#sick remus sanders

[delimeful]

in sickness and in health (8)

warnings: captivity, arguing, remus talking about remus things, panic, gratuitous amount of puns, lmk if i missed any

-

“What’s going on?”

The impromptu staredown between all three humans was interrupted by Roman hurriedly leaning obnoxiously far over the counter, bodily blocking Patton’s view of the two borrowers.

“Patton!” he blurted, clearly aiming for a casual air and instead landing somewhere in the realm of ‘stewing in blatant panic and guilt’. “Hello there, what an unexpected and lovely surprise to see you here, in… the kitchen of your own home.”

Next to him, Virgil heard the small, distinct thwap of his fellow borrower’s palm meeting their face.

“…What’s going on?” Patton repeated, sounding far more awake this time.

“Extremely normal, non-fairy-related things,” Roman answered, visibly sweating.

“Extremely bloody Dionysian orgies,” Remus said at the same time, considerably louder.

Virgil could see just enough of Patton’s expression to watch the way it crinkled in a sort of morose confusion.

“In the kitchen?” he asked, voice pained, as though that was his main problem with the suggestion.

“If there aren’t any knives involved, can any orgy really be called Dionysian?” Remus replied in a faux-wise tone, lifting his arm to make a deeply inappropriate gesture in accompaniment with his words. This technically cleared the way back to the wall, but as it turned out, only for a moment.

Before either of them could get too hopeful about any chance of escape, Remus ended the gesture by quickly clapping his hands over the both of them in a makeshift dome shape.

Next to him, the other borrower only flinched a bit, but Virgil couldn’t help the outright squeak he made at the sudden limbs dropping down over them.

There was another pause from the humans above them, this one distinctly more harried.

“Um, guys?” Patton’s voice had gone from confused to concerned. “What was—?”

“Broken whoopee cushion,” Remus insisted. “Filled it with mayonnaise, you know how it goes.”

“He sneezed!” Roman added, his voice sliding up a few pitches. “Gesundheit, Remus! Totally nothing strange about that— Padre, wait!”

There were big steps drawing closer, now, and Remus’s hands cinched in a little tighter around the two of them. They were forced to huddle even closer together, and the other borrower’s bony elbow collided with his side in a way he wasn’t convinced was accidental.

He shot them a glare, which they returned with an expression that was equal parts indignant and frantic. After a second, they forced a barely-there whisper through grit teeth. “It’s your human. Will he hurt us?”

“How am I supposed to know?!” Virgil hissed back, just as quiet. “I didn’t ever get caught before you showed up!”

Not while the human was conscious enough to remember it, anyhow.

The other borrower’s eyes narrowed into slits, reminding Virgil that he probably shouldn’t be antagonizing the guy that already proved themself willing to try and murder him once. Before they could respond, though, the conversation over their heads continued.

“Guys,” Patton said, sounding stern. “What have we said about wrangling critters in my home?”

“That it was a firmly banned activity after the Great Frog Croak-tastrophe?” Roman guessed sheepishly. “And, y’know, that was certainly a fair and just ruling for that situation, however—!”

“Nuh-uh, I don’t wanna hear it,” Patton replied, unwavering. Virgil could practically envision the way his human was standing from his tone alone: hands on his hips, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Frog or not, I’m sure whatever you two caught will be much hoppier once they’re released safely outside, right Remus?”

“Eh, you might not feel the same after you see them, Pattycakes,” Remus warned. “I know I’m usually the harbinger of pests, wrangler of rats, champion of centipedes, but not even I know what to do about these guys.”

There was the shuffle of clothing, like Patton was shifting in place, and he sighed. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to figure it out together, huh?”

There was a moment of hesitation where Virgil assumed the twins were exchanging a wordless meaningful look, as they so often did, and then the distinct slide of glass across a countertop.

The moment the hands around them twitched, Virgil shifted into a crouched position, drawing his legs under him and preparing to bolt the moment there was space, even if it was probably totally futile. Next to him, he could feel the other borrower doing much the same.

Rather than lift off of them, however, the hands shifted to pinch even closer together, forming the shape of a spade, like a pair of nut shells that had been glued back together at the edges, leaving a hollow space inside. The two of them were forced to scramble upwards into the hold or get limbs stuck in between the sides of Remus’s palms as he scooped them up off the counter completely.

Virgil’s stomach dropped at the upwards movement, completely out of his control, and he reached out and latched onto the side of the other borrower’s shirt with a white-knuckled grip. They were still at least a little concussed, and Virgil wasn’t letting them get separated now, not when he’d already gotten himself into the most terrifying situation in his life saving them. Wherever they were going, they’d at least be stuck in it together.

To his surprise, the other borrower gripped him right back.

After only a few seconds, they were lowered and deposited onto a familiar smooth surface. Virgil grit his teeth at the feeling, resisting the urge to scream in frustration. He’d just gotten out of this stupid glass pitcher!

He didn’t get much time to seethe indignantly, however, because the moment Remus’s hands pulled away, there were much bigger problems to face.

Three of them, to be precise.

Heart in his throat, Virgil slowly lifted his head to look up at the face of his human, warped through the curve of the glass.

With a confused furrow to his brow, Patton moved to take a step closer, and then stopped short as the sight before him properly registered. His hand flew up to cover his mouth, his eyes widening with surprise. “Oh my!”

“I toad you so,” Remus interjected unhelpfully.

Roman cuffed his shoulder, and Remus immediately jabbed two fingers into Roman’s side in retaliation. It was only a firm warning look from Patton that kept them from devolving into another slap fight during the most terrifying moment of Virgil’s life.

Virgil shifted to stand, shuffling back until he didn’t have to crane his neck so painfully to make eye contact. Humans were so big, and it had never been more evident than it was now, staring up at giants.

Staring up at Patton. He was pretty sure he’d had a nightmare that had gone exactly like this. Well, minus the concussed would-be assassin. And the frog puns.

Patton, for his part, had developed a genuinely distressed twist to his features as he took in the sight of the two of them. After a moment of wavering, his gaze settled firmly on Virgil, sending a prickling sense of alarm up his spine.

“Hello again,” said Patton, smiling at him.

Virgil froze. The borrower behind him froze. Even the twins froze for a moment, before their heads both snapped around to stare at Patton with eerie synchronization.

“You know them?!” two voices asked, in two very different tones.

Virgil felt dread drop into his gut like a stone down a sewer grate. There was no way.

“I know one of them,” Patton answered, unperturbed by everyone’s shock. “That’s the little guy who helped take care of me while I was sick!”

He lifted a hand in demonstration and wiggled his fingers, the healing burns on them still visibly shiny.

The twins gaped. “He what?”

Behind him, in a far more bewildered tone, the other borrower echoed them: “You what?”

“You shut up,” Virgil muttered sourly without turning to look at them. His heart was practically shaking in his ribcage, knowing that the human had remembered all along, that Patton had returned home well-aware of the intruder in his walls.

The realization felt chilling, like a thimble of icy water had been dumped down his shirt. Patton hadn’t acted strange at all, hadn’t cast any speculative glances at the walls or scanned any shelves for undersized intruders. The twins and their ghost-hunting equipment clearly hadn’t known the truth, so why would Patton? Virgil hadn’t even suspected.

Who knew what would have happened after Roman and Remus left, and it was only the two of them, with Virgil blissfully unaware of the danger he was in?

Well. Caught like this, he supposed he was going to find out soon.

Patton’s smile faded, carefully watching the way Virgil’s chest was visibly shuddering with too-shallow breaths.

“You thought I froggot, huh?” he said, looking inexplicably sad. “I thought about it while I was in the hospital, and I kinda figured we’re really not supposed to know about you guys. That means it was pretty darn brave of you to try and help me anyways.”

Virgil swallowed, fear sticking in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. He certainly didn’t feel brave.

The other borrower stepped up to be at his side, ignoring Virgil’s reflexive attempt to shoulder them back behind him.

“I suppose the saying is true, then.” They paused, narrowing their eyes in a silent challenge. “No good deed goes unpunished.”

The encompassing flourish they made was a little wobbly, as though their balance was still off, but it got the point across: Patton had recovered from his illness, and they were stuck in a pitcher on his counter.

Virgil’s incredulity at the other borrower was enough to snap him out of the worst of his frozen terror, his head whipping to the side to stare at them.

They were insane. They had to be, using such sharp words and an even sharper tone with a human. This was just about the worst time to instigate an argument. The two of them were stuck in a pitcher on his counter!

Unsurprisingly, neither of the twins looked particularly happy with the accusatory turn the conversation had taken. Patton had been their friend for a long time. They had always jumped at the opportunity to defend him from harm in the past, and Virgil doubted that would change now.

For all their tomfoolery, the two of them could be downright vicious when they were angry. If they were willing to tear fellow humans a new one for messing with Patton, it was gruesome to imagine what they’d do to a pair of borrowers. They’d already been terrifying enough when they’d only been curious about him.

Before either of them could begin to speak, however, Patton nodded once, almost to himself, and pivoted to face his friends.

“Howsabout you two get started on cleaning up the living room so we can settle down and get some proper sleep?” he asked, the request firm enough that it was clearly more of an instruction than a suggestion.

Both twins started protesting immediately, looking extremely put out at the idea of abandoning Patton with their exciting new find. They were talking over each other, the words tangling and becoming an indecipherable mess by the time they reached Virgil, but he was fairly certain he heard phrases like “—but I’ll only lie awake haunted by fairy law and order,” and, “—you can’t keep me away from my new pyromaniac bestie!” in the mix.

“Mhmm, yup, we can discuss all of that later,” Patton replied stoutly, ushering the two of them towards the entrance to the kitchen with insistent sweeping gestures, like a shepherd with his herd. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk over breakfast in the morning, but it’s getting late, so hop to it!”

“We’re being banished with frog puns! This is an amphibian atrocity,” Roman bemoaned.

“Froggin’ unbelievable,” Remus agreed. 

However, even with all their complaints, they seemed to understand that Patton wasn’t budging this time, and reluctantly allowed themselves to be shooed out of the kitchen like the world’s noisiest sheep.

At Virgil’s shoulder, the other borrower took the opportunity to lean in while the humans were across the room.

“You ‘didn’t ever get caught,’ hmm?” they asked, still far too smug considering the situation they were in.

A muscle in Virgil’s eye twitched. Despite everything, he wasted a moment considering the merits of trying to inflict another head injury on his fellow captive. They’d been a lot more tolerable with the beginnings of a concussion.

“Do you want to go back to trying to stab each other?” he snapped instead, stepping pointedly away even as he made the thinly-veiled threat. “Because it seems like you want to go back to trying to stab each other.”

“Oh, I’m so terrified,” they replied drolly, crossing their arms. “Won’t someone save me from the horrible Monoxide assassin and his entirely genuine threats?”

Virgil stared at them for a moment, disbelieving. “You know, I think I actually liked you better when you were trying to murder me in cold blood.”

“Don’t lose hope. Maybe I’ll try again later,” they retorted with a dangerous glint in their eye, and then they were both falling silent as Patton approached once more.

Out of the corner of his eye, Virgil caught the contemplative frown that flashed over the other borrower’s face, the only glimpse of their consternation at facing down a human. They may have had plans aplenty to deal with the twins, but Patton was clearly more of an unknown to them.

…Virgil knew Patton. He’d spent enough time watching the human to get attached, grown familiar enough with Patton’s life to cheer on his efforts and fret over his disappointments. He should be able to find the right words to get them out of this, convince his human the way the other borrower had effortlessly fooled Roman, but… he couldn’t.

It was impossible to think up a strategy for this situation. How could he possibly reconcile Patton, the guy who helped organize weekly PTA bake sales and volunteered to look after kittens he was allergic to and cried when he saw roadkill, with a human who knew, who would keep them trapped, who needed to be pleaded with for their release?

How was he supposed to bargain with a monster if he couldn’t even accept that the monster existed?

“I’m sorry if the twins frightened you,” Patton said, voice lowered to a softer volume. “They tend to be very exuberant, but they don’t mean any harm.”

The other borrower looked as though they were on the brink of scoffing at the very idea that they couldn’t handle Roman and Remus, a defensive slant to their shoulders.

“Why?” The word tumbled from Virgil’s mouth without his permission, his shoulders hunching under the undivided focus of Patton’s gaze.

“Why what?” he asked, tilting his head slightly like a confused dog.

“If you knew,” Virgil forced out, fingernails digging into his palms, “why didn’t you tell them? Or— or look for me?”

Understanding settled onto Patton’s expression, and he hummed thoughtfully, as though considering how to phrase his answer.

“If you wanted to be seen, you would have come out and said hi,” he finally said, simply. “You saved my life by calling for help. If you wanted to stay a secret, the least I could do is make sure to keep that secret safe.”

Virgil blinked up at him, trying to force the words into a configuration that made sense. Humans didn’t just let mysteries exist, especially not ones that were so easy to grab ahold of.

“I won’t lie and say I’m not awfully curious about you,” Patton continued, and his hand was reaching out for the handle of the pitcher and surely, this was the moment that it all came crashing down—, “but you can’t force a friendship. Especially not like this!”

Slowly, in gentle increments, the pitcher was shifted to lay on its side, the open end facing away from Patton. It was practically a straight shot to the closest wall entrance, their freedom waiting where the back of the counter met the kitchen wall.

They’d been prepared to make a break for it at the earliest opportunity before, but now, with escape dangled in front of them, both borrowers hesitated. Virgil exchanged a dumbfounded look with the other borrower, trying to stomp down the insane hope bubbling in the back of his mind.

“If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me!” Patton finished, making sure the glass was stable and settled before releasing it and stepping back. “Otherwise, my lips are sealed— and I’ll make sure Roman and Remus keep the secret, too.”

He made a zipping motion over his mouth, eyes crinkled with amusement at the edges, and then turned and walked out of the kitchen without a single glance back.

Virgil hadn’t uttered a single plea, and yet, the path back to the walls was right there. He looped the other borrower’s arm over his shoulder and led them, step by faltering step, across the counter, even scooping his bag up as he went. Nobody came rushing in, nobody stopped them from taking those last few steps into the safety of the walls.

He’d expected to face a monster, and instead he’d been offered kindness, unasked for and freely given.

They were both quiet as they shuffled further into the familiar cramped space, as though a single sound would shatter the illusion of this impossible release. The other borrower pulled away after a moment, their pain of their concussion likely more manageable in the dark. The silence stretched, relief and exhaustion weighing on them in equal measure.

Virgil yawned despite himself, absently wondering if they were going to continue that semi-murderous argument about cults and who wronged who, and if the other borrower would be willing to reschedule it to sometime after they’d slept.

Ahead of them, a third figure stepped out of the shadows, quickly looking them over as though checking that everyone was still intact. Oddly enough, they sort of smelled like gunpowder.

“Hm. That certainly didn’t go according to plan,” they said bluntly, the oversized pack on their back jingling slightly as they stepped forward. “Still, we all survived, so I suppose introductions are in order.”

[blackoutbugza]

For an art request, genderbent/fem! Sides? Maybe a fem!Logan perhaps?

aaaa it’s finally done after like 8 years

here are the sides

(if you tag this as romrem

i will physically fight you)

the girlies

[halfhissandwich]

yes this au is stabbing me in the heart again, why do you ask?

[lefaystrent]

Me, Myself, and These Guys Who Kinda Look Like Me Ch. 1

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: Thomas/Sides

Summary: It starts with dreams. Then Thomas starts seeing the dream people in the waking world.

Thomas doesn't know how to bring it up to anybody or if he even should at this point.

AKA, Thomas has to acknowledge the six colorful characters in the room, much to their long-awaited delight.

AO3 Link: click here

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

It starts with dreams.

The first one, he stands in the middle of his living room. Everything is exactly where he left it, contrary to many of his previous dreams where reality constantly shifts. It's different this time, because it's so real, like he actually stood there with his socked feet on the carpet, lights and lamps on and the windows dark outside. He breathes, and he feels his lungs expand, and he speaks. He talks. There are people standing around him in a semi-circle. One by the stairs, one on the bottom step, a couple in front of the TV, and the others in front of the blinds. And they have distinctive colors and cadences, so vivid in their mannerisms. They argue, they debate, they laugh, they listen.

It starts with that first one, a dream yes, but for some inexplicable reason Thomas finds himself gasping awake in a cold sweat. He throws off his covers and sweeps around the room, unable to get past the nagging sensation that he is not alone.

More dreams persist, to lesser degrees. There is nothing to do about them but experience them. He dreams of horseback riding with a prince, riding fast through wind-swept lands. He lays under a starry night and points out constellations with someone who knows more than he ever could. He bakes cookies and hums 'Sweet Caroline' with another voice keeping harmony. There is wine and he shares a drink with a cloaked, dapper fellow. He falls into the ocean and meets what lurkes beneath, hears cackles beneath the waves. And he lets hands nestle protectively over his ears and tell him to breathe in and breathe out.

For weeks, the images of these- people? They haunt him in his sleep like wisps of smoke. So real in the moment, but fogged over when his eyes open. He tries to recall the things said, their exact expressions, who they remind him of. There has to be a reason they plague his nights. A connection he missed. Why it seems to matter, he doesn't know, only that it did. Incredibly so. Thomas could write off the dreams. If it was just some really specific, lucid dreams he kept having, fine, he can deal. Maybe refer to a dream dictionary, see what might be bugging him in real life.

Then he starts to see the dream people in the waking world.

He's filling his thermos in the kitchen and out of the corner of his eye, he catches a black polo shirt and blue tie. When he looks at the sink, there's no one standing by it. He turns around, but Thomas is definitely alone in his house. He shakes it off. Rationalizes it. Moves on.

He stands in the store, contemplating the pros and cons of protein bars versus candy bars. A yellow hand flashes, and he swears he glimpses a hatted figure., but as Thomas spins around in the aisle, there's just a mom and her kid. No one dressed that formal or intriguing.

Thomas gets together with his friends. They're working on a new video, a music mash-up because those have done well in the past. For a second, he blinks and there's a figure dressed in white and red standing next to a hooded figure, and it's like they're a part of his friend group, just goofing off. But when Thomas blinks again, there's no one standing behind Quil, and Terrance is waving his hand in front of Thomas's face to get his attention.

He goes to bed, dozes and peeks the eyes that stare at him from the open closet door. There's a shine of sequins and jazz hands. Before his heart can start, there's a soothing weight at his side. It reminds Thomas of when he had nightmares as a kid, how his dad would sit at his bedside and tell him goofy stories with the most serious voice. The prescence remains even as he drifts to sleep. It follows him into his dreams.

For weeks, it goes on, and Thomas doesn't know how to bring it up to anybody or if he even should at this point. How does one say, "I think my imagination has dreamed up whacky characters who are now haunting me." They'd tell him he's working too hard, that he should get more sleep, or that he's always been so creative. Worse, they'll think it's more serious. It can't be that serious. It can't be actual hallucinations, right? He's not really interacting with them, and though it feels real for those half-a-seconds, it's not concrete. It's out of focus, and somehow not alarming. Should he be alarmed?

It's a whole mishmash of indecisiveness. It's the American way, to say, "Well I'm not dying, so I don't need to go to the hospital yet." He's just one Floridian man with a lot on his plate, and yeah, maybe he's working too hard, maybe his head had been hurting more lately from all the whiplash of trying to spot the men from his dreams. Maybe he's just going through a weird phase. If he waits long enough, surely...

He works himself to exhaustion. And his head really has been hurting more than usual. It pounds through the back of his head and erupts behind his eyeballs. He's starting to toss and turn more in bed until he gives up altogether. One day, he goes out to meet Joan and Talyn. They take one look at him and send him back home. The bags under his eyes have bags, and they claim they can hang out just fine with him resting at his apartment. And the crowd of colors follow, the ghosts hanging close but always in the peripheral. 

He wants to tear his hair out in frustration at himself. He kind of does think he's going insane.

Then to no one's surprise, he gets sick. Really sick.

The headaches are insufferable. He's running a fever. He doesn't know how high. He lost his themometer at some point and told himself that he would eventually get around to buying another one. He can't leave the house to get another one. Hell, he can barely leave the bed. And he'd be damned if he calls anyone for help. The most he allows is a text to his mom letting her know that he needs to cancel coming over for lunch, that he's staying home to rest. She sends back a series of well wishes and love, and Thomas thinks of how lucky he is to be her son and thinks in spite of himself that she was here to take care of him.

He's never been that good at taking care of himself, and this latest illness brings it into perspective. He's got pills somewhere, Ibuprofen that could bring the fever down and ease the overwhelming ache, but it's like admitting defeat. They haven't been doing anything for his head lately anyway. There's definitely voices edging around him, reminding him of what he should do, how foolish he's being. How if he could only listen...

Thomas rebels and curls up into a shivering ball under his covers.

He doesn't keep track of time. The curtains hanging over his bedroom window are too thick to let much light in anyway. There's darkness, and there's pain. He comes out of another dream, half-awake and bleary-eyed. The pain in his head comes to a blinding, boiling point. It's far too much and Thomas full-out whimpers. Weakly, his body contorts to try to find some relief that he knows is not there.

"Medicine," he hears a voice. He doesn't know if it's one of them or himself begging. The fever has him in a death-grip and he questions if he ever truly woke up. "We've got to get him to take some medicine."

"I'm working on it!"

"I know this situation is worrying, but please try to remain calm. Let me try-"

Thomas gasps as a knife twists inside his skull. He sees little stars and fireworks, and it spins him so off-kilter he thinks he's about to faint or throw up. Belatedly, he realizes that he's crying. A dull panic envelopes him. He regrets not calling for help sooner. He thinks he's dying now. He wants his mom desperately.

"I don't like this."

"None of us like this!"

"He looks pale, like a corpse. Do you think he's dying?"

"Not at all. He's perfectly healthy, don't you see?"

"You're okay Thomas, we're here. I just wish-"

"Logan's got it! He managed to grab it, he's bringing it-"

"Okay, but how do we get him to take the medicine anyway? In case you forgot, we can't touch people!"

"Please don't yell, I'm trying to concentrate."

"Sorry."

It doesn't make sense, and Thomas isn't entirely convinced the chatter is outside of his head. It's so hot and so cold, and Thomas wishes he knew where he left his phone or how to make his muscles co-operate, or ya know just how to stop his head from exploding.

There's shuffling and the whisper of cloth moving. His bed dips? He swears someone is sitting on his bed right beside him. He hears the subtle swishing of a pill bottle, the cap opening. There's more words being said, but he can't concentrate past the ringing pitch in his ears.

He opens his eyes, not realizing he had closed them again. There's something being pressed to his mouth, a pale wrist hanging above his face.

He doesn't think, just grabs the wrist.

Dimly, he's aware that the chatter muffles. Mostly though, his clammy hand has the wrist in a frantic clutch. It's cold, and he kinda wishes he could pull it to his forehead, a cooling balm.

He whines again in misery and a voice clears their throat. Hands touch at his shoulders. First one, hesitant, then more. He's being sat up, and it does nothing but wrench his equalibrium into a joyride. Moaning, he sits in a gasping slump and waits for whatever is to come.

There's a couple of pills forcing their way into his mouth. He doesn't fight it, a part of him realizing someone is trying to help him. They slide past his tongue, and then a water bottle presses to his lips. They tilt his head back to allow him to pull slow sips.

It's not magic. The pain doesn't disappear, and the fever doesn't sporadically abate. He's still a mess, but there are hands lending him strength. They ease him back down on the bed. They right his T-shirt where it's bunched up and shift the covers. They push back his hair, and Thomas wants to weep when a wet cloth settles over his forehead.

There are whispers, soft and sweet and awed.

Drained, he falls unconscious.

***

When he wakes next, the headache is still there. However, it's a low thrum in a way that Thomas hasn't experienced in days. That in and of itself is no small miracle in his eyes.

His fever must have abadated at some point in his rest as well. He finds the covers have been kicked off of him, the vent from the AC blowing against sweat-damp skin. He feels gross and tender, and he can't remember the last time he ate anything substatial or had a proper shower. All in all, he might as well have been a piece of wet laundry that had been beat over a railing and left out to dry.

Can insides be bruised just by sickness alone? he thinks as he blinks lazily. There's the ceiling, white above him. In his room, there's a hush, and he knows even before he sits up that there's a crowd.

His arms shake as he pushes himself up. He's too tired to do anything but stare at nothing in particular. There are six people around in his room. It's not the biggest bedroom, so they're rather sandwiched in where they can.

He recognizes them of course. Thomas first sees the bowler hat. The guy who wears it sits in his only chair in the corner, legs crossed. A man decked out in sparkly green sits on the floor beside him, hair fluffed with a shock of white in the bangs. Standing at the foot of the bed, arms mid-pinwheel, is the prince. He's staring down at Thomas like- well, Thomas isn't really looking at his face, so he's not really sure, but it's like he's cut himself off mid-sentence once Thomas sat up.

There's another figure standing to Thomas's immediate right. It's the black polo shirt and blue tie. Glasses. The man's wearing glasses. Somehow, Thomas never noticed and he doesn't understand why his brain is latching onto this fact as if it's ground-breaking information.

Beside him on the bed sitting criss-cross applesauce is another guy with glasses. It's the one he dreamt of baking cookies with. He's hovering to his left, a hand raised in the air towards him but not going any farther.

"Hey there, Thomathy. Feeling any better?" He's got a polo shirt on too, but light blue. It looks like very soft fabric. The cardigan tied around his neck even softer.

Thomas doesn't react. Doesn't know how he's supposed to react. He still doesn't look directly at any of them, and he's not all the way convinced this isn't another dream.

"Hey Colon Sanders!" the green guy hollers. "Hey! HEY!"

"You know those people who think they can get through language barriers simply by being louder?" Bowler Hat says. "That totally works is what I'm saying, do keep trying."

The green guy does nothing more than blows a raspberry. "Poop. And shit. Poop shit."

"I... suppose it was a little much to hope," the prince gives a little chuckle, but it's sad.

"Is he still sick?" a gruff voice asks below Thomas and to the right. Out of view and almost missed. Thomas focuses on the purple hoodie. He's crouched beside the bed, arms barely taking up any room on the mattress by Thomas's hip. His fists are clenching. "Maybe he's gonna hurl. Does he look like he's going to hurl?"

"He is undoubtably still sick," Blue-Tie announces. "It will take time for him to recover, and we managed... much more than we thought possible last night. There is victory in small successes."

"Has anyone tried touching him again though?" the prince asks hopefully.

In answer, Thomas twitches his hand until it lands on Purple Hoodie's fist. There is definitely a hand there under Thomas's own. The cuff of the sleeve slides against the side of his hand. It's real too. Purple Hoodie gives a barely perceptible choking noise. He's gazing up at Thomas like he's sprouted wings and laid eggs. Thomas doesn't exactly meet the stricken stare, but it's close.

Around them, the others don't notice at first. They've started arguing, and wow is it weird to be able to hear all the words finally. He hears some of their names, and he hears their voices with crystal clarity. And all the while, the fist under his hand is beyond stiff and unmoving.

Cardigan, from Thomas's left, gasps. His hands fly up to his cheeks.

"Patton Pending?" Prince asks in response.

"Thomas is holding hands with Virgil, look!"

And everyone does.

Six pairs of eyes hone in on Thomas holding hands with a guy, and it's the least gay thing ever.

"I don't think I'm dreaming," Thomas declares. He picks up Virgil's hand for good measure, and the dude lets him. He's got this deer-in-the-headlights expression going on, and the eyeshadow he wears is impressive, but Thomas is more concerned with testing the weight of the hand. It feels like a hand and moves like a hand. Therefore, it must be a hand.

Thomas drops the hand. "Yeah, I don't think I'm dreaming." He grabs the water bottle left on his bedside table and calmly drinks some. He can't bear the tacky feeling in his mouth. He needs to brush his teeth at some point.

"Holy shit," Green Guy surmises. Bowler Hat has uncrossed his legs and sat forward with intent.

"Thomas?!" Prince and Cardigan and Blue Tie all say in varying stages of alarm.

"That's my name," Thomas agrees. He's so tired. He sits the bottle in his lap in favor of rubbing at his face. He thinks he remembers crying at some point. God, what a mess he must look like.

"You can see us?! Like you can actually see us?!" Prince exclaims. He staggers one knee onto the foot of the bed in his haste. His eyes are so bright they make Thomas's squint. "Thomas, please say you can see us. Don't let this be a dream."

"I've seen you guys in my dreams," Thomas murmurs. He doesn't know how else to answer. If he's matter of fact, maybe things will be easier to process.

To that, Prince is at a loss. An excited loss, but still a loss. He wears a half-cocked grin of question, glancing to Blue Tie and Cardigan and Virgil. And Bowler Hat is now standing beside him.

"Patton, do us all a favor and poke him," Bowler Hat commands.

Patton pokes Thomas's shoulder. It's gentle enough and sways Thomas minutely. With rapt attention, Patton pokes him again.

"I poked him," Patton says with wide eyes.

"You poked me," Thomas confirms.

And that's when the chaos erupts. They're all talking at once, some of them trying to get his attention again. Virgil's got a vice of a grip on the bedsheets. Prince tries crawling onto the bed, only held back by Bowler Hat. Green Guy grins at him in the most bewildered fashion. Blue Tie is gesturing for everyone not to talk over each other, and Patton keeps poking Thomas's shoulder while saying, "Poke, poke, poke."

It's a lot to take in for a guy who thought he was dying a few hours ago. With that same calm in place, Thomas drags his legs over the side of the bed onto the floor. Virgil scrambles back to give him room. Thomas wonders if he should apologize, and then reminds himself that this is his room and that dream people shouldn't exist.

"Thomas?" someone calls, he doesn't know who.

"I'm going to go get a shower," Thomas announces.

No one stops him. They get quiet again, and he can feel them watching him. His body is sore and his head won't shut up, but he manages well enough. Blue Tie steps out of his way so he can grab some clothes from his dresser. If anyone tries to say anything more to him, he ignores it completely. He's too busy barricading himself in the bathroom.

[edupunkn00b]

On a Butterfly's Wing Masterpost

Graphical representation of the Lorenz Attractor.

"As the system changes, the motion of the point represents the continuously changing variables. It traced a strange, distinctive shape of a butterfly's wings." - Chaos: The Making of a New Science by James Gleick

Changes in an environment can make a outsized impact on a life: Arriving three minutes late to a student club fair. Never walking home alone after that party at Jack's house. Trying a new goal planner that year.

Deciding to stay just a little longer to try to make the marriage work.

Universes collide in this story, as Logan Croft finds himself stumbling down paths he might have followed throughout his life but for a few small changes.

And what he discovers will change everything.

More information and chapter list below the cut.

Four universes are represented in this story. Rough summaries are below with a major spoiler (revealed in The Uses of Adversity and Guardian ad Liber) described in the 'detail'.

💚💙 Happily Ever After (Intrulogical)

Recently divorced, Logan was convinced his failed (and abusive marriage) to Kelly Croft had been his only chance at happiness. Meeting his best friend's brother-in-law, Remus, gave him a happy ending he never dared to think was possible.

💚💙💛 Overruled and Guardian ad Liber (Intruloceit)

The universe in which Logan never met Kelly, came out in college, and fell in love with both Janus and Remus while in law school.

❤️💙 It Could Always be Worse and The Uses of Adversity (Logince)

The universe in which Janus met Remus at Jack's party back in law school and never walked home alone. He and Logan never became friends and, instead, remained simply co-workers until a Q-Law party disaster was narrowly avoided.

💔 In Sickness and In (Logan/Kelly)

The universe in which Logan never left and instead tried to make his marriage work.

About Patton - Major, multiverse-spanning spoiler

[ AO3 ] - Spotify Playlist - YouTube Playlist

Chapter List (below the cut)

A Book Before Bed

Morning Follows Night

A Nearly Good Day

Unhinged

Balancing the Scales

Reality Check (coming 11/9)

Three Coffees (coming 11/22)

Black Coffee, No Sugar (coming 11/22)

Queerbait Croft (coming 11/22)

[ spoiler ]

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[crrative]

I wanna make a TSS fanfic site out of this blog but where the physical fuck do I start? Someone make a request.

[transfemlogan]

Some of my favourite requests from my Instagram! come follow me for even more epic art

[jaratedeguadalupe]

Ok but au where remus has gotten banned from every grocery store in a 30-mile radius for drastically different reasons and makes it his life mission to get banned from every single one 

[tssidesfics]

@amateurmasksmith Thank you for giving me a prompt that wasn't romantic, bless you so much for that, you're amazing.

*

There is nothing more infuriating and illogical than a sick Logan, something Janus was all too willing to say directly to his face.

"Thomas is sick," he informed him. "Ergo, we are sick. Ergo, we all need to rest. This is not resting. Close the computer, change into sleep clothes, and lay down on the fucking bed."

"I am Logic. Logic does not rest or take breaks. I must work. Leave me be."

Janus pinched his sinuses, taking calculated breaths.

Elsewhere in the Mindscape, the other Sides had been corralled. Virgil had probably been the most difficult of them to wrangle, too anxious about Thomas being set back on work by a sick day that he was literally climbing the walls to avoid Janus and speak in Tempest Tongue to Thomas about an impressive variety of worst-case scenarios. It had taken assistance from Remus, who was easily the sanest while sick considering the snot and coughing was gross enough to keep him satiated, creating a sleeping drought Janus then directed to the ceiling and sprayed directly in Virgil's face. He had plummeted to the floor with a satisfying thump.

Roman was next in line, whining about how princes were invincible or something stupid. Despite his obstinance, he was also easily the most annoying about his illness, complaining about every symptom when the rest of them--excluding Janus, who had taken measures to resist the virus as long as possible so to make sure no one else was negatively impacting Thomas' health--were suffering the same effects. Janus only had to offer him chicken noodle soup with edible glitter to make him sit his ass down and stay there, although it unfortunately only encouraged the whining. Thankfully Virgil, still on the ceiling, had dropped a book on his head and knocked him out.

A merciful deed that Patton had veraciously objected to while coughing himself hoarse. He hadn't protested in the slightest about the sick day. They always affected him the worst and his only ask was that everyone make a little camp in the commons so he could make sure everyone was all right while also resting himself. His solution to the idiots of the Mindscape was also much sweeter than Janus' breed of "sit your ass down now before I color all your belongings pink (Virgil)/lock you out of your room and give Remus run of the place for a week (Roman)/slightly disorder your alphabetical and chronological systems while moving all of your pens slightly to the left (Logan)."

Speaking of Logan, Janus was currently delivering on that threat.

"What--?" Cough. "What in the name of Galileo do you--?" Cough, cough. "Get away--"

It wasn't easy to push Logan away considering one of the symptoms was vertigo. Janus just put a hand to his face, uncaring for the fingerprints that would leave on his glasses, and gave the gentlest shove, sending him staggering and crashing into his desk, holding his head and making a nauseated noise.

Janus methodically went through his filing system, moving around documents and entire file categories. "The sooner you change, move to the commons, and lay down, the sooner I put all of this back where it belongs."

"I will--" Cough. "I swear I'll--"

"Don't make me get Rage."

Logan glared at him for that one. Rage was currently sitting up downstairs, grumbling about the bug. Every time he coughed, his head erupted. He was also the only one in the Mindscape Logan arguably respected due to their extensive and complicated history. He was also the most violent and would have no qualms kicking Logan's ass over the whole matter. Janus didn't either; neither did Remus. But Logan would ignore them. He would not ignore Rage.

"Change. Downstairs. There's a color-coordinated bed waiting for you. I won't tell you again."

The glare did not alleviated as Logan snapped himself into a different set of clothes--because he was "above onesies," so it was just a blue, somehow still pressed, sleep shirt and plain black pajama pants--and begrudgingly made his way downstairs.

Out of sheer pettiness, Janus continued disordering Logan's room for a few more minutes--what? It was funny--but then the illness caught up with him. He made his way downstairs, snapped into his own sleepwear--yellow, black and red styled like a king snake's pattern--and crawled into bed.

Everyone stared at him.

"What?" Janus demanded, the first cough tearing out of him.

"Wow, kiddo!" Patton beamed. "We all expected you'd be--uh..."

"A raging hypocrite," Virgil finished helpfully, except his tone was unabashedly hateful. Janus had spent years convincing himself that didn't sting by that point, so it ran off his back.

"Nah, Jannie always lays down right away. Only reason he didn't this time was because you're all kinky."

Patton choked. Roman made a melodramatic sound and fell back like he was dying. Virgil screamed into a pillow. Rage flicked lava at him, which Remus caught in his mouth. "Spicy."

"Uh...kiddo, I don't think that's the...word."

"What? Enjoying suffering is kinky. You all like to suffer. Ergo, kinky."

"Not even I have the energy to argue with him," Logan grumbled. "Let it go."

Janus rolled his eyes, plugged his ears, and slipped a sleep mask over his eyes. Everyone was laying down. His job was done. Later he'd get a bubble bath out of the whole affair and the Mindscape could burn while he did. He'd earned it.

[delimeful]

in sickness and in health (7)

warnings: arguing, fear/panic, lying, injury mention, gratuitous sarcasm, lmk if i missed any!

-

Virgil exchanged one quick, panicked glance with his attacker-turned-rescuer, and knew he was screwed.

Regardless of their sudden, deeply suspicious change of heart, there was no way this guy was going to stick around to get caught on behalf of a Monoxide borrower, former member or not.

And if they stayed, they would be caught. Virgil was already as good as in Roman’s hand, his escape interrupted at the worst possible moment. Perched at the top of the pitcher without a hook to grapple down with, he was essentially stranded above a bone-breaking drop.

The moment the other borrower bolted, Roman would be spurred into action, and Virgil would be right back in the pitcher where he’d started.

Maybe with a fellow captive, depending on how quick the borrower was.

… The concussed borrower. Right, so they were both screwed.

Heart racing, Virgil let the rope fall from his grip, keeping a steadying hand on the thin lip of the pitcher as he turned to wait for the human’s approach.

The human, who was still standing there, gesticulating wildly. Had he been talking at them this entire time?

“--realized they were suspiciously well-timed firecrackers, and you know what they always say about timing in my Theater 102 course–,” he continued, before abruptly cutting himself off. “Hey! Excuse you, I’m trying to have a conversation here!”

Virgil turned to see that the other borrower had simply started walking away. They glanced over at him briefly, their carefully faux-casual gait not even stuttering.

“Oh, no, do go on,” they drawled with an eye roll, like they were bickering with an annoying stranger in a colony instead of sassing a human. “I was so deeply entertained by your self-congratulatory monologue.”

Virgil held his breath, feeling slightly faint as he waited for violence to ensue.

Roman squinted at them for a long moment, and then smiled beatifically. “Why, thank you! It’s good to know someone around here appreciates my theatrical flair. Not everyone can pull off the flair required for such a thrilling aha moment, you know.”

“Mhmm,” the stranger agreed, sounding entirely insincere and yet somehow managing to prompt Roman into an entirely new tangent about dramatic reveals and cliffhangers. They met Virgil’s wide-eyed incredulous stare with an extremely smug look.

They weren’t actually walking away, he realized belatedly, but towards the bag Virgil had abandoned on the counter when they’d had their first unfortunate encounter.

His bag held all his recent borrowings, and more importantly, his hook, which was basically the only thing that could feasibly get him down from his current conundrum without endangering the other borrower further.

They weren’t leaving him. Like an insane person, they were actually trying to salvage the situation, and somehow, it was working.

“--believe that they cast me as an understudy for that chronic overactor, it’s practically criminal!” Roman continued.

“That’s not the only thing that’s criminal,” the stranger muttered, looking as though they’d heard this particular speech one too many times before.

“What was that?” Roman asked, and then seemed to process that they’d traversed a good chunk of countertop. “Wait, where are you going?”

He stepped forward slightly, craning his neck to see around the warped glass of the pitcher, and Virgil felt his grip on the glass grow tangibly sweaty. The stranger, crouched next to Virgil’s bag, paused mid-rummage.

“I’m merely trying to multitask,” they replied, blinking innocently. “I’d just love to sit here and listen to you go on and on all night, but I have my own pressing responsibilities to fulfill. Ones that you– or rather, mostly your twin, of course– have already complicated.”

“Responsibilities?” This earned them a dubious up-and-down glance. “Like… catching dewdrops in flower petals, or...?”

Virgil wondered if the human was nearsighted, to miss that vexed eyebrow twitch.

“Contrary to your entirely flattering assumptions,” they grit out, “I am actually here on much more pressing business. The life-or-death kind.”

“No way.” Intrigued, Roman shuffled closer, entirely drawn in by the mystery of it all. “I mean, we knew it was serious, with Patton ending up in the hospital and all, but it really wasn’t just an accident? We thought it had to be ghosts for sure, but if there’s fairy criminals– Are there fairy assassins?!”

Virgil felt his blood run cold, as though he’d just plunged through a sheet of too-thin ice and dropped into freezing waters. And yet even through the shock, the symbol branded on his arm had never felt more searing.

The stranger met his terrified gaze through their own burn scars. The two of them had been marked by the same hands, and both of them knew exactly how spot-on Roman’s guess really was.

The moment they told him what Virgil was, the moment they revealed the bloodstained legacy he’d been born into, it was over. Patton had fallen deathly ill, and a human-murdering cult member had been sneaking around in his walls. No matter how oblivious Roman could be, he was more than smart enough to connect the dots.

They might not be his humans, but Virgil had seen enough of the twins to know exactly how vicious they could be in defense of their friends.

He was as good as dead.

The stranger’s expression flattened out, and they looked away with a sharp jerk of their head.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that. I don’t specialize in assassins,” they lied, voice airy.

While Virgil attempted to remember how to breathe, Roman had uncapped a pen and was frantically scribbling shorthand notes on his arm, apparently vividly inspired by the implication that there were fairy assassins out there.

As casual as anything, the stranger tucked the metal curve of Virgil’s hook into the loop of his belt. His gaze was unreadable as it flitted over Virgil, but this time, it didn’t linger.

“Oh, oh, I’ve got it!” Roman announced. “You two are partners! The grizzled veteran and the bright-eyed rookie, a classic crime-solving set up!”

Virgil didn’t even want to know who had been assigned what role. The stranger seemed to be thinking along the same lines, spreading their hands disarmingly as they responded.

“Oh, so close!” they said, a hint of mockery in their smile. “Actually, the criminal that I’m bringing to justice… is your unwitting trespasser up there.”

With a suitably shocked gasp, Roman turned to stare at Virgil. The stranger also turned to stare at Virgil, but at a considerably slower pace, wearing the sort of malicious glee that one typically saw in a cartoon cat that had successfully caught the canary.

Oh, you lying snake.

The scornful words tangled up in his throat the moment the human’s heavy gaze landed on him, years of deeply-ingrained instincts keeping him entirely mute.

So instead, he lifted up his free hand and flipped them off with as much vitriol as he could feasibly work into a single gesture.

“See how the miscreant wounds me even now,” the stranger said, pressing the back of their hand against their head as though they might enter a swooning faint from the offense. “Clearly, a human as quick-witted as you can understand how important it is that I complete my task and make them pay for their crimes.”

Roman nodded emphatically, completely taken in. “That’s why you were helping them out of the pitcher! Not to help them escape, but to prevent them from escaping the firm hand of justice!”

“I knew you’d understand,” the stranger agreed pleasantly, taking a few steps towards Virgil and his makeshift glass prison. “In that case, if you’ll just stand aside while I retrieve the culprit in question…”

“Oh, of course!” Roman replied, and then cast a considering look at where Virgil was dangling. “Actually, since it’s our fault— really, more Remus’s— that you have to go to the trouble in the first place, let me just—,”

“There’s no need for that, truly,” the stranger tried to cut in, clearly having caught on faster than Virgil. Their words were rushed, but still not fast enough to prevent Roman from reaching out and plucking Virgil off the edge of the pitcher, easy as anything.

Easy for Roman, anyways. Personally, being abruptly lifted into the air by a hand bigger than him was causing some difficulties for Virgil.

Mostly the fact that if this kept up, the heart palpitations were going to take him out before the humans or murderous victim of his former cult could.

“There we are,” Roman announced grandly, holding Virgil slightly aloft in front of the stranger in offering, like he’d grabbed them a tissue instead of an entire living person.

Virgil made eye contact with the other borrower, who looked mildly chagrined, and then gave in to the feral raccoon that lived in the back of his mind and twisted around to bite the human.

“Jiminy fucking Christmas,” Roman swore, immediately dropping Virgil as though burnt. “You bit me!”

Virgil made a sound like a deflating air mattress as he hit the ground backfirst, the impact knocking the wind out of him.

“Did you see that? They bit me!”

He ignored the sting of rapidly-forming bruises to roll to his hands and knees, his breathing coming in wheezing stops and starts as he tried to refill his lungs. There were borrower-sized steps approaching, and Virgil snapped his head up to glare furiously at the stranger. “Don’t.”

They stopped short, holding their hands up in a mockery of nonaggression.

“I can’t believe you bit me, and not Remus!” Roman had never sounded more offended.

Right. That was a cue to leave if Virgil had ever heard one.

He got to his feet, attention already locked onto the nearest wall entrance, and staggered the first few steps forward before a hand latched onto his wrist.

“Stop right there,” the stranger said, the words demanding but the tone of voice closer to a warning. “You’re not going anywhere like that.”

Virgil was tempted to take a swing at the guy, since apparently the first concussion hadn’t knocked enough common sense back into their head. He yanked his arm away with a scowl, but then froze mid-motion at a flicker of movement overhead.

“Don’t try me.” Roman had overcome his affronted shock long enough to move a hand to hover ominously over Virgil, clearly prepared to intercede if he tried to make a run for it. “Remus has brought over seventeen feral rats into our home, I am extremely well-trained in grabbing without getting bitten.”

“How convenient for me,” the stranger said, their gaze fixed squarely on Virgil. “If you would turn around? I obviously can’t take you back until you’re properly secured, and it’ll make things easier on all of us if you just play along.”

Virgil glared back in silence for a long moment.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand their scheme. It was an insanely risky ploy that required extensive knowledge of the human in question, but the end goal was clearly to get the both of them back into the walls and safely out of human hands.

It was just that the last time he’d turned his back on this particular borrower, they’d literally attempted to run him through. Virgil found he wasn’t too keen on putting his undefended back to a guy who had tried to test out the structural integrity of his internal organs less than thirty minutes ago.

Unfortunately, the alternative was testing the structural integrity of his internal organs against a human who had dropped him less than thirty seconds ago.

Virgil turned around, his entire body drawn taut with tension, and let the stranger wrap some twine around his wrists in an ineffective parody of handcuffs.

“Perfect,” the stranger said, nudging at Virgil’s heels until he got the hint and started their trek towards the wall. “And now, thanks to your gracious interference, our villain can be tried for their crimes in front of a judge with the appropriate legal representation. The system is unimpeachable, the punishment will fit the crime, good triumphs over evil once more, et cetera.”

“‘Et cetera’?” Virgil muttered incredulously.

“You shut up,” the stranger whispered back.

“You know, when I heard about fairy courts, I was kind of envisioning something entirely different,” Roman mused, before visibly refocusing. “Wait wait wait, you can’t just leave! You haven’t even revealed the dastardly crime, or how they almost got away with it, or how you figured them out!”

“Oh, I really can’t delay. Fairy court is just so very time-sensitive, I’m afraid,” the stranger lied without hesitation, continuing to march Virgil forward as smoothly as possible. “I’ll have to return to tell you all about it later– of course, you’ll have to keep this little encounter to yourself. We aren’t typically supposed to disclose such sensitive information to anyone, let alone humans, but I’ve found myself irresistibly charmed by your moxie.”

“Aw, you’re just saying that!” Roman flapped a hand in faux-modesty, and then gasped. “Was I the bright-eyed rookie all along?”

Before the stranger could answer, Remus slid into the kitchen on socked feet, with so much momentum that he slammed against the counter. The painful thud of torso meeting marble did absolutely nothing to deter the grin on his face.

“Okay, bad news, I totally biffed my half of the divide-and-conquer plan. Good news, the other little guy is cool as hell and I’m calling dibs on hanging out with that one in advance,” he announced, and then visibly focused on the two borrowers in front of him. “Woah, what did I just walk in on?”

“You can’t call dibs in advance,” Roman instantly retorted, and then smacked Remus’s shoulder. “Stop being gross, the handcuffs are because they’re being taken away to fairy jail. After facing a trial required by fairy due process, I guess.”

The stranger’s grip on Virgil’s arm tightened, and they sped up their pace for the first time since Roman had entered the room. Virgil would feel more reassured if they weren’t still moving at a very ‘definitely-concussed’ sort of rate.

“I leave for five minutes, and you hand our puny poltergeist over to the cops?” Remus demanded, stretching his arm forward to block their way. “Ro-bro, it’s like you want me to disown you.”

“I would so disown you first, and you know it,” Roman hissed back. “Besides, they’re not a cop, they’re like, the fairy version of a hardboiled detective!”

“I don’t care how gay the detective is, that still counts as a cop!”

Unable to progress past Remus’s flesh barricade, Virgil glanced back at the stranger; they were pinching the bridge of their nose with visible irritation.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Like what?” they snapped back, voice equally quiet. “Anything I would say to fool Roman, Remus will rebuff! Anything I would say to convince Remus, Roman will reject! There’s no winning with these two!”

“Oh, great, so we really are screwed,” Virgil bit out.

“Not necessarily,” the stranger replied, unconvincingly. “They’re still distractible by nature. If we contribute to the argument, rile them up–,”

“‘Rile them up’?!” Virgil twisted around further so they could get the full effect of his disbelieving expression. “That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. That’s insane. You’re insane. We’re going to die.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I suppose you preferred being stuck in the pitcher?” they retorted sharply. “Far be it from me to inconvenience the cultist who fractured my skull!”

“I’m not– You tried to stab me first!”

Whatever they said next was entirely drowned out by the twins, who had escalated their own fight into near-shouting territory. Virgil was only catching every other word, but it sounded like they were yelling about a completely unrelated topic.

Every time Remus responded, his arm lifted slightly further off the counter, like he was only barely resisting the urge to put his brother in a headlock. Virgil locked onto the movement, a spike of anticipation filling him.

“Shut up, shut up,” he interrupted the stranger, ignoring their irritated scowl. “Look!”

The moment they noticed the potential escape route, their displeasure instantly fell away in favor of smugness. “See? I told you they were distractible. My plans always work out perfectly.”

The kitchen light flicked on and off a few times, startling the twins into silence and drawing every eye to the figure standing in the doorway.

“Hey, kiddos,” Patton said, rubbing a hand sleepily over his face. “It’s called a sleepover, not a shoutover. What’s going on?”

Stranded out in the open with three humans looming over them, the stranger endured Virgil’s scathing look with a pained grimace.

“Alright, fine. We’re screwed.”

[an-organized-confusion]

Some more Gymrat!AU blather from me before I go to bed...

So in that AU, the twins and Virgil are in the Insomniac Trio, yeah?

This does mean all three of them have had their moments of ridiculous sleep-deprivation-induced delirium.

I think especially but not exclusively, Roman is prone to getting the munchies when it’s Pretty Bad. Because, fun fact, your body cranks up the hunger hormone (ghrelin) when you haven’t had enough Zs. Think it’s ‘cause your body wants energy and if you aren’t getting some sleep, well...

Co-conspirator suggested that at least once, Virgil mistook an opossum for a dog. Shenanigans ensue.

Don’t get me started on Remus over here... :,D

These three are disasters, they all are.

(Obviously, it aint all sunshine and rainbows...)

[halfhissandwich]

Caption this :D

[edupunkn00b]

On a Butterfly's Wing, Ch. 6: Reality Check

Graphical representation of the Lorenz Attractor.

Prev - Reality Check - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

At last, a peek into Happily Ever After's Remus' perspective.

Rated: T, CW: sex references, references to past abuse, minor self-harm as a delusion check (use the camera trick!), swearing -

💚💙 - Friday, May 9, 2024

"'Night, Dads!" Pat poked his head through the open doorway, shoulders dancing with the joke that would never grow old. Last Father's Day when he—and Lo—had surprised Remus with the adoption papers, Pat had asked what he should call him.

"Huh…" He'd sunk down into the seat beside Lo. "I… I've never really thought about it. I… I never thought anyone would ever—" His voice broke and Lo took his hand, bringing it up to his lips for a kiss. "I dunno," he finally said, looking up at Pat. Both their eyes had gone a little watery. "Whatever you wanna call me."

"I could call you both 'Dad,'" he'd giggled. "Always keep you guessing which one I mean?"

To Remus' shock, Lo had thrown his head back and laughed. "That sounds perfect!" And 'Dads' had stuck.

“Oh, Pat! Hang on—” Remus winked at that cute little head tilt Lo did whenever he hadn’t yet figured out what he was up to. “I’ve got something of yours.”

Adorably, Pat matched his dad’s expression and Remus couldn’t hold back a chuckle as he dashed to the closet and fished out a black shopping bag from Digipen.

“Here,” he said, shoving the bag into Pat’s hands.

“Did you…” Giggling, Pat held up his hand. “Be right back!” he said, laughing over his shoulder. He returned a moment later with a suspiciously similar—if much smaller—bag.

Lo sat on the edge of the bed, watching them. “Did you know about this?” Remus asked, giving the bag Pat handed him a little shake. It was a little heavier than the one he’d bought, but not nearly as bulky. "What's in here?"

Lo shook his head, smiling back at them with a sleepy grin. “I suppose you will both have to open them.”

“On three?” Pat grinned.

Remus nodded. “Onnnnnne…” he said, drawing it out.

“Twoooooo…” Patton followed, bouncing on his toes. Remus laughed when he caught himself doing the same.

“Three!” They shouted together, ripping into their bags.

“I can’t believe you got it!” Pat exclaimed first, pulling out the bright blue Digipen Dragons hoodie he’d been eyeing at the gift shop. He’d spent a long time perusing the tiny shop, counting and recounting the cash he’d saved for their tour, bouncing between the hoodie and the other displays in the shop.

Ultimately, Pat had left the shop empty-handed, so Remus had gone back the next day and picked up the hoodie he’d clearly not had enough money for, smuggling it in with some groceries. “Try it on,” he said, nodding with a wide grin at Pat’s expression.

“It’s perfect!” he cheered, hugging the thick fleece. “Okay, so finish opening yours!”

“Oh, right!” Remus sat on the bed next to Lo. Pat took up the spot next to him, head leaning on his shoulder as he watched him struggle to undo the knot on an inner bag. “So when did you manage this?”

Pat giggled with a little shrug. “I told the clerk it was a surprise for you and he helped me get it all sneaky-like while you were still looking at the display.”

Remus’ eyes widened. It seemed like the kid had been watching him as closely as he had.

“And it fit just right in my jacket.”

Lo smiled at him and ruffled his hair. “Very well done,” he murmured.

With one leg hooked over Lo’s, Remus turned so he partially faced Pat and worked the knot in the bag’s drawstring with fresh fervor. After another moment, he got it undone and dumped the contents into his lap. Out fell a bound sketchbook, a heavy glass bottle of clover colored ink, and a package of metal nibs. “Is this…”

Remus’ voice trailed off as he inspected the nibs. A smile slowly spread over his face. “These are drawing nibs…” He laughed as he looked up at Pat. “For dip pen drawing like—”

Pat bounced on the bed next to Lo. “Like in your games!” he grinned. “But with, y’know…” He wiggled his fingers. “All tactile.”

“Aw, Pat…” Remus hugged the bundle to his chest and laughed again. “I haven’t drawn like this since college! This is fucking awesome!” Stretched across Lo, he pulled Pat into a hug with one arm. “Thank you so much! I’m gonna use these tomorrow!”

“Will you show us what you draw?” Pat asked, leaning closer to Lo.

“Hell, yeah!” He tapped the package of nibs and watched the light play over their faces, sorely tempted to rip open the package and start right then. It wasn’t really that late, was it?  As if reading his mind, both Pat and Lo’s watches trilled with their bedtime reminders and Remus laughed. “Tomorrow,” he said with a little nod, tucking the precious gifts back into their bag.

Lo pulled Pat into a long hug, eyes squeezed shut. Finally, he let out a slow breath and nodded. “‘Night, Patton,” he whispered. “Sweet dreams.”

“See ya in the morning, Bud,” Remus said, rising to give him his own hug. “And thanks again,” he added, gently shaking the bag.

“Thank you! I can’t wait to show this to Jax!” he said with a little shoulder dance. “‘Night, Dads,” Patton called with one more little wave and closed the door.

Eyes trained on the floor, Lo sat perched on the edge of the bed, pinching the blanket between this thumb and forefinger and stroking the thick material with a cute little smile. He was tired, with sloped shoulders and heavy eyelids.

Remus set his gift on the nightstand and knelt on the floor in front of him, hands resting on Lo’s knees. “Whatcha thinking about there, Lo Lo?" Remus murmured.

Logan's head jerked up, mouth open and cheeks pink. "I—I, um…" He straightened glasses that weren’t crooked and shrugged before not really meeting his eyes. "How soft the blanket is, actually."

Remus covered his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I thought you'd like it,” he grinned and Logan finally looked back at him, lip caught between his teeth like he wasn't sure what to say. “So…” Smiling, he kissed each of Lo’s knees before slotting himself between them. A spark danced in Lo’s eyes as Remus reached up and laced his fingers at the back of his neck. Smiling, Remus waggled his eyebrows up at him. “I do believe you were going to show me just what got you so”—Lip caught between his teeth, Remus glanced down—“excited this morning.”

~

Not ready to let go, Remus curled over Lo’s body, nipping along his shoulder and up his neck. Lo didn’t move, wordless and gasping quietly beneath him. “Wore you out that badly, Lo Lo?” he chuckled, breathless laughter falling away when he felt the wetness on his cheeks.

“Lo?” Iron bands wrapped around his chest and he pushed up to look into his eyes. He was smiling but crying. “Love?”

But Lo remained silent. Remus curled his arms around his shoulders and kissed each tear. "You haven't…" Lo hadn’t gone speechless in a long time and Remus was ashamed to admit he couldn’t tell if this was the good kind of speechless.

Or the bad.

He sought out Lo’s eyes, searching for any sign of what was behind his overwhelm. “Love, you haven't cried like that since our first time. Are you…" Lo shuddered beneath him, eyes darting to one side.

Oh, fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck… "Did I hurt you?"

"No!” Lo was so quick to reassure, but tears still trailed down his cheeks. Remus froze, afraid to breathe as he listened.

“Not at all, that was… In—incredible. You were incredible," Lo emphasized, the touch of heat behind his smile gradually melting the barbs in Remus’ chest. "No, I'm…" He took a slow breath, a soft smile curling up his lips. "I'm feeling a lot.”

Lo’s thumb was gentle against his mouth, stroking his lips and his mustache like they were a treasure. Like he was Lo's wtreasure. Warmth spread out from his touch and Remus nuzzled against his palm, soaking in the closeness, smiling at the twitch of Lo's fingers when his mustache tickled the sensitive spots.

Remus flashed back to the day Lo had first showed him the scar he’d fought so hard to hide. And the night Jay had described the scream he’d heard from three stories down when that damned bitch had burned him. He shuddered to think about what that day could’ve been like for him without Jay there and he pressed another line of kisses along the edges of the old, old scar.

Lo’s smile grew, the tension in his hips and thighs finally melting back into the bed. Remus finally breathed.

"Good a lot?" Remus asked, watching his eyes. He was pretty sure he knew the answer but he couldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t ask. “Bad a lot?"

For one horrifying moment, Lo’s eyes twitched, eyes gone glossy again. But he let out a slow breath before his smile grew. "So good," he assured, voice more sure than it had been all night.

“Okay…" He kissed Lo’s hand and curled around him. Staying now was worth waking up a little… sticky. For shame, they’d need a good long shower in the morning. “Good night, Lo Lo,” he said, rubbing his cheek against Lo’s chest. “Love you.”

Lo’s fingers in his hair, Remus could have purred. “Good night, Remus,” Lo whispered back.

If Lo’s arms were wrapped around him, if he wasn’t still… Remus couldn’t quite shake the formality of his full name coming from Lo’s lips. He waited… feeling a little silly at being so hurt from the vacuum left by his missing ‘Love you, too, Meus…’

"Lo Lo?" Biting his lip, hard enough to feel the pain, Remus peered up at him in the dim light. No, this wasn’t just a delusion. Something was up with Lo. “You’ve been a little… off this evening. Looking at your hand a lot, and…” You didn’t call me Meus. He couldn’t quite bring himself to say it. “Are you having a bad night? You know it's okay if you are. We could talk… or not…"

Lo started and stopped a half dozen times until finally he held his gaze. “I don’t want to wake up from this.”

Oh.

“Ah, Lo Lo…” Fuck all if Remus didn’t know exactly how that felt. He bit his lip again, relishing the evidence of this reality, born of pain with the hint of copper. Then he smiled and snatched Lo’s phone off the nightstand.

Camera on, he flipped it around so Lo could see him on the screen. “Look…” The phone’s bluish glow sparkled in Lo’s eyes and Remus grinned and tapped the screen a few times to capture his image. “I’m no dream, Lo Lo,”

Switching camera to selfie mode, he curled next to Lo on the bed. He snapped a picture for each kiss, lips brushing against every bit of his love he could reach. “And neither are you, Love. We’re both real. C’mon…” Remus set down the phone and curled closer, drawing him in for a slow kiss. He knew Lo might taste the blood, might know what it meant. But maybe they needed the double reassurance right now.

Face still drawn, Lo looked back at him, belief and hope in his eyes. And exhaustion. Remus held him close and smiled. “Would you like to get some sleep and see how you’re feeling in the morning?”

“Okay,” he whispered.

Remus hummed to the beat of Lo’s heart as he drew him close, those familiar warm arms wrapped tightly over his back. Good, Lo. Don’t ever let me go.

“Good night.”

~

Lo fell asleep not long after, his stuttered breaths quickly smoothing into the soft exhalations that meant he'd drifted off. His grip around Remus' body never relaxed, though, and Remus fell asleep secure in his husband's embrace.

Sudden strained movement beneath him tugged at his consciousness but Remus didn't fully away until he heard Lo's cry.

“Meus!” Shuddering, Lo held tight, one arm curled around his middle, a hand threaded gently through his hair. “Oh, Meus,” he whispered in a broken voice.

“Lo?" He squinted at the window, the streetlights declaring it was not yet dawn. "Lo, what's happened?”

Lo started to cry, chest trembling as he fought to hold back a sob. “I’m sorry… I… I'm so sorry to wake you… I…”

Keeping Lo's arms around, Remus carefully moved to sit up against the headboard. Lo stared into his eyes, like he couldn't believe he was really there.

"Meus, I had the most horrible nightmare… I… I was…”

Remus pulled him close, letting his warmth, the pressure of his embrace tell Lo he was right there with him. 

Shaking and with a sob stifled against his chest, Lo clung to him. “I was was back at the old house… with… with her," Rage simmered in Remus' chest but he just held Lo closer. Hadn't that bitch done enough to him? She can't even leave his dreams in peace?

Lo pulled back, eyes wide and shivering. “It wasn’t a memory… It was… it was like I’d never… never left.” He shook his head like he could somehow shake away the vision. “And I couldn’t wake up.” He shuddered, a tiny sob slipping past his control as he shook his head and hid his face against Remus' shoulder.

“Shhh, you’re safe, Love… You’re safe,” he whispered over and over as he rocked him, waiting until his trembling stopped. A muffled screech at the back of his mind poked at Lo's words, at his fear of sleeping, of waking to him not being there. Of waking and talking about a different path… Remus shook his head and, when Lo had calmed, he bit his lip, clearly and obviously, waiting for Lo to recognize the gesture. "See?" he tried to laugh, showing Lo there was nothing to be afraid of. Kicking away the little voice that asked if he was so sure. "You're really here, Love.”

“I’m really here." Lo repeated their mantra. He kissed the tiny cut on Remus' lip, the sting further proof this was real, they were real. “It was… it was just a bad dream. A terrible dream.”

Remus nodded and pulled Lo close, hand carding through his hair as he slowly drifted back to sleep. Remus lay awake until after the sun had begun to rise, trying to square the fear he'd seen in Lo's eyes that night and fighting the doom in his chest, warning that something, somewhere had gone horribly wrong.

[tsspromptmonth]

Cafe Menu Drop!

Hey Babes, we'll be hiring baristas next week starting on the 21st, so watch out for my truly insufferable number of posts about that. On that day we'll post a link so you can send in your application or like whatever.

Now since this is a cafe we figured y'all would want a menu, but like fanfic has so many options so this is just the basics, more will probably come.

Important Deet: Our baristas can't work for free and you pay in comments! Writers are needy bitches who need encouragement. Our hand-crafted stories will run you 1 comment per 100 words, so for a 500 word request, you'll 'pay' in 5 comments on any Sanders Sides story.

The Sleepy Bean Café serves up a range of story sizes: you get to request the size you're craving! The biggest size the machine can handle is a quintuple shot: 5000 words. (That's 50 comments for you big spenders out there!) Sometimes, our baristas are having such a blast mixing up your request that they add a little extra and go over the size of your original request. Consider that a bonus and the managers will look the other way.

Full text under 'read more'

Our baristas think they're creative and might add a little somethin extra from the menu, so if there's anything you just can't stand, better tell us up front.

And for all you barista hopefuls, six days til the hiring process begins. I'm gonna need a lot of bitches to make all these drinks.

~Remy XX

Sleepy Bean Fanfic Cafe Menu

More options available by request.

Drinks (Setting or AU)

Brewed Coffee = Canon Verse Steamed Milk = Soulmates Latte = Human AU Hot Chocolate = Parental AU Herbal Tea = Magic AU (Modern day or fantasy) Machiatto = Time Travel Cappuccino = Gods AU Green Tea = Merpeople

Milk (Tone)

Skim = Hurt/No comfort 2% Milk = Hurt/Comfort Heavy Cream = Fluff Oat Milk = Ambiguous ending Coconut = Crack taken seriously Olive Oil = Crack

Syrup (Characters)

Starfruit = Janus Loganberry = Logan Peach = Patton Kiwi = Remus Cherry = Roman Cranberry = Virgil

Toppings (Tropes)

Whipped cream = Only one Bed Caramel drizzle = Childhood Best Friends Chocolate sauce = Fake Dating/Marriage Chopped nuts = Arranged Marriage Burnt sugar = Time Loop Chocolate Shavings = Mutual Pining Honey = Sick Fic Cinnamon = Enemies to Lovers Nutmeg = Love after Loss Blended = Found Family

All drinks are 1 comment per 100 words with a 500 word minimum.

Specials

The Serpent God

A cappuccino with 2% milk, starfruit, and crushed raspberries. (Gods AU, hurt/comfort, featuring Janus, and hiding a fatal injury.)

Space Jam

A boba with starfruit, kiwi & Loganberry jellies, blended with honey. (Space AU with Janus, Remus, & Logan, found family sick fic.)

Peach Berry Sweet Treat

Peach/Loganberry Cobbler Latte, with ginger cookie crumbles. (Human AU, only one of them knows they are dating with romantic Logicality.)

Melting Clocks Crumble

A macchiato with burnt sugar topped with whipped cream. (A time travel AU with only one bed, time loops and a choice of characters.)

Lost in Space

Boba tea with steamed skim milk, kiwi/peach boba. (Soulmate Space AU, romantic Intruality, hurt no comfort.)

Winter's Comfort

A mocha with 2% milk, topped with caramel drizzle, nutmeg, and chocolate shavings, syrup to taste. (Parental human AU, hurt/comfort, childhood best friends, mutual pining, and love after loss, any characters.)

A Classic

Herbal tea, with 2% steamed milk. (Human magic AU, hurt/comfort, any characters.)

Cinnamon Sunrise

Steamed milk with cinnamon. (Human AU, with enemies to lovers. Your choice of characters, tone, and tropes.)

[crrative]

First Day - The Balcony Au, Chapter 1

Prinxiety, everyone. Come get y'all's juice.

The first official part. Send me suggestions for things I can do to improve my writing.

Roman tremored as the room became visible. There were boxes everywhere, his air mattress was stiff beneath him, the curtainless window above his head beamed down at the opposite wall with light and he was still in his clothes without a blanket to be heard of. His vision was tunnelled and blurry and his eyes were crusted closed. He rubbed them and it didn't help. It never did.

First day. First day at the new job, first day in the new place, first day living with Remus entirely on their own.

His limbs ached. Throwing his leg over the edge of his 'bed' and getting the rest of his body to follow was a Herculean effort. Landing on his knees and sitting there with nothing but the wall against your forehead for support was an achievement. His chest heaved.

A knock at the door made the nerves in Roman's spine strike in all directions, giving him a harsh chill. His shoulders squared.

"Yeah?" His voice was hoarse.

The door opened and his brother stalked in, already washed and dressed and ready for his own work.

"Dude, it's half seven, haul ass."

Shit! With an anxious puff, Roman grabbed the windowsill and dragged himself to his feet, picking up the towel he'd set out for himself the night before on the way. Remus stepped back to allow him passage to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

It took an hour in total for Roman to finish getting ready. First, the shower, and then the hair, and then a light splash of neutral makeup to make it look like the bags under his eyes were part of a sultry look instead of the result of whatever the fuck it was that made his sleep so turbulent the night before.

"Corpse Chic is a bold choice for the first day."

"I know," Roman groaned. Remus' reaction was less than enthused. The hoarse croak his brother's voice had been that morning had sustained itself and he didn't bother to quip back at Remus' mocking. Concerning.

Remus drove that morning, face blank if you selectively ignore the anxious looks he kept giving his twin. The only thing keeping Roman alive awake in the car were the bumps in the road.

It was just a café. Brick walls, beige sofas and ugly reading chairs. Roman fit in perfectly, wearing his all-black uniform with a grey apron and the cream company logo on his left chest.

Thank God, he didn't need any training. The machines were similar to those at his old job, much like everything else.

It was an hour into the morning when business ebbed severely, the rush ending rather abruptly after the crowd was chipped away at one by one. Roman was propped against the counter, ignoring the chatter of the other two on the floor, knowing they were discussing him and not giving a single, cellular fuck when the bell tolled. His eyes focused.

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

Immediately noticeable was the height. Easily 6'1, maybe a little taller if he'd stand up straight and in a hoodie that had certainly seen better days. His skin was pale and kinda sickly in a homebody sort of fashion, his shoulders were built enough to give away that he probably worked out and his hair was spiked down to his shoulders.

It woke Roman up.

"A cappuccino with two extra shots, if you can." The texture of his voice felt like smooth stone against your palms when you're sat under the rain, letting it consume your attention until it's broken by something external. How can something so sturdy and assertive be so polite and accommodating?

"Sure." He hadn't spoken all morning and it had taken a toll on his vocal chords. His attempt at contact with this captivating stranger had only served to alienate him. He let himself express the cringe openly when he turned around to start the press.

While steaming the milk, Roman allowed himself a peek. The stranger was stood with his wrists and ankles crossed, rested against the short wall behind him, looking rather uncomfortable. It was the lack of eye contact that let Roman really concentrate on his facial features.

An anguished brow, dark eyes, a hooked bridge, hollowed cheeks and a sharp jaw. All awfully innocuous, but together, made for a pretty picture. His lip and nose were both pierced and Roman would bet anything that his ears were, too. What kind of earrings would he wear? Gauges? That'd be cool.

"That's done for you," he announced without meeting the stranger at eye level. His focus stayed with the cup in waiting for him to walk away. He didn't.

The pads of Roman's fingertips took such a grip on the counter that the prints were visible on the laminate surface. His pulse slammed obnoxiously in his throat, forcing him to press his tongue to the roof of his mouth. To anyone else, he looked mildly nauseous.

"Are you...?" Roman looking up seemed to stifle his confidence. He seemed to shrink into himself, trying to hide, despite his size making the effort futile.

Fuck it. Roman blinked and fixed his posture, back crunching after so long being abused.

"What's your name?"

"Oh - Virgil."

"Unique. Pick it yourself, by any chance?"

Roman had been joking but Virgil's face lit up behind the... concealer? Holy shit! For a second, Roman thought he was on the money entirely by accident.

"No, but... no, I didn't." Guess not.

What was he going to say? Intrigue was too high. They couldn't stop now.

"I'm Roman."

"Yeah, I saw the name tag. Did you... pick it yourself?" Roman shook his head. Virgil nodded amicably.

Before the lull in conversation could get too deep to climb out of, Roman bowed his head humbly. "Enjoy your drink." His voice was cheerful, but quiet, and accompanied by a little smile.