#ts logan fanfiction

[intruloceitweek]

Time to Rise, Intruloceit Nation!

Sound off so we know you're out there!

[bananababblegigglemuffin]

KINKTOBER- Car stuff with wolvie

Note: 1999 words long. Worth it I’m hoping

The rain had started to fall in a steady drizzle, tapping lightly against the windshield of the beat-up truck. Wolverine’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white from the pressure, eyes sharp and focused on the winding road ahead. Next to him, a woman sat in silence, her hair still damp from the downpour they’d both run through to get to the truck. She shifted slightly in the seat, her body tense from the close proximity to him, their shoulders nearly touching.

They’d been on the road for hours, and neither had said much. It wasn’t that they didn’t have things to talk about—it was more about the tension that hung in the air between them, thick and electric, a quiet storm that had been brewing since the moment they’d met.

She had never been able to ignore the way Logan’s presence filled a room—or, in this case, the cramped cab of the truck. He was all raw power, restrained, coiled beneath the surface like a beast waiting to be unleashed. His rugged good looks, the scruff lining his jaw, the way his muscles shifted beneath his worn leather jacket—it all stirred something deep inside her, something primal.

She caught herself glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, taking in the way his hands gripped the wheel, the veins standing out on his forearms, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched as if he were fighting some inner battle. Her pulse quickened. She knew Logan had noticed her staring. He always did.

“Something on your mind, darlin’?” His voice was low, gravelly, the kind of voice that sent a shiver down her spine even when he wasn’t trying.

She cleared her throat, trying to play it off. “Just thinking about where we’re headed. Feels like we’ve been driving forever.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a half-smile, though his eyes never left the road. “You sure that’s all that’s on your mind?”

She stiffened, the heat rising to her cheeks. He could always read her so easily, and she hated it—and loved it. She turned to face the window, watching the rain as it slid down the glass, her thoughts racing. The truth was, there was more on her mind. There always was when it came to him.

The truck hit a bump in the road, jostling them both slightly. Logan cursed under his breath, reaching out instinctively to steady her, his hand resting on her thigh. The contact sent a jolt through her, and she gasped softly, her body reacting before her mind had a chance to catch up.

Logan didn’t move his hand right away. Instead, his grip tightened just slightly, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of her jeans, an unmistakable spark of something more passing between them. She could feel the heat of his touch searing through her skin, setting her nerves on fire.

He finally pulled his hand back, his voice lower, rougher. “Didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize,” she interrupted, surprising even herself with how quickly the words came out.

Logan’s gaze shifted toward her, his eyes dark and searching. For a moment, the only sound was the rain against the truck and the quiet hum of the engine, the air between them crackling with unspoken desire.

“Pull over,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rain.

Logan’s brows furrowed, his confusion evident. “What?”

“Just… pull over.”

He didn’t argue. Logan rarely argued with her, and when he did, it was more of a challenge than a disagreement. He eased the truck onto the side of the road, the tires crunching over gravel as he brought it to a stop. The rain had picked up, now pounding against the roof, creating a cocoon of privacy, isolating them from the rest of the world.

She didn’t wait for him to ask questions. Instead, she turned in her seat to face him fully, her heart racing, her breath coming quicker. She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of his jacket before moving to rest on his chest. She could feel his heart beating beneath her palm, strong and steady.

“I can’t do this anymore, Logan,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

He frowned, concern flickering across his features. “Do what?”

“Pretend.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. “Pretend that there’s nothing between us.”

Logan’s expression shifted, the rough exterior he always wore like armor cracking just slightly. “I’ve never been good at pretending, darlin’.”

She let out a soft laugh, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Then why are we still pretending?”

Logan’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to her lips. “Because you deserve better than this. Better than me.”

She shook her head, her hand sliding up to cup his jaw, her thumb brushing over the rough stubble. “I don’t want better. I want you.”

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Logan’s breath hitched, his body going rigid beneath her touch. For a moment, he looked like he might argue, like he might try to push her away again. But then something shifted, something primal and raw, and before she could react, his lips were on hers.

The kiss was intense, fueled by everything they’d been holding back for so long. His hands were in her hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She melted into him, her body responding instantly to the heat and power of his touch.

The rain continued to pour outside, the truck windows fogging up as their passion consumed them. Logan’s hands slipped beneath her shirt, his fingers grazing her skin, sending shivers of pleasure through her. She gasped against his lips, her body arching into his touch, craving more.

“You sure about this?” Logan murmured against her neck, his voice thick with desire but tinged with hesitation.

She answered by kissing him again, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him go. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she whispered breathlessly.

Logan growled low in his throat, his hands gripping her tighter as he pulled her even closer, their bodies pressed together in the small space of the truck cab. His lips trailed down her neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against her skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. She tilted her head back, giving him better access, her body trembling with anticipation.

The world outside ceased to exist. There was only the two of them, tangled together in a whirlwind of passion and desire. She could feel the tension in Logan’s body, the way he held back, trying to be gentle, trying not to let the full force of his strength overwhelm her. But she didn’t want him to hold back. She wanted all of him, every raw, unfiltered part of him.

Her hands slid beneath his shirt, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the power beneath his skin. He shuddered under her touch, his breath coming faster, his control slipping. And then, in one swift movement, he had her pinned against the seat, his body pressing against hers, his lips claiming hers with a fierce intensity that left her breathless.

Their clothes became a blur, discarded in the heat of the moment, as the rain continued to fall outside, the sound of it blending with the ragged breaths and soft moans filling the truck. Logan’s hands roamed her body, exploring every inch of her, his touch both rough and tender, driving her wild with need.

She could feel the heat pooling low in her belly, her body responding to every touch, every kiss, every whispered word. And when Logan finally moved against her, their bodies coming together, it was like the world shifted on its axis. Every sensation was heightened, every touch electrified, and she lost herself in him completely.

They moved together, their bodies perfectly in sync, the intensity of their connection overwhelming. It was as if every moment they’d spent apart, every second of longing and unspoken desire, had built up to this. And now that they were finally together, nothing else mattered.

Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in each other, the rain falling harder outside, the world fading away. All that existed was Logan’s body against hers, the heat of his skin, the sound of his breath in her ear, the way his hands held her like she was the only thing that mattered.

And when they finally came undone, it was like a release of everything they’d been holding back for so long, a wave of pure, unfiltered emotion that left them both trembling in its wake.

Logan collapsed against her, his breath ragged, his body still trembling. He held her close, his arms wrapped around her like he never wanted to let go. She buried her face in his chest, her own breath coming in shallow gasps as she tried to process everything that had just happened.

For a long time, they stayed like that, tangled together in the small space of the truck, the rain still falling outside. Neither of them said a word.

End.

Authors note:

Hey guys I’m thinking of writing a series with wolvie and xmen and mcu and everything

HERE are peak into the series

[sleepyvirgilprompts]

Logan:

Virgil:

Logan: Virgil--

Virgil: Look. We're both here in this kitchen at two in the morning. You don't criticize me for being up this late and I won't criticize you.

Logan: Alternatively, we could both go to bed.

[firewolf111]

Request from @aerosolsprite intrulogical

Logan: *working on a project in his room*

Remus: *appearing on Logan's ceiling before landing on the desk in front of him*

Logan: Hello, Remus. Would you be so kind as to get off my desk?

Remus: Nope.

Logan: *sighing* Alright. What do you want, dear?

Remus: Gimme kiss.

Logan: *rolls his eyes before giving him a quick peck on the lips* There. Now, can I have my desk back?

Remus: Nope.

Logan: But I gave you the agreed upon price.

Remus: Wasn't enough.

Logan: You only asked for one kiss.

Remus: Inflation.

Logan: That's not how inflation works. You can't up the price after the transaction. We already made the deal. Changing the pricing after the contract is not allowed.

Remus: Mmmmm....taxes. Hidden fees, like how airports or hotels do it. Transaction fees. Many examples where this is allowed.

Logan: You really need to stop listening to me when I teach things. It's quite inconvenient.

Remus: *grinning* You know you love it. Now gimme another kiss.

...............

Omg. I loved writing this one! Thank you for the request! <3 (I may have to write more of this ship later. This was too much fun)

[co-smitten]

Sanders Sides Co-Writing Fun

Hello this is @yomica12345. There might already be some fanders already doing this but I haven't found them if they are. I just thought it would be fun to create a side blog as a space to unite sanders sides fanfiction writers who would like to find others to write with.

I'm hoping it will help inspire those who are in all sorts of positions. Those who may be suffering with writers block and would just like someone to bounce ideas off of or are looking for a proof reader. Those who think it would be fun to co-write with someone but don't know where to look for that person to write with. Those who have ideas but aren't sure where to start and could use some guidance. And maybe those looking for writing prompts specific to the sides or those who would like to offer prompts from ideas they might have themselves.

Basically I want this blog to be a safe place for fanders who love writing fanfiction and fanders who love reading fanfiction. I'm not sure how to organize things just yet but if it seems enough writers are interested in this idea then I'll get a discord running and I'll start setting things up. If you're interested in participating in anything I've mentioned whether it be writing, reading or collaborating please like and reblog this post. The more people I see wanting to get involved the more I'll take this seriously. If you have any questions you can ask them in the comments or through my ask box. Thanks in advance for any support you might offer this post <3

Co Writing Discord Link

[04thz]

Migraines - an Analogical oneshot

Logan's had issues with migraines for a long time, but never told the other sides about it. During a particularly bad one, Virgil comes to check on him.

Mild TW for mentioned vomit/throwing up - this is based on my own experience with migraines, and I basically always end up puking so Logan does now too lmao

Word count: 2444

Also! Just a quick FYI, I have an AO3 now! This one and the two NaruMitsu fics I made recently have been posted there. Will potentially move my older fics there as well, so in case anyone wants to read more of my writing without having to scroll through the wall of random that is my blog, I am 04thz on there as well. Anyways, enjoy the fluff lol

It was just one of those days. Hardly the first Logan had dealt with, but they never got any easier. He squeezed his eyes shut as another jolt of pain went through his skull and rolled over in bed to face the wall, where less of the light creeping in under the door could reach him. The movement caused a swell of nausea, and he forced himself to take a few deep breaths to suppress the urge to vomit, pulling the marine blue duvet up to further cover himself. 

God, he hated migraines. Tension headaches weren’t all that uncommon for the logical side, nor were caffeine headaches, but those were usually manageable with water and a couple painkillers, and if nothing else he could at least work through the more subdued pain. Whenever he felt a migraine coming on, that was it for the rest of the day, he would most likely not be getting anything else done until it was over. If he was lucky, the pain would be gone within a few hours and/or after a quick nap, but sometimes – like today – he’d wake up with a dull ache radiating out from one or both temples, which would steadily worsen over the course of the day, until it felt like one side of his head was being repeatedly wacked with a sledgehammer. And as if the throbbing pain weren’t bad enough, it was more often than not accompanied by crippling sensitivity to both light and sound, full-body chills, and such intense nausea it was nearly impossible to move without throwing up.  

Logan never told any of the other sides about his problem. Not only did he not want to appear weak, but also as long as he kept up with his work it was unlikely they’d think it odd that he'd stay couped up in his room for a day or two every once in a while; that was hardly unusual for him anyhow. Besides, it’s not like they could help with his predicament, actually there was all likelihood they’d make it worse. When he felt the aura of an oncoming migraine, he’d simply excuse himself from any social situation and bunker down in his room with a water bottle, painkillers, and a large bucket, in case he’d fail to quash the relentless waves of nausea. This time there hadn’t been any social situations to excuse himself from; he never even made it out of bed, much less out of the room. After trying and failing to go back to sleep to avoid the issue all together, he’d simply taken a pill and steeled himself for the dreadful day ahead.  

He’d managed to eat a couple bites of the breakfast he summoned for himself, and even done some reading before the gnawing ache became too intense to focus on anything else. But when it came time for lunch, he’d barely gotten the first mouthful down before it violently came back up, along with his breakfast. With throat burning and eyes running, Logan was forced to admit defeat, and he’d spent the next few hours subsisting on small sips of water, while trying to block out what little light seeped into the room and willing the day to just be over already.  

It was in this state that Virgil found him that afternoon. The alarm clock on Logan’s nightstand read 17:15 when he heard soft footsteps in the corridor outside. The three quick knocks on the door weren’t loud, but nonetheless agonizing, and Logan had to grit his teeth to suppress a pitiful whimper that threatened to escape his still sore throat.  

“L? You in there?” 

Logan sighed and tried his best to keep his voice steady. 

“Yes, Virge, I’m here. What is it?” 

The brief reply had sounded more abrasive than intended, and a minute passed in silence before a hesitant question came through. 

“Can I come in?” 

Logan took a deep breath and weighed for and against before turning back towards the door. 

“Yes, you may, just... please keep your voice down.” 

The door was slowly pushed open and Logan had to put his hands up to cover his eyes as the room was suddenly illuminated by the bright light spilling in from the hallway. Virgil stepped into the room, hands buried deeply in the pockets of his hoodie and shoulders pulled up; Logan’s blunt manner had clearly put him a bit on edge. Logan pressed his hands against his face. 

“Shut the door, please...” 

Virgil used his foot to push the door shut and Logan sighed with relief as the room was once again shrouded in blissful darkness. He lowered his hands and pulled the covers tighter around himself. Virgil leaned against the door, looking at him uncertainly as his eyes quickly adjusted to the dark. 

“Everything okay? Haven’t heard from you all day, and you don’t look so good.”, he said quietly. 

‘Not so good’ was rather an understatement. Logan had caught glances of himself in mirrors on better days and knew all too well he must look terrible; pale and shivering, hair a mess, eyes hazy, these kinds of days typically made him look like he was half-way to the grave. Not to mention his pajamas – consisting of indigo flannel bottoms and an old, faded Doctor Who t-shirt – were in desperate need of a wash. Reluctantly he reached for his glasses, sliding them on and looking at Virgil tiredly, though he could hardly make out more than a silhouette. 

“I have a migraine. Nothing to worry about, just... highly unpleasant.” 

The last two words came out as a sigh. Virgil tilted his head, taking a step towards the bed. 

“Oh, I see.” 

He slowly made his way over, pausing for a second and wrinkling his nose as he was hit by the rancid smell from the bucket on the floor. He looked at Logan, who wearily motioned for him to sit down on the bed. Virgil carefully sat down at the edge of the bed and started fidgeting with the drawstrings on his hoodie. They sat in silence for a while, until Virgil started finding it intolerable and softly spoke up. 

“Do you uh... need anything? Like an ice pack or something?” 

Logan went to decline the offer, mostly wanting to be left alone, but stopped himself. 

“That... would be great actually.” 

Virgil nodded, summoning an ice pack and a small towel, handing them to Logan. 

“Thank you, Virgil.” 

He gingerly placed his glasses back on the nightstand before laying the towel over his forehead and placing the ice pack on the side of his head that was throbbing the worst. He exhaled slowly, finally feeling some blessed relief as the chill of the ice somewhat dulled the burning pain. Virgil watched him, a small smile creeping onto his face. 

“Did that help?” 

Logan nodded ever so slightly, gently shutting his eyes underneath the towel. 

“Yes, thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Virgil looked around, having no problem seeing in the very faint light from the door, though he’d know the room like the back of his hand even if he couldn’t see it. Out of all the other sides’ rooms, Logan’s was probably the one the anxious side had spent the most time in. If he’d had a nightmare or just couldn’t sleep, it wasn’t unusual for him to make his way over, and Logan was typically happy enough to let him in. For all he harped on about circadian rhythms and healthy sleep schedules, it was not uncommon to find the logical side sitting by his desk or reading late into the night. Sometimes, if he was feeling especially anxious, like after a bad nightmare, Virgil would ask Logan to read aloud to him from whatever book he was currently working his way through. Many nights he’d fallen asleep listening to various detective stories and scientific theories, curled up under the large, galaxy print blanket on Logan’s bed. Logan was a constant, a steady presence in Virgil’s life, even more so than the other sides, and seeing the normally - at least outwardly- unshakeable man in his current state was honestly a bit unnerving.  

“... Do you get migraines like this often?” Virgil asked softly, turning to look at Logan’s half-covered face. 

“Once or twice a month at most. They aren’t always this bad.” Logan replied tiredly. 

The anxious side chuckled quietly, mostly to himself. 

“Just bad luck today huh?” 

He could just about make out the slight movement of Logan furrowing his brows under the towel. 

“Wouldn’t call it ‘bad luck’ exactly. I have admittedly exceeded my own limitations by quite a large margin over the past couple weeks, it’s hardly surprising it would end like this.”   

Logan wasn’t sure if it was the pain, the drowsiness or just the fact that it happened to be Virgil sitting on the bed with him that made him inclined to share “unfavorable” information like that so freely, but he had to confess it was rather nice to not keep it all to himself for once. He was aware he was working on an unsustainable schedule, despite his best efforts to keep Thomas and his fellow sides from doing the same, and it felt – yes, felt – good to say so out loud. Like giving the thought some sort of external presence was a step in the right direction towards amending the issue. Virgil returned to fidgeting with his hoodie strings, watching Logan’s chest slowly rise and fall for what seemed like an eternally long minute before breaking the silence: 

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself?” he said, concern apparent in his voice.  

Logan sighed and moved the ice pack slightly to the left, before he let his hand fall to his side 

“I suppose not, no. There’s been so much work to do lately, everything else sort of got left by the wayside, so to speak.” 

“L, you can’t do that. You have needs too, you can’t just work and work and ignore them. That’s not healthy.” 

Virgil moved a bit closer to Logan, turning his body so his knee just barely touched Logan’s outer calf. The latter shifted slightly, somewhat unused to physical contact of any sort.  

“I know that, Virge. I am trying to find a better balance, but it’s easier said than done.” 

Virgil placed a hand on Logan’s knee, resting it lightly so that the other man may move away from his touch if he so pleased. Logan didn’t move his leg away, instead he slowly lifted a corner of the towel off his face, looking at Virgil questioningly, though the anxious side knew he probably couldn’t actually see him in the dark and without his glasses. Virgil bit his lip softly and ran the fingers of his free hand through his bangs.  

“I care about you, Logan. I know you hate the feelingsy stuff and all, but I really care about you, and I don’t want you pushing yourself like that. I’m worried about you, dude.” 

Logan drew in a breath, slightly taken aback. Virgil usually wasn’t much more forward about this sort of thing than himself. And that word; Worried. Virgil was worried about him. He noticed that Logan didn’t leave his room that day, he cared enough to come check on him and at least attempt to help with his splitting headache. None of the others typically even noticed he wasn’t present unless it happened to be for an extended period of time. As much as he hated to admit it, that hurt, and the fact that Virgil had sought him out and expressed concern for his wellbeing meant more to him than he knew how to properly verbalize.  

“Thank you, Virgil. I... appreciate that.” was all he could muster up through suddenly knotted vocal cords. 

Virgil gently rubbed Logan’s knee. There was, as always, an implicit understanding between them. Even if Logan didn’t know how to say it, Virgil understood that his concern was important to him. 

“I mean it. Just... I’m here for you, okay? You can always talk to me if something’s going on.” 

He was half expecting the conversation to be over at that point, and was just about to leave Logan alone to sleep off his headache, when the logical side spoke up again: 

“Virge? Could you maybe... read to me?” 

Virgil stopped in the middle of getting up, sinking back down on the mattress. Logan shifted the towel back over his eyes and continued: 

“I was reading Murder on the Orient Express earlier, but I didn’t get past the first few chapters before my migraine got the better of me.” 

Virgil smirked playfully. 

“Again? Don’t you have it memorized by now?” 

Logan scoffed, rolling his eyes despite the agony it caused. 

“I am too tired for musical references right now.” 

“Sorry, couldn’t resist.” 

Virgil snickered and reached for the book on the nightstand.  

“Can I lie down?” 

Logan nodded ever so slightly, and Virgil carefully nestled himself in between him and the wall, leafing through the book until he came across the ornate bookmark Roman had gotten for Logan’s appreciation day a few years previous. He smiled; half convinced Logan would have gotten rid of it by now. He cleared his throat and began reading. Though he wasn’t as big a fan as Logan, Virgil did enjoy Agatha Christie’s writing, having heard both Murder on the Orient Express and a couple of her other books read out multiple times, and he did find some pleasure in being able to return the favor after being read to restful sleep so many times. A few chapters in, he glanced over at Logan and noticed that he’d drifted off. He put the bookmark in place and carefully returned the book to its spot on the nightstand before removing the thawing ice pack and wrapping it up in the towel. Propping himself up on his elbow, Virgil watched his companion’s relaxed face with an adoring smile, and soon found himself dozing off to the slow, almost hypnotic rhythm of his breathing.  

When Logan woke up in the morning, finally free of the excruciating migraine, and found Virgil sleeping with his hand resting on Logan’s chest, he couldn’t help but smile to himself. Careful not to wake the other man, he got out of bed and put on his glasses. Before leaving for a much-needed shower, he made sure to tuck Virgil in properly and – much to his own surprise – gently stroked his cheek with the back of his hand. Virgil smiled contently in his sleep, and Logan quietly left the room with a warm, pleasant feeling in his chest.  

[i-had-a-bad-feeling]

Can anyone give me good Prinxiety fics? Or analogical hurt/comfort fics? Pleaaaase I’m so bored. Or possibly any winter-based SaSi fics? Pleaaase

[lit-vocabcards]

blorbo this and blorbo that, why is it everytime I am writing these fuckers i end up on the National Library of Medicine

[prodigal-explorer]

RESULTS!!! sanders sides controversial opinions poll

alright guys this is what you were waiting for! i am so grateful that this little poll i made ended up getting over 630 responses? that's insane! thank you all so much for helping me with this project, i loved researching this fandom that i love so much! without further ado, here are the results!!

(also for the interesting opinions, i don't agree with all of them, they're just opinions that i thought brought up something cool that i hadn't considered before!)

the canva link in case the photos aren't working: https://www.canva.com/design/DAFxdNIQW6s/XXMtxyz_icwgEp2cdgGBLQ/edit?utm_content=DAFxdNIQW6s&utm_campaign=designshare&utm_medium=link2&utm_source=sharebutton

---

part two is being reblogged below!! and i am in the process of tagging people who said they wanted to be.

[edupunkn00b]

On a Butterfly's Wing, Ch. 15: In the Shadows of a System's Intricacies

A graphical representation of a Lorenz attractor.

Prev - In the Shadows of a System's Intricacies - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

WC: 4445 - Rated: T - CW: none? Not sure how I pulled that one off. Nightmares, I guess? -

February 14, 2025

Logan raced up the front steps, shuffling off his shoes the moment he got the door opened. Clad in the apron Logan had bought him three Christmases ago, Remus met him at the door with a broad smile.

“Did I make it?”

Nodding, Remus pried the case files from his arms and set them on the counter. “Perfect timing, Lo Lo,” he said, stealing a kiss when he moved to help with his coat. “They’re upstairs working on his eyeliner.”

“Thank goodness,” he sighed with a whoosh that ruffled Remus’ curls. “I came straight—“ He snorted at Remus’ dubious expression. “I came directly from court. We won big today.”

“And I want to hear all about it, Lo,” Janus’ voice carried down from the stairwell. “But first, may I present Mr. Patton Sanders?”

Patton skipped down the stairs, arms waving at his sides. His billowing sleeves made a cheery swish-swish-swish as he descended. He moved smoothly; confident and proud of his outfit.

Lids expertly traced in his favorite baby blue, his eyes glowed over ruddy pink cheeks. Baby blue popped from his shirt, his vest, the cuffs of his slacks. The neat Windsor knot at his collar.

“You went with the tie,” Logan said, voice quiet as he adjusted the already perfect knot.

Patton nodded, his grin bright enough to light the room. “It felt right.”

“You wear it well, Pat,” he murmured, smoothing down his own tie.

Turning to look at their shared reflection in the hall mirror, Patton smiled again. “I think Eli’ll like it. I do.”

“Confidence and comfort in your own skin matter more than anything else when you’re seeking to impress a date,” Janus said, reaching up to adjust Patton’s curls before slowly lowering his hand.

Logan threaded their fingers together and squeezed.

“Yeah, have I ever told you what Jannie was wearing when we first met?” Remus cackled when Patton rolled his eyes with a grin.

Janus shook his head, pink dusting his cheeks. “Off with you!” he teased. “Don’t you have a top secret something or other in the kitchen? I think it’s burning…”

Laughing as he dodged a playful smack on his ass, Remus hurried off to the kitchen only to call back, “Ooo! I see a car pulling up! Freshly washed, too. Somebody’s looking to impress you, Pat.”

Patton gasped, bouncing on his toes and reaching for the door.

“Hold on, now,” Janus said, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. “How about a coat? It’ll be cold out tonight.”

Nodding, Patton pulled down the Carhart Remus had insisted he clean over the weekend. All but a tiny smattering of paint had come off, leaving splashes of color at the wrists. Logan smiled when he realized the swirls matched Patton's tie.

“Is it a brown car?” he asked Remus, shoving his arms into the coat sleeves.

“Mahogany,” Remus grinned at him. “Pearlized.”

“And I’m the pedant,” Logan chuckled quietly, earning a raspberry from Remus.

“It’s him!” Patton cheered and turned to his dads, hands out at his sides. “How do I look?”

“Fantastic.” Logan hugged him before pulling back, smoothing down invisible wrinkles from his tie. “Absolutely fantastic!”

Careful of Patton's hair, Janus pressed a kiss against his forehead and murmured. “Remember the rules?”

Laughing, Patton nodded, ticking off each finger on one hand. “Don’t add to the population or subtract from from it, and stay out of jail, the hospital, or the newspaper.”

“Good boy,” Janus chuckled.

Remus pulled him in to a bear hug and whispered something too quiet for either Janus or Logan to hear. They exchanged a knowing glance.

“Yeah, Papa gave me some,” Pat rolled his eyes, blushing. “Not gonna need ‘em.”

Janus and Logan struggled to keep their expressions neutral and Remus just shrugged. “Better safe than—“

“Okay, I’m going now!” Pat laughed and gave them one last wave before slipping through the door. Eli was getting out of his car. “I’ll be home late!” he called over his shoulder.

“You’ll be home by midnight,” Janus called back.

After another little chorus of goodbyes and a blushing wave from Eli as he and Pat opened each other’s car doors, the trio watched the car until it reached the corner and turned onto the main street.

“Are we sure this was a good idea?” Janus murmured, lingering in the doorway. Arms crossed over his chest, he looked more like he was hugging himself.

Logan smiled and pulled him close as Remus shut the door. “They are visiting the traveling Stonewall exhibit then having dinner two blocks from Eli’s parents’ house,” he reminded him gently. “They will be quite safe.”

“They’re doing the Valentine’s flash mob make-out, too,” Remus said, joining their hug.

“Flash mob?” Janus asked, eyes wide.

Remus shrugged. “What?” A tiny smile worked its way across Janus’ face and Logan kissed his cheek. “They’re making a comeback. Now, out with you two,” he shooed them down the hall and toward the living room. “Go talk about legal precedence and blue ball briefs—“

“Blue back,” Logan corrected before he caught Remus’ smirk.

“Half dozen of one,” he laughed. “I’m nearly done with my masterpiece in here,” he said as he returned to the kitchen. “Twenty minutes!”

“I believe we are being evicted from our own kitchen,” Logan chuckled, hooking his arm through Janus’. “Whatever shall we do?”

Pulling him toward the couch, Janus smiled, his earlier worry washed away with Remus’ antics—just as Remus had intended, Logan suspected. “You have been run ragged all day covering both of our cases,” Janus purred as they sank down on the plush sofa. Reaching gently but with irresistible force, Janus pulled him closer, laying Logan’s head down on his lap. Strong, steady fingers wound through his hair, massaging away the final traces of tension from the day.

“Why don’t you get settled here with me and you can tell me all about it?”

~

Logan groaned as he woke, the micro-movements setting off shooting pains along his back, his neck, his jaw… He blinked gummy eyes and fumbled for his eyeglasses, finally finding them already on his face. Vision unaccountably blurry, he rubbed his eyes, the lids swollen and puffy. Salty streaks had dried on his cheeks and his sleeves were damp.

“Jay?” he croaked, throat tight and dry. “Meus?”

A streetlight shone through a window behind him, casting a harsh beam over the table at which he sat. Draped in a tablecloth he didn’t recognize, it was set with stark black dishes with sharp corners, those squared plates and bowls that reminded him more of stone slabs than something to share a meal with.

An ornate centerpiece consumed most of the table, two dozen long-cut white roses interspersed with lilies and baby’s breath. A half dozen white tapers surrounded them, wicks black but barely burned. The air was heavy with the greasy scent of roasted beef, nearly overpowering the soft yeasty aroma coming from the small basket of bread by his elbow.

He’d just begun to wonder where he was when the matte grey trim in front of him stole his breath.

Sitting in the near-dark, he listened for signs of who else might be around. The house was quiet, a slow drip from the faucet behind him and the soft tick of a clock in the living room the only sounds he could make out.

“Pat?” he called, listening again for footfalls in the other room, on the stairs. “Pat, are you here?” he called again, louder this time.

No-one answered him.

Only two places had been set at the table, and the small gift wrapped in speckled white paper set on one of the plates made it clear that, wherever he’d woken, it was in the middle of a Valentine’s evening for two.

A phone sat on the table and Logan picked it up, thumbprint unlocking it as he lifted it to read.

“Plans changed. I’ll be home Sunday.”

Over twenty minutes later, the response had gone out.

“I understand”

That explained where she was. But what about Pat? Pat was always here with him in this dream. In this nightmare.

Logan’s stomach dropped and he shook away visions of what horrors might await him in this minefield his subconscious had built for him.

If he could dream of a world without Janus and Remus by his side, would he dream of a world without Pat, as well?

He scrolled through the phone, breath coming out in a groaned sigh when he found a message thread with Pat’s picture—an old picture, featuring a Pat at least five years younger. But undeniably him.

Pat had messaged him a photo. Blurry, like they’d been caught mid-laugh, Pat and three boys a bit older than him crowded close for the camera, each grinning brightly. Snow dusted their puffy coats, cheeks pink from cold or exertion or, knowing Pat, giddiness. One of the boys sported a wind-swept mop of crayon-pink hair, black strands streaked throughout. Another’s hair was the reverse, raven black with a bright stripe of matching fuchsia. The fourth boy had hair the color of Logan’s, with dyed purple tips.

“We’re doing the big hill next! See you Sunday night, Dad!”

Two of the boys—young men, really—were oddly familiar. He zoomed in. There was something about their eyes, their hair, color aside, of course… It wasn’t until Logan caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the phone screen that he saw it.

Both boys looked precisely like younger versions of him. Heart pounding, he opened the phone’s camera roll.

Dozens, hundreds of pictures of Pat were inside. Along with the other two boys, as well. Many of the more recent images were also accompanied by the young man with pink hair.

Setting down the phone, Logan closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

It was a dream. Strange and unnerving, but it was merely a dream. All he had to do was follow the story of it and he would wake up again, safe, in his own bed, with Jay and Meus in his arms, Pat secure and asleep in his own room.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and pushed in his chair. Almost as an afterthought, Logan pocketed the phone and looked around. A covered dish sat cooling on the stove, the source, no doubt, of the thick, meaty scent hanging in the air. He listened intently to the creaks and sighs of what appeared to be an empty house. Finally, he peeked outside the kitchen window. An older Pilot, the one from his other dreams, sat in the driveway. The space beside it was empty.

Convinced he was truly alone, he began to explore.

Flicking on the kitchen light, gloomy shadows shrank away, revealing an ordinary kitchen. Like the table setting, it was minimalistic—stark —with empty white counters and a grey backsplash under the cabinets. The dishwasher was half-filled, sink dry and empty.

The refrigerator door was oddly bare. No pictures, no shopping lists, no school notices, notes or reminders. Nothing. It appeared to not even have a magnetic surface.

Tucked away in the drawer next to it, though, was a small black planner, filled with calendars and mundane stickie notes about vitamins and grocery lists in his own handwriting. Defying traditional theories on dreams, he could read it all.

Closing the book, he returned the planner to its spot and moved to the hall.

Clean and lifeless, without even the muted runner that had once brought nominal color and texture to the dull tile, the hall was barren, save for a small entry table painted the same cloudy grey color as the wood trim in the kitchen. Were it not for the table and the empty key hooks by the door, Logan might mistake the entryway for that of an unoccupied house.

Near the front door hung a chrome-edged mirror, hosting a reflection Logan avoided. He had no desire to see those haunted eyes again. Next to the mirror sat an interior door, a closet, or a door to the garage, perhaps? In previous dreams, it had been a coat closet, though there was no guarantee this dream home—nightmare home—maintained consistent architecture.

He turned the knob slowly, shaking his right hand free of its cramping tension, readying it. Readying for what… he couldn’t say. The door creaked open.

Inside was an ordinary coat closet. Rain boots lined a rubber tray in the corner and a short shoe rack sat in the middle of the closet floor. The top rows were nearly filled with various pumps and flats. A pair of pink running shoes with little wear. Two open spaces were notable, missing teeth in a child’s smile.

The bottom row was half-filled with a pair of black polished loafers and two pairs of running shoes. Converse high-tops, one pair in burgundy and another off-white, each done up with a set of TARDIS-blue and rainbow shoelaces. They reminded him of Pat’s Pride sneakers.

Various coats hung on the rod, again, more than half the space consumed with slim, fashionable feminine overcoats and jackets. A navy blue wool overcoat Logan recognized from another dream and a hoodie emblazoned with Kangs Tech Crew finished out the rod.

He’d been about to close the door when he noticed the gap between the shoe rack and the back of the closet. He pushed aside the coats and peered inside, tapping for the flashlight function on his watch—did he ever take the damn thing off in this dream? The weak beam cut through the gloom.

Tucked into the space was a canvas messenger bag, the same type Pat had handed him. Logan pulled it out only to discover two more hidden in the dark.

… I’ll be home Sunday.

According the phone clock, it was still Friday night. He had time.

Feeling a bit like he’d uncovered a hidden map in one of Pat’s or Meus’ video games, he brought all three bags to the severe living room to get a better look. Excepting different wear patterns around the buckles and the bottom gussets, the bags were identical. Navy blue canvas, sturdy.

And heavy.

He opened the first. Pens and pencils were tucked neatly into the built-in organizer and a thin handful of manila folders sat in the main compartment. Labeled casefiles.

He frowned. Unlike the calendars and shopping lists he’d found squirreled away in the kitchen, the case numbers on the files were nonsensical, a random four-digit number where the year should have been and client names that made no sense. NOBLE, D., POND, M., POTTS, B., TYLER, R. WILLIAMS, R.

Pattern recognition clicked and his hand shook. Each case file supposedly belonged to a character from Doctor Who.

The thin case files were filled with nonsense. An intake sheet with a judge’s name not on the roster at any court he’d practiced, a blue back that said little more than ‘this is a motion filed by QLaw’ in denser legalese than Jay could conjure on his most brutal days.

Everything was dated from years ago. If this wasn't a dream, he’d swear these were movie set props, like the newspaper Ro had brought them from his last film. He’d had the props master include of their names in complimentary—or scandalous—headlines on the inner pages. Janus Prince nee Pater Takes World by the Reins in New Manifesto, Patton Sanders Breaks World Record SAT Scores. Remus Prince Wanted for Murder (Again!).

Designed to look real without being real, sufficiently ordinary to not draw attention, fabricated to avoid copyright or privacy infringements.

Like a decoy.

The standard collection of charging cables and a travel battery pack filled out the rest of the compartment.

But that didn’t explain the weight.

Logan removed everything from the main compartment and felt along the edges until he found a narrow velcro flap running along the bottom seam. Beneath it was a flat compartment that ran the full width and length of the bag, two inches deep. It held a rectangular waterproof envelope.

Color copies of birth certificates were inside. Baby pictures. One of Patton, his golden curls unmistakable, two more of tiny infants who could have been Logan himself.

A few hundred dollars in cash.

There were tax form coversheets, social security cards. A marriage and name change certificate for Logan Sanders and Kelly Croft. Photocopies of passports for Logan Croft and Patton Croft.

Croft, Croft, Croft… Two decades practicing, with hundreds of clients each year, Logan saw more names than could reasonably be stored in his mind. But it was more than this nightmare world where Janus called him ‘Croft’ that made the name stand out.

Setting aside the papers—and the puzzle—he dug further.

Under the envelope was a small but weighty carabiner of keys. It held a plain car key fob, unbranded house and mailbox keys—like the kind made from a machine that didn’t check if the master said “do not duplicate”—and one of those weird little safe deposit box keys.

Logan’s heart froze. How many DV clients had he advised to assemble a go bag with a bit of cash, copies of important papers, irreplaceable but portable pictures. He checked the other bags.

Each was nearly identical.

Carefully, he repacked the bags and hid them in the back of the closet as they had been. He closed the closet door and faced the rest of the house. Again, Logan was struck by the utter lack of art or decoration in the living room and along the walls. His eyes caught a glint of something in the stairwell and he moved toward it, pulled by the only visual interest in sight.

It was a framed family portrait. Unlit and likely near invisible when the hall was dark as it had been in previous dreams, now its chrome and glass frame gleamed in the light. He recognized Pat and… sort of himself. Lips tight in a careful smile, he looked out at the camera, one posed hand lightly resting on Pat’s shoulder. Buttoned to the top, his shirt was carefully pressed but he wore no tie.

Hand reaching up for his own collar, it wasn’t until then that Logan realized that while he wore a dress shirt, there was no tie around his neck and the top button was undone.

The two dark-haired young men from his camera roll were also posed in front of him, gazing back at the camera. The one with purple tips didn’t smile.

And beside him…

She was beside him. Full makeup, blonde curls so similar to Pat’s, she smiled at the camera, bright and brittle, the wide grin not quite making its way up to her eyes.

Despite being over a decade older, with clothes and grooming miles distant from how she had appeared in her mugshot, the woman bore a terrifying resemblance to Pat’s birth mother.

Washington State v. Croft, K.

Kelly Croft.

They’d all worked so hard to help Patton process and move past the trauma of his earliest years. Had he actually forgotten the woman’s name? A cold copy of Patton’s eyes stared back at him from her picture. The same curls, longer and blown out in a fashion trendy two seasons ago. Uncanny didn’t even begin to describe it.

Stomach churning, Logan genuinely feared he might be sick if he stared into her empty smile much longer. He looked away and continued up the stairs.

The second floor landing opened onto a narrow hallway, no less foreboding than it had been in Logan’s previous dreams. All but two of the doors, a bedroom Logan might guess to be Pat’s based on the familiar ‘comforter’s-on-the-bed-so-the-bed’s-made’ cleaning technique, and a standard sort of bathroom.

There was a bunkbed, though, in the bedroom, the top bunk neatly made. Two desks and two dressers, only one of each appearing to be used. Did the other set belong to one of his young doppelgangers from the photo downstairs?

A single toothbrush sat in its cup in the bathroom and though there were multiple hooks on the back of the door, only one towel hung to dry.

There was nothing of note in the linen closet nor the laundry room on the opposite side of the hall, but the door next to the bathroom was locked. Logan considered searching for a screwdriver sufficiently thin to pop the lock.

But perhaps there were things his subconscious didn’t want him to see. Finally, he moved further down the corridor.

The room at the end of the hall was the same as it had been when he’d woken at the start of previous dreams. Just as plain and unadorned as downstairs, the flat grey walls looked no cheerier with the overhead light on than they had in the dim light of dawn. A king-sized bed consumed most of the room. Neatly made with chilly satin sheets and matching duvet, a large body pillow sliced the space in half. A wall between what would be sleeping partners.

A wave of exhaustion hit him when he touched the bed.

This could be how the dream would end. He’d taken his time with his explorations and now he felt he’d been wandering the house for half the night. He checked his watch. It was well past 1 AM.

Compelled by something he didn’t understand, whether some superstition that following an evening routine might make the night find its end or mere habit, Logan stood and dressed in pajamas he found in a drawer, carefully hanging his discarded shirt and pants in the closet at the far end, away from those still wrapped in their dry cleaning bags.

Why was he concerned with wrinkles in a dream world set to dissolve when he finally left it?

He scrubbed his face and brushed his teeth, gaze down to avoid the eyes staring back at him from his reflection. Guarded, haunted, sad eyes.

His mother’s eyes.

After turning off the bathroom light, he fumbled a bit through the dark until he reached the far side of the bed. Hand reaching automatically, he flicked on the bedside lamp.

His book was not on the nightstand. But he knew where he’d seen it last.

Slowly, Logan tugged open the nightstand drawer. Just as in his dream, a beat-up copy of Chaos lay inside. It was a different edition than his own, a series of stickers from Thriftbooks and Alibris announcing its multi-hop journey through the second-hand book market.

He opened the book.

It wasn’t merely the edition that was different.

Logan had finished his first read through of his own copy and had begun reviewing his notes with the entirety of the book in mind. Tucked between page 112 and 113 sat a worn index card, a rather obvious bookmark. And the marginalia…

Though written in his own handwriting, the marginalia were not his. Throughout the pages, different passages had been called out, different conclusions drawn.

He lingered over page 61, notes scratched into every bit of space around the margin, in the millimeters of white space at the ends of sentences, a few phrases squeezed in even between the lines. One passage was underlined twice.

… A year-by-year facsimile produces no more than a shadow of a system’s intricacies, but in many real applications the shadow gives all the information a scientist needs.

The scrawled question at the bottom of the page chilled the blood in Logan’s veins.

I still don’t understand what my dreams are trying to tell me. What are the intricacies I’m meant to learn from these sweet glimpses, these tantalizing shadows of imagined lives I might live along a different path?

The hand that held the book began to cramp and Logan set it face down on his lap to massage the ache away. Stiff, crooked fingers that wouldn’t properly straighten when extended. Bumpy bones, knotted healed fractures he could feel right through the skin. This hand, these shadows of injuries past were always a part of his dreams of the grey house.

Logan looked down at the book in his lap. It was no mere memory. The pages were different, the size and layout was different. An earlier, older edition.

And the marginalia…

Whatever this was, it wasn’t a dream.

Picking up the pen, he skipped ahead, turning first to the unread pages immediately following the bookmark. He scanned the page for an appropriate passage. Given the topic of the book, it didn’t take long.

To have more freedom of experimentation, we forget momentarily about the astronomical origin of the problem.

Driven by the memory of those eyes staring back at him from the mirror, he set aside the illogicality of it all. If any of this was real, he could not stay his hand. He could not remain a silent bystander to a life he knew could be happier. A life he knew could be safer.

Logan drew an arrow down to the large margin at the bottom of the page and wrote, as clearly as his shaking hand would allow, “Conjecture: You and I are both real.”

He turned a few more pages to the section that described an almost fate-like movement of particles in an experiment. He continued to write.

"Whichever paths each of us has followed, we are not bound to them. Every day is a new choice. Every day is a new, fluid path we might choose to take. This track, Logan, is not the only path available to you to follow."

After dog-earring the page, he skipped far ahead and turned to a passage that, in his own copy of this book, was covered in marginalia. Logan dog-eared that page, as well, and underlined the final lines of the passage.

The ordinary-sized stuff which is our lives, the things people write poetry about—clouds—daffodils—waterfalls—and what happens in a cup of coffee when the cream goes in—these are things full of mystery, as mysterious to us as the heavens were to the Greeks. The future is disorder. A door like this has cracked open five or six times since we got up on our hind legs. It’s the best possible time to be alive, when almost everything you thought you knew was wrong.

Then he wrote beneath it in all caps. “LOGAN, CRACK OPEN THE DOOR AND STEP THROUGH! FOLLOW YOUR OWN BEST ADVICE, COUNSELOR.”

The room gradually darkened, shadows moving into the edges of his vision as Logan felt sleep's labor overtake him. He lay the book on his chest, set his eyeglasses on the nightstand and slipped free from the world.

[ascenari0]

you know what my fav sanders sides fics are? The ones where like it’s deceit raising Remus and Virgil or like Patton raising Logan and Roman LIKE FOUND FAMILY.

I remember one where Virgil was adopted and soon felt.. like accepted in the family after a while and I almost died (affectionately).

If anyone has fic recommendations or you made one like this LMK PLSSS!!!

Or if you have an au literally tell me everything.

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

The Creatures In The Garden

In Romans defense. He didn't realise at first that the thing he'd picked up was a person.

Aka, 5 times Roman found a tiny, and one time they showed themselves.

----

| Ao3 |

Warnings: general mishandling of tinies - otherwise none.

Pairings: None!

Word Count: 2578

Notes:

My fourth fic for the @tsspromptmonth sleepy bean cafe event!!!

This one was really fun to write, I hope it's up to standard :D

Written for @nonbinary-octopus

The Prompt: 5+1 gt fic with Incorrect Handling of Miniature People (or "miniature" people if you'd like it to be normal sized humans being held by a giant). *Minor* hurt/comfort is okay, as are Fluff and Major Snarking

1.

In Romans defense. He didn't realise at first that the thing he'd picked up was a person

He'd been gardening, and he'd seen what he thought was an odd insect. He'd gone inside and grabbed a glass and some paper and quickly scooped the thing up, bringing it back into his house without really looking, placing the glass top down on his table so the - what he currently thought was a - bug couldn't escape while he ran to get his drawing supplies. 

— 

Patton didn't expect to be scooped up into a cup when he'd just been searching for seeds to cook their little group for dinner. 

His foraging had been cut short when the human came out to their garden, Patton hadn't been able to hide in time before he had come running back and tossed Patton into some container before he'd even realised what was happening. 

Now, he was on a wooden table, trying to push the glass, lift it, something he could do to escape before the human came back from wherever he'd gone off to. 

Alas, Patton hadn't been able to escape, and the human rushed back, sitting down noisily at the table and dropping things everywhere and causing a racket. Patton yelped and flung himself back against the back of the glass in an attempt to get away, now the human was finally looking at him. 

“Oh- shit!” He said, hand over his mouth, “Oh my god- you- you're not a bug-” 

Slowly, Patton stood and dusted himself off. And stood. The human was leaning down now, putting himself at eye level with Patton. 

The glass was carefully lifted, and Patton’s eyes widened in astonishment, “Hold on - I’m so sorry little guy, lemme put you back outside. 

Patton had no idea what had just happened, but hey, at least he was safe now. 

2.

Janus was squirming. 

“Let me go - you- you beast!” Janus hissed, trying to get out of the tight grip the human had on him, wriggling and kicking at his fingers. 

“Woah woah!” The human said, trying to placate him it seemed, well it wasn’t working, janus was just about ready to bite his hand, “Hey take a deep breath-”

As it happened, maybe Janus had been in a place he probably shouldn’t be, maybe Patton had warned him not to go into the house, and maybe Janus had gone anyway.

He had fallen from a shelf, and, begrudgingly, thanks to the human’s quick reflexes, he hadn’t ended up a splat on the ground. 

He wouldn’t say it though, because the human was still holding him too damn tight. 

—-

Roman had been alerted to the tiny’s presence when one of his little bottles had fallen from his shelf and clattered onto the ground. He assumed it was the same little guy as before, and when he’d noticed the poor thing tumble from the ledge after the bottle he’d dropped, Roman hadn’t hesitated in snatching him out of the air. 

As it turned out, this wasn’t the same little guy. This one had long, strawberry blonde hair, rather than the short golden curls the first one he’d found had had. He wore a tiny little hat - which thankfully Roman had also noticed and picked up for him, placing it back on his head as gently as he could with his big hands. He couldn’t tell if the tiny person was actually grateful or not for his life saving reflexes when the little thing was hurling insults at him. 

“Do you live with the other one?” Roman asked, “In the garden?”

It took a while, but the tiny eventually nodded and Roman was glad to get him back to where he should be. The curly haired one seemed grateful too from the brief look he shot Roman as he pulled the other back into the shelter of the leaves the moment Roman put him down. 

3.

Roman had thought those two would be the end of it. From his very limited knowledge, he knew tiny people didn’t like humans, so Roman didn’t expect to see the two again - especially when he hadn’t treated them… the best. He knew that, and he was trying to get better, he really was! It’s not that he was being malicious, but- well-

Things just happened, okay, and he didn’t mean to end up pinching the newest tiny between his thumb and forefinger, leaving him dangling in the air and clearly distressed about the fact - though he was doing his level best not to show it. 

“What were you doing in my crystal dish?” Roman asked, carrying the tiny over to his desk and carefully as he could, set him down. He stumbled, but quickly righted himself and dusted himself off. 

“You cannot hold us like that,” The tiny said, frowning up at him, “You could’ve crushed me.”

Roman winced, “I know - sorry, it was a reflex.”

—-

Logan adjusted his glasses and crossed his arms over his now sore chest where the human’s fingers had been pressing. It wasn’t like he was hurt, just a little winded, he’d been squeezed a little too hard, but in a similar vein to the way Remus hugged too tightly, not a bad injury. 

“I was investigating,” Logan told the human eventually when he continued watching Logan for an answer, “My companions informed me you seemed interesting after interacting with you, so I thought I would see what made you so, I did not think you were home, my apologies.”

“Oh!” The human said brightly, far too loud for his tiny ears, but he hadn’t noticed Logan’s wince, “That’s okay, I am pretty interesting - those were my crystals, a lot of humans believe they can have magical properties.”

When Logan looked mildly interested, the human practically squealed in glee and rushed over to get the dish Logan had been originally looking through. He set it down next to Logan and dug through it clumsily with his giant hands before he pulled something out with an indistinct cheer. 

“Here!” He said, placing it down at Logan’s feet, “It’s tourmaline, it’s usually used for protection, maybe it can help you guys out!”

It must be such a tiny shard to the human, but Logan had to use both his arms to lift the rock he had been gifted. It would be rude to refuse such a gift, even if Logan didn’t have the same superstitions as the human did. He was sure Patton and the others would appreciate it regardless, and he could appreciate the aesthetic value of the dark stone too. 

“Thank you,” Logan bowed to the human, “I appreciate your gift.”

Roman smiled brightly and nodded, before Logan turned and jumped down to the ground using the desk chair, it was definitely time to go home. 

4.

Remus absolutely loved adventures. 

Patton and Janus had warned him to stay away from the house, even after Logan had brought back the human’s gift and explained to them what the human said it was. Remus thought he sounded harmless enough. 

“Hey!” Remus yelled from the table, hands cupped around his mouth as he tried to get the attention of the human in the attached room, “Hey! Hey big guy!”

The human turned, started by the sound, and quickly caught sight of him on the table, he smiled, slightly strained. 

“Another one?” He chuckled, “Where are you all coming from?”

“You’ve almost met all of us now!” Remus said brightly, forgoing the hand the human offered him to climb up his sleeve, making the human yelp. 

—

Roman hadn’t expected his breakfast to be interrupted by another tiny, let alone one so loud and willing to interact with him. 

In his defense, he had actually offered the correct way of holding him, the tiny had just chosen to ignore it. Roman squawked indignantly as the tiny picked his way up Roman’s arm like a nasty little spider, pulling on his hair once he reached his neck to climb up onto the top of his head, before sitting there triumphantly. 

“Are you finished?” Roman asked, deadpan. The tiny called an affirmative and Roman sighed, “Alright then…”

With that frankly confusing ordeal, Roman went back to cooking breakfast, with the tiny occasionally pulling his hair like he could steer him. 

Roman rolled his eyes fondly. These tiny people hanging around his house were really starting to grow on him, huh?

5.

Roman should’ve known that baking, when he was plagued by a host of tiny people who seemed to love getting themselves in trouble, was a bad idea. 

At least it was training for his reflexes, he thought, as he snatched the poor tiny out of the air before they could tumble into the batter from the shelf they had been perched on watching whilst barely even looking. 

It took him a second to register that he hadn’t seen this one before. 

By now, he had seen the others at least a few times a peace, so he almost expected them to show up randomly, but he didn’t know this one. 

“Hey little guy, careful,” Roman said, he was holding him by the back of the cape he wore, and the tiny now looked simply disgruntled instead of terrified, as well as pretty uncomfortable. 

“Too late,” He snarked at him. Making Roman giggle.

“I haven’t seen you before.”

“That’s ‘cause I didn’t want you to,” The tiny huffed, “Can you put me down now?”

“Will you avoid almost falling in my cake batter?” Roman asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Only if you give me some,” he said with a mischievous grin. 

—

Virgil hated humans. He had absolutely no idea what the others were raving about when they talked about this one in particular. Humans were all the same to him, and that was, mostly, terrifying.

Still, they made some amazing sugary things, and Virgil’s sweet tooth was as yet unrivaled. So when he had seen the human begin to bake through his kitchen window from the tree Virgil often perched in, he had made his way cautiously inside, curious, and hopeful to maybe steal some batter. Curse his luck, though, because he’d almost fallen into the damn bowl and gotten covered in the stuff. 

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was grateful that the human had caught him, and even though the human seemed to be laughing at him the whole time, he still gave him a tiny dish of cake batter to snack on while he baked. 

A success, Virgil supposed as he ate his batter. 

+1 

Roman woke up to the smell of cooking bacon. 

Confused, because as far as he knew he was the only person in this house, he swung his legs out of his bed. For a moment he thought he was having a stroke, but that was if you could smell toast, not bacon, so he was probably fine. 

And then he wondered if maybe his house was burning down, but again, he’d be smelling smoke if that was the case, not bacon. 

He pulled on his dressing gown and rubbed his eyes with a yawn as he trudged down the stairs, holding onto the wooden banister as he was still fairly uncoordinated from sleep. 

When he got to his kitchen, he blinked at the sight before him. He blinked again, and then rubbed his eyes, yep, they were still there. 

All five of the tiny people he’d helped - and pestered -  over the last few weeks, rushing around his stove cooking him bacon and an egg. How the hell they had managed that when none of them were over three inches tall, he had no idea.

“Uh- good morning?” Roman basically asked from the doorway - five tiny faces turned towards him. 

“Hey kiddo!” One of them called, Roman moved closer - it was hard to hear them from that far away, being as tiny as they were, “We’re making you breakfast!”

“I see that,” Roman nodded, smiling a little, all five of them relaxed, “I appreciate it- but um… may I ask why?”

“Because,” The one he had given the crystal to said, hopping from the stove dial up onto the countertop with ease, “You have done many nice things for us - exceeded the bare minimum of not driving us away or worse when you found us by a long way - and we wished to return the favour.”

“What… what in the world have I done for you?” He asked, eyebrows raising as he went over to the open fridge, where the little green one who’d sat in his hair was trying to lift the milk carton from the fridge, “Here…”

He said it with a small chuckle, offering his hand to the tiny and picking up the milk with the other, He hopped onto his hand easily and Roman shut the fridge, letting him down next to his companions before pouring himself a glass of milk.”

They all looked at him dumbfounded. 

“That kind of thing exactly, kiddo!” The first one he’d met said, flapping his little hands excitedly. 

“You saved me from the cake batter,” Said the quiet cloaked one, raising a hand. 

“And me from the floor,” Said the one standing closest to him. 

“You gifted us something you believed would protect our home,” The dark blue one pointed out, Roman felt a little overwhelmed. 

“And you let me go when you realised I wasn’t a bug!” The first one smiled, “See? You’ve done a whole lot for us.”

“I- wow, okay,” Roman said, he hadn’t realised that his actions had had so much significance, “Well - thank you, for this,” he said softly, opening one of the top cupboards to grab a plate for himself, “May I?”

The tinies let him turn off the stove and take the cooked bacon and egg from the pan. He took his plate with one hand and offered the five of them his other hand, before carrying both his food and the tinies over to the little dining table. 

It was… a little strange how they watched him eat, and all of them remained once he was done and pushed his plate away. No-one said anything for quite a while, before Roman cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Is there something else I can do for you?” He asked, tilting his head. 

“Well… we really just wanted to introduce ourselves,” The first one said happily, “My name’s Patton!”

“Oh-! Lovely to meet you, Patton,” Roman said happily, holding out a finger to him for Patton to shake, which he did with an excited noise.

“I am Logan,” Said the crystal one, offering a small smile, “Salutations.”

“I’m Remus!” Said the one who’d been in his hair, who was currently sneaking crumbs from Roman’s plate, making him chuckle. 

“I’m Janus,” Said the long haired one only after Patton nudged him, “If you must know?”

“You all went first?” The last one whined, glaring at the group as they all stared at him, “Now you’re all looking at me-”

“It’s okay,” Roman said quickly, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to - I know names are important to magic people.”

“That’s fae,” Logan said, shaking his head, “We aren’t fae.”

“Still,” Roman said, waving his hand. 

“My name’s Virgil,” He huffed, turning his face away. Roman smiled brightly. 

“So… Patton, Logan, Remus, Janus, Virgil?” He asked, looking around at each of them, they all nodded, smiling brightly, “It’s lovely to meet you all properly - my name is Roman.”

----

Tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @scalesfeathersnfur @oatmealdaydreams @littlerat2 @goldnskyart (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)

[sleepyvirgilprompts]

Logan: You look happy.

Patton: Virgil's super sleep-deprived.

Logan, frowning: I was under the impression that you usually found that distressing. Severe sleep deprivation is a serious matter.

Patton: I got him to agree to go to bed.

Logan: Ah, I see--

Patton: And I said "okay, good night, I love you," and he said "I love you too."

[firewolf111]

Hello, I have a request!

Roman and Remus convince the other sides to play a combination of Monopoly and Uno for the weekly game night. Chaos ensues.

Thank you for considering :)

I love this! That sounds like pure chaos, but the fun kind. I had so many ideas for rules, and it was hard to fit it all into a coherent story, but I did my best. Hope you enjoy!

Remus: Reverse! That means we move the opposite way around the board. And I get another chance for Boardwalk.

Roman: Ah! Dang it.

Virgil: What? *shaking his head* Okay, nevermind. Uh- *puts down a green seven* I guess I move seven. Unowned. Guess I'll buy it.

Logan: While you do that, I'll draw since I'm out of greens.

Roman: Oh wait! Does that put you at 15 cards?

Logan: *counting his cards* It appears so. Why?

Remus: *cheering* Go to jail!

Logan: What?

Roman: Yep! 15 cards means you go to jail.

Logan: Wait. If 15 cards puts me in jail, how do I get out?

Roman: Same way as usual. Play an identical card to someone. And since you all seem to forget, I'll remind you, doubles can be played anytime.

Logan: Okay, but as soon as I get out. What stops me from just immediately going back?

Remus: Don't be bad at the game.

Roman: We actually made a rule for that. The shame card!

Remus: Oh! You get the shame card! Ha!

Logan: The shame card?

Roman: Yes. Once you get out, you get the shame card. With the shame card, everything costs double. And I mean everything. While you have it, you can't get sent to jail for having too many cards. You can only get rid of it if either you get down to 10 cards or if someone else goes to jail for 15 cards.

Logan: This feels like a guaranteed loss then, if everything costs double.

Remus: Or, as I said earlier. Don't be bad at the game.

Logan: *sighing* Whatever.

Roman: Okay, my turn. I move 3 and I skip Janus's turn.

Janus: You just played two cards.

Roman: Yes. Draw twos, skips, and reverses can be played with a number card. We've established this multiple times. Remus literally just did so with his reverse. They can be played alone or with a number card. Keep up.

Virgil: Yeah. Keep up, Janus.

Janus: *scowling* Do not pretend like you understand this abhorrent Frankensteined game.

Logan: Playing two cards isn't a part of either game, though.

Janus: Neither is the shame card.

Patton: I think it makes perfect sense.

Roman: See!

Logan: Okay. *turns to Patton* Then explain the rules to me.

Patton: Well... you can play two cards if one of them is a draw two, skip, or reverse. 15 cards puts you in jail, and there is a ... shame card? And it's Monopoly and also....Uno.... but not? Because it's both...but also it's own game? I think?

Roman: See! He gets it!

Janus: He very much does not get it. None of us get it.

Remus: I don't know Jannie. He explained it exactly how we wrote it in the rule book. See! *summons rulebook and tosses it at Janus*

Janus: *scoffing before looking at it* ...

Janus: You're kidding. All the pages are blank. Except the first one that literally just says, "Monopoly but Uno, but make it neither by using both"

Remus: Yep! So see, Patton understands the game perfectly.

Logan: That's... that’s not a rulebook.

Roman: Sure it is! It says rulebook right on the cover.

Virgil: *reading over Janus's shoulder* It also says this game is called "How to make enemies in an instant."

Roman: The title is a work in progress.

Remus: I was going to name it some version of Hell, but Roman said that's a bad name for a family-friendly game.

Janus: This game is neither family nor friendly.

Patton: Awe, come on. They worked so hard on this, and we are only thirty minutes into the game.

Virgil: Monopoly games last hours.

Remus: Only if you're bad at the game.

Logan: Could you stop saying that?

Janus: I would rather eat the deck of cards than play this for a minute longer, let alone hours.

Remus: *grinning* That can be arranged!

Patton: Remus, no!

Logan, Roman, and Virgil: *watching as Remus tackles Janus and Patron tries to frantically separate them*

Logan: Huh, normally we would have another thirty minutes before something like this would happen.

Virgil: Yeah, but this might be a new record for Uno. I think the longest we lasted before was 20 minutes before you threw a book at my head.

Logan: 24 cards. You deserved that book.

Roman: Do we make bets on who wins?

Virgil: Obviously.

Logan: I'll move the table so the board doesn't get messed up.

Virgil: I thought you didn't want to play any longer.

Logan: *moving the table away from the other two still wrestling* I never said that. It is an... interesting game. But I do appreciate the strategy in it.

Roman: Really?!

Logan: Yes.

Virgil: It is a fun game. Chaotic. But fun. And I think Snake Boy likes it too.

Roman: Really? It seemed like he hated it.

Virgil: *scoffing* If Janus hated it, he'd have shoved Remus off and left. Or ar least had come up with better insults for the game. He clearly loves it. He just doesn't want to ruin his image.

Roman: What image?

Virgil: Yeah, he hasn't figured out he has long since lost his "Villain Persona".

Logan: He hasn't figured that out yet?

*crash*

Patton: Oh, why the TV?

Remus: *Smirking while standing over Janus and a now broken TV* Guess we're stuck playing board games for entertainment now.

Janus: Guess so. What a shame. I was looking forward to not playing that thing you call a "game."

*The three return to the table as Logan puts it back*

Virgil: Says the guy who very clearly broke the TV on purpose.

Janus: Remus shoved me into it.

Remus: Actually, I shoved you to the left of it. Not sure why you stumbled right and fell into it.

Janus: Obviously you tripped me.

Remus: Mhmm. Sure.

Logan: Okay, before we continue playing, is anyone injured?

Janus: No.

Remus: Nope. Sadly.

Logan: Don't forget rule 13 of board game night. You must be honest about all injuries gained.

Janus: We both are being completely truthful.

Logan: Good. So where were we?

Virgil: I believe Janus got skipped, so Patton's turn.

Patton: Draw two!

Remus: Nuh uh. Draw two! Stacked so four!

Virgil: No thanks. I'll stack this +2 for Logan to grab six.

Logan: Virgil.

Virgil: It's only six. You have no right to throw a book at me.

Logan: *waving the shame card around* I think I do.

Virgil: No.

Logan: Yes.

Patton: We just got back to playing. Another fight? Can you at least not break his nose this time?

Janus: *sighing* Why do we still allow these games after the pure number of injuries?

Roman: Because it's fun.

Janus: It is, isn't it?

Logan: *grumbling* Stupid game. Now I have to draw six cards. Which means I have to get rid of 11 just to get rid of this stupid shame card.

Remus: Have you tried-

Logan: Don't.

Remus: Not being bad at the game?

Logan: Why you- *jumps at Remus*

Virgil: Yeah... this game is going to take forever.

Janus: It appears so. All the more time for chaos.

Patton: And more famILY time!

*crash*

Virgil: And more broken things.

Roman: Yes! Great, isn't it?

Janus: Very. You were right. This is fun.

[thatonelesbianfander]

I NEED TSS FANFIC RECS PLZ PLZ PLZ

Preferred ships: Dukeceit/Demus, Karrot Kings, anything under the LAMP umbrella

Excluded ships: RemRom, Thomas x side, Dukexiety

Preferred sites: Tumblr, Wattpad, and/or AO3

No NSFW/smut (can have implied stuff but nothing too explicit, keep it PG-13 at most)

Preferred that the fic is finished but I don’t mind reading an ongoing fic as long as it isn’t discontinued

[canvas-the-florist]

The Imitation Game

Ship(s): Analogical

Warnings: Major Character Death and Undeath, body horror, blood and injury, unreliable narrator, misunderstandings, and morally ambiguous Emile Picani

Summary: This is a Big Bang fic hosted by @tss-storytime. After the consequences of someone else’s actions, Logan finds himself moving into a new apartment to lie low. Despite knowing nothing about what happened, or what’s supposed to happen next, Logan complies. That is, until he begins to make new friends and new discoveries about who he is. And who he was supposed to be. Meanwhile Virgil is convinced that Patton's new neighbor is absolutely a murderer. And will do anything to prove it. If you like this fic, I'm going to be posting the rest of the story on ao3. Here's the link.

Art was done by @tastic-in-its-finest and you can find it here!

Word Count: (for this chapter) 3k

Chapter One - Lungs

The first feeling, or experience rather, Logan has is unbridled anguish. He doesn’t remember much of it. His body gives him a sharp spike of electricity when he moves his neck, clearly as a result of what occurred. The shaking of their palms when they were made to look someone in the eyes. A fear he couldn’t place the origin of. Logan’s body felt wrong to exist in. It felt wrong to be there at all. His body feels as if it was dismantled and reattached slightly differently. Functional, but not the same. Logan had begun adjusting to the changes far quicker than his muscle memory could. It hurt to stand too long, a pain coming from his spine would trail its way to his legs, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Logan was reminded of this fact when one of their knees locked, and he forced himself to fall to the side so he could catch himself. His entire weight supported by one leg and his hands on the edges of the kitchen counter. Logan slowly led himself to sit on his couch, easing himself into a lying position. He took a slow, deep breath.

Breathing is a difficult sensation to get used to. It’s supposed to be constant, quiet, and easy. And yet it’s so integral to survival. Especially for a being with lungs. You have to breathe in oxygen, and out carbon dioxide. A consistent transfer of elements with your body holding the key to change. If you hold your breath, the carbon dioxide holds a heavy space in your lungs, poisoning the rest of your organs. If you breathe too quickly, risk tiring yourself out, and accomplishing nothing by speeding up the endless repetition. Both can lead to fainting or passing out. What a fickle way to live, to survive. 

So imagine Logan’s surprise that everyone around him could do this without thinking. This was normal. And he was not. Now was their chance to be just like the others, with working lungs, a working body, and a working heart. It wasn’t pleasant to feel constant changes within himself in a manner he couldn’t control. Nothing could truly be perfectly measured or predicted or controlled. Logan pressed his left thumb pad against his right index finger, cradling the right hand softly, and felt the small ridges of fingerprints conflict with their paths next to each other. This was one of the new sensations they didn’t mind. He did this while reminding himself to breathe, concerned that his judgment would lapse and he would simply die too early on in his existence. Logan thought about feeling, and if he had enough time to get used to the stimulus he didn’t used to have access to. A sudden flash of pain went past his neck, causing him to suddenly tilt his head to the left. He exhaled loudly, with a shudder, to keep his composure. Logan didn’t know a lot about social conventions but screaming every time he felt an ounce of discomfort definitely did not fit that criteria. However, he was new to the apartment complex, so perhaps that was actually acceptable and he would have to discover that later. 

Logan wanted to get this all under control within the next ten minutes, though he wasn’t accurately able to tell how long he had been laying down when the static that seemed to follow him blocked his vision. Breathing was still difficult. Still present. A reminder that they were failing their objective already. That this wasn’t going to plan. He was going to die on day one. Despite the severity of everything Logan felt (he FELT things now), he wasn’t allowed to give up. That was explicitly against the rules. 

With the overpowered conviction of doing what he was told, Logan laid on the couch silently. A pain in his lungs, a throbbing in his head. Well, technically the pain was coming from his nerves sending signals to his… brain. Logan frowned, almost pulled from the sensation of his lungs being crushed by a hydraulic press by the reminder. His brain. Logan still didn’t fully understand how he worked, even if he knew the components that made him up. They desperately wanted to. Just to know. Logan enjoyed learning. He didn’t know a lot about himself, but he knew that. Logan wanted to learn.

He pressed the palms of his hands against his closed eyes, somehow that specific type of pressure alleviated the pain. There was a knock on his door after a few minutes. It was his first day living in this apartment. Logan was told to expect greetings from neighbors, in some regard. But this felt overwhelming still. 

Logan ignored them.

The next day was filled with duller pain, but still ever present. His neck creaked loudly as he tilted his head from side to side. Logan had to leave the apartment today. This was something he always knew he had to do, but didn’t know if he wanted to. Well, he did know. He absolutely wanted to stay hidden away from the world for the rest of time. But… Logan turned on his phone, to reread the message he had gotten. Emile wanted to see him, and they were going to meet up at a café. His text was… long and hard to parse through. Even though Logan had trouble discerning tone a majority of the time, they got the sense that Emile was more excited about this than Logan would be able to be. After looking at themself in the mirror for entirely too long, washing the dried blood from his neck, and getting dressed, he left the apartment. Logan struggled locking the door, having to try about six times, and just hoped that no one would notice long enough for him to appear normal. 

He was on the second floor, defined by a walled off balcony wrapping around the exterior of the building to connect each apartment to a shared space. Logan was about to reach the stairs down when a man walked into him. Or perhaps it was his fault, it was hard to tell really. Logan stepped back, almost affronted by the contact. The person was tall, with thin and long box braids wrapped in a bun. He had rectangle glasses with rounded edges and a smile on his face. It made Logan instantly uncomfortable looking anywhere near his eyes, so they looked away.

“Howdy!” … What? The man continued. “Sorry for bumping into you, that’s my bad. You’re the one who just moved in right? What’s your name?”

This was possibly worse than everything Logan had ever experienced. He wasn’t entirely sure how high (metaphorically) that bar was, but it was probably significant. Logan didn’t respond for a few awkwardly silent seconds. They coughed, preparing his throat to speak. “I’m… I did just move in, yes. My name is Logan. Logan Clay.” Was he doing this right? How were you supposed to tell? The man was still looking at him like he expected something. Logan went through all they remembered from practicing. Oh! Right… “What’s your name?”

“The name’s Patton Nasir, neighbor!” He reached out his hand, looking… concerned(?) when Logan instinctively flinched away. Patton quickly retracted his hand before Logan even said anything about it, placing it gracefully on his hip. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Logan! I live just next door. 214. So if you need help with anything, I’m always there for you.”

Was this genuine? Was there a way to tell? Logan just nodded. “Thank you, Patton. I’ll be sure to contact you if such a situation arises. I have to go now.”

Patton laughed. Logan just stared slightly to the left of his face, almost simulating true eye contact with his neighbor. “Of course, I didn’t mean to keep you, buddy. I hope you have a good day!”

He waved and walked past Logan, who just stood there as the conversation left the air, reminding themself to breathe. His neck still hurt, as if his splenius capitis would burn whenever he moved his head. Logan shook his head, despite knowing the action only exacerbated the pain. Logan finally got to continue walking to meet Emile, walking down the concrete stairs with a sense of urgency. He made sure to look at the directions on his phone so he wouldn’t get lost. Perhaps he looked at them a little too frequently. It took just about ten minutes and forty three seconds to reach the café. A local establishment with a patio that contained three tables. Two of those three had striped umbrellas over them. 

Emile was sitting at the table holding a disposable cup with a lid, presumably filled with coffee. It was as much of a relief as a great anxiety to finally see him. Logan walked up to the table with a sense of urgency that wasn’t shared with their companion. Emile smiled easily, his scrunched nose lightly displacing his glasses. 

“Hello, Logan! Do you how do?” He greeted.

If this were any other individual, Logan would be concerned at the nonsensical manner he held himself with. But this was Dr. Emile Picani, the only person he truly knew. The only person who knew… Logan. Himself. Logan nodded. “I’m doing adequate, Emile. Should I… order something too?”

“Not if you don’t want to.” Emile responded simply. “Did you have breakfast yet?”

Logan froze. He did a mental check of his body. His neck screaming (metaphorically), his hands still shaking, his stomach… People were supposed to eat regularly. He knew that. Logan was told that, and they knew that they had to do that too. Fuck. “I have not had breakfast yet.”

Somehow, Emile could read his tone, even when Logan himself could not. He frowned. “Logan… have you eaten anything since you left the hospital yesterday?”

“I drank water.” He supplied, as if that was a perfect substitute.

Emile stood up, the metal chair screeched loudly, and suddenly Logan had to resist the urge to drag his nails through the skin of his ears. “Let’s get you some coffee.”

Who was Logan to disobey? Emile ordered for him, and assured him of what he had gotten. Black coffee and a simple sandwich. They sat back down together. Logan drank the bitter drink, but mostly because it was expected of them. Despite the casual setting, the public atmosphere, this was a meeting. Logan knew that. Emile was acting like this because Logan didn’t know how to act yet. He appreciated it immensely. Logan started eating the sandwich, with dry bread and bland ingredients. 

“I’m glad you liked it. You… You used to order this same thing every morning.” Emile looked down, with a smile, but Logan didn’t think he was actually happy. “Anyways! Have you made any new friends yet or unpacked yet?”

Logan swallowed his food, setting his sandwich back down. He felt all the different components of his neck conflict with one another, reminding him of the constant searing pain that had incapacitated him the day before. A pain that wasn’t supposed to be there. “No, I haven’t. I thought… I was supposed to keep a low profile?”

It came out like a question, because he felt as though Emile’s questions contradicted the prior instructions he had given. Keep a low profile. Keep the secrets. Stay hidden. Were they intended to balance those objectives with a social life? Interior design? Logan reminded himself to breathe at a consistent pace. That was a lot of rules to uphold all at once, but he could do it. Emile expected them to, and they wouldn’t want to let him down. Not after all he had done for them. Emile just looked confused, similar to how Logan… felt. Hm.

“Logan, I don’t want to keep you from making new connections!” Emile exclaimed, his voice filled with a worry Logan didn’t understand. “Besides, an empty apartment and a lone hermit is… a little more suspicious than, say, hiding in plain sight like Constantine from Muppets Most Wanted.”

He gave back a blank stare. 

“Yeah… I don’t think you’ve ever seen that movie, even before everything.” Emile admitted. “I just mean: it’s going to be better for everyone if you settle down a little bit more, and nurture new friendships with your neighbors. You need to establish friendships and trust or… Or none of this is going to work. Or at least try! If nothing works out, you’ll still be meeting with me here every week! We can figure stuff out.”

It was reassuring, knowing that he wasn’t alone. Logan didn’t really know much about what to do or what he should be like. But Emile did. He really needed the guidance. “Thank you, Emile. I appreciate that. I will… ‘settle down’, when I am able.”

His friend smiled at him, with a type of pride Logan didn’t feel. He was mostly scared of what was going to happen to him. Emile smiled at him like everything was already going perfectly. It wasn’t exactly lying, but it was optimistic. Even though it was confirmation that the two were in this together, Logan still felt uncomfortable.

Emile left first, having the obligations of a job. He was working part time at a lab while he worked on his psychology degree. Logan… had a job. It was more freelance. They didn’t start until the next day. Logan collected the leftover dishes and trash, walking back inside to put them where they belonged. The plates went on a stack of other dishes also used that day, while the trash went into the nearest trash receptacle. He looked around, as if someone was there to tell him he did a good job. The only person there was a barista with sunglasses on scrolling on vaer phone with minimal interest. Vaey looked up at Logan, raising an eyebrow. Logan felt uncomfortable instantly and decided to leave. 

They spent the rest of the day organizing their new living space. The boxes didn’t contain a whole lot. Emile told him that he would have to go shopping on his own to accommodate anything that was missing. Logan suspected that Emile got him a job for that exact reason. So they could be more self-sufficient. Ironic, that Logan wouldn’t be able to do any of this without him. Logan thought this over while figuring out where to put their skillets and pans. He eventually took a break to eat, something he was determined not to forget again. Logan hadn’t cooked much before so settled for an oatmeal mix that Emile had packed him. They were not a big fan of the flavor. They ate it anyway. Logan had finished washing the two dishes he had used when someone had knocked on the door. His headache, well all of his aches really, were still bothering him profusely. But he was supposed to make connections right? 

Patton was holding a ziploc bag when Logan opened the door. The man was smiling, as if it was his default expression. He held it out to them. “I meant to give these to you yesterday, but… I’m giving them to you now! They’re chocolate chip cookies so I can take them back if you’re gluten free or allergic to chocolate or-”

He was just as nervous as Logan was. It didn’t seem to click until that moment. Logan took the back from his hands and looked up at Patton. “Thank you, for welcoming me to the neighborhood. You seem like a kind person, Patton.”

They didn’t really intend to cut off whatever Patton was talking about, but he didn’t particularly seem to mind. “Of course, thank you for the compliment! We’re going to start a whole chain of ‘thank you’s if we keep this up. I can’t wait to get to know you.”

Patton left after that, but what he had said ringed in Logan’s ears. 

I can’t wait to get to know you.

He repeated this as he got dressed for bed. He repeated it as he brushed his teeth. As he stared into the mirror for too long. As they put their glasses on the box they were using as a nightstand. Logan couldn’t wait to know himself too. They reminded themself to breathe, and continued to do so until it became even again. I can’t wait to get to know you. What a polite, kind thing to say to a stranger. 

Logan took a long deep breath in as he dug his fingers into the back of his neck. He gagged, feeling himself breathe heavier and faster. The skin between his spine and skull shifted to make room for the change. They searched around the blood and nerves, until latching to a specific cord. It resisted his grasp as Logan repressed the urge to flail. Clawing, clawing, clawing. He pulled the cord out slowly, feeling it rake against his organic matter. It collected blood as the end finally surfaced. Logan took a heavy breath, letting himself collapse forwards. A second was needed to catch his breath, to calm themself down. He wiped the blood off the cap protecting the end, before taking it off. Logan then plugged the cord into the glowing box underneath his bed. They felt the jolt of electricity enter their body as the cord began glowing a soft orange that mirrored the box.

Laying on their side, facing away from the box, was the only comfortable way to sleep. Not that they imagined they would do much of that. Despite trying, Logan didn’t feel fully human. Because he wasn’t, not really. Not like Emile, not like Patton. But he did wonder. Would this ever stop hurting? Would he ever stop hurting? Being a human was constantly being in pain. At least, that’s what it seemed like. Logan attempted to halt their thinking as they ignored the heat emanating from their neck, and the frantic breaths drawn for their lungs.

AO3 Link Here!

Taglist: @amateurmasksmith @phoenixtfc @snowynb @hydrastefishere @part-time-zombie @blueberryraccon