#somewhere Roman is huffing in a corner

[lunarscaled]

-> Lyric had had much the unfortunate luck of good things followed by swift, decisive tragedy in their life. They could keep nothing they had not sought out and fought for themselves, and even then everything they let go of had claw marks on it. That included people---they had made themselves transient in all their wanderings. Slip in and out of lives and no on gets hurt until they do, but that was a lonely existence. Something plucking at their heart and lungs wanted to make up for all that time they had lost never settling in one place unless they had to.

-> It's a weight that makes them flinch at first. Habitual it was, to expect pain before relief, but Hanekoma's arm is a comforting weight on their anxiety when he pulls them to be fitted against his chest as his other hand pushes hair back from their face ( a character feature one might say---that one errant coil always seemed to land there in the middle ). He presses a light, scruffy kiss to their forehead and they give a quiet, pleased chirping sound in response. Attention accepted.

"Yeah, but it's... difficult. I have trouble... saying what I want to say..."

-> It seems even admitting there was a problem was a strife.

"I don't know how to tell people what I want without feeling like I'm taking something. Or like I'm corralling them... On top of that, it's embarrassing... ..."

"Alright, come'ere boss."

Hanekoma reached around Lyric's shoulders and brought them in, using one hand to push the tangle of their hair out of the way. Even if it was becoming a point of contention between them and Roman, there was something very endearing about the way they feared asking for attention. It reminded him of how Sweet Tooth was constantly afraid to speak her mind.

"It's alright," he whispered, pressing a small peck to Lyric's forehead. "It's okay to ask for some attention sometimes. Ya might even find that people are waiting to give it to ya, you know? Sometimes what someone's really lookin' for is consent."

[asksuccubussides]

What if you were an asexual succubus, wouldn’t that be fucked up or what Chapter 2

Masterpost of chapters

“La di daaaaa! I am RoooMaaan! Reeally obviousllyyyy masculine and niiiiceee! la di dada!” Roman sang song to himself while strolling down the street.

Just before he’d looked at some ancient ruins in Europe and had made sure to take pictures of them so he could show them to Remy and Emile later and joke that the ruins were just as old as them. Remy always protested that they weren’t a day over 140.

It’d been a good busy morning. He’d started out with a dip in the caribbean seas followed by feeding off of a man he’d meet on the beach before pretending to drink some coffee to enjoy the music at a jazz cafe and then he’d come to look at the ruins. A bag of souvenirs swung from his tail while he continued to sing to himself. If everything continued as planned he would go to a renaissance fair tomorrow (one of his favorite historical times!!) and hopefully add another sword to his collection.

It took a while until he found a door and he made sure to check so no humans were around so they wouldn’t get confused when he uttered the phrase that opened the door to hell.The door turned ajar and he walked through it into the door interway that was located the middle hallway of the succubi’s sleeping chambers.

It was usually as busy as the elevator interway in a big hotel but now it was just Roman and a few others. She waved hi to one of them but the succubi just hurried away without acknowleding her. She huffed and told herself that the other succubi had simply been too stunned by her sheer coolness to dare respond.

“So here I am, walking bravely all on my own down this dark mysterious hallways” Roman started to narrate to herself, she did that quite often “I would have stayed on earth for the night, tis it was not for the monthly meeting with the manager! Hah! But I need not worry for I am thee greatest demon in my squadron...NO! in the entirety of hell!!”

He had a smug self assured smile on his face as he swaggered through the hallways. He could feel that his twin was also in hell, he couldn’t explain it he just always sort of knew in his gut kind of where his headache of a twin was.

From barely any other demons being around her it shifted to more and more swarming all around her. Every one of them were half running in the same direction and when Roman turned the corner she saw a big cluster of succubi all gathering around the entrance to one of the rooms typically used for the manager meetings. Some were standing on their toes to see while others had extended their wings to get a few feet up in the air.

A sinking feeling fell through Roman as he paled. he tried to shake the feeling off and hoped it wasn’t anything to serious. Instead he forced a laugh and said to the closest demon “Haha a bit crowded here today, am I right?”

The demon looked at her with an excited smile “Yeah duh, I heard a succubi from one of the lower squadrons is getting Punished!”

The horns on Roman’s head started to pulse a darker red as she gulped. She closed her eyes and tried to feel where her brother was but all she could feel was that he was in hell somewhere. There was so much stupid shit Remus did all the stupid shitty time all she could do was close her eyes even tighter and hope he hadn’t done something so unrepentable he’d end up getting Punished like this.

After a deep breathe he opened his eyes and hurried over to the group of demons scrambling to try and catch any sight of the punishment. Hushed whispers buzzed through the evergrowing group.

“Who is it?” “Does anyone know what they did?” “I think he was in the squadron under me” “Did he do a patton?” “Ouugh! it would be so exciting if he did a patton” “What if it’s just a mistake? I hope he’s okay” “I’m betting he killed a human”

Roman could hear the faint sound of a manager’s voice coming from inside the room. The hoarse tone making way for booming words.

“See no evil”

Just hearing those words from the manager made the crowd of succubi turn so quiet a pin dropping would have been heard. A guttural scream followed. It was quick and sharp before slowly morphing into whimpers until it went silent again.

Roman felt sick to his stomach. It was like someone had torn half of him away and all he could do was wait with baited breathe to see if it was his brother or not.

Eventually two guards came out with the punished succubi dragging behind them. Blood was still dripping from the hands of the succubi, smelling like the way only human blood could. Their eyes were open wide but unseeing. The irises had turned completely white as soon as the manager had taken away their sight. Lost in their newly given blindness the succubi shook their head around and let out scream after scream as they heard the crowd around them. They started to scream for the crowd to help them get away before they got sent to heaven. Until they were sobbing that please please they didn’t want to go to heaven.

It wasn’t Remus. 

Roman let out a shaky sigh and turned around to hurry back to their sleeping hall. He didn’t have to see the punished succubi being sent away to heaven, he’d already seen everything he had to.

One time when he was younger he’d asked Emile why they didn’t just send the demons away to heaven immediately if they’d broken the rules so badly to be killed. Why was the taking of the senses necessary. He’d answered that it was just a scare tactic. All the other demons had to see what could happen to them.

As soon as she’d found her way out of the crowd she started to run towards their squadron’s sleeping quarter. She sprinted so fast her lungs burned by the end of it. but it was worth it when she got into the room and saw her brother standing. next to Remy’s and Emile’s bed. 

A wave of relief ran over her giving her the last energy to run up to Remus pull him into such a tight hug that she lifted him off the ground.

Remus squinted at her but let her hug him for a little bit before poking his fingers into her rib and when that didn’t get her to let go he blew his breathe stench right into her face. She let go of him and kicked him in the knee before whispering

“Someone was Punished”

In turn her brother glanced over to the bed where Remy was sitting and  answered “Yeah, We know. Remy is-” Roman shushed him before he could talk his mouth off.

“You’re such a rotting piece of shit asshole!” Roman was on the brink of yelling it out “I thought it was gonna be you again! I always think it’s gonna be you! Because youre such a- a- Urgh!”

“I wouldn’t be punished, I could destroy all my senses in much funner ways than the managers ever could imagine”

Roman hit his shoulder in response.

He looked away from Remus and turned to his friends. Remy was covering their ears with their hands while staring nearly unblinkingly down into the floor. Their body was completely frozen aside from their chest slightly rising and lowering.

Emile was sitting beside them with his arm pulled around their waist. His fingers were idly stroking up and down their side. When his lover suddenly drew in a sharp breathe he murmured sweet nothings to calm them down.

“Did you see which manager gone and fucked that succubi up?” Remus asked.

“Don’t think it was our”

“Good. I don’t need Orange to be any more of an asshat than usual”

“Not his name! We should probably go now if we don’t want to be late to the meeting....” Roman grimaced at his own words while glancing to Remy.

“Nah nah. It’ll be fine. What’ll he do if we’re late? Chop our genitals off? We need those. Our fingers? That’d be fun. I’ve alwaysw ondered what happens if we lose limbs. Like do they grow back? Can we reattach those fuckers” He gasped “What if it’s like lizard tails and it will make way to even cooler limbs”

“It’s common courtesy to not be ass-late dukey”

“Courtesy aint gonna do anything for you. It’s not even gonna kill your enemies for you!”

“We can go” Remy interrupted. “Girlies I can’t even read your lips from here and I can still see you’re like bickering”

Remy gave a last little hug to Emile and he in return whispered “I’ll be here when you get back honey”

‘Alright. C’mon sluts. Meeting time’

--

The rest of their squadron were already lining up in the meeting room when the three of them arrived. It was about 30 demons in total and while obviously they all knew the names of each other most of the others didn’t talk that much to Remy or Remus. It was like a school class, some people were just closer to others. Besides most didn’t know how to communicate with Remy and Remus was....Remus. Roman could fit in quite well with the others if he tried but he prefered spending time on earth.

Remus noticed some of the succubi went from speaking normally to whispering as soon as he entered the room. He thought about whether sprinting up to them or barking would scare them the most but his twin dragged him over to stand in line before he could do anything.

He shifted his weight and bounced on his heels while waiting for the meeting to start. Remy signed a dirty joke that made him laugh and he was in the middle of signing back when the door opened and their managaer stepped in.

At once the room turned dead silent and all of the succubi stood perfectly still. Their manager wore a well ironed orange suit but looked far less human than any of the succubi for the simple reason that he was a Dominion instead of a succubi. It also meant he was automatically higher ranked than them. His horns were so long they wrapped themself around each other and his limbs were stretched out with his waist being long and slender to fit his organs. His hands tore out into long thin fingers that ended in yellowing claws.

The manager stopped in the middle of the room and clicked his heels together before looking over at the group of succubi. “Good evening. As I’m sure you’re all aware there was a Punishing earlier today so I’ll keep this short since I am certain you all want to go back to sulking or raving or whatever you succubi do after a Punishing” he pointed at the succubi standing at one end of the line “Please list the number of humans you’ve seduced this month”

“21 humans″

Remus and Remy kept signing back and forth while Roman signed for them to shut up which just made Remy sign that he was licking boots while Remus mimicked jerking off before puking.

“18 humans″

It went on demon after demon.

“25 humans″ “19 humans and uh a half maybe. It depends how you count it” “24 humans″

It became Roman’s turn.

“27 humans″

Remus’ let up into a grin of nerves when he realized it was his turn. He steeled himself and boasted up his chest because the last thing he was gonna do was not look confident.

“3! 3 entire humans! The most epic 3 fucks ever witnessed!”

He let out an overly loud laugh while the rest of the room stayed silent and stared at him. Someone let out an awkward cough. Roman signed to Remy that it was their turn. As soon as people stopped looking at his brother the better.

“17 humans″

All of the succubi let out a breathe of relief since Remy was the last in line, hopefully the manager would let them go now. Their hope was in vain as the manager took long dragged out steps towards Remy until he was standing so close they could feel his breathe pressing down against their head.

They held their head high with their eyes staring up at the ceiling while their hands and tail stayed behind their back like they were supposed to. They picked at their nails, a bad habit, and stared. But they couldn’t see the manager’s face, it was all blurry skin at the edges of their eyes and blindingly bright white ceiling.

“Could you repeat the number of humans you have seduced this month” The manager ordered.

Remy didn’t respond because obviously they were deaf so they couldn’t hear if he’d said anything.

“I asked you a question” The manager continued.

“Sir if you are trying to speak to me we both know I have to read your lips” Remy said, trying to keep their voice steady. It wasn’t the first time this had happened.

“How dare you! You may not look in my face! You are far below me!”

“Sir if you are trying to-”

The manager pushed Remy to the ground. A crack echoed through the room as their back slammed into the marble floor.

Some of the succubi tensed up. Others, even those who weren’t close to Remy, looked like they were ready to throw hands. Remus was just about ready to pounce on the manager if Roman hadn’t held him back, and if Remy hadn’t quickly signed for him to calm down.

The manager looked down on Remy and for a second their eyes met. None of the others in the room were able to see what was said between them in that moment, in that look. All they saw was that Remy stayed on the ground and the manager said

“Meeting dismissed”

Roman kept his head down to the floor as he helped Remy up on their feet. The rest of the succubi hurried out of the room, some of them whispering if Remy was okay or saying niceties to Roman in hope she would forward it to them.

'Don't tell Emile' Remy Signed.

'Whatever you say sleeping beauty' Roman Signed back.

Remus tried to disappear into the group of succubi and walk out without being noticed, but just when he was about to step into the hallway-

"Twin 2 stay behind. I have some things to say to you" The managers dry voice called out.

Roman gave her brother a look of pity while closing the door behind her. Remus closed his eyes and imagined pretty thoughts of blood veins exploding to calm himself down before turning towards the manager.

“Didn’t I tell you to increase your human per month capita”

“Well yeah but you see I am actually a total sex machine, sir, It’s just that I got terrible luck okay!?” Remus exclaimed “Like for example I was about to go down on this guy but then a tiger came and ate him! Or I would have had a classic plane orgy but then the plane uh crashed! OOPS!”

The manager grimaced at him “You must understand that the better numbers your squadron has the better it will be for all of you, and me”

Remus didn’t really respond he just picked his nose.

“And there are only so much space here in the lust realm. If you can not meet the demands of your job we might just have to send you to heaven”

“That’s fine with me! Send me up there fucker! I’ve always wanted to try killing some angels anyway! bash their heads in and-”

“You and the other twin are a sort of package deal. You understand, don’t you? If you get sent away, he does too”

“....Yeah....Yes I understand sir”

“Good. You may leave”

Remus didn’t say anything more. He just walked out of the room as fast as he could. A tiny group of his squadron coworkers swarmed him almost immediately.

“Hi R. We’ve been talking a bit between us and we know some easy humans to seduce. We can help you y’know?” One of the succubi suggested.

“Yeah. I mean we get it. Some people are just late bloomers and you’re like a super late bloomer but we don’t judge”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of”

“Exactly! i know some humans got this concept of shame around like sex and seducing but R you don’t have to mimic them! You silly goose!”

“I’m actually allergic to shame” Remus replied. “ Shame makes my whole face explodes with muckus, like with a nut allergy”

“Girlies don’t bother him. He just gotta find his kink goblin dick pig mode” Remy interrupted “Leave him to me”

One of the succubi turned to Remus and said “Tell Remy to have a good day” before all of them walked away.

‘Girls coulda just said it to me’ They signed and rolled their eyes before turning to Remus. They moved their tail to play with his beard while asking ‘Manager say the same like always?’

‘He got some new threats. You okay or should i kill him with a chainsaw?’

‘its like literally fine girl. he aint getting to me. thaankkkss’ They mimicked the sound of dragging the word out by repeating the motion of the sign.

‘well im getting to him. with these SWEET GUNS’ Remus flexed his arms in the most cursed ways until Remy laughed.

“REMUS! HONEYBUN! HI!” They could see Emile running towards them closely followed by Roman.

Emile and Remy met in a kiss before having a conversation in sign language with such quick signs that even the twins couldn’t follow. It looked like one of the lovers signed something to the twins but Remus’ eyes had turned into a dizzy blur. He squinted and tried to make something out but all he could think about was human flesh.

“Hey. Hey. Stinkey” Roman snapped his fingers in front of her twin’s face “Look at me. You need to feed”

“I need to go to the hospital to look at some wounds. Need to look at some brain surgeries and shit”

“Bro you’re coming with me to earth. I got a meet up with this guy in Tianjin and he’s gonna take me out to the local theater. Perfect time for me to work on my mandarin. And you are gonna come with”

‘Girl me and Em can like help’

“Of course! I’m sure we can help find some lonely soul”

“.....Fine sure. But one of the nights this week I will sneak into one of y’alls beds and fill it with the most horrible of smells and I won’t tell where I found them or how I got them there”

“Sounds  great in your lovely Remus way!”

Emile moved his arm around Remus to push him along while his tail intertwined with Remy’s. Roman was the one to open the door to earth and held it open while the other’s got through. She left soon afterwards to meet up with the guy.

‘I can at least slaughter- Oop, I obviously mean feed off a human all on my own’ Remus said.

“You sure Rembem?” Emile replied “The buddy system always works!”

‘Like especially during sex. Buddy system tots works’ Remy added.

“Oh shush hun. You know I didn’t mean it like that” He blew a raspberry against his partner’s cheek making them smile softly “But Rem if that helps we can do it!”

“I’m still thinking about wounds”

“So you sure about being alone?”

“Yeah. Like a nearly extinct animal. yeah”

Emile and Remy turned to each other, one of them happy wiggled his arms around while the other stretched their wrists and cracked their neck.

“EARTH TIME!” They yelled in unison.

Though they weren’t as much of fans of earth as Roman (few was) they still had a soft spot for it since they had originally met on earth.

‘Well girl I got to choose what we like did last time-’

‘Oh but honey I really enjoyed that mall concert! You can choose again’

‘Shut it slut, it’s your turn’

“Well I know there should be a collgage-”

‘College’

“Colegaga campus nearby, maybe they have someone speaking on psychology- OH but I also know there’s lots of cute adorable fantastic animated mascots around this part of earth. We can have a little windowlicking”

They played Cliff, fire, scissor to decide. The mascot windowshopping won. Remy stretched a bit more before taking their jacket off to which their lover immediately held it for them.

“Please DON’T” Remus interrupted.

“Oh girl I am soooo gonna do it bitch”

They took a deep breathe before letting their wings out. The sharp jagged lines of the wing structure grew out of the bones on their back and their skin stretched out to fill the space between. They strained their body to force the final part of the wings out until sweat dripped down the back of their neck.

“Gross gross gross” Remus stuck his tongue out at them “And not in the good way. Wings is some angel shit dude!”

“I like angels! They’re cute!”

“TheY DON’T EVEN HAVE TAILS!”

“Whatevssss”

Emile happily held up their arms and let their lover hold onto him tightly. Remy checked to see so they weren’t gonna fall before flapping their wings. “See you later Rembem. Good luck!” Emile waved goodbye.

--

Remus wrought his tail around nervously in his hands while looking up at the grey brick buildings around him. "I don't get how Ro can love this. Their homes are boring rectangles and murder is like 100% illegal" He had as much of a habit of talking to himself as his brother.

Earth smelled like gas and cigarettes, two smells he would normally like if it didn’t have the slight human smell as well. A car drove past and he barked at it. When a human walked by and accidentally knocked into his shoulder he barked at them as well.

All of a sudden he stopped and sniffed in the air. “ANGEL FUCKER!” He yelled as he saw one flying past him up above. It had big white wings and a shining halo. Remus picked up stones from the ground and tried to throw it at the angel to which the angel gave him a disappointed look while waging it's finger. He stuck out his tongue and gave it the double bird.

It flied away and Remus was left alone with his ribs aching from how hungry he was. He could feel his fangs rotting away slowly from the lack of feeding and his tail dragged behind him on the side walk. But hey who needs teeth anyway.

Eventually he ended up in a bar. A tiny one with mostly people sitting alone or tiny groups scrunched together around a table. When the bartender wasn’t looking he stole a shot and enjoyed the feeling of his throat burning. Succubi could control if substances affected them or not, he'd once seen a succubi snort an entire line of off a guys cock and just continue like nothing, but he prefered to let it affect him.

"HEY. does anyone wanna fuck me?" He yelled loud enough so the entire bar could hear. Very subtle.

When no one seemed to care he threw the shot glass down into the floor and grinned as pieces of glass burst around his feet. He threw more glasses and a bottle and a few toothpicks just to be extra until the bar owner shouted at him and pressed him up against the wall. Remus laughed right into his face and threw the closest thing he could grasp onto the floor.

Oh how he wished he could have been a demon of the rage circle. He would have made an extraordinary one.

The feeling of a human beating him was one of his favorite. Any kind of pain was already something he loved. When it left bruises or blood he could stare at it for hours. But sadly the humans at the bar threw him out after only a few punches.

He let himself lay in a pile of dirt and mud right outside and lapped the mud up like it was a fine glass of wine. Predictably enough one of the humans from the bar came out soon after and stood down on their knees in the mud next to the demon. Something was uttered in a language Remus didn’t know but it was probably a declaration of sudden love at first sight or an invitation to have sex. That type of short term infatuation tended to happen to humans when they saw a succubi.

It didn’t matter if Remus knew very well he was something akin to a man nor that he felt nothing close to attraction, his body changed into whatever the human wanted anyway. He had to desperately feed anyhow. This was what he wanted. This was what he had to do to survive. And he couldn’t die in such a lame way as starvation. If he was gonna die it was gonna be at his own extremly epic hands.

In his mind Remus started to recite every organ he knew of, even the ones that weren’t human, as he let the human lead him into the back alley. It wasn’t the nicest but in a way he liked the dirt, grime and piles of trash bags in the alleyway rather than a hotel room or some car.

His hands and chest got pressed against the rough concrete wall and he tried to count how many stains he could see before trying to decipher if there was more of a lingering smell of piss or vomit.

The feeling of feeding hit him like a freight train. The lust forced itself down his mouth into his organs and gave his body life far too suddenly. He repeated the organs in his mind quicker and quicker. Starting over from the beginning if he forgot one.

The sudden lack of hunger made him delirious. It was like all his senses stopped working except for the immense feeling of fullness. It was heavy like a rock while Remus had always been the type to prefer sprinting light and quick. It was like a coat that was too tight when Remus had always been a bit of a nudist. It wasn’t over. The human had more lust to give.

All of a frog’s organs were held in it’s abdominal captivity. Cows have four distinct parts of it’s stomach. Octopuses have 3 hearts and blue blood. Humans have about 34 main veins. Horses have 205 bones.

It was over. The warmth of the human’s skin went away and the touch of their hands stopped grabbing at him. Maybe the human said something before leaving but Remus was still repeating organs to himself.

He stuck his fingernails under his other nails until blood started to pool out from under the sharp edges to try and connect to his body again. He grabbed at his cheeks until the red of his eyes showed and he could touch the veins making blood flow in his face. He bit at his knees and plucked at his teeth and tasted his own snot until his body felt like his own again. Until he could feel the earth under him again.

And then he screamed. He had to fill the silence with something. He screamed because he loved how his lungs started to burn and his mouth tried to close but he wouldn’t let it.

At least he had energy now. So much energy he could fill a church. He just knew he was always meant to have this type of energy. He was just stuck in his own starvation most of the time.

To both celebrate his energy and forget the feeding he decided to do some of his favorite things. First of he found a baseball bat and a random human’s car and smashed it to pieces. Secondly he got into a packed elevator and started jumping up and down until the entire elevator shook and an old lady fell over. Thirdly he waited until the night and walked omniously out onto the roads right when a lone car was about to pass by.

This continued until he had used up all of his energy. It was always like this. Sudden feeding followed by a binge of all the activities he had fantasised about for the past weeks. Until he passed out in a ditch somewhere.

“Bro? Stinky bitch? I could feel you bitching yourself over all the way from my date” Roman’s voice brought him back from sleep.

When he squinted up all he saw was a dark sky lined with trees. he didn’t recognise where he was or how he’d gotten there but his stomach panged with hunger once more.

“I fed” Remus wheezed out “I crashed a car too...or maybe like smashed it...or both”

“Whatever you say bro” Roman slung her brother’s arm around her shoulder and forced him up on his feet. Remus felt heavy like a corpse and his head lolled to the side as she walked him back to hell. 

He kept mumbling out half sentences of what he’d done mixed in with pure nonsense before restorting to nibbling on his brother’s hair and pretending to eat it. Roman let out a heavy sigh and just kept walking. 

He was too tired to notice but she lightly patted his hand that was slung close to her chest almost the entire way home and far after he had fallen asleep again she tucked him into their shared bed.

[just-your-average-author]

The Act of Unpredictably

“What’s up, brainiac?” greeted Roman, plopping his lunch tray down next to his best friend. Logan briefly looked up from his somethingloaf and mashed potatoes to nod at him.

“Hello, Roman. How was your Spanish test?” he asked, returning to his mystery meat.

Roman groaned loudly. “It was awful. She surprised us with an oral test. I mean jeez, how am I supposed to pass her class if she keeps this up?” he sulked, slouching in his seat as he complained.

Logan shrugged. “You could try actually listening to the study tapes she gives out. Like the one that’s been sitting on your dresser since last Tuesday,” he commented idly, wiping his fingers with the brown paper napkins in his lap.

Roman furrowed his eyebrows. “How did you know that?”

“Know what?”

“That the Spanish tape is sitting on top of my dresser?” Roman questioned with a frown.

Logan wiped his lips. “Because that’s what happens every time, Roman. For every test, she gives out study guide tapes, and every time she does, you set them on your dresser and do not touch them,” he stated matter of factly.

“Well, I could have listened to it this time,” retorted Roman, slightly annoyed. “Or at least put it somewhere else.”

“But you didn’t.”

Roman huffed. “But I didn’t.”

“Exactly,” Logan replied plainly. “You’re predictable.”

Now that adjective made Roman mad. “Predictable?!” he demanded. “You think I’m predictable?”

“That is what I just said, yes.”

Roman folded his arms indignantly. “I am not predictable! As a matter of fact, I’ll-“

“Prove to you I’m not?” finished Logan, cutting off his sentence and smiling a bit at the furious look on his friend’s face.

“Fine! You want to be like that?” Roman lifted his tray of food with no warning and dumped it in his lap, earning the alarmed attention of a few other students at their table. Logan only watched him with a blank expression. “Huh? How predictable was that?” Roman demanded.

Logan calmly reached down and ruffled in his bag, pulling out a pair of black jeans. He handed them to Roman with a smug grin. “Predictable enough to bring you a clean pair.”

The screech that left Roman was near inaudible, but the point was there. “Wha-“ he shook his head in disbelief. “How?!”

“It’s nothing bad, Roman,” shrugged Logan. “It’s simply due to the fact that we are best friends and have been since kindergarten, and that you haven’t changed very much. It isn’t bad; it’s just how you are.”

Roman sighed heavily, and Logan thought he had maturely decided to drop the subject for a split moment. Then again, mature wasn’t exactly on the top list of words to describe Roman.

“Alright, that’s okay. I can accept that,” Roman replied, scanning his eyes around the cafeteria. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t change it.”

Logan rolled his eyes while letting out a soft sigh. “You’re going to regret whatever you’re about to do, and although you will ignore my warning, I must say it anyway.”

Roman waved him off. “Oh shush.” His eyes continued to scan the lunchroom. “Aha, look. This is a perfect opportunity.” He pointed to a small boy walking with a crumpled lunch bag in his left hand and a purple-lined sketchbook in the other.

Logan raised an eyebrow at him. “Virgil Woodwind? What about him?”

“Virgil? That’s the emo kid’s name?” Roman watched the boy dressed in an oversized black hoodie and ripped jeans sit down at a corner table by himself. “Everyone just calls him Anxiety. You know, cause of his-“

“Anxiety, yes I know,” Logan cut him off, earning an annoyed glare from Roman. “You do realize I was a group partner with him? I went to his house.”

“Well, I haven’t. In fact, I’d go as far as to say I’ve never seen that guy in my life, which makes my next idea so ingenious.” He turned to face Logan with a sly smile. “How’s this for predictable? I’m going to go up to him and pretend we’re best friends.”

Logan certainly didn’t give him the reaction he was wanting, whatever it was, for he only continued staring at him with a deadpan expression. “You’re going to use the shyest and most insecure boy in school as a perverted way of boosting your own self-image and, by association, your ego?”

Roman seemed embarrassed. “Don’t phrase it like that,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “It’s not mean. If anything, it should boost his confidence. Make him feel like someone cares about him!”

“But you don’t care about him,” Logan argued. “You’re just doing this to prove you’re unpredictable.”

“Shhhh,” Roman waved his hand to silence him. “Enough talking. Watch.” With that, Roman leaped up from his seat and proceeded to stroll over to the boy in the corner.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Why do I even bother?”

Virgil was sitting at his table, sketchbook laying open in front of him, with a ham sandwich in one hand and a pencil in the other. He enjoyed lunch very much. Virgil saw it as his social break where he could sit alone, listen to music, and draw. Virgil never was bothered about not having many friends; he had one friend and was perfectly content with it staying that way. He knew he wasn’t popular, and nobody really knew his name. This fact was particularly why it was so puzzling when he saw a stocky boy in a bright red sweatshirt and faded dark-wash jeans walk up to him, smiling brightly.

“Hey, man!” Roman cheered, sliding down to sit on the bench next to Virgil. Virgil jumped slightly at the sudden invasion of his personal space as he stared with an expression of bewilderment.

“Uh, hi,” he managed. “Do you-” he swallowed. “Do you maybe have the wrong person?” he asked hesitantly. He was certain he had never spoken to this man once in his life.

“Virgil, dude, you crack me up!” he laughed, slapping Virgil’s back heartily, making him jump again. Upon hearing his name, Virgil was even more confused. Who was this guy, and why was he talking like they were old friends?

“Heh, yeah,” answered Virgil, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, um, how’s it going?”

Roman dramatically leaned into Virgil’s side. “Gosh, Virge, it’s rough. I just know I failed Señora Michelle’s test today. I mean, I studied for a whole five minutes on the bus ride here, but I guess it just didn’t pay off!” he joked. Virgil chuckled for real at that. The lighthearted nature of the stranger seemed to fill his heart with a bit of confidence.

“Well, next time, maybe just don’t worry about studying so much. It clearly isn’t helping, so don’t waste your time,” the anxious one replied with a smile.

Roman mirrored his expression. Maybe this guy wasn’t such a massive stick in the mud after all. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll learn eventually. So, how was that English presentation? I heard you got nervous.”

Virgil raised his eyebrows a bit at that question. How did that guy know that? No one this guy even knew was in his English class, right? Maybe they really were friends? “Oh, yeah. It was alright, though. Miss Malcolm gave me a B since she knew I tried.”

Roman nodded. “She’s chill.” He glanced up at the clock on the lunchroom eggshell-painted wall. “Shoot. Well, it’s been nice talking, Virgil. I must get going, though! See you soon!” Roman stood up from the spot on the bench, slapped Virgil’s back again, and hurried away.

As Virgil sat in complete and utter confusion, his only friend (so he had once thought) Patton went over to his table. “Hey, sorry, I know you like lunch to be your alone time, but I have to ask. Who was that?”

Virgil merely stared straight ahead, watching as his friend(?) grabbed his and Logan Steward’s bags, and the two boys headed out of the cafeteria. “I-I don’t know. I mean, he acts like we’re great friends. He started talking to me, and he knew my name and knew I had a failed presentation in English,” he trailed off, turning around to look at Patton. “Did you tell him anything?”

Patton looked at him incredulously. “Really? You think I go around and tell random strangers your name and business?”

Virgil shrugged weakly. “I mean no, but I’m just confused.” He paused a moment before his eyes slowly widened. “Dang it, I apparently made a friend that wasn’t you, and I don’t even remember it.”

Patton looked at him skeptically. “Virgil, buddy, you aren’t that forgetful. He’s probably just messing with you.”

Virgil shook his head adamantly. “No, no, he couldn’t have known all that. I think I made a friend and immediately forgot about it. What am I going to do? I can’t be a jerk!”

Patton sighed. “Well, if you’re determined that you want to go along with it-“ Virgil nodded. “Then, just keep it up. Discreetly get to know him, then treat him like a friend.”

Virgil nodded again. “Okay. I can do that.” He hurriedly grabbed his backpack and tossed his lunch in the trash can. “Come on; we gotta get going.”

The next day went by relatively smoothly, nothing out of the ordinary for either of them, and Roman was feeling pretty good.

“See, Logan. I told you. I’m unpredictable, Virgil feels great, and all's right with the world,” he said as he walked side by side with his best friend.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Just wait. It’ll all go wrong eventually.”

“Now, where’s the optimism?” Roman shifted his bag on his shoulder. “Look, you did great about telling me the name, and it was a lucky guess about him butchering the presentation in English.” He smiled smugly. “I mean, it only made sense. A guy as nervous as him probably choked, and Miss Malcum is constantly giving presentations.”

Logan slowly shook his head. “You’re so confident, aren’t you? Have you ever thought about the next time you see him?”

“What? You don’t seriously think he’s going to speak to me again, right? He probably thinks I’m crazy or something and will leave me alone.”

“Well, here’s your chance to find out.” Roman looked to where Logan was pointing to see Virgil walking awkwardly down the hallway, getting increasingly closer to the pair.

“Hey, Roman,” greeted Virgil with a small smile. “How’s it going?”

Roman reeled back ever so slightly in surprise, but Virgil didn’t notice. “Sup, Virge! It’s going. What about you?”

Virgil shrugged. “Not much. How’s theatre?” he asked.

At that point, Roman couldn’t suppress the reaction of genuine surprise. He quickly glanced at Logan, who merely smirked. “I-uh, it’s going good,” he cleared his throat to try and cover the sound of shock. “Yeah. Good. Thanks, man.”

Virgil smiled at him and raised his hand, a request for a high five. “Alright, Ro, well, I’ll catch ya around.” He walked past, leaving a very bewildered Roman in his wake.

Roman spun around to his friend the second Virgil was out of earshot. “Did you tell him I was doing theatre?!”

Logan gave him a highly unimpressed look. “Of course not. Besides, you’re constantly around me. When would I have had time to speak with him?”

Roman hid his face in his hands. “This can’t be happening. Do you think he knows?” he asked, peeking through his fingers.

“Possibly. The real question is, why did you keep it up? Why didn’t you just ignore him or tell him the truth?”

Roman sighed in exasperation. “Because, Logan, you can’t just stop treating someone friendly without warning. Then they’ll ask if you’re mad at them, and it’s a whole thing.” Roman reached his locker and opened it. “I mean, the kid already has anxiety. I don’t want to add to it.” He huffed in frustration as the pencil case he was just holding fell to the floor.

Logan bent over and picked it up. “Then why don’t you just tell him the truth? I’m sure he’d understand,” Logan inquired, handing the item to Roman.

“I’m not a complete jerk, Logan.” He crossed his arms again, once putting all his items safely in his bag. “Also, why’d he call me ‘Ro’? Like, where’d he get the idea to give me a nickname?”

“You started it by calling him ‘Virge’.”

Roman thought about it for a moment. “Oh, I suppose I did, didn’t I?”

Logan nodded. “Mhm. Now, try not to think about it anymore.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“I often am.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Virgil was so proud of himself. Not only did he have a second friend, but he completely covered up the fact that he didn’t remember the guy. He asked Patton to ask one of Roman’s cousins about his hobbies and discovered he was in theatre. He even thought up of a nickname to rival Roman’s! It was going perfectly. Now he just couldn’t screw it up.

The next day, Virgil decided to make a risky move. He felt terrible about the whole not-remembering-Roman thing and made the excruciatingly difficult decision to sacrifice his sacred lunch hour to sit with his new (well, old) friend. So he gathered up his little lunch bag and carried himself to Roman’s table.

The look on his face was priceless, and Virgil felt good knowing he made him happy.

“Hey, Ro! Do you mind if I sit here?”

Roman stared at him for a second, then blinked. “Oh! Yes! Why, of course.” He seemed a bit scatterbrained for whatever reason as he nearly bumped into the glasses-wearing boy he was sitting next to. “Oh, this is Logan. You may, um, know him.”

The boy in question was hiding a laugh for some reason, and Virgil figured it was something Roman said before he arrived. “Hi, Logan.”

Logan stuck out his hand, still trying to control a shaky smile. “Salutations, Virgil. I’ve heard so much about you,” he replied, nearly barking out a laugh while doing so. Man, Roman must have said something hilarious. Nevertheless, Virgil shook his hand and smiled.

Now, Virgil had unfortunately done something he rarely did, and that spoke without thinking. “Likewise.”

Truthfully, Roman had said nothing of the sort about Logan, but it seemed like the proper response.

“Oh?” Logan smirked at Roman. “What all has he said about me?”

Oh no. Oh no, now it’s time to panic. Quick! What can he think of? He scanned the table for any evidence. From just first impressions, it looked like this Logan guy loved routine, based on his planner and calendar next to him.

“He says you’re, um, you’re really, uh-“ Quick, Virgil! Think! “Predictable. Yeah, he said you’re really predictable,” he finished lamely.

He didn’t know why it was so funny, but Logan burst out into the heartiest, most resounding belly laughter Virgil had ever heard. Virgil grinned and chuckled along, pleased that it had such a good reaction. Roman had turned a deep pink color and started giggling a little as well, but it seemed more like nervous laughter than anything.

“That is certainly correct, Virgil. I’m glad he isn’t spreading untrue rumors about me.” Then Logan looked at Roman with a peculiar look that almost seemed like an inside joke of sorts. “Well, I’ll head out. You two, I’m sure, have some catching up to do,” he said, shooting a wicked smirk Roman’s way. Roman seemed like he was about to say something else, but Logan left promptly, leaving him no room to speak.

“Ah well, anyways,” started Roman. “It’s nice to see you. How’s your family?”

Virgil tilted his head. “Haven’t I told you?” This time Virgil was genuinely asking. Apparently, even though they were friends, this topic never came up. He almost felt bad, though, because Roman blushed.

“Oh! No, I don’t think so. What about it?”

“It’s just my dad and me. I don’t have much of a family.”

Immediately he saw regret in Roman’s eyes. “Oh jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. That was insensitive.”

Virgil waved him off. “Nah, I probably just never told you. Yeah, my mom died when I was a baby, and since I was the first, I never got to have any siblings. Plus, my dad’s an abusive jerk anyway, so I’m glad there aren’t more kids under his care.”

Roman’s expression softened. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”

“So, uh, your family is, well?”

Roman nodded, seeming to forget that Virgil didn’t know him or his family. “Yeah, Mom’s good. The twins are crazy as ever, and Dad’s been on a business trip for the last few days, so it’s been crazy at home.”

Virgil breathed out in relief that he wasn’t messing up. “Good. Glad things are going well.”

Roman smiled. “Thanks. Hey, and I hope things get better on your end,” he added.

Virgil smiled back. “Thank you.”

Before Roman knew it, it was Friday. It had been a crazy week; Virgil had sat with them Wednesday and Thursday, and Roman had gotten to know him better. Virgil was an artist, hence the sketchbook, and a really good one at that. It took a bit of trust, but he finally allowed Roman to see some of his drawings. He also learned that Virgil was a movie guru, and they both shared a passion for Disney. Roman had shared about his love of acting and, of course, his obsession with cooking. Virgil admitted that he couldn’t even make toast, and they shared a good laugh at that.

The two found themselves in line for lunch, Roman in front, and they were chatting aimlessly about likes and dislikes. It was simply to get to know Virgil more to keep the act going. Definitely. Only that reason.

Roman got up to the front to pay when he realized in horror that his pocket was empty. He frantically felt around his backpack’s front pocket, but alas, his wallet wasn’t in there. What was he going to do?

“Hey, don’t worry, I got it.”

Roman turned around to see Virgil reach over and pay for both of their lunches. “What? Dude, no, you don’t have to do that.”

Virgil waved him off. “Nah, I got it.”

Then as Virgil walked past him to the table, Roman said something.

Do you know those moments when you would give anything to go back in time to slap your past self in the face? Yeah, that was this time.

“What?” questioned Virgil.

“Would you like to sleep over at my house tonight?” Roman blurted out. It was over. He had said it, and he was screwed. He barely knew this guy! Why on earth would any sane person invite someone they barely knew over? But more importantly, what sane person would say yes to sleeping over at a stranger’s house?

Apparently Virgil.

And so Virgil came over at six o’clock that night, and Roman was terrified. Logan had called prior to this, insisting on why he felt the need to invite Virgil over.

“The guy paid for my lunch, dude. I had to.”

But regardless of how or why, Virgil was over at his house, and Roman was a train wreck.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

Virgil arrived right on time and was sweating bullets. Why had he said yes? Oh right, because this was a great old friend that Virgil didn’t remember who was extending hospitality. Virgil would be a jerk to decline.

“So, do you like video games?” Roman asked awkwardly, leading the both of them up to his room.

“I don’t know; I’ve never played them,” answered Virgil casually as if that made it okay.

Roman stared at him in shock. “You’ve never played video games? Mario? Wii? Apex Legends? Minecraft? Anything?” Virgil shook his head to each of them. “Well, I guess we’re teaching you video games then.”

For the rest of the evening, Roman taught Virgil every game in his arsenal, and they laughed and yelled and had a blast. They busted out the Nintendo Switch, PS3, PS4, and WiiU and played until their hands cramped up. It was arguably the most fun Roman could remember having in a while. After games, they ate pizza and watched movies until past four in the morning, when they finally passed out.

Saturday morning (well, afternoon) was filled with cartoons, soccer in Roman’s backyard, and jamming out in the basement with old instruments. Yes, by the time Virgil left, Roman was exhausted, but in the best way. Throughout their adventures and antics, they talked. He learned more about Virgil than any other school friend, and he shared quite a bit about himself as well.

That Monday, things felt so natural. They clicked just as well, and Roman and Logan had the pleasure of meeting Patton, who was the sweetest guy they’d ever met. The four of them ended up all eating together at lunch hour, laughing and talking about nonsense, being glad to be in each other’s company.

And things stayed that way the entire year. And the following year- until the second to last day of senior year. The four of them had one of their infamous sleepovers at Roman’s, and Logan and Patton were conked out on the couch while Roman and Virgil were awake, simply looking up at the ceiling.

Roman thought back to all that had gone on in the last two years and how much he’d grown in his friendship with Virgil. He couldn't help but laugh when he remembered what had started the friendship.

Virgil heard him laughing and turned his head to look at Roman. “What’s so funny?” he smirked.

Roman let out a deep sigh, shaking his head slightly as he did. “Dude, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Roman let out another laugh before turning to look at Virgil. “You really wanna know?” Virgil nodded earnestly. “Remember when I came up to you that one day during sophomore year? In the lunchroom? When you were sitting by yourself?” Virgil nodded again. “Yeah, well,” Roman paused. “I was only pretending that I had known you.” He shook his head fondly before nodding to where Logan was passed out on the floor next to the couch. “Nerd over there told me I was too predictable, so I tried to do something he wouldn’t expect. That’s when I went to talk to you, and you went along with it. And I kept it up cause you were cool, but yeah.” Roman swallowed hard. “That’s what led to, well, all this,” he punctuated, gesturing to the room around them. After a few minutes of quiet, while trying and failing to read Virgil’s expression in the dark, he spoke again. “You mad at me?”

Virgil sighed deeply. “No, I’m not. Truthfully, sometime last year, I determined it was some sort of dare.”

“So,” Roman began hesitantly. “Why did you go along with it for so long?”

Virgil shrugged. “Well, at first, I was worried that we really were old friends, and I just forgot who you were.”

Roman laughed. “But I’m unforgettable!” he declared dramatically, holding his palm to his chest.

Virgil chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah. I know that now.” The two stayed quiet for a minute before Roman spoke again.

“I’m so glad the way things turned out.”

Virgil hummed in agreement. “Me too, Roman. Me too.”

[hannahdra-ws]

a fallen star

When Patton and Roman, alternatively known as The Defender and The Prince, get sent on a routine investigation mission, they aren't expecting it to have such a huge impact on their lives.

Or for it to be so horrifying.

pre romantic lamp/calm

word count: 2,909 

Part of my superpowers au

--------

Sometimes, Patton really disliked being a superhero.

Don't get him wrong, he loves helping people. Everytime he and Roman save an innocent person, Patton sleeps better at night with the knowledge that that person's life was made better by him. It's something he wouldn't give up for the world.

But sometimes, their missions are a little boring. They get sent on missions from their higher-ups since Patton and Roman technically work for the Government (even though, up until recently, Roman was thought legally dead). When they're not busy fighting the so called 'Dark Sides', a group of no-gooders that seem to make it their personal duty to rob banks and threaten public safety (and, admittedly, look cool while doing it), Patton and Roman are sent off to investigate suspicious areas that the police are apparently "not equipped to handle".

So that's why, at 9 o'clock in the morning when Patton and Roman could and should be very well asleep, they're instead standing in the middle of nowhere outside of a dilapidated barn that looks like it had seen better days.

He's tired, and he could very well be at home watching cartoons with Roman on the couch, but no.  

read on ao3

Roman, beside him, blew a puff of hair out of his face with a bored expression. "Why the hell would they send us out to investigate a barn ? Are some cows breaking laws or something?"

Patton grinned to himself, "Well, then cow 'nt me in!"

Roman rolled his eyes, "Patton, it's too early for puns. Please."

Patton huffed a giggle, in the same boat with his annoyance but also finding Roman's attitude hopelessly endearing. "The file said that they detected strong signs of magic coming from somewhere in this barn. So I guess we have to investigate it."

Roman tipped his head back and groaned, long and annoyed, and Patton's face broke out into a fond smile and he slid his hand into Roman's, ignoring the way his heart stuttered like a drum. "Don't worry, sweetheart, we'll be in and out before you know it!"

Roman smiled at him, and Patton felt his heart go all gooey and soft, like marshmallows over an open fire.

Gosh, this crush thing is getting out of control.

Patton let go of Roman's hand (even though he really didn't want to) and walked up to the barn door, which was padlocked with a chain. Patton hummed, before focusing and summoning his shield and slamming down on the padlock. It broke, with a loud bang that had Roman jumping behind him. The padlock fell to the ground.

"Okay, let's go." Patton stepped back until he was side by side with Roman again. Patton held his shield up defensively, and Roman's fingertips sparked with his red magic, already weaving between his fingers. With a deep breath, they both stepped inside.

Patton didn't know what he was expecting. It was just a barn. Stacks of hay and wooden boxes were strewn around on the dirt floor. An old, broken down tractor was sitting in one of the corners. It looked like no one had been here in years.

"It's just… a barn." Patton whispered, as if he was afraid of breaking the still air around him. Roman looked around in confusion. "Where could magic energy have come from in here?"

"I'm not sure, so we better look around. Looks like we're gonna have a field day!" Patton cracked a grin at Roman's annoyed groan and they split up to look for clues. Hah, clues. Like Blue's Clues. Focus!

They must have spent about 20 minutes there before they found anything substantial. It was really just-- a barn. The hay kept making him sneeze and the air was filled with dust, so when Roman called out to him, Patton was eager to see what he had found so they could get the heck out of here.

He would soon realize he would rather have the hay making him sneeze than what they were about to find.

"Hey, Patty-cakes, I think I found something!" Roman called to him from across the barn. His heart swelled at the nickname, his face heating as he went over to where Roman was standing.

Roman had lifted a bale of hay with his magic, suspending it high in the air with a soft red glow coming from it. Underneath the bale of hay was a metal trap door that was also locked with a padlock, looking very out of place surrounded by the dirt.

Roman was beaming, the red dyed strands of his black hair falling into his eyes and covering some of the scars on his face from view, looking positively ecstatic that he had found something, and Patton abruptly felt faint.

"Good job, sweetie!" Patton managed to get out, and somehow Roman's eyes got brighter, and Patton had to look away for fear that he'd forget what they were here for and just get lost in Roman's eyes.

It wasn't his fault that Roman was so pretty. Cream colored skin, slightly hooded green eyes, black hair with the ends dyed red and scars covering him from head to toe. He was beautiful. Effervescent.

But Patton couldn't have him.

He focused on the task at hand, shaking off the thoughts. With a swing, Patton brought his shield down and broke the padlock way easier than he expected. Moving the padlock out of the way, he lifted the trapdoor (good gosh, it was heavy) and swung it open with a loud bang . It revealed a set of stairs leading to another locked door down at the end, sterile and white.

Patton turned and looked at Roman, expecting to see that same grin, but instead found Roman staring down at the stairs with wide eyes, suddenly very pale. His eyes had slightly fogged over and he went tense as a brick. The hay he had been holding had dropped to the ground.

Patton frowned, "Ro?"

At the sound of his voice, Roman jolted, focusing immediately on Patton's face. The tension from his shoulders didn't disappear, but he looked a little more focused. "Sorry, Pat, I-- nevermind. I'm fine."

His heart pricked with worry, "Are you sure, sweetheart?" Roman smiled; a fake, tense smile that Patton knew all too well. He didn't want to talk about it. Patton was overcome with the urge to hold him close and soothe his worries, but the likely chance is that Roman didn't want to be touched right now.

Patton let out a breath of worry and nodded, promising himself to make Roman some soup when they got home. Soup is good for the soul.

Roman suddenly moved, descending the stairs, and Patton hurried to catch up with him, moving his worry for Roman to the back of his mind. The walls were so white and bright, like a hospital room; why would this be below a barn?

Patton suddenly got a very bad feeling.

They reached the door. It was also made of metal, seemingly having more security than the trapdoor; there was a heavy latch on the outside and a keypad on the side of the door. Patton pouted.

"Did you find a code anywhere?"

"No," Roman replied, his voice a little shaky, "But I can break it down."

Patton creased his brow, "Roman, if you're too overwhelmed, you can go back up--"

"Patton." Roman interrupted him, "I'm fine." And then, without warning, he moved his hands, moving his magic with him, and as the magic hit the door the door flew open and hit the ground on the other side hard.

Well, okay, guess we're going straight in.

The first thing Patton noticed was the gust of cold air that blew from inside, the temperature dropping about 30 degrees.

The second thing he noticed was the smell.

The stench of rotting corpses hit him (and apparently Roman) in the face like a bat. Patton gagged, holding his hand over his mouth and his nose, heart dropping in horror. Roman somehow got even more pale, and his hands began to shake.

When Patton didn't heave, he slowly removed his hand, taking a steadying breath through his mouth. He really doesn't want to go in there. But what if someone is in trouble in there?

Fuck, he really doesn't want to go in there.

He looked over at Roman, only to see Roman looking at him, pale as paper and shaking and definitely fighting off bad memories but still looking determined. "You ready?"

Patton shook his head. "No," he admitted, "let's go."

As they moved into the darkened room, Roman's magic illuminating the space, Patton's gut kept turning. There were broken machines and smashed tables and shattered screens all over the room, and there were icicles formed on the smashed medical equipment. But that's not what horrified him.

There were bodies everywhere. People of both sexes in lab coats and suits, some half frozen and some with obvious frostbite. He saw a girl around his age, staring into his eyes with a blank, dead stare.

Patton shivered and held onto his shield tighter. "God," He whispered, his breath coming out in little wisps of air from the cold, "what happened here?"

"Something ugly," Roman responded in an equally quiet voice. As they moved further into the-- Patton thought it was a lab, they found more rooms, and more bodies. They looked like surgery rooms, a large table with straps in the middle of all of them, most of them broken.

At the end of the hall, there was a larger door than the rest, cracked slightly ajar. It was colder down here; Patton tried to stop his teeth from chattering. They looked at eachother; Roman's green meeting Patton's brown, and an understanding passed between them.

Patton went in first, shield raised, with Roman directly behind him, lighting up the area so they could see.

It was just like the other rooms they saw, except a lot, lot colder. So cold that there was frost spreading on the walls, and the floor felt a little slippery. Patton traced his eyes over the frost on the walls, watching as it got bigger and more clumped, seeming to have spread from the far right corner, hidden by one of the tables.

Patton made a gesture to the table. Roman nodded, and used his magic to fling the table out of the way.

Patton's heart sank like a stone in his stomach.

There was something in the corner-- it looked like a man, hunched up and making some kind of… chittering noise, rocking back and forth like it was trying to calm itself. It looked like a normal human person; at least until Patton saw its eyes.

Bright, electric blue eyes, widened with fear, contrasting strongly with the seemingly dark brown of its skin. Inhumanely blue eyes.

Patton stared.

Roman stared.

The thing stared back.

Roman took a step forward and the thing screeched, loud and inhuman like it had been shot, scrambling back against the corner it was hidden in and tiny specks of frost starting to form on its skin. The temperature seemed to drop even further if that was even possible. Roman jumped and his magic reacted, flying out toward the creature-- man? woman? human? -- like a punch.

Patton moved on instinct; he ran in front of the creature, deflecting the red energy with his shield. It bounced off and struck the wall next to them. Standing his ground, Roman stared at him with wide, gaping eyes.

"Wait!" Patton spoke, the word sounding booming in the silence. He looked behind him at the creature; it was shaking and covering its head with its arms, as if it was expecting a blow. Patton's heart cracked a bit.

Oh, shoot.

Slowly, Patton turned around and kneeled down. It made eye contact with him, peeking out through its fingers. He heard footsteps behind him and then a hand on his shoulder; Roman was there if something went wrong.

"Hey there," Patton spoke in a soft, calm voice. The creature just stared at him with pure, unfiltered fear. "Are you okay? You looked pretty spooked there."

"Patton," Roman whispered, soft but urgent. Patton shushed him.

"Don't mind my friend here, he's a silly goose. I'm Patton, he/him! What's your name?"

The creature just-- kept staring at him, with those big blue eyes that Patton distantly thought were-- kind of beautiful.

They sat in silence for a good 2 minutes, Patton waiting patiently for a response and Roman getting even more tense and ready to run. The creature must have realized that Patton wasn't going to do anything, because it finally spoke.

It opened its mouth and-- a series of noises came out, ones that Patton couldn't even begin to replicate. When neither Patton nor Roman responded, the creature furrowed his brow before speaking again.

"...Logan." It said in English. Its voice was low and scratchy and raw, like it had been screaming for a long time. "..he/him."

Logan. Patton smiled a calm, placating smile. "Hi there, Logan. It's very nice to meet you. Roman?"

He tilted his head to look at Roman, who stood there stiff and tense, staring at Logan with suspicion and fear. Eventually, in a terse tone, he said, "Roman. He/him."

Patton smiled and clapped his hands, the sound making them both jump. He smiled sheepishly and looked at Logan again. "We can get you out of here."

Logan looked at him with suspicion, narrowing his gorgeous eyes wow holy heck. Roman tightened his grip on his shoulder, "Patton, can I talk to you for a minute?" He said, voice strained.

Patton looked back at him, and then at Logan. "I'll be right back." He told Logan, seeing the small nod he got in response.

Roman took his hand and dragged him over to more of the middle of the room and hissed in a low voice, "What are you doing?!"

"I'm trying to help him! He's obviously terrified, Ro!" He did not say that Logan already reminded him a little bit of Roman.

"Yeah, and he's surrounded by dead bodies ! Who else could have done that if not him?!" Roman's voice was quiet but very obviously panicked.

"Roman," He started, softly, but firm, "We're not leaving him here. We can't. You of all people should know that." Patton felt a little guilty using that against Roman, but they needed to get Logan out of here and tend to any wounds he might have and then they could ask questions.

Roman's eyes widened, then he shuddered, looking off to the side. He deliberated for a bit, tensing his jaw (Patton resisted the urge to kiss his cheek to make him relax), before letting out a slow, tense breath.

"Fine. But if he tries anything , I won't be so nice."

Patton heaved a sigh of relief, wanting to squeeze Roman's hand in thanks, but deciding against it. He walked back over to where Logan was still sitting, curled up and tense like an animal ready to attack.

"Hey, let's get you out of here. I bet it's real scary in here, huh? I promise you'll be safer outside,"

Talk in a calm, safe voice. Don't move too suddenly. Keep your hands visible at all times.

Logan looked like he was deliberating a bit, his eyes flitting all around as if looking for an exit. He finally nodded. Patton held a hand out for him to help himself up but Logan flinched violently, so Patton quickly took his hand back. "Sorry! I won't try to touch you anymore, okay?"

Logan's eyes kept flitting between Roman's and Patton's, searching for any sign of aggression or deceit. Apparently, he found none, (at least none in Patton's eyes), because he finally made to stand up. With a small struggle, he made it onto his knees and then onto his feet and holy smokes was he tall.

He had to be 6'7 at the very least, good golly . Patton didn't realize it before, but his clothes were all ripped and torn and dirtied so badly Patton couldn't tell what it originally was.

What happened to him?

"You can follow us, okay?" Patton said, and the only response he got was Logan tensing further with his arms around himself. He decided that he must have heard him, so he and Roman started to make their way out of the lab.

Passing the bodies, Patton made a mental note to contact the authorities and find out who they were so that Patton could pay his respects to their families.

"Patton," Roman whispered softly into Patton's ear, "I don't like this."

"I know, sweetheart, but it's going to be okay." Patton said. His statement came out much more confidently than he was actually feeling.

They finally made it to sunlight again; Patton had to blink a few times for his sight to be adjusted to the sudden brightness.

He turned to get a look at Logan, who was currently squinting against the harsh sun (which Patton couldn't help but smile at). Extremely tall, dark brown skin, a faded haircut and electric blue eyes. Definitely not human.

But when Logan turned to look at him, his eyes wide and vulnerable and so very scared, and tried to match Patton's smile despite the fact that he was so obviously terrified of them,

Patton got the strangest feeling he just made one of the best decisions in his life.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Would it be possible to get angsty argument that ends with heated snuggles? The degree of the heat is up to you, oh great bouncy-sama. :3

1) Bouncey-sama hit me right in the tiddy like a ton of bricks.

2) It is very possible.

tw: arguing, almost breakup, angst with a happy ending

---

Geralt glared down at the tabloid headline and the tabloid headline glared right back, reminding him in unforgiving black-and-white Times New Roman about the horrible mistake he’d made the night before. 

“Pop Sensation Dandelion Seen Crying on Subway: Mystery Romance Gone Awry?”

Geralt had asked the young starlet not to share his identity with the press. Sure, they’d find out eventually on their own, but the stoic librarian would rather not have to deal with the paparazzi any sooner than necessary. Jaskier, the sensitive soul that he was, had misunderstood Geralt’s intentions entirely.

“Do I embarrass you?” he’d asked, tears already leaking from those gorgeous blue eyes. “Is it because I make music for people to dance and party to? Is it because the public sees me as a pretty face with not much going on between my ears? Is it... Do you not think I’m smart?”

Geralt hadn’t known how to reply. He wasn’t very good with words to start with and now he had to comfort his boyfriend, his world-famous boyfriend, who was sobbing about something Geralt hadn’t even intended to imply.

So he’d stayed silent, like an idiot, rubbing soothing circles between the younger man’s shoulder blades while he sobbed and pounded at the librarian’s chest with weak fists. “No. You’re plenty clever.”

“Clever?” the musician scoffed. “Clever isn’t smart, Geralt” -he had paused then, as if waiting for an answer. When none came, he’d yanked himself free of Geralt’s arms and wiped his eyes and nose on his shirtsleeve- “Fine. I see how it is. If you don’t want me like this, party boy image and all, then don’t bother calling me tomorrow.”

Geralt had let him leave. Again, like an idiot.

The thing was, Geralt wasn’t sure how to answer in truth. Jaskier did do a lot of stupid stunts... but they were usually per the request of his management team. The nights out were spent dancing for a few minutes with other celebrities and then hiding away in a corner booth, his head tucked against Geralt’s neck or resting against his shoulder. 

His darling, lovely, witty Jaskier, who had snuck into the library in a hoodie and cheer shorts on his day off from touring to... read Wordsworth in the window-seat...

Fuck. 

Geralt pulled out his phone and prayed to every God that would listen for Jaskier to pick up his call.

---

“Idiot,” Jaskier huffed, pushing his feet beneath the meat of Geralt’s ass. The librarian grunted and handed his boyfriend the pizza box. “I can’t believe you did all of this just to apologize for a stupid fight you didn’t even mean to start.”

“You don’t deserve to feel self-conscious about my feelings for you. Or about my opinion of you. I will always love you,” Geralt summoned the power from somewhere deep within to continue. To keep producing speech. “You are allowed to be clever and witty and sweet. You are allowed to be a party boy when your team demands and a bookworm when you need the time to recuperate. I will always be here for you, no matter what.”

“Oh.” 

“Hmm.”

Jaskier took a slow bite of pizza and then smiled, wide and happy. “I love you, too. So... how about quitting that library job and coming on tour with me?”

Geralt tossed the pizza box aside and captured Jaskier’s mouth with his. Garlic butter and all.

[kieraelieson]

Logic Still Needs Comfort

A fic for @im-a-creepy-cookie as a part of @sanderssidesgiftxchange! I did your touch-starved Logan prompt!

Warnings: detailed sensory issues, joking mention of death

Logan disliked being touched.

It had been known for years. They all knew it. Surprise hugs or claps on the shoulder startled him unpleasantly and even made him upset sometimes. Touching his hand to get his attention made him jump and frown. He himself had compared the experience to having a bug or an animal suddenly landing on him.

And so Roman and Patton learned not to touch him aside from the occasional celebratory high-five. Which was fine. Everyone was fine, and happy.

And then came Virgil. And accepting anxiety as a valuable part of Thomas. Which changed things.

••^*^••

“Hey, um… L?”

Logan turned to see Virgil fidgeting but staring at him with an intent look. “Yes?”

“So, um, well you know I told you how Remus is practically a leech, and there wasn’t any getting away from it, but I’m not saying Patton isn’t great! But just Roman is… Roman, and just, but Patton really is great but I kinda don’t want to get turned into a teddy bear, and you’re all calm, and I’m, well, I’m sort of missing the calm and….” Virgil looked down and huffed out an annoyed sigh. “Oh, this is gonna come out awkward any way I say it. Can I sit next to you? I just wanna play on my phone and maybe stick my legs over your lap or something.”

Logan cocked his head to the side just slightly. “You wish to stick your legs over my lap while sitting next to me? That seems like it would involve terrible posture.”

Virgil gave a little breath of a laugh. “Any way I sit involves bad posture.”

“Actually, occasionally when you sit you replicate what is sometimes called the ‘primal squat’ which is reported to be excellent for your posture.”

Virgil gave him a lopsided grin. “Ok, you got me there. Maybe. But anyway, would you mind? It’s totally fine if you don’t want to, I’ll head back to my room.”

Logan considered it carefully. It was true that he did not enjoy touch. But this seemed as if it would be relatively calm, and would not require much, if any, reciprocation on his part. “I do not ‘mind’,” he said, utilizing Virgil’s turn of phrase.

He was currently standing, reading a book he had taken from the bookshelf he was standing in front of, and had not yet decided whether to stay with this book or choose another. He quickly pulled out the other two he’d been considering, and tucked all three books under his arm before seating himself on a couch.

It was a pleasant place, the memory library. Calm and quiet, with almost a heaviness to the air that Logan found enjoyable in a way. It was also rather dim, however, at least in this area, where the memories were older, and Logan found it necessary to summon a side table with a lamp on it so that he would have suitable light for reading.

He’d momentarily forgotten about Virgil until the couch cushion dipped beside him. Virgil pulled off his shoes and glanced at Logan.

“You really don’t mind? I mean, I know it’s kind of invasive to your space. You don’t have to say yes.”

Logan nodded. “I am not opposed.”

Virgil very tentatively put one foot up on Logan’s lap, leaning back against the arm of the couch. Logan felt again that sudden unpleasant ‘something touching me’ feeling, but it passed surprisingly quickly, and by the time Virgil had fully settled himself, laying on his back with his knees up over Logan’s lap and his feet on the other side of Logan, the feeling was gone entirely.

Logan propped his book against Virgil’s knees and began to read.

He was a little surprised, when Patton called for dinner, to find that they had been there for close to two hours, and that the unpleasant feeling had never returned. Instead he was feeling warm, and comfortable, more than he had in quite a while. He attributed this to the couch. And perhaps the warmth was a slight raising of Thomas’s core temperature, due to stress at having Anxiety so close to the old memories. Perhaps they ought to have sat down somewhere a little further away.

Regardless, he was about to comment, as they got up, at how pleasant the experience had been. Except that as soon as they both stood up, he found he was suddenly and extremely unpleasantly cold. This alarmed him, and he left without discussing anything with Virgil, concerned that the warmth and sudden cold was a sign of sickness, perhaps only his own but perhaps a symptom that Thomas was sick as well.

He went straight to the miniature control center he’d set up in one corner of his room, pulling up all of Thomas’s vital signs as well as a recording of where he’d gone that day. But everything was normal.

The cold seemed to be fading somewhat, though it was leaving a concerning ache behind. And it seemed to be concentrated on his thighs and forearms, of all places.

Logan looked through his list of sicknesses, sensible and nonsensical, that he had somehow contracted over his life, and found nothing similar. Still, this must be a sickness of some kind. Most likely a nonsensical one, as he hadn’t noted similar symptoms before. Perhaps he would discover some absurd idiom Thomas had latched onto that was causing him to experience physical repercussions. Something similar to ‘brain freeze’ perhaps.

A soft knock at his door caught Logan’s attention.

“Yes?”

“Logan?” Patton’s voice asked. “Are you alright? Virgil told me what happened. He didn’t realize how much you don’t like being touched, and I think he’d like to apologize, but he’s really worried that you’re upset with him.”

“What—“ Logan had left rather abruptly, and without expressing to Virgil that he’d enjoyed their encounter. It was very possible, with Virgil’s anxiety, that he had misinterpreted Logan’s abrupt departure. “Ah. I see.” He waved a hand to open his door. “I am not in the least upset at Virgil. There seems to be a misunderstanding.”

“Oh, good.” Patton said, concern all over his face. “But you should probably tell Virgil that, and there’s some dinner saved for you yet.”

Logan nodded, the ache in his forearms and thighs rather distracting. “Thank you, Patton.” And then it hit him. If it really were an odd turn of phrase Thomas had attached to, Patton would certainly know it. “Have you happened to notice any interesting phrases recently?”

Patton frowned in confusion, indicating that Logan had changed the subject too rapidly for Patton to keep up. But then he grinned a little. “So today, I saw a baguette in a cage at the zoo!”

And then it was Logan’s turn to be confused for a moment, before he realized. “Ah, I didn’t mean a joke-“

“It was bread in captivity!” Patton smiled brightly, nearly laughing at his own joke.

“Yes, thank you, Patton,” Logan said, allowing the tiniest bit of an amused smile to show.

Even that slight encouragement made Patton beam. “Well, I told Roman that I would watch Disney with him tonight, so I’ll have to go, but don’t forget to talk with Virgil before you eat, and don’t forget to eat either!”

“I won’t forget,” Logan promised, a softer smile showing.

But as soon as Patton left he clapped a hand over his mouth. Why was he so… easily swayed? He prided himself on keeping a straight face, and yet now he’d smiled at Patton’s pun! What was wrong with him?

And now, with Patton leaving the room, it was as if the heat had been sapped. He was again very uncomfortable, aching and cold and he didn’t understand why. Was he perhaps experiencing some strange and extreme form of separation anxiety? It had set in both times as another side had left, though in different ways. But he didn’t feel anxious.

It was all incredibly strange.

But it seemed that Virgil was under a rather upsetting misconception. It could wait. He would speak with Virgil first and then look into this strange sickness further.

Logan crossed the hallway to knock on Virgil’s door.

The door opened almost immediately, Virgil looking as though he’d been waiting on someone to knock, and that Logan had not been the one he’d been expecting, based on the wide eyes and generally startled appearance.

“L, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have asked if I’d known, I wouldn’t have wanted to make you uncomfortable—“

“Virgil, I assure you, I was perfectly comfortable. I would have expressed discomfort if I needed to.”

Virgil blinked, and the deep black of his eyeshadow faded somewhat. “You aren’t mad?”

“Not at all. I enjoyed the calm company you provided. I left abruptly upon discovering symptoms that indicate possible sickness.”

“Oh.” Virgil was silent a moment, gaze flickering away from Logan as he processed. “Wait, sick? Who’s sick?”

“I may be, though it is odd, and perhaps not a sickness at all.”

“Well, what is it? What’s going on? Are you ok? Is it contagious?”

“I do not know. I am experiencing a strange cold, and aching.”

Virgil’s eyebrows creased in concern. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Logan nodded seriously. “That is why I left, trying to discover what it could be.”

Virgil nodded in an encouraging, ‘go on’ kind of way.

“I haven’t found anything yet, but Patton informed me of the misunderstanding between us and reminded me to eat dinner. I intend to do more research afterwards.”

Virgil nodded. “I could rubber duck for you, if you want. Maybe I could help a bit.”

Logan stared, trying to remember what the phrase was meant to convey before revealing his confusion. He was certain he had it on a flash card somewhere, but he’d left them in his room.

Virgil rather obviously quashed an amused smile. “You tell me what happened, and then we see if we can figure it out together. Repeating the details can help you connect them better sometimes.”

“Ah. Yes. That does seem useful. Thank you.”

Virgil gave him a lopsided grin, pulling up his hood and closing his door behind himself. “So when did you first notice the symptoms?”

Logan explained his symptoms and research to Virgil as they went downstairs and sat down at the table.

“And I still have very little of an idea of why,” Logan admitted. “I believe it possible that it’s another of those idioms that we sometimes experience physically.”

Virgil nodded very slowly. “I actually… might have an idea. I have an experiment I’d like to try, but if I explain it fully it’ll bias you and it probably won’t work.”

“Go ahead,” Logan said, opening the Tupperware container of spaghetti. “What is your experiment?”

Virgil reached one hand across the table. “While you’re eating, give me one hand.”

Logan considered, reaching out to hold Virgil’s hand. “Does this have something to do with checking pulse? You would be able to do that more easily with my wrist than my hand.”

Virgil shook his head. “Just eat, and when you’re done we’ll see how it goes.”

Logan frowned slightly. “Do you believe this has something to do with how recently I’ve eaten? Or that it could be influenced by the focus needed to do something with only one hand?”

Virgil chuckled. “I’ll explain once you’ve eaten.”

Logan was far too curious to wait patiently, and ate quickly, pushing away a not-quite empty container. “What is it?”

“Are you feeling warm again?”

Logan took a moment to assess, and realized that yes. He was feeling warmer. The ache as well was completely gone. “I am. Is it the food?”

Virgil offered a rather sad smile. “Alright, now let go of my hand and tell me what you feel then.”

Logan let go, and almost immediately the cold rushed back. He frowned. “But why? Why do I suddenly seem to have my physical temperature tied to the proximity of you and the other sides?”

His hand ached, and he held Virgil’s again, relieved, but utterly confused when the unpleasant feelings faded.

“I’ve had something like this,” Virgil said. “But not quite the same as yours, based on what Patton was saying. I think you’re probably touch starved.”

Logan considered this silently.

“But I don’t like being touched.”

Virgil gave his hand a slight squeeze. “You don’t seem to mind this.”

Logan nodded, very slowly. “You’re right. I… I don’t mind this at all.”

“I think we should talk to the others,” Virgil suggested.

Logan nodded slowly. “I suppose so.”

••^*^••

“You’re what?!” Patton practically wailed, throwing himself at Logan in a hug.

Immediately Logan felt like he wanted to crawl out his skin. This was miserable. In no way what he wanted. It didn’t feel right at all. It was like a whole hive of insects were buzzing just below his skin.

He pushed Patton off of him, more roughly than he would have intended. “Get off!”

Patton stopped immediately, staring in confusion and hurt.

Logan couldn’t handle it. He was freezing, and his skin was crawling, and his mind seemed filled with static. It was terrible. He just couldn’t.

He barely understood the words directed at him from the other sides as he sank out.

He locked his door and shuddered, hands repeatedly making and releasing fists. He shuddered again, trying to dislodge the crawling feeling. It didn’t leave.

He’d been right, he didn’t like touch. Not at all.

He got into the shower, running the water hot and scrubbing the disgusting feeling away. It helped warm him up as well, which felt way better. He bundled into his bed, pulling the weighted blanket that had been a gift from Virgil over himself.

A while later, finally calm and comfortable, he conjured a note to stick on the door.

I am not upset, but please leave me alone.

••^*^••

Logan spent the next several days figuratively buried in research. He investigated touch starvation as well as touch aversion, and a host of other possible clues to his situation.

He also gradually became more uncomfortable, holed up in his room.

He came to the conclusion that he did, in fact, have a kind of touch starvation, awakened to a roaring hunger by that pleasant afternoon sitting with Virgil.

But he also certainly had an aversion to being touched in certain ways. And he suspected, looking into it more, that surprise was a large factor, as well as the amount of him that was being touched, and perhaps the way in which he was touched.

He was basing this largely on his own reactions to Virgil’s method of touching, as compared to Patton’s or Roman’s, since he highly doubted that it was something inherent in them that he was averse to.

Finally his findings were all put together into one detailed, though as of yet hypothetical, presentation. Armed with this, and a determination not to touch anyone until he’d presented his findings, he opened the door to his room.

As he’d suspected, there was something attached to his door that made a noise as it was opened, and he was soon nearly mobbed with the other sides. They didn’t touch, or come too near, or say anything, but all came very quickly to stare at him, worry in every gaze.

He raised his folder. “I have a presentation. Please gather in the living room.”

It didn’t take long. Not at all.

Logan opened the folder and set it on top of the tv, so that the images could be seen.

“I believe Virgil was correct in suggesting that I have a degree of touch starvation.” He flipped through a few pages, supporting this statement with both facts and personal experiences.

He paused. This was the part that was likely to hurt feelings. Even he knew it, and he wasn’t usually adept at understanding feelings. But it was necessary.

“However, in satisfying this hunger, I will need to be ‘picky’. I have boundaries outlined in this section, and I need to keep them rigidly. This will mean that I will not be open to surprise touch, and likely not to hugs either. I would like to have support from each of you, support in accordance with what I’m capable of handling.”

“Absolutely, Logan,” Patton said. “I’d really like to be able to help you in the right way.”

Both Roman and Virgil nodded very solemnly and enthusiastically.

Logan smiled, more moved by this expression of support than he’d expected to be. “Thank you, Patton. And thank you two as well. I will be very much in need of your assistance.”

He cleared his throat, more in an attempt to gather himself together than any really obstruction. “I’ve laid out a number of methods of touch that I believe would be helpful to me, and arranged them by likelihood of success, and also divided by which I believe each of you would be more inclined to enjoy yourselves.”

••^*^••

Logan was seated on his bed, organizing and updating his flashcards, when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

“Hey,” Roman said, peeking in rather shyly. “Um, can we try one of those things now? I brought something to do.”

Logan considered, a slight curl of worry in his stomach. “Yes. I believe now would be a good time.”

Roman fully entered the room. “So I can sit behind you, and do my thing, and I won’t bother you while you do yours.”

Logan smiled slightly. “That sounds pleasant.”

Roman grinned, a bit of pride evident in his expression. He sat behind Logan on the bed, facing away from him, and leaned back slightly, so that they were each leaning against the other.

For about thirty seconds, Logan was uncomfortable, but gradually, warmth spread out through his body, and his mind was able to return its focus to his flashcards, and soon he found he was quite comfortable.

“Hey, specs, what do you call a little tiny shovel? Like the ones for kids. Or I guess not for kids, or not all the time.”

“That would be called a trowel, though perhaps a more recognizable, less correct term would be a spade.”

“Thanks!”

Logan could hear the smile in Roman’s voice, and smiled himself. This was genuinely pleasant.

Even after he had finished with his flashcards, Logan didn’t move. He just soaked in the wonderful warmth, answering whatever questions Roman had, and occasionally listening as Roman gushed about a particular sentence or paragraph he was especially proud of writing.

••^*^••

Logan walked beside Patton, enjoying the false nature of the imagination. He was familiar with much of the flora and fauna, even a decent portion of those entirely invented within Thomas’s mind. And Patton seemed to enjoy Logan’s rambling as much as Logan enjoyed the rambling.

A hand bumped gently against his, and Logan hesitated a moment, before linking his pinky finger with Patton’s.

Patton’s smile grew even brighter. “And you were saying the seeds of that tree are special? What kind of special are they?”

Logan smiled proudly, launching into an explanation. Patton swung their hands back and forth gently as they walked, and Logan felt something within him fill up. He felt pleasantly full, as if there was a cup inside him that had been long empty, and was now trickling over the rim, full enough to even spill.

••^*^••

Logan and Virgil laid out on the roof, looking up at the night sky. They were side by side, with Logan’s left leg tangled up with Virgil’s right.

It was calm. And warm. And peaceful.

In a reverse of the usual pattern, Virgil was the one telling the myth, this time of people who had lifted up the sky.

Logan felt himself drifting off, more comfortable than he could remember being in a very long time. He was figuratively floating on soft, warm clouds. Drifting into a summer night. He was safe, and content. Comfortable.

••^*^••

“Patton,” Logan said slowly.

“Hmm?”

“I would like to attempt a hug.”

Patton turned all his attention to Logan. “You sure?”

Logan nodded. “Yes. Just— slowly. And gently.”

Patton nodded solemnly, reaching his arms out.

Logan slowly leaned into the embrace, and Patton gently wrapped his arms around him.

And it wasn’t bad.

Logan hugged Patton, squeezing lightly before letting go. “Thank you.”

Patton’s eyes were all shimmery, and his smile wobbled. “You’re welcome, Logan!”

••^*^••

The door burst open dramatically and Roman ran in, flopping over the arm of the couch and letting out an even more dramatic groan. Then he peeked his eyes open, and moved to just as dramatically flop onto Logan’s lap.

“I fought dragons.” He announced, his voice a whisper as if he were inches away from death.

Logan, for once, was hit with a burst of mischievousness, and patted Roman’s face in an intentionally awkward way. “I will be sure to mention it at your funeral. I’m sure you’ve written an extensive ballad, and I’ll force Virgil to sing it in your honor.”

Roman had a sudden grin before resuming his ‘dying of exhaustion and probably wounds’ act. “Make sure you do,” he croaked out. “And have Patton put flowers in my casket.”

“Of course.”

Roman went limp, closing his eyes and sticking his tongue out.

“Patton!” Logan called. “We’re going to have to put on a funeral.”

“A what?!”

••^*^••

Logan leaned against Virgil’s side, his empty cup of coffee set beside him, as the second movie began to wrap up.

“If they start another movie, you can lay in my lap and go to sleep,” Virgil offered quietly.

Logan, who despite the coffee was beginning to nod, hummed an affirmative.

He was woken up a good deal later by a lack of sound, and found that they’d just finished what might have been the third, but could’ve been the fourth or fifth movie of the night. He was laying on a pillow in Virgil’s lap, and his legs were up in Roman’s lap. And judging by Patton’s smile, pictures had been taken.

“We’re finishing up now,” Patton whispered. “And setting up to sleep out here. Do you want to stay in here or go to your own room?”

Logan yawned. “It will be far better for my posture to go to my own room… but if you were to turn on a sound machine… I would not be opposed to remaining here.”

Soon, something between white noise and rain lulled him back to sleep.

••^*^••

They all found a marked improvement, both in Logan’s mood and even in Thomas’s clarity of mind, as they continued experimenting with touch.

It was discovered that Roman, while not starved, was also touch-hungry, and was practically a giant dog in that he would accept any and all kinds of petting.

And as Logan regulated, he found he was even more ready to give touch than to receive it. Roman flopping onto him after ‘terrible and glorious battles’ became a regular occurrence, often ending with Roman falling asleep, Logan gently scritching at his scalp.

Walks with Patton became something they both greatly enjoyed and looked forward to. Sometimes they could only link pinkies, sometimes holding hands, sometimes even walking arm in arm.

And Virgil was always ready to do something of his own near Logan, a limb draped over him or pressed up against him.

Logan found himself repeatedly thinking back to that one afternoon in the memory library, incredibly grateful that Virgil had asked, and that he had said yes. He could see so much in his life that was better now.

And he was really, truly happy.

[thatfanficstuff]

Impossible-13

Pairing: Eric Northman x reader

Warnings: Canon typical. Feelings.

A/N: A friendly reminder that I have changed Canon. Amy and Jason weren’t a thing. Therefore they didn’t take Eddie. Which means Lafeyette is not in Eric’s basement. Amongst other things.

***

Sam had already started to come around by the time Sookie knelt over him. He returned with her to check on you and you quickly averted your gaze. There were some things you were perfectly happy not knowing. “Clothes, Sam. Then go to Sook’s and call the cops. See if you can find my phone while you’re there. It should be in the living room somewhere.

He hesitated only a moment before nodding and hurrying off to do as you asked without argument. That was a nice change.

Sookie settled onto the ground beside you and took your hand in hers. “You saved me. Thank you.”

You hummed in acknowledgment not willing to expend the energy it would take to say anything else. Suddenly, you coughed and groaned at the pain that rolled through you with the action. You may be more resilient than the average human, but a bullet in the chest was a bullet in the chest. You could only be thankful that it had apparently missed anything vital. You assumed so anyway since you were still breathing. You kept your breaths shallow to keep your chest from moving too much. God, you hurt.

Sam returned with your phone about the time you heard sirens in the distance. “Thanks,” you said as he slipped it into your hand. You almost immediately dropped it. “Fuck.” There was nothing more frustrating than a body that didn’t work the way it was supposed to. You stretched your fingers and rubbed your hand against your leg trying to wake it up.

When you fumbled with it again, Sookie gently pulled it away from you. “What are you trying to do?”

You cleared your throat and winced. “Missed calls.”

Her eyes went wide as she looked at the screen and you chuckled. You figured. “27. They all say Eric or Pop.”

Before you could tell her to call Eric, your phone rang again. “Answer it. Put it on speaker.”

“Yeah,” you greeted when Sookie had done as you asked. Your voice was tight, pained.

“Y/N?” Eric’s frantic voice washed over you. “Are you all right? What the hell is going on?”

“We’re still a couple of hours from sundown. Someone needs to drive me to you.” You managed to get the words out through the pain. You weren’t certain how long you could keep doing so. It had been a long time since you hurt this bad. Fucking Rene. Drew. Whatever the fuck his name was. Asshole.

“What is her condition, Sookie?” His voice had taken on that hard edge it got when he was worried. Or angry. Probably both at the moment.

“How’d you know I was here?” she asked.

“I can hear you breathing. Answer the question.”

“I-I’m not sure. There’s a lot of blood.” Her voice trembled and Sam wrapped an arm around her.

“And the person responsible?” If this were a different situation, you would have been turned on by that dark, protective note in his voice. No one ever said you didn’t have your issues.

Sookie swallowed and grimaced as she glanced at the asshole’s body. “Dead.”

“You are certain?”

You huffed a laugh at the disappointment that colored his words then groaned in pain. “Fuck you,” you managed to get out and Eric chuckled in response.

Two police cars and an ambulance wailed to a stop on the road in front of the cemetery. “The ambulance is here. Maybe she should just go to the hospital,” Sam piped up.

“No,” you and Eric said in unison.        

The corner of your mouth twitched. At least the two of you agreed on something.

“Company?” he asked.

The other two looked confused so you answered him. “Ballentine.”

“Give me a moment.”

The EMTs knelt beside you as the cops shouted questions. You ignored them all, the edges of your vision going fuzzy. That’s no good. Hurry up, Eric.

You no sooner had the thought then he returned. “I’ll see you soon. And I’ll call your father.” Damn, he must be really worried if he was volunteering to call Roman.

He hung up and one of the EMT’s phones started to ring. After a quick conversation, he knelt down and looked you in the eye. “You’re all taken care of. Let’s get you out of here.”

An excruciating wave of pain swamped you as they lifted you onto the gurney and everything went black.

***

Awareness came slowly. Fingers sweeping strands of hair from your face. A low voice making promises and declarations, though you only understood about half of them. Arms holding you against the chest you leaned on.

“Awaken, mitt allt. You must drink.” Eric’s voice was a comforting buzz in your ear even if you didn’t care for the pleading note it carried.

You grasped onto one of his arms as you shifted to make yourself more comfortable. A hiss accompanied the pain motion brought with it. Eric sighed in relief and some of the tension flowed from his body. He wouldn’t completely relax until you were healed.

He bit into his wrist before holding it to your mouth. You pressed your lips to his skin and sucked the healing liquid into your mouth. At first you were timid, tender but as your body began to stitch back together you held his wrist against your lips. You drank deeply then, eager to rid yourself of the agony you’d been living in since the cemetery. Eric shifted beneath you with a moan and you smirked as you pulled away.

You maintained the grip on his arm and held it against your chest as you nestled your head further into his. The fingers of his free hand ran through your hair as the two of you just relished being in each other’s presence. “Better?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Better,” you agreed.

His hand shifted so his fingers trailed down your spine and back up. “No more helping the riffraff unless I accompany you.”

You sighed but didn’t say anything not really caring to get into an argument at the moment.

“Do you have any idea how close you were to death? How much blood you lost? I could feel you growing weaker with every passing second and there was nothing I could do.” He took a deep breath. “I realize that you may be willing to sacrifice yourself to do what you think is right, but are you willing to sacrifice me? Because if you die, I will as well. My fate has been tied to yours from the moment I met you. As much as I tried to deny it, that is the truth.”

“Fine,” you said after a moment’s thought. “But the same goes for you. No secrets, Eric. Let me help you. What good is having Roman for my father if I can’t use it to our advantage?”

He laughed as you’d wanted him to when you said it. You tilted your head back so you could see his face. His gaze met yours for a brief moment, then he leaned forward and kissed you. You ran your fingers through his hair and held him to you. When you finally separated, he leaned his forehead against yours. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too.” You tugged on his hair a bit and his brow furrowed. “Can I cut your hair?”

He grinned. “Pam will have my hide, but you may do as you wish.”

***

After you called your father to check in, you and Eric showered together in silence as you washed your blood from one another. Even though his blood had healed you, Eric was still taking care of you as though you needed it. He dried you off with one of the fluffy towels from his warmer before helping you dress in a pair of your sweats and one of his t-shirts. While he poured you a drink and ordered dinner, you changed the sheets on his bed so it would be ready in the morning.

“I could have done that,” he said and you looked up to find him leaning in the doorway.

You shrugged. “I’m just as capable. Get me what I need and I’ll cut your hair while we talk.”

Once the two of you were ready, you started on his hair. It was a few minutes before you started to tell the story of what happened that day. You only paused when the doorbell rang signaling the food was there. You sat it on the counter and went to finish up Eric’s hair. It was pretty good all things considered. And he hated going to a salon.

“And what did our little telepath think about you decapitating your assailant?” It was the first thing he’d said since you’d started talking.

“Pretty sure she was just glad she wasn’t dead at that point, Eric.” You ran your fingers through his hair to make sure everything was even, touching up as needed.

“Don’t be surprised if she distances herself. Humans often have difficulty accepting the necessity of our actions.”

You rolled your eyes. “Seriously? You’re going to talk to me about people distancing themselves?” You took the towel from his neck and dropped it onto the one at your feet. You could clean it up later. You were starving.

He stood and wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you to him. His lips trailed up the line of your neck. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed if it should happen.”

You shrugged. You learned long ago that friendships were fickle things, even if you did save them from psychotic serial killers. “I’ll be fine.” You patted his chest. “Now, let’s eat. I’m so hungry.”

He laughed as he released his hold and followed you to the kitchen. The two of you sat at the table with your plates and you immediately dug in. “There is something we should discuss,” he said once you’d gotten some food into your belly.

You arched a brow and motioned for him to keep talking.

“Sophie-Anne contacted me yesterday to inform me that I would be assisting her in a new money-making endeavor.” He tapped his silverware on the table but didn’t continue.

Your brow furrowed as you realized he was bothered by whatever he had discussed with his queen. What the hell was Sophie-Anne up to now? It was no secret that she was in some serious trouble with the IRS after not paying taxes for years. Even death wasn’t an escape from taxes anymore. “What is it, Eric?”

His eyes darted up from the table to meet your gaze. “I fear what I tell you may be a death sentence for her. Sophie-Anne and I have had our differences, but she’s a decent queen, all things considered.”

“If it’s that serious, you shouldn’t be involved. She’ll hide behind her title and her denials while you pay the price for her scheming.” Vampire politics were messy at the best times and deadly at the worst. If it wasn’t for you, it would be Eric’s word against Sophie’s should something happen. And odds were, they’d accuse Eric of treason for speaking against her and he’d be killed while she got off scot free. It was one of the things you and your father argued about the most.

Eric nodded in acknowledgement of your words and took a deep breath. “She wants me to find someone to deal V for her.”

Holy shit. Eric was right. Sophie-Anne was dead. And it wouldn’t be the Magister delivering the sentence. No, your father would be visiting much sooner than he’d intended.  

[snek-snacc-ficc]

Fare and Unfairness

Summary: As the embodiment of Greed, Janus is no stranger to doing whatever he pleases to satisfy his desires. A craving for delicious food is one such desire with an especially simple remedy, that just so happens to come with the added bonus of visiting Patton.

Pairings: Moceit, implied Intrulogical

Words: 2,010

Janus didn't have a problem taking what he wanted when he wanted it. It was a given being the physical incarnation of Greed. But, sometimes, the sheer effort of having to maneuver his way to his prize was more than he was willing to give. Perhaps it was just another example of his self-serving ways, wanting to hoard everything including his own time. If asked outright he'd jokingly suggest that he suffered the same issue that afflicted Logan, the only one of them who represented two Sins, and that a part of Sloth still remained with him from the time when all seven Sins were the same being. In truth, it simply mattered little to him how he obtained what he desired as long as he obtained it at all. If someone was going to hand him what he wanted on a silver platter he was in no place to complain. Which is why he found himself in the kitchen of Patton's earthly residence when he was hit with a particularly strong craving for lavish wines and rich food, not wanting to bother with wasting hours searching for a human with enough skill to make it for him.

"Hmm," Patton looked thoughtfully at both bottles in his hands. "Would you prefer Bordeaux or Rioja?"

Janus eyed the dishware set hanging atop the wall above the sink with a much too admiring look. "Whatever you think is best, my dear," he said, waving offhandedly. "Is that design made of real gold?"

"What?" Patton asked, glancing up to where Janus's gaze laid. "Oh, yes! More for show than anything, but it sure is pretty."

"Indeed." Janus slowly trailed his eyes away and back to Patton.

Patton didn’t react to his guest looking like he was plotting to rob him blind, much more enthralled with choosing a wine. He observed both bottles for another moment, before shrugging and setting both on the dining table. "Well no harm in splurging a bit, why not both?" he chirped, reaching to the counter for a wine glass for each of them.

Janus chuckled lightly. "Always such a generous host. I'm surprised the Angels haven't made an exception and taken you as one of their own."

Patton huffed, giving the corkscrew a firm twist. "You would think, wouldn't you? Out of all the things in humanity to make a Sin, the Heavens choose a harmless little thing like Gluttony."

"Oh?" Janus quirked an eyebrow. "Is that a hint of bitterness I hear from such a seemingly sweet-heart? Do you think yourself Holier than the rest of us?"

"Of course not!" Patton insisted. "Frankly, I think all of their rules are foolish in some way. But out of all the things to punish, why a little self-indulgence?" He went for the Spanish wine first, pouring a glass for Janus and then one for himself. He took his own seat at the opposite end of the table and gave a snap of his fingers. In an instant the table was filled with trays of food. A beautiful, dripping prime rib sat at the center, surrounded by sides of creamy mashed potatoes and gravy, Yorkshire pudding, garlic-parsnip purée, and an assortment of vegetables prepared in nearly every way imaginable, from roasted to slathered in butter and sauteed with bacon.

Janus nearly moaned at the feast in front of them, the heavenly smells wafting through the air further confirming in his mind Patton's skills to be far more angelic than infernal. He took the time to fold his cloth napkin in his lap, and not hesitating a second longer on filling his plate.

"Continue Dear," he said, spooning out a healthy portion of truffled brussel sprouts. "I don't think I've ever heard anything akin to frustration from you until now and I'm curious to hear more. What brought all this on?"

"It's nothing much, I suppose," Patton said as he began to carve into the meat. "It's just I had a run-in with that Emile a few weeks ago and I swear it sets me off everytime I see them. You know they-"

Janus almost choked, wearing a rare expression of genuine concern he'd never dare let anyone but Patton see. "I wouldn't call an encounter with a Head Angel 'nothing much!' They didn't try anything with you, did they?"

"No, no, nothing happened," Patton said quickly to quench his fears, "I heard their lot has been trying to keep the peace with our bunch. They don't want to cause any other-worldly problems when they can hardly handle this new plague on Earth, or whatever the humans are calling it."

Janus's face melted back into relaxation.

The corners of Patton's mouth twitched upward at the subtle display. Notes of true affection from Janus were few and far between, so much so he doubted anyone but him ever picked up on them, but he cherished those moments where the other let bits of his heart slip through the cracks of his usual facade.

"Anyway," he continued, "They looked like they had an apprentice with them. Remy, I think his name was. I'd never seen him before and mistook him for just another human in the park with his true form covered."

Janus clicked his tongue. "Consciousness Darling, you have to work on it."

“I was getting to that,” Patton said indignantly. “It just so happens I had gotten my hands on a box of these lovely gourmet chocolates I was dying to try and got a little...distracted.”

Janus brought a forkful of mushroom risotto to his lips, barely holding back a smile. “Ah, I see. Completely understandable.”

“And you know what,” Patton said, ignoring the sarcastic quip, “I hadn’t even set out that day to tempt anyone. I thought: Why not leave the humans alone, just this once? They create plenty of Sin on their own, no help from me necessary.” He poured himself another glass of wine, the passion in his voice a testament to how much the alcohol was already starting to affect him. “So when I spot this kid looking around everywhere all disoriented I decided to offer him a chocolate. One, single, completely innocent chocolate, just to perk him up a little cause he looked like he needed it. And right when I go up to him, Emile swoops in from out of nowhere and knocks the box right out of my hands, telling me to stop trying to tempt their pure apprentice like I do the humans.”

Janus gave a sound of acknowledgment. “And how exactly did this specific incident set you off down this ‘Gluttony shouldn’t be sinful’ path?”

“It’s the principle of it Janus! To think that they view such a minor indulgence as a bad thing. And then they hold the humans to the same standard. They have such short, insignificant little lives, and they waste it on concepts like ‘moderation,’ and ‘dieting,’ hoping it’ll be enough to please those stuck-ups. Humans, more than anyone, should be able to soak up every last bit of pleasure from their cuisine while they can. Why, if I were a human, I’d eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it.”

By the time the tirade was over Janus had cleared his plate. He polished off the last bit of his wine and released a satisfied sigh. “You already do that Dear,” he said, taking on a soft, sympathetic tone. “And it’s no use lamenting the sorrows Heaven inflicts on humanity; Just be grateful we can nudge them towards their own pleasure once in a while.”

“I guess so.” Patton sulked while finishing his own meal and snapping the table clean.

“Funny,” Janus teased in an attempt to get Patton’s mind on something else, “I wouldn’t have thought you the type to forget dessert.”

As expected, his energy brightened up at the mention. “You’re right, I never asked you what you wanted. Any preferences?”

Janus thought through various options, drumming his fingers on the table. “I was rather partial to that lava cake we had in France.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a dessert plate with the cake appeared in front of him.

“Toppings?” Patton asked, already doctoring up his own cake with whipped cream and berries.

“Just powdered sugar, thank you.”

A silver shaker popped up next to his plate. He took it, sifting only a small sprinkle overtop before cutting into the miniature cake. It was even more moist than he remembered, and the center of molten chocolate oozing out was the perfect viscosity. It only took one bite for him to conclude that even the five-star Parisian restaurant they had visited didn’t hold a candle to the food Patton could create on a whim.

“Have you heard from any of the other’s lately?” He asked, eager to get the ball rolling for a bit of after-dinner gossip (his personal favorite topic of conversation).

Patton shook his head. “I haven’t had the chance to. Aside from you, I’ve only seen Virgil recently, and that was months ago.”

A delighted, devilish smirk blossomed on Janus’s face. “So I take it you haven’t heard about the...hard time Logan has had as of late.”

“No, is he okay?” Patton asked, voice laced with worry, “What happened?”

“He’s just fine,” Janus said, reveling in the anticipation, “Let’s just say that it appears there’s a reason he’s so fond of the color blue.”

He recounted the entire story Roman had told him about Logan’s budding temptation towards Lust, much to Patton’s shock and amusement.

“I never would have expected those two,” Patton said, getting up and waving away their dishes once they were finished, “But I’m happy for them. It sounds like they’re enjoying themselves.”

Janus hummed in agreement, stretching as he too stood up. “The food was wonderful as always Darling, thank you,” he said, leaning over to give Patton a gentle peck on the cheek.

His face, already flushed from the wine, turned a shade darker. “Leaving so soon?”

“You know the drill,” Janus replied, “Temptations to be made, Angels to corrupt, humans to swindle. Perhaps if I’m feeling especially virtuous I’ll borrow you a gift from somewhere in return for the lovely meal.”

Patton, who had been sinking into the other’s touch, suddenly jerked back. “That reminds me,” he said, “Wait just a second.” He snapped once and a gift bag filled with glittery tissue paper materialized in his hand. “Here.”

Confused, Janus peeled away the top layers of the tissue paper, peeking inside. Everything was sealed up tightly in bubble wrap, but through the translucent covering he could make out a familiar design. He looked up above the sink where the gold accented dish set from earlier had hung, the wall now dotted only with semi-visible outlines of where it had once been.

Patton giggled at his surprise. “You aren’t nearly as sly as you think you are,” he said. “And I don’t care whether I eat off of solid diamond or a paper plate as long as the food is good, so they’re really no use to me.” He winked. “Besides, I think I actually quite enjoy feeding your desires.”

There was a beat where Janus simply stared stunned and silent at Patton, who, in turn, looked to him with all the tenderness in the world.

Janus moved with his free hand, rushing forward to cup Patton's face and connecting their lips in a deep kiss.

“Every single being in Heaven is an idiot for not making you one of their own,” Janus whispered when they had just barely parted.

“Maybe not,” Patton said lightly, “Maybe they have incredible foresight. In any existence I would have ended up Falling for you anyway.”

Janus pulled them in for another kiss, pushing his previous priorities to the back of his mind. He was Greed after all, it was only natural for him to go after his desires. And if what he wanted was right in front of him for the taking then he certainly wasn’t going to refuse the offer.

---

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! If you're interested in this AU I do plan on creating a collection of one-shots for it, so be sure to be on the lookout for those.

Here's just a couple quick notes on the writing itself that I thought might be confusing:

-Fare, as written in the title, refers to food.

-The "Sins" in this AU were once combined into a single physical being. However, as humanity grew in size it became increasingly harder for one being to manage the responsibilities for all seven Sins at once. The internal conflict caused a split to occur, with individual vessels being created for each Sin. The only exception is Logan, who represents both Wrath and Envy. The two Sins compliment each other well, so it's easy for them to work in tandem as one. A similar occurrence happened with Pride and Lust (Roman and Remus) at first, but ultimately fell apart later on.

-The color blue, referenced in the short mention of Logan near the end, is often attributed as the color of lust.

[daroamine]

everything is a lot

a sanders sides fanfic.  ao3

summary:  

 It's time for a horror movie night.

The others seem to have forgotten Roman's fear of the dark.

WARNINGS: panic attack, cursing, food mention

A horror movie. Virgil had chosen a horror movie.

Roman felt the excited grin slide off his face a little, though he quickly plastered it back on, nodding in approval. God, he hated horror movies. He could take the scary faces, or even the screams. But something about all the blood, the tense, chilling escalation of tension that the movies always did, it- He let out a slow breath.

And settled back into the space between Patton and Logan on the couch. It would be fine.

“Do we have to watch a dumb horror movie though?” Roman complained eventually, a little on the quiet side. Patton gave him a look. “Now, kiddo, it’s Virgil’s choice, you had your turn last week.” he reminded him, giving him a little shoulder pat.

Virgil didn’t seem too affronted. In fact, he smirked. “Aw, you scared, Princey?” Roman’s face flushed, and opened his mouth to respond, but Patton beat him to it. “Now, don’t go making fun of him, Virge, it’s family night! You gotta be nice,” he smiled, “and besides, there’s nothing wrong with being scared.” he turned his gaze to Roman then, eyes far too soft and it just felt like pity. Roman frowned, scoffing. “Of course I’m not afraid of some pathetic little movie,” he declared loudly, avoiding their eyes. “Just start the darn thing already.”

Virgil did so, and as Patton went to grab another blanket, Roman adamantly ignored the watchful gaze from the end of the couch.

It was going to be fine. He hadn’t seen a movie like this in years, the fear will have faded, and he can just watch it like everyone else.

Yet for some reason, it still felt like something would go wrong. He pulled his blanket a little further over his legs, pulling his knees to his chest.

The opening credits rolled, and Roman’s tense muscles relaxed just a little. This movie didn’t look so bad, and he was surrounded by his friends. He was fine, it was- “Oops, almost forgot. Can’t have a horror movie with the lights on.” Virgil spoke, getting up.

The room was plunged into darkness except from the dim television screen, and Roman’s stomach dropped to his feet. Oh, god.

He stiffened immediately, breath stuttering. No, no, he hated the dark, this wasn’t- Trying in desperation to smother his fear, he slowly breathed out. No freaking out, this is movie night.

He looked quickly around, to check if anyone had noticed his… blunder. Virgil was huddling into the far corner, eyes locked onto the screen with a spark of excitement. Patton was just finishing arranging his extra blanket. Logan was setting down his book. It was fine.

Roman swallowed, and looked back to the movie, resting his chin on his knees. It was FINE. As long as he- as long as he didn’t look into the dark. It was fine.

He managed to watch the screen for fifteen minutes, carefully controlling his breathing. His shoulders were tensed, and his feet were pulled as far up as possible so as to avoid hanging over the edge of the couch.

Then, he swore he saw something move. His eyes darted to the staircase. There are so many shadows, there are monsters lurking there, he knew- He tightened his grip around his legs. ‘It’s in your imagination, Roman,’ he lectured himself, swallowing.

He couldn’t help it when he glanced over there again, chest tightening drastically. One of the shapes was gone.

Oh, god. Oh god, oh god, ohgodohgod-

Roman squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lip. If he kept looking at the inside of his eyelids, maybe it would convince him that the darkness wasn’t really there. As his breath shuddered in his chest, he knew that it wasn’t exactly working.

Fuck. His eyes were shut, he hadn’t been watching. All of the creatures were probably surrounding them now, just waiting to strike.

Don’t kill me, don’t kill me, don’t kill me, don’t-

A whine involuntarily slipped past his throat, eyes stinging, but it couldn’t reasonably be heard over the deafening television. God, it was so loud.

So, so loud, like it was pounding every sound into his skull. Stop, stop it, stopstopstopstopstopSTOP! He lifted his shaking hands to cover his ears, feeling his eyes water.

It was so loud, it crawled into the spaces between his fingers, scratched at his eardrums, hammered into his head until all he could register was his uncontrollable need for it to STOP.

He was scarcely breathing at all now, tiny rattling puffs of air being the only inhalation. Fuck, fuckfuck, fuck, nothing’s working, it was loud and dark, so dark, and dark and LOUD-

A pain filled scream erupted from the speakers, and he let out a sob, tears dripping down his cheeks and hand shooting out for something, anything, to provide comfort.

His fingers brushed against someone else’s.

He held on tighter than he could ever have imagined. Through his panicked haze, he felt the hand try to pull away, and he whimpered loudly, hiccupping. Please, please stay, pleasepleasepleaseplease-

The cool fingers tightened around his, and somewhere amongst the rushing whirling terror of his own head, he was incredibly grateful. Fuck, he couldn’t breathe-

Thick air felt like it was filling into his head, shoving itself inside like cotton and pounding at the inner lining of his skull in a crazed rhythm. His chest burned harshly, only further reminding him of his plight. Fucking BREATHE ROMAN, you IDIOT, people are looking-

Soft pressure pushed against his right palm, and Oh, mr cold hands was trying to comfort him. That… That was better. The hand was using its thumb to gently caress Roman’s now, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, concentrating as hard as he could. You’re fine, Roman, the dark isn’t even scary… Just… focus on the hand. A fiery, rattling breath tore from his lungs, and he sat up fully, clutching the silky fabric of his shirt with his spare hand. He fought desperately to take another, swaying in his seat as he trembled.

“-man? Roman, are you hearing me?” a low, distant voice murmured. He squeezed the hand tight and nodded rapidly, suddenly wanting to sob all over again. He was fine, it’s fine, someone’s here-

“Roman, I’m going to need you to open your eyes, is that alright?” the silky voice spoke, and the hand enclasped in his rubbed circles into his palm soothingly.

He whined, squishing his eyelids shut so tight a kaleidoscope of swirls and stars assaulted his vision. There were monsters out there. It was dark.

“There are no monsters, Roman, and the light has been turned back on. I am sat beside you on the couch and Patton and Virgil are at the doorway to the kitchen. I promise.”

Roman paused, swallowing and trying to breathe through his nose. In.... Out… He opened his eyes without giving himself a chance to back out, and-

Logan sat in front of him, his oval little face peering down concernedly at him. His hand held Roman’s tightly. Roman inhaled slowly, and let it out again in a shaky breath, taking time to examine his surroundings. Just like he’d promised, the lights were back on, and just like he’d promised, the other two were at the kitchen entrance, peeking around the doorframe with worry etched onto their features. Logan told the truth.

Roman felt his lip wobble once again, and without warning, he dove into Logan’s arms, beginning to cry in earnest.

He could hear the man’s “oof-” of surprise like an echo as he pressed his face into Logan’s chest, arms clutching him like he could never let him go. He helped. He… saw. And he helped.

“M’so sorry, di-didn’t mean to ruin it-!” he wailed, face unbearably crumpled into an ugly sob as he rubbed his head onto the side’s shoulder.

Logan stroked his hair gently, replying with a matter-of-fact tone. “You didn’t ruin anything. We never intended to subject you to anything that could have caused distress, especially to this degree.”

From Roman’s view atop Logan’s shoulder, he could see Virgil and Patton both nodding vigorously, looking incredibly guilty. He sniffed, and it sounded thick and miserable.

“Yeah, Ro…” Virgil added, worrying his lip between his teeth as he stepped forward. “I literally totally forgot you didn’t like the dark, and that was shitty of me. I’m really sorry.”

Roman huffed wetly, and felt a smile come onto his face. “How’re you g’nna make it up t’me?” he croaked, voice stuffy and uneven from the recent events. Patton joined their circle this time, eyes wide and sad, though his voice was cheery as ever. “Disney marathon?” he suggested with a little smile.

“Disney marathon.” Roman hummed back, leaning into Logan.

He fell fast asleep soon after they reached the halfway point of mulan, eyelids drooping and body being too warm and tired to stay awake. He was curled up with far too many blankets, Virgil yawning at the television screen and Patton munching on the leftover cookie treats they brought out.

Logan hadn’t let go of his hand.

[stevesharrlngtons]

34 with roman 🥺

(remember when i talked about a nanny!au? well... here it is. somewhere in an alternate universe...) 

the feel of fingers brushing together by accident

sorry if roman is a bit ooc

You sat at the breakfast bar with Nadia, your arm outstretched creimously on the countertop as you watched her fumble through arithmetic. A bowl of Hershey Kisses sat between you both, crinkled balls of their foil scattered about. Your temple rested against the crook of your elbow as you fussed with the tin, waiting for Nadia to need any assistance. 

“You could be cleaning,” Peter quipped from the sink. 

“You’re the only old maid around here. I have better things to do,” you countered back, as you flattened a wrapper and began to peel it apart. 

“Scrolling through Neiman’s and sleeping ‘til noon?” 

“Precisely,” you looked up to grin at him in time to see him roll his eyes. 

Nadia gave a little giggle at the encounter and you threw her a playful wink. 

Most late afternoons into early evenings looked just like this one. You with Nadia at the counter as she did school work, and Peter wandering on the fringe of your conversations as he tidied and cooked dinner. It had felt strange at first, how quickly you had created such an effortless routine that rarely held hiccups or upsets with the two, who were supposedly notoriously closed off and unaccepting. But, it had seemed to be fate, that you had been the missing gear to their unit that was needed to have everything run smoothly. You were extraordinarily lucky to have earned both their favors, as well as Nadia’s father and Peter’s stringent boss’. 

You rolled a discarded foil ball between your fingers before promptly flicking it at Peter’s head. Nadia burst into giggles once more and your heart swelled at the noise. Peter gripped the sink and turned to look at you. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping her with her homework? Or are the concepts a little too lofty for you?” he snarked. 

“It’s third grade math, Peter,” you scoffed and fell back on your arm causally. 

“I know it is,” 

You huffed and stuck your tongue out at his back. Nadia began to laugh again but you poked her with your Manolo, a silent signal to keep quiet. She obliged, but her lips still held a wide grin. 

It was always a beautiful sight, her smile. A beaming expression that you rarely saw from her father, but often in photographs of her mother. Their upper lips curled the same way, which only widened her plump lips that she gained from her father. Her blue eyes crinkled at their corners and sparkled when she looked at you head on. Her smile was a wonder of the world, and after you informed her of this, the action that used to be next to impossible to achieve, happened regularly. 

“How many times does eight go into one hundred ten?” Nadia asked you, moving her pencil so you could see her long division problem. 

“Ok, c’mon, you got this. Start small, you know how many times eight goes into eleven right?” 

“But do you?” Peter muttered, just loud enough so you would have no trouble hearing him. 

“Quit, dish bitch,” you picked up another foil ball and tossed it at him. 

You heard him chuckle under his breath. 

“Once,” Nadia stated. 

“Great! Now put the one there, and the eight below,” you guided and Nadia did so. 

You both worked out the rest of the problem, and only one short curse word was said by you by the end. You were never good at long division, or math in general, so a worksheet filed with even basic division and fractions was a nightmare to you. Maybe Peter’s jab had some merit after all… 

When you and Nadia were on the tail end of problems, with your phone calculator out and helping on certain equations, the distinct sound of a key entering the front door’s lock disrupted the little girl. 

��Daddy!” Nadia exclaimed, the problem you were both painstakingly working at was immediately forgotten, as she rushed toward the door to greet her father. 

Roman opened the door just as she reached it, compensating quite well for a surprise rogue nine year old jumping into his arms. 

His hair was handsomely disheveled, likely from running his nimble fingers through it during moments of stress in his day. His suit jacket was discarded, the top button of his dress shirt undone, and his silk tie loosened to reveal more of her perfect alabaster skin. His broad shoulders fought the seams of his shirt and you could tell that he had recently run his sinful pink tongue over his plump bottom lip. He looked positively good enough to eat. 

“Daddy is right,” you mumbled, busying yourself with cleaning up the Hershey wrappers to save yourself from combusting over your boss’s good looks. 

“Yes, but not yours,” Peter said, coming over to help you. 

“A girl can dream, can’t she?” you replied with an exasperated sigh.

“Yes, and many have,” he said knowingly. 

You pinched his wrist with manicured nails and he smirked at you. It was no secret the droves of women who lined up to have a chance at landing Roman’s attentions. While many earned an entrance exam, none were asked back. You would sometimes see them with an exaggerated pouts on their lips the morning after as they trudged down the stairs and out the door. You couldn’t blame them for their theatrics or bad moods, however. When Roman Godfrey was on the line, any and all hissy fits were accepted and expected. 

Roman entered the kitchen with Nadia perched on his hip, his jacket and suitcase deposited at the door. 

“Evening, Ms. (Y/L/N),” he greeted professionally, as he sat his daughter on the counter next to you. 

“Evening, Mr. Godfrey,” you greeted melodramatically, something Roman shook his head at. 

You and Roman had never had a strictly employer-employee relationship, but you supposed that’s why you fit in so well in the Godfrey home. Since the day of your interview you were warm, practical, and up front with him and his family. You were nurturing, but firm. You treated Nadia and Roman like you would your own family and friends, and that had made you stick out from the crowd. As much as Roman needed a nanny for his daughter, he needed a friend for himself. He needed a maternal figure for Nadia, and he desperately needed a woman in his life he could trust wasn’t after anything insidious. And you fit all the requirements in spades.

“When will dinner be ready?”

“Twenty minutes, give or take,” Peter replied, peaking into the oven to check on the chicken. 

“I’ll be in my study until then,” Roman replied, as he retrieved his suitcase and then walked back toward his office. 

The sound of the door shutting made you and Nadia sigh. Her little face was void of any more smiles it seemed. 

“Hey,” you reached out and gave her spindly leg a squeeze, “how about we just cheat on the few we have left and watch some TV until dinner?” 

“We aren’t supposed to cheat.” 

“Sweetheart, I promise you that you will never need to do any of this mess in your head again. Calculators are the future -- have been the future! I’m sure when you’re in college they will be implanted in your arm and cheating will be encouraged.” 

“Really?” 

“Maybe,” you shrugged and Nadia crept back over to her worksheet and moved into her seat, “we’ll get your dad and all his scientists right on it.” 

Dinners mainly consisted of Nadia speeding through a book of topics while you and Roman desperately tried to keep up. She was a sociable little girl and always had a story to tell from recess or gym class. She loved playing make believe on the playground, but didn’t love how her peers wouldn’t follow the strict rules she had set up for them. This was often a bone of contention for her, her brows furrowing in frustration as she explained a quarrel she’d had at the slide that day. 

But tonight was different, tonight all she could do was talk about the following day. 

Nadia’s third grade class was going to the Natural History Museum on a field trip and she had been anticipating the trip eagerly for months. Not only because of the normal excitement all children held for field trips, but because this one would be chaperoned by her favorite person in the world: her father. 

You had convinced Roman at the beginning of the school year to sign up to attend the field trip with Nadia. He had hemmed and hawed about it for a week before he reluctantly signed the permission slip and gave it to his giddy daughter to hand in to her teacher. He would never admit it, but you knew that you were the one to push him over the edge into agreeing. 

“This will be one of those memories that will make her smile for the rest of her life. I swear, if my dad had ever come with me on a field trip, I would have never forgotten it.” 

And maybe it was because you had both bonded over absent parents in the past; or maybe it was the look that he often saw on your face when he had a nice moment with Nadia, the look of a little girl trapped behind your eyes, longing for her father to love her like that; or maybe it was because he knew it would make you happy; or maybe he just really believed you. It didn’t matter in the end, because he had agreed and made his little girl very happy. 

“Jenny Krinkles brother had Mrs. Bridge last year, and she said that he said that there is an exhibit where you get to touch all this weird slimy stuff, and I’m not sure why it’s there, but Jenny’s brother said it’s fun! So, daddy, I want to make sure we get to see that, ok? I think you’ll think it’s fun, too,” she prattled on. 

Nadia was too busy reiterating what Jenny’s brother had said about the dinosaur skeletons to notice how her father had become stock still and how his eyes were staring off into space. 

You settled your fork down next to your plate and watched him with a worried expression as his jaw tightened and his eyes bulged. 

“Are you alright, Mr. Godfrey?” you asked quietly, in a hope to not startle him. 

Roman’s stare switched over to you in a mechanical way, his lips formed a hard line as his eyes bore into your skull. 

“Daddy? Are you feeling sick?” Nadia chimed in, now noticing her father’s strange mannerisms and paling complexion, as well. 

“Yes, I-- I feel fine,” Roman dropped his silverware with a soft clatter onto his plate, “I feel fine.” 

You just nodded, but ducked to catch his gaze as he looked away. You wanted him to see your concern and know that you were only there to help. 

“Are you sure? You can’t be sick, you’ll miss the museum, daddy and -” Roman cut off his daughter before she could spiral. 

“Nadia, I’m fine. I am, but… something has came up at work last minute…” and he didn’t need to finish his sentence, it was clear what he was getting at. 

Nadia’s little face crumbled into pure anguish as she burst into hysterical tears. She pushed away the remnants of her dinner and fled the table without a word. While this reaction might have looked like an exaggeration to an outsider, it made sense to you. Nadia rarely got to spend one on one time with her father, it was why she was so reluctant of your hiring and why she sprang to action the second she heard him come home. She loved her father almost to a fault, and when his promises fell through (which they often did) it hurt her a thousand times over. She wanted her father’s attention so desperately and got it so rarely. Not to say that Roman wasn’t a good father, he was just a busy one. A busy single father running a multibillion dollar company. 

Roman called out weakly for his daughter, but the resounding thud of her door being slammed was louder. 

“Fuck!” he raged, pounding the heel of his hand to the table top, causing the dishes to quake. 

“You couldn’t push it off for one day?” you admonished. 

“I don’t fucking need this from you, too.” Roman snapped viciously. 

“I’ll deal with you later,” you bit back, as you took the napkin from your lap and threw it on your plate. 

“You’re not my fucking mother.” 

“And thank Christ I’m not,” you spat back at him, before you ran up the stairs and after Nadia. 

After over an hour of coddling the sobbing nine year old and snuggling her to sleep, you carefully left her under thick blankets and in the comfort of her Barbie night light, and went to find Roman. 

Unsurprisingly, you found him in his office, one a desk lamp illuminating the dark room. His tie had now been completely abandoned and two more buttons had become undone to reveal the ribbed undershirt he wore. Roman held a cigarette and a tumbler of scotch in one hand, and his forehead in the other. 

“What’s the damage?” he asked in a small voice. 

You walked slowly into the room, “She thinks you hate her.” 

“Fuck.” 

You crossed your arms over your chest as you stood in front of him, “She’s an emotional little girl. And you bailing on her constantly doesn’t help.” 

“So, you’re here to give me a fucking parenting lecture? Because if that’s your goal, I think I’ll pass,” Roman replied with a scowl. 

“But I’m so good at lectures! Can’t you just humor me?” 

You saw Roman’s tense expression falter a bit at your banter, which was silent permission for you to go sit on the corner of his desk. 

“You need to remember your priorities, Mr. Godfrey. Work is work, and I know it’s important to you, but your daughter should always take precedence,” you said. 

Roman was so tall that while you would be looking down at any regular man in a desk chair from your perch, you were eye level with him. In these moments when Nadia was away and it was just the two of you in his office; him in his chair and you firmly planted on the desktop; it was easy to forget the outside world existed. It was easy for you to forget a lot of things when Roman was around. 

“I work so I can give her the best life possible. If that isn’t showing her that she takes precedence, I don’t know what will,” Roman argued, before he gulped from his tumbler. 

“What a boring, easy answer to give.” 

“It’s the truth.” he griped.

“Maybe it is, but it’s not the right answer.” 

“Yeah? Since when was this a test?” Roman scoffed. 

“Since the minute you had her. Parenting is always a test,” you shrugged and Roman let out a humorless chuckle. 

“Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth…” 

You both let out twin sighs. Roman took a drag from his cigarette before he looked at you. The way he looked at you when he felt weak, helpless and in need of guidance. He had once told you in confidence (and many sheets to the wind) that you were the only person in his life he felt comfortable being vulnerable with. 

I don’t know what we would do without you. I don’t know what I would do without you,” he had slurred as you guided him to the master bedroom. 

You still hadn’t forgotten how the weight of his body around yours felt, or the way he had stared at your lips just a few moments too long, or his musky cologne that had embedded itself into your pores for days. 

“You’re smart, Mr. Godfrey. You’re gonna pass whatever messed up test raising a kid is. You just need to apply yourself and get your priorities straight,” you nudged his shin with the tip of your heel, much like you had done to Nadia earlier, “Daughter first. Work second.” 

“It’s not that simple…” Roman said. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. 

“Since when is anything simple?” 

There was another lull between the two of you, and you were suddenly incredibly aware of how short your skirt had become from your seat. You tugged the sides down your thighs the best you could. You didn’t notice the yearning look Roman gave you as your painted fingers ran over your nylon covered skin. When you looked back at him, his eyes were once again tied with yours. 

“How do you know all this?” he asked, lifting his chin gently. 

You let out a deep sigh, “I just watched my parents do all the wrong things, so I can only guess the opposites are right.” 

“Leighann seems like she turned out all right,” he replied and you smiled. 

Leighann, your younger sister, had been reared by you and you alone. Your parents had fucked off for most of her childhood and it left you to take care of her. Roman of course knew this, as it had come up on your application. He had a knack for remembering important facets of your life that always made your stomach twitch with affection. 

“She did, didn’t she? So, you better take my word for it and start getting your act together. You don’t want her to turn out like me, do you?” as if to prove your point, you stuck out a hand and wiggled two fingers for Roman to pass you his cigarette. 

He looked at you with an amused expression, but did so anyway. He held the smoke by the filter and you took it carefully. When you brought it to your lips, you could taste his fingers and his skin. As you blew out the smoke in a smooth stream from your puckered lips, you watched as Roman’s smirk grew. He widened his legs and reclined back in his seat to take you in. You knew you shouldn’t be thinking about grabbing your boss by the wrist and popping his fingers into your mouth, but the way he was looking at you was so primal and seductive, you couldn’t help it. 

You motioned for him to take the cigarette back before your mind talked you into doing something you would regret.  

Roman leaned forward to take back his cigarette, his elbows coming to rest on his knees. 

“I can think of worse people for her to end up like,” his voice husked. 

As you passed the cigarette back to him, you felt the light touch of his calloused fingertips against your own. You hoped Roman didn’t hear the way your breath caught in your chest or the small shiver the touch gave you. 

Roman made a show of taking the cigarette back to his plush lips, setting the filter between them and sucking deep into his lungs. All while his green eyes watched you with purpose. 

“You taste like cherries,” Roman said as smoke billowed from his lips. 

Your thighs pressed together on their own accord to silence the aching between them. 

“So, what are you going to do about the field trip?” you changed the subject without acknowledgment. If you had, you knew it would end up with you on your knees and Mr. Godfrey’s cock in your mouth. And as much as you fantasized about it, you really loved your job, and you couldn’t let your sexual attraction to your boss ruin it.  

“If it was Friday insead of tomorrow, I could make it work. But…” 

“Then you’re making it up to her, y’know? This weekend: daddy-daughter day. No but’s about it. You will spend the entire day with her to make up for being an ass about tomorrow,” you chided. 

“I can do that,” Roman nodded. 

“Good, because I’m serious, Mr. Godfrey. She will remember this moment, you need to outshine the heartbreak with a day of happiness.” 

“Ok.” 

“If you schedule anything for Saturday or claim you are needed at The Tower, I swear to God that I will march down there and force you home myself, got it?” you said, standing up, just barely able to hover over him now. 

“I’d love to see you do that,” he smirked and you rolled your eyes. 

“Hardy har har,” you waved your hand flippantly, before you began to walk back toward the door. 

“Wait,” Roman called, “what about tomorrow?” 

“What about tomorrow?” 

“Who's gonna chaperone?”

“Oh, I will,” you said with a shrug, “gives me another opportunity to piss off all those stuck up private school moms anyway.” 

Roman’s smirk morphed into a grin, “They’re just jealous.” 

“Don’t I know it.” 

You smiled at him one last time before you started to exit once more.

“Ms. (Y/L/N)?” you turned to see Roman had stood from his desk and was standing only a pace or two away, “I-- well, thank you. I want to say thank you.” 

“It’s my job,” you laughed good naturedly, hoping to shuck off the tension that had begun to build again now that he was close to you.  

“Still,” he said sincerely, inching nearer, “thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, Mr. Godfrey,” you peered up at him with wide eyes as he towered over you. 

There were his eyes darting to stare at your lips, there was his delicious cologne infiltrating your senses, there was his radiating warmth pricking at your skin and erupting goosebumps across your neck. 

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes?” 

He seemed to be battling with something, his mouth opening just to close again. His brow furrowed briefly, before relaxing once more with a sigh. 

“Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

You ignored the supreme disappointment that quelled in your belly as you gave a strained smile. 

“Good night, Mr. Godfrey.” and with that, you left.

feedback is always appreciated 

[hetacon]

Can We Take a Rain Check?

Word Count: 705

Pairing: Prinxiety

Warning: Slight food mention

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Summary: Virgil talks a walk on a stormy day. The company is pretty nice.

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The air smelled clean and cool as Virgil stood out in the rain, his favorite hoodie getting soaked as he just smiled to himself. He let the rain run down his face, listening to the heavy sounds of rain falling all around him and the hustle and bustle of people walking past him on the sidewalk.

Virgil felt calm standing out there, only snapping out of it as he heard a curse come from the front door to his apartment complex open and when he opened his eyes, he saw Roman, his neighbor next to him, struggling to put up his umbrella.

“Need help?” he asked, clearly amused as he held the door open for Roman, finally allowing him to open it properly.

“Thank you, I’m not exactly doing the best on time right now!” Roman told him, ducking out from under the building’s awning. “What are you... doing exactly though? You’re getting soaked out here!” he asked, fidgeting as he waited for the answer. Virgil showed him mercy and started to walk in the direction Roman was looking, motioning for him to lead the way.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Virgil responded with a simple, “Just enjoying the rain, you know?” This was a nice little experience, he wanted to be out in the rain for a while. He wished he’d brought his wallet to grab a pastry at his favorite bakery but he figured a walk out in the rain was a fun enough time regardless of peanut butter cookies. Roman’s company definitely wasn’t a bad thing either.

“Well yeah but you could do that inside or you could at least have an umbrella or a raincoat or something! You look so brooding and emo right now!” Roman huffed out a laugh, casting a look to Virgil who only playfully rolled his eyes.

“Of what you know about me, how is that any different from how I usually look?”

“I-! You make an excellent point actually, you do quite frequently look like a Addams family knockoff.”

Virgil put a hand to chest, gasping. “Why I’m flattered! But no way in hell, I don’t have any ounce of elegance to pull that off.”

“You’d be surprised,” Roman chuckled, stopping at one of the crosswalks and looking around before starting to cross with Virgil trailing behind him.

“So what are you doing? What’s the hurry for?” Virgil asked as the two continued to walk together. He looked around at the scenery as they passed, nothing but gorgeously stormy weather for miles. While he certainly enjoyed the weather, he couldn’t see Roman being much of a fan of being outside in it.

Roman smiled a bit at the question. “An audition, I’ve been prepping for the past week! I kind of lost track of though while cleaning up though so that was my bad!”

“Good luck on this one,” Virgil told him, nodding his head in well wishes.

“Why thank you very much! It’s a shame we can’t chat more, I’d love to take you somewhere this afternoon if I wasn’t in such a hurry,” Roman commented as casually as he could, Virgil taking notice of his cheeks going a bit pink. He looked rather embarrassed. As though he realized what he’d said but still fully intended to say it from the get-go. Virgil definitely didn’t mind the idea at the very least.

“Oh yeah? Well, how long do you think the audition will be?” Virgil asked.

“Err, maybe half an hour, forty-five minutes at most?”

Virgil smiled to himself at that. “Then how about you get coffee with me at the café on the corner? I promise I’ll change and not look like a drowned rat,” he joked, satisfied with the laugh Roman gave him in response.

“That sounds perfect, honestly. Be prepared for me to be a nervous wreck after the audition though,” Roman warned, only to have Virgil wave it off.

“It’s chill, I get it. So the café when you’re done with the audition,” Virgil said again as confirmation.

“Mhm!” Roman hummed out cheerfully.

“Cool, it’s a date then.”

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Taglist: @artissijules, @its-the-cat-queen, @myyoutubecorner, @virgils-paranoia, @marshmallow-the-panda, @anotheregofanficblog

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Epilogue: Ja Mata, Friends

I finally finished the Main Story Quest Rewritten Series! Yaaaaay! *Kermit Flail!*

Erii settled down on her knees and opened her little red suitcase. She wrote down on the paper notepad that she was supposed to be going to Korea to start a new life, but you notice that she didn’t pack very much. 

Your body still aches terribly to the point where you wanted to puke. Your eyes rolled with fatigue. But Erii was showing you her things and writing down her words in her way to chat with you even though you could only stare blankly.

You were in the middle of a graveyard of bones. The cooling effect of the broken canister of liquid nitrogen mixed with the spring air and created a dense fog in the Red Well. But you could still see the outlines of ribs, femurs and skulls among the pile of debris. Charred skeletons embraced each other in battle and deadpool remains mixed with human remains. It reminded you of a scene in an ancient fossilized tar pit. Over hundreds or thousands of years, countless animals and people fell into the pit and died together. Archeologists discovered them but their bones were all mixed up.

Erii showed you her Roman shoes, her white strapped shoes, her hairpins, stockings and ribbons all neatly packed. Then she showed you her little toys. Then she showed you her postcards.

“On April 24th, I went to Tokyo Sky Tree with Sakura. The warmest place in the world is on the Sky Tree.”

“On April 26th, I went to Meiji Shrine with Sakura. Someone held a wedding there.”

“On April 25th, I went to the amusement park with Sakura. The haunted house was scary, but with Sakura there it wasn’t so scary.”

You blink sleepily and suppress a yawn to avoid the pain of stretching your bones. “Hmm… at Christmas, I will take you to see Siberia.”

She nods seriously as this is a solemn vow to her.

Erii quietly took out some of her clothes and pressed them against your skin. The battle had ruined the last remnants of your wedding dress. She opened a blouse and slid it on your arms, pausing when you flinched and hissed in pain, only to continue when you relaxed. Then she buttoned up the front for you. She handed you her skirt and slipped it over your body. 

A soft noise, like a stone rolling down a hill made you sit up in alarm. Erii pressed one hand to your shoulder to keep you from standing. She wrote in her notebook. “Sakura is here.”

You blink at an approaching, staggering human shaped shadow in the fog. For a second, you think it’s Z and your heart lifts. In a few more seconds, Lu Mingfei came into view. Erii with her amazing hearing had already sensed his approach. That explained why she had dressed you and covered you up.

The man looked exhausted and soaked to the bone. At the sight of Erii’s wave, he relaxed to near collapse. “You’re here!” He exclaimed.

Lu Mingfei stumbled the rest of the way into her arms. He hugged her tightly and after a long time, he quietly began to cry. You watched them embrace, feeling happy for them at first, and your eyes grow dull.

Chance was gone. Ruri Kazama was gone too. He fell asleep in the mind of Chime and you would never be so greedy as to use the clapper on him to bring him back. Chime was off somewhere with his brother. It was uncertain if you’d ever see him again. Somehow, you’d seen the world, been wooed by the most beautiful men of Tokyo and still had ended up alone with no one to hold you and cry. 

Lu Mingfei had arrived in a black Mercedes and that’s what you took to get out of this place. You fell asleep on your way there.

You woke up days later to an IV in your arm in the comfort of the luxury suite. You stare up at the princess canopy. You’re surprised. How could it be that this place remained untouched throughout the whole disaster? Ruri Kazama knew your room. Perhaps by his fierce order, all the Devil Clan members knew not to destroy the bedroom of his precious love.

“MC…” A familiar voice speaks out of the dimly lit corner. You sit up. 

Renata was sitting next to your bedside. Her long blond hair was down over her bare shoulders. She wore a frilly blue lace top and a light yellow skirt with a white obi belt at her waist. A black knee brace interrupted her silhouette. For a moment you stare silently into each other’s eyes, expressionless. 

“Is there still a bug in this room?” You ask.

“I had Fingel remove it.” She said, standing and sitting next to you on your bed.

You finally wrap your arms around her, rest your head in her chest, and the tears roll down your face. Renata doesn’t cry but the strength in her arms as they hold you, so firm and so tightly, conveys her thoughts. You slept for twenty years and traveled all the way across the world. You’d fought with monsters and devils, gangsters and gods. But you still managed to find each other in the end. In this secret hide away in the dark, you could hold each other again. You press your ear to her chest and listen to that strong heavy heartbeat and hear her breathe in and out. “Renata… I loved you back then.”

“I thought so too. I was too embarrassed to say anything about it. I was afraid of getting in trouble with the nurses. But please. Continue to call me Zero. It’s more than my new identity. It’s who I am now.” She pulled away from you slightly. “Do you know about… him?”

You know she’s talking about Z and you nod. “A little.”

“Please keep it to yourself.” Her eyes were gentle, but her voice held a command. “There are things that are still far beyond that we cannot understand. But if you stay useful to the end, he will not leave you.”

It takes three months for everything to settle and, in the meantime, you stay with the men in Takamagahara Night Club. Your bloodline test returns completely clean and you are installed as a full member of Cassell College.  You don’t tell them how it happened, that you were bitten by the Light King parasite and filled head to toe with its fetal blood. When Erii embraced you, the effect was the same. She bathed in the blood of a young dragon and her bloodline issues resolved. In Caesar’s report, he simply states that your bloodline problems were clerical errors and you were never a dangerous hybrid.

In those months, the club Takamagahara was fully restored. Though Tokyo still lies in ruins, a great final performance has been arranged. You settle in your seat next to Zero and she looks at you and smiles.

The curtain was slowly opened. Caesar’s fingers ran across the keys of a piano, Chu Zihang blew out the first note on the saxophone and the applause rolled over like a tide. The spotlights swayed over them and the banners that read “Love Sakura!” “BasaraKing forever!” and “Sacred Ukyo!”

Zero huffed to your right. “Someone should stand behind Lu Mingfei before he faints.”

Erii sat next to you on your left and held up a sign. “Go Sakura!”

Tonight is his debut show and the farewell show for the three of them. The theme is ``Goodbye, Ikemen Team.” The TV regrettably announced that BasaraKing, Ukyou, and Little Sakura would be returning to the United States due to their expiring contract. Tonight is their last performance. They would also be ending their careers as performers, so this was truly Sayounara.

All the tickets were sold out in advance. Not even VIPs could get a hold of them. Whole bar fixtures were removed to accommodate more guests. The dance floor was full of women, young and old. Everyone was dressed in costumes from shiny sexy short skirts to dignified long black sleeves. In order to ensure safety, the Metropolitan Police Department temporarily activated traffic control measures and everyone had to walk to the Takamagahara.

Apparently, Cassell had pulled some sort of mass brainwashing. All the people who witnessed the raging deadpool in the club suddenly didn’t remember it that way at all. They only remembered you and the boys protecting and helping people during the storm and that was it. Cassell was scarily efficient at hiding the truth of the world from the world.

Lu Mingfei stepped to the microphone and looked at Erii and sang a shaky little “Sayounara.” He picked up the champagne on the piano cover and drank.

You only understand the word Sayounara in the song. It’s all in Japanese. Lu Mingfei might not have the best voice, but he does have the best Japanese of the three. You quickly pick up a handkerchief. “Erii… don’t cry! Come on, you have to give your support! You can still chat over Line tonight.”

There was no more fear that Erii would rage out of control and kill everyone. So she was free to express sad emotions like this. Now her red eyes ran with tears. “I want to go to the US with Sakura.” She wrote.

“And you will! You will! Eventually… Don��t despair okay?”

The best theater speakers in Tokyo were tuned to the use of the Takamagahara. The sound from the subwoofers burst like ten thousand cannons. Caesar’s piano skills were handed down to him from the world’s top masters and flowed into the sound system. Chu Zihang’s saxophone was also very good. The musical emotional refrain climbed higher and higher. And then when the hall seemed to no longer be able to accommodate such surging music, the top of the hall suddenly opened letting in the moon and starlight.

The spring had turned to summer and the warm air of the seaside city flooded in. You look up at the star strewn sky and grin. Your hand tightens on Zero’s hand. “Make a wish.” You whisper.

Caesar got up from the piano and Chu Zihang put down the saxophone. They all walked to Lu Mingfei’s side and the three took each other’s hands and bowed deeply. 

Cries and applause swept the stage like a storm. And the enthusiasm can't be contained. Women rushed the stage to embrace the young men who were leaving but the stage was too high to climb. So they throw roses, thousands of roses until the stage is covered with bright red, pink and white.

“Ukyou! Ukyou! BasaraKing! Basaraking! I love you! Don’t leave!”

It was time for the final rankings of the performers. At this moment, the spotlight suddenly came on to Lu Mingfei. Whale who had lost an arm in the disaster strode onto the stage. “According to Takamagahara practice, whether Little Sakura stays in our warm family depends on one thing - love! That is, your love!” Whale shouted. “Only the flower tickets of your love can get him to stay. So vote for him. Waiter! Please reveal how much love did LIttle Sakura get during his internship?”

A waiter came with an envelope on the platter. Whale tore it open with his teeth and shouted “320 flower tickets!”

“Oh…” You wince. Poor Lu Mingfei. Chu Zihang and Caesar and easily gathered over 900 ticket buyers in a few days. And after months here Lu Mingfei couldn’t gather half that.

But Whale continued. “In addition to the flower tickets purchased before the show, the total is 100,320 flower tickets! Congratulations Little Sakura, you passed the internship period and you are now a member of our Takamagahara club family!”

Whale took a check from his pocket. A projector enlarged the check until it was the whole background of the stage. It was a check for 100 million yen. Lu Mingfei stood in stunned silence. The check was signed by Erii Uesugi.

Erii had stood up at the end of the show but now she held up a new sign with a sad silent face. The sign read clearly. “Sakura, please stay.”

“Oh… Oh Erii…” Your heart was moved by this. You reach out to her.

Zero takes your arm and whispers urgently. “You have to go now. Or else you’ll miss them.”

You hesitate. Erii doesn’t look at you or shift from that spot. Lu Mingfei stares at her over the crowd but the curtain goes down in front of him. Zero is pushing you now and you have to go.

Erii still stands there even though the curtain is down.

Zero drags you out a side entrance to a waiting Alfa Romero Sports car.

“You can comfort her later.” Zero says as she shuts the door of the driver’s side of the vehicle.

“Yeah…” You buckle up and then do a double take. “Since when did you learn how to drive?”

“Since forever ago.” She turned her head and backed out of the alley and sped down the street so fast you were pressed into the leather. 

The helicopter was parked in a large parking lot two blocks away and the eight executive members of the Hydra lined up to send the Cassell team off. After this incident, the Japanese branch was established again, but a new agreement was signed. Anjou gave up his personal control over the branch, though he still holds the highest decision making power.

The last surviving member of the original family was Nanami Sakurai and she was promoted as Minister of Japan and the new acting director of the Executive Bureau. Chisei and his brother were missing in action and assumed dead. But before his disappearance, Chisei had left the leadership to Mrs. Sakurai. Caesar and Anjou spoke to Mrs. Nanami and she was impressed by their words enough to let you have a special internship and training as a White King bloodline operative and you would be handling all matters when it came to the Devil Clan and unstable hybrids.

“These small gifts left by the clan chief are not quite high end,” Crow gave sunscreen in glass bottles to Casear, Anjou, Lu Mingfei, Zero, and Fingel. “They’re his whole collection. He was really serious about going and selling sunscreen.”

“I’ll smear it on the prettiest girl’s back for him.” Caesar said.

“That would make him happy. That’s what he looked forward to the most.” Crow said.

Your heart aches slightly, thinking of Sakura Yabuki. You wondered where Chisei was now. You hoped he managed to find peace somewhere with his brother.

Caesar approached you. “Are you going to be alright by yourself?”

Your lips curl upward. Then you dip your head and delicately remove your contact lenses. Your eyes are glowing golden, permanently. One didn’t just brush up against the experience of being a dragon king and not be left with some sequelae. “Caesar… Are you going to be alright by yourself?” You ask in a sly voice.

Caesar averts his eyes. “Okay, okay, point taken.”

You replace the contacts in your eyes. “I’m no Caesar Gattuso, but I think I can hold my own here.”

Caesar’s eyes soften. “We’re going to look for him.”

Your smile fades. “Don’t look too hard.” Your chest aches again. “Chime needs time. And so do I.”

Caesar pulls you into a tight hug. You inhale deeply and focus on the bright sweet scent of tobacco. “Don’t forget to text me when you get in. And tell Nono I said hello.”

“I will.”

You approach Lu Mingfei. His eyes are dim and he doesn’t look up. You shake your head. You’re living because of this guy, so you can’t punch him or threaten him too badly. You tap his nose and he looks up at you, looking irritated. 

“Better step up, pretty boy. She went through a lot for you.”

“I know… I... “ Lu Mingfei rubbed the back of his head.

“Don’t say anything! I’m having the hardest time not dragging you back to the Takamagahara right now. It’s 100 mil yen man… come on.” You suddenly hug him tight.

“Ow! Ow! Have you been working out or something? Geez you’re gonna leave a bruise!” He whined.

“Text her.” That’s the last you say to Lu Mingfei.

You approach Chu Zihang. He looked down at you with golden eyes hidden behind black eyed contact lenses. Even now, you didn’t feel particularly close to him, especially not close enough to hug. Chu Zihang was holding a long white wood box that contained Chisei’s swords anyway. He nodded once to you.

“I will be following your progress closely.” He said.

Principal Anjou was blowing out a puff on his cigar as you approached him. He handed you a small white card. “This is your official Cassell Credentials. You’ll be on remote study, but given your performance, you can study at your leisure.”

“Thank you, Principal. I would like to learn Japanese, and how to drive faster than Zero.”

Zero looked up from where she was about to board the helicopter and rolled her eyes at you, but there was a trace of a smile on her lips.

The helicopter took them up into the sky and you watched as its white light disappeared like a shooting star flying into the distance, taking your friends away across the ocean to the United States. 

You turned back to Crow who bowed deeply until he was horizontal. “Mrs. Chief. Forgive my bad English, but your car is ready to go to your new accommodations at the Hydra headquarters in Genji Heavy Industries.”

You grin flashing your white teeth at him. “Arigatou.”

[aster-aspera]

I’m still here

CW for this chapter: mild violence, character injury Chapter title is from 'I'm still here' from treasure planet Relationships: platonic/romantic LAMP

Masterlist

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“Logos, answer me! Dammit.” Virgil shouted into the comms.

He kept his eyes trained on the warehouse Logan had just entered, hoping to spy any sort of sign he was alright.

“Come on Lo, don’t do this to me.” He muttered.

If any of his friends was going to get killed by being reckless, he really hadn’t expected it to be Logan.

“What’s going on?” Patton’s voice came over the comms, concern colouring his tone.

“L went into one of the warehouses, he thinks they might be storing a second shipment there.”

“The plan was that you two would intercept the incoming shipment together, he can’t just run off.”

“He was very insistent about the second shipment, said we had to stop that one too.”

“So he went in alone?”

“He said he was just going in for recon, but he’s not responding anymore.”

“Hey guys? This might be a bad time, but the shipment is arriving.” Roman chimed in.

Patton sighed.

“Okay, change of plans. Me and Storm will take care of the shipment. Prince, go after Logos, make sure he’s alright, be careful with engaging.”

“Will you two be fine taking care of this shipment? We don’t know how many goons the Duke hired.”

“We can’t let these weapons get out on the streets, if that happens, I don’t think even Janus will be able to keep order.” Virgil said.

“We’ve got it handled.” Patton reassured him. “Just go make sure Lo is alright.”

Virgil watched as a white shape detached from the shadows and moved silently to the warehouse.

Swallowing his fear, he turned back towards the harbour, where he saw the shape of an incoming boat, lights off so as to avoid detection.

He slunk forward over the containers he had been perched on. His footsteps silent and his dark purple and black outfit blending seamlessly into the shadows.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw a light blue figure vault gracefully over the gap between the containers.

They met up under a shadowy overhang, from which they could see the docking bay clearly.

At first, it stayed completely empty, before the Duke’s goons started emerging and spread out over the area. Guards positioned themselves around the boat and the rest started hauling at the crates stacked on the ship.

“I’ll keep them engaged, you sneak around back and plant the bombs, okay?” Patton told him, as he slipped his pistols from their holsters.

Virgil nodded.

“Good luck.”

Virgil squeezed Patton’s hand before melting into the shadows.

He circled the docking bay, trying to find a spot the guards weren’t watching too closely. Eventually he waited between two containers for Patton’s distraction to start.

“Shit.” Roman’s voice came through the comms.

“What?” Virgil felt his anxiety skyrocket.

“Logos was right. There is a second shipment stored here.”

“Did you find Logos?”

“No, no sign of him anywhere. No sign of anyone really, it’s deserted here.”

“That’s not good.”

“Maybe Lo took care of all of them and is just hanging around somewhere in the warehouse?” Roman suggested, sounding like he didn’t fully believe himself.

“I’ll go look for him and place some bombs here while I’m at it, you guys just focus on taking care of that other shipment, alright? Don’t worry about us.” He continued

“You know I always worry about you.” Virgil said, only half joking.

Roman huffed a laugh and clicked off his comms.

Virgil turned back to the docking bay, taking a deep breath around the mounting panic in his chest.

“You alright?” Patton asked, nearly whispering to avoid being heard by the people in the bay.

“I’ll be fine, let’s just focus on the mission right now.”

“Okay.” He didn’t sound convinced but didn’t press the issue either.

Right on cue, gunshots echoed through the stiflingly still night air of the docks. The guards shouted in alarm as two of their members fell, unconscious, Patton would never aim to kill.

The guards ran forward, and Virgil aimed his grappling gun at the boat.

With a dull thud, it wrapped around a railing and Virgil let it pull him onto the boat. He dropped behind the railing and sat for a moment, waiting to hear if someone had seen him.

All he heard were the alarmed shouts of the guards as they scattered from Patton’s hail of bullets.

He got up and snuck to the engine room, sticking close to the walls and occasionally grabbing a bomb from his utility belt and hiding it under window sills.

Eventually he made it to the fuel tank.

He stuck the last few bombs in place and checked that they were all connected properly.

He clicked open his comm line with Patton.

“Bombs are all in place, are we go?”

“Yep,” Patton’s voice chirped back “everything’s handled here.”

Virgil made his way onto the top of the ship and set off the first two bombs, roughly in the middle of the ship.

Cries of alarm came from the goons moving the crates of weapons and the smart ones fled the ship.

A few stayed and tried to grab some of the crates to save them.

Virgil set off two more bombs to make it clear that they really should get moving.

As soon as they too had made their way off the ship and Virgil was relatively sure it was empty, he aimed his grappling gun at one of the cranes looming over them and swung away, hitting the button that set off the last of the bombs, the ones on the fuel tank.

The ship exploded and was soon engulfed in bright orange flames.

Patton kept raining bullets down on the remaining goons, who were trying to protect the few crates they had gotten off the ship.

Virgil joined in the fray and together they managed to send all of them running.

The remaining crates of weapons they pushed into the harbour with a bomb attached to them.

When they were done, Patton turned to him with a triumphant grin and Virgil let himself feel a moment of satisfaction for a job well done, before his mind immediately snapped back to Roman and Logan.

He clicked open the shared comm link.

“Prince, did you find him?”

For a few moments there was only a heavy silence over the line.

Patton fidgeted nervously.

Then, heavy breathing came in over the line and Roman’s voice piped up, sounding haggard.

“Yeah, but he’s hurt. Can’t tell how bad. We need to get him home.”

“Is there anyone in the warehouse?” Patton asked.

“Yeah, a few more goons. Should be easy enough to take down but I can’t with Logos out.”

“Okay, we’ll take care of them. Can you guys get out of the warehouse?” Virgil asked.

“There’s a back door. If you guys distract them from the front we should be able to get out.”

“Okay, we’ll handle it. You guys take the car, rendez-vous at home.” Patton instructed.

Roman agreed and clicked off his comms.

Virgil and Patton entered the warehouse. Together they made quick work of the few remaining thugs.

Virgil might have fought with a little more force than strictly necessary, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He just wanted to go home and make sure Logan was alright.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they arrived home. Virgil nearly threw his motorcycle against the wall and slammed the door open.

“Woah, dude, don’t break the house down.” Roman, who was standing in the kitchen, said. He stalked past him.

“Where’s Logan?”

“Is he alright?” Patton asked, following along behind Virgil.

“I’m fine, you three are blowing this way out of proportion, as always.” A voice came from the couch.

Logan was lying on it, an icepack on his head and his arms crossed, looking like a petulant child.

“Lo!” Patton cried.

“Roman said you were hurt, of course we were worried, you ass.” Virgil complained.

“It’s fine, it’s not as bad as I originally thought, just a concussion and some bruising around the ribs. So Patton, no hugs.” Roman explained.

Patton pouted and Virgil breathed a sigh of relief, happy everyone was safe.

Roman seemed to notice and wrapped his arms around Virgil.

“Hey, we’re alright. There’s no need to worry so much.”

“I know, but it’s always scary when one of us gets hurt. And it’s not like I knew it was just a concussion.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I probably should have given you guys a bit more information, instead of just ‘he’s hurt’.”

“It’s fine, you were panicking, it happens.”

“Who said I was panicking?”

“I think the way you drove home speaks for itself.” Logan spoke up from the couch.

Patton giggled and Virgil felt his face mirror his smile. Somehow, Patton had managed to get Logan’s head onto his lap and was gently running his hands through his hair, mindful of the ice pack.

Logan looked like he was trying his best not to show how much he was enjoying it, and failing spectacularly.

Roman pulled Virgil along and they sat on the ground in front of the couch.

Virgil curled up against Patton’s legs and Logan laid a hand on Roman’s shoulder.

“So who wants to rewatch the office bloopers?”

Virgil groaned.

“No way.” Logan said.

“You guys are no fun.” Roman complained.

“You know which movie I’ve wanted to rewatch since forever? Treasure planet.” Patton interjected.

“Oh, yeah! I love that movie.” Roman cheered.

“Get ready for constant renditions of ‘I’m still here’.” Virgil groaned.

“Oh, shut it. You love my singing.”

“Not when I’m trying to study.”

“Are we going to watch that movie, or are we going to fruitlessly bicker about Roman’s singing?” Logan complained.

As Roman set the movie up on the tv, Patton carded his hand through Virgil’s hair and when Virgil looked up he pressed a quick kiss to his brow.

Virgil felt the last dregs of his fear disappear as Roman curled up against his shoulder and he felt the rest of his family safe behind him.

[my-happy-little-bean]

The Bookkeeper – Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Starry Night

pairings: logicality, prinxiety words: 4387 chapter warnings: mild swearing, allusions to mental illness, mild dark humour summary: in which we read letters to the dead.

[read on ao3] [masterlist]

< previous chapter

–

What on Earth was he looking at here? 

Logan stared at the display. A tiny baby figurine dangled in front of him, a long string of twine wrapped around its neck, thus hanging it from the ceiling.

His gaze hovered down to the nameplate for the piece: “ Fertility.” 

“Are you kidding me…” Logan muttered under his breath, crossing his arms. He begrudgingly attempted to act intrigued while his mind ran blank. 

He wasn’t sure if this display was what Patton intended for him to spend so much time at when he gave him the museum tickets, but here he was, spending precious time here : where the marble pillars stood at each corner of the room, where the air was thick with agreed-upon silence, where everything–  everything–  was beige, and where people in black turtlenecks lined the walls as they pinched their chins and hummed at the same time.

Logan knew Patton’s attempts of getting him out of the shop were well-intended, but he also knew this: he wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be writing, researching– anything but standing here and looking at what must have cost the artist two dollars. 

Some cynical sense in him wondered if this answered his question more than he was able to on his own. Perhaps this was what giving up looked like. Perhaps, in a world with little to no meaning, art was meant to be a white flag; it was meant to mark where the earth cracked beneath your feet; it meant nothing. 

“Quite the piece, hm?” 

Logan spun on his heel. Facing him was a tall person, with brown eyes that basked golden in the sunlight that poured through the museum’s skylight. They wore a black vest overtop a pale, yellow button-up, sleeves rolled just before their elbow. Logan noted in particular the small enamel pin on the top right side of their vest; it was a small, twisting snake with scales of yellow, white, purple, and black. And Logan didn’t know much about people in general, but he knew that this was the sort of person you would look at twice in passing; once by accident, and once by enthrallment. 

“Ferbachi’s ‘Fertility’ ,” the person hummed once more. A slight British accent tinged the end of their words. They stepped beside Logan and pointed at the twine around the hanging baby’s neck. “The twine represents fragility.” 

“...It does?” 

“No.” The person smiled smugly, not looking at Logan. “Not at all.” 

Logan let out a small ‘ah’, awkwardly shifting back and forth. 

“But I assume you were trying to find some meaning from the piece,” the person continued. “I’ve been watching you stand here, perplexed, for probably ten minutes now.” 

‘It’s been ten minutes?’ Logan scrunched up his nose.

 “You’ve been watching me?” he asked instead. 

The person shrugged. “Only a little. Reminiscent of someone hiding a toy from a dog, and the dog trying to figure out where his toy went.” 

A pause. The person then added, “That is to say, incredibly amusing.” 

Logan narrowed his eyes on the individual. “Are all museum-goers this annoying?” 

“No no.” A wide, Cheshire cat grin. “Just nosy.” 

Logan huffed, muttering under his breath a string of curses. The person turned to face Logan and outstretched their hand. 

“My name is Dr. Janus Carson,” they said. Each word sounded rich with caramel. “And I am not a museum-goer, I am one of the art curators here.” 

Logan scoffed. “So you were the one who thought this was a worthwhile display?” 

“Well one, not necessarily how curating works. And two...you can blame my colleague, Dr. Remus Harden. Most of the things he curates are more contemporary and...well, strange.” 

“ This is contemporary art?” 

“I would invite you not to act so surprised,” Janus replied pointedly. “Everything is made by someone...” 

“Logan,” Logan supplied. “Logan Fray. He/him”

Janus nodded. “Everything is made by someone, Mr. Fray. Which means everything is enriched in some sort of purpose. Even if the purpose is meaningless.” 

Logan blinked. Janus’ words felt like sound that was lost in a cave, helplessly bouncing against the walls, looking for somewhere to go. 

“So why do you think someone made this?” 

“I don’t know, Mr. Fray. Why does anyone make anything at all?” 

A beat of silence.

“Precisely,” Logan murmured. 

“Pardon?” 

“I– um, is there somewhere I can get coffee here?” Logan blurted out. “I...I think I need a break from all–” He motioned at the hanging baby– “this.” 

“Me as well,” Janus hummed, already walking away. They motioned for Logan to follow them without turning around. “And afterwards, I can give you a tour of something that perhaps can give you some answers.” 

Logan felt his heart race. “How did you know I’m–” 

“You are not the first pretentious existentialist to walk into a museum,” Janus drawled, still walking. Logan quickened his pace, frantically trying to stay beside them.

“How–” 

“It’s Tuesday, Mr. Fray, and you’re in a museum alone.” Janus stopped and looked him up and down. “And honestly, the shoes give it away.” 

Logan, bewildered and with child-like embarrassment, looked down at his shoes. He thought the shoes looked rather nice. 

“Hurry along, Mr. Fray.” Janus’ accented voice rang in his ears like an alarm. “We don’t have all day.”

—

Patton paced back and forth along the shelves of Fray and Far Fables, Roman floating right behind him. 

“How about The Hazel Wood by Melissa Albert!” Roman magically lifted the book off the shelves and flew it over Patton’s head so it could stop Patton in his tracks. “I read it the other night and found it to be fascinating! There’s this grandma who writes real grim-dark fairy tales and dies and this girl– Alice– her mother gets stolen by someone in her grandma’s stories–”

“That sounds too spooky!” Patton waved his hand in front of the book and pushed through it, Roman lifting the book back up before Patton could barrel head-first into its hardcover. 

“Gah– how about The Signature of All Things! You read that one recently! Wouldn’t you want to visit the Whittaker estate: the flowers, the plants–” 

“I– I don’t know, I feel like I have already been there, ya know?” 

“Great Odin’s eyepatch–  Patton!” Roman flew over Patton’s head and hovered in front of his nose, arms crossed. “We’ve been walking circles around the store and you have yet to give me one book! When you said you wanted to go in a book nook, I didn’t expect to be bored!” 

“I know, I know!” Patton buried his face in his hands. “There’s just so many choices! I don’t want to make a wrong choice!” 

Roman sighed. “You can’t pick a wrong choice, Patton. And even if you do, we can always just leave and go to another one!” 

Patton let out a muffled groan beneath his palms. Maybe he should’ve done a bit more research before coming in today. 

He closed his eyes. A million stories appeared in the blots of the darkness; there were visions of the cotton-candy worlds in his bedtime stories, tall mountains and deep seas. Heck, if he really wanted to, he could just pick up Around the World in Eighty Days and he could go anywhere he wanted! (Probably!) So why was this so hard?

Patton opened his eyes and looked at Roman. 

“What’s your favourite story?” 

Roman’s frown sent a flurry of regret in Patton’s chest. But the feeling eased a bit when Roman scrunched up his face and whizzed right past him to one of the shelves behind the front counter. 

“I have a favourite,” Roman finally said, “but you’re going to have to keep a secret. Is that okay?” 

“Yeah! Yes, of course,” Patton stammered. He grabbed his sketchbook and watercolour set, tucking a brush behind his ear as he watched Roman disappear behind some of the books on the shelf. 

The books Roman moved behind began to slowly lift themselves off the shelves. Patton watched with wonder as they parted in the air, like double doors to a castle, revealing Roman standing beside a thin book that was pressed flat against the back of the shelves, only showing its brown, leather cover. It seemingly blended into the colour of the wood.

“Oh!” Patton tucked his sketchbook and watercolour set underneath his arm. He then held out his hands as Roman levitated the book towards him. Patton let the book sit softly in his palms. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one before.” 

He opened the first page. It seemed like a notebook, pages yellowed with time. Patton squinted at the faded cursive scrawled on the lines: The Midnight Forest by…

“V...Aries,” Patton read aloud. Roman nodded, flying over to sit on Patton’s shoulder. Patton looked at him with a frown. “Isn’t this the philosopher Logan likes?” 

“Mhm. Logan doesn’t know this ‘cause not many people do, but Virgil Aries used to write poetry books.” His smile faltered. “Well, a poetry boo k; it’s the one you’re holding right now . He only ever wrote one, and he didn’t even publish it.”

Patton smiled, flipping through some of the pages. 

“Why haven’t you ever told Logan about it?” 

A beat of silence. 

“I don’t think I could. You’re sorta the only person who’s ever asked.” Roman shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like many people knew Virgil Aries by his poetry– they only ever knew him by his theories of philosophy.” A pause. Roman added, “It’s...it’s nice to keep some unknown parts of him away from all that.” He laughed quietly. “Dude was really sad.” 

Patton nodded wordlessly, half-listening as he ran his fingers across the bumps of the pen marks on each thin page. It reminded him of the subtle glances he would sneak at Logan whenever he stopped by the shop, catching him writing or deep in thought as he browsed the books. He imagined if Virgil Aries might have let his pen dance across the paper, similar to the way he knew Logan did, ink gliding across paper floors almost seamlessly. 

He took one more look at Roman, who was also reading over his shoulder. His eyebrow was furrowed and his demeanour seemed to dampen. Patton wondered then if Roman was thinking the same thing too. 

“Alright! Well, I don’t know if you can make a book nook out of a poetry book, but I wouldn’t mind trying!” Patton finally said. Roman’s smile lifted ever so slightly. He floated off of Patton’s shoulder.

“I most definitely can!” Roman slowly descended onto the pages, going on one knee and pressing his palms flat against them. Circles of red magic appeared faintly beneath his hands. 

“Lemme show you how book nooks are actually made! Hold on tight!” 

“Hold on tight to wha–” 

And before Patton could finish, he felt the book tremble in his hands. Strings of red magic suddenly sprouted from the open pages. Startled, Patton let go of the book. His eyes widened in fear before realizing that the book was staying in place in the air where he was holding it, Roman still kneeling on the pages.

Patton watched Roman’s right arm shoot up into the sky, vibrant red magic following its path. A flurry of cursive handwriting followed his palm, creating a double helix of words and magic. 

Patton covered his face as a stream of it shot right past his ear. Warm air wrapped around him like he was in the eye of a hurricane. He clutched onto his sketchbook and his watercolours, grabbing the paintbrush behind his ear. He wielded the paintbrush as if it were some sort of sword, but somehow knew that he didn’t need to worry about protecting himself.

And then, Patton opened his eyes. 

The first thing Patton noticed was the sky above them. Peeking beneath the shadowed branches of the tall trees was a painted sky of all shades of blue. Flurries of yellow were layered on top of the sky as floating lanterns, moving slowly like clouds in the wind. 

Back on earth, small freckles of light spun around him and the forest clearing he stood in, as if the breeze was braiding golden thread in the air. It smelled like petrichor and freshly cut grass, and there was barely any noise; all Patton could hear was his own breathing, and his own heart. 

“Holy...shit,” Patton whispered, lowering the paintbrush to his side. 

“Why thank you!” Roman used the book as a makeshift magic carpet and guided it to rest on a log. The book easily gave into the shape of the surface it laid on like a blanket. Roman looked around the forest clearing, his smile falling. “Goodness, I haven’t done that in a long time.” 

“It was amazing .” Patton grinned at Roman, though it was tinged with a bit of fear– no, not fear, curiosity. How could Roman have done all this? Who was he? 

Patton held Roman’s gaze for a moment too long. Roman’s eyes glimmered with a dull sort of excitement and pride that felt as though it was meant for someone else. The air between them thickened with unexpected tension.

“Well, I can’t keep this open forever,” Roman said, clearing his throat. He motioned to the book. Patton caught sprinkles of pulsing red magic lining the book’s edges. “So if you’re going to get started on painting…” 

“Yes! Yes, of course.” Patton decided to sit next to Roman on the log, setting his watercolour palette between the two of them. Then, he laid his sketchbook on his lap and got to work. 

Patton wasn’t sure if time passed in the same way as it did on Earth (there was no way he was still on Earth) but he knew enough had passed for him to zone out in his painting, so wrapped up in his surroundings. 

In the background, he could hear Roman reading out loud from the book. 

“And if swirls of blue and yellow are not enough, and if the cities beneath are not enough

And if all these answers are not enough,  love, may I give you this: 

A forest made of spiral-words,  and a sky made of whimsy mist. 

Notice how I kiss you here, an angel lifted,  then earthy heels in dirt adrift.

So now, when you return here,  my love, I will never be missed.”

—

“I don’t love my job very much,” Janus hummed as they took a sip from their cup of coffee. They guided Logan through the halls of the museum. “All museums are a little problematic anyway. Most exhibits I see are just prizes for colonialism –  bleh. ” 

“Wonderful,” Logan deadpanned. “Life is just wonderful.” 

“Isn’t it?” Janus gave Logan a smile that was cheeky enough to be Roman’s, but more serious.

Eventually, they arrived at more modern displays of art. Logan snuck a glance of the exhibit name as they passed by its sign: “ Ever Yours, Vincent : Exploring the Inner Workings of Vincent Van Gogh”.

“This is a recent exhibit I worked on. It isn’t quite ready for the public, but it is down to its final stages of revision. While I was interested in Van Gogh’s works, I was more so interested in what occurred beyond his canvas; in particular, his many letters to his brother, Theo.” 

They both weaved through tall, staggered pillars of towering LED screens, which illuminated the dark room. The screens panned over rows of cursive handwriting, as if scanning through a list of ancient relics. 

The hall of pillars eventually led to an open layout of interactable displays, glass casings filled with notebooks and paintbrushes and photos. The walls had ceiling-to-floor digital screens that moved through various scenes of Van Gogh’s artwork. Logan recognized a few: Irises, Café Terrace at Night, The Red Vineyard and, of course, The Starry Night. 

“Such a bothered man created images that people see and feel enlightened by . I have never met a person who hasn’t felt hope looking at his starry night.”

Logan frowned, noting the swirls of blue and yellow that surrounded him. He didn’t know why, but he longed to touch the walls and feel each individual stroke of paint. He had looked at art before, but was never truly immersed in it. 

“Some historians say he was depicting the view outside his asylum window,” Janus continued. “One of my favourite quotes from Van Gogh’s various letters to Theo touched upon this idea.” 

Then, as if pulling the threads of their own memory, Janus closed their eyes and recited: “ ‘But what a beautiful land and what a beautiful blue and what a sun’. ” 

They then opened their eyes and looked over at Logan with a small smile. “ ‘And yet I’ve only seen the garden and what I can make out through the window’.” 

Logan found himself stunted by the quotation. 

“He had depression, yes?”

“The diagnosis varies, but yes.” Janus’ lips twisted ever so slightly, staring at the walls surrounding them. “As I said, he was quite the bothered man.” 

Logan nodded. On the tip of his tongue were questions about whether or not this proves his point; that even art cannot truly help someone escape the vast nothingness of life. 

“You know, Van Gogh wasn’t really famous until after his death,” Janus said after a moment of silence. “Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, his brother’s wife, was the one who told his stories. She pushed for his art to find an audience, and she translated the letters between Van Gogh and his brother.” 

As if on cue, translucent cursive slowly sprawled across the screened image of The Starry Night. The script ran alongside the slow-moving swirls of light over the silhouetted town depicted in the painting. 

“I told you that I do not love my job, but in reality, I need to do this job more than anything else I need to do. And it’s because of Johanna’s work. It proves that there are stories everywhere, hidden under layers and layers of paint. Beneath every painting is a canvas, beneath the words of a letter is the paper on which they are written.” 

Janus’ words were exhaled slowly, their surrounding air rich with a lifelong commitment Logan couldn’t begin to understand. They motioned at the walls, and Logan followed their hand. Logan’s irises were filled with pulsing light. 

“Without a canvas, The Starry Night would just be paint, still sitting in the cans. Without the paper, Vincent and Theo would never have talked. Without Johanna, none of that would have mattered. There can be no audience for a story without someone presenting it somehow. Someone needs to be the canvas, and someone needs to be the paper.”

Janus’ words washed over Logan like gentle, moonlit tides. The scene around them slowly dissipated into another painting. The same show of art danced around him like a bewitched merry-go-round. 

Logan then looked at Janus, whose eyes were filled with a sense of unshaken fulfillment. Their smile walked a fine line between the walls of definite and whatever laid beyond it.

“So why, then, does anyone make anything at all, Mr. Fray? Well, I am not sure. But I do know this: I preserve art and stories, which is to say, I preserve purpose . And I preserve all of this because they are important. In a life with very little meaning, art worms its way into the spaces that it can fit. And with the help of others, art– and everything it represents– is made bigger than the spaces of life they initially occupy.” 

Janus’ eyes twinkled. “All this being said, Mr. Fray, you can imagine what this means for all the stories that follow.”

Janus’ break eventually ended a few minutes later, and as the two parted ways, Logan felt unable to leave the exhibit. A whirlwind of oil paint and words filled his vision as he let Janus’ words settle in his chest. Then, similar to all things in life, the spectacle faded; and in the moment between the next digital display of painted scenery, Logan was left alone in the vast space of emptiness.

— 

Logan entered Fray and Far Fables much later than he had anticipated. He was unsure of whether or not he would catch Patton before he left, but said uncertainty was resolved as soon as he walked through the door. 

Patton was sitting on an armchair, in hysterics as Roman—to Logan’s horror—magically flipped through a photo album that floated in the air. Roman puppeteered the album like it was a pop-up book, blurry and holographic film footage folding up into view and then back down into the page. The footage showed a young Logan bounding through a backyard, and then an even younger Logan having a tea party with all his stuffed animals.

“What are you– Roman!” Logan bolted towards the photo album and swiped it out of the air, closing it with a swift slam!

“Aw, come on, Lo!” Patton pouted. 

“Yeah, rude interference, Moby Dick ,” Roman quipped, but with a smug smile all the same. “I was going to show Patton the pictures of you in your school’s play of The Sound of Music. ” 

Patton went starry-eyed. “You were in The Sound of Music?” 

Logan rolled his eyes, ignoring both of them as he sat on the chair opposite of Patton. 

“Is this really how you spent your first day of book nook adventuring?” He narrowed his eyes at Roman. “I am praying that the answer is no.” 

“No, of course not! I just had some energy left to re-animate some precious memories.” 

Logan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. A part of him burned wondering if Patton was somehow embarrassed by it all.

“And precious they were!” Patton piped in, diffusing the flame immediately. “Little Logan running around– ah, I was ready to cry!” 

“Thank you, I suppose.” Logan relaxed himself into a smile. “Well then, where did you both go?” 

Patton and Roman exchanged looks that, quite frankly, concerned Logan all over again. He had a feeling that mixing the two of them together spelled chaos. 

“Some old poetry book!” Patton finally said. “I don’t quite remember the name, do you?”

“Nope!” Roman barked out a laugh. “You know me! Ever the scatter-brain!”

“...Right. ” Logan pursed his lips, not believing either of them for a second, but feeling too tired to press on. 

“I did, however, make you something!” Patton grabbed his sketchbook off the coffee table and carefully tore out one page. Logan felt himself grow warm once more.

“Patton, you do not have to give me all your paintings…” 

“Nonsense! It’s the least I can do.” Patton passed over the paper. Logan carefully took it in his hands. 

In a stroke of odd coincidence, the palette that Patton had chosen was uncannily similar to The Starry Night. It was also less abstract than Patton’s usual style. Patches of navy blue and golden yellow flooded the sky above what seemed to be the silhouette of a forest clearing, which bordered the sides of the painting with dark greens and various shades of black. In the middle of the clearing were a circle of leaves, an open book laying in its centre. And hovering above the book was a small figure, leaving a trail of cursive handwriting and dark red dust, which glimmered ever so slightly in the moonlight that Patton had let fall upon the painted scenery. 

“My goodness, Patton...” He looked up at him, not exactly knowing what to say. 

“Pretty good, right?” Patton smiled with an uncharacteristic amount of confidence. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so immersed in anything in...well, my whole life!” 

“Art can do that to you, I suppose,” Logan let slip. In the corner of his eye, Roman did a double take. 

“I suppose so!” Patton stood up, scooping up his notebook and his various art supplies.

“Well, anyway, I hope I didn’t overstay my welcome! I was just waiting for you to come back from the museum– oh! How was that by the way?” 

Logan found himself without words once more. Eventually, he just ended up saying, “It was good, Patton. Very...good.” 

“Well, good!” Patton giggled. Logan could almost hear the twinkling of painted stars in his laugh. “I think I have an idea of where I want you to go next, but I might wait ‘till my next visit. I need to let everything just settle, heh.” 

“You’re valid,” Logan hummed. He held Patton’s stare for a moment too long before clearing his throat. “I...I look forward to seeing what you have next in store for me, Patton.” 

Patton broke into a wide, shining smile as he gave Logan a hug. Chills ran down Logan’s spine and jumped between the distance made when Patton pulled away. 

When Patton left the shop, Logan took a deep breath and began his routine of closing up. Roman trailed behind him. 

“So! What are you going to write about tonight?”

Logan could practically feel Roman’s smug smile behind his back.

“I’m going to write about nothing,” he murmured decidedly. Roman raised an eyebrow at him. Logan shrugged wordlessly. Janus’ words filled his mind once more, as if beckoning him to write everything down in a maddening fury. But even if the exact phrasing faded, the feelings elicited remained the same. And if he was going to understand those feelings…

“I need to lie down,” Logan finally said, going over to flip the door sign to ‘closed’ before heading upstairs. “I just...I need some time to be quiet.” 

But despite this attempt, Logan was everything but quiet. For the remainder of the night, he bounced his new ideas and revelations off of Roman, who comically flew above his bed, grabbing each word out of the air in a flurry of ‘told you so!’s. 

Logan, however, simply let it happen. He realized that for the first time in a very long time, the pressure of telling others things was slowly being lifted by the experience of being told something; of knowledge being given to him rather than taught. 

And somewhere underneath the sandy shores of his chest, a new tide of magic rippled through Logan’s entire core.

The next day, Logan glowed just a bit brighter.

—

next chapter > 

[a-little-dreamer-s-world]

A Singing Loneliness Part 3

Taglist:  @lefaystrent @teacupfulofstarshine @theunoriginaldaisy @demigodnamedathena @supreme-succ-overlord @octopushugs @i-will-physically-fight-you @ijustreallylovesanderssides @theobsessor1 @paperghastly @prinxietyforlifefightmeiswear @virgilisaneternalmood @ever-after-aaa @myrandomfandoms12

Hello, everyone! Probably didn’t expect to see this come to the light of day, huh? I’m so sorry this came out so long after the first two parts, and the bad part is that there’s one more part to go. But!! Hopefully, I’ll be able to take my stories from here and add them to my Ao3 account (which you can find here!)

Anyways, I hope y’all can enjoy~!

Warnings?: Eventual LAMP; panic, injury mention

Roman hissed lowly as he stared up towards the surface, Patton next to him trying to wipe the rest of the ink out of Logan’s eyes. The water was starting to pick up, growing more unsettled as the storm came ever closer.

Roman huffed as he whirled around, his glare landing on his tiny pod. “How could he have let this happen to you?” 

“I don’t think he meant to,” Patton said, trying to calm him down. Anything else he could have said died on his lips as Roman met his eyes, looking away as he finished brushing his thumb away from Logan’s eyes.

“It doesn’t matter if he’d meant to or not! It was his fault that it happened and he should have done something to help instead of letting him swim loose and almost crash into the reef.”  Roman’s form circled around them as he continued, “Not only that, but i told you both we should have kept going, and you didn’t listen! Now Logan’s hurt!”

“Roman, I’m not hurt, I promise,” Logan finally spoke up, making the red merman pause. He thought for a moment that he might be able to listen to reason, but then his restlessness seemed to increase as he shook his head.

“No! It’s my job to keep you two safe, and I couldn’t protect you. Maybe you didn’t get hurt this time, but what would have happened if you didn’t veer from the reef, or if all that ink actually damaged your eyes?” The merman had screwed his eyes shut, his hands reaching up to grasp at his hair.

“Ro...” Patton said softly, taking care to put his hand on Roman’s arm to try and comfort him. His face fell when he jerked away.

Roman suddenly lifted his face towards the distance where they had found the sunken ship, his eyes growing hard and fierce. “I’m going to make him sorry,” he said lowly, whipping his tail forward as he made his way towards the ship.

He felt hands on him and he whirled around, hissing. Logan and Patton both looked at him with anxiousness, Logan beginning, “Roman, think about what you’re doing: it wasn’t his fault, and I’m—”

“Stay here,” Roman practically hissed out. He didn’t want to be so aggressive towards his two loves, but he had his duty as their protector to uphold, and he wasn’t even going to let them get in the way of that. With that, he didn’t look back as he zeroed in on the shipwreck. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he got there, but he knew one thing: that stranger needed to atone for his offenses.

Patton and Logan shared a look as they let Roman go ahead of them before they followed at a distance. If he thought they would let him go in by himself when he was this upset, then he must not have known them as well as he thought.

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

Virgil sighed as he pulled up the last of the large stones he managed to collect, inspecting his pile to see if he would need any more.

He always liked to cover up the little hole in the wall where he slept with stones, just in case the rushing water made its way inside and tore his nest to pieces. He figured with the state of the water now, he had a little bit of time to try and hunt for something to eat before he would have to hunker down for the night.

He usually would have caught a crab so he could start eating it now and then finish it once he had his barricade, but after the whole incident earlier with Logan, he wasn’t in the mood for crustacean. A flash of silver passed by the corner of his vision, and he figured a normal fish would do just fine.

He quickly moved into a corner to begin hiding, holding still once he was in position to wait on his next meal. Fish were trickier; they moved swiftly and could easily slip out of the many crevices in the ship that even he couldn’t get past.

As the fish slipped past his grabbing tentacle, he decided he might as well change tactics and, if he failed, he wouldn’t mind skipping a meal in favor of staying safe from the storm.  He pushed away from the wall as fast as he could, propelling himself forward as he reached out his fingers to nab at its tail fin.

He grinned in triumph as he almost had it, but he froze when he heard a distant cry. What made his blood want to grow cold was not because it was a sound of pain or anguish; no, this was a type of battle-cry, full of anger and vengeance.

He caught a glance at an incoming red shape and knew it was the Red Merman. Virgil panicked (he can’t see me he can’t see me he can’t see me—), darting back inside in a feeble hope that he hadn’t seen him, that maybe that cry wasn’t meant for him. But who was he kidding? There was no way it wasn’t for him!

Virgil found himself back towards his nesting spot to try and get to safety, squirming his way inside and staying as quiet as he could.

A little voice in the back of his mind whispered to him, little hopes that maybe he could just talk to him, maybe the other mermen will stop to listen and start to like him, maybe—

“Where are you, you hagfish! How dare you hurt my pod!” the thunder from above felt like it was drowned out by the voice of the angry merman. Virgil’s tentacles quivered at the anger, pushing himself backwards to try and make himself even smaller.

For once, he couldn’t hear anything outside of his hole, the pounding of his main heart in his ears being the only thing he really could hear. He happened to look down at himself to find that he had turned completely pale with fear coursing through his veins. 

“You can’t hide forever,” Red’s voice hissed nearby, close enough for Virgil to realize that he had gone through the hole in the floor and was now in the room where his hideaway was. He looked around for an escape, but then he remembered something: Red would be too big! He wouldn’t be able to get inside, not unless he was somehow as flexible as Virgil was.

 For once, he was thankful that he wasn’t like anyone else.

That flash of appreciation went away when the walls shuddered with the impact of a body slamming into the entrance. Panic set in even further when the rest of the ship seemed to groan. What was he thinking?! The thing might collapse on them if he kept it up!

It only took a moment and another impact from the merman outside for Virgil to make up his mind, rushing forward to push out the stones and revealing himself. “Stop!”

Time seemed to stand still as the two merfolk stared at each other, and Virgil felt his heart stammer. The Red Merman was as beautiful as the other two mermen he had met within the last couple of days. His crimson tail was patterned throughout with splashes of white and gold. His face was somewhere between the other two, not quite soft like Patton and not sharp like Logan. His eyes were a brilliant green, though they were darkened in their anger. He looked strong, much stronger than him. For a brief moment, Virgil felt his hand reach forward, though he didn’t know what he was thinking he could do. 

But that was when the Red Merman lunged right for him. 

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

Roman wasn’t sure what kind of merman he expected to appear out of the smaller hole, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Admittedly, he was handsome, with dark eyes that seemed to peer into him. Unlike the other two accounts he had on his appearance, however, there were no purple scales to cover his sickly white face and arms, nor was there a tail at all.

The sight of eight tentacles on the other male’s lower half made memories flash in his mind of another merman entirely, one that made his rage boil over as all he could see was the face of another octopi entirely. 

He didn’t think anymore as he lunged forward, bellowing as he did. His hands went forward, slamming against the male’s chest and the other going for his throat. The force of his attack pushed them both forward, slamming once more into the wood behind that… that thing. 

Roman hissed threateningly as he gripped more around his throat, baring his sharp teeth. “You’re going to pay for hurting him,” he seethed, unaware of how much more his surroundings seemed to shudder. He felt the male grasp at his throat to try and pry it off, his tentacles moving about and trying to wrap around any part of him. 

“Wait!” He croaked out, but froze when a loud groan sounded out around them both. Roman looked up as he saw cracks start to appear in the wood above, his eyes widening as creaking and cracking filled the room. A large piece of wood broke free, coming down swiftly above them.

He hadn’t realized his grip had loosened, suddenly feeling the male he had pinned down freeing himself and now grabbing at him instead. He was too stunned to fight back, feeling tentacles along with his arms push him back much more quickly. Once he was aware, he yelled out, feeling even more angry that the other male had waited until he was distracted to attack, but the yell was cut short when he felt him let go. 

There was a loud cracking sound as the ship started to collapse, and Roman realized he was now in the open water, not within the hull of the vessel at all. He backtailed from the collapsing wreckage, watching as it came down. It was around that time he felt arms around him, and he started to fight them off, ready to go after the weird male again. 

“Ro!” A familiar voice said next to him, stopping him in his tracks as he realized that the hands on him belonged to Patton, the voice coming from Logan. He looked at them both in surprise, feeling arms wrap around his shoulders.

“We saw what happened!” Patton pulled away from him with worried eyes. “You’re okay, right?” 

“Yes, of course I’m fine,” Roman said, looking between his two loves. 

“What about the loner?” Logan said, not missing how Roman frowned at the question. “Did he make it out?” 

“Why does it matter?” He argued, feeling confused and still angry. “He attacked me, so ser-“

“He didn’t attack you, Roman!” Patton yelled, shocking both of the other males. “He pushed you out so you weren’t caught under the collapse! But I didn’t see him leave!”

“How can you be so certain? You didn’t see what he looked like this entire time,” Roman crossed his arms, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that started in his chest. 

“We did,” Logan said quietly, looking at him with an almost cold look. “When he pushed you out, we saw. And I don’t care. He saved you, Roman. We need to see if he is okay.”

The sinking feeling grew worse, and now the red merman looked back at the faces of his loves. Had… had he really? 

After a long moment of silence, he huffed, looking away from them both. “Fine, we’ll look for him. If just to prove my point. And if he hurts either of you, I won’t hesitate to end him.”

The other two mermen nodded, and with that the three of them went forward and started to search the wrecked wreckage. They picked at the fallen wood and pulled things out of the way. It was when Logan lifted up a certain spot that the scent of blood filled his nose, making him back away.

Before he could do anything, something shot out and swam as fast as it could away from him, away from the three mermen and off into the deep blue beyond. And if he wasn’t mistaken…

It looked like an octopus.

[pikapeppa]

Samson/Roman Hawke smut and fluff: Trash

A little Satinalia special for @schoute featuring her divinely cranky Roman Hawke and Sammyboi! Including PARTY BANTER, fluff, and as always, NSFW smut. Note: the smut may appear dubcon for those who aren’t familiar with this pairing, so read at your own risk.

~8000 words; read here on AO3 instead.

*************************

Roman gazed balefully at the entrance to the Hanged Man. The usual tavern racket was way louder than usual — so much so that she could hear the music and laughter and singing emanating through the door. 

She didn’t want to go inside tonight. She usually liked coming here, insofar as she liked being anywhere in Lowtown. But tonight, the Hanged Man was somewhere that Roman would rather have avoided. 

She couldn’t avoid it, though, not without hurting Varric’s feelings. She gritted her teeth, then finally pushed through the door. 

The noise and heat hit her like a tidal wave. The Hanged Man was packed with at least fifty more people than usual, and their laughter was more boisterous and drunk than Roman was accustomed to hearing. The troupe of musicians in the corner was louder and livelier than usual, playing a cheerful driving song that was, unfortunately, prompting people to dance — very badly, by Roman’s estimation, not that she was an expert dancer herself or anything. It was smelly in here too, like hot cider and roasted meat and sweat from all the people dancing, and Roman wrinkled her nose as she slunk over to the bar.

The bar, too, was more crowded than usual with people clamouring for attention. Luckily, Roman was enough of a fixture here that one hard look had the bartender hurrying over. “Champion!” he panted. “Er, I mean, Miz Hawke, um—” 

She cut him off. “Two fingers of whiskey,” she said. She glanced around at the writhing bodies in the tavern, then turned back to the bartender. “Make it three.”  

The bartender nodded, and a long minute later, he slid a tumbler along the bar. “Happy Satinalia,” he yelled over the noise. 

She nodded brusquely and left him a gold royal for a tip, then gulped down her drink in two big swallows before looking around the room more carefully. Now where the fuck was Varric?

She didn’t bother looking at the dance floor; Varric was about as fond of dancing as she was. She scanned the tables, and when she finally spotted him, she couldn’t help but smirk.

He was sitting at the head of a long rectangular table toward the back of the room, in the comfortable padded armchair that usually sat in his suite at the back of the Hanged Man. He was overseeing a game of wicked grace, looking comfortable and happy and giving the distinct impression of being the man in charge.

He kind of is, she thought. He’s hosting this big fucking party, after all. Ever since the Arishok had sacked the city three years ago, Varric had started sponsoring a Satinalia party at the Hanged Man. The first one had been to celebrate the reopening of the Hanged Man, seeing as it had been partially destroyed by the qunari. But for the following two years after, he’d continued to host these Satinalia parties every year, paying for the food and the drinks and the entertainment — a small fortune, given how much the greedy residents of Kirkwall could eat and drink.

“Why do you do this?” Roman had asked him one year. 

“Why not?” he replied. “It makes people happy. We can always use a little happy around here, especially in Lowtown.”

Roman curled her lip. “It’s not like it makes a difference. They’ll eat all your food and drink all your booze today, then go back to talking shit about you behind your back tomorrow.”

Varric shot her a sympathetic look and patted her elbow. “It’s one night, Hawke. A night where we can forget all that shit and have a good time. You should try to join in.”

She clicked her tongue in annoyance, and Varric chuckled. “Besides, if you’re worried about me losing money, don’t. I’ve got a special fund I keep specifically for this party, and you know what it’s made up of?”

“What?” she said suspiciously.

His smile widened. “Winnings from wicked grace.”

Roman gave him an incredulous look. “You pay for all of this with your winnings from wicked grace?”

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. “What can I say? I’m a lucky guy.”

Roman actually laughed at that, and since then, she hadn’t questioned him about throwing this party every year. Besides, it was nice to see Varric looking all happy indoors, rather than looking all disgruntled while trampling around the fucking countryside with her.

She slunk through the crowds toward him. “I’m here,” she yelled. 

He looked up from his cards and smiled. “Hawke,” he yelled back, and he waved for her to join the table. “Come on, sit down, I’ll deal you in the next round.” 

She shook her head; she didn’t know anyone sitting at the table right now, and she wasn’t in the mood to make chit-chat with strangers. “Just wanted you to see I’m here. And now that I’ve shown my face, I’m going home,” she said, only half-jokingly.

Varric smiled. “Ha ha. Seriously though, get some food, enjoy yourself, find the others. I think the whole crew is here except for Blondie and Choir Boy.” 

She nodded. Of course Sebastian wasn’t here, since he never did anything involving booze or fun. And Anders was probably stuck at the clinic in Darktown.

I wonder if Samson is here, she thought. Then again, she wasn’t sure he was even going to come. He’d shown up at Varric’s Satinalia party only once in the past three years, so there was no guarantee he would come this time. Maybe he’d just gone straight to Roman’s mansion to go to sleep.  

Lucky asshole, she thought. “I’m stealing this,” she said to Varric, and she took his mostly-full stein of lager from the table. 

He waved affably, and Roman made her way toward the nearest wall, intent on getting out of the crowd. But the revelry in the tavern was so uncontained that by the time she was pressed against the wall away from the worst of the people, a big mouthful’s worth of lager had gotten sloshed over her hand and onto her skirt. 

“Fuck’s sake,” she muttered. She gulped down the drink as quickly as possible, then swiftly placed the empty stein on a passing waitress’s tray and grabbed a fresh drink from the tray at the same time. 

She sniffed the drink, and a faint aching feeling tugged at her ribs. The stein contained mulled wine, and the distinct Ferelden smell made her feel both homesick and resentful at the same time — kind of like being at this party made her feel.

Roman had never been fond of parties. The cheerfulness and the jollity always made her feel as though there was something wrong with her. The bigger the party, the more isolated she felt, like the divide between her own moodiness and other people’s carefree cheer was even more stark and glaring, and she had never known how to bridge that divide — not that she really wanted to, since most people were shit and she hated small talk. 

Still, sometimes she wondered what it would be like to have a gift with people, like Varric had: to be comfortable around people, to see the good in them and chat with them and not be braced any second for them to suddenly decide that she was an evil piece of shit for being an apostate with a temper and a foul mouth that even sailors would cringe away from.

She took a big gulp of mulled wine, and the aching feeling in her rib cage swelled even more. Then someone sidled up beside her — someone she wouldn’t have expected to seek her company willingly. 

Fenris nodded politely. “Hawke,” he said.

She nodded in return. “Surprised to see you here,” she said.

“Varric insisted,” Fenris said dryly.

Roman scoffed. “Yeah, he’s pretty fucking persuasive.”

“That he is,” Fenris said, and he took a sip of his wine — normal, non-mulled wine.

Roman curiously eyed his glass. “Is that that Aggregio shit you like?”

He shook his head. “It’s Orlesian. A bit on the vinegar-y side, but I will take what I can get.” He gave her an odd look. “Besides, they don’t import goods from Tevinter here.”

She scoffed and swirled her drink. “Not legally, maybe. You should ask Varric to hook you up, get you some black-market fancy wine. He knows people.”

Fenris huffed in amusement. “That is an understatement. That dwarf knows everyone and their mother.”

Roman smirked at him, and she was surprised to find him smirking as well. Then she was surprised to find herself feeling this relaxed in Fenris’s company. They usually spent any time together walking on eggshells to avoid falling into the kinds of shouting matches he and Anders usually had. He must be pretty fucking drunk. 

She glanced down at her half-empty stein of mulled wine. Then again, she was pretty tipsy already too.

She took another deep drink, and Fenris sipped his wine as well. Then Aveline joined them. “Fenris, Hawke,” she said with an officious little nod. “Happy Satinalia.”

“And to you,” Fenris said. Then he raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised to see the captain of the guard here.”

“I’m here for Varric, as you well know,” Aveline said testily. “Although I suppose it doesn’t hurt to have a member of the city guard here to keep the peace. Just in case.” She frowned at the boisterous patrons in the room.

Roman rolled her eyes. “Don’t fucking bother. If you get involved in any fights here, you’ll only make things worse.”

“She’s got a point,” Fenris said. “It would be prudent for you to not get involved.”

Aveline pursed her lips, then sighed. “Donnic said the same thing,” she admitted.

“He is a wise man,” Fenris said.

Aveline shot him a resentful look. “You’re only saying that because he goes to your house every week to play cards.”

Fenris shrugged. “If you wish to rejoin our games, take it up with your husband, not with me.”

Aveline harrumphed and folded her arms, and Roman hid her smirk in her stein. Then Isabela and a pink-cheeked Merrill pushed their way through the crowd. 

“Ooh, hello everyone!” Merill said breathlessly. “Isabela was teaching me an Orlesian two-step! It’s very hard work though, a lot more hip twirling than I would have thought.”

Hip twirling? Roman thought. She didn’t think that Orlesian dances were known for their hip action. She glanced at Isabela, who winked at her. 

Merrill was looking around the tavern with wide eyes. “I’m so thirsty. I wonder if I can get a glass of water here?”

“Not likely, kitten,” Isabela said. “But here.” She plucked a stein from a passing tray and sniffed it, then handed it to Merrill. “Cider. Not water, but close enough.”

Merill beamed at her, then took a big gulp of cider, and Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You ought to eat something,” he warned.

Merrill lowered the stein and gave him a chiding look. “Don’t fuss, Fenris. I can hold my liquor, you know.” 

Fenris pursed his lips and looked away, and Isabela chuckled. “Now children, don’t fight, just dance. Who’s going to dance with me next?” She tilted her head cheekily at Aveline. “What about you, big girl? Care to dance?”

Aveline frowned. “Are you making fun of me?”

Isabela grinned. “No, actually. Why? Are you a bad dancer?”

“I never said that,” Aveline said — defensively enough that Roman knew she must be a terrible dancer.

“It’s all right if you are,” Isabela said soothingly. “If you’re dancing with me, nobody will be looking at you anyway.”

“I’m not dancing with you,” Aveline said stiffly.

Isabela sighed. “Fine, fine. What about you, Hawke?”

“Not a fucking chance,” Roman said, and she finished off her mulled wine.

“Oh come on,” Isabela coaxed. “I can sense that you have moves.”

Roman sardonically lifted her eyebrow. “Ask me again and the only moves I’ll make are toward the fucking door.”

Isabela laughed. “All right, sweet thing, no need to get sassy.” Then, finally, she gave Fenris a slow and salacious smile.

He lowered his mostly-empty glass. “What?”

“What about you?” she said silkily. “Care to dance?”

Fenris shook his head. “I don’t dance.”

“Not even with me?” Isabela simpered.

“No, Isabela,” he said patiently. “Not even with you.”

She sauntered right up to him and trailed her finger down his chest. “How much do you want to bet that I can change your mind?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow, and Aveline stepped away. “All right, I’m going, er, elsewhere.”

“Me too,” Roman drawled.

“Me too!” Merrill said with a nervous giggle. They all dispersed, Aveline toward the opposite side of the room and Merrill toward Varric’s table and Roman back toward the bar, all of them chased by Isabela’s husky laugh. 

Roman carefully pushed her way through the crowd at the bar and held up three fingers. A moment later, the bartender handed her a tumbler of whiskey, and she deftly flicked him another gold royal for a tip, which he caught in mid-air with a smile.

A deep, sarcastic voice spoke behind her — one she didn’t recognize right away. “Ain’t that flush of you, Champion.” 

She turned around and immediately stiffened. The person speaking to her was a tall and pasty fellow that she instantly recognized as one of Meredith’s more loyal Templars, accompanied by a shorter man who was also a Templar, both apparently on shore leave. 

An instinctive flush of anger bloomed in her gut, but she forced herself to ignore it. She might be half-drunk, but she was sober enough to know that getting in a fight with Templars at Varric’s party would be a shitty thing to do.

“Yeah, it was,” she said. “Fuck off and enjoy the party.” She started to step around the Templars, but they shifted in front of her.

Roman gave the taller Templar a flat look. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t listen; instead, he and his crony stepped closer. “We heard you’re a blood mage,” he growled.

The anger in her gut curdled, and she lifted her chin. “You heard that, huh?”

“Yeah,” the shorter Templar said. “So? It true?”

She laughed nastily. “You think I’d tell you if it was? How fucking stupid are you?” She tilted her head. “Oh wait, you’re Templars. Never mind, I answered my own question.”

The shorter Templar curled his lip and took a step toward her, and she tensed her fists, ready to hit him if he took another step. She wouldn’t use magic, not during this party, but she had no fucking qualms about punching someone in the face. 

The shorter Templar stepped even closer, and Roman bared her teeth in a snarl. But before she could raise her hand to strike, another voice interrupted. “Evening, fellas. Is there a problem ‘ere?”

Samson, Roman thought, and her shoulders loosened. He was standing just behind her with one hand tucked in his pocket and the other holding a stein, and his lips were curled in a polite smile — or seemingly polite, at least, though Roman could see the hint of mockery at the corners of his lips. 

The Templars were looking at Samson now instead of her, and the taller one sneered. “Samson. The fuck are you doing here?”

“Having a drink, same as you,” he said, and he lifted his stein. “Happy tidings and all that.”

The shorter Templar snorted, and the taller one folded his arms and jerked his head at Roman. “You friends with this apostate cunt or something? That why you’re stepping in for her?”

Roman swelled with anger. “Cunt?” she snarled, and she took a step toward the taller Templar. “Who the fuck are you calling a—” 

Samson grabbed her arm, and the shorter Templar laughed. “Oh ho, look at ‘im, putting the brakes on mages like he thinks he’s still a Templar.”

Roman wrested her arm away from Samson and glared at him, but he wasn't looking at her; he was looking at the two Templars still, and there was a quizzical look on his face now. “Does Cullen know you’re here?” he said.

The taller Templar went tellingly still, and the shorter one’s face crumpled into a scowl. “What’d you say?”

Samson shrugged and tucked his free hand back in his pocket. “Just askin’ if Cullen knows you’re here. Last I heard, the Knight-Captain had forbidden all of you from going to the Hanged Man or the Blooming Rose on your nights off.” He smirked. “Too much of a distraction, I heard.”

The shorter Templar stared at Samson. “How the fuck d’you know—”

The taller one elbowed him. “Shut it, you dimwit,” he hissed. He shot Samson and Roman a venomous look, then pulled his crony toward the door, and a moment later, they were gone.

Samson turned to her with a half-smile. “Bird,” he said, and he sipped from his stein.

She tutted. “I was handling that just fine without your help,” she said, but without any real heat. She hadn’t expected him to come, and frankly, it was kind of a nice surprise that he was here. He was wearing a rust-red shirt that was unbuttoned partway down his chest so she could see his chest hair, and… okay, fine, if she was being totally honest — an honesty she would entirely attribute to the mulled wine — he looked pretty attractive.

She took a gulp of her whiskey, then squinted at his chest. His shirt wasn’t unbuttoned, actually; he was just missing a couple of buttons. 

“Something wrong?” he said.

She scoffed and plucked at his open shirt. “You look sloppy as fuck.”

He twisted his lips ruefully. “Yeah. Nicest shirt I’ve got, if you can believe it.” 

“You should just let me buy you something new,” she said, for the umpteenth time. “Then you don’t have to go around looking like shit.”

“If I look like shit, why’re you staring?” he asked.

She tore her eyes away from his chest and scowled at him. “I’m not staring.”

“Sure you are,” he said.  “It’s all right, Bird. You look good too.” His eyes travelled from her low-necked top to her knee-length skirt, and he smirked. “There’s a stain on your skirt.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know. Someone made me spill my fucking beer.”

“And you’re nagging me about being sloppy?” he said archly.

She gestured emphatically at her skirt. “This was an accident! You showed up looking like this!”

“Give me credit, will you? I tried,” he said plaintively.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You did not. You didn’t even shave. You’re all whiskery.”

He tsked. “You and the whiskers. I can’t figure out if you like them or not.”

“They look good,” she said without thinking. “They feel like shit on my skin.” Oops, that was more candid than she’d intended. 

She frowned resentfully at her half-empty tumbler, and Samson chuckled — a rough little heh-heh-heh that lifted an annoying buzzing sensation between her legs. “That doesn’t help me decide whether to shave the bloody whiskers off or not,” he said.

She shrugged and looked away from him. “Just do what you want. It’s your face. I don’t care what you do.”

He sighed and shifted a little closer to her — close enough that their arms were touching. “You’re a bloody pain in the ass, you know that?”

She clicked her tongue. “Ah, fuck you, too.” She tapped her tumbler to his stein and finished off her drink.

He grinned at her, then took a gulp from his stein before speaking again. “You’re in a good mood. Having a nice time then, eh?”

“Not really,” she said. “I don’t like parties.” 

“Me neither,” he said. “Never really felt right when I was at them. Always got the feelin’ like there was something I wasn’t quite in on, even if I was right in the thick of it.”

She looked at him in surprise. That was exactly how she’d always felt at parties.

He met her eye, then rubbed a hand over his chin. “What? Something on my face?”

“If you don’t like parties, why did you come to this one?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I knew you had to come, for Tethras. Thought I’d keep you company.” He gave her a crooked little smile. “Misery loves company, or so they say, and I figured you’d be pretty bloody miserable.” He drank from the stein, and Roman watched the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed. 

He lowered the stein and looked at her, then lifted his eyebrow. “What—”

She grabbed his shirt and dragged him into a kiss. 

He grunted in surprise and wrapped his arm around her waist, and Roman twined her tongue with his for a moment before pushing him away. “Your face is scratchy,” she said.

He stared at her stupidly for a second, his half-bared chest rising and falling as he panted for breath. Then a broad smile stretched across his face. “You bloody minx,” he said.

She smirked. Then a tall burly man bumped into her shoulder hard. 

She stumbled slightly, annoyed but unfazed; this fucking tavern was way too crowded, after all. A second later, however, the man’s disparaging tone made it clear that the bump was definitely not an accident. “Look at this,” he drawled. “The Champion’s a whore for the beggar.” He bared his yellowed teeth at her in a semblance of a grin. “Times so desperate that you’ve got to fuck the trash on the street?”

A ringing rage suddenly burst in her ears. Without thinking, she swung her empty tumbler up and smashed it across the burly asshole’s face. 

“Roman!” Samson barked.

The man stumbled back with a howl of pain, and the people around them cried out in shock and tried to shuffle away. Roman ignored them and took a threatening step toward the burly asshole, and Samson grabbed her arm. 

“Roman, stop,” he hissed. 

She twisted out of his grip. “He said you’re trash,” she yelled. “You’re not fucking trash. He’s the trash.”

Samson opened his mouth, but before he could reply, the burly man’s big hand squeezed her shoulder in a painful grip. “You fucking bitch—”

She viciously clawed at his hand, and when he whipped his hand back with a yelp, she raised the now-cracked tumbler, ready to smash it across his face a second time.  

“Stop!” Aveline shouted. She pushed through the crowd and stepped between Roman and the burly man. “Hawke, what’s happening here?”

“She hit me in the face, that fucking bitch!” the burly man bleated. 

Roman snarled and took another threatening step toward him, but Aveline held up a hand. “Enough,” she said loudly, and she turned toward the burly man. “Outside, now. Unless you want to come with me to the holding cells.” 

“Yeah, get the fuck out of here,” Roman spat. “If I see your fucking face again—”

Samson grabbed her hand and pried the tumbler from her fingers. “Come on,” he said in exasperation, and he started pulling her away toward the back of the tavern. 

She tried to pull her hand out of his grip. “What are you doing? Let me go!” 

“Getting you somewhere quiet to calm down,” he gritted.

“I am calm,” she yelled. “It’s that asshole who isn’t calm! You heard him, he fucking started it!” 

Samson didn’t reply, and he didn’t let go of her hand. He kept pulling her through the tavern, out of the main room with its music and its noise and through to the inn area at the back, which was much quieter. 

She sighed loudly and smacked his arm. “Let me go. I’m fucking calm.”

“No,” he said, and he kept tugging her through the corridors until they were in a secluded back corner of the inn, where a few dilapidated crates and barrels sat there waiting to either be repaired or thrown away. 

Samson finally released her hand and folded his arms. “I told you not to get into fucking fights for me.”

She glared at him. How dare he scowl at her like he was the angry one? “It wasn’t my fault. He was looking to start a fight!”

“You made the fight happen,” he accused.

“I did not!” she retorted.

He gave her a chiding look. “You hit him with a bloody tumbler, Bird.”

“You’re not fucking trash!” she yelled.

He wilted and rubbed his forehead. “Bloody Maker’s balls…”

“You’re not trash,” she railed. “There’s nothing wrong with you. He doesn’t even fucking know you, how can he just go around—”

Samson suddenly clasped her neck in his hands and pinned her against the wall, and Roman gasped at the impact of her back striking the wall. “You’re lookin’ for an excuse to fight,” he said roughly. “You say you’re not, but you are.”

She glowered at him, stung by the injustice of this accusation. “I am not,” she retorted. “I don’t want to — I don’t want to be this way! You think I like being all — fucking pissed all the time?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying. I just…” He sighed. “Maker, I don’t know what I’m saying. I just… don’t want you to get in fucking fights for me. I can fight for myself.”

“But you don’t,” she said. “You don’t fight when they pick on you, and I hate it.”

His eyebrows rose, and he released her neck. “Right, right. Because I’m a coward, right?”

Her frustration ratcheted higher. “You’re not a fucking coward!” she shouted. “You’re — there’s nothing wrong with you!”

He scoffed and folded his arms. “Are you blind or something? I’m a lyrium-addicted beggar with missing buttons on my best bloody shirt.”

She glared viciously at him and prodded his half-bared chest. “There’s nothing wrong with you that isn’t wrong with me too. If you’re fucking trash, then so am I.”

He stared at her without speaking, and Roman’s belly twisted; his expression was softening from anger into something far softer and more unnerving.

She curled her lip. “What the fuck are you looking at me like that for?”

A little smile lifted the corners of his lips. “That was almost romantic, Bird.”

She recoiled slightly, then shoved his abs. “Don’t be fucking stupid. It was not.”

He didn’t move. “It was, sort of. You going to be giving me roses in the moonlight next?”

His smile was broad and his tone was playful now, and Roman’s annoyance swelled, along with the hot feeling in her cheeks. “Shut the fuck up,” she said, and she shoved him again.

He grabbed her wrist and pinned it back against the wall, and a sudden hot rush of lust flooded between her legs. She twisted her wrist, and Samson stepped closer, close enough that she was trapped against the wall by his body. 

He stroked her cheek with his other hand, and Roman twisted her face away. “Quit it,” she snapped.

He gripped her jaw and turned her face to look at him, and her heart thudded between her legs at the force of his hand on her jaw. She slipped her free hand into his open shirt and twisted his nipple, and he gasped in pain and released her jaw. 

His hand on her wrist only tightened, however, and Roman gasped with excitement at the firmness of his fingers around her wrist. Then he captured her other hand and forced it back against the wall as well. 

“Bloody wildcat,” he growled. “Just calm down, will you?”

“Then let me go,” she snapped breathlessly.

He huffed. “See, I don’t think you really want me to.”

“Yes I do,” she said belligerently.

He lifted his eyebrows skeptically. “You sure? Then tell me again to let you go, and I’ll do it. Go on, say it again.”

His tone was taunting, and it was like tossing oil on her flaring temper and her lust. She sneered at him but didn’t speak, and he let out a smug little laugh. “Didn’t think so. I know what you’re really looking for.”

“You don’t know shit,” she snapped.

“Yeah, I do,” he said, and he pressed his hips to hers.

His cock was a hard ridge pressing against the vee of her thighs, and her lips fell open with a gasp. Then Samson pressed his mouth against her ear. “You want me to fuck you,” he whispered. “That’s why you’re wearing this skirt, isn’t it?”

She dragged in a breath and wriggled in his grip, rubbing herself against his groin in the process. “What the fuck are you talking about?” she panted.

“This skirt,” he murmured in her ear. “This is the one you had on when we first fucked in the alley outside.”

His voice was low and sly, and the heat in her cheeks and her abdomen swelled even more. He was right, unfortunately; this was that same skirt, the same one Samson had shoved up before pinning her against the wall to fuck her from behind, and she’d be lying if she hadn’t thought about it when putting it on this evening. She wasn’t very well going to admit that, though.

Unfortunately, it seemed that she didn’t need to; Samson was laughing softly against her ear, that smug and knowing little chuckle that both enraged her and riled her up to a maddening degree. “Aw, you got dressed up for me tonight, eh?” he teased. “That’s romantic too.”

“Fuck you,” she spat. “Fuck you, fuck you, I hate you—”

He released her wrist and slid his palm up along her thigh, and Roman broke off with a convulsive gasp. Then he was rubbing her sex, his fingers sliding against her throbbing pussy through her smalls, and he was talking in her ear once more.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Bird,” he murmured. “I picked out this shirt for you, too.”

His fingers between her legs, his voice in her ear, his whiskers scratching her face… She fucking wanted him, and it was so annoying. She gasped in a breath and tried to gather her scrambled thoughts. “You picked the shitty shirt with missing buttons for me? Fuck you,” she moaned.

He laughed softly and pressed his fingers against her clit. “No, you daft idiot. I picked the one in your favourite colour.”

Her heart squeezed, and she scoffed. “Whatever. You’re the idiot.” 

“And you’re a bloody pain in my ass,” he purred. Then, without warning, he pushed the crotch of her smalls aside and slid one finger inside of her.

The unexpected pleasure of his finger drove a cry from her throat. She twisted her free hand in his shirt, and he released her other hand and covered her mouth. “Shh,” he hissed. “Keep your voice down, eh?”

His finger was curling relentlessly inside of her, striking at a spot inside of her that was making her legs feel shaky, and she couldn’t stop herself from moaning against his palm. She thrust her hips eagerly toward his hand, and he exhaled hard.

“Maker’s balls, Bird,” he groaned. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

She twisted her face away from his palm. “Fuck me,” she rasped. “Fuck me right now.”

“Where am I supposed to do that?” he said quietly. “There’s no furniture here.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you before,” she said.

He smiled slowly at her, then suddenly pulled his finger free. Before Roman could protest or say a word, he was lifting her up and depositing her on a dusty barrel at waist-height. 

He roughly reached into her skirt, and she lifted her hips so he could pull her smallclothes off. “If I get a splinter in my ass, you’re helping me get it out,” she threatened.

He shot her a reproving look as he shoved her smallclothes in his pocket. “Look, d’you want to fuck here or not?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Then stop complaining and spread your legs,” he commanded. 

She glared at him as she parted her knees. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” 

He gave her a reproachful look as he unbuttoned his trousers, but Roman ignored it; she was too focused on his cock, the thick hard length of it straining against the fabric of his smalls, and now he was pulling his cock out and stroking it with one hand while he stepped closer to her…

She eagerly shifted closer to the edge of the barrel, and Samson’s eyes dropped to her thighs. “Come on, Bird, let me have a look at you,” he breathed. He lifted the edge of her skirt to look at her pussy, and Roman spread her legs wide so he could see her better.

The look on his face grew hungry, and Roman stared at his lustful expression with a growing hunger of her own. “Pervert,” she accused.

He looked up at her and grinned. “Takes one to know one,” he teased. He stepped closer to the barrel and grabbed her hip, then thrust into her hard.

She gasped and jolted, then wiggled closer to the edge of the barrel so he could fuck her deeper, and he groaned and grabbed her thigh. “Put your legs around me,” he urged.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles together at the small of his back. He thrust into her again, and this time she was forced to cry out with pleasure; the edge of the barrel was digging into her ass a bit, but with her legs wrapped around him, it felt like he was striking much deeper inside of her with every thrust. 

He gripped her hip with one hand and the edge of the barrel with the other and slammed his cock inside of her, and Roman moaned again.

“Shut the fuck up, Bird,” he groaned, and he slammed into her again. She gasped and sank her teeth into the side of his neck, and he groaned and thrust into her over and over, rapid deep thrusts that sent ripples of pleasure through her fingers and her toes, and she greedily sucked and bit his neck to stop herself from moaning at how fucking good it felt. 

After a couple of blissful minutes, Samson gasped fitfully and dug his fingers painfully into her thigh, and she grunted against his neck as his cock grew even harder inside of her. He came a moment later, shuddering and painting against her collarbone as he thrust into her a frenzied blur, and Roman savoured the forceful striking thrusts of his cock as he rode out his climax. 

A long moment later, he sighed heavily and nipped her neck, and the feeling of his teeth on her neck sent a little shiver down her spine. He patted her thigh, and she untwined her legs from around his waist with a little grimace. 

“My ass hurts,” she complained. 

He smirked at her as he stepped back and tucked his cock into his trousers. “Sorry,” he said.

“You are not,” she accused. 

“Ah, you’re right, I’m not,” he said unrepentantly, and he helped her down from the barrel. She immediately felt his seed dripping down the inside of her thigh, and she quickly untied the red scarf from around her wrist to wipe it up. 

“Hey, I’ll do that,” Samson said affably, and he reached for the scarf.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Why?”

“Because I’m a gentleman, o’course,” he said. “Gentlemen clean up their messes.”

His face was lit with a broad shit-eating grin, and Roman couldn’t decide whether she wanted to laugh or to smack him. Instead, she shot him a flat look as she wiped the inside of her thigh. “You really want to be a gentleman? Then you can go down on me.”

His grin fell into a look of surprise. “Eh?”

“I didn’t come,” she said. 

He grimaced. “Oh. Balls. Sorry, Bird.” He eyed her uncertainly. “You… you really want me to go down on you? Now?”

She paused in her wiping and raised her eyebrows. “What, you’ll fuck me at the back of the Hanged Man but you won’t go down on me?”

“It’s not that,” he said hurriedly. “It’s just…” He scrunched his face up a bit. “I already came in you.”

“So?” she said.

“So I’m not really keen to, uh, eat my own cooking, if you get my meaning,” he said.

Roman gave him a withering look. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah…” He sighed and wilted. “You want me to do it anyway, don’t you?”

She clicked her tongue. “You’re the one who was saying you’re a gentleman.” She went back to wiping the inside of her thighs.

Samson rubbed the back of his neck. Then, to her surprise, he kneeled in front of her. “All right, twist my bloody arm,” he grumbled. He pushed her skirt up to her hips, and Roman felt a fresh thrill of heated anticipation pooling between her legs. 

He leaned in and kissed her hip, and her pussy pulsed at the nearness of his mouth. Then he sighed. “Can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, and he drew his tongue along the length of her cleft.

She gasped and sank her fingers into his hair. Despite his reluctance, he was doing just as good a job as he always did: his tongue was circling smoothly around her clit, teasing her with the exact amount of pressure that felt fucking good while making her crave an even firmer touch of his tongue.

She dragged in a shaky breath and rolled her hips toward his mouth. He drew his tongue firmly over her clit, and the firm pressure sent a shock of pleasure through her body.

She gasped and clenched her fingers in his hair. He lapped at her clit again, and she bucked toward his mouth. He reached up and placed his palms on her bare thighs to push them wider apart, and the heat of his hands on her skin sent another thrill of pleasure through her limbs. 

She rocked her hips toward his tongue, and within seconds she was grinding against his mouth, her rapture rising steadily with every smooth hot stroke of his tongue against her swollen clit. She gasped convulsively and pulled his hair, and he growled into her pussy and tugged at her clit with his lips, and she let out a moan. 

He leaned away and shot her a resentful look. “Seriously, Roman, shut up—”

“Don’t fucking stop,” she gasped, and she pulled his head between her legs once more.

He grunted and sealed his lips over her clit, and she shoved the back of her other hand against her mouth to stifle herself, and not a moment too soon: a few blissful licks later, she was shuddering and slumping back against the wall as her rapture rippled from her pulsing clit down to her calves and all the way up to her scalp.

She closed her eyes and leaned her back against the wall, giving the wall all of her weight as the pleasure washed through her limbs. When her climax had finally ebbed away, she dropped her hand away from her mouth and sighed.

Then Samson kissed her and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

“Mmph,” she protested, but his tongue was sliding against her own. She poked his belly and bit his tongue, and he pulled away from her.

“See?” he said pointedly. “Doesn’t taste so good, does it?”

She gave him a shut-the-fuck-up look. “Tastes like it always does when I suck you off after you fucked me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.”

She snorted and reached into his pocket to take back her smallclothes. “You really are a fucking idiot,” she told him. She pulled her smalls back on and smoothed out her skirt, then started to sidle past him toward the corridor, but he stopped her with a hand on her hip.

She paused and looked up at him, then frowned; he looked quite serious. “What’s wrong?” she said. 

“Stop getting into fights for me,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you getting into trouble.”

She sighed in annoyance, and he squeezed her hip. “I mean it, Roman. You have to keep your head down more.”

“Are you going to tell the whole world to fuck off and leave me alone, then?” she said archly. “Because if everyone gets off my case, I’d gladly keep my fucking head down.” 

He clicked his tongue wearily, then pecked her on the forehead and gave her butt a little smack. “Forget it, all right? Let’s go get another drink.”

She shot him a resentful look and made her way from their dark abandoned corner back into the nearest corridor, then stopped short in surprise: Isabela was leaning casually against the wall. 

She looked up at them with a knowing grin, and Roman stared at her. “Were you listening in?” she demanded.

“Yes, actually,” Isabela said. 

Roman recoiled. “Why the fuck were you listening in?”

“I was guarding this hallway so you could have a private moment,” Isabela said. “It’s hardly my fault that you make so much noise.”

Roman deflated a bit. “Oh. Fuck.”

Samson rubbed his chin and gave Roman an I-told-you-so look. Roman hunched her shoulders defensively, and Isabela let out a throaty laugh as she approached them.  “Don’t look so embarrassed, sweet thing. Having a quick one at the back of a tavern is perfectly natural. We’ve all done it.” 

“Thanks, I guess,” Roman muttered.

Samson eyed Isabela cautiously, then touched his fingers to his forehead in a small salute. “Kind of you to keep an eye out for us, cap’n.”

Isabela raised her eyebrows. “Well well. Captain, you say? Talk dirty to a girl, why don’t you?” She elbowed Roman. “You should invite me to join you next time.”

Roman rolled her eyes. “Maker’s fucking balls,” she complained, and she started walking away.

“That wasn’t a no,” Isabela called after her. 

She shook her head and didn’t reply. A second later, Samson caught up to her. “Er, what was that exactly?”

“Approval from Isabela,” Roman grunted. 

“Really?” Samson said. “That’s, er, nice?”

“Whatever. I don’t need anyone’s approval,” Roman said. But for some reason, she didn’t feel as irate as she would have expected from having Isabela listen in to her and Samson fucking. And Isabela had even been friendly to Samson, which was — well, not unexpected necessarily, because Samson and Isabela had barely ever spoken. But Roman was so accustomed to seeing people treat Samson like a pile of nugshit that witnessing the opposite was… nice.

Yeah, it was nice. The more Roman thought about it, the more she realized that she was actually feeling… pretty good, actually. She was still a little tipsy from the booze, and her damp smallclothes were reminding her of the excellent illicit sex she and Samson had just had at the back of the tavern, and someone other than herself had treated Samson like a person…

Damn, she thought in surprise. Against all odds, she was actually feeling… kind of happy.

She looked up at Samson with a little smile, and his eyebrows jumped up. “What’s with you?”

She shrugged. “Nothing,” she said. “Come on.” They stepped back into the main room of the Hanged Man, and Roman balked for a second; it was somehow even more noisy and crowded and hot than before. The musical troupe in the corner were playing a song with a hard driving beat while the majority of the patrons twirled and spun to the music with varying degrees of coordination and drunkenness. Every few minutes, a howl of laughter and dismay would go up from one of the tables where people were playing cards, and the entire room was scented with mulled wine.

A funny swelling feeling filled her chest. Then Samson leaned in close to her ear. “It’s bloody hopping in here,” he yelled. “I’ll find some drinks, you find us a corner?”

“No,” she yelled back. “Come on.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the middle of the crowd.

She ruthlessly pushed her way through the pulsing crowd of bodies until they reached Varric’s table. He was still sitting in pride of place at the head of the table, and the rest of their little crew was sitting with him and playing cards: Fenris and Merrill were on the left side of the table and Anders was on the right, having apparently gotten away from the clinic at last. Aveline was sitting beside him with no cards and her arms petulantly folded, and they all looked up when Roman pushed her way through the crowd. 

Varric smiled. “Hawke! Samson! Have a seat, join us.”

“Thanks,” Roman said, and she poked Anders’s arm. “Move over.”

“Happy Satinalia to you too,” he drawled as he shifted over. “Where’ve you been?”

“Busy,” she said. She pushed Samson down onto the bench beside Anders, then seated herself on the padded right arm of Varric’s chair. 

“Busy doing what?” Isabela said as she sashayed over. 

“None of your fucking business,” Roman said, but with no heat. 

Isabela winked cheekily and sidled around to sit on the other arm of Varric’s chair, and Anders snorted in amusement. “This is rich. Varric, you look like the owner of a harem now.”

Isabela tsked. “A harem of two isn’t much of a harem. Merrill, you should come and sit in Varric’s lap to round us out.”

Merrill tittered. “Who, me? Oh no, I couldn’t!”

Anders glanced at Aveline. “What about you, then? You could go on up and sit in Varric’s lap.”

“Over my dead body,” Aveline said flatly.

“Over mine, actually,” Varric said drolly. “I don’t think I could survive all of Aveline’s muscle.”

Merrill, Anders and Isabela laughed, and Aveline smiled faintly. Then Varric tapped Roman’s arm. “Are you and Samson joining in the next round, then?” 

His tone was casual, but his expression was faintly hopeful — the look he usually wore when asking if Roman would play cards with them, even knowing that she was going to say no. 

But today wasn’t a usual day, and Roman wasn’t in a usual mood. She shrugged. “Yeah, deal us in. Right?” She looked askance at Samson.

“I suppose,” he said tentatively. “I, uh, haven’t any coin to bet, though.”

“That’s okay,” Varric assured him. “The elf here hasn’t got any coin, either. He’s just playing on good faith.” He jerked a thumb at Fenris, who sighed and tugged his ear. 

“I’ll win it back next week, I swear it,” he grumbled. 

Varric nodded affably. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say.”

The others chuckled as Fenris tsked, and Roman watched contentedly as Samson’s posture relaxed a bit. Then she looked at Varric once more, and an unusual feeling of warmth spread through her chest. He was smiling broadly at her, and Roman knew that he understood the significance of her agreement to play cards.

She shrugged and looked away from him. “Happy Satinalia or whatever,” she muttered.

He chuckled. “You too, Hawke. Now come on, let’s play.”

“We’re all waiting on you,” Anders pointed out.

“All right, all right,” Varric said affably, and he set down a card. “Okay, Daisy, it’s your turn.” 

The round of wicked grace continued, with Anders seeming to have the winning hand. Roman listened quietly as they chatted and teased each other in turn, and she marvelled at the strangeness of the situation — the strangeness of sitting here with this weird little group of misfits, all of them victims of shitty circumstance in one way or another, now joined together in a mish-mashed group of semi-friends who spent most of their time together and helped each other out when help was needed, whether they even particularly liked each other or not.

Kind of like a family, Roman thought, and that weird squirmy feeling of warmth invaded her chest again.

She shifted slightly on Varric’s chair. Then Samson subtly squeezed her ankle. “You all right, Bird?” he said quietly. 

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine,” she said. And for once, she genuinely meant it.