#the earrings and eyeliner are the main event now lol

[o-chunks-appreciation]

O’ Chunks but wearing an outfit I wore a few days ago

[inadaze4ever]

Satisfied - Sanders Sides AU - Parts 4-5

It’s been 5 months and I’m finally updating this lol

Parts 1-3: https://amber-daze.tumblr.com/post/176568470119/satisfied-sanders-sides-au-fic-parts-1-3

Summary: After the events of the Winter’s Ball, Virgil and Roman haven’t been totally away from each other. Until now, when Roman wants to propose to Patton.

Pairings:  Prinxiety, Royality, (Past) Logince, Analogical

Warnings/triggers: (Chapter 4) Cheating, homophobic family mention (Chapter 5) panic attack, small injury (bruise), drinking mention, clubbing, mention of sexual harassment/assault (in general, not involving any characters),  homophobic family mention let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: (Part 4) 906, (Part 4.5) 251 (Part 5) 1592

Tag list: @olivey-oily @dailyanalogicaldoodle @kenapiece-main@dailypattondoodle @dailyvirgildoodle @fandersfic-prinxiety@fandersfic-virgil @fandersfic-roman @fandersfic-royality @fandersfic-patton

Chapter 4

Virgil smiled whenever Patton rambled on about Roman. Whether it be Prince’s latest role onstage or some mundane everyday thing, Patton talked about it in the brightest colors. Roman’s cocky smile and flirtatious eyes flashed before Virgil everytime, echoed by his soft, deep voice that sent shivers down Virgil’s spine and lured him into the ocean depths. Patton was teasing Virgil, tempting him to steal back what he’d found. But Virgil kept smiling, entertained by the visions of another reality—but letting Patton have it for himself.

Today was a day the Virgil always looked forward too. Usually, when Patton and Roman were together, they were on a date or just hanging out in public. But once in a while, Patton could convince his boyfriend to come over for a movie night. Virgil had just finished his eyeliner when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it!” He called.

He rushed down the stairs, his long skirt billowing. His socked feet spun across the polished wood floor, and with a quick movement of the wrist, there was Roman—the real thing, not a ghost of what could’ve been. Virgil felt delicate hands on his wrists, and he was pulled out onto their small porch. A fall breeze barely tinted with warmth reminded Virgil of how long this had been going on. Eight months. Only eight months since that Winter’s Ball.

“Virgil…” Roman whispered in his ear, after nipping at it.

He tried not to melt against the wall, “Ro…”

Roman’s hands moved from his arms to his waist. Now free, Virgil’s hands migrated to Roman’s hair. Their eyes met, Roman’s ever-burning fire threatening to consume Virgil. Roman leaned in as he always did, knowing Virgil hated making the first move. Their mouths knew each other enough, but yet their lips were desperate. A few moments had passed and they stopped, Roman struggling to meet Virgil’s gaze.

“Virgil…” He repeated, this time a bit more pleading.

Well, that can’t mean anything good, Virgil thought, pushing Roman off of him, but still grasping both his hands, “Yeah?”

Roman was still staring at here the door frame met the porch, “We—we can’t keep doing this.” He shook his head, the places where Virgil’s hand had left a mess falling back into place. Roman’s eyes looked at Virgil again. No longer were they full of fire, but with a small, flickering flame. “I want to propose to Patton.”

Virgil’s grip on Roman’s hands—on the world—loosened. He had known that this was coming. Hell, he had been surprised when they hadn’t gotten married two weeks after they’d met, but still. Maybe he had been ignoring the signs, Roman asking what Patton’s ring size was, Patton asking their parents when they wanted to meet Roman and such. Virgil had hoped, perhaps naively, that Patton would’ve told him and been the one to propose, thus giving Virgil time to distance himself. Alas, he’d forgotten that Patton shared his own sense of hesitation and that Roman was much more impulsive and—as his name implied—the more romantic one. Yes, Patton often surprised his boyfriend with how much of an amazing gift giver he was, but Roman had a flair for the dramatic, extravagant planned gestures. Virgil rejoined reality and sighed, knowing that he couldn’t take back what he’d given up those million years ago.

Fully letting go of Roman’s hands, and immediately missing the warmth, Virgil looked him in the eye, “You have my blessing.” His resignation was palpable, but so was Roman’s.

Roman gently took Virgil’s hand and kissed it one last time, “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Both he and Roman knew that was a lie. “Now,” He took his hand back, and folded it in front of him, “Do you have a ring?”

“Oh!” Romans face lit up, and Virgil knew he had made the right choice. Roman reached into his jacket and pulled out a black box. Roman took the delicate, yet still sizable, ring out and placed it on Virgil’s finger. He smirked at Virgil’s glare, but Virgil ignored him and studied the piece. As he shifted his hand, light refracted in the glimmering stone, casting dazzling rainbows across the walls.

Virgil tried to ignore his screaming heart. The stone was definitely genuine diamond, because Roman would not go for anything less. The same logic lead to the conclusion that it was most likely also twenty-four karat white gold. The cut and design was rather simple and generic, just a brilliant heart cut that was maybe two karats with two smaller round brilliant cut diamonds on either side. It was very beautiful, and very Roman. “It’s a nice ring, but you didn’t have to go all out, Patton would take a ring pop.” Virgil handed the ring back to Roman.

“I know, but this is my family’s, and they…” He ran his hand through his hair, “they don’t accept me. But they know it would be good for them if I marry Patton. So they’re comprising and said that if I used the family ring and he said yes, they’d be okay having a—y’know—in the family.”  

Virgil didn’t know how to respond. Roman didn’t talk about his family much as to not worry Patton, but Virgil had heard countless rants about them. He cleared his throat, “Want to go inside? Patton’s waiting.”

“Oh, right. Yeah,” Roman swung the door open, bowing, “Ladies first.”

Virgil curtsied, knowing that this would be the last time.

Chapter 4.5

Patton squealed, the ring was so pretty and sparkly! But Roman shouldn’t have gone all out, a ring pop would’ve done, he knew that Roman loved him. “Roman…” Tears welled up, “ YES! I… but—you didn’t have to spend so much…”

Roman kissed his newly bejeweled hand, “It was nothing, love.”

He looked at Virgil, who had an amused smile on his face, or at least Patton thought that’s what it was. He was really good at telling people’s emotions; but Virgil had always been difficult to read, even when they were kids.

A sudden ding! interrupted the sweet moment. “The cookies are done!” Patton exclaimed, his worries slipping away as the warm scent of melted chocolate wafted throughout the room.

“Let me get that for you, Pat.” Virgil said, walking to the kitchen, “I’ll let you two talk for a minute.”

Patton hugged him, “Thanks, Virge.”

He smirked, “Just don’t expect me to leave any for you two.”

“Aww…” Patton said as Virgil left.

Roman put his arm around him. “So, dresses or suits?”

“Hm,” Patton leaned into his shoulder, “I’ll ask Virgil what would look best.”

Patton giggled as Roman softly kissed his forehead. Then again, and soon Patton was being covered in kisses. Roman picked him up bridal-style, spun him, and they moved to the chair. Patton curled up on Roman’s lap like a cat, his head on Roman’s chest. Roman gingerly put his lips to Patton’s ear, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Ro.”

Chapter 5

Virgil winced as the gooey chocolate singed his tongue. What a metaphor for today, he thought dryly. He absentmindedly glanced at the package of chocolate chips; it read “bittersweet cocoa”. Yep, the cookies were definitely mocking him.

It was hard to be mad at Roman or Patton as he watched them be goofy idiots in love through the little outlook in the kitchen. They were just as in love as they had been since the beginning, which was impressive because so many relationships died after six to eight months. The brain would build up a tolerance to the endorphins after about that time, and the partners would take that to mean they had “fallen out of love” because they didn’t get the same rush of puppy love. Or, at least that’s what Virgil had learned in one of his classes. He’d never been in an actual relationship long enough to test it—his little tryst with Roman didn’t really count.

Virgil put the rest of the cookies in a container. Heading upstairs he called to Roman and Patton, “I’m going out tonight. You two have fun—but not too much.” He could hear Roman’s sputtering all the way to his room, but he didn’t really care.

Virgil could barely think. Out, the word echoed around his mind. I need to get out of here, he managed to form a complete thought. His swishy skirt felt odd and uncomfortable. He threw open his closet, shoving the dresses and skirts to the side and focusing on his “normal” clothes.

It had been a while since he’d gone to a club. Yeah, clubbing sounded fun. Virgil shook his head, trying to focus on what to wear, he needed to get out of this skirt. He threw black ripped jeans and a flurry of shirts onto his bed. Virgil surveyed the options before grabbing a grey tee with some sort of circle design on it. He put it back into the pile, suddenly unsure of what he was doing.

The walls of his room seemed to close in. His vision went blurry, static black dots consuming his eyes. The desperate gasps of air he was making sounded muffled, like he was underwater. Pressure built, he couldn’t breathe or think or see. His arms flailed as he tried to grab something, anything. His hand hit solid wood, sending a jolt down his nerves and clearing his mind enough for him to realize what was happening. Breathe. He commanded himself. In, one, two, three, four. Hold. One, two, three, four, five. Out. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

He repeated the breathing exercise for a few minutes until he could see and think again. It had been a while since he’d had a panic attack that bad—almost eight months.

Virgil sighed and pulled himself off the floor, wincing when he put pressure on the soft part of his hand. A bruise had already begun to form. He ignored the sharpness and grabbed some tight, torn, black jeans from the mess on his bed. He often shifted between feeling more comfortable in “masculine” clothing and “feminine” clothing, but he was feeling an odd rush back to his punk/emo days. He would go out to clubs that either didn’t care about age or that he could bribe and when he walked in, he was anyone. Even though the crowds were crushing and he couldn’t breathe, he had always felt weightless. And that wasn’t to mean he was drunk or high, he’d barely sip on beer before joining the throng, it was just everything and nothing. Virgil couldn’t remember anything too interesting or specific about those times, yet images or him making out with guys, sometimes girls (although those weren’t ever as fun), and even some non-binary people played in his mind. Eventually, his parents found out, but they only wanted him to be safe and set a good example for Patton. Not that Patton needed it.

He paired a nice grey t-shirt with a faded band logo with the jeans, and grabbed the leather, almost moto-style, jacket that he used to always wear. He smudged his eyeliner a bit and put on a simple earing from his dresser. Virgil looked in the mirror, feeling a lot more comfortable now.

Almost like someone completely different.

Virgil walked back into the living room, knowing he wouldn’t be able to avoid seeing Roman and Patton again. Patton was practically on his lap, giggling. And their parents had thought Virgil was the one to worry about.

“Woah, someone took a trip back to 2007,” Roman said, not totally unflirtatiously.

Virgil fiddled with the chain on his belt loop, “That’s what I was going for.” He snatched his keys from the hook by the door.

“Be safe, V!” Patton called.

“Alright. Love ya, Pat. Roman.”

Virgil practically ran to his car, and soon enough “I Write Sins Not Tragedies” was blaring from his speakers. He pulled into the parking lot of the nearest club, showed his ID and danced.

Dancing was Virgil’s favorite thing to do. It didn’t matter if it was waltzing at a ball, spinning in a choreographed rhythm on a stage, or grinding at a club. It didn’t matter if he was alone or in a mosh pit. It was his scene.

Ugh, Patton’s puns were rubbing off on him.

The thing with dancing was, for Virgil, it was ethereal. Time passed completely differently. Not in minutes or hours, but in melodies and beats. He had no idea what time it was when he sat down at the bar to catch a breath.

“Do you want a drink?” The bartender asked.

Virgil waved his hand dismissively, ‘I don’t drink, but thank you.”

The bartender laughed. There was something about it that Virgil couldn’t describe. It was like flowers growing through concrete. “You are one of the smarter ones then—and I do not call people that lightly. I hate watching as men, although they hardly act like it, get a girl intoxicated to take advantage of them. It is disgusting, but it comes with the job and the best I can do is call an Uber for the poor girl after he pushes too far.” He sighed, and pushed up his glasses. “I clean up more than broken bottles.”

“People suck.” Virgil agreed. “Why do you work here then?”

“I do not know, to be honest. I do not need the money, my family has wealth enough even if I did not have a scholarship. I just needed something to do with other humans, but social conventions have never been my preferred way to socialize. I have been trained in them since I was young and, quite frankly, they bore me.”

“I feel ya. Although for me they’re more stressful than anything. But sometimes I can look at it like a game, and it can be amusing.” Virgil wondered who this guy was, if he was wealthy too then he might know this mysterious stranger.

The bartender smiled. “That is true. People are mind-boggling yet so easy to predict.”

“What’s your name?” “Logan.” He paused for a second. “Crofters.”

Ah, the Crofters family. They owned several brands, including a jelly brand. They were even more successful than Virgil’s family, but Virgil didn’t know they had an heir his age.

“I’m Virgil Sanders.”

“Sanders, really? What brings you here? I’m sure you could’ve chosen any amount of balls or celebrity parties to attend.” Logan’s voice was teasing. It almost sounded like Roman’s.

“I decided to let my brother and his new fianceé have a night away from me.” He replied, knowing that the headlines would be out within the next week.

“I was not aware that you had a brother.”

“Many people aren’t, for some reason. He’s adopted and only a year younger than me. I’m surprised there hasn’t been much gossip since he’s Roman Prince’s boyfriend. Well, now fianceé.”

“I’m surprised I didn’t hear that either. Our families have a long past. And so do him and me.”

Virgil paused, remembering something that Roman had told him. “Wait, were you his first boyfriend? The one that he got caught with by his family and why they almost disowned him?”

“Yes, and, unfortunately, yes. It was not my fault that he decided to be careless when I pleaded with him to be more careful. Afterward, he refused to contact me even after I apologized. And I know it wasn’t on his parents’ orders, either.” Logan looked away from Virgil. “Is he okay?”

Virgil was silent a moment, carefully choosing his words, “He’s… He’s grown, I think, since that. He’s rash, and very grandiose, but he knows when he’s made a mistake, and he will try to fix it. He’s getting better at slowing down before he crashes.” Like stopping our… our thing before proposing to Patton.

The tiniest bit of sadness, but also relief, entered Logan’s voice. It was like a taut rope. “I am glad to hear that.”

Virgil looked at his phone, it read 1:00 am. Patton would either be asleep or awake watching Disney movies with Roman.

“Would you… would you like to exchange phone numbers?” Logan asked.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Virgil looked at him with a smile.

As Virgil drove back home, he felt oddly peaceful. He checked on Patton, who was curled up in a ball in his bed and had one thought before falling asleep himself. Maybe this isn’t the end of my world after all. Maybe it’s a new world, And it’s beautiful.

[chuckling-chemist]

Let’s Start The New Sweep Right (10/14)

((Opening starts with Careen, so again, if bad relationships upset you I advise just skipping down. Song referenced this time was Libertango. Love me that Libertango))

“Darling, I’m going to dance with a very important political troll. I do hope you don’t mind, because frankly I don’t think you can change mine.”

Dontoc nodded absently. It hadn’t taken particularly long for Careen to end up getting bored of him after the first couple dances and had pretty much left him near the wall for her to flit about the ballroom. He offered to go with her out of obligation, but she declined, citing improper dress for the kind of politicking she needed to do at this event. Not that being told he can’t go with her upset or disappointed him in any way, but it did lead the way to having nothing to do. Initially he tried looking for Mayola or Valeba, but the search ended rather quickly when the crowd in the main floor thickened and his anxiety took over. Dontoc ended up hanging on the wall next to a bowl of unfortunately mediocre punch kept cool by an ice sculpture of some sort of bird.

“Dontoc? Are you even listening to me?”

He jumped, inhaling sharply. A shaky hand ran through his hair, trying to calm himself. “My...my apologies. Did you say something? I am afraid I may have become lost in my own thoughts there.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “I’m going to dance with another troll, and you can’t stop me from doing so.”

He blinked owlishly and furrowed his brow in thought. “Oh...yes. Yes. You just said that. Was...was there nothing else?”

“You’re not going to try and stop me?”

“Careen, you are your own troll. I am not going to become upset and possessive simply because you wish to dance with…” he trailed off as he looked around for whoever she was talking about, but found no one amidst the sea of trolls, “with someone political.”

She tapped her foot with tightly pursed lips, making soft clicks with enough fervor Dontoc thought it might go through the floor. He steadied his breath, bracing himself for the worst. They were not about to have this fight. They were not about to fight because he let her do what she wanted.

Another troll appeared out of the crowd: a towering indigoblood, taller than Dontoc by a good few inches, in a pair of pantaloons and puffy white shirt who’s pompadour made him instantly recognizable to him. He wrapped an arm around Careen’s shoulders with a noticeable smarmy grin. “I see we meet again, seadweller.”

Dontoc gave the troll a lazy once over before turning back to Careen. He hadn’t noticed the tight boots going overtop his pants, up past his knee and tight enough it hugged every crease of his body to the ankle, and to be frank he wished desperately he hadn’t. “Please, do not mind me,” he told her, amiable smile plastered on his face. “I can entertain myself for a few songs.” Not as if you have not already led me to do such a thing.

“But are you sure?” Careen asked. She patted the indigoblood’s hand. “You’re not upset or anything?”

He shook his head. “We have already had this conversation. That would be--” Dontoc stopped as Careen whipped her and her partner around wordlessly away from him to mesh in with the waltzing dance partners. “--idiotic,” he finished softly.

Well, it wasn’t a fight.

He filled his champagne flute up to the top with more punch. He held no desire to return to the VIP area where Atenic likely still sat in perfect silence to stare vacantly until some other troll thought her mannerisms were cute or endearing and not deeply, deeply disturbing. And while the area was certainly less populated, the closer quarters made it feel just as busy as the main floor without the benefit of being able to easily escape outside without passing by burly bouncers in suits far too tight for them, nor was it possible to really disappear into a crowd when there wasn’t technically one to begin with. Hanging on a wall here to watch the orchestra musicians switch out between sets made him look no different from the other rainbow of castes collecting near the wall for whatever reason. Staying near the wall in the VIP area, where every troll appeared to have brought a date or have the charisma to snag another troll going stag, actively made him look lonely.

Another song started up, this one opening up with the director leading others into a steady clap in time to the staccato hits of the piano. Many of the trolls closer to the orchestra dancing picked it up immediately. Some of the more clever ones even worked it into their tango. Dontoc watched a few trolls not far from him that also wallflowered to the wall give half-hearted claps. He didn’t himself, but he also didn’t wish to set down his glass.

“Too good for a few claps?”

Now there was a voice he wasn’t soon to forget. A voice like good chocolate: smooth, familiar and reminiscent distinctly of late mornings on the computer in comfort. He didn’t even need to look over to check who was talking. He could never forget the voice of his moirail.

“Perhaps one should look in the mirror, for I at least have justification,” he said cheekily. He lifted up his glass, taking the smallest sip before setting it down gently on the table.

“Well I do too.”

He turned to her, quirking an eyebrow. “And what, my dear, would that be?”

“This.” With a laugh, she took his arm and pulled him into a tight embrace. Dontoc let his head bury itself into her shoulder. The warmth from her body radiated from her, from the arms wrapped around his back and the hair tickling his face that made his fins twitch and flutter. “God Dontoc, never knew you were one for PDA,” she joked.

“I think the troll world at large will manage to accept a brief moment for two moirails who have not seen each other in...oh goodness how long has it been?” He pulled his head up to look at her, letting his arms fall down to her hold her hands. Valeba was radiant. Now that they were close up, he could see every intricate piece to her outfit. And was her eyeliner winged? Did Mayola convince her to wing eyeliner? “Goodness you look fantastic. And Ardeen is not even here to watch.”

“Yeah, but can you imagine Ardeen here?” She turned around briefly as the accordion swelled to take a look at all general populace. “He owns like...one suit. Maybe. I’ve never seen it. I think he’s fucking with me.”

“Does it still fit?”

“Did yours when we first met?” She smirked.

Dontoc smiled sheepishly, purple blush inflaming his cheeks. “Ah...well I had yet to phase them all out, yes. Ace...ace...Aisral is a very busy troll, you are aware, and well, she had to fix all of my suits due to the lack of care I had given them and... oh you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“Well yeah.” Her smirk fell. “Everything okay?”

“As okay as it can be when you are stuck with Careen. And her company. And the crowd. And....” He sighed, shaking his head. “I should be glad she abandoned me some time ago, but...well, you know. Afraid it is rather limiting.”

“Yeah, I do.” Her smile returned in coupling with gently squeezing his soft hand in her calloused one. You need to take your thinkpan off things, or do you wanna talk?”

His fins fluttered furiously to match the deepening violet. “Here? Valeba, a hug is one action, but we are moirails and this is not a Sandyhorn party. For the two of us to curl and talk so brazenly at this would be frowned upon. Normally, I would not care so much, but you’re Mayola’s kismesis now and--”

She chuckled. “Okay, I get it.” With a pat of his shoulder, she added, “Doing it at a formal ball with your moirail is eons different from doing it at a diner with a crush.”

Dontoc’s mouth fell open. “Valeba that was your idea!”

She wasn’t wrong by any stretch of the imagination. Valeba was one of the only few trolls who knew how his and Pallia’s relationship existed in a dubious red area, seeing as it was her advice that backfired.

She grinned. “And did it make things feel better, after the awkwardness faded away?” Dontoc wanted to answer to try and refute it, but his phone got to him first. Lying and saying he wasn’t texting anyone was one thing. Trying to convince his moirail he was texting anyone other than Pallia was another story entirely. “That’s her isn’t it?”

He slid his phone out just enough to see Pallia’s name flash over top the words “glassin’s utterly trasshed lol” along the top of the screen. He held back a grin as the mental image of what Glacin could possibly be doing to necessitate a text flooded his mind. Hopefully there was a picture attached to it. Pallia wouldn’t just hang him out to dry.  “Of course.” He slid his phone back down to look back up at her. Checking it around company was impolite. “You know me too well, Valeba.”

“Well first off, I’m your moirail. Pretty sure that’s expected.” 

“This is true, yes.”

“Second, I’d like to think you’re pretty easy to figure out.” She shrugged nonchalantly. She paused to push a loose strand of hair that fell from her bun behind her ear. “You’re a geek who does geek things with anxiety, so sometimes you don’t do geek things. Like now, you’re hanging on the wall because there’s a lot of people and these types of fancy shindigs really aren’t your thing.”

Dontoc nodded. His hands slid into his pockets, pushing the tweed jacket back behind them. “So you can predict, theoretically of course what I shall do next with a relatively low margin of error.”

“Probably.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I am afraid, your calculations are off.” 

She raised her eyebrows doubtfully. “And where would that be, oh wise seadweller?”

The song ended in a flurry of sixteenth notes running about the scale. Anyone watching, on the dance floor or out of the corner of their eye, could catch the bowstrings of the violins moving about furiously all the way until the finale. Trolls, dancers and onlookers alike, stopped what they were doing to applaud the orchestra musicians. A couple doing the solos even stood up and bowed. Somewhere in that crowd was Careen and that ridiculous indigoblood, possibly laughing and judging him for something now that he was away. Careen undoubtedly also told him more, about his choice of moirail and “unwilling” attitude about dancing. He wasn't sure if Careen was trying to send some kind of message (what that would be, he couldn't begin to fathom) or if she was attracted to men in ill-fitting clothing. It certainly explained her initial draw to him, much as that thought it really was that shallow left a bad taste in his mouth.

But Dontoc shut all that out. Focusing on the crowd led to nothing good, especially now of all times where doing such led to the desperate want to leave. Not when he wanted to do something unexpected. He let out a slow breath, silencing his thoughts and forcing his shaky hands to steady long enough to take hers again. A sly smile played on his lips. “From the sounds of it, you do not anticipate for me to request an official dance. And yet, I would like to ask my lovely moirail if she would like to dance. Crowd be damned.”

He watched with amusement as Valeba’s expression morphed from surprise; looking about the room to hide the rising blush on her cheeks; then confusion, then playful. She mirrored his own smile with shining eyes. “Well…” she said lightly as she shifted to the balls of her feet to ready herself, “since you asked nicely, I just don’t think I can refuse.”