hand in Roman’s own. His hand is shaking. Roman gives it a small squeeze. Neither of them lets go.

Roman turns back around as Logan wraps the towel around the break under the sink. He looks to Patton— soaked from the chest down.

“Pat,” Roman says. “Go change into something dry. And get Virgil some dry socks for me.”

Patton ducks his head a little and says something that Roman doesn’t quite catch.

“Hm?”

“This was the last clean thing I had,” Patton repeats. “I was gonna do laundry yesterday but couldn’t find quarters. And then I thought maybe I could ask Ms. Alice next door tonight to borrow their machine, but—”

Roman feels a twinge in his chest. “It’s my fault. Take one of my flannels. It’ll be big on you, but it’ll work until I get a load through.”

Patton nods and holds out a hand for Virgil to take. Virgil gives Roman’s one last squeeze before he follows quietly after Patton.

“And don’t forget to pack lunch!” Roman calls over his shoulder as Patton moves to the drawers in the living room. Roman looks back at Logan on the kitchen floor under the sink. His brother is soaked head to toe, and he’s fiddling with some part of the pipe that Roman can’t see from where he’s standing.

“We’re out of food, Roman,” Logan says, quietly and carefully. “Patton won’t say it, but I checked last night.”

Roman’s chest tightens even further. “What?”

“Those sandwiches on the floor was the last of what we had for lunch.” Logan grunts as he tightens something on the pipe.

Roman pinches the bridge of his nose against the impending headache he can feel coming. His acting job had helped with finances substantially, but Roman usually got groceries on Tuesdays. Filming had really picked up lately, and Roman was coming home later than usual; after the grocery store they usually went to was closed.

Roman had promised himself he’d ask the director for an extended lunch on Saturday so he could get groceries. Maybe if he offered to come in earlier on Sunday, then he could leave early today and swing by to get enough to last until Saturday when he could get the rest—

That didn’t fix the immediate problem.

Roman sighs and ducks back into the living room to the top drawer of the dresser. He pulls out the small bundle of singles and counts off twelve dollars. He’d been saving loose cash to go towards Logan’s college fund. Lunch at school cost a little over three dollars. Twelve should be enough to cover all three of them.

“Logan,” Roman says, returning to the kitchen and cringing a bit as his socks are immediately soaked in the growing pool of sink water. He hands the folded bills towards him. “Make sure all of you eat lunch, okay?”

Logan frowns, sliding out from under the sink but keeping his hand clamped around the burst. “Roman. I was thinking… maybe I should stay home today—”

“No.”

“You don’t know the first thing about fixing a busted pipe.”

“Neither do you,” Roman replies. He’s still holding the money out to him. “Look, I’ll figure it out, okay?”

“You’re not exactly the most handy person, Roman.”

“You’re not skipping school for this.”

“But—”

“I mean it, Logan!”

“You’re being an idiot,” Logan snaps. “If you would just let me—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Roman cuts him off firmly.

Logan stares at him, his expression carefully unreadable, then releases the pipe and gets to his feet. He switches the faucet off and the spray of water slows to a stop. Logan snatches the money out of Roman’s hands and brushes past him, out of the kitchen. It’s not until Logan is out of the kitchen and in the bathroom down the hall that Roman realizes what he’s said.

I can’t believe I just said that. He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face.

Logan leaves the apartment moments later with their younger brothers in tow. He closes the door behind them before Roman can so much as say his name.

….

Roman doesn’t know what he’s doing.

He’d dug around for some kind of manual, but there wasn’t much room in their tiny apartment to hide it, and he hadn’t been able to find it. A quick trip to the hardware store had led to Roman buying a part that he thinks looks right… maybe.

He’d been at it for hours. Roman’s hair is sopping wet and falling into his eyes no matter how many times he rakes it back and out of his face, and his white t-shirt is damp with sink water and stained with rust. He had already called the studio and said he couldn’t come in today, apologizing profusely and wondering distantly if his job would survive the phone call. He was certainly replaceable, right? And he was supposed to give far more notice than four minutes after he was supposed to be there.

Calling the landlord was out of the question, really. Past experience taught Roman that their landlord was largely unreliable for maintenance and reveled in any chance to pin damages on tenants and charge them accordingly (and then some).

The wrench in Roman’s hand slips from his grip and cracks against the wooden frame of the cabinet.

“Shit,” Roman hisses, shaking his hand as if it will ease the sudden sting in his knuckles.

He finishes tightening the piece and blows out a breath before he slides out from under the cabinet. Hopefully the patch would work. He uses the edge of the kitchen counter to pull himself to his feet and holds his breath as he twists the faucet on.

A second passes as water rushes through the faucet. Roman releases his breath. But it’s quickly overshadowed by the loud pop and the spray of water that shoots out from the pipe once again. Roman jumps and dives for the pipe as it douses his sweatpants, shirt, face, hair as he frantically tries to wrap a hand around the break.

He blindly fumbles for the towel that Logan had been using before he’d left, turning his face away as his fingers slip and the water hits cheek. Roman quickly ties the towel into several knots around the pipe. He scrambles to his feet—no small task, given the pool of water in their kitchen—and turns the faucet off.

The chaos holds its breath for a moment and Roman releases his again, sagging against the counter and shoving the wet strings of his hair out of his face again.

He doesn’t know what to do.

Do we really need the sink anyway? Roman wonders. The answer is yes. Of course it was.

He has to fix it, because they used the kitchen sink water for drinking and washing food because the bathroom sink water wasn’t the best. And besides, if they had any hope of moving out of here—and God, did Roman want to move—they had to make sure everything was at least in as decent of shape as it was when they moved in. Or the repairs would cost the amount of a down payment on another apartment.

Not to mention that he’d told his brothers he could handle it. He had to handle it, and he had to do it before they got home from school.

Roman’s spiraling thoughts are interrupted by his phone buzzing on the kitchen table. Roman doesn’t have a clue who it could be, but his heartbeat jumps for a moment.

Thomas flashes across the caller ID and Roman gingerly hops over the soaked towels that litter the floor before he swipes to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Thomas replies. “Vicki said you called off today but hadn’t been clear about why. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“Yeah,” Roman says on instinct alone. “No, I’m fine.”

“Your brothers are okay?”

Roman swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. “Yeah, Thomas. They’re okay. They’re at school.”

“Are you sick?”

“Wh—no, I’m not sick.”

There’s a beat. A hesitation. Roman can feel through the phone how Thomas wants to keep asking questions. “Okay,” Thomas says instead, and Roman isn’t sure why. Or why it twists a knot in his chest. “Do you need anything?”

No, Roman wants to say, the word built on instinct and fear pressing against the back of his teeth. But he looks at the clock—it’s a little past noon, which gave him about three and a half hours before the boys got home—and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.

“I…um…” Roman doesn’t know why his voice trembles just a little. Thomas had told him that if he needed anything, he’d be there, right? He could trust Thomas.

He could trust Thomas.

His grip around the phone tightens a little. He laughs, empty and hollow as he looks around the disheveled, sopping wet kitchen. “Do you know anything about fixing a busted pipe?”

A slight pause, and Roman isn’t sure how to interpret it. “Yeah,” Thomas says eventually. Lightly. Like Roman had just asked him to run lines with him. “They want to do one more take, and then I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay,” Roman says, relief overpowering any other thing he should be feeling. “And uh, thanks.”

“No problem. Give me an hour.”

…

When there’s a knock at the apartment door fifty minutes later, Roman’s been doused with water about four more times. It’s not until he answers the door and Thomas is standing on the other side with a box of take-out from Roman’s favorite lunch place by the studio that the eldest Sanders brother realizes he probably looks a disaster. If Thomas thinks so, he’s gracious enough to not say anything.

“I brought lunch,” Thomas says, holding out the box towards Roman. “Something told me you probably didn’t eat yet.” It’s a light comment, more conversational than accusatory, but Roman feels his eyes heat a little. He blinks quickly.

“Uh, thanks,” he says lamely, taking the box and stepping aside. He realizes suddenly that Thomas had never been to the apartment before, and if he wasn’t quite so desperate to just fix the problem in the kitchen, he’d probably be a little bit mortified.

“You’ll never guess what Terrence and Valerie started doing today,” Thomas says as Roman closes the door behind him. “They started this whole ‘finish the lyric’ for showtunes thing between takes. Except they’re doing it with really obscure shows. Urinetown was one from Valerie and Terrence just made up the lyric because he’d never seen the show. He rhymed ‘urination’ and ‘station’.”

Despite himself, Roman barks a laugh. The corner of Thomas’s mouth quirks into a smile.

“They tried to get me to do one for Death Note the Musical. I’ve seen the anime, but I didn’t have a clue about the song they were singing.” Thomas shakes his head a little as they step into the living room. The pullout bed hadn’t been put away yet. Clothes litter the floor, left behind in the wake of the chaotic morning.

Thomas doesn’t even seem phased. “I think they’re gonna make it a regular thing. You should challenge them to it.”

Roman rubs the back of his neck and turns to look at the other actor. “Maybe,” he says, even as his stomach feels a little uneasy. “Assuming I still have a job after today.”

Thomas’s brows pull together, his head tilting a little in confusion. “Is there any doubt?”

“A little?”

“There shouldn’t be. They’re not gonna fire you just because something came up last minute one day.”

“You seem pretty sure about that.”

“I am.”

Roman stares at him for a moment, waiting for Thomas to elaborate. He has the sudden feeling that Thomas may have done or said something to someone in his absence.

Thomas arcs an eyebrow, then lifts a shoulder. “You’re more talented than you give yourself credit for, Roman,” he says, like it’s a statement of fact rather than one of the kindest things Roman has ever heard in his life. “And don’t think your extra hours these past several weeks have gone by unnoticed. Not by me, and not by the director. Taking a day—especially to deal with something like this—isn’t going to put your job in jeopardy. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Roman says quietly. He doesn’t know if he believes it. “Okay.”

“To be honest,” Thomas adds, slipping his hands into his pockets, “when I heard you weren’t coming in, I was kind of hoping you were taking a day to get some extra rest.”

Roman ducks away from Thomas’s sincerity. “Yeah, that’s… not really a possibility for me.”

He hears Thomas sigh, and tries not to wince. Maybe asking Thomas for help had been a mistake. He’d always wanted to impress Thomas, after all. The last thing he wanted Thomas to think was that he didn’t have his life handled. Losing Thomas’s respect would… devastate him, and Roman can’t help but feel like he’s rapidly heading down that path.

“Sorry,” Roman says.

“No, Roman, it’s…” Thomas stops, shakes his head. Tries again. “It’s not your fault. It’s just… your responsibility, and it shouldn’t be.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Thomas insists, and that brings Roman up short. “I mean, I get that you have your brothers to help you, but… still.” He glances around the apartment. “Actually, speaking of, I’m a little surprised that Logan went to school. He seems like he’d like to tinker to help you out.”

“He tried,” Roman says hollowly. His stomach turns against how he’d left things with Logan this morning. “I sent him to school anyway.”

“Ah,” Thomas says.

“I told him I had it handled,” Roman elaborates, and he isn’t sure why. Thomas hadn’t asked for more information, and Roman rarely offered it when it wasn’t asked for.

“You didn’t want his help? He’s a smart kid. Given the circumstances, I’m sure one day wouldn’t have—”

“I don’t—” Roman cuts in, and then snaps his jaw shut as the memories of his morning flood through his mind. Virgil, frozen and pale and barely responding to him. Patton not having clean clothes and also him not mentioning that they were out of food. Logan arguing with him. Roman saying he didn’t want to hear it…

“I need my brothers to feel like I can handle it.”

“The broken pipe?”

“Everything.”

A brief pause. “Did… you try asking your landlord for some help?”

“We—I can’t afford it…” Roman trails off and shakes his head. He sinks onto the edge of the pull-out bed and folds his hands between his knees. “Handling things is what I do.”

Thomas purses his lips, and Roman feels himself tense before Thomas looks towards the kitchen. “Then let’s take a look, yeah?”

Roman takes the hand that Thomas offers and pushes himself to his feet. “The kitchen is a mess,” he says.

“I’d be shocked if it wasn’t. Burst pipes tend to do that,” Thomas says with a faint smile. He squeezes Roman’s shoulder and then ducks through the kitchen entryway, seeming unbothered by the pool of water and sopping wet towels that litter the floor.

Roman self-consciously folds his arms across his chest as Thomas kneels down by the sink, peering closely at the pipe. He grabs the wrench that Roman had abandoned by the counter and sets to work.

“Hm,” Thomas hums, but Roman can’t see his face.

“Hm?”

“Hm,” Thomas confirms with an amused smile before he rolls a bit to be on his back and looking up at the pipe. “I think I may have figured out part of your problem. Come here.”

Roman kneels beside Thomas, and the older actor scoots to the left to make room so Roman can see what he’s talking about. He unscrews the part that Roman had been doing his best to wedge onto the pipe. “This is the wrong size. So that’s a small part of it.” Roman flushes in embarrassment, but Thomas doesn’t seem to notice. “Easy mistake, though. The real problem is that these pipes are pretty rusted, which I’d bet is why it burst. See this discoloration?” Thomas points.

“Yeah,” Roman says.

“It’s a bad sign. Plus, you’ve got this here—” Thomas points to a part of the pipe further up that Roman hadn’t even been paying attention to before—“which looks like a leak that someone tried to fix with duct tape.”

“I mean… it stopped the leak,” Roman offers weakly. He feels Thomas glance over at him, but he doesn’t meet his eyes.

“For now,” Thomas says, his voice oddly gentle. “But it won’t last very long.” He turns his attention back to the pipe. When Roman risks a glance over at him in the cramped space under the sink, he sees Thomas’s frown deepen.

“What?” Roman asks.

Thomas shakes his head a little. “Just thinking. If this pipe is corroded a bit with rust here, it’s likely it exists elsewhere too. So this will probably keep happening, unless you can get the bigger problem addressed—”

Roman’s chest constricts painfully and he slides out from beside Thomas. “Okay,” he says tightly. Strained. “Okay.” His fingers twitch and he pushes himself to his feet.

Thomas—slower than Roman had—also slides out from under the sink. He sits, though, with his back to the wooden cabinet beside the sink.

“I can get another job,” Roman says. He’s pacing but moving helps him think and he needs to think a lot right now. “Pick up a little bit of extra cash which could maybe get us a better shot of moving out sooner, or if not that, maybe enough to cover the—”

“Roman, this isn’t on you,” Thomas cuts in gently. “Your landlord should fix it.”

“But he’ll charge us, because—”

“Then I’ll get someone to come in and take a look. I know some people—”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll figure it out. I’ll just, ah, get the right size part to fix the busted section, right?”

“Sure,” Thomas says slowly, “but it wouldn’t fix the larger problem. A quick patch job won’t keep it from happening again if you really do have a corrosion problem.”

Roman rakes a hand through his hair. “But it’ll be enough for now. Right?”

Roman turns an imploring gaze onto Thomas, still sitting on the floor. Thomas’s brows pull together. “Roman, let me talk to—”

“I’ll handle it, Thomas,” Roman says quickly. “I’ll figure it out.”

The eldest Sanders sees a flash of frustration pass through Thomas’s brown eyes as the older actor pushes himself to his feet. “You keep saying that. But it doesn’t seem like you know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t!” Roman snaps suddenly, throwing his hands up. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, Thomas. I never do. I just… grab on tightly to whatever is the biggest mess and I try to hold it together long enough to stick until the next or a bigger mess comes along.”

Silence meets the end of his words and this morning flickers through Roman’s mind again before he shakes it off. “Sometimes that mess is one of my brothers and sometimes that mess is figuring out when I can get groceries and sometimes that mess is realizing I didn’t learn lines for filming tomorrow but I just… I do the very next thing and hope and pray it’s enough that my brothers don’t look too closely because if they do…” Roman’s voice breaks and he swallows hard against his burning, blurring vision. “They’ll realize I’m just a shitty patch job too.”

That’s all Roman is. That’s all he’d ever been, for as long as Roman could remember. A band-aid on the chasm that always threatened to swallow his brothers whole.

But for some unfathomable reason, his brothers trusted him to take care of them. And he doesn’t know what to do if they realized just how much their trust was misplaced. Just how out-of-his-depth Roman truly was, is, had always been. He’d spent his entire life trying and failing to fill the hole left behind by their parents, and he was a fraud but none of them had figured it out yet. Roman had spent countless sleepless nights hoping they never do.

Thomas is looking at him and Roman—the coward he is—can’t meet his eyes.

“Roman,” Thomas says softly in the silence, “you’re enough for them.”

“I’m not,” Roman says, and giving voice to that realization that he’d locked away in the recesses of his mind makes his legs feel wobbly. “I can’t… fill all the space they need, Thomas. It’s too big. I can just… try, because… because…” They’re all I have.

Thomas’s hand moves as if to reach out across the space between them, but he shoves his hand into his pocket instead. “You are enough for them. You give them every piece of yourself, and they trust you. And if, sometimes, the damage is a little bigger than just you can fix… well. You hold on tight until you can find a piece a little bit bigger.”

Startled, Roman looks up at Thomas through his blurry vision that clears suddenly when he blinks. The smile Thomas offers is sad, but there’s something earnest in his eyes that makes an entirely different kind of lump form in his throat.

Thomas doesn’t break from his gaze. “I know you’re used to being on your own, Roman, but… you’re not, anymore. You’ve got help. And… it’s okay to ask for it. It’s okay to let people know you need it.” Thomas takes a hesitant step closer. “It doesn’t mean you aren’t enough for them. They think the world of you. I knew that the moment they tried to fight me during that combat choreography practice.”

Roman laughs wetly at the memory. “Old habits die hard.”

“I know… But you’ve got people who want to help you with that part of it too.”

Roman sniffles and scrubs at his damp cheeks. Thomas seems to soften even more, and he pulls his hands out of his pockets and holds his arms out in an offering of a hug. “You’re not a patch job, Roman. You’re a person. People need help fixing things sometimes.”

Roman releases a breath and hugs Thomas, the feeling at once foreign and comforting. “Breathe,” Thomas urges. “Okay?”

Roman smiles faintly as he pulls back. “Okay.”

Thomas nods once, a faint smile tugging at his own lips. “Good. Now let’s fix a broken pipe.”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #roman sanders fanfiction #sanders bro au #angst #crying #cursing #hurt/comfort #imposter syndrome #feelings of inadequacy #platonic thomas/roman #familial lamp

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crikitoon · 4 years ago

Note

Laughing over your reaction to 90% of the fanfiction for Among Us, and figured I'd recommend you this:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26752954/chapters/65265895

It's a Sanders Sides AU, of course, but if you don't mind that, you'll probably enjoy it. It memtions tentacles, but instead of being used for...um...other things (😂) they are used for sfw reasons. If that helps.

Bro I didn’t even know Among Us fanfiction was a thing let alone Among Us smut LMAO

I’ll check it out but if this turns out to be some kinky stuff I’m coming for your kneecaps, anon 👀

#/j lmao #anon #ask

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today-only-happens-once · 6 years ago

Text

Take a Sad Song and Make It Better

Title: Take a Sad Song and Make It Better

Word Count: 1454

Summary: They’re both just trying their best, but sometimes they fall short. “How many times does it need to happen before you learn?” Brotherly Logince angst for @justisaisfine’s Sanders Bro AU. A short fic based on this art from it (the first pic, anyway).

Warnings: physical abuse (or at least the ramifications of it), cigarette burns, yelling, arguing, misunderstanding, angst, hurt/comfort but mostly hurt I think. Let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: So this was originally a much longer idea, but… I just couldn’t get anything else to come to fruition, and I think I’m okay with how this scene turned out? Sorry this is like, way shorter than the original idea I’d pitched to you, Isa. :/ But I hope this short little thing is okay! And many, many thanks as always to you for giving me permission to play in your ‘verse.

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge

…

Logan hisses quietly, cradling his arm as he weighs whether its better to clean it off in the kitchen sink or the bathroom. He can hear footsteps scuffing against the carpet of the hallway around the corner. He doesn’t know if it might be his mother coming back, even though she’d just gone to her room 98 seconds ago.

He glances at the clock; it’s almost dinnertime. She could very well be returning. Perhaps the bathroom was the wiser choice.

“Logan?”

He freezes for a moment before he realizes its his older brother appearing in the doorway to the kitchen from behind him. Logan turns around to face him, watching the way Roman’s eyes widen. Logan instinctively drops his arm, grimacing tightly as the fresh burns brush against the starchy shirt he’s wearing.

He opens his mouth to explain himself, but no words come as Roman rushes towards him and reaches for his arm. He’d already ignored his internal timer once today, after all.

He’d been stupid. He’d known his mother was beginning to lose patience with him—he’d seen it in the clench of her jaw, in her silence when he’d ask a question, in her quick and increasingly terse side-glances. But he really thought he’d chosen an interesting topic this time: NASA was exploring new technology for deep space imaging.

That was your first mistake, he tells himself plainly. You find it interesting. Mom doesn’t.

He looks again at Roman, who now is inspecting his injured arm. He reminds Logan a little of their mom in this moment; his jaw is clenched, he glances quickly at Logan. His silence. Although, Logan reminds himself that technically it was Roman who asked a question and Logan who didn’t answer this time.

“C’mon,” Roman says quietly as he stands up. The similarities to their mother in his expression is replaced in something flat that Logan can’t read. He follows.

Roman leads him to the bathroom closest to his bedroom and quietly shuts the door behind them. Roman is silent as he opens the cabinet mirror and pulls out antiseptic, Neosporin, and cotton balls. He sets them on the white porcelain counter. Logan stares at the light tiled floor, replaying the conversation with his mom.

He’d started speaking at 4:00. His mom grabbed his arm at 4:37. His first warning had come ten minutes before that. He files that information away in the back of his mind.

“What happened?” Roman asks as he wets a washcloth in the sink, finally breaking the silence. He looks at his brother through the reflection in the mirror above the sink.

Logan is trying to hold his arm as still as possible as he stares vacantly at the peeling cream colored paint where the wall meets the ceiling. “I was telling mom about the new NASA technology.” His gaze flickers to his brother just in time to see the way his shoulders move with a sigh and the slight shake in his head.

“You know you can tell me that kind of stuff when mom doesn’t want to listen, right?”

Logan tenses. It’s not the same. She’s mom. “I thought it was interesting. Mom told me to stop but I hadn’t gotten to the most interesting part yet.” He doesn’t know why he says that. He recognizes that it isn’t an answer to Roman’s rhetorical question.

“Logan…” Roman wrings the washcloth out and turns back to face him. His brows are pulled together. “What made you think this was going to be different than any other times you’ve tried to talk to mom?”

“I thought if I could speak quickly enough this time, maybe I could get to the interesting part and mom wouldn’t mind if I talked as much.” As Logan explains, Roman kneels in front of him and takes his arm. He jaw is tense, his expression unreadable to Logan as he studies the fresh burns on his arm more closely. Logan presses on. “But talking more quickly I think may have aggravated her further—”

“Logan, please!” Roman snaps suddenly, his gaze flying up to lock onto his younger brother. He looks angry to Logan. His grip around Logan’s arm tightens slightly. “How many times does it need to happen before you learn?”

Logan yanks his arm from his brother’s grip. He stumbles back a step.

He feels shaky and he can’t explain why. He clenches his teeth as he stares at where Roman’s knees meet the tile bathroom floor and waits for the heat in his eyes to go away. “Learn what, Roman?” he asks in as measured of a voice as he can manage.

In Logan’s peripheral, he sees Roman’s grip around the washcloth clench. “Isn’t it Einstein who said that it was insanity to do the same thing over and over and expect different results? You keep doing this, and… you keep getting hurt, Logan. And I…” Roman trails off.

“What do you want from me?” Logan snaps. Angry at his brother. Angry at the way the world is blurring on the edges of his vision. Angry with himself, because maybe Roman has a point and Logan can’t make sense of why that infuriates him. “To just shup up? Stop talking? I thought you said I could talk to you. Now you want me to shut up too.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, isn’t it?”

“I just…”

“You what, Roman? You’re tired of having to apply Neosporin to my arm?

“No. I just wish that--"

“Tired of having to pick up the pieces because I’m too stupid to keep my mouth shut? Well, message received. I’ll keep my sleeves rolled down next time—”

“I can’t always protect you, Logan!” Roman blurts out and it surprises the younger brother so much that he looks up and finally meets Roman’s gaze. He doesn’t look angry anymore. He’s pale. Logan is struck suddenly with how similar Roman looks to his youngest brother, Virgil all of a sudden.

He’s scared.

Logan’s jaw snaps shut as Roman presses on.

“I… wish I could. But I can’t, no matter how hard I try…” Roman swallows hard and averts his gaze, as if ashamed. He continues haltingly, like he’s fighting with himself through each word. “And when I can’t … when I’m not there or fast enough or… just… Logan, please.” He sounds less angry when he says those words this time. He sounds like he’s pleading. He sounds tired. “I need to know that you’ll try to keep yourself safe when I’m not around.”

For a moment, Logan doesn’t know what to say. He’d always seen the way Roman would intervene with their mom and dad when it came to the three of them; Logan wasn’t blind, and he wasn’t that much younger than Roman. But he’d never really thought that Roman would think of that as a responsibility he carried. It never occurred to Logan that Roman would see their injuries as a sign of some kind of personal failing on his part.

It leaves an uneasy feeling in Logan’s stomach that he can’t explain. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know what his expression is.

Roman looks at him for a long, careful moment, then sighs again. He holds out a hand. A peace offering.

“Let me help you, Lo. I don’t want you to get infected, yeah?”

Logan swallows hard and nods. “Yeah.” He reaches his arm out, letting Roman take it.

His brother’s grip is impossibly gentle now. He dabs gently at the fresh, angry burns with the damp cloth. A part of Logan is afraid to look up at Roman’s face again. He tells himself its juvenile, but he doesn’t want to see that fear in Roman’s eyes again. So instead, Logan watches Roman tend to his arm. As he sets the washcloth aside and reaches for the antiseptic and cotton balls, Logan hears him humming very softly. It takes him a moment before he places the song. “Hey Jude” by the Beatles.

Neither of them say anything while Roman cleans his arm, nor when he applies Neosporin and helps Logan roll his sleeve down. Logan just watches his big brother and listens to his humming.

When he finally gets the courage to look up at Roman, he still sees the edge of lingering fear that’s chipped away some of the brightness Roman usually had. For the first time but certainly not the last, Logan wonders how much of it is an act. How much Roman hides from them in the name of protection.

He’s not alone, Logan tells himself, even as Roman gives him a small smile and closes the supplies behind the cabinet. He’s got us, too.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders bro au #brotherly logince #logince angst #tw arguing #tw abuse #tw burns #tw angst #please let me know if I missed any warnings or anything #I don't know if this translated onto the page how I'm hoping it did #and i feel like i took some liberties about this moment and what it led to/meant for logan #but i hope it turned out okay!#ill stop rambling in the tags now #also sorry for the roman angst on his bday lol

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today-only-happens-once · 6 years ago

Text

Strength from Which to Speak

Title: Strength from Which to Speak

Word Count: 4412

Summary: for @justisaisfine’s Sanders Bro AU. “Maybe he should have said more about why he was coming, instead of just texting Roman to ask if he could swing by. But it just hadn’t seemed like the kind of thing a person should bring up over text.” Or, Remy LaBlanche finds himself looking to Roman Sanders for some advice on a really important question. Genderfluid!Remy, Sleepxiety, Platonic Roman/Sleep, familial LAMP/CALM.

Warnings: cursing, violence, injury, abuse, trauma, hospitals, threats (kind of?), mention of nightmares, anxiety, crying, nausea mention. Please let me know if I forgot any.

A/N: So I wrote another fic for the Sanders Bro AU because I still have no chill about it. Huge, huge shout-out to Isa for putting up with all my questions. This is me playing in their ‘verse and is more… speculative than the other fic I wrote, but flashback scenes are based on asks and Isa’s responses to them. First time writing Sleep. Relatedly, this was my first time writing a genderfluid character. I hope it’s okay! Edited by yours truly so all mistakes are mine. Oof. Don’t know for sure how to feel about this one. Thanks again for letting me mess around in your AU, Isa!

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess

…

Present.

Remy LaBlanche releases a breath and rakes a hand through his hair as he stands on the front stoop of the familiar house. He checks his phone. Six minutes early.

He slips his hands into the pocket of his dark jeans and glances up. The sky is painted with layers of darkening gray, promising rain to come. Remy just hopes it’s not an omen. Birds returning from the winter—it’s still early spring—chitter happily to one another as they fly overhead. A cool breeze tugs at the very ends of his hair, pulling the strands back into his face.

He thinks, for a moment, that it makes him look like his boyfriend.

The thought of Virgil reminds him why he’s here. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and wipes the nervous sweat on the denim before he knocks. His fist lingers up by the door, then drops to his side lamely.

Remy has always considered himself someone well-acquainted with the feeling of “nervous”. His first concert with Eye of the Storm? He’d been nervous. The first time he came out as genderfluid—any every single time after that? Nervous. The first time Remy left home, the first time he’d told Virgil he loved him, their first kiss…

“Nervous” had come to be an oxymoron in its comforting familiarity. Except that standing here, on the front stoop of a familiar place, Remy feels a different kind of nervous. One that makes his fingers twitch and his stomach tug into vaguely nauseating knots, no matter how many times he’s told himself that there is no reason to be this—

The door swings open, interrupting his thoughts.

“Hey,” Roman Sanders greets.

His hair is slightly mussed, and his white t-shirt and dark jeans signals that it’s an off day for the actor. Remy doesn’t need to look at him long to recognize the barely hidden worry. It had relaxed over recent years, but it was a familiar look on the oldest Sanders brother. When Remy first met him, Roman had worn his worry—locked behind a bravado—more than Virgil wore his patched hoodie.

“Hey.” Remy rubs the back of his neck. Guilt mixes with the nervousness and sits awkwardly in his stomach. Maybe he should have said more about why he was coming, instead of just texting Roman to ask if he could swing by. But it just hadn’t seemed like the kind of thing a person should bring up over text.

“Uh, come in,” Roman says, stepping to the side. Remy releases a slow breath as he steps over the threshold.

…

Eleven years ago.

Remy has the soles of his shoes pressed up against the amp, his back slouched against the wall. His jacket is discarded on the floor beside the guitar case. The other kid—Virgil, Remy remembers—strums a chord, pauses, changes the fingering on the instrument’s neck, then strums again.

Remy watches him over the top of his sunglasses. This was the second day in a row he’d found the other boy hiding behind boxes, amps, and instrument cases in a spare room of the recording studio. He remembers sheepishly the wide, startled stare Virgil had given him when he’d yelled “Gurl!” upon first hearing him play. But what could he say? Virgil had talent, and Remy definitely hadn’t been expecting to hear it from someone hiding in a spare room.

Virgil seems to notice Remy staring at him and ducks his head a little. He plays a small guitar riff that catches Remy’s ear, his lips quirking slightly. “Here,” he says, taking a long sip of his iced coffee before setting the cup to the side and grabbing a spare guitar. “Play that again.”

The other boy glances up at him through long, purple bangs in surprise before he looks back down at his guitar and plays it again. Remy improvises a couple of chords underneath it. It sounds… really good, if Remy’s being honest. It’s somehow melodic and edgy. The two sounds fit together seamlessly. Virgil keeps playing and Remy matches him chord for chord, until eventually they both let one sustain and fade into silence.

“Well shit,” Remy says after a beat. “That wasn’t half bad.” He wonders why his heart flips a little at the small smile that pulls at Virgil’s lips. It makes him smile a little too.

“Virgil?” The voice from the doorway isn’t one that Remy recognizes.

He cranes his neck over the top of the boxes they’ve effectively hidden behind and sees a man with a curly flop of light brown hair and a red-and-brown letterman jacket with an R on the left. He looks older than both of them, but younger still than most of the people Remy had seen working in the building.

Virgil swivels around and looks at him expectantly. The other man jerks his head over his shoulder. “You ready?” His gaze falls onto Remy, his eyebrows raising slightly in surprise. The young man’s gaze flickers over Remy’s face for a moment like he’s searching for something. Then he smiles a little, his eyes softening. Whatever he’d been worried about, he didn’t seem to find it. “Hey. I’m Roman.”

“Remy,” he replies. He sees Virgil—who has busied himself by locking the guitar back into its case—glance quickly at him.

“I hate to tear ya away, Virgil,” Roman says apologetically. “But we gotta make sure our brothers haven’t burnt down the house making dinner.”

“Logan wouldn’t let that happen,” Virgil replies, his voice quiet but his eyes sparking with amusement. He jumps to his feet. He glances back again at Remy, who shoots him a finger gun.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, wondering if he sounds as hopeful as he suddenly feels.

Virgil looks at him for a moment, and Remy can’t quite read his expression before he nods. When he and Roman disappear back down the hallway, Remy sighs and leans his head back against the wall.

…

Present.

Remy follows Roman through the entryway, smiling faintly as they pass pictures hanging on the walls. There’s one of the four of them taken last year: Roman, Patton, Logan, and Virgil. Another one of Logan at his undergraduate graduation, accepting his diploma. Another one is of a younger Virgil and Patton mid-laugh while Patton holds a ukulele. Another is clearly of Eye of the Storm during one of their concerts. Virgil has his eyes closed, his lips against the mic. The stage light form a halo around him, and slightly behind him Remy sees himself. Even back then, he looks absolutely smitten as he watches Virgil sing.

Remy hasn’t even realized that he stopped walking until Roman stops mid-stride and glances back at him. He walks back to stand beside Remy, following his gaze to the picture.

“That was your first big concert,” Roman explains. “I’ve always been proud of my brothers, but… seeing Virgil up there on stage in front of hundreds of people?” Roman shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. “He looked so happy, y’know? And he deserves that.”

“You all do,” Remy replies, looking at Roman out of the corner of his eye. He steps past the eldest Sanders, crossing into the living room. “But, uh… while we’re on the subject…”

Roman arcs an eyebrow and follows him. “We’re on the subject?”

Remy rakes his fingers through his hair again. He feels restless all of the sudden, barely able to stop himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet against the hardwood floors. “I… wanted to talk to you about Virgil.” The second the words are out of his mouth, Remy wants to take them back as Roman’s eyes flood with worry.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing.” Remy holds up his hands. “It’s more, um…” He blows out a breath. Just spit it out, LaBlanche. But the words lodge in his throat instead.

Roman is looking at him with a mix of concern and uneasiness. He crosses his arms over his chest. “It doesn’t seem like nothing, Remy.”

Remy leans against the arm of the couch, his fingers digging into the fabric. He stares at Roman’s tattoo on his forearm. “I wanted... I want to ask Virgil to marry me.” His gaze flickers up to meet the eldest Sanders brother’s gaze. “But… not until I know what you think.”

…

Ten years ago.

The hospital smells a little too much of Febreze, as if they’re trying to mask the sharp sting of bleach and antiseptic. The bright fluorescent lights reflect glaringly against the blue and white linoleum tiled floor. Remy stares, unseeing, at the pattern between their shoes. Their hands are clasped in front of them as if it will stop the shaking.

They just try to breathe.

They distantly hear a nurse and doctor chatting indiscernibly as the two pass through the small waiting room. It’s almost empty at this hour. Remy doesn’t know exactly what time it is, but it was a little past midnight when they’d called for the ambulance and that was… two hours ago? Four? Six minutes? Remy doesn’t have a clue.

They blow out a shaking breath and presses their fingertips against their burning eyes.

Remy almost thinks that they could handle it if it was just the bruises. The split slip, the swelling eye, the shoe prints against his ribs. Remy thinks maybe they could handle that. But the lack of bruising on Virgil’s fists—he didn’t even try to fight back—the complete emptiness in his thousand yard stare… he wouldn’t even look at them…

Remy’s head jerks up instinctually as they hear the automatic door swish open. Roman is wearing sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt and Remy suddenly feels like they might just burst into tears. They’re on their feet as Roman makes a beeline for them and the words start pouring out their mouth before they’ve even really processed them.

“Roman. Thank God.” Their voice wavers and they swallow hard. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do. He-he won’t look at me, and I’ve tried everything and you always know what to do, especially with V, and I just… I just… I’ve never seen him like this before, and… and…”

They’re babbling—they know it—but they think that if they stop talking then they won’t be able to speak at all past the lump hardening in their throat.

“Remy,” Roman says, his voice sounding incredibly soft all of a sudden. “Rem, you gotta breathe.”

Remy shakes their head quickly. “I don’t know how to reach him.” Their voice breaks towards the end.

It’s not until they feels a firm grip on their shoulders that they realize they’ve closed their eyes. When they open them, there’s something grounding in Roman’s firm gaze that is boring into them. “It’ll be okay,” Roman tells them, still impossibly calm. “We’ll get him to come back to us.”

Remy nods absently and leads Roman back to Virgil’s room. A nurse is talking idly to Virgil whose gaze looks miles away, unfocused on the plain light blue sheet covering his feet. Remy is distantly aware of Roman asking the nurse some questions, of a doctor that politely breezes between the two in the doorway to discuss some things with the nurse and check Virgil over. Remy isn’t really listening, leaning instead against the entryway and staring helplessly at their boyfriend sitting on the bed.

Virgil’s crumpled form in the alleyway is seared permanently behind Remy’s eyelids. Eye of the Storm had had a concert earlier tonight—a small venue, a hole-in-the-wall, really—and a few minutes after their last set, Remy had realized that Virgil was nowhere to be found. When they’d asked one of the bouncers, he’d told them he thought he saw Virgil step out the back door. Remy figured Virgil had stepped out to get some air and calm down a little from the rush of nervous energy that performing always gave him. He’d probably be back in a minute or two, and Remy hadn’t wanted to overwhelm him if he needed a minute to himself.

But that minute turned into fifteen. And Remy couldn’t quite help the pit in their stomach. And they figured that at least checking in on him wouldn’t hurt.

They should have checked sooner.

“If you both could give us a minute to check over Virgil here and step out into the hall, we can let you know when it’s clear to come back.”

Remy had nearly tripped in their rush to Virgil when they’d realized that he was the motionless heap under the streetlight. They’d called his name, their heart lodged in their throat. There hadn’t been a response. It wasn’t until Remy had gotten close enough to touch their boyfriend that they’d had confirmation that he was breathing. Shallow, with a pained hitch every now and then.

Remy had said his name again. Virgil had blinked slowly. Sluggishly. He wouldn’t look at Remy.

“Of course, doctor. Do whatever you need to. We’ll just be right outside.”

Remy had tried everything. Saying his name. Squeezing his hand. Tapping his cheek. Cracking a stupid joke. Cupping his face. Kissing the top of his head and trying not to think about why his hair reeked of copper…

“C’mon.”

Someone did that to him. In the back of their mind, Remy had that knowledge simmering just beneath the overwhelming worry. Someone put their hands on Virgil and inflicted pain. Intentionally. Their hands curl into fists in their pockets for a moment.

“Remy?” Roman steps in front of him into their direct line of sight. “You with me?”

“Hm? Oh. Yeah, sorry.”

“Come on.”

They reluctantly follow Roman out the door into the hallway. They glance at the cock on the wall as they push through the double-doors back towards the waiting room. It’s nearly three in the morning. Weird. They don’t feel that tired.

Roman, on the other hand, evidently does. He makes his way to the small table towards the back of the room and tugs a Styrofoam cup off the top of the stack and tests the weight of the coffee container before pouring the cup about half-full. Remy watches him, and then the question is tumbling past their lips before they can think to stop it.

“How did you do it?”

Roman looks startled at the question, freezing for a moment with his hand partially outstretched towards the small basket of coffee creamers. The eldest Sanders glances over his shoulder back towards them. “How did I do what?”

Remy thinks about how starkly the dark bruises and angry red blood had looked against Virgil’s pale face under the dull glow of the yellow streetlight. The sudden rush of helplessness threatens to choke their throat.

“All those times…years ago, how did you come home and see them like that?” They pull their hands out of their pockets even though they’re shaking for a different reason now. Their jaw clenches. “All I want to do is go out there and find them and beat them up.”

Roman goes perfectly still. He turns to face Remy, forgetting the coffee entirely. His eyes are a little wide. “I know it’s not fair, but that’s—there’s nothing you can do, Remy.” And that’s…well, that’s not what Remy had been expecting. Roman doesn’t even seem… angry. “You just have to let it go.”

“Let it go?” Remy demands incredulously.

“Yes,” he insists and it brings Remy up short. Because there’s something haunted in Roman’s eyes. A distant echo of the look in Virgil’s when they’d found him in the alley earlier tonight.

“I…” Remy starts, but the words die on their tongue.

The ghosts behind Roman’s gaze gives way to a weighted resignation. It occurs to Remy very suddenly that Roman had only been fifteen when they’d left home. He’d been a child, too.

“All you can do,” Roman tells him, “is be there for Virgil. Patch him up. Help him feel safe. That’s it, Rem. Let everything else go.”

…

Present.

Roman blinks at him. “Oh.”

Remy barely hears the one word response over the pounding of his heart in his ears. He swallows hard. His grip curls even more against the fabric on the arm of the couch. “Yeah.” He doesn’t know what Roman’s expression is. He thinks he’s afraid to know.

“You know,” Roman says, “Virgil is capable of making his own decisions.”

“Right. Of course,” Remy replies quickly. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. They’re shaking a little, and the last thing he wants is for Roman to see just how afraid he is of Roman’s answer. “But… Look, Virgil thinks the absolute world of you, Logan, and Patton. We both do.” His gaze flickers back up. He’s surprised as the softness in Roman’s gaze as he meets it.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Roman jokes lightly, but Remy shakes his head.

“I’m serious,” he insists. “At every point, long before I even met Virge, it’s been you three that have looked out for him. And… and you’ve always tried to make choices with his best interest at heart.”

“Rem—”

“So it’s not so much that I’m… I dunno. Asking permission.” Remy takes a breath. “I actually want to know if you think it’s… a good idea or not. Because I don’t… want to mess things up.”

God, he’s not used to feeling this vulnerable around people that weren’t Virgil. He finds himself babbling to fill the silence, as if the more he talks the more he can delay Roman’s judgement.

“And I mean, I want what’s best for Virgil. More than anything, I just… I want him to be happy. And-and I want to be someone who can make him happy, y’know? I love him. I really, really do. I just, I want to know that other people who have his best interest in mind also thinks that it’s a good idea to get married because… because I guess I’m kind of biased, so maybe I’m not really thinking of his best interest?”

“Remy.”

When did he start pacing? He’s walking away from Roman towards the fireplace. “I mean, my parents were divorced. You know that, I don’t know why I’m telling you that. I guess just… I was always kind of skeptical about marriage because of it, but I know that I don’t want anyone else but Virgil. But if neither of us exactly have a strong example of marriage in our lives, is marriage even the best idea?” He sighs, then turns on his heels and looks back at Roman. “Remember when Virge first told you that we were officially dating? Do you remember what you texted me?”

Roman opens his mouth but Remy can tell that he doesn’t remember, exactly, and pushes on. He keeps pacing. “You texted me, ‘keep him happy, okay? Please.’ And I told you I’d do my absolute best. I… I don’t want him to be unhappy. He’s had enough of that in his life. And God, Roman, you’ve given everything to fix that.” He waves a hand in Roman’s direction from across the room. Roman looks taken aback.

Remy swallows past the lump in his throat. He stops walking suddenly, standing in the middle of the living room and looking at Roman.

“So I guess I’m asking for brutal honesty. Do you think it’d be a mistake to ask Virge to marry me?”

…

Nine years ago.

“Remy. I need you to listen to me very carefully.”

They’re standing outside the apartment building at some time past four in the morning. The late fall air is bitingly cold, especially this late at night. Remy tucks her nose into her scarf and shoves her hands deeper into the pockets of her leather jacket. Roman rakes a hand back through his hair. He’s still jittery, and Remy can practically see the thoughts racing through his head at a hundred miles per hour.

Virgil and Patton had finally fallen asleep leaned against one another on the couch at somewhere around two in the morning. For a while, Remy had wondered if any of them were going to sleep that night. She still remembered the blind panic in Virgil’s eyes when she’d first arrived after telling him to turn on the news. The way his hand had fisted in her shirt, the sound his breath had made wheezing in and out of his lungs. Roman had arrived the next morning with Patton—Logan a few hours later—his jaw clenched and his eyes somehow both terrified and determined.

Much like they still look now.

Roman runs a hand over his mouth, looking out across the empty street. “You three going to Europe is the best way to get Virgil out of dodge.” Roman swallows. “Thomas is right. Virge is the only one at risk of getting taken back, and he’ll be safer if he’s abroad.”

Remy nods her understanding. Roman whirls suddenly. There’s something unsettling and raw just beneath the surface of his dark eyes. “You have to keep him safe.”

“I will,” she says without hesitation.

“I mean that,” Roman says, steel charged through his voice. “My brothers and I… we would do anything to make sure Virgil is safe. And right now… right now, that means sending him where our parents can’t get to him.”

Remy doesn’t know what to say. She nods quietly.

“We’re doing this to keep him safe,” Roman repeats, as if he’s trying to convince himself of the fact as much as Remy. “But Virgil… I need to know that someone has his back, Remy. I need to know that someone is going to be out there protecting my little brother because if something happens, I… I won’t be able to be there.”

In the past two days, Remy had seen a lot of unsettling things. Virgil trembling in her arms in the throes of a panic attack. The barely-noticeable tremor in Logan’s voice when he told his brothers that he’d prepared for this. Patton’s unusual, quiet distance and the way he’d tense any time one of his brothers so much as walked out of his line of sight. But through it all, Roman had managed to keep it together. Aside from the occasional flicker of… of something, a shadow, that Remy couldn’t quite figure out… Roman had dove head-first into damage control and problem-solving as if it was second nature.

But now. Standing out here without the close, watchful eye of his younger brothers tracking his every move and clinging to his every word like it’s a lifeline… Roman seems just as scared as the rest of them.

“We’ll keep him safe, Roman.”

“I’m counting on it. Because if you don’t, and he gets hurt…” Roman squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and takes a breath. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do at this point. I really don’t.”

…

Present.

There’s a weight to the moment of silence that follows Remy’s words. He looks at his Chuck Taylors against the light hardwood floor, at the late morning sun filtering in through the blinds at the far window leaving strips of light against the couch on the opposite wall. His gaze flits back up to Roman, who’s looking at him steadily with an expression Remy can’t quite decipher.

Roman slips his hands into his pockets. “For a long time, the four of us were all we had,” he begins, carefully. Remy feels suddenly rooted to the spot. “My brothers were my whole world. We built our lives with and around one another. Letting people into that life always felt like a risk. And it always… took time to let people in. That was especially true for V.”

Remy nods quietly, glancing down. He remembers those first days, weeks, months of hanging out with Virgil. How they’d mostly consisted of one-sided conversations and jam sessions until slowly, Virgil started to crack jokes back at him, or laugh, or answer a question with more than a monosyllabic response.

“And I think because of that, we’ve always been… protective of him. You know that,” Roman says, waving a hand. “I know you know that. But… I want you to know that Virgil has never let just anyone in. You were probably the first. And that says something: something about you, and about how he feels about you.”

Remy glances back up. There’s something impossibly soft about the way Roman is looking at him right now.

“And I see how you are around one another,” Roman continues. “The way he gravitates towards you, even in crowds. The way you seem to know just the right thing to say to ease that tension in his shoulders. The way you look at him when he sings on stage, and the way he looks at you when he isn’t sure about something. I know it was you who first really pushed him to pursue the band.”

Remy lifts a shoulder, trying to not let his hope lift with it just yet. “It was his idea.”

“But you were there to actually get him to pursue that dream.” Roman sighs, his lips pressing into a grim line. “And I know that you’ve been there for all the ugly, too. The panic attacks and the nightmares and the flashbacks.”

Remy nods slightly. He doesn’t know what to say. Virgil had needed him during those times. He wouldn’t have thought to do anything else.

Roman takes a step forward and Remy holds his breath. Here it comes.

“I have done my best to always be there for my brothers. That won’t change. But I know that I’m not the only one they can rely on anymore. At every step, Virgil has chosen you and leaned on you and you have been there, Remy. You bring out the best in one another. He’s good for you, and you’re good for him.” Roman’s gaze is as gentle as it is unwavering. “It’s ultimately up to Virgil, but you both have my support.”

Remy swallows past the lump in his throat and nods. “I… thank you, Roman.”

Roman smiles at him—warm and twinkling with pride—and pulls Remy into a sudden hug. Remy hugs him back, releasing a slow, steadying breath even as his heart is flipping in his chest. When Roman pulls back, he’s beaming.

“So,” he asks, “have you picked out a ring yet?”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sleepxiety #romantic sleepxiety #remy sanders #sanders bro au #tw cursing #tw violence #tw trauma #tw abuse #tw hospitals #please heed warnings #not just in the tags but at the top too #sflkjsfkljsdklfj i hope this is okay #*covers my eyes and presses post*

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