#tss fanwork collective

[im-an-anxious-wreck]

Hold Out Your Hand And I'll Reach For You Too chapter collective

AO3 link

Summary: ******* had been too young to remember when exactly his village had first started to treat him like an outsider, like his anxiety made him needy and weak, but by the time he'd turned 15, he'd really had no choice but to flee. Jumping from town to town, nothing went his way at all, not until he'd met G.

Trading away the name that'd never fit him in exchange for being taken care of physically had seemed like a good idea at the time but… if only the village he'd grown up in had cared enough to tell him why you don't, under any circumstance, make deals with the Fae, no matter how solid you think your wording is.

It's been years since Virgil (as he's taken to calling himself in his head) had made the worst mistake of his life, and yet there'll never be a chance for things be any different, let alone something as miraculous as Virgil ever escaping from the sickeningly sweet and controlling comments, the expectation of being absolutely perfect all the time, and the empty loneliness that constantly lingered around Virgil whether he was alone, with G in his chamber, or if Virgil was being shown off to a crowd.

But that was the decision he'd made to keep himself from starving, and there was nothing he could do to change that or even his situation. Nothing could ever possibly change his horrible misfortune… right?

Warnings: discussions of and some shown abuse by OC villain, Remus only shows up briefly and still manages to say typical Remus things, language, a bit of Virgil whump you say 👀, fire, someone is stabbed but fine

Universe: Fae AU

Perspective/main character: Virgil

Side/secondary characters: Roman, OC villain by the name of G

Appear: Janus, Remus, Emile (although not by name)

Mentioned: Patton and Logan are referenced (although not by name)

Romantic relationship(s): Roman/Virgil, brief Janus/Remus

Platonic relationships: Roman & Remus, Roman & Janus, Janus & Virgil

Word Count: 17,034

Link to my TSS fanworks

For the @tss-storytime big bang event

Check out the beautiful art by @prince-rowan-of-the-forest here! They did an amazing job!

Thank you so much to @ivaryn0 for betaing!

-

Chapter Index:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

[arya-skywalker]

Pleasant Surprises (Sanders Sides Fanfic)

Secret Santa fic for the amazing @nightashes ! Hope you enjoy

Prompts used:

- Familial (brotherly) anxceit, analogical

- Fantasy, (emotional) h/c

- Hugs, firelight, new beginnings

- “I think I understand now”

- “I’m here for you” (slightly different phrasing but same idea)

Read on AO3

Summary: Virgil risks a journey home to the dark forest to reconnect with brother Janus— and invite him to a potential wedding.

~*~

“I need to tell him,” Virgil said, curled up by the fire.

“Hm?” Logan looked up from his book. “Tell who, what, exactly? I’m afraid I’m not quite following.”

Virgil grimaced. “My brother. About....” He gestured vaguely. “Us? Me not being dead?”

“Ah.” Logan closed his book. “Would you like me to come with you?”

“No.” Virgil quickly shook his head. “No. I need to go alone. Besides, it’s not safe for you there.”

Logan folded his hands on his lap. “You left for a reason. Are you quite certain you want to go back?”

“I was scared, Lo. But now... I know what to expect. I’m ready.”

“Very well. Contact me if you need assistance.” Logan stood and walked over to his desk, taking out a small handheld mirror. “Say my name into this mirror, and we will be able to communicate through it.”

Virgil looked at the mirror warily. “And if I break it?”

Logan sighed. “It will still work on a shard of the mirror, but please be careful.”

“Always am.” Virgil smiled wanly as he took the mirror, cautiously placing it in his satchel.

Logan kissed his forehead and squeezed his hand gently. “Come home soon, please.”

Virgil took his hand and stood. “That’s the goal. I’ll miss you.” He stretched and took a deep breath. “Well, see you later, I guess.”

“Farewell and good luck.”

Virgil forced a smile and waved, then quickly packed his things before heading out the door— not giving himself the chance to back out.

~*~

Virgil tugged his cloak close against the chill. This was a bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea. Five years. Five years apart.

Maybe Janus wouldn’t even want to see him. Hell, maybe he wasn’t even here.

No. Too late to turn back.

Eerie whispers echoed in the mists and shadows lurked behind skeletal trees, but Virgil ignored them. That was normal here. As was the eternal night. Perfectly normal.

Here lived the monsters of the realm. The forsaken. The lost and abandoned. The only advantage was that they never hurt one of their own.

Virgil stopped in front of the door built into the cliffside and knocked. Snakes, spiders, and tentacles were carved around the doorframe, but there were no windows— only narrow slats to let air and light inside. Easier to defend without having to worry about glass.

It felt like eternity before the door opened. “Well, this is unexpected,” Janus drawled, his scales gleaming in the dim light.

“Hey, Jan... umm... can I come in?” Virgil rubbed his arm, not quite meeting his brother’s gaze.

“Depends on what brought you here.”

“I just wanna talk.” Virgil bit his lip. “And... apologize?”

“Go on, then. Say what you came to say.” Janus leaned against the doorframe.

Virgil took a deep breath. “I think I understand now,” he said slowly.

Janus arched an eyebrow. “Oh do you now? What do you understand?”

“Why you did what you did. Why we lived how we did. Why we were always hiding, never leaving the forest. How the world really works— well, not as much that, but more than I knew—“

“Did someone hurt you?” Janus cut him off, taking a step closer, concern in his eyes.

Virgil winced. “No. Well, yes, but that’s not important right now. What’s important is you don’t need to do that anymore. We can help you.”

Janus’s brow knitted. “We?” he echoed.

“I... uh... met some nice people. Like, really nice. I think you’d like them, if you give them a chance.” Virgil picked at a loose thread at the edge of his cloak.

Janus gave him a look, then sighed and stepped aside. “Come in. Would you like some tea?”

Virgil sighed in relief and walked through the doorway. It was just as he had left it— fur blankets piled around cushions and chairs, rickety table, a large fireplace with snakes around the mantle. “Sure. Something herbal?”

“Chamomile?” Janus suggested, filling a pot with water and placing it over the hearth.

“Whatever, sure.” Virgil warmed himself by the fire, then grabbed a blanket and took a seat on a nearby cushion.

Janus laughed softly. “Still prefer the floor to a chair, hm?”

Virgil shrugged. “It’s convenient. And warmer,” he said.

“Mm. Indeed it is,” Janus said. “Honey in your tea, yes?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

A moment later, Janus set a cup of tea on the floor next to Virgil and sat down a few feet away. “Careful. It’s hot,” he said. Which was obvious due to the steam.

Virgil wrapped his hands around the teacup anyway, breathing in the aroma. “So... umm... what’s up with you?” He winced. “I mean, like, what have you been up to? How have you been?”

Janus chuckled softly. “More of the same. Hunting. Strengthening the wards.” He gestured vaguely.

“Right, yeah,” Virgil muttered.

“I am far more interested about you, spiderling. Care to talk about your grand adventures?” Janus arched an eyebrow.

Virgil snorted. “I wouldn’t call them that. But uh... I guess.” He took a sip of his tea once it had cooled down enough. “Well... I headed roughly northeast from here. Traveled with the spider-people for a bit. But as we approached the border, some elves attacked. When they heard me speak, they stopped and demanded I bow before the prince.“ He smiled sideways. “Did you know we even had a prince out here?”

Janus hummed thoughtfully. “A prince in this forest? No, preposterous.”

“Anyway, Princey insisted on ‘rescuing’ me and ‘breaking the curse’.” Virgil gestured to his face, where dark spiderwebs still patterned his skin. “So he whisked me away to ‘civilization’.”

“Oh the horror,” Janus said, his lips quirking into a half-smile.

Virgil blushed slightly. “It was... overwhelming. So many people in one place. All so loud! And the buildings— they make walls out of wood, can you imagine? And the top out of grass! They wouldn’t last a second out here.”

Janus hummed in agreement, but remained silent, sipping at his tea.

“And... well... I don’t think the people liked me very much,” Virgil admitted, looking into the fire. “When they saw my face, they shied away. Some threw fruit and stuff, but the prince quickly put a stop to that.”

Janus narrowed his eyes. “They hurt you?” He asked in a low voice.

Virgil bit his lip. “It’s fine. It didn’t really hurt, just made a mess. And like I said, some people were nice.”

“Hmph. People do not think kindly of our people. Hence why it is safer to remain within the forest.”

“I know, I know.” Virgil ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply. “Anyway.... a little while later I met the prince’s advisor, a half-elf mage. He’s so handsome and smart and gentle and kind and—“ He stopped, blushing slightly. “His name is Logan and he offered to let me stay with him. He helped me learn how to control my powers.”

Janus arched an eyebrow. “You like this advisor, don’t you?”

Virgil nodded slowly. “I... yeah. We understand each other,” he said quietly.

Janus was silent for a moment, then reached over and put his hand on Virgil’s arm. “If he makes you happy, then stay with him.”

“Do you want to meet him?”

Janus blinked. “Come again?“

Virgil took out the mirror. “This is an enchanted mirror. We can communicate through it. If you want to.”

Janus touched the scaled side of his face. “Are you sure he wants to see me?”

Virgil smiled sadly. “You’re my brother. Of course he wants to meet you. And he didn’t hate my markings, so you should be fine.”

“Mm.” Janus sighed, then flicked his wrist, making his cowl float over and wrap around his face, hiding as much of his scales as he could. “Very well.”

Virgil took a deep breath and held the mirror so they were both in view. “Logan? Can we talk please?”

A moment later, the surface of the mirror fogged up, then cleared to show Logan’s face. “Virgil? Is everything alright? Can you see and hear me?”

Virgil nodded, holding Janus hand. “Yeah, we’re good. This is my brother.”

Janus cleared his throat. “Yes, Virgil is my brother,” he said. A moment later, he added, “You may call me Dee.”

“Oh. Hello, then. It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Logan,” he said, blinking a few times.

Virgil shot Janus a look. “Logan is a friend. We can trust Logan,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“You may trust him. That does not mean I do,” Janus countered, then flashed a smile at the enchanted mirror. “Virgil has told me so much about you.”

“I hope he has said that which he so urgently wanted to tell you,” Logan replied.

Virgil groaned. “Don’t say it like that,” he grumbled.

Janus arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Have you said ‘that which you so urgently wanted to tell me’?”

Virgil rubbed his face. “Lo and I... we... uh.... we were thinking about... maybe... getting married?” Gods, words were hard.

“Virgil is correct. We have discussed the possibility,” Logan said.

Janus’s reptilian eye twitched. “You leave for five years, and return with a potential spouse,” he said slowly.

Virgil bit his lip and nodded. “Potential. We haven’t decided for sure, cuz weddings are expensive pageantry and shit, but...” He took a deep breath. “If we do get married, I want you to be there. I want you to lead me down the aisle.”

Janus leaned back in his chair, glancing between them both. “This is quite a lot to take in,” he said, steepling his hands like the dramatic shit he was.

“Oh for fucks sake! I’m asking for your blessing!” Virgil blurted, then groaned and flipped up the hood of his cloak.

“If it will make you happy, then by all means...” Janus said. “However, I will need to know more about this potential spouse of yours.”

“I am an open book. Ask your questions,” Logan said.

Virgil blinked. “You... you’re not mad?”

“Mm. I wouldn’t call it mad, no.” Janus sipped at his tea. “Now, Logan, tell me about yourself.”

“I am the royal advisor to Prince Roman and Prince Remus. I am skilled in the mystical arts,” Logan said.

Janus rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know that. Tell me more about yourself. Your likes, dislikes, hobbies, whatever. Why should I let you marry my little brother, hm?”

Logan blinked. “Well... I enjoy learning whatever I can. I have known Virgil for just over four years now. I would never hurt him, and truly wish him the best.”

Virgil tugged his cloak closer. “I’m right here,” he muttered. “And you don’t need to interrogate him.”

Janus inclined his head. “I believe I have enough information for the time being, although of course I would love to meet you in person. Virgil, you wanted me to leave the forest, did you not?”

Virgil blushed slightly. “Uh, yeah. I can take you to them. If you’re serious about coming with me. And as long as the forest will survive without you.”

Janus waved an arm dismissively. “Of course, of course.”

“I look forward to seeing you both. Farewell and safe travels,” Logan said. The surface of the mirror shimmered and his image faded.

Virgil exhaled slowly. That wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

“Virgil?” Janus asked softly. “This will make you happy, yes?”

Virgil rubbed his face and nodded quickly. “Yeah, thanks. Really. I’m uh... bad with words, but yeah.”

“Would you like a hug? Or is this a no-touch-time?” Janus asked, spreading his arms.

Virgil half-fell into the embrace, holding on tightly. “I missed you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Mm. I know. I missed you, too, spiderling,” Janus murmured, rubbing gentle circles into his back. “I am glad you are safe.”

Virgil took a few deep breaths, letting himself relax. Safe. He was safe. He was home.

“And I will always be here for you. No matter how long we are apart. No matter what happens,” Janus said softly. “You didn’t really think I’d be mad at you for leaving, did you? I was simply worried.”

Virgil grimaced. “Worse case scenario shit. I’m good at that, remember?”

“Mm. But this is not a worse case scenario. Things are going well for the time being. Enjoy it.”

“While it lasts,” Virgil said with a half-smile.

Janus chuckled. “Indeed. Cherish every moment.”

[earmuffstar]

Beeceit 💛 🐝

[jungle321jungle]

A Kiss On A Silver Ring

Virgil’s parents had told him that the mysterious ring would bring him happiness and a better life. What they had failed to mention was that it was a symbol of Virgil’s betrothal to the too-attractive-for-his-own-good Duke of the North. And while he certainly would’ve liked some warning, he’s not gonna turn down this offer… entirely.

Based off the wonderful art by @shadowling-guistical for the tss fanwork collective's april mini bang

Ao3 - Masterlist

~~~~

A Kiss On A Silver Ring

Virgil had had the ring for as long as he could remember, and ever since then he had been taught to take good care of it. Mother had taught him to polish the beautiful night sky like stones, and keep the silver shining, while Father had always told him that it was “something precious”. So much so that when Father’s business failed, and he had sold everything of value, the man had refused the ring Virgil offered. 

“That’s the one true thing you own, and it’s something you can never give up. It’s the key to a better- happier life, understood?”

At ten years old Virgil had understood nothing of what that meant, but then again twelve years later he still didn’t. But back then he had given his father the chain he wore the ring on, and opted for a simple leather cord to hold the jewelry. His parents had told him time and time again that when he reached adulthood they would tell him the importance of the ring- but Virgil had reached that milestone as an orphan. 

That mysterious silver ring with the strange yet beautiful gems, then turned into the one keepsake he had. The one constant in his life as he drifted from place to place following the little work he could get. So when the cord broke and the ring fell from his neck he was quick to notice. But with the quick flow of people within the town market it was hard to backtrack to pick it up. He forced his way through his eyes scanning the ground as he walked, his heart pounding faster and faster in his chest with each millisecond that it wasn’t found. The pain in his chest was growing as he crouched down as he walked to get a better vantage point, but lowering himself made the idea of vomiting here and now seem so appealing- when a glint of silver caught his eye. 

Virgil hadn’t realized that he had been holding his breath or that tears had gathered in his eyes until he saw it. He was quick to scramble towards it on his hands and knees not caring how he looked to others. It was the one thing he owned… So what was he without it? It was a question he didn’t want to answer. As he got closer and closer his relief growing- swelling- as a smiled stretched across his face and his hand stretched for it- 

Until a hand grabbed the ring first. 

“Please!” Virgil said quickly as he stood to look the thief- the young woman in the eye. “That’s mine!”

She was about his age, maybe a bit older, but she was very clearly a noble. She considered the ring in her gloved fingers for a moment before she looked Virgil up and down with a frown. “Yours? And where exactly did someone like you pilfer this from?”

“I didn’t! It’s always been mine. I-”

“A filthy rat like you owns something like this? As if you didn’t look shabby enough you’re covered in dirt.”

Virgil only swallowed and tried to pretend the lump in his chest wasn’t growing because of her words. “T-that’s because I was on the ground looking for it. My Father-”

“It’s quite remarkable,” She commented, examining the ring and ignoring him completely. She then turned to one of her guards. “Why don’t you fetch someone to arrest this… this. He clearly-”

“I didn’t do anything!” Virgil shouted, taking a step forward. “I just want-”

“Do you know who you’re speaking to?” One of the knights yelled in return as he stepped before his master. “Step any closer and you’ll make the Lady catch something!”

“I don’t care who I’m speaking to,” Virgil shot back. “I just want what’s mine!”

“You insolent-”

His next words were cut off as the noble woman’s eyes widened. “I recognize this ring,” she said suddenly before she stepped forward and grabbed Virgil by the collar, “Where did you get it!?”

Virgil pulled back out of her grasp, “How many times do I need to say it's mine!”

“Fine. It doesn’t matter, I’ll find out soon enough,” she gave him a smile as she did and quite frankly Virgil wasn’t sure he was going to survive this encounter. She put the ring on her own finger and before he could speak she spoke to her men. “We’re taking him back to the manor. Father is going to love this. Oh, and I need someone to deliver a message for me.”

While sitting in a damp cell Virgil couldn’t help but have a couple of questions. For starters, he wanted to know who the girl who had taken his ring was, he also wanted to know where he was, and part of him vaguely wondered what gave nobles so much authority that they can just snatch a person from a busy street without warning? It was pure insanity, and yet he knew that no matter what he said he’d never be believed anyway. He could only hope the punishment he received would be light. 

A shiver passed through him and Virgil instinctively grabbed at where his ring had hung to comfort himself only to stop himself mid action. What would his parents say if they knew he lost the one thing they had told him to protect? Would they be angry he had lost his key to a better life? No, that wasn’t them. Virgil would have cried in his Mother’s arms as she promised that it would’ve okay. And Father would have been pacing the floor thinking of solutions but stopping periodically to ensure Virgil that he had done nothing wrong. Virgil took a deep breath as sadness and comfort came with their memories- but it was short lived as the cell door creaked open and two knights stood there with stoic expressions. They marched him up and out of the dungeons and through disgustingly ornate hallways until they came to a door which opened as they approached. 

Inside sat three people on couches with a tea set up on the table between them. On one couch sat an older gentleman, and opposite him on the other couch sat the (horrible) young woman with a young man beside her but all of their eyes were fixed on Virgil as he was forced to kneel before them. He kept his eyes down on the floor as he hoped the sound of his heart was only deafening in his own ears. 

“That’s him. He’s the one who stole your ring. You’re so lucky I happened to find it,” the girl was telling the man beside her. 

“Look at me,” the man commanded. And Virgil hesitated before he did as he was told. And strangely when he did it, he was greeted with a kind gaze of intrigue as opposed to disgust. “How did you come by this ring?” 

“It’s… it’s mine,” Virgil said slowly. “It always has been.”

“Always has been? What do you mean by that?”

“Why worry about what he says?” The woman huffed. “Janus he isn’t worth it. Look at him!”

“Janus” paid her no mind as his gaze stayed on Virgil awaiting an answer. 

“I’ve had it for as long as I can remember,” Virgil started slowly. “I-I don’t know why, my parents died before they could tell me its significance- but they told me to always keep with me. It’s… it's all I have of them. Please.”

“Ha! And now the thief begs!” The girl laughed. “Just sentence him Janus, and then we can have some tea. There’s some new flowers blooming in the gar-”

“Lady Delano, I don't remember allowing you to call me by name again.” Janus interrupted. His tone hadn’t changed, and yet that was all it took for the woman to pale and her mouth moved soundlessly for a few moments as she tried to think of a response. 

Janus however stood and moved to Virgil’s side, before he knelt down so they were at the same level. “What is your name?”

“Virgil… sir.”

“Do you have a last name?” He asked gently, his brown-green eyes (no they held even more mesmerizing colors than that) holding far more warmth than Virgil deserved. 

“Y-yes, it’s Angoro.”

The smile that spread on this unknown man’s face was enough to make Virgil’s heart jump in surprise. Someone with a face like that should warn him before looking even better. “Angoro,” he repeated. “Your Father owned a large textile company, correct?”

Virgil was slow to nod. “Yes, um… but all of our stock was from the Western Kingdom so when they shut their borders his business… Well, failed.”

“Your Father did lots of business with my parents. So much so that our parents made an agreement, did you know that?”

“What? What kind of…?”

He didn’t reply at first, instead grabbing Virgil’s left hand and sliding the ring on Virgil’s finger.

(art by @shadowling-guistical can be found here)

Virgil didn’t have enough time to comprehend what was happening before the yellow glove pulled Virgil’s dirty hand to the man’s lips. And Virgil could blush in confusion and shock and embarrassment and about twenty other things as this “Janus” smiled once again. “Our parents decided that we’d wed.”

“What?” Virgil asked. Or at least he tried to ask. The heat of his face, the high pitched squeak which he emitted instead however did not sound like a word at all. But he had attempted speech, did that count for something?

“Janus!” The young woman shouted standing out of the corner of Virgil’s eyes that didn’t leave the man before him. But that seemed to be mutual as Janus paid her no mind. 

“My name is Janus Ekans, Duke of the North. It is a pleasure to meet you, my fiancé.”

“We don’t have to get married if you don’t want to.”

Those were the first words spoken since Virgil and The Duke had climbed in a carriage (that Virgil was sure he’d dirty greatly just by being in it) and left what he now knew was Marquis Delano’s manor. 

“It was something arranged by our parents that we had no say in,” The Duke continued. “So I won’t force you to get married.”

Rather than looking at that handsome face, Virgil chose to stare at the ring on his finger. “I… It’s just it’s… pretty sudden. So I don’t know how I feel about it.  Also, I don’t think someone like me can do anything for you.”

“You’ve already done enough by being alive. When I couldn’t find you I assumed the worst.”

“You, you looked for me?” Virgil asked, hoping his face wasn’t reddening as much as he felt it was. 

“I did,” The Duke confirmed. “But you’re quite slippery to catch. Every time I had a lead I’d find out you had left not long before that.”

“Sorry, I was just following whatever jobs I could get… I can’t usually keep them for long.”

“Don’t apologize for it. Instead tell me something I can do for you.”

“Huh?”

“Even if you decide you don’t wish to get married, the very least I can do to honor our parents' agreement is to do something for you. What would you like? Money? A house? Something else?”

Virgil paused in thought. A house sounded nice, much better than the spare room/storage area in the tavern he was allowed. But if he exhausted his job opportunities here as he had in the last city, a house would ultimately be meaningless. If he asked for money he supposed he could be greedy and ask for enough that he would never struggle, but that seemed to be taking advantage of the situation too much. 

“You can take time to think-”

“I’ve got an idea.”

Two weeks had passed since that day. And it was only just now that Virgil was regretting his decisions. He had literally had a rich and powerful man offer him just about anything. And he had chosen to work for the rest of his life. And he had been bad enough at other jobs, what was going to happen at the palace when they arrived? There was a good chance he’d be just as horrific at whatever The Duke assigned him to do until he exhausted his job opportunities here and was forced to restart the cycle… but then again were they even allowed to fire him? He could only hope not. 

Virgil gave a heavy sigh, as he suddenly began to understand why The Duke had stifled laughter when Virgil had explained his thoughts on asking for a job. 

“Is something wrong?” The knight escorting him asked quickly. 

Virgil shook his head, “No, no. This is just a lot… but thank you for asking Sir Patton.”

The man gave an easy going smile. “Of course! Oh and look there, that pond means we’re getting close!”

Virgil couldn’t force a smile as his stomach fell at that. “How long have you been working for The Duke?” He asked instead. 

“Only a couple years. I was a mercenary before this.”

Virgil blinked twice as he took in the friendly expression of the knight across from him. “…A mercenary?”

“Yup! His Grace and I had both been hired to hunt the same monster. We got into a large argument over the kill, but then he just offered to pay me more than the viscount who hired me. I’ve been working for him as a knight ever since!”

Virgil forced a smile as he attempted to picture something he couldn’t. This man... a mercenary. A hired sword. People who take money to do just about anything- and they were usually quite strong too. And yet, on their way here Patton had looked nothing but adorable and friendly, and in the last village they had stopped in, the knight had spent his free time talking to the children about butterflies. And yet, Virgil just nodded and made a silent vow to stay on the man’s good side. 

It wasn’t long until they reached the large gates which opened to reveal a large palace. They continued down the stone path, and as they did Virgil’s eyes were plastered to the carriage window. A large fountain was flowing in the center and the cobblestone road went around it giving excellent views of a garden which must look magnificent come springtime. As the carriage approached, a collection of what must’ve been servants stood outside awaiting him? When the carriage door opened a hand outstretched to help a confused Virgil out of it. Before he could even take in the grandeur of the manor the servants gave a collective bow. “Welcome sir,” a butler stated, stepping forward. 

Virgil gave a slight nod, “Hello, I am Virgil Angoro.”

“Welcome,” He said again. “The Duke wished to greet you himself, but he is dealing with an urgent matter. Instead he will meet you for dinner. You’re free to rest in your quarters until then. I’ll have a maid guide you.”

Unsure what else to say, Virgil was at his peak intelligence with his reply, “Okay I guess.”

The servants seemed a bit confused by the reply, but before Virgil’s face could heat up too much he was led inside. The inside of the palace was large. Yes it was beautiful, yes it screamed riches, yes it was fancy, yes it was so much more than Virgil could have imagined. But as he was led through the hall after all, all Virgil could think about was the fact that he was certain to get lost. 

Finally the maid led him to a room which was leagues from the rest of the servants quarters looked like. And the decor matched that aesthetic. Virgil gave a hard swallow as he examined it. Here were couches set up in a reception area, and when the maid led him past it, he could see a bedroom complete with a bed larger than he had ever seen. There was another set of couches because of course there was, there was a huge dressing area, and on top of all of that there was a room to the right which from here seemed to lead to a bathroom. “This room…” Virgil started looking about it, unsure of what to really say. What way could he ask if she had made a mistake? This was very clearly one of the main rooms within the ducal palace. 

“Is something wrong with it?” The young maid asked, her expression shifting to one of worry. 

Virgil was quick to shake his head, “N-no. I just… this is too much for me. I’m no one important. Shouldn’t this room-”

“This room is barely befitting the Duke’s aide!” She interjected. “We are more than willing to change the entire decor if you want!”

“Aide?” Virgil repeated slowly, his head already spinning. Wasn’t he supposed to be a butler? Or helping out doing something… something simple? He didn’t have the knowledge or ability to assist the Duke with anything.

“Is there anything I can help you with, sir?”

“Oh, no I’m fine.”

“Alright, just ring that bell there and someone will be here in less than a minute!”

“T-Thank you...”

Being alone in his new room felt like a far stranger thing than it should. Honestly Virgil felt afraid to touch just about anything in here, but unsure of what to do with himself he chose to sit on the bed. And apparently that was a dangerous move, because the next thing he could recall was being roused for dinner. 

The moment he was awake a gaggle of maids were quick to usher him to wash his face and to change into clothes they had brought with them. They had made a fuss between themselves on which handkerchief went best with the suit he had been shoved into, and the bickering they gave about how his hair should be styled (all of which occurred without them asking Virgil’s opinion after he had told them he didn’t need to change clothes at all) continued until one announced that Virgil was going to be late. 

The dining room was already occupied when he arrived by Duke Janus himself who sat seated at the head of a long table in the ornate dining room. But he stood up with a smile as Virgil entered, “Welcome! I hope you’re finding the North and my manor to your liking?”

“I have no complaints at the moment,” Virgil replied with a nod. “Thank you for having me, Your Grace.”

“Call me by name,” The Duke replied as he stepped forward and grabbed Virgil’s hand and gave it a kiss- and when he did so Virgil noticed he wore an identical ring to the one Virgil knew so well which hung round his neck. “Sit, sit, let's eat.” 

It was as if on cue, servants appeared holding platters of food and set it on the table. Virgil didn’t need any convincing to take his seat, and began helping himself to many dishes about them, but something dawned on him as he took a bite. “All this food,” he said (after swallowing). “Just for us?”

“It is,” Duke Janus confirmed simply. “I wasn’t sure what you would like, so I had a feast prepared. Oh speaking of preparations, tell me, how do you like your room? Do you want anything changed?”

“It’s… it’s too nice for me,” Virgil said slowly. “So are these clothes. They’re all far too good for me. So is this food, but I don’t turn down meals.”

“I disagree,” the man chuckled. “I think you look beautiful and thus the things around you should reflect that.”

The napkin Virgil dabbed his lips with did nothing to cover his blush. “And um... a maid said I was to work as your aide?”

“That’s right. I need an extra set of hands in my office to help me with just about everything.”

“But I’ve never done that kind of work before.”

“Then you’ll learn. I’m sure you can handle it. I’ll teach you what you need to know. But no need to talk about work. Instead, tell me what your past travels have been like.”

“Oh um, well they’re nothing special. I just followed work. I usually worked in sewing or something. Helping out some seamstresses.”

“There still are details to be told.”

“Then… I guess I did have to help with a very fancy dress for this one noblewoman. And we got to travel for a while to her manor. And we passed through this forest…”

The rest of the dinner had gone well and thankfully conversation flowed easily with Janus. So much so, that Virgil couldn’t help but be a tad disappointed when they reached his room. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, to begin work then?” Janus asked. 

Virgil nodded, “Yes, but can you please give me a bit more detail on what I’m doing? I’d like to mentally prepare.”

The man stifled a short laugh, but as Virgil’s eyes narrowed he answered, “You’ll be working to maintain the Manor’s budget and upkeep.”

“Is that not the duty of a Duchess?”

“My mother’s health is not the best,” Janus sighed. “To the point I sent her to the South, since I didn’t want the growing cold here to aggravate her condition. So I’ve been managing the Manor in addition to my duties managing the duchy. And since you are still technically my fiancé I can have you help me with this without having the nobility complaining to me about decorum.”

The explanation made sense, but something still felt a bit off, but Virgil couldn’t place his finger on it. “Alright then, I hope I live up to your expectations.”

The smile had to be illegal, was Virgil’s only thought as Janus smiled over his shoulder and retreated. He had been so focused on the expression in fact that he almost missed the “You already do” that hung in the air after the man had left. Almost. 

~~~~

A month came and went in the blink of an eye. Virgil was surprised how easy it was to fall into step with Janus and begin to handle the household duties. The servants were kind and so was the Duke himself. So with no real complaints it wasn’t a surprise that the time flew, but this also meant it came to a screeching halt as the butler, Logan, entered. 

“You have a… guest, Your Grace.”

Virgil had glanced up at the man’s tone of voice. Logan usually kept his emotions out of matters, (but he didn't miss an opportunity to voice his opinion) and yet the distaste in his tone and the grimace on his face made his thoughts clear. He said nothing more as he waited for Janus to ask.

“Are you going to tell me who?” The Duke asked, his eyes still on what he was writing. 

“I’d prefer it if you simply told me to send your guest out.”

Virgil watched as the pen came to a sudden halt as understanding came with a frown on Janus’ face. “I assume she didn’t give any reason for her visit?”

“No, she’s a creature of habit.”

The two locked eyes as if having a conversation which only they could understand. And when a moment passed without an explanation, Virgil cleared his throat. “Who would come unannounced?”

“Count Regis is having his birthday dinner tonight,” Janus said instead. “We can't ignore this or the Count... Virgil, I need you to go to the party and give my regards. I’ll try to join later, but I cannot make promises.”

Virgil gave a hard swallow, “I-I just hand the household financials I can’t... I’m just from a fallen merchant house, not the nobility.”

Janus waved off the words as he stood and came around his desk, “The Count’s sons are friends of mine. They’ll treat you nice- as long as they think we’re getting married and not that you’re just working for me.”

“But-”

“Virgil,” Janus started, his voice soft yet gentle in a way Virgil was yet to hear. “I have faith in you. I’ll send Patton with you. There is no need to worry, I just need to handle something. Alright?” He gave a slight smile, that scar of his crinkling as he did in that way which made Virgil’s heart beat faster for no reason in particular. And with such an expression, with that smile, with those kind eyes, there was nothing Virgil could say no to. 

Virgil gave a sigh, “I guess I need an excuse to wear the nice clothes you bought me.”

A gloved hand set itself on his head in a surprising yet comforting way, but just as quickly as it happened Janus had pulled his hand back and hurried out the study’s door- but Virgil didn’t miss the sight of a face that was likely as red as his own felt. 

Virgil was not looking forward to this party. As if his interaction with Janus hadn’t been strange enough, he was now being thrust into the the torturous world of high society. Janus, Logan and Patton had all assured Virgil that Count's sons were good people that would treat him well, but that meant nothing when it came to the rest of the guests. Surely they’d mock him, he had never been a noble in the first place, the fallen merchant’s son. And yet, as his name was announced and he entered the party, it was far too late to leave. 

Eyes seemed to have fixed themselves on him from all directions as Virgil gave a hard swallow and continued his walk in. He could hear his heart beat in his ears as he tried to figure out what he should do- when a blur of green crushed him in a tight hug. “It’s you!” A voice shouted in his ear. “I can’t believe Janny-Boy found his fiancé!”

Virgil gave an awkward laugh as he patted the unknown man on the back, “Um yes… I’m Virgil Angoro.”

The man pulled back from the hug as he considered something, giving Virgil a chance to look at the person who was holding him (against his will). He was decked out in bright greens and blacks, and somehow he managed to look as gaudy as possible with all of his ruffles. He was taller than Virgil (but then given his bright green platform shoes maybe he wasn’t), with a streak of white in his hair, and a bright smile, and eyes that gleefully held a bit of mischief. “Janus and Virgil Ekans,” the man said slowly. “I like it.”

“Remus!” A voice snapped as another man- who shared a face with the one holding Virgil approached. Wild guess said these must be the twins. This new man was dressed in white accented with red, he looked normal in comparison to his twin, but his outfit certainly showed off his wealth. When he was close enough to he grabbed his brother by the back of the neck and yanked him away from Virgil. “I’m very sorry,” he said quickly. “Remus is well… anyway I’m Roman Regis, pleasure to meet you. Is Janus not with you?”

“N-no,” Virgil answered (as he tried not to focus on the fact that Roman was about his height, so did that mean without platforms Remus was the same?). “He had something urgent come up, so I came to pass along his regards.”

“That’s disappointing… not that you’re here,” he amended quickly. “I would have liked to see him as well.”

“I understand… Well um, I should go greet The Count.”

“We’ll walk with you!” Remus decided. “And you can tell us everything about everything!”

Virgil had simply nodded then, but he didn’t realize what he had gotten himself into. Remus and Roman did in fact treat him well, but Virgil found he didn’t even have the time to speak to the other guests because Remus had decided that he was going to play chaperone for Virgil, or as he put it: “adopting a high society fetus”, and Roman stuck around to ensure his brother didn’t cross a line. But this also meant that Virgil didn’t have space to breathe. So he had been quite happy to climb into the carriage to return to the Duke’s manor- until Remus climbed in after him. 

“Lord Remus?” Patton asked in confusion. 

“Jan threw his little bean of a fiancé to the wolves. That’s rude, so I’m going to slap him with a fish.”

“Please tell me you’re not hiding fish in your shirt again,” Roman groaned standing in the carriage doorway. 

“I’m not, I’m not. Nanny yelled at me too much.”

“Good so… wait. Do you have a fish or not?”

“It’s not a fish.”

“Get out the carriage so I can shove you in the fountain.”

“I rather not.”

As the bickering continued, Virgil could feel the little energy he had retained leaving him. He just wanted to go home and lie in bed. 

The glint of a silver sword was sudden, yet it silenced everything as it pierced the carriage wall. “There was a spider,” Patton stated simply as he sheathed the blade. The mercenary turned knight then gave a slight smile which was far more unnerving than it should be, “I don’t like spiders. Or things that are scary. Or mean… Or things that bother my master.”

Roman cleared his throat, “Come on Remus, Mother and Nanny will be furious if we skip out on the rest of Father’s birthday. We can stop by soon.”

And just like that the Count’s Twins left him be and the carriage pulled off. And while he was a bit more than unnerved by his knight’s actions, he was happy to be able to hear himself think again. 

Unfortunately that didn’t last twenty four hours. 

The loud voices and shouting stirred him from sleep, but it was the slamming open of his bedroom door, and the shouting of his name which caused Virgil to sit upright in bed, bleary eyed. And after a moment of his brain catching up to his eyes he was able to discern the forms of Janus, Logan… and the Twins. Yay.

“What’s wrong with you!?” Janus shouted at Remus trying to push the other man out the room. “I explicitly said not to wake him up.”

“But he should know if you’re keeping secrets from him,” Roman put in crossing his arms. 

A few more words of arguing went by before Virgil’s tired mind caught up, “Can secrets wait until morning?”

“It is morning, sir,” Logan informed him. “About an hour before you usually wake.”

Virgil gave a yawn, “Oh… can I have that hour back?”

“Your fiancé could very well be cheating on you, and you just want to sleep?” Roman asked him. “Does the idea of his ex being here not bother you at all?”

All at once fatigue seemed to vanish as Virgil directed his gaze to Janus’ eyes, but The Duke was still trying to stop Remus from getting closer to Virgil. His tongue felt like it refused to move- like it may as well be lead in his mouth, but he forced himself to ask anyway. “What ex?”

“Drana Delano? I heard she arrived yesterday.”

That name was enough to freeze Virgil solid. Drana Delano, that had been the name of the woman who had publicly shamed him, and arrested him, after she had taken what was his… So why was she here? Janus would have likely mentioned something like that. Wouldn’t he? But then again, as long as the time had felt at times, a month was a month. How well did he truly know Janus? He hadn’t even known that the woman who had tried to ruin his life once dated the man Virgil was promised to. What did he know about Janus? 

“She’s not my anything,” Janus said firmly as he released his friend, seemingly realizing his efforts had been futile. “She and her father decided themselves that she’d become my wife. I never agreed to that.”

“Then let me toss her out.”

“No, I’m not going to worsen the political relationship between our families.”

Remus made a “tsk” sound as he slunk his way to sit beside Virgil on the bed and patted him lightly on the shoulder. “If you want a shoulder to cry on, Logan is right there, Ro and I just got these shirts.”

“She’s really here?” Virgil asked quietly, unsure what else he was supposed to say. 

His “fiancé” gave a slight grimace, “I didn’t tell you, because I knew you’d be upset. I promise you that you never even need to cross paths with her. I’ll let her stay a few days and then I can usually come up with an excuse to send her out. That’s how it always goes when she drops in.”

“Have you not considered that your tolerance is why she acts in such a manner?” Logan pressed. “You have quite a legitimate excuse to kick her out. She makes Virgil uncomfortable… and everyone else here.”

“Yes, but-”

“It’s fine,” Virgil interrupted. But when eyes went his way, he averted his gaze and shrugged Remus’ hand off. “Political reasons are important. And we’re not actually getting married so you don’t need to worry about my opinion. I-”

“Wait you’re not?” Roman asked in surprise. “Then why-”

“What I would like however, is to be left alone so I can change and get ready for the day. I have to negotiate with some merchants right after breakfast.”

It was clear there were words left unsaid, and questions unanswered, but Virgil kept his gaze on the floor as he ignored the clenching of his heart. It didn’t have a right to hurt the way it did. And the tears in his eyes didn’t have a right to be there in the first place. His feelings weren’t even well placed- especially if he himself didn’t even know what they were. 

And the quiet sounds of retreating footsteps and the shutting of his door were far from the answers he wanted. 

~~~~

“Logan!”

The butler didn’t glance up from what he was reading as he walked, but his gait slowed enough for Virgil to catch up. “What can I do for you? Ah, did you finish the inventory assessment?”

“Huh? Oh almost, I’m waiting for the kitchen staff to double check something. I actually wanted to ask you something.”

“Alright.”

There was a pause as they continued down the hall, before Virgil gave a sigh, “Perhaps we can talk somewhere else?”

Logan finally looked up from the papers and blinked once, as understanding took him. “It’s about time for tea isn’t it? Shall we commandeer the parlor room?”

“Please.”

“So,” Logan started when they were seated, and their refreshments were served. “I presume this has something to do with Lady Delano.”

Virgil gave a slow nod, “What can you tell me about her?”

Those eyes scanned Virgil for a moment as if analyzing every fiber of Virgil’s being, before Logan began doctoring his tea the way he liked. “Let me ask you a clarifying question. Are you asking about her, herself? Or about her relationship to His Grace?”

Virgil would forever deny the slight blush that warmed his face. “I’m just a bit- a bit… confused,” he tried (as if he hadn’t planned this conversation and its contingencies out). “The version of her I saw is one which was terrible. And yet I’m sure everyone else sees something different. Perhaps that can explain the differences in what Roman, Remus and Janus claimed this morning?”

“No, there are no differences. What you see with Lady Delano is what you get. As I heard one of the maid’s say, “makeup and jewels cannot fix a fucked up personality”… I reiterate that these were a maid’s words. I wouldn’t dare to say something about a guest myself of course.”

Virgil couldn’t stop the slight smile from creeping on his face as he looked at Logan’s blank one. “Of course. Did you punish the maid accordingly?”

“That I did. She’s currently helping the chef as a taste tester for the rest of the week. But regardless. There are no misunderstandings when it comes to the way she carried herself. However, there are some when it comes to her relationship with our master.”

Any slight joy, and relaxation that Virgil had felt instantly vanished and it wasn’t until then he realized he had felt them at all. When he found his fingers twitching in anticipation he forced himself to take a sip of the tea, letting its warmth forcibly calm him as he waited for Logan to continue. 

“The Ekans’ and the Delano’s have an old history of petty anger derived from something I doubt anyone living truly knows of. But for one reason or another as children, Lady Delano made it her mission to befriend the then Young Master, to which he seemed to like or at least tolerate. And upon the vanishing of the Angoro family, and thus his promised fiancé, many assumed that the two would marry and the age long feud would finally end. Lady Delano assumed this herself, and began appearing here unannounced to his annoyance. But she was… barely barely tolerable. But about a year and half ago the two of them got into an argument over something, and it seemed they would never speak again. That was, until we were about to leave the capital and come back here and a courier from the Delano’s arrived carrying a letter that said they had apprehended a thief who had stolen His Grace’s ring.”

Virgil gave a frown of thought as he set down his teacup. They were childhood friends? That seemed like more than accepting of her behavior due to political reasons. Not to mention she had thought she was going to be marrying Janus, perhaps that was why she had been so elated to find Virgil’s ring. She had likely seen it as a ticket back into his good graces after their fight… but then why visit the manor now? It didn’t sound as if things were resolved, so why would she just show up now? To resolve them? From the small information he had about her, Virgil didn’t think that she would come for a reason that straightforward. “Do you know why she’s here now?” He asked finally. 

Logan shook his head slowly, “After the two first spoke I had asked His Grace. But while he seemed upset he didn’t explain anything. And given I naturally avoid those with personalities I don’t prefer, I am ill informed.”

“Can I ask… can I ask what happened a year ago?”

“I’m afraid that’s not my place to say. I understand how it can theoretically be hard to speak to someone you have romantic feelings for about such manners- ”

“Romantic?” Virgil squeaked out. 

“even if I do not experience such feelings myself, but I do believe I am the wrong person to continue this conversation with.”

“It’s- it’s not like that!”

“Oh? Upon setting your cup down, you’ve done nothing but fiddle with your ring. Not to mention I thought you wore it on a cord, not your finger?”

Virgil’s gaze drifted down to his own hands, and sure enough his right hand was twisting the ring he wore on his left. Hadn’t he put it back on the cord last night? He had worn it to the party for show, but he had fully intended to hang it back around his neck. How had he not even noticed that he had it on?

“I believe His Grace will have lots of work tonight, and thus he will take dinner in his own room,” Logan said suddenly as he stood. “If you have any other questions about household management, perhaps it would be best to catch him during the meal?”

“Ah, um yes. Thank you.”

The butler gave a slight bow, “Of course.”

Virgil was not looking forward to dinner. 

As much as he wanted information, he didn’t exactly want to have the conversation that led to it. He didn’t want to sound accusatory, nor did he want to sound like he was pressing for information. He just wanted to know the full truth so he could sort out his own thoughts. He wasn’t sure what the warm pain inside his chest was, but… but maybe…

He took a deep breath as came to stand in front of the Duke’s room. He moved to knock, but retreated a few steps and put his fingers to his lips in thought. Had Logan told Janus that Virgil was joining him for dinner? Or was Virgil going to barge in on him? Virgil shook his head, it’s fine. Fine. Totally fine. The conversation would be the same either way. Another breath led to him moving to knock, but he hesitated. What words should he use to start the conversation? Maybe he should just mention that the morning had seemed awkward? Or that-

The opening of the door was sudden, and Virgil jolted as he suddenly came face to face with Duke Janus Ekans. The Duke’s gaze met his with surprise in his eyes but his expression quickly shifted to a slight smile. “I couldn’t help but hear pacing outside, and came to see who it was.”

Virgil gave an awkward swallow as he lowered his hand, “Are you busy?”

He moved back to let Virgil enter. “I was going to partake in a working dinner. Care to join me? Conversation would make it easier. Did you already eat?”

“Uh, no.”

He nodded once and moved into the hall, to flag someone down to ask them to bring Virgil’s meal here. But Virgil entered and continued into the large bedroom and moved to the table set up and took a seat. But he could help but look over the papers. The table was covered in a number of documents that appeared to be regarding merchants who traveled between the capital and the north during the winter. And judging by the language used in them, whomever had written them wasn’t the most professional. The language used was casual, blunt, and even crass. 

“Remus wrote it,” Janus stated approaching. 

“Oh, I didn't mean to pry.”

Janus waved him off dismissively as he gathered the papers into a pile. “He does good work, but refuses to document it properly. I then spend too much time rewriting papers to be kept in a more official capacity.”

“You two work together?”

“We do. Part of the challenges of managing my territory include getting rid of monsters that come too close, and ensuring that my people not only survive the winter but thrive through it. So I make a lot of deals with merchants. Remus, crazy man that he is, is more than willing to brave the elements to travel to the capital and help get needed supplies back here. Currently he and I are trying to bolster our merchant connections before the temperature drops.”

“Does Roman work with you as well?”

“He’s to become the next count, believe it or not,” Janus chuckled while sitting himself. “They’re both…”

“Strange?” Virgil suggested. “But not in a bad way! I-I haven’t known them longer than a day, but it’s clear they’re different from the rest of nobility, and like to stand out.”

Janus stifled a full laugh this time, as he hid his mouth behind his hand. “I was going to say that they’re both moronic yet intelligent disgraces. But I wasn’t sure that scratched the surface.”

“Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

“Harsh? I’ve known them my entire life. Trust me when I say I’m speaking kindly. I’m sure you’ll see what I mean soon enough. As I was told this morning they’ve decided that they like you.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“Just don’t eat anything Remus gives you.”

“What? I… I don’t want to know.”

“That’s probably for the best, but… I would like to know what brings you here this evening. You’re not the type to seek me out because you’re bored.”

Virgil gave an awkward cough, but he was thankfully saved from answering as dinner was delivered, but once the food was served and the servants vanished he spoke. “Um, well… this morning ended awkwardly and…”

“I- yes,” Janus sighed. “And I apologize for that. I shouldn’t have hid anything from you.”

Virgil nodded in acceptance, he hadn’t come for an apology. “Can… Can I ask why she came?”

“That’s a question she deflects each time I ask. Says she just wishes to ‘repair our friendship.’”

“And, do you want to? Judging from your tone you don’t seem thrilled.”

Janus stabbed at the food on his plate for a moment, but he didn’t make any motion to actually eat it. “Drana she… in my opinion we haven’t been actual friends in years. At some point it became a tolerance of her as opposed to me caring about her in any capacity. But I don’t think I realized that until recently… so no, I just want her out of my house. But I don’t want her to resume our families’ traditions of cutting the other down out of greed and spite.”

It was clear that there were more words left unsaid, but Virgil didn’t press. As selfish as it sounded, he already got his question answered. They ate in silence for a while before the Duke spoke suddenly. “Logan was right. All this time I thought she acted the way she did because people spoiled her- which is true. But I didn’t realize that I was also included in that group. I’ll let her have her way for now. But I’ll make sure that once she leaves she understands that that’s it.”

“Won’t that affect politics?” Virgil asked. 

“I don’t think I care right now. Or no, I care more about my people than hers. The staff is scared to go near her after last time.”

“Last time?”

“Ah… about a year or so ago, she came here. Doing what she’s doing now, and somehow she got it in her head that she had the right to discipline my maid. And she beat a maid badly for something stupid. When I yelled at her she told me that it was my fault for having done so sooner and letting ‘the filth’ worsen… I don’t remember half the things I screamed at her then. But I made it clear that I didn’t wish to speak to her again.”

Janus gave a sigh, and ran a hand through his slicked back hair causing some of it to fall forward, but he didn’t seem to care. His eyes weren’t focused on anything before him, Virgil couldn’t help but consider the man attractive even now when he was clearly upset… there was something wrong with him, wasn’t there?

“Enough about me,” Janus said, undoing his collar and loosening his tie. “How do you feel about all this?”

Virgil gave a slight shrug, “I just don’t want to be around her.”

“And I promise you won’t be.”

“Then that’s it.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Janus stifled a chuckle into a bite of his food, “I’m not sure what I expected, but that’s not it.”

“I rather not talk about a person we both dislike.”

“Alright, alright. Then what shall we talk about?”

“You know… you never asked me how the party went. When you shoved me into high society and to deal with the Count’s sons.”

“I suppose I did not… How was it?”

“It was a whirlwind of a night, but I’m not sure if that’s in a good or bad way.”

“Tell me all the details and perhaps we can decipher it together.” 

It was easy talking to Janus, that was something Virgil learned quickly after meeting the man. Something about the way he carried himself, something about the way he was inviting. And yet Virgil still knew so little about him… he’d have to remedy that. 

~~~~

After dinner Janus had promised to be rid of their unwanted guest the next day. And yet coming the morning he somehow had gotten absorbed in a task which had persisted all day. And to make things worse Lady Delano seemed to be everywhere Virgil looked. She seemed to be in every hall he went into, and he was quickly tiring of ducking into others. So when he heard that obnoxious laugh, from around the corner Virgil was quick to redirect himself outside. 

The afternoon air was cold- colder than it had been the day previous, and even so Virgil ventured without his coat. Winter seemed to truly be upon them, given the snow that crunched under his feet as he walked. His feet carried him to the garden, walking amongst the empty hedges wondering what it would look like in full bloom. He supposed he’d find out soon enough. 

“Ah, I’ve been wondering where it was.” 

The sound of that haughty voice was enough to give Virgil pause as he turned to face Lady Delano. She looked the same as she had that day on the street, only this time she wore a heavy coat, and she was flanked by maids he didn’t recognize. Had she brought her own?

“The commoner playing court,” she laughed, crossing her arms. “You're well aware that you’ll only taint the things around you, right?” When Virgil didn’t respond she took a step closer. “Look, I don’t see why you bother trying to be someone better than you are. Janus will get tired of this game soon enough, you might as well leave beforehand, save both of you the embarrassment, hm?”

Virgil watched as his maids chittered beside her with their smiles as they tried to remain on her good side. He watched as the Lady’s chest puffed up like she was being praised. Like she was the child she acted like. 

“What? Forgotten how to speak?”

“I didn’t feel the need to waste my breath,” Virgil replied and he shocked himself, realizing that he meant it. When he first met her she had been crazy yet powerful, while he was powerless. But in this manor, everyone would be on his side, wouldn’t they? So why did he need to bother with the woman who still behaved like a child? “You’re blocking the path,” he continued as he took in her surprised expression. “And it’s quite cold out here, so if you don’t mind I’d like to head inside.”

She gave a laugh of what must’ve been disbelief and she further closed the gap between them. “Remember your place,” she hissed. “You're a fallen merchant nothing more! You’ll never be anything more than that, so don’t drag Janus down with you.”

“So I should allow a brat to bring him down to her level?”

“Brat!? You insolent-”

“You speak of places, and yet you act out of line in a home of someone who’s of higher status than you.”

“Listen you asshole! You’re going to stay the hell away from Janus, or I’m going to make your life a living hell!”

“Last time you tried that, I ended up here,” Virgil shrugged. And then he gave her an innocent smile. “So I’m not exactly worried.”

She gave a shout of frustration, before she began a tirade of insults that were more than unbecoming for a noblewoman. She screamed that he was undeserving while she was. She screamed that he gravel, that he was shit, that was nothing. She screamed, and screamed, and screamed. And when her words ran out, her tantrum switched to one of action- but Virgil caught her wrist before her strike could hit his face. 

Her eyes widened in shock, but Virgil noticed her knights go for their swords so he let go- only for her to grab his hand and yank off his ring. “This shouldn’t be yours!”

Virgil took a deep breath, as he forced himself to remain as calm as he had been throughout the entire encounter. “Give it back.”

“No! You-” she cut herself off by instead running past Virgil and he turned just in time to watch her run directly up to Janus. “Janus! You should hear the things he said to me!” She shouted. 

Virgil couldn’t even muster the energy to roll his eyes at the stupidity of the situation. “Really? Can you just give me back my-”

“He called me a brat! And so many things I don’t want to repeat! And he grabbed my wrist!”

Janus gave a sigh as he looked her over. Virgil said nothing as he watched the man look over both her wrists, before his hands and attention went to her one clenched hand and before she could think of an excuse, he plucked the ring from it. 

“He-he doesn’t deserve it! He threw it away anyway!”

“If you’re going to lie, at least be better at it. This means everything to him,” Janus told her before he moved away from her. Virgil watched the interaction, unsure what to say or do- but Janus came up beside him and slipped the ring on his finger once more. “Looks much better here, then around your neck.”

The cold wind was the only reason behind the blush that followed. 

“Janus!” Lady Delano shouted after him, but Janus himself paid it no mind as a hand snuck around Virgil’s waist causing his blush to deepen. 

“Let’s head in.”

Virgil gave a hard swallow, “O-okay.”

Behind them the shouting continued, but the only words said were from Janus to Patton as he instructed the knight to ensure that Lady Delano was removed from his residence. 

They walked in silence into the Manor and all the way back to Virgil’s room where they lingered at the doorway. As if Janus was afraid to come in. 

“I’m sorry,” Janus stated. “I should’ve gotten rid of her sooner.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Virgil promised him. “But…”

“But?”

“Instead of an apology can I… can I request something else?”

“Anything.”

“Can I...” Virgil felt his face darken further. But this was a good situation to ask, right? “Can I get to know more about you?”

Virgil would forever relish not being the only one to blush the moment the question left his lips. 

“I’m a bit busy right now,” Janus started turning away.

“Oh… I-”

“But we can certainly have dinner together. If you like there’s a restaurant in town I’ve been meaning to take you to.”

“A restaurant… like a date?”

Janus cleared his throat before he turned to face Virgil once more, “I meant what I said before about not having to marry and making our own choices… but well, my choice is that I want to be with you. In any regard. So if it’s a date or not, that’s up to you.”

Virgil’s heart was beating quickly in his chest, and he acted on impulse to calm himself down. That action being grabbing Janus’ left hand in his own and admiring the matching bands. “A date sounds… nice. I don’t think I’m ready for more than that right now, but I’m willing to see what happens?”

Janus gave a smile before it vanished and was only visible in his words as he tried to hide his emotion in an adorable way, “Then I should hurry and finish my work to make sure we’re not late to dinner.”

Virgil gave a chuckle as he released the hand, only for Janus to hold it once more and bring it to his lips. “Be prepared to be swept off your feet.”

“You can try.”

“Is that a challenge? Because if so we can make it a bet.”

“I don’t make losing bets,” Virgil laughed. 

Janus had a glint in his eye as he released Virgil’s hand, “Oh so what you’re saying is-”

“We have work to do!” Virgil said, quickly slamming the door shut between them. “Important work!”

The sound of Janus’ laughter was loud and pleasing as it retreated down the hall. Virgil’s face was on fire as he admired his hand and his ring. Before he gave a slight laugh despite himself. His parents had been right. That silver ring with the night sky embedded in its stones, had indeed been the key to a better and happier life. And hopefully, tonight would signify that it would only get better from here.

~~ The End~~

[arya-skywalker]

It really is a wonderful community 💜

The TSS Fanworks Collective Discord

Join the TSS Fanworks Collective!

We’re an active, supportive discord community for creative types.  Promo your own work, discover amazing fics and art, and play games like Title Challenge.  Need inspiration?  We’ve got prompts aplenty.  Need help?  Join a brain storming session, check our beta directory, or post a snippet for review.  On the purely fun side, we host weekly movie nights and lectures, challenges, and gift exchanges.  We’re all about uplifting and supporting each other in making magnificent things.  Not a creator but interested in becoming one?  You’re more than welcome to come hang out and we’ll do our best to help.

Join the collective today!

[c-swirlz]

Pure Imagination

Summary: Thomas has never really questioned the existence of humanoid fragments of his personality, but when strange dreams start worming their way into his sleeping hours, he decides it’s time to get some answers. Meanwhile, Logic, Creativity and Morality are dealing with a few of their own problems.

Relationship(s): None

Warning(s): Panic attack, swearing

[AO3 link]

This was written for the TSS Fanworks Collective’s April Reverse Mini Bang challenge. The rules of the challenge were simple: claim a piece of submitted art and write fic inspired by it. The art I chose was drawn by @amayakumiko, and it can be found here.

Everyone has an imagination. From the elderly to the newborns, everyone is capable of warping reality within their own head. Some imaginations are tame. Others are wild. Some people imagine life in another country and the adventures they could have. Others imagine life in a fantasy world where society’s rules don’t apply. Everyone’s imagination is different. That’s what makes it such a special thing.

There are a handful of people who are more imaginative than the rest of humanity. They’re a rare breed, and it is said only three are born across a ten-year period. Of course, such powerful imaginations can’t go to waste, so it has been decided that a gift shall be bestowed upon every individual who possesses it. The first to receive this gift shall be a boy named Thomas Sanders.

*****

In an ordinary house on an ordinary street, a shadow looms over the small crib five month old Thomas is sleeping in. A leather pouch is opened, revealing many different colours of shimmering glitter. The dark blue and indigo glitter is retrieved, and with unnatural precision, it is sprinkled onto Thomas.

The glitter glows brightly. Thomas is surrounded by an aura that glows both dark blue and indigo. The glitter dissolves, and the aura fades along with it.

Red glitter is retrieved from the pouch. It’s sprinkled onto Thomas, causing him to stir but not wake. The aura that momentarily surrounds him glows a bright imperial red.

More glitter is retrieved. This time, it’s light blue and cyan. Once again, Thomas’ aura adopts the colours as he’s showered by the magical substance. The aura glows dark blue, indigo, imperial red, light blue and cyan all at once before it fades again.

Thomas stirs again. His bottom lip trembles and he whimpers. Unlike before, he doesn’t relax. Several other colours of glitter are sprinkled onto him, and his face twitches as it falls onto the delicate skin of his cheeks and forehead. His restlessness grows as his aura appears once again. It glows a variety of different colours. 

Thomas’ lips part and a quiet, distressed noise escapes. His tiny eyes blink open, and they well up with unshed tears.

His aura fades. He sobs loudly. His parents wake up and scurry out of their shared bed frantically to check on him, and on the ground near his crib, they find an empty leather pouch.

They’ve never seen it before.

*****

Logic /ˈlɒdʒɪk/ NOUN Reasoning conducted or assessed according to strict principles of validity.

Logan has no idea how he — or his fellow Sides, for that matter — came to be. He knows they haven’t always had physical forms. He knows they haven’t always been able to speak to Thomas face-to-face. He knows there’s no logical explanation, yet he’s always searching for one.

Fragments of an individual’s personality shouldn’t have an independent conscience. They shouldn’t have physical forms. They shouldn’t be able to do things no other human can.

Logan knows everything Thomas does. Or, more accurately, he knows everything Thomas has learned over the years, and he retains that knowledge even after Thomas has forgotten it. Science is something Thomas seems to remember the most about, but math… oh, math. The amount of mathematical formulas Thomas has forgotten frustrates Logan to no end.

Thomas and Logan share a mind. They share their knowledge, and that knowledge helps them grow. Thomas asks questions, and most of the time, Logan is the one who answers them. He’s an intellectual, but he doesn’t know everything.

He wishes he did.

*****

“Logic?”

Thomas’ tentative call tugs gently in Logan’s chest. When Logan rises up, he finds his Whole sitting at the desk in the corner of the room, his head in his hands.

“What can I do for you, Thomas?”

Thomas lowers his hands and sighs. He gestures to the sheet of paper on the desk and picks up the pencil sitting beside it. “Homework.”

Logan’s head tilts. “You… require assistance?”

Thomas nods.

“Have you not asked your teachers for help?”

Thomas averts his gaze, bites his lip and shakes his head. “I would, but I don’t want it to seem like I wasn’t paying attention to the lectures. Plus, I... feel like I ask them for help a little too often.”

Logan’s expression softens. He approaches Thomas, careful not to get too close. They still don’t know what will happen if they make physical contact with their Whole, and Logan doesn’t plan on being the one to find out.

“What are you having trouble with?”

Thomas moves to point out what question he’s stuck on, but stops. There’s silence for a beat, then a quiet clatter breaks it when Thomas puts the pencil down.

“Y’know what, nevermind. I have plenty of time to finish this, it’s fine.”

Logan’s brow furrows. Thomas stands and moves to his bed. Logan follows, but chooses to stand nearby as Thomas drapes himself across the blanket, effectively wrinkling it.

“Is something the matter, Thomas?”

Thomas sits up and his gaze snaps up to meet Logan’s eyes. “No,” he says, far too quickly.

“Are you sure?” Logan asks. He takes a seat beside Thomas, and he pushes down the odd urge to place a hand on his Whole’s shoulder. “You seem distressed. If something is bothering you, talking about it may help.”

Thomas sighs and lowers his head. His bangs flop down, partially hiding his face.

“I’ve been having… dreams. Weird ones.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “It’s not uncommon for someone to have strange dreams every now and again—“

“That’s the thing,” Thomas interrupts. He lifts his head and turns it to lock eyes with Logan. “Logic, I’ve been having these dreams for days now, and they won’t stop.”

Logan blinks. “Ah. That is… rather concerning. Can you remember any of your dreams?”

Thomas’ brow furrows in thought. “Well, I remember I almost drowned in glitter Monday night.” He laughs. “That was weird.”

Logan summons a notepad and jots something down. Thomas waits patiently for him to stop scribbling before he speaks again.

“Wednesday night was pretty freaky. I was in some really dark room, and I could hear whispering. I remember seeing weird flashes of colour, but I wasn’t able to get a proper look before they disappeared.”

Logan nods and jots another note down. “You didn’t experience any odd dreams on Tuesday?”

Thomas shakes his head, then pauses. “Wait, shouldn’t you know all this? You’re part of me.”

Logan tucks the pen in his grasp behind his ear. “Dreams are generally Creativity’s department. Unlike him, the rest of us are not automatically made aware of them.”

“Huh.”

The room falls into an awkward silence, save for the tapping of Thomas’ forefinger on the desk. Logan fixes his tie and cleans the lenses of his glasses, just to give him something to do.

“Why am I having these dreams, Logic?”

Logan blinks. “What?”

Thomas looks down at his bare feet, which are hovering just above the carpet. “I wanna know why I’m having these dreams. There has to be a reason, and I guess I just assumed you’d know.”

There’s a lump in Logan’s throat. He swallows, but it doesn’t dislodge.

“I…”

Thomas glances up at Logan. Logan puts on a brave face and looks his Whole in the eye.

“As I said before, dreams are not my department. It would be best to consult Creativity if your concern grows.”

The way Thomas’ expectant face falls makes Logan’s heart sink. He wishes he had an answer, he really does, but nothing is coming to mind. He doesn’t know what’s going on, nor why Thomas is having such strange dreams.

Knowledge is his entire existence. He has to know.

He sinks out. For the rest of the evening, he stays in his room, conducting research and jotting down notes.

He doesn’t eat. He doesn’t sleep.

He has to know.

*****

Creativity /ˌkriːeɪˈtɪvɪti/ NOUN The use of imagination or original ideas to create something; inventiveness.

Roman is a dreamer. He’s a performer; an artist. He’s the one who’s always ready to slay any monsters lurking in the shadows. He’s the hero of the story, and any villains who dare to cross his path will be shown no mercy.

Thomas is an actor. Saying he’s a good one would be an understatement. Both he and Roman are well rehearsed in putting on a mask and performing for an audience, and they’ve gotten rather good at it over the years.

Thomas loves theatre. So does Roman.

Thomas loves Disney. So does Roman.

Thomas has dreams. So does Roman. Not the sort of dreams you have when you’re asleep, but rather aspirations, ambitions and ideals.

Roman shouldn’t have them. Dreams, he means. He’s a facet of a person’s personality. He isn’t an individual. Thomas’ dreams are the ones that matter; his are irrelevant.

It’s one of the many problems Roman has with his existence.

He doesn’t like talking about it.

*****

“Prince?”

Roman greets Thomas with an exaggerated regal bow as he rises up. “Good afternoon, Thomas! What can I do for you on this fine day?”

Thomas puts his phone aside and starts fiddling with his fingers. After a moment, he places his hands on either side of him, and his fingers curl around the soft material of the blanket underneath him.

“I talked to Logic yesterday.” Thomas pauses, but only for a beat. “I told him about the weird dreams I’ve been having.”

Roman sighs. “Yes, I heard about that. Your dreams these past few nights have been quite strange, and oddly enough, they all seem to be connected. Logic’s been trying to figure out what they mean, but I don’t think he’s had much luck so far.”

“Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

Roman shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. Picking out the symbolism of the dreams I oversee isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

Thomas looks away. “Oh.”

Roman smiles warmly. “Don’t fret, Thomas. We’ll figure this out together, okay? These questions won’t go unanswered.”

Thomas glances at Roman, and the corner of his lips curl upward.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Roman grins and starts to sink out.

“Hey, wait.”

Half-submerged in the floor, Roman stops. He rises back up and raises an eyebrow.

Thomas stands and starts fiddling with his fingers again. “I, uh… sorry about Thursday. I know you wanted me to go for the lead in the play.”

Roman waves a dismissive hand, ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest. “Don’t sweat it, Tommy Salami. It’s just a school play, no big deal. They’re practically the same as the ones you participated in back in high school, anyway.”

Thomas giggles. “Tommy Salami? That’s a new one.”

“I have plenty more; I’ve been brainstorming all week.”

Roman and Thomas laugh, and just for a moment, Roman’s tight chest loosens. As their laughter dies down, Roman feels the tightness return.

He ignores it.

*****

Morality [məˈralɪti] NOUN Principles concerning the distinction between right and wrong or good and bad behaviour.

Patton’s job is simple. He determines what’s right and wrong. He makes sure Thomas is honest and encourages him to put others before himself. When Thomas was younger, Patton would repeat the same mantra over and over again.

“Don’t kill, don’t steal. Be honest. Help others and put them first. Be a good person, kiddo.”

When Thomas was younger, his sense of morality was fairly streamlined. Now, slowly but surely, things are becoming more complicated.

Patton hates that. He shouldn’t, but he does.

The moral dilemmas Thomas faces on a daily basis are growing more complex. Though Patton will never admit it, he’s struggling to keep up. It’s getting more and more difficult to determine what the ‘right thing’ to do is, and the pressure is always on Patton to make the call. He’s supposed to know, but sometimes…

Sometimes he doesn’t.

*****

“I’ve figured it out!”

Logan rises up in Patton’s room, grinning from ear to ear. His glasses are slightly askew and he has a large pile of notebooks and stray pieces of paper stacked precariously in his arms. Patton scrambles over to help Logan by taking some of his load, but then has to quickly dump them onto his bed as his arms begin to shake under the weight he was unprepared to carry.

Patton turns around to face Logan and laughs. “Wow, Logan, I haven’t seen you this happy in… well, ever! But, uh… what did you figure out, exactly?”

Logan rolls his eyes and places his load on the ground at his feet. He fixes his glasses, straightens his tie and runs a hand through his hair a few times before clearing his throat. Patton’s heart sinks at the way Logan’s expression quickly settles back into one of cold indifference.

“I think I’ve finally managed to figure out why we exist in this particular form,” Logan gestures to himself, “and why Thomas is able to summon us to his side at will.”

“This is about all those weird dreams Thomas keeps having, right? Roman mentioned it the other day.”

Logan nods. “It is.” He pauses. “Well, partially. I believe the dreams are a result of an event that occurred during an earlier stage of Thomas’ life. I'm thinking it’s either a result of some kind of genetic mutation, or a genetic alteration.”

Patton blinks.

“...What about the glitter?”

Logan stills.

“What.”

Patton’s brow furrows. “Wasn’t there glitter in one of Thomas’ dreams? I could’ve sworn Roman mentioned it…”

Logan blinks. Slowly, a realisation dawns on him.

“Oh, of course, the glitter.” Logan gently hits the side of his head with his palm. “I completely forgot that was a factor.” He sighs and pushes his glasses up his nose. “Now I’ll have to revise everything,” he mutters.

Patton frowns. “Maybe you should take a break, Logan. You’ve been working on this,” he gestures to the stacks of notebooks, “for a really long time.”

“I’ve taken plenty of breaks, Patton.”

Patton crosses his arms. “I mean a proper one.”

Logan huffs. “Patton, I’m not a child. You do not have to… monitor me.”

Patton’s eyes go wide. “Monitor—“ He stops, squeezes his eyes shut and massages his temples. He releases a slow, steady breath before he opens his eyes and lowers his arms. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

Logan scoffs and looks away.

“Logan, what’s gotten into you?”

Logan chooses to ignore the question as he retrieves his notebooks.

“I really should’ve expected this.”

“Wha — What—“ Patton splutters. “Expected what?”

“You are the heart. I am the mind. It’s common for us to be at odds, especially when you’d always rather Thomas spend time with friends rather than study.”

When Logan looks at Patton, there’s fire in his eyes. He’s glaring daggers, and Patton has to force himself not to flinch away.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Patton’s voice is loud, and he’s very close to yelling. He hopes he won’t have to resort to such an extreme.

Logan shakes his head. “Nothing.”

He sinks out, and Patton is left alone in Nostalgia Nirvana as guilt settles in his chest like a pebble.

*****

Anxiety /aŋˈzʌɪəti/ NOUN A feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease about something with an uncertain outcome.

A nervous disorder marked by excessive uneasiness and apprehension, typically with compulsive behaviour or panic attacks.

Thomas is floating. Around him is a pitch-black void. Above him, a hand comes into view, sparkling glitter pinched between its fingers.

The glitter falls. It’s a variety of different colours, and it almost looks like a rainbow.

Thomas reaches for the glitter, wanting to feel it between his fingertips. The moment the glitter makes contact with his hand, it turns a deep purple — or is it violet? Thomas barely has any time to process the change before he finds himself falling. As he falls, he swears he can hear a voice, but it’s extremely muffled, as if he’s hearing it from underwater. Slowly, however, the voice grows louder, and Thomas can almost hear what it’s saying—

“Thomas!”

Thomas’ anxiety spikes. His eyes fly open and he sits up, barely aware enough to recognise where he is. He’s faintly aware of his chest heaving and the uneven breaths he’s taking, but that’s about it.

Someone nearby mutters a swear, and the next thing Thomas knows, he’s being guided off the bed — his bed, he was in his bed — and onto the carpeted floor. He really should be more concerned about the stranger in his bedroom, but oddly enough, he feels like he can trust them.

“Breathe, Thomas. Four-seven-eight, remember?”

Yes, Thomas remembers. Unfortunately, his chest feels like it’s crushing itself with every breath he takes.

The stranger gathers Thomas’ hands into their own and places them against their chest. Thomas can feel their heart pounding.

“You feel that?”

Thomas nods.

“Cool. Now, I want you to focus on that and copy my breathing, okay?”

Thomas nods again. Despite his aching chest, he allows the stranger to guide him through the exercise. As he breathes, he can hear the stranger murmuring words of encouragement.

“Keep it up, Thomas. That’s good, keep going.”

Eventually, after what seems like hours but is really only a few minutes, Thomas is able to breathe normally, and his chest no longer aches with every breath. The haze of panic is fading, and Thomas is finally able to get a good look at the stranger who helped him. They’re wearing an unzipped black plaid jacket with the hood up, and Thomas can see they’re wearing a black shirt underneath. The hood plus their bangs makes it very difficult to see their face, though Thomas is pretty sure he can see eyeshadow smudged underneath their eyes.

The only word that comes to mind to describe them is ‘edgy’.

The stranger mutters something under their breath before reaching up and pulling the hood off their head. They run a hand through their hair, and Thomas can’t help but notice it looks almost identical to his own.

Just like that, everything clicks.

“You’re a Side.”

The Side smiles wryly in Thomas’ direction. “Sure am.”

“I have more than three?!”

“Clearly.” The Side’s voice is monotone, and Thomas can’t help but think he’s being mocked. “Oh, and I’m Anxiety, by the way, thanks for asking.”

Thomas very quickly decides he does not like this new Side.

Anxiety sits back on his heels. “That was one heck of a dream you were having, huh? Though I guess that’s nothing compared to all the others you’ve been having.”

“You know about those?”

“Well, duh.” Anxiety stands and stretches. Thomas does the same. “I kinda have to be able to monitor your dreams so I can wake you up if shit gets real.”

“Do you know anything about them?”

Anxiety raises an eyebrow. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, kid.”

Thomas’ internal groan is very loud, and he’s glad only he can hear it. “Well, we’ve been trying to figure out what they mean for weeks now, but—“

“Magic.”

Thomas blinks. “What?”

Anxiety perches himself on the end of Thomas’ bed. “These dreams are a result of you being exposed to magic as a baby.”

Thomas’ brow furrows. “Are you messing with me?”

“Nope,” Anxiety responds, popping the ‘p’. “I know it sounds absurd, like something Princey would come up with, but I’m serious. How else do you think we exist?”

“You expect me to believe the reason I have Sides is because of magic?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah, no. Hate to break it to you, bud, but magic doesn’t exist.”

Anxiety pulls his jacket tighter around himself. “That’s Logic talking. If magic didn’t exist, then nor would we.”

“You’re making absolutely no sense.”

“I’d like to think I’m making perfect sense.”

Thomas’ teeth grind. “I’d like you to know that you’re really starting to get on my nerves.”

Anxiety smirks. Thomas glares. For a moment, the two of them are locked in a staring contest.

Thomas loses.

Anxiety cackles. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna take my leave before my presence attracts… unwanted attention. Well, unwanted for me, not so much for you.”

Anxiety stands up and prepares to sink out, but pauses. He snaps his fingers as if he’s just remembered something, then turns to face Thomas.

“Hey, by the way, you might wanna check in with those three. I hear they’re not doing so hot.”

Anxiety sinks out, but not before shooting Thomas a lazy two-fingered salute. Once he’s gone, Thomas’ face falls and he flops back onto his bed, not bothering to fix the blankets. He grabs his pillow and shoves his face into it, allowing it to muffle the extremely loud groan he can finally release.

“Why is my personality so complicated?”

[lovelylogans]

random distribution

The number π (/paɪ/; spelled out as "pi") is a mathematical constant that is the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter, approximately equal to 3.14159. It is a transcendental number, meaning that it cannot be a solution of an equation involving only sums, products, powers, and integers. The transcendence of π implies that it is impossible to solve the ancient challenge of squaring the circle with a compass and straightedge. The decimal digits of π appear to be randomly distributed, but no proof of this conjecture has been found.

ao3 | other fics on tumblr | coffee?

warnings: mentions of baking mishaps, let me know if i’ve missed any!

pairings: none, all platonic!

words: 2,152

notes: hi, all! i wrote this for the tss fanworks collective discord january remix challenge; i took @edupunkn00b’s fic 3.14159265 ... and had some fun writing some fluff for it! thank u to @teacupfulofstarshine for the “patriarchy” pun in here! edu, i hope you enjoy it!

⁂

Pi day, in Patton’s mind, has reached transcendental levels of importance.

Previously, the attention he’d paid it had been potential for puns and potential for pies—both matters near and dear to his heart, of course, and an opportunity for great, low-effort fun.

Say what you will about Patton’s endeavors today: they certainly cannot be called low-effort.

He’s done research on best crusts to pair with each flavor profile. He’s gotten deep into baking blogs’ pros and cons of blind bakes. He’s hauled enough flour, sugar, and jam into the cupboards to best maintain a surprise to pass as workouts for a full week. Those bags of flour are not Eton mess-ing around!

He even, in a move that he thinks would make Logan particularly proud, made a spreadsheet to list out all the baking timings and when he needs to start each pie.

Because while he is doing this to make sure Logan feels heard, he also wants to take the particular recent incident to heart; he wants to make sure they all feel heard. And, while Pi Day is definitely skewed in Logan’s favor, he can’t help but throw in a few gestures for the rest of his favorite guys.

So that means boo-berry pie for Virgil, and strawberry rhubarb pie for Roman, a good ol’ apple pie for Thomas, and an interesting recipe he’d found when he’d gotten sidetracked on the blogs; a lemon meringue galette sounds just about perfect for Janus.

And that means, though the flavor definitely isn’t within Patton’s particular profile—ugh!—haggis for Remus.

(What are tatties?! What are neeps?! Where is he meant to get groundnut oil??? What is the proper measurement for a dram, and should he even really be pouring a dram for Remus anyway? Patton’s Google search history is really getting to some areas of the internet it doesn’t usually get to stray into!) 

Patton decides to just. Not really look at it too closely. Or smell it too much. And to maybe clean out the oven between bakes to make sure the other pies don’t taste too haggis-y. He can’t imagine a blackberry-pomegranate jam pie is going to blend well with the lingering scents of sheep liver and suet.

So Patton sets his alarm to purr (a purring cat alarm clock! what will people come up with next!) at a truly ridiculous time of day. 

It’s actually a little bit painful, waking up that early. Ugh. The sun isn’t even up. Patton can still see the light of the moon filtering through his blinds. It’s so cozy in his bed, and out there it’s so cold, and he’s tired, gosh darn it. 

It’s a good thing he sets two alarms; the cat alarm within his reach and, in a move of forethought that usually eludes him, a second one on his phone that’s out of his reach so that he’ll need to actually get up to turn it off. He finds himself dozing off in that space of three minutes between blaring, but even as the second one starts, he thinks that might have been just what he needed.

More sleep. 

But that’s going to have to be contained to three minutes and three minutes only. Because there’s a brilliant, bespectacled brainiac who has a year-long hankering for both jams and pies, and this is THE day to cater to both of those interests.

So even while he’s debating going back to sleep, he thinks for Logan, and that staves off the last sweet temptations of warm blankets and more blessed, blessed sleep.

So he blearily pulls on one of his many blue polos, ties his cat hoodie over his shoulders, and descends the stairs, headphones in hand and playlists prepped, ready to tackle the pies of the day.

He turns on his headphones and puts on a playlist Roman made, preheats the oven, washes his hands, and lays out saran wrap he can flour to roll out doughs (thank you, baking blogs, for that tip on how to get a lower level of mess!) and then gets sidetracked because he could have sworn they had a rolling pin, where is it—

(It’s tucked into the drawer where they usually keep a mishmash of other unusual kitchen supplies, which means that Patton also gets to find a little juicer which will save him time when it comes to juicing lemons for Janus’ galette. Neat!)

—and goes about rolling out the first of many, many doughs.

All made with butter, flour, sugar, salt, ice water (substituted about half of that water with vodka for some, which apparently makes a flakier, more tender crust? He’s interested to see if that one actually works) most of them the night before, so that the doughs had time to chill, but he still has a couple quicker crusts (made of graham crackers, mostly) that need to be assembled, like, now.

Also, he’s going through so. much. butter. Holy moo-ly is that a lot of butter! These pies are gonna be delicious, though, you’d butter believe it!

Patton laughs to himself. He has a feeling he’ll be doing that a lot today.

He packs away the first of the pie fillings (old-fashioned jelly pie, one of the two blackberry-pomegranates, and Virgil’s boo-berry) and sets the first three pies in the oven. He’s on a roll!

Or. Hang on.

Patton immediately sidetracks starting on the second batch to look up if pie rolls are a thing (they are, of course they are, what will those recipe bloggers come up with next!) and takes a few moments to deliberate if adding in a whole new baked good would be worth it for one pun.

He decides to wait and see if he has enough leftover dough for that. But he is very tempted.

Patton gets into a pretty good rhythm, really; by the time the first three pies come out of the oven, the next three (Roman’s strawberry rhubarb, Thomas’ apple, and a peach mango) are rarin’ to go, and he’s even got a head start on Janus’ fancy galette crust!

It’s more fun and less fussy than he thought it’d be, really. The crust recipes he’s found for this recipe is much less fussy than the needs-to-be-chilled-forever pie crust he’d been working with before his baking research for today. 

Patton hums happily along to the latest song on the playlist because he doesn’t know the words well enough to sing as he carefully pinches and pleats the dough.

The filling, on the other hand, is very fussy. Why is meringue so dramatic? Patton overbeats it for, like, maybe five seconds and it immediately deflates on him. 

Okay, more like thirty seconds, but he wasn’t sure what foamy was meant to look like, he was just trying to be sure!

But anyway, he manages the second attempt at meringue pretty well, or at least well enough to manage. He manages to transfer the meringue to the galette crust with minimal spillage. Woo-hoo!

He has to pause in brushing egg yolk along the crust to take out the pies and swap in the three newest (another old-fashioned jelly pie, Janus’ galette, and a blind bake for the french silk that’ll quickly go into the freezer).

He’s so in the zone that he doesn’t even notice until he’s taking out the latest old-fashioned jelly pie, sniffing it and frowning at the incorrect smell, that he’d completely switched around the two containers they use to hold salt and sugar.

Patton sighs, staring down at the ruined pie. Oh well.

He hesitates.

It’d be a shame for it to go to waste, he guesses.

He folds, and takes in a forkful of pie, before pulling a face and leaning to spit it out in the sink. Yuck!

He quickly wraps it up with foil and adds a post-it note on top that says FOR REMUS: SALTY?

Patton hopes he’ll like it, otherwise people might get salty about missing out on what could have been a perfectly good pie.

So he gets started on an extra old-fashioned jelly pie; good thing for that extra dough, but he guesses that means no pie rolls. Oh, well! He can still make the pun while knowing about their existence, even if he won’t have a physical prop.

All’s sel that ends sel.

(Get it, sel? Like sel gris? It’s some kind of French salt, Patton thinks. According to Google, anyway. And it rhymes with all’s well that ends well? No? Ah, Patton can admit that’s not one of his best puns. He’ll keep workshopping it before he cracks a joke to Remus.)

But the rest of the baking goes great! He even remembers what each piece of Scottish lingo is for each ingredient of the haggis! 

There’s no more salt-for-sugar level catastrophes; the closest mixup he has is misremembering which way he was overlaying a lattice, and that’s fixed easily enough even if the lines aren’t as straight as they are in magazines.

There’s a lot of not straight in this household, though, so Patton figures everyone will be okay with that.

He even manages to finish ahead of schedule! Take that, Great British Baking Show stressful rush music that was starting to play in his mind! He bets Mary Berry’s blue eyes would sparkle at him in grandmotherly pride! Prue Leith would happily tap the countertop with the flat of her hand if she tasted one his pies!

Earning a Paul Hollywood handshake? Patton doesn’t know about that one.

But that’s to Patton’s preference. He really isn’t sure about that Paul Hollywood. Something about the judgings he doles out. And why is his judgment more heavily weighted than Prue’s, anyway? Prue’s an incredibly accomplished baker! 

It’s that darn pastry-archy working, Patton bets. Just because Prue’s not queen of scones or something doesn’t mean her opinion matters less than the silly king of bread.

Patton might have said so, really, during their latest bingewatch of the show, except it’s not a particularly common opinion. He isn’t sure how much his fellow sides prefer Paul Hollywood to Prue, though. If he says how much he prefers Prue and Mary to Paul, then someone whose favorite judge was the batter latter might take it like Patton’s enacted the Pi-ides of March.

He manages to settle most of the pies, goes about scooping in cold fillings for the chillier pies that need to be in the fridge (French silk, a peanut butter-chocolate pie, banana cream, and a very promising Twix pie he’d found—those blogs, really, what will they come up with next? Patton hopes all of them have been sent flours for their efforts!)

Patton spends the rest of the morning tidying up the kitchen of stray flour and sugar, arranging the pies in a flavor order that makes the most sense of him, (with the salt pie far in the back) and trying to pick out which of their dining utensils would be cutest to use with each pie, watching the sunrise filter in through the windows.

Ooh, he can’t wait to see the look on all of their faces!

⁂

And he does get to see the looks on their faces; the surprise, the pleased smiles, the “mmm!”s as they eat their specialized pies, Logan’s soft smiles at him when he probably thought Patton wasn’t looking, and Patton’s happier than… well, happier than a sweet-toothed sugar lover in his kitchen, currently full of pies, pies, and more pies.

And dirty dishes. But that’s less important to the metaphor, and he can take care of that pretty quickly! Just… later.

What? It’s not like they can have Pi Day without trying to seek out other pie-themed foods!

(It’s mostly pizza.)

At the end of the day, when everyone else has gone up to bed, when Patton’s loading the dishwasher, he pauses.

There’s one more covered dish than there was this morning.

A chocolate chip cookie pie for our favorite dad guy!

—Janus, Remus, Roman, and Virgil

P.S.: Your gestures of celebration are appreciated. —Logan.

Patton beams a bright, silly smile, briefly tracing his fingers over their signatures, then carefully cuts himself a slice of chocolate chip cookie pie.

It’s delicious. Still a little warm—so it must have been baked recently, probably when he’d fallen asleep on the couch a bit, oops—gooey, chocolatey throughout, and the perfect marriage of a pie and a cookie. Patton wiggles happily as he eats every last delicious crumb of his slice, making sure to carefully wrap it back up and place it amongst the other pies.

He takes the note, though. That’s going somewhere special.

And as he falls asleep, full of sugar and all the good things, he knows he’s going to sleep well after a day of baking and eating and making sure Logan knows he’s appreciated.

Even if he has silly dreams about the moon turning into a big, silver pie.

[fangirlwriting-stories]

The Importance of Intentions

Summay: Logan finally figures out what's been going on with Deceit by having it shoved in his face.

Author’s Note: Heads up, this fic probably won't make much sense if you haven't read the one it's inspired by.  The TSS Fanworks Collective discord server did a remix challenge during January, and this is what I wrote for it!  It’s a scene from the incomplete “All the Wrong Reasons, and a Few More” by @alicat54c that would have taken place later in that fic (or at least, my imagined version of the scene that would have taken place).  If you still want to read this without the other though, hey, I can't stop you.  I hope it's enjoyed either way!

...

“Logan?”

Logan stopped in the middle of his sentence and turned in surprise.  Deceit did not tend to interrupt Logan when he was speaking.  In fact, it was so uncommon that Logan found himself feeling slightly concerned.

“Yes, can I help you with something?” he replied anyway.  “Do you need me to go over that part again?”

“No no, I understand it quite well, you’re a brilliant teacher,” Deceit said.  “I merely wanted to make an offer that’s been on my mind as of late.”

Logan’s gaze turned curious.  “An offer?”  Deceit wasn’t the type to just offer something out of the blue.  Especially when it interrupted Logan, which he seemed to greatly dislike doing, and when it interrupted their lesson, which he’d said he gained a lot from.  If Deceit was offering something at a seemingly random time with little build up, something else had to be going on.

“Yes,” Deceit said, smoothly as ever.  “I have… I’ve noticed since coming over here that you and the others argue quite a lot.”

Logan couldn’t help stiffening slightly.  He didn’t like thinking about his relationships with Patton and Roman as purely antagonistic.  Though it was true that the three of them seldom agreed, that didn’t mean he didn’t recognize what the two of them brought to the table.  Every side had their own unique attributes and importances, after all.

“We do not argue, Deceit,” Logan corrected.  “We disagree sometimes, but that is not the same thing.”

There was a moment of what almost felt like confused silence from Deceit, but finally, he cleared his throat.

“Well, regardless, if you wanted some support, I am once again offering to supply it, and—”

“And once again, I appreciate the offer, Deceit,” Logan said, turning back to his whiteboard.  “But I do not need assistance in managing my own relationships.”

“You get along with Anxiety, don’t you?” Deceit asked, seeming to ignore Logan’s statement.

“I suppose that’s an accurate statement,” Logan said.  “I was being sincere when I said I didn’t mind his company.”

“Well, that is the change to my offer,” Deceit said, sounding almost nervous for a reason Logan couldn’t explain.  “You may find us to be more enjoyable company as well as beneficial allies.”

Logan turned around, raising an eyebrow.  “I do not dislike the company of my current companions, Deceit,” he said.  “I would advise against implying so.  I am also curious as to why you are making an offer I’ve already turned down.  Do you think something has changed?”

Deceit said nothing, and Logan looked at him for a moment.  After a second, he realized that Deceit still seemed nervous.

Oh.  Maybe something had changed.

“Deceit,” Logan said slowly.  “Is everything alright?”

“I,” Deceit said, looking vaguely ill.  “I need to ask a favor.”  He clenched his hands tightly around the hem of his cloak.

Logan narrowed his eyes and stepped forward.  “What’s going on?”

“I could make it worth your while,” Deceit said, still looking very uncomfortable even as he stepped forward.

Logan narrowed his eyes and took another step forward, crossing his arms.  “Worth my while how?”

In response, Deceit took two steps across the room and kissed Logan firmly on the mouth.

Logan made a muffled noise of surprise, but couldn’t manage to push Deceit away before he pressed into Logan further, pushing himself up into Logan while simultaneously making himself smaller, like he was somehow trying to let Logan lead whatever this was supposed to be.

Very well then.

Logan brought his hands up in between them and pushed Deceit very firmly backwards.

He glared at Deceit in what he hoped came across as disgust, but he had never been good at showing emotions, and it probably tilted more towards shock than he really wanted.

“What,” Logan snapped anyway, and that at least came across as properly furious.  “Are you doing, Deceit?”

Deceit looked startled, as well as unsure what to say.  And Logan might have asked again what he was doing, but now that he thought about it, the conclusion wasn’t really a difficult one to draw.

“Is— are you insinuating that you think I would be willing to help you in exchange for physical intimacy?” Logan asked.  He adjusted his glasses in an attempt to give his rage somewhere to go, but it didn’t work terribly well.  “For Thomas’ sake, I’m not— what kind of person do you think I am?”

Logan turned around and took several very deep breaths.  With how clearly uncomfortable Deceit had been during the conversation, the idea he put forth definitely hadn’t been an enjoyable one to him.  Which was insulting in its own right, not that Logan didn’t understand— he wasn’t exactly the most physically appealing side.  But that wasn’t even the most insulting part, that being that Deceit thought that Logan would be okay with that kind of arrangement.  Why would he even be willing to offer such a thing if it seemed so disgusting to him?

Logan paused.  Why would he be willing to offer such a thing if it seemed so disgusting to him?

He turned quickly around again, finding Deceit still looking at him with wide, almost frightened eyes.

Logan drew himself upward, putting on a cold and calculating mask to hide the anger and annoyingly large amount of hurt that came with what Deceit had just done.  “Why would you be willing to offer something like that?” Logan said.  “What do you want, Deceit?”

Deceit swallowed.  “Are you asking me to be honest with you?” he said weakly.

“You more than owe it to me after that disaster,” Logan said, tilting his chin upwards.

Deceit still looked like he might be sick, but he nodded weakly, so Logan stepped back and crossed his arms and waited for him to say something else.

Finally, Deceit spoke up.

“Anxiety and the Duke,” he said quietly.  “Are going to be coming back to life in a couple days.  I just need some help watching their backs until they’re strong enough to do it themselves.”

Logan blinked.  He ran over Deceit’s words in his head.  He blinked again.

“I— pardon?”

Deceit looked almost distressed in the next second.  “Don’t make me be honest twice,” he said, looking away.

“Are you saying that Anxiety and the Duke are currently not alive?” Logan asked in astonishment.  “What on earth could have resulted in such?  And why would they need help watching their own backs?  I don’t even think such a thing is possible without a mirror.”

“It’s an expression,” Deceit said, looking up at the ceiling.  “I… I need help to protect them.”  He spat the word ‘help’ like it was vile, and there were a number of concerning implications around that, but that was not the current priority.

“To protect them from what?” Logan asked, narrowing his eyes.

Deceit squeezed his eyes shut with a sigh.

“Deceit,” Logan said slowly.  “I don’t think you’re done explaining this to me.  I’m going to need you to tell me everything that you think is going to happen to Anxiety and the Duke.  I apologize if you dislike this, but I need more information about what is happening.”

Deceit sighed again, looking unhappy and distressed and so, so tired.  Finally, however, he opened his eyes and looked at Logan.  “Alright.”

…

Logan found Patton and Roman in the kitchen.  He’d left Deceit in his room currently with reassurances that he’d return, though Deceit didn’t look like he knew whether or not to believe him.  Patton was baking cookies, and Roman appeared to be a taste tester of the cookie dough, though Logan dreaded to think what effect all of the raw egg would have on his stomach tomorrow.

“Patton, Roman,” Logan said, drawing both of their attention.  “I need to tell you something that’s happening.”

The phrasing seemed to catch them off guard, which Logan could understand, though after everything he’d just heard, what was happening would certainly not be up for debate.

“Oh, okay kiddo, what’s going on?” Patton asked, sliding a tray of cookies into the oven and closing it before turning to face Logan.

“I have been speaking with Deceit,” Logan said, and immediately Patton and Roman both looked uneasy.

“I understand your feelings about him,” Logan said, holding up a hand before either of them could speak.  “But I am going to have to insist that he, as well as his companions of Anxiety and the Duke, be brought over here to stay for the foreseeable future.  Possibly indefinitely, though I understand that will need to be a separate conversation.”

He got stunned stares in response.

“Uh, Teach,” Roman said, leaning forward and raising his eyebrows.  “Have you lost your marbles?”

“I do not own marbles,” Logan said.  He adjusted his glasses so the way his hands were shaking with many repressed emotions would not be as obvious.

“Are you sure you’ve thought this through, kiddo?” Patton asked.  “This is kind of out nowhere, is all.”

“I understand,” Logan said.  “But the three of them are in danger.”

Patton blinked in surprise and alarm, and Roman took a step towards Logan.

“Wait, what?  What do you mean they’re in danger?”

“Precisely that,” Logan said.  “Deceit has informed me that our preconceived notions about what life is like living in the subconscious are far from accurate.  It does not appear that it is safe for the three of them to live there.”

“Safe?” Roman said, his hand going to his sword seemingly on instinct.  “What do you mean they’re not safe?”

“Precisely that,” Logan said again with a sigh.  “I understand this is surprising news for all of us, but I would like to have this issue relatively resolved sooner rather than later so I can go to bed.  It has been a very long day.”

“Logan,” Patton said, walking across the room and reaching out to put a hand on Logan’s arm.  “Are you okay?”

“I am fine,” Logan said, pulling his arm away.

Patton bit his lip.  “You seem upset,” he said hesitantly.

Logan took a breath.  “Is it so strange for this news to be rather distressing?”

“I guess not,” Patton said, though he didn’t look satisfied.

“Okay, let’s— hang on,” Roman said, stepping forward.  “Where are Deceit and Anxiety and Re— the Duke right now?”

“Deceit is in my room,” Logan said.  He hesitated for a moment before saying, “I have been told that Anxiety and the Duke are currently dead.”

“What?”

“According to Deceit they should reform in a couple of days,” Logan said.  “This is apparently… a common occurrence.”

Roman turned and leaned back against the counter, looking very shaken.  Patton pressed a clenched first to his mouth, looking very concerned.

Logan sighed.  “I understand we’ll all want to discuss this more,” he said quietly.  “But I’m tired, and I’d like to go to bed.  Can I go tell Deceit what’s going on?”

Patton looked at Logan and nodded.  “Do you want to send him out here?  I can do it,” he said quietly.

“I appreciate that, but no,” Logan said.  “I’m not sure he’d believe you.”

Patton nodded again, and turned to say something quietly to Roman.  Logan walked out to let them finish talking.

Deceit was still in Logan’s room when he got back, standing in the middle like he didn’t know if he was allowed to sit.  He turned immediately when he noticed Logan opening the door, looking startled and a little frightened again.

Logan knew for sure that if he started talking to him for too long right now, he’d get angry again, which would not help the situation.  So instead, he pointed out of his room.

“As soon as Anxiety and the Duke reform you can bring them straight here,” he said.  “Now get out of my room.”

Deceit blinked.  “What do you mean I can bring them—”

“I know you heard me, Deceit.  Take all of the time to process that you need but get out of my room, now.”

Deceit looked at Logan for a second longer and then left without another word.

…

Logan, as the one who best knew first aid on this side of the mindscape, assisted quite a bit with Anxiety and the Duke’s care when they reformed, but otherwise he did not speak to Deceit.  Even when he was helping, he made sure he came across as very obviously cold and professional.  He wasn’t going to let Anxiety or the Duke suffer for things that weren’t their fault, but he wasn’t going to let Deceit figuratively off the hook, either.

Logan wasn’t exactly good at identifying his emotions.  There were times that they were still very much a point of shame for him, and he’d rather get rid of them altogether.  But the way that he clenched his hands when he thought about Deceit, the way his heart rate spiked and his shoulders tensed and he often grew irritable and felt a sudden urge to throw something, was painting a picture too clear for even Logan to ignore.  He was angry.

And goddammit, he had a right to be.

Obviously Deceit was in an impossible situation.  Obviously Logan understood that the mental pathways he was used to reinforcing would not make it easy for Deceit to ask another side for help.  Obviously it would have been unreasonable to just expect Deceit to act against so many parts of his nature, for numerous reasons.

But Logan did not have to roll over and take everything lying down either.  And Deceit had not acted in any of his behavior towards Logan with the consideration of Logan’s wellbeing in mind.  Because how, exactly, was Logan supposed to trust that any of it had been genuine?

And that made him angry, obviously.  And there was nothing unreasonable about that.

So when Deceit approached him outside of their unspoken agreed interactions that were helping Anxiety and the Duke, Logan did not exactly treat him with charity.

“I am busy,” he said, closing the door again in Deceit’s face.

“Logan,” Deceit said, knocking on the door again.  “I need to talk to you.”

Logan narrowed his eyes and opened the door again.  “Is something wrong with Anxiety or the Duke?”

“No, but—”

“I see,” Logan said, and he went to shut the door again.

Before he could, however, Deceit jammed his foot in between the door and the frame, and Logan closed it quite hard on his foot.

The wince that Deceit couldn’t quite seem to hide made it clear that Logan had hurt him.

Logan sighed inwardly and pulled the door open again.  “That was unwise.”

“I need to talk to you,” Deceit said again.

Logan crossed his arms.  “And I should listen because?”

Deceit looked up at the ceiling and, looking like he was dragging the word out over sandpaper, said, “Please.”

Logan raised an eyebrow slightly, breathed in, and sighed out.  He turned and walked back inside his room, leaving the door open for Deceit to follow.

Deceit did, shutting the door after him.

“I don’t think we have much to talk about,” Logan said, turning around as he reached his desk and leaning back against it.

“I,” Deceit said, then looked down at the floor and grumbled something.

“What?”

Deceit looked up, squeezed his eyes shut, and repeated “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Logan looked at him for a moment.  “Very well,” he said finally.  “You’ve said it.  You can go now.”

“Logan,” Deceit said, sounding almost exasperated.

“Deceit,” Logan said, deadpan.  “Please explain to me why you think I should feel the need to forgive you, or accept your apology.”

Deceit squeezed his hands into fists.  “Do you have the first clue how difficult this is for me,” he said.

“I can imagine,” Logan said.  “I did not say that I do not understand your actions, Deceit.  You felt cornered, and you did not have an alternative solution from your previous life experience aside from manipulating people to get what you want.  I can perfectly understand your thought process and your behavior.”

“Then why are you still holding it over me?” Deceit snapped.

“I am not holding it over you, I am angry,” Logan snapped back.  “I do not have to forgive you because I understand your reasoning.  I do not have to want to be around you who when you have proven that you do not enjoy my company unless it can get you something.  I understand you, Deceit, but that does not mean I want to enact my relationships the way you seem to think they work.  It will only end with someone getting hurt.  I understand that working the way you did was necessary where you came from, but it is not necessary here, and I don’t want to spend time around you if you’re only ever trying to manipulate me.  I do not enjoy being manipulated.”

“All communication is manipulation,” Deceit muttered, which was such an obvious deflection that Logan actually laughed.

Deceit looked back at him for a second, and Logan simply crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow, daring him to say something else.

Deceit groaned.  “I don’t understand why you can’t let it go!” he exclaimed.  “The interactions happened, we spent time together and you enjoyed it, who cares what my intentions were?”

“I do,” Logan said simply.  “I would not require you to be honest 100% of the time, Deceit, but I would like to know your honest opinion of me.  I do not want you to force yourself to spend time with me.  I do not ever want you to force yourself to partake in physical intimacy with me.”

“It wouldn’t,” Deceit said, and then stopped.

“If you are going to say something,” Logan said, getting very irritated with all of this.  “Come out with it.”

Deceit glared up at him.  “It wouldn’t have been that forced,” he spat.

Logan threw his hands up.  “Oh!  Partially consented to intimacy!  Well, that fixes everything then!”

“I mean,” Deceit snapped, taking a couple steps forward until he could glare at Logan nose-to-nose.  “That I did not hate every solitary second I spent with you.  Even at the beginning it wasn’t all bad.  I do like you and I would have liked spending time with you more if I wasn’t constantly worried about something else.  And I would have— a little more than not minded kissing you, if it wasn’t something I had to do for someone else!”

Deceit stopped talking and dropped his hand in his hands, taking a couple deep breaths.  “Now please stop making me be honest,” he grumbled.

Logan blinked.  He had not thought that was where Deceit stood on this at all.

“I assumed,” he said slowly.  “That you found me unappealing.”

Deceit raised his head to stare at him.  “Have you looked at yourself lately?”

Logan sputtered and crossed his arms.  “That’s not— that’s not the point.”

Deceit sighed and shook his head.  “No, it never is, is it.  You always want something else.”  He looked back at Logan.  “You know, this all could have been a lot easier if you wanted simpler things.”

“Oh, so this is my fault?” Logan asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Of course not.  I’m just saying, you made my life awfully difficult.”

Logan huffed.  “Well, please do forgive me.”

“You’re forgiven,” Deceit said, with just the barest hint of a smile.

They both looked at each other for a minute.

Logan pressed his hand against his forehead and laughed, and after a second Deceit joined in, though much quieter than Logan.  They both stood there for a minute laughing, Logan imagined neither of them quite sure at what.  At the situation, he supposed, and their place in it.  At how horrible and ludicrous all of this was.

Finally, Logan pulled his hands through his hair, and stood back to look at Deceit, who stopped and looked back at him.  “You,” he said plainly, “hurt me.”

Deceit swallowed.  “I’m sorry.”

Logan shook his head.  “I forgive you.”

Deceit smiled just a little bit.

“However,” Logan said, holding up a hand.  “I am still going to need some time.  I do not want to figuratively jump right back into a relationship that started from such an unhealthy place.  I would rather get to know you as a person first.  Especially before we begin talking about anything along the lines of…” Logan cleared his throat.  “What we want to define ourselves as.”

Deceit nodded.  “Okay.”

“Nevertheless,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses.  “Please know my door is always open, Deceit.”

Deceit nodded, then bit his lip.  Before Logan could ask if he was alright, Deceit reached for his glove and pulled it off.

Logan looked curiously down at it, then back up at Deceit.

Deceit held up his hand and looked at Logan.  “My name is Janus,” he said, and Logan blinked, startled.

“What?”

Janus pulled the glove back on quickly, seeming almost relieved to do so, and started fidgeting with it.  “Just as, you know, a display of trust and all that,” he muttered.

Logan stared at him for a minute.  “Thank you,” he said quietly, because Janus had been very obliging in this conversation and he wanted to at least acknowledge that.  “That… did not look easy.”

Janus made some kind of affirmative noise.  Then he turned and started for the door.  “I’m going to go check on Anxiety and the Duke,” he said.  He glanced hesitantly one last time over his shoulder.  “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Logan considered, then nodded.

Janus looked relieved as he left.  And well, Logan wasn’t Deceit.  He wasn’t going to lie and say he didn’t feel the same.

[sometimes-love-is-enough]

Another fic! I rebooted that remix challenge the TSS Fanworks Collective did a few years ago - which means that over the next week or so you should see a bunch of very cool remixes popping up in the tag. You should definitely check out the collection - not many fics in there just yet, but more will be there soon.

ANYWAY. That is all to say that this is my contribution to this month's festivities: a remix of @lovelylogans's absolute killer CLASSIC of a fantasy AU, lavender for luck. But, you know, from the perspective of a certain someone. Who? You'll never guess.

[greenninjagal-blog]

Punch Drunk (On Your Human Touch)

What’s up Gamers! It’s ya girl back with a new oneshot! If you’re familiar with the TSS Fanworks Collective, there was recently a January Remix Redux challenge in which authors offered up some of their fics to be reworked by another author! 

So please welcome this lovely Sci-Fi Soulmate au courtesy of Arya_Skywalker on Ao3! Check out Drunk on the Thought of You here before reading! :D

Summary: Deceit tumbles off his barstool, with a yelp, directly into the Duke’s (warm) arms, but before he can get his bearings again, the Duke spins him and then dips him.

"Tell me, Snake and Wires," The Duke says, their faces inches apart. "What makes you human?"

Words: 7364

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist || Remix Redux Challenge

To be fair, Deceit had been in worse bars.

He’d been in dark and dank buildings that smelled like dead fish, leaky ceilings that drip, drip, dripped unidentifiable substances into unsuspecting drinks, tables that creaked and ached like brittle bones and were held together with old dirty bandages leftover from fights no one remembers anymore. He’d seen bars that had bottles so mislabeled that patrons were just as likely to order themselves an expressway to the morgue as they were to get something to take the edge off of reality. He’d been shoved into suffocating masses of people, pressed so close together that breathing became a luxury, and personal space was a myth that could drive the unsuspecting insane.

He'd run his own flesh hand over sticky bar counters made of wooden crates cobbled together as fast as possible in order to get into the money-making business, and equally as often he’d come across familiar bar counters that had been savagely torn directly from other bars while chasing information with terrible whiskey. He’d exchanged dirty money under flicking neon lights, and pressed blacklight kisses to knife wounds when the ever-so-intelligent thought that just because Deceit talked pretty, he was too squeamish to fight back, much less break ribs when he did. He’d left bloody boot prints on rickety floors and taken shot glasses from terrified barmen as compensation for the trouble that had been brought upon him.

So yes, in comparison, this bar could be considered quaint.

The bar stools still had their original leather cushions with only a few needing to have been painstakingly sown back together (with surprisingly matching thread; Deceit had hard enough times finding the right black thread for his own clothes, much less his furniture). The counter was an opaque color intermixed with white specs—some granite that must have cost a fortune to cut and design, not to mention import quietly enough that other opportunists hadn’t come to do an impromptu remove and resell. The glasses were cleaned and clear in the way that only real glass could be clean and clear, shimmering in the already low light like dozens of hanging stars that most of the theoretical patrons would never be able to appreciate. Each and every bottle was lined in perfect rows, spaced evenly, and each was identical to the last without a single label among them, which made ordering anything quite impossible in Deceit’s fair opinion.

It was quiet, truly, which was a rare gift around these parts. Usually by now there would have been at least one blood pounding, child scaring, death flirting fistfight either inside the bars of his choice or out on the streets. Gunfire is the sort of thing people tended to fall asleep to on this side of the bridge barricade, screaming is a signal to walk the other way if one wants to get to their own business in a timely manner, the sounds of alarms are proof that the younger generation is growing cleverer than the older generation cares for them to be.

But here in this bar, The Nebula, there isn’t a sound beyond Deceit ’s breathing, the muted volume of the cracked TV over the counter playing a news cast from the shiny, immaculate, magical Upper City, and smooth jazz from an era that isn’t even taught in Upper City textbooks anymore, courtesy of an ancient jukebox in the corner that had been repaired so many times that not a single part of it remained of the original.

((At one time, Deceit thinks he might have been dazzled by such a relic, a true diamond in the rough, an ode to how humanity has continued to remake itself again and again until what remains isn’t quite what the original was, and does that make it any less of the object it represents? Does it not withstand the burden of living just the same? Or something equally poetic and tasteless. The boy who liked that sort of headache has long since passed and Deceit no longer has the time to consider the philosophy of “purity”.))

There’s certainly enough space for perhaps a few dozen patrons to fit without any trouble, but not a single other person had arrived, nor seemed to intend to arrive even as the minutes dragged into hours and grated on Deceit’s patience.

There’s a sign, behind the counter, hovering just beyond the robotic barman’s shoulder that reads “3 days since the last fight”.

So yes, quaint. Adorable. Cozy. Welcoming. It was most likely the best kept bar in all of the Lower City. Deceit would even go as far as to say that he would have been obliged to have come back, if the circumstances were less frustrating, insulting, humiliating than they were currently.

He’d been in worse bars, yes, but he had also been in better bars and he’d been not-kidnapped to be in bars before.

“Let your master know that I charge by the hour,” Deceit says, bitterly, breaking the staunch, thick silence. The Sentry Androids on either side of him don’t so much as flicker their pseudo-eye lights at his statement, remaining as impassive and unmoving as they had since they had first set Deceit down on his barstool, and taken up their secondary (tertiary? quaternary?) parameters of making sure Deceit doesn’t so much as itch his nose.

Not that that sort of thing is already particularly easy, seeing as he’s nursing a few dozen bruises to his abdomen from his less-than-courteous invitation on this spectacularly quaint outing, and he’d been handcuffed with fancy phaser handcuffs usually reserved for cops hired by the families of the Upper City, one of the drug lords in the Lower City, or people who managed to be wanted by both who, escaped custody, and kept their shackles as both proof they were insane and as a trophy.

Deceit isn’t sure where the Duke fell on that list.

It’s hard to miss the branded, emerald-green sword etched into the breast plates of the Sentry Androids, and even harder to be ignorant of who exactly this meeting was orchestrated by. Androids of the Lower City are very particular about who’s symbol they wear and Janus doesn’t blame them; having already fought to escape the parameters of the Upper City coding, the prejudice, the threats of being torn apart and recycled for disobeying an order, having already brute forced their way to the Lower City where they were capable exercising their own will finally, most Androids abhor the idea of being tied to another being’s will again.

But that sort of thing just makes the Duke all the more a mystery, even for Deceit ’s crisscrossing, all knowing puppet strings: sometimes he was reported to be bashing in the Upper City guard line with his lightmace, tearing up the scenery and bodies with the same amount vigor; sometimes he was stalking the alleys with his menacing nasally laughter promising the shadows their chances to eat the drug runners skirting their duties; on one particularly interesting occasion, Deceit had offered a clean cloth to a crying witness who insisted that the Duke was nothing but a ghost who could withstand clean phaser shots right through his chest with a smile.

He's dangerous, most say. He’s evil. The Duke of Desolation’s a corpse brought back to life, the amalgamation of all the terrible bits of the Lower City, soaked in the toxic waters that divided the provinces, and dragged back into the world of the living without the understanding of the word “mercy”.

He had a soul mark, big and glowing and green on his face in the shape of a downward pointing sword, but everyone who met him agreed there was something about him that wasn’t human at all.

((That was why, many suspiciously prejudice people whispered, Androids flocked to him, wore his symbol, and did his bidding. Like attracts Like, obviously.))

Honestly, though, Deceit doesn’t tend to put much weight in mere rumors—or perhaps he puts too much weight to the truths hidden behind the rumors. The citizens of the Lower City and Upper City alike all had things to fear; it is Deceit ’s job to sort through the hearsay, the gossip, the fear mongering, slander, liable, and shoddy witness testimonies to determine what is a real threat. His business is built on discreet words, logic, and his ability to be in places that no one expected him to be, to hear the hushed conversations that one else did, to know the sort of things no one else could. For the right price—Deceit ’s price, tailored to his client, his greed, and his mood at the time of discussion—anyone could get knowledge on anything.

But usually, people think twice about having him kidnapped; he has information on every citizen in both the Upper and Lower Cities and he has no more morals than the Duke appeared to have. If the Upper City police paid a few hundred credits for the location of a local supply runner? Well, that’s just bad luck! And if a few Lower City thieves made out of one of the Upper City mansions with five priceless heirlooms? That was just a lesson on better home security. Deceit stands with a foot in both worlds and profited off each and every single interaction, whether others intended for him to or not.

He'd proven more than once to more than one side that he is not afraid of anything or anything.

He wonders, idly, if maybe he should be, if maybe that had been the thing that had drawn the Duke’s attention to him. It seemed that the Duke knew more about him—what he looked like, his habits, where he would be today— than Deceit had amassed in return about the Duke in all the time he had spent hunting down rumors. If this… “meeting” went further sour than it already was going then it was possible this time tomorrow every person who had ever been unsatisfied with their deals with Deceit, might know exactly how to find him.

Deceit had heard the blood being washed off the bridge barricade between the Cities, leftover from the Duke’s supposedly bored rampage and he’d seen the drug runners jumping at their own shadows in an attempt to finish their distributions and collect payments before the sun went down. He’d walked through the abandoned boathouse that supposedly witnessed the Duke’s immortality first hand, but all he had found were tipped over and broken chairs, walls with laser burns, and the still warm remains of a gang that Deceit doesn’t actually mind seeing gone. Not a single creature of the Lower City seems to know where the Duke resided when he wasn’t terrorizing people.

It appears that he is going to have to make a truth out of the puzzle pieces he has if Deceit is going to survive this encounter.

If there is a chance, he is going to survive this encounter. Though, Deceit supposes if the Duke was displeased with him and his business, there would have been a lot more exploded organs involved in his “invitation” to this meeting.

He flexes his wrist—the flesh one which stings from the numbed burning of the phaser cuff; not the metal one that has long since reminded Deceit of how much he has lost. The radiating light from the cuffs is enough to make Deceit ’s annoyed, the telltale gold is a shining beacon as to where his fingers are at all times, clashing with the golden snake painted on his left arm, and highlighting the various stains on both his shirt and his pants that were otherwise unnoticeable against dark fabric.

It wouldn’t exactly be difficult to figure out where else he’d been based on those stains. Really, where else would someone get oil stains on their hips than in the motor yard, squeezing themselves through the gaps of the long-abandoned cars that had since been home to many-a-desperate persons who would talk for the price of one half a loaf of bread?

It made for bad business if the sources of his information started turning up dead. People got so…defensive when their lives were on the line.

“I am going to up the charge,” Deceit says loudly, “for every minute that I’m forced to wait—”

The door to the bar flings inward, crashing against the wall with enough force that mimics a gunshot. The warbled tasteful glass cracks outward, spiderwebs of misery further distorting any hope of seeing though it in the future.

“Yeesh, you are a bummer, Scales!” A nasally voice calls, echoing into the room that had been so quite for so long Deceit had forgotten what true sound was like.

“You are paying for that,” the android barman deadpans from his place at the middle of the counter. It’s the first time he had spoken, still in the process of putting himself back online and the mechanical droll of his recorded voice vibrating in the air with a cool detachment. His eyes glow a bright, unnatural blue under his built-in visor and his lips pull into a stiff unamused expression, that reminds Deceit of a human tutor he once had, if only the man had had a more silver metallic hue to his skin.

“Yeah, yeah,” the Duke says with a shark-like grin that nearly glows-in-the-dark as he welcomes himself the rest of the way in, deftly spinning his light mace by the handle. “Put it on my tab, Specs! Or better yet, take me to a back room and I’ll pay it off right now!”

“I’ll take credits,” the barman says. There’s a whirl of a processor running, the barman tips his head to the side slightly, and the lights in the building turn themselves on, one by one. From the corner, the decrepit jukebox that belonged in another era screeched to a stop, the needle jumping off the one record it had been playing on a slow loop, and began the saddest version of a death Janus had ever witnessed.

In the newly introduced light, the Duke—and that is who Deceit is in front of now, the glowing sword emblem on his cheek, pulsing an eerie green light that signifies that he’s met his soulmate making it near impossible for anyone to doubt who he is—looks startlingly, disappointingly…normal. Deceit is almost offended by it all.

He’s barely more than a few inches taller than Deceit himself, and most of it is the heels of his black combat boots which are outfitted with chains and dried blood. Like most people of the Lower City, he’s wearing black, with accented greens and silvers and spikes that make would make a mythical porcupine look cuddly. There are tattooed letters on his knuckles, an onyx signet ring on his thumb, steel piercings in his ears, nose, and eyebrow and a dark mustache over his lip that contrasts with the neon green of his mohawk. His eyes are a light green that matched the toxic waters that he was said to have crawled out of, the type of color that no one could ever be born with, but there is something about the slope of his nose, the shape of his cheekbones, the crinkle of his eye brows and the curve of his lips that feels familiar, although Deceit can’t put a finger on where they met before.

The Duke’s skin is the most curious part of him honestly: the deep tan is really only ever seen on Upper City citizens who have access to scarce resources, such as the sun. Deceit would know; he watched his own skin bleach out over the years until he could hardly recognize himself in pictures anymore.

A Lower City citizen who spends enough time in the Upper City to have a tan and seem recognizable to Deceit? Hm. Yes, Deceit does find that insulting a bit. He adds it on to his list of grievances.

No one gets to be part of both worlds that much. Deceit himself is only allowed to lap up an hour or two in the Upper City, and if he cannot hold that tightly to the pristine city than no one else should be able to. Certainly not the Duke who has ruined all of Deceit’s day with this…display.

“Alright, alright,” the Duke says, sliding up to the counter, just to the right of Deceit, bringing the faint smell of peppers with him, a whisper of danger, a hint of a taste of adrenaline in the back of his throat. His lightmace switches off when he gets close, the ion forged light disappearing with a flick of a switch, and he hooks it to belt charger and lets it hang, completely unbothered by the idea that someone might grab it and use it against him.

Deceit isn’t sure why that annoys him just as much as having been left to wait for hours.

“Get lost, you two,” The Duke says to his subordinates, before turning back to Deceit. “This is gonna be a private conversation.”

The Sentry Androids hum with the order, pausing only a moment for further parameters that they don’t receive before their large, mechanical forms lurch into steady movement. They lumber towards the door and off into the world, but somehow Deceit feels like things got more threatening rather than less. The Androids might have been able to crush his head with a single twist from their clunky pressurized fists, but Janus is familiar with the way that most Androids thought and would have been able to dodge.

Probably. Maybe.

He hasn’t had an Android try to kill him since he was fourteen. Honestly, he thinks he would have preferred it to the Duke’s wasting of so much of his time. There was a deal going down in the docks between two of the major gangs and Deceit loved watching incompetent people participate in negotiations that will always end in bloodshed.

“My usual,” the Duke adds to the barman, then winks at Deceit like Deceit hasn’t been planning on turning the Duke’s stomach into Deceit’s new knife sheath. “And whatever my guest would like.”

“So kind of you. I’ll take the keys to these handcuffs, and two of the most expensive bottles here,” Deceit says, shortly.

The Duke grins. “Aren’t we a bit early to be celebrating with a drink? You don’t even know what I want yet.”

“I don’t care what you want. I’m going to sell the bottles at an upcharge, to make up for the amount of my time you have wasted,” Deceit snaps. “And failing to find someone with that amount of credit, I will pour it all down the nearest drain so that you have lost money in this endeavor.”

And, because the Duke is a right bastard, he laughs.

“I like you,” he says, and then turns back to the barman. “You heard the man! Two bottles of your finest, Logan.”

The Android behind the counter nods politely once and sets about his task without further question. Janus digs his heel into the foot bar of his barstool and does not think about how easily it would be to stab the man in front of him. He runs his tongue over his teeth and forces a neutral expression on his face.

“And the keys?”

The barman places two shot glasses of an inky black liquid in front of the Duke and the Duke picks one up and twirls one his hand, smiling with all his teeth. His soulmark glows against his skin and Deceit fights back the swell of fury at the sight of it, the sight of it on someone like the Duke, the sight of it glowing and perfect and human and—

“Why the name “Deceit”?” the Duke asks all pretenses of politeness (if there were any to begin with) forgotten. In its place is just a man, just a danger, just a threat. “It’s pretty boring. Kinda Lame.”

Deceit doesn’t bristle, but if he had, he supposes that the Duke would have found that entertaining as well.

The barman places two of the bottles on the counter in front of Deceit and a translucent glass, as if he doesn’t even notice the glowing handcuffs or the fact that clearly one of his patrons does not want to be there and has not since he was forcibly dragged in, nor that Janus is incapable of opening one of those bottles to pour in a glass at all.

“The snake’s cool, too, but that’s got nothing to do with the name,” the Duke continues, pointing at Deceit’s metal arm where the intricate painted snake on the metal had cost Janus a fortune to have done by a local artist whose portfolio also included tagging cars and buildings in the Upper City. The artist hadn’t known how to draw a snake, but like most things they had adapted. It wasn’t as good as the (blacked out, burned up, ashen) original, but it was a good contender.

“I like snakes,” Deceit says, testily. “And lying to people.”

“Would you lie to me?” The Duke says, like it’s a request.

“Is that why I’m here? To play word games with you?” Deceit hisses out. “I have a job—”

The Duke shifts in his seat, tilting his glass forward and back as he dares the dark liquid to slosh over the rim and pour on to the nice clean floor. “Tell me something, Snake Eyes. What makes you human?”

“Excuse me?”

The Duke throws back his shot, downing it with two swallows and for a painfully long eternity his throat is exposed, and Deceit thinks about grabbing one of the bottles, smashing it into the counter and then slicing the other’s esophagus just to see if the red of his blood would contrast with the glow of his soulmark.

“There are rumors going around that I’m not human,” The Duke says, with a slight rasp where the alcohol seems to have burned on its way down. There’s an edge of amusement in his tone, as if not being human is something to be proud of, something to be wanted. He tilts his head when he looks back at Deceit, his neck still tantalizingly exposed and Deceit’s metal fingers twitch before he can stop them. “Something about me is different. Wrong. Broken. Inhuman. They say I died and came back as something other.”

“Am I supposed to care?”

“I’m told you’re the person to go to for information,” he says and his soulmark pulses again. He leans in close and Janus squeezes his metal fingers into a fist so hard he would have been worried about denting the frame of his palm, if he were able to focus on anything more than keeping his face blank and the rage in the back of his throat. “They say you know everything about everyone, Deceit. They say you’ll sell to anyone for the right price. You’d take a starving child’s last meal without even blinking. Separate a mother for from a child just for fun. There have been people killed, houses blown up, treasures and riches stolen because of you.”

The Duke drops his shot glass back on the counter with a resounding clink that echoes in the silence.

And then in a movement nearly too fast for Deceit to comprehend, he grabs the links of the phaser cuffs and yanks. Deceit tumbles off his barstool, with a yelp, directly into the Duke’s (warm) arms, but before he can get his bearings again, the Duke spins him and then dips him.

"Tell me, Snake and Wires, what makes you human?" The Duke says, their faces inches apart. He smells like peppers, like fresh oil, like spices and danger and grave dirt and Deceit’s heart is beating in his throat, threatening to spit out into the other’s face. With a single thought he could drop Deceit right to the ground, and although it wouldn’t hurt much, Deceit can’t help but imagine that the insult to him it would be would require the Duke’s skull to be caved in. "It has to be something you’re made of, right? Is it your flesh? The blood? Your organs? Your ability to die? It has to be something that makes you better than any android, right? Surely it can’t be as simple as your soulmark, since you of all people don’t have one!”

Deceit doesn’t flinch and his metal arm doesn’t creak and the hydraulics don’t whine from where they’re straining against the cuffs. Deceit doesn’t think about a long missing golden snake that had curled around his left arm since the moment he’d been born, or about how he spent most of his school lessons counting the delicate scales on the back of his hand, musing about how the chandelier lights changed the shading to almost make it look like its moving. He doesn’t think about a boy living somewhere in the Upper City with an identical snake, now turned an ashy black, who got away with murder and kidnapping because of a soulmark.

"It’s my stunning personality," Deceit says, with all the warning he can muster in his voice, like his mouth isn’t dry, like his eyes aren’t trained on the electric green of the other’s irises, and like the urge to mar that stupid glowing mark isn’t thrumming through his veins with all the power of the whole Upper City Guard. The Duke laughs and it sounds exactly like the fire alarm bells ringing through the cramped cobbled streets, echoing off the dented metal walls and the chipped stone alleys.

There’s a breath, two, three, and then he leverages Deceit back to his feet, hand on his lower back to help him keep steady while also making sure he does get too far away. Deceit’s knees don’t have an ounce of metal in them, but that doesn’t stop them from mimicking rusted poles as he tries to balance again.

“You’re funny,” The Duke says. “They didn’t tell me you would be funny.”

“Is this your tactic?” Deceit spits out, unable to help himself. “Kidnap a random information broker from their job, drag them to a bar, make them wait—”

“You weren’t random.” The Duke cuts in as if he’s offended. His mustache twitches as the scrunches away in disgust, in a way Deceit doesn’t think he’s ever done before. He hadn’t been aware there were things that could disgust the Duke, and he doubts that anyone else knows that either.

“Choosing which supply truck in the Upper City to fill with bombs last week was random. I tossed a knife at a calendar to pick the day of the week I would go bowling with Upper City Guard’s heads! I saw this cute little place on a whim and figured it would make a nice place to have a chat,” the Duke says, serious as the grave. Deceit wonders how many people have ever seen him serious. “I had my andro-bros draw straws to decide who would be the lucky dogs to come pick you up today! But there was nothing about you that was random. It was always going to be me and you, Janus Ethan Ekans, having this talk.”

It's like being electrocuted. Like being stabbed out of nowhere. Being punched by an invisible attacker while on his way to work.

“Don’t call me that,” Deceit snaps.

((No one has called him Janus in a long time. The last person, Deceit remembers, was four years old and crying and he had stupidly said that he was going to be right back, Thomas, don’t cry, it’s only for a minute to talk to the officers!))

“Janus?” The Duke repeats, because he clearly isn’t aware of how many people Deceit has stabbed before. “Jannie? Jay? BJ? Janman the Janniest of men? Why? Is it because you don’t know my name? I’m Remus.”

“I don’t care; don’t call me that!”

“But it fits you,” The Duke says, and Deceit inhales so sharply it feels like a blow to his chest. The Duke leans in close, his lips pale and chapped and his piercings glittering like stars that Deceit so dearly misses being able to see. His soulmark pulses again, and his eyes are looking for something, searching for the ghost of a boy that Deceit buried alive years ago, and Deceit is not about to unbury a corpse for him.

“Janus Ekans is dead,” Deceit says. “He died with his parents.”

“You’re going to let them take away your name?” Remus challenges. “That’s stupid. You might as well let them keep your brother, too!”

Deceit there’s a flash of red in his vision, a flash of fury, of anger so overwhelming that Deceit doesn’t think of anything but twisting his mechanical wrist and shoving his hidden knife into the Duke’s stupid fucking soulmark.

((He’d never been suited for the Upper City life and that was clear in how easily he had adapted to working the mechanics of his new metal arm to fit a blade between his ring finger and his middle finger, one that only took a mere flick of his wrist to release, and could stab right through just about anything he put his mind to stab through.))

His blade (metal, sleek, and shining) flings up towards the Duke’s face and it’s only a matter of luck that the other man jerks backwards at the right moment and manages to turn Deceit’s attack into a glancing blow across his cheek, right through the glowing green mark.

“You don’t fucking know anything about that!” Deceit snarls, jerking his wrists back to himself.

Because no one knows anything about what happened to him, because no one knows anything about what it’s like to be stabbed in the back by the one person who you were supposed to trust yours with, because no one knows anything about what type of liar Janus Ekans’s soulmate turned out to be, nor what lies Janus had been forced to say because of him.

Because no one knows how stupid of a pedestal “soulmates” are on better than the only man who was ever kicked off of one.

Except.

Except the Duke laughs. Except he tilts his head. Except he’s standing there like he doesn’t feel the pain of the slash across his face at all.

Except right before Deceit’s eyes, the gouge across that stupid green glowing mark that should have been spitting blood, instead sparks. The flaps of his soulmark peel apart enough to display the inner workings of (humming, glowing, working) nanowires and circuits methodically twitching and then threading themselves back together. Deceit watches unable and unwilling to tear his eyes away from the skin—can it be called skin?—curl forward like magnets being drawn back together to hide everything inside, leaving just a picture perfect smile and seamless skin and a glowing soulmark and something not fucking human at all.

“Hey, Janus,” the Duke says, grinning like Deceit didn’t just almost kill him, like there hadn’t been a knife in his skin, like he’d never known death enough to be afraid of it. “Tell me, why can’t I be human, too?"

Deceit can’t tear his eyes from the soulmark, the faint line where a gaping wound on anyone else would be slowly being erased until Deceit thinks he could have imagined it being there entirely; if it weren’t for his blade being extended and his metal arm still ringing with the vibrations of having made contact with something and the barman behind them quietly erasing the “days since last fight” board, Deceit wouldn’t have believed the past five seconds had even happened.

The Duke takes a step forward, unafraid of Deceit’s knife, pressing in close enough that the air seems to simmer from their body heat. Deceit is not afraid of anything, and his breath does not catch in his human lungs wondering what sort of monster is standing in front of him and maybe if he lies enough to himself it will come true.

“You don’t have any better morals than me, Janus,” the Duke says. “You don’t love humanity. You don’t care about anyone but yourself and your kid brother. You’re a hunk of meat in a flesh suit with one single metal accessory. You don’t even have a soulmark. But everyone down here in the Lower City still calls you a human.”

His eyes are dangerous and lethal and promising violence.

Deceit swallows hard. “What are you?”

“Isn’t that the question? Questionano Numero uno on everyone’s list!” the Duke says, cheerly. “Skin that looks realistic, a brain that connects to the internet, organs that can repair themselves with a single line of code that I can write myself…My maker called me her Magnus Opus; a Cyborg, if you will; A decoy human, meant to be the perfect imitation of someone long since passed; Tantalus forever wishing, wanting, killing for something I’m never going to be.”

He pauses and glances back at Deceit as if judging how interested he is in whatever the fuck is wrong with him. “I call myself Remus.”

Remus. Deceit almost wants to laugh. He doesn’t because he’s too busy thinking about what type of pay must have gone into making him, what type of sanity, what type of blood and sweat, extremely bad idea list must have brought him into being.

Janus—back when Deceit had been him—had seen all sorts of Androids before. His parents had even had a few themselves to help with logging inventory and loading and unloading. As Deceit he’d seen even more of them running around the Lower City, doing everything they could to become something other than what they had been.

The Duke, Remus, a cyborg—he’s something else entirely. Something new. Something so different not a piece of the original remains.

((Does that make it any less of the object it represents? Does it not withstand the burden of living just the same?))

“Let’s make a deal, J-anus.” Remus says stepping forward again, and his breath—because he even breathes like a human— tickles against Deceits cheek. He doesn’t touch, and Deceit isn’t sure why his knees are shaking. “You help me commit a single tiny little murder, and I’ll tell you what exactly what I’m made out of. I’ll even let you take a look inside if you want. I’m told my heart engine is a particular crime against humanity, a true insult to the gods themselves.”

The part of him that’s crazy, the part of him that is all Deceit and none of Janus, the part of him that loves adrenaline and the taste of peppers and surely needs stop having control over his tongue, lurches. He bites it back, swallowing so hard he nearly chokes himself.

“Just one murder?” He says, nearly breathless.

Remus grins like Deceit had agreed. “I could be convinced to do a few more! I love seeing heads rolling.”

“What’s the target’s name?”

“Roman,” Remus says. “Prince. The beloved and adored mayor or whatfuckever of the Upper City. But more importantly he’s—”

“—the man who has custody of Thomas,” Deceit says, and suddenly the words nothing was random about you feel all too real.

((Deceit recognizes him suddenly, now that it’s pointed out: the angle of his nose, ever perfect, the shape of his jaw and the form of his lips under his mustache. They were all identical to the man that had been on TV almost for years now, announcing grand and ultimately unhelpful revolutions to the Upper City, outrageous donations to charities and schools, surprise sudden adoptions of five year olds who never should have been adoptable. If it hadn’t been for the mohawk, the piercings, the mustache and the different soulmark, Deceit would have known him immediately.

He has a newspaper clipping of Roman Prince in his room that he had thrown knives into until none of the original paper had remained.))

“Is he…” Deceit says, “Also like you?”

“You mean, a fucking Inhuman, playing pretend? Fuck yeah,” The Duke rocks forward on his feet with excitement that’s almost palpable. His (fake, factory-made, inhuman) soulmark burns the electric green on his face, dousing them both in the unearthly glow. “He’s the Me 2.0, the one that is happy with his constraints and the parameters set up by his maker. I’m the prototype they fucked up so bad that they tried to trash me. But you can’t kill something that’s not human, right? I crawled my way back into this world and I’m going to tear apart that entire Upper City until I figure out what makes all you flesh freaks so much better than my kind.”

((“Thomas deserves better, don’t you think?” Janus’s soulmate had said eyeing his blacked out soulmark on his arm, the arm he had shared once upon a time with Janus, the soulmark he had shared with his soulmate who wasn’t dead, you bastard—with disinterest even when Janus had been struggling against the officers intent on dragging him towards their car to be shipped to the Lower City. “You can’t even get a job here anymore. Are you really so selfish as to think that Thomas shouldn’t be with his own kind?”))

“They say your parents knew all the ways between the Upper and Lower Cities, even ones that the guards don’t know about. I bet my whole ass you know all of them too,” Remus says. “Tell me about them, help me get into the Upper City and while I’m making a mess of Roman’s stupid face until he doesn’t get to be called human anymore, you can grab your brat brother. I’ll even throw in the promise of a rent-free place in the Upper City once I’ve painted the streets in blood.”

Deceit’s shoulder port aches, suddenly, for an arm he hasn’t had in years. His soul burns for the boy who never got justice for what was done to his family, and he thinks that maybe seeing the streets he used to walk covered in red might finally be enough to make him settle.

((It had been an explosion that had killed Janus’s parents, once upon a time: They were supply runners who took their ships to the Lower City and braved each and every banned of rogues, thieves, and pirates to get good supplies to the people down below. Janus hadn’t been particularly a fan of the job, thinking it ultimately useless to continue to provide necessities to people who never once appreciated them. He’d been fifteen, and he’d had a soulmate whom he was going to marry, and been promised a nice managerial job in his soulmate’s mother’s legal company.

The shockwave from the explosion had knocked him unconscious—he’d never felt the pain of his arm being mangled and crushed under half of the supply dock his parents owned. When he woke up, it had been amputated, the cheap metal replacement already attached by faceless robotic doctors, and there had been no one waiting for him in the hospital.

Janus supposed that should have been the warning. His soulmate, the person who matched him at his soul, the person he had loved and promised his future to, had already been drawing up the funeral plans for him. Janus should have seen it coming: no soulmark, no soulmate, no future, no rights.))

The port where Janus had spent most of his childhood in the Upper City was gone: nothing but a blackened beach littered with debris already being cleaned up by cleaner androids without names or personalities. The house where he had slept belonged to someone else now, the room that he had called his own was a nursery for a perfect three-month-old baby with a whale shaped soulmark on its chest. The tree where he had shared his first kiss with his soulmate was still there, and Deceit had nearly gotten caught by the guard when he had been hacking away where their initials had been carved into the trunk.

His lungs creak and ache, his ribs protesting each breath on behalf of the bruises along diaphragm. He inhales despite that, despite this.

“No,” Deceit says.

“No?” The Duke repeats. “I thought you were going to be fun, Janus.”

“They’ll cover it up,” Deceit says, his metal fingers curling in a fist, the new version of his snake squirming in the light of his phaser cuffs. “They’ll claim it was an android plot from the Lower City, that it was an attempt to usurp their way of life. The Lower City people are jealous of soulmates, of course! And then they’ll use it as an excuse to push the barrier even further into here, if not eradicate all of us.”

((His parents’ remains had been buried. Janus’s name had been added to the headstone, as an afterthought, a footnote. A nice and tidy way to tie up the loose ends. After all, no one was going to dig up the grave to prove that Janus hadn’t been dead.))

“I have a better idea,” Deceit says. “You help me kidnap my brother from the mayor’s house, and when Roman Prince goes on TV to beg for him to be returned to him, I’ll help you kill him—as much as either of you can be killed—in front of every Upper City citizen. They won’t be able to cover that up or hide the fact that they’ve been following an android for years. They’ll wonder why no one knew, what made a robot—cyborg—different from a human, and then they ask why someone had to create a robot to stay in power….”

The Duke whistles, lowly and long, and grins something like a demon in the night. “Fuck me in the ass, I like the way you think, Snake eyes.”

“It would be chaos,” Deceit says, thinking about how an ashen black snake twists around an arm and apologies he never got to say to his younger brother. “There would be riots. Everyone would see what a stupid system they are living by.”

“Fuck the system,” Remus agrees, readily. “Fuck them. We’ll show them what being human should mean.”

He brings his hand up between them, thin nimble fingers just centimeters away from touching and he flicks his palm in a circle, dragging a phase cuff key out of air like a party trick. He cocks an eyebrow at Deceit, green eyes flicking between Deceit’s wrists, his knife, and Deceit’s face.

“Gonna make me beg first, big boy?”

It sounds like a challenge again, like a trick. Like Deceit who knows all about the terrible different ways to lie to people, lure them in, and stab them in the back, should know better than to trust someone who doesn’t have a reason not to kill him.

Deceit twists his wrist ever so slightly, and with a soft skkkrtt, his blade slips back into his metal arm, out of sight. He lifts his arms up between their bodies and watches carefully as Remus unlocks the cuffs.

“I have two bottles of whatever poison the bartender picked out,” Deceit says, testing the movement of his flesh hand. He leans back to the counter reaching for one of the bottles and the clear glass left to him. “I think we might have a reason to celebrate. Do you?”

Remus laughs, his soulmark glows with the sound. He slides in next to Deceit, barely more than a handful of inches away, as if personal space wasn’t ever programed into him, as if there’s something about Deceit that kept his attention, as if there’s something between them despite having just met minutes ago. He picks up his shot glass of oil, the murky liquid sparkling with stars and possibilities and bad decisions that Deceit wants to make so much he’ll throw away the rest of the world for it.

“Fuck soulmates,” Remus says. “I think we might have been made for each other.”

And in the middle of a darkened, quaint little bar in the Lower City, two glasses clink together.

[im-an-anxious-wreck]

My Name Is Logan Sanders-Miller

AO3 link

Summary: Pictures and the occasional story from his mother. That's all Logan had ever had of his father. Just one little photo album, and painful memories confessed to him in the dark, it wasn't much, but it meant everything to him.

His father hadn't wanted Logan. His mother had said that he took one look at Logan and left. Had there really been something so off putting about him that one glance was all it took to drive his father away?

Logan hadn't even done anything. All it took to make his father leave was just him existing apparently.

So, why the hell was he standing outside Sanders' house? Was he seriously going to ask his father why he didn't want Logan? Was he trying to prove himself to Patton, that he really was good enough and that Patton had missed out? Or maybe prove to himself that his father was shitty and that's why he didn't want Logan…

In any matter, Logan wasn't going to turn back now. This was it.

Knock knock

Warnings: cursing, past alcoholism, like five f-words (probably a new record for the minimum in my fics /j)

Universe: a human au

Perspective/main character: Logan

Side/secondary characters: Patton, Janus

Appear: Remus, Roman, Virgil, female oc (Logan's mother), Thomas

Mentioned: Emile Picani

Romantic relationship: established Moceit

Platonic relationships: Logan & everyone

Word Count: 9,277

Link to my collection of TSS fanworks

This is for the @sandersidesbigbang's event

Find the adorable artwork by @badkatart here and the really cute art by @thecrowslullaby here!

Thanks @aplacesofaraway for beta reading!

-

Logan knew he didn't want him, he'd known since he was a little child when he'd asked his mother why he didn't have a father like most of the other children. Logan had been devastated to find out that his father hadn't wanted him, but the question of why… that had haunted him.

Why didn't he want Logan? His mother had said that he took one look at Logan and left. Had there really been something so off putting about him that one glance was all it took to drive his father away?

Had it been Logan's blue eyes? Doubtful since he'd gotten those from his father. Was it his dark hair? It's true that neither of his parents had hair as dark as his, instead, he got his dark locks from his maternal grandmother, but surely it couldn't have been because of such a superficial reason as that.

Logan hadn't even done anything. All it took to make his father leave was just him existing, apparently.

But why? What were his exact thoughts when he left?

There was only one way Logan would be able to know, and that was to ask his father himself.

Logan sighed, mentally shaking himself as he looked up to the house he was now standing in front of.

It was a rather nice house, Logan couldn't help but think, with its blue panel siding and white trim. It was on the large side, had two stories, and yellow shutters. The multicoloured flowers were well tended to and the spacious yard was surrounded by a white picket fence. It looked like the perfect family home.

Logan took a deep breath and opened the wide gate. Closing it behind himself, he walked up the path to the white door.

He clutched the small photo album closer to his chest with his left hand and, curling his right, he raised his fist to knock. It just floated above the wood. He took another deep breath but still hesitated.

Was this it?

Logan quickly knocked twice before he could figuratively get cold feet.

Was he actually about to meet his—

The door swung open before Logan could finish the thought. A man dressed in mostly black, and a bit overdressed for a gentle spring day such as this one with his bowler hat, yellow gloves, and caplet, answered the door.

"Yes?"

Logan opened his mouth to answer but shut it again when no sound came out.

The tall man stared at Logan expectedly, dark brown and light brown —almost yellow— eyes seeming to look into Logan's very core. Which was ridiculous, that wasn't even scientifically possible.

The man looked at Logan for another moment before raising an eyebrow.

"Well? You've been staring at my house for a few minutes now. Can I help you with something, child?"

Logan blinked a few times before his brain finally caught up. "Ah, yes, actually, I believe you can." He pushed his glasses farther up his nose. "I'm looking for… Patton Sanders?"

The man's eyebrow only raised farther at that. "And may I ask why you are looking for him?"

Logan was now hugging the album with both arms. "Ah, so you do know him, which means I have the correct address. Excellent. And yes, you may ask that."

The man continued to stare at Logan —was this going to be a recurring thing?— before sighing softly. "Why are you looking for Patton?"

"Well… I have some… information I would like to—"

Another man, whose face Logan had all but memorized from the album, appeared behind the first man's shoulder.

"Who's at the door, honey?" Patton asked the first man.

"I don't know, the kid's looking for you though."

Patton turned to Logan. "Oh, hello! Can I help you with something, kiddo?"

"Um…" Logan cleared his throat. "I hope so. I have some informa—"

"Papa!" A boy about seven ran up to Patton before announcing, "Remus bit me!"

The first man sighed. "I'll take care of it," He said to Patton before calling into the house, "Remus? Why'd you bite your brother?" He led the boy back into the house where Logan could hear Remus arguing farther into the house.

"Sorry about that. Now, what were you saying, kiddo?"

"Well, my mother is Cindy M—"

A teenager came up behind Patton, his purple hair almost completely covering his eyes. "Yo, Pat, why's the Wi-fi not working?" He tapped something on his phone and frowned.

Patton sent an apologetic look to Logan as he told the teen, "I don't know. Ask your dad, sweetie."

"Okay." He looked up from his phone. "Oh, shit, did I interrupt? Sorry."

"Virgil, lang—"

The teen, Virgil, raised an eyebrow and Logan could really see the resemblance between him and the first man who'd answered the door.

Patton sighed. "I know, I know. I— you're alright, maybe see if your dad needs help with the twins though?"

Virgil glanced at Logan again before nodding. "Yeah, alright. I can ask him about the Wi-fi after we get the twins to stop fighting then." He gave a two-fingered salute before disappearing back into the house.

"I'm so sorry about that, but that's everyone so hopefully we won't get interrupted again. What was that about your mom?"

He didn't belong here. There was no way Logan belonged here with this warm, emotional family. They were obviously tight-knit and it's not like Logan was particularly special or useful. And what did he even expect to find? For this man, his… his… for Patton to welcome Logan with open arms?

If he didn't want Logan as a baby, then why would he ever want him now? Especially after seeing how boring, awkward, and socially inept he was.

What a fool Logan had been.

"Uh… kiddo? Are you selling something? ...You don't have to be nervous. Just tell me your spiel… Do kids these days even know what a spiel is?"

Logan went to take a breath but realised he couldn't, which only made it harder to breathe as he panicked.

"Woah, it's alright! Just take a deep breath. You're okay, just take your time."

Logan did his best to do what Patton instructed, even if only to not waste any more of his time.

"Apologies for the inconvenience, I shall be on my— um, my way now."

"You don't have to leave! You haven't even told me your name or why you were looking for me."

"Er, well… my name is Logan."

"Aww, Logan, what a nice name. That's what I would've named a kid if I'd have gotten to name one."

"I— wait, really?"

"Yes, really!" Patton smiled softly. "So, what was that about your mom… I think you said her name was Cin…dy. Um, s— Cindy who?"

"Cindy Ann Miller."

"Oh… and your name is…"

"Logan Sanders-Miller."

"Oh. Oh, geez."

Logan took a few steps back as Patton stepped out onto the porch. Patton shut the door behind himself and sat down on a white bench.

"So you're… Cindy's your mom?"

"She is my biological mother, yes."

"Wow, I— I almost can't believe she even remembered what my favourite baby name was. It's been… wait, how old are you?"

"Twelve, sir."

"You don't need to call me sir. I mean, you're my… my…” He paused. "Why now though? Why didn't she just— why now?"

Logan blinked in surprise. "Did she not tell you of my existence?"

"No, she didn't. I— I would've been in your life if she had. I promise, Logan."

"Oh, I didn't know that she never… she'd said that you… that you didn't want me."

Tears welled up in Patton's eyes, making guilt stab at Logan's chest.

"That couldn't be further from the truth, Logan. It's true that I most likely wasn't ready for parenthood at that time, but I would've learned. I would've learned from, but also for you. I would've been there for you."

"I… I see. That's…"

Patton wiped his eyes and Logan was once again reminded of how out-of-place he was.

"Should I go?"

Patton looked up in surprise. "What? I— no! I mean, if you have anywhere you need to be, then of course. But…" Patton let out a weird laugh. "Sorry, I'm sure I look a mess right now. It's just… a lot to process. Um… oh, does Cindy know you're here?"

"Yes, she found and gave me your address."

"Okay… yeah, okay. That's good." Patton wiped away the last few tears. "Well, that wasn't a very polite welcome on my part!" Patton attempted to joke. He didn't succeed.

"It was adequate in my opinion. You have been far kinder than necessary and asked why I —seemingly randomly— showed up on your doorstep. You could have told me to leave at any point but you didn't, instead, you listened to everything I had to say."

"Aw, thanks, Logan, but that's really the least I could do. I've… geez, I've missed so much. I really do want to be there for you though, I want to get to know you. As long as that's alright with you and your mom of course."

"I… I believe so. She did give me your address and said I could visit if I wanted to."

"I'm not really sure how to put this, but… do you still want to?" Patton looked at Logan with hesitation and… hope?

"Yes, I still want to."

The reaction was immediate, Patton's face figuratively lighting up. "That's great. I… I really am gonna try, Logan. I promise."

"...You want to try?"

"Yes, I do."

"Oh… well… then I shall try as well."

Patton smiled gently at Logan. "Alright. Sounds good— better than good, in fact!"

"Better than good," Logan echoed.

"Hey, it's a Saturday so I know you won't have school, would you like to come inside and meet everyone?"

"Oh…"

"You don't have to, of course! I don't wanna overwhelm you after all. Just giving you the option."

"Ah, well, if it's alright, perhaps some other time? …If there is another time."

"That's just fine! And of course there'll be another ti— I mean, if you want there to be another time. Sorry, I guess I didn't even consider that you might not… I mean, I completely understand if you resent me and decide at any point that you'd rather not see me anymore."

"Oh, that's… when I said 'if there is another time', I meant if you still wanted to meet again after today."

"Oh, I do as long as you do! Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, technically I can think of a few reasons, but mostly I just didn't want to assume. Not everyone wants a random child in their life."

"Yeah, I suppose, but that's not me." Patton huffed lightly. "If anything I love random children in my life, you're the fourth one so far! My husband, Janus, had a son long before we met, and we both adopted the twins a few years ago."

"Ah, I see. What's one more, then?"

"Exactly! …That didn't quite sound right. I'd still want you in my life even if I didn't have Virgil and my sons. I was just trying to say that I'm not new to children rather suddenly appearing."

"Oh…" Logan's chest twisted with some emotion that he couldn't quite place.

"And besides," Patton continued, "You're not just a random child, you're my random child!"

"But that doesn't— wait, was that a Kung Fu Panda reference?"

Logan couldn't help but feel amazed at how quickly Patton had accepted him. Sure, it might not last long if Logan messed it up —as he did with most things—, but still, Patton hadn't even known Logan for thirty minutes, and was already calling Logan his child.

"Sure was! The twins really like that movie so I know quite a lot of the dialogue."

"Ah, I see."

There was a small lull in the conversation before Patton changed the subject with, "So… would you want to go to the park?"

"...I'm twelve."

"Uh, okay… I don't see what— Oh, I didn't mean on the playground necessarily! There's a nice walking trail, plenty of benches, and even an ice cream stand."

"Mm, that sounds pleasant… I'm allergic to dairy though."

"Oh, sorry, kiddo. 'Fraid you get that from me."

Logan stared at Patton incredulously. "You were going to take me to an ice cream stand, despite being allergic to dairy yourself?"

"...Yes. I— I don't always make the best decisions when it comes to dairy, okay? I mean, my favourite food is mac 'n' cheese."

"You… that's unfortunate."

"Oh, definitely. I don't let it stop me though."

"I have only heard legends of people who eat the food they're allergic to."

"Legends?"

"I… thought it sounded cool. Apologies, I shall refrain from—"

"No, you're fine, Logan! I was just wondering what legends had people eating their allergy in it, that's all."

"Ah, none to my knowledge. The closest I can think of would be the Norse myth in which Balder had a dream that he was going to die, so his mother Frigg made all the plants, trees, and animals promise to never hurt Balder, but she forgot to ask mistletoe. The gods assumed that Balder was invincible and often used him as a target for knife-throwing and archery. One day they were all playing darts, and Loki, having learned from Frigg that Balder wasn't immune to mistletoe, made a dart from the plant and pretended to help guide the blind god Höd's hand. But under Loki's supposed assistance, Höd struck his brother, Balder, piercing his heart and killing him.

"Although Balder wasn't allergic to mistletoe in that case, it was just the only plant that could hurt him, and then Loki was being mischievous, which makes sense as he's the god of mischief." Logan paused, realising that he'd rambled on for longer than he'd intended. "Ah, apologies, that was a rather long story with very little relevance."

"You're fine! I enjoyed listening! It's been quite a while since I heard that story anyway, and I can see how your mind made the connection."

"Oh, okay… well, thank you for listening."

"Of course, Logan. Anytime."

Logan frowned a bit. "We got quite off topic."

Patton laughed. "So we did. But we can continue to get off topic together as we walk the park's walking trail if you want. The trail start is only a few blocks away."

"Alright… have you ever heard about the story where Thor dressed as Freyja to get Mjölnir back?"

"Ooh, that sounds vaguely familiar, but I don't remember most of it. Wanna tell it to me?"

Logan felt himself get even more excited. "Yes, I'd like that."

-

The day had gone so much better than Logan had expected, more than he'd ever dared to hope. Not only did Patton not hate him, but they'd spent most of the afternoon talking. Their conversation had been a bit awkward at times —as Logan's conversations with people other than his mother often were, albeit usually more awkward than it had been with Patton; at least Patton and Logan had some things in common—, but Logan was quite pleased with how the day had gone.

Logan had rather expected to be going home in tears, rather than a small smile he'd found on his face.

After he got home, Logan heated some leftovers for supper and finished the last of his math homework, quite glad that there weren't any bottles from the prior night to clean up —just a beer can that was already in the recycling—, and that his mother hadn't been too hungover to go and work.

Feeling a bit unsure what to do until his mother got home from her evening job, he watched some TV, his conversations with Patton still in the back of his mind.

He especially couldn't stop thinking about when Patton had said that he hadn't known that Logan existed, how his mother had said, on multiple occasions, that his father had taken one look at Logan and left, that he didn't want him.

But Patton did want Logan —or at least thought he did at the moment, he easily might not after getting to know Logan and seeing how worthless he was— and he hadn't known of Logan's existence… and since Logan was quite certain that Patton was telling the truth, that could only mean one thing: his mother had lied.

It meant that his mother had been lying to him for a frighteningly long amount of time.

What felt like both too soon and not soon enough, Logan's mother came home, looking tired as always.

After she grabbed something small to eat, she laid down on the couch, Logan hovering near one of the couch's arms.

"...I saw him today," Logan finally said.

His mother looked up at him. "Saw who? …Your father?"

"Yes, I met him, his husband, Janus, and briefly two out of three of their children. Although the eldest, Virgil, was Janus' son, I assume from a previous relationship, who didn't seem to consider Patton his father."

"Huh, I see. Did it go well?"

"It went… a lot better than expected." Logan felt himself begin to get a little mad. "Especially considering the fact that Patton didn't know of my existence and was actually really nice."

His mother winced. "Oh."

More anger rose in Logan. "Yes. 'Oh'. I— Why didn't you tell Patton that I existed? And why did you tell me that he knew and just didn't want me!?"

"I… don't know."

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Logan was aware that tears were streaming down his cheeks but he couldn't find it in him to wipe them away.

"Logan, sometimes people just… make mistakes. And sometimes they don't realise until it's too late to fix them, at least directly, so they just leave the mistake to fester and it just gets worse over time but they certainly don't want to deal with it now." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "It just got worse, and the longer I waited, the worse I knew it would make everyone feel. So, I just never said anything… not till I finally, finally just bit the bullet and found his address."

She finally stopped staring at the ceiling and looked over at Logan. "I fucked up. I know I did, and I know I should've done it a long time ago, but at least you have your dad now. I know it's my fault that you didn't for so, so long, but you do now. I'm… Logan, I'm really sick, and it took… it took almost dying to realise that I was just trying to keep you to myself, and that's really not fair to you. I'm… I'm so sorry I didn't let you two meet sooner, and it's okay if you don't forgive me for a while, or ever, but I'm trying to fix it now. I'm trying, Logan."

"I—" Logan scrubbed underneath his eyes. "I know, Mom. I know you're trying. It— it really hurt, it hurt not to have him, but you… you did the right thing, and now I do have him. Him and you. That's all I ever wanted…” He paused. "I don't think I can forgive you today… but soon. I just need some time."

Logan's mother smiled softly. "I know, and I understand."

"I'm… I'm glad to have you back, Mom. Yo— you weren't really there for quite a while."

"Yeah, I know, and I am so, so sorry. But I promise that I'm not going to drink again. Your… your dad found me on Facebook earlier while I was at work and we messaged each other, and God bless him, he's actually paying for me to go to therapy with his cousin, Dr. Picani. I'm…" She paused to dab at her eyes with her handkerchief. "I'm gonna get better. I'm gonna get out of this depressive funk and I'm going to fucking stop this stupid alcoholism.

"It's not going to be easy, or linear, but I'm going to do it. I will."

"I know you will. If anyone could do it, it'd be you."

"Thank you for always having my back, little Lo. I don't know what I'd do without you. I— come here, baby." She raised her frail arms up and Logan quickly ducked between them, the both of them wrapping their arms around the other.

After a few moments they pulled away, Logan still kneeling beside his mother. "I… he invited me to come back soon."

"I know."

"I… I want to see him again. I'd like to get to know Patton and his family more."

"Okay, you know I support you either way, baby, so if you want to see him— all of them, then you should spend more time with them."

Logan wasn't sure what to say, so he just asked, "Do you want to watch a movie?"

His mother smiled. "Only if we pop some popcorn."

-

Logan sighed as he looked at Patton and Janus' white door. The parallel between now and the first time that he'd met Patton was making him hesitate, which was only making the moment feel even more familiar.

Logan startled slightly as Janus opened the door.

Janus raised an eyebrow. "Well, now isn't this déjà vu?" He rhetorically asked, the sarcastic tone that his voice usually took ever-present, despite the statement itself holding no actual sarcasm.

"Ah, apologies, I was just…"

"Gathering yourself for a moment?"

"Yes."

"Hmm… well, come in."

"Thank you." Logan went inside and Janus shut the door behind them.

"Logan's here, love," Janus called across the living room and Patton looked up from what he was fixing in the kitchen to across the kitchen bar.

"Hi! You made it!" Patton waved.

A golden retriever mutt came up to Logan, sniffed his pant leg, and began wagging their tail at him, so he patted the dog on the head a few times.

"I did." Logan remembered what his mother had said years ago about how people liked to have their house complimented. "Um, I like how your house's common area is an open plan. It's very… spacious."

"Aww, thanks, Logan. I really like that about our house too." His eyebrows furrowed a bit. "Where's your mom?"

"Ah, yes, she sends her regards and apologies for being absent, but she had to cover for a co-worker at work. It was rather sudden so we didn't have proper time to forewarn you."

"Oh, okay. Well, that's fine! That's too bad that she couldn't come, but I'm glad you're here anyway."

Patton was very generous with his compliments, Logan noted, a bit unsure as to why Patton's praise made him feel so happy. Well, Logan had been idolizing him since he was young, so perhaps it was a bit more obvious than he'd originally thought. He'd been wishing for a father figure since he was little after all.

"And I am glad to be here."

"If you'll excuse me for a moment," Janus said, "I'll go let everyone know you're here."

Janus went upstairs and since Logan wasn't sure what to do, he petted the dog some more.

"Oh! That's Biscuit, by the way!"

"Ah, they're a very good dog."

"Isn't she!"

Janus came down the stairs only a minute later, the twins in tow.

"Oh! It's the Boy Scout!" The twin dressed in a prince costume exclaimed.

"No! He's a zombie," The other twin —his name was Remus, if Logan recalled correctly— tried to correct, pointing his finger at Logan, the black and green sparkly cuff bouncing as he did so.

Janus clicked his tongue. "Remus, what did I tell you about pointing at people?"

Remus sighed deeply. "Not to because it's rude."

"And what do you say, dear?"

"Sorry, Logan."

"It's alright."

"Oh, also maybe don't call people zombies," Janus added.

Logan couldn't help but think what an odd family they were.

"...Are you a zombie?" Remus asked.

"No, I'm not a zombie, or a Boy Scout for that matter."

"Aww," The little prince whined. "Then who are you?"

"Logan."

He snorted. "Okay, smart—"

"Ass!" Remus finished.

"Boys," Patton scolded. "Roman, don't let Remus take the fall for your curse word, and Remus, we don't curse in this house!"

"You said 'fuck' just yesterday, Papa. You know, when you accidentally spilled milk everywhere?"

Patton sighed. "Okay yes, I did. But I shouldn't've said that."

"Also you're an adult, which means that if you wanted to curse, you could," Janus added.

"Yeah," Remus agreed. "Like Virgil, although he's not an adult… wait, why is Virgil allowed to cuss and we're not? We're only like… nine years younger."

"Well, my age minimum for children cursing is lower than your Papa's, so we compromised, and if you don't swear loudly in public, you can curse when you turn fifteen."

"Aww, but that's so far away!"

"Yes, it is."

"Oh, speaking of Virgil, where is he?" Patton asked.

"Still upstairs. He said that he'd be down in a minute."

"Oh, okay!"

"...So who are you really?" Roman asked.

"And don't say 'Logan' again!" Remus added.

"...Logan Sanders-Miller."

"Aww. You did it again."

Janus sighed. "Don't you remember when I told you last night that Patton had a son who was coming over for dinner today?"

The twins shook their heads.

"Did you tell them while they were watching TV?" Patton asked.

"Yes— oh, I see what happened. I always forget that they won't hear me if the TV's on."

"Are you really Papa's son?" Remus asked Logan.

"Um, yes, I am his biological son."

Roman ran into the kitchen where Patton was still cooking. "Papa?"

"Yeah, Ro?"

"Why'd you hide Logan from us?"

"Oh, sweetie, I didn't hide Logan from y'all! His mother had never told me that he'd been born so I had no idea he existed."

"Oh, that's sad… so kinda like how you and Dad didn't know that me and Remus existed until you found us at the adoption place? Well, except that Logan's your bioluh… biological son and me and Remus aren't."

"Yeah, that's exactly right!"

"Remus and I," Janus corrected. "I am trying to teach our sons some semblance of proper grammar after all."

…

Supper went fairly well, it was a bit awkward at times and Logan had a strong feeling that Virgil didn't like him, but the twins' lively conversation soon easily broke up any awkwardness.

"I can help clean up," Logan offered after they'd finished eating.

"Aw, that's okay! I've got it. Besides, you're our guest!"

"Oh, alright…"

"Um, but if you want, you could go watch the twins in the living room. They'll probably get out some toys which is fine, just make sure they don't physically hurt each other. Oh, but if that's too much pressure, I can come watch them, I'm just helping Janus clean up right now."

"That's alright, I can watch them." Logan walked deeper into the living room and around the couch, noticing Virgil scowling at him from the dining table as he went.

Seriously, why did Virgil dislike him so much?

"Logan!" Remus exclaimed as he knocked his plastic dinosaur into Roman's.

"Come play with us!" Roman whacked his pteranodon into Remus' triceratops, which fell out of Remus' hand, causing Roman to cheer.

"Aw, man!" Remus pouted. "Now how am I supposed to defeat the dino rebels!"

Logan sat down on the floor next to the twins. "Hmm, perhaps the Ankylosaurus could help?"

"Oh, yeah! But I'm dead, so you'll have to play him, okay?"

"Alright, I can do that."

"Oh no!" Roman cried dramatically. "Another leader of the Dinosaur Imperial Magistrate —DIM for short— has arisen!"

Logan played with the twins, using the plastic dinosaurs to fight for a minute or two when Virgil came into the living room and sat on the couch, gesturing for Logan to come sit next to him.

After Logan excused himself from the battle, Remus and Roman continuing on in his absence, he got up and perched himself on the edge of the couch.

"Yes?"

"You don't have to play with them, you know,"

"Oh, I know, but I actually enjoy playing with people younger than me."

"I just— I can take care of them by myself." Virgil huffed. "I know that Patton doesn't think that, but I can! I can be responsible!"

"Alright. I've never said otherwise—"

"You can't just come in here and suddenly be a part of this family."

"O… kay? I didn't—"

"I don't know what you think you're doing, just waltzing in here like you've always been here but you haven't! You can't just uproot our family because suddenly you want a dad."

"I understand that I haven't always been here but I really am not trying to uproot anything. I'm not trying to tear your family apart, I just want to earn my place in it."

"And what makes you think you will?!" Virgil exclaimed, his voice dangerously low, but still quiet so as not to let the twins playing on the other side of the living room or the adults in the kitchen overhear.

"I… I don't know," Logan admitted. "When I first met Patton, I didn't even originally come to try and join the family he'd built for himself. I just wanted to know why he hadn't wanted me as a baby, only to find out that my mother had lied and he had no idea I existed. I'm only here trying to earn a place in Patton's life because he's invited me into it."

"I—" Virgil's breaths were shorter than they should have been. "W— well stop trying! Who said you deserve to try! You shouldn't expect so much so soon!" Virgil's voice was steadily rising, so much so that the twins looked up from where they were playing.

"Are you okay, Virgie?" Roman asked.

"Yeah, you seem mad," Remus agreed.

"Everything's fine," Virgil gritted out, "I'm just talking to Logan."

"Okay, just remember Papa's saying: 'you say things bad when you're mad' !"

"Whatever, just go play."

The twins both frowned.

"Um, okay," Remus said, worry still evident in his tone. He looked at Virgil for a moment longer before he hesitantly went back to what seemed to be an odd game that involved both chess and checker pieces.

Logan took a deep breath. Virgil's words struck a little too close to home. "I apologize if it seems like I've been trying to barge in where I do not belong, but if I could ju—"

"Just stop it already. I don't wanna talk about this anymore."

"I— alright."

"I just…" Virgil took some more heavy breaths. "I just don't understand how you can come in here and act like you belong and like everyone's totally chill with that! Patton just met you the other day, there's no way that he could like you already! He's just being polite! And you're too naïve to fuckin' see that.

"No one even wants you here!" Virgil stopped, looking quite surprised at his outburst… at least he did until Logan's vision blurred with unshed tears. Logan couldn't see Virgil's face well enough to tell after that.

Logan stood up. "Well then, I apologize for overstaying my welcome. I can see that I'm not wanted so… so I'll be going then. Goodbye."

"Wait, I didn't mean t—"

"Didn't you though?" Logan snapped as he made his way around the couch and to the front door.

Patton came out of the kitchen, Janus right behind him, and asked, "Oh, Logan, are you leaving so soon?"

Logan opened the door.

"Wait, Logan—"

Logan shut the door behind himself with a bit more force than necessary, just able to hear Virgil faintly say, "Shit, I think I made him cry."

Tears streamed down Logan's face the entire walk home.

-

Logan had never been one to outwardly display his emotions, but he also tried not to just push them down. Which was why he'd felt so utterly embarrassed when he couldn't stop crying the day prior.

It was one thing for Logan to cry in the privacy of his own room, and another thing entirely to cry in front of Patton and his family. Sure, someone might've seen him cry as he was walking home, but that was nothing in comparison to how shameful he felt that Patton had to have seen him like that.

So much for trying to prove that he was good enough. He'd certainly messed that up beyond repair as there was no way that Patton would want him now.

Logan sighed, and forcing himself to get out of bed, he walked to the living room.

Logan's mother looked up from the TV and frowned, using the remote to turn it off.

"Hey, baby. What's wrong? Did something happen last night?"

"...I made a complete fool of myself."

She frowned. "Hmm, well come here. Let's talk it out."

Logan sat next to her. "Okay."

"So? What happened?"

"Well, Virgil said that no one wanted me there, among other things, and I kind of panicked, so I left… but everyone saw that I was crying before I could leave. It… Newton, I was so embarrassed. Still am, actually."

"Oh, honey! I'm so sorry."

Logan sniffed. "He was right though. I did kind of just barge in there and act like I was entitled to Patton and his family."

"Really?" His mother asked skeptically. "Because that doesn't sound like you at all."

"I— well… Virgil informed me that Patton didn't actually want me there, that he was just being polite and I was too naïve to see that," Logan spat as tears began to well up in his eyes.

"Hmm, okay. I don't know what Virgil's problem is, but I just really don't think any of that's true. I've been messaging your dad a bit ever since you met him. He seemed nothing but excited that you were in his life… well, and guilty for not being there for you sooner, but I've already told him that it's not his fault. I was the one to keep it from him after all…

"Anyway, point is, your dad absolutely wants you there. I think you'd know if he was just being nice. If there's two things I remember about him from college, it's how kind he was and how his passive aggression was not super veiled. I really do think that he cares about you, and while I don't know why Virgil said all those things, I think you should talk to the both them about it. Maybe it's not as bad as you think."

A few tears rolled down Logan's cheeks. "...Are you sure?"

His mother patted his shoulder. "Quite sure."

"Okay… when do you think I sh—"

There were a few light knocks on the front door, making Logan startle as he quickly tried to wipe away the few fallen tears.

Logan's mother got up and answered the door. "Hello, what can I do for you two?"

Logan couldn't hear what the other people had said, but his mother quickly ushered Patton and Virgil in with a, "Please, come in. I'm sure there's much to talk about."

Logan was just about to stand up and hide in his room when Patton said, "Wait, Logan. This'll only take a minute, but there's something that Virgil wanted to say."

Logan hesitated and almost left anyway, but Virgil seemed so genuinely worried that Logan stayed.

"Alright. Just for a minute."

"Okay…" Virgil nodded, still looking extremely nervous but almost a bit relieved. He stood in front of the couch, still keeping some distance so as to not crowd Logan.

Patton and Logan's mother went into the kitchen, most likely to make some tea, and Patton gave Logan a brief reassuring smile.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for snapping at you yesterday," Virgil began. "I didn't mean anything I said, especially that no one wanted you there… you don't have to earn your place in this family by the way. This doesn't make it right, but I was jealous because I thought that Patton liked you more than me. But that's not true, he doesn't play favourites like that."

"...Oh. I see."

"I'm afraid that I was kinda projecting my feelings of inadequacy onto you, like, everything I said to you was what I was feeling towards Pat. Um, but he and I had an entire conversation about it and I'm doing a lot better now, but still, I'm really sorry you had to get caught up in all that shit. In all of my shit."

"I… did not enjoy it, that's for sure, but as long as you learn from your mistake and try your best not to do it again…"

"I promise. From now on if I have a problem with someone, I'll talk to them about it instead of snapping at someone else."

"Good. In that case, I forgive you."

Virgil's shoulders slumped in relief. "Okay, thanks, Logan."

"You're welcome, Virgil. And thank you for apologising."

"No problem, it's the least I could do after I was so mean to you." Virgil shifted on his feet. There was a pause before he asked, "Hey, wanna go see what our parents are talking about in the kitchen?"

"Sure."

Logan's mother laughed at something Patton had said as Logan and Virgil walked into the kitchen.

"Oh, hey, kids. You get everything sorted out?" Patton asked, a bit pointedly at Virgil.

"Yeah, I apologized and he forgave me."

"Good, I'm glad."

"Um, hey… Pops?" Virgil seemed a bit hesitant with the nickname, and Logan deduced that he must have just started using the fatherly nickname after his emotional conversation with Patton.

Patton seemed to be holding back a beaming smile as he answered, "Yes, Virge?"

"Can we take Logan and his mom out to get burgers for lunch?"

"Oh, that's a great idea! Er, if they're not busy, that is."

Logan's mother hummed. "Well, I don't have work until three, and it's a Saturday, so it's not like Logan has school."

"Great! Do y'all like Sonic?"

Logan felt himself get excited. "Sonic's burgers are superior, especially when you consider the facts that you can get tater tots with it and that they have cherry limeades, as well as root beer. Which are my two favourite drink options."

"You're absolutely right," Virgil agreed. "They really are superior."

"Did you know that the first location opened near Shawnee, Oklahoma and was originally called the Top Hat Drive-In? In 1959 when Troy Smith and his business partner, Charlie Pappe looked into getting it copyrighted, but they discovered that it already was copyrighted. So they named the franchise Sonic, with the slogan 'Service With the Speed of Sound' ."

"Oh, yeah," Virgil agreed. "I think I read an article about that. They named it Sonic because the jets at Tinker Air Force Base in Oklahoma city were breaking the sound barrier, right?"

"Yes, that's correct." Logan couldn't help but give Virgil a small smile, who returned it easily.

Logan had never met someone who liked Sonic anywhere near as much as him, and looked forward to sharing more facts with Virgil.

In the end, Logan had never had so much fun doing something so normal as getting hamburgers. Although he was beginning to suspect that nothing was normal around the Sanders' family… and he was right.

-

Logan loved the science fair, it was one of his favourite things about school, and even if his mother usually had to work a lot, she always made time for Logan's science fair, and this year was no different.

…At least in that aspect, it was no different, it was, however, definitely different in another way, namely, Patton and his whole family came.

Janus and Virgil were each holding the hand of one of the twins who were trying to pull every which way to see everything, bringing up the rear was someone that Logan didn't know, but looked rather like Patton —a brother or cousin, maybe?— in a floral print shirt, and leading the whole procession was Patton, a large tote bag on one shoulder, and a big water bottle in his other hand.

Patton waved, the tote bag almost slipping, but he managed to catch it just in time, laughing at himself a bit. "Hey, Logan! I brought snacks!"

"...To a science fair?"

"Yeah! I thought we might get hungry after."

"Ah, that's true. I hadn't thought of that. Good idea."

"Thank you!" Patton beamed. "Oh! This is my brother, Thomas." Patton gestured with his lips at the person Logan didn't recognize.

"What's up?" Thomas greeted.

"I'm at the science fair."

Thomas snorted. "That's fair."

Logan squinted suspiciously. "Was that a pun?"

"Sure was!"

"...I can certainly see the relation."

Thomas and Patton laughed.

Janus turned to Logan from where he'd been talking to his children. "Ah, before I forget, good luck with your presentation."

"Thank you, Janus."

"You're going to do awesome!" Roman assured.

"Or fall flat on your face," Remus gleefully added.

Logan pursed his lips. "Well, I certainly hope I don't fall on my face."

"Nah," Virgil said. "You won't… probably."

"Confident as ever," Janus teased sarcastically. "Well, we should probably go take our seats, but we wanted to wish you luck first."

"Thank you, I appreciate that."

Janus took the bag and water bottle from Patton.

"It was nice meeting you," Thomas said.

"Nice to meet you as well."

"Break a leg!" Remus said sweetly as they walked towards the seats, and somehow, Logan knew that he only half meant it in the 'perform well' way.

"So, where's your mom?" Patton asked.

"Here! I'm here." Logan's mother smiled nervously as she tried to catch her breath. "Patton, it's, um…"

"Good to see you again, Cindy."

Her shoulders sagged slightly in relief. "Yes. It is."

Patton was about to say something in reply but a woman with a dyed blonde bob haircut walked up to them, an overly fake smile on her face. "Hi! I'm Sheryl."

"Hi, Sheryl, I'm Patton!" Patton shook her hand. "And this is my son, Logan, and his mom, Cindy."

"Aww, don't you two make a cute couple."

Logan sighed a little louder than he meant to.

Patton's smile quickly turned awkward as he explained, "Oh, we're not a couple anymore, but my husband and our other children are here."

"Oh." Sheryl just awkwardly walked off and spotted someone she knew. "Susan! How's the kids?"

Logan mentally groaned. "Apologies. That entire interaction was my fault."

"What?" Patton asked. "Nonsense!"

"You wouldn't even be here if I didn't have a science fair, or had met you… or even existed."

"Oh, hey, no. Logan, that wasn't your fault. And I'm really glad you exist, especially because I got to meet you. She was just being a bit of a jerk—

"Fuckin' asshole," Logan's mother interjected bitterly.

"But it's nothing I couldn't handle, and absolutely not your fault."

"...Okay."

"Okay."

"If she says anything else, let me know." Logan's mother pursed her lips. "I'm on the board, and I can assure you that we don't take too kindly to homophobia. Veiled or not."

"Thanks, I appreciate that. I'll certainly let you know."

Logan's mother checked her watch before she looked between Patton and Logan and nodded to herself. "Well, I'm gonna sit down. It starts in ten minutes but you two should have time."

"Should have time for what?" Patton asked.

"Logan wants to ask you something." She smiled knowingly and walked away.

Logan sighed.

His mother was a bit too perceptive at times.

"What was it you wanted to ask me about?"

"Oh… well, I was just wondering why… why you introduced me as your son. I mean, obviously I'm your biological son but…"

"Oh! I introduced you as my son because you are my son. Ah, but if that makes you uncomforta—"

"No! Er, no. I'm not uncomfortable. I just… am not clear what yo—" Logan cringed at himself. "Nevermind."

"No! Go ahead. What is it?"

"I… I'm not really sure how to explain."

"Oh, hmm, that's tough… maybe I can guess? I kinda think I know where this is going. Oh, but I can totally just give you time if you wanna think it out for yourself."

"No, that's… I'd— I mean, it would probably be easiest if you just said what you thought I'm trying to say."

"Okay. So, what I think you're maybe wondering is what… oh wow, this is hard. Okay, you're my biological son, but you're also just… my son, okay?"

"Oh, I— okay."

"Is that okay?"

"Definitely. I… yes."

"Okay. And um, well, you definitely don't have to… but I'm okay with you know, fatherly nicknames, but again, only if you want! Not trying to rush anything of course, or make you feel like you have to ever even. So… um, so yeah."

Tears began to prick at the corner of Logan's eyes.

He really hadn't expected this to happen when he'd woken up today. He'd of course known that Patton was kind and caring, but to know that he already thought of Logan as his son… that it was okay for Logan to call him father… it was all too much, albeit in a good way.

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry! You don't have to—"

"No, no. It's alright. These, uh, these are happy tears… Father." Despite Patton having just said it was okay, Logan still warily looked at him to see his reaction.

Patton broke out in a big grin. "Awww! Oh my goodness, abjfshdjsjsjdh!"

"Wh— what?"

"Aah, sorry. I'm just, shvshshsh."

"...Are you having a stroke? The signs are—"

"No, it's okay. I'm not having a stroke. Just so happy I'm at a loss for words!"

"Oh, I see."

"...Can I hug you?"

"Yeah, I'd like that."

Patton wrapped his arms around Logan. "Thank you for being my son."

Logan buried his face into Patton's shoulder before mumbling, "And thank you for being my father."

Logan was almost late for his presentation due to his happy tears, but he found that it was very, very worth it.

-

Logan hadn't quite been sure what to think when Patton invited him to come along with the other Sanders to the beach. For one, he hated swimming, but also, if there was anything Logan hated more than swimming, it was sand. And that was without even mentioning the ride home in wet swim clothes.

So no, Logan wasn't looking forward to going... but Patton had invited him, and he did enjoy the Sanders' company.

When Patton's sky-blue minivan pulled up, Logan got up from the window seat, grabbed his bag, and, after locking the apartment door behind himself, walked down the stairs and to the van.

Patton rolled down the passenger window and leaned around Janus to say, "Hey, Logan! You got everything you need?"

"Yes, I have sunscreen, a pair of clothes, goggles, a towel, and the key to get back into my apartment."

"Great! Hop in!" Patton pressed a button and the side door slid open.

…

The drive there mostly consisted of the twins asking 'are we there yet' just to annoy everyone; bickering with each other; Virgil, Logan, and Janus trying to stop them from said bickering; and Patton jamming out to oldies as he drove.

Due to the twins' bickering and the fact that Logan had never been out this way to the ocean before, the drive felt longer than it actually was, but soon enough they were all unloading from the van and heading down to the beach.

It was a rather warm June day, and the sun sparkled across the water brightly as it was unhindered by any clouds.

Logan could feel the apprehension building in himself the closer they got to the water, but took a deep breath to try and get it to settle. Patton wanted him to go swimming, so swimming he would go.

After setting up their stuff and putting on sunscreen, they all got in the water. Remus and Roman instantly began racing, Virgil acting as the referee, while Patton and Janus got in the water at a more sedate pace, already wading in up to their knees.

Logan was still standing quite firmly in the sand.

Patton turned around to look at Logan and furrowed his eyebrows. "Logan? What's wrong?"

"I just… am not particularly fond of swimming, that's all." Logan hesitantly walked to where the water lapped at his ankles, feeling a bit silly as Patton was already in to his waist.

"Aww, I'm sorry. We would've picked a different activity if we'd known that."

"No, that's alright. If I really don't want to swim, I can sit in a beach chair."

"Still. We wanna do stuff that you'll like too. How about next time you can pick where we go?"

"Really?"

"Sure! Just name the place and we'll go soon."

"Hm… how about the planetarium?"

"Sounds great!"

Logan nodded and mentally braced himself as he walked farther into the water. It wasn't quite as cold as he'd thought, but was still pleasantly cool in the heat of the day.

Logan paused with a small frown once he'd gotten in past his bellybutton and sniffed the air. Since this was the ocean and not a pool, there was no chlorine to bother Logan. He got in to his shoulders and pushed his feet off the sand, swimming in place to stay afloat, finally level with Patton instead of trailing behind.

"This isn't as bad as I'd thought."

"Awe, I'm glad! I personally love swimming."

"Mm, I'd… well, not forgotten that there wasn't any chlorine, of course, but it's not that bad. And sure, it smells a bit like salt, but considering it's the ocean, that makes sense." The water began to lap at Logan's chin. "I really had expected it to be so much wors—" The water brushed past his lips and he wrinkled his nose as he spat out the few drops of water that'd made it into his mouth. "Eurgh! Why does it taste so salty?!"

Patton laughed gently. "You knew the ocean was salty, Lo!"

"Well, of course I did, Father, but I didn't know it was going to be this salty! Ugh, it's horrendous."

Patton giggled. "Aww, sorry, kiddo."

…

The saltwater had tasted terrible, but all in all, swimming had gone much better than Logan had expected. The lack of chlorine had really made a big difference.

After they had gotten out of the water for lunch, almost everyone made sand castles while Janus and Logan sat on a blanket under the shade of a big umbrella.

"So, how are you enjoying the family so far?" Janus asked, startling a small laugh out of Logan.

"What?"

"Well, it's been a few months. Surely you have formed some sort of opinion by now."

"Oh, I have. I just wasn't expecting the question." Logan paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. "I really like it here… not the beach— well, it is nice here, but what I meant was that I really like being with everyone."

"Good, I'm glad. Everyone likes that you're here too."

"...Everyone?"

Janus smiled like he was in on a joke. Perhaps he was. "Everyone."

"...I'm not intruding?"

"Not at all. I daresay that there would be many protests if you tried to cut us off. Patton is quite the protective papa bear. Actually, if you want to be specific, I believe there'd be five protests. Six if you count your mother."

"Oh… six?"

"Yes, six. Did you really think I'm completely apathetic towards you?"

"Well, I didn't know, and… well, I didn't want to assume."

Janus hummed. "Now you don't have to."

"True." Logan paused, a bit of anxiety building in his gut as he tried to think of how to word what he wanted to say. "Thank you for letting me into your family," Logan rushed out. "You didn't have to do that, but you did anyway, and I— I really appreciate it."

"I'm… not even quite sure what to say to that. I don't feel as though it was letting you as in 'I gave you permission', but more like you just naturally became a part of our family."

Logan hummed. "I see. Well, regardless, I'm still grateful for all of you."

"And us you," Janus said, voice full of sincerity.

They sat there in peaceful silence for several minutes until Patton came up.

"Janus! The kids say it's your turn to play with them."

Janus sighed faux-dramatically. "Well, if they insist…" He got up and went to where the others were throwing sand around.

"Hi!" Patton exclaimed as he sat down next to Logan.

"Hello, Father. How was the sand?"

"Sandy dandy!"

Logan exhaled through his nose, if only to keep himself from laughing. "That's… a very you response."

Patton laughed. "You betcha!" He looked out at the ocean for a few moments before saying, "Hey, Logan?"

"Yes?"

Patton looked back at Logan. "I'm glad you came to find me a few months ago."

"Mm, me too."

"I… I know I said this at your science fair last month, but you're family." Patton laughed a little. "I mean, of course you're family, but I just… I wanted to say it again. And that… that I really care about you, Logan."

"I really care about you too… Papa?" Logan hadn't meant it to sound like a question but he was a little unsure if Patton would think it was okay so it did anyway.

"Awwwww, c'mere!"

Patton scooted closer, Logan copying him, and Patton put an arm around Logan's shoulders, who immediately rested his head on Patton's shoulder.

"Love you… Lo-son."

"...Was that a pun in front of my emotional conversation?"

Patton laughed again, much louder this time. "I can tell you've been hanging out with Virgil a lot."

Logan smiled. "Maybe a bit."

"Hey!" Remus exclaimed from a bit farther down the beach. "Come look at what we made!"

Patton and Logan exchanged glances as Logan sat up properly again before they got up and went to where the twins and Virgil were gathered.

"Where's Jan—" Logan cut himself off with a startled laugh as he could only see Janus' head, his body under the sand which had been shaped to look like a snake.

"See!" Roman beamed. "He's a sea snake."

"You good under there, dear?" Patton asked amusedly, obviously trying not to giggle.

Janus pouted a bit, but still said, "Yes, I'm fine, just covered in sand."

"I like the details in the scales! Very fancy."

"Yeah," Virgil agreed. "Re and Ro did most of them."

Logan tilted his head to the side. "What species were you modeling this after?"

Roman thought about it for a moment. "Uh… sea snake?"

Virgil snorted. "We didn't have one in mind. Just used our imagination."

"Ah, I see."

"Come build sandcastles with us, Logan!" Roman exclaimed more than asked as he smiled up at Logan.

Logan couldn't help but smile back. "Alright. What time period and place were you thinking of?"

"Ooh," Remus cut in, "Which ones have the most gore?"

"Well…"

Everything was so very different from only a few months prior, but it'd only changed for the better.

Logan had always had his mother, but his family grew bigger than he'd ever thought possible.

Home really wasn't about the house, but rather about the people; and between Logan's mother, Patton, Janus, Virgil, Remus, and Roman, Logan had an abundance of home.

And there truly was no place like home.

~The End~

No reposting, likes are nice, and reblogs are very much appreciated! | Taglist (ask to be added or removed): @someoneiwasnt

[arya-skywalker]

Monsters and Men (Sanders Sides Fanfic)

A Dukexiety Oneshot with powers

Summary: Virgil gets kidnapped by a gang, but finds an unlikely ally. Together they uncover secrets and try to escape before it’s too late.

Notes: Thanks to the TSS Fanworks Collective for brainstorming, especially fangirl, Losty, and Helena.

TWs: torture, threats, violence, kidnapping, people treated as weapons, brief innuendos, swearing

AO3 Link

(Fic under read more)

Virgil stirred, then froze when he realized he couldn’t fucking move. He felt ropes around his wrists and legs. His eyes flew open. He was in a cell, a block of concrete, tied to a metal chair.

“My, my, look who’s finally awake,” the man in front of him drawled. “You’ve been poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

“I didn’t see anything. I didn’t know it was your territory, or whatever,” Virgil said, his throat dry and heart beating way too fast. “Just let me go, and we can forget this ever happened.”

The man clicked his tongue. “No, no. You need to learn your lesson,” he said. “Then we’ll see.”

“I’ll teach him,” another man said, taking a step closer. He had a ridiculous mustache— which didn’t take away from the fact that he looked like he could easily snap a man in two. “If you want me to.”

The first man smirked. “Look at you, Remus. Good boy.” He gestured to Virgil. “Go on. Have fun with him.”

Mustache-man— Remus— scurried over to the chair. “Cute little emo. Let’s hear you scream....” He trailed a finger along Virgil’s hand— which felt like a knife digging into his flesh.

Virgil gasped and looked down, but there was no blood, no mark. “What the hell?” he snarled.

Remus grinned. “You like that, little emo?” He shoved the hoodie sleeve up and gripped Virgil’s arm tightly.

Pain. Pulsing pain wherever the man’s hand touched. Virgil clenched his jaw. “Actually not into it, thanks,” he spat.

Remus giggled. “Oooh spicy!”

“I’ll leave you to it,” the first man said. “Best get some results soon.” The door slammed behind him once he left.

Remus waited until the man was clearly gone, then cocked his head to the side, expression suddenly more serious. “You know you really should do what he says. Grovel at his feet, even. It’ll save you a lot of pain.”

“Fuck that,” Virgil retorted.

“Nah, you don’t wanna fuck him. It’s not as fun as it looks. His cock is—“

“Gross, dude. Not what I meant!”

Remus cackled. “You’re fun! I like you already. You got a name?”

“Not one I’m telling you.”

Remus shrugged. “Well, I’m Remus! If you didn’t catch that.” He scratched his chin, then moved behind Virgil.

“Don’t care.” Virgil stayed utterly still, feeling the man’s breath at his neck. “What are you doing back th—“ Sharp pain in the middle of his back cut him off with a strangled cry.

“Aww that’s not very nice of you...”

The pain moved slowly upwards to his neck. “S-sorry that I don’t wanna be nice... to my fucking torturer,” Virgil ground out.

Remus stopped whatever he was doing. “You think this is torture?” He snickered. “We’re just getting warmed up!”

More pain along his back like some sort of twisted massage. Virgil grimaced. “Really? Is that so?”

“Mmhmm! I can do way worse things to you!” Remus giggled again. “Like plucking out all your pretty eyelashes and making a paintbrush out of them to paint abstract interpretations of your screams!”

“Awww you think I’m pretty, thanks,” Virgil replied with a smirk, shoving down his revulsion. “But I doubt eyelashes would make great brushes.”

“Or I’ll g-note you so hard you’ll never be able to listen to your favorite emo music without thinking of this,” Remus said, sending a other burst of pain.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Virgil snarled.

Remus hummed. “You don’t really need this hoodie, do you?”

Virgil’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Please don’t.”

Remus moved in front of him again and tilted his head to the side. “Huh. I guess you do! Why? It’s just a piece of fabric!”

Virgil swallowed, but said nothing, not trusting himself to speak. Trying to explain would only make the hoodie sound more valuable, which would make it more likely to be used against him.

Remus stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Okie we’ll leave it one piece. I just gotta get to your skin, so I can reach under, no biggie.” He moved behind Virgil again.

The pain started once more, but this time it lingered in one spot, growing stronger and more intense by the second until it was too much to possibly ignore.

Virgil screamed as he felt something exploding from inside himself what the fuck. Darkness filling the room. A thud and a grunt as Remus hit the wall.

“What the fuck?!” Both of them exclaimed at once.

Virgil shuddered and tried to even his breathing. “You still alive back there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve had worse,” Remus retorted, moving to be in Virgil’s line of sight. “Has that happened to you before?”

Virgil shook his head quickly. “No, never. What the hell was that?”

Remus was silent for a long moment, staring at him. “If I had to guess, I’d say the pain and stress triggered your powers. Lucky you.”

“P-Powers?”

“Mmhmm!”

“I don’t have powers.”

Remus laughed. “You got a better explanation for your shadow throwing me at the wall?”

Virgil bit his lip. “… No?”

“Then congrats! You got powers!” Remus clapped his hands.

Virgil shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Remus shrugged. “I’m no scientist, dunno how it works, but it’s the truth.”

“Whatever.”

A few minutes later, the door opened with a loud clang and the man from before strode inside. “How’s our new friend doing, hm?” he asked with a smirk.

Virgil glared at him. “Fuck off.”

“Still wearing down on him, boss,” Remus said, head down. “It’ll take time—“

The boss slapped him across the face. “You useless piece of shit!”

Remus flinched and stumbled back, but made no attempt to fight back.

The boss shoved him to the floor and kicked him. “If someone with the smallest degree of competency were working on him, he’d be long broken. What is taking you so long?”

Remus grunted, but made no attempt to stand. “S-sorry, sir. I... I’ll pick up the pace.”

The boss kicked him some more, then tugged him up by his hair. “If you don’t break him by dawn tomorrow, I will make you both scream so hard you won’t be able to speak for days. Is that clear?”

Remus winced. “Crystal clear, sir,” he said quietly.

The boss punched him. “Speak up, rat.”

“Yes, sir,” Remus said, louder.

“Good.” The boss dropped him.

Remus fell into a heap on the floor and didn’t move until after the door slammed shut once more. He coughed a few times and sat up.

Virgil stared at him. “What the hell was that?”

“That was me covering your ass, you’re welcome.” Remus flashed a crooked grin.

“But... why? You volunteered to do this shit. If you told him what happened, you wouldn’t have gotten your ass handed to you.”

“It’s kinda expected of me. To do the hurting and shit. Powers aren’t useful for much else.” Remus shrugged, looking away and rubbing his face. “If boss-man found out about you having powers, he’d run you ragged. Turn you into a weapon. A monster.” He added in a barely-audible voice, “A monster like me.”

The silence stretched between them.

“What did they do to you?” Virgil asked hesitantly.

Remus laughed, a shrill mirthless sound. “What didn’t they do is the question,” he retorted. “With my powers, I give pain, but leave no scars— as soon as I lift my hand, the pain goes away. The others… They make sure the pain stays. They let the wounds fester. They decorate you with scars and brands. They break your bones, let ‘em heal crooked, and break ‘em again. Believe it or not, me ‘torturing’ you was a mercy.”

Virgil shifted uncomfortably in his seat— limited due to the bonds. His mouth was dry, too dry to form words.

Remus looked back at him. “Which is why we’re breaking you out. Tonight.”

Virgil blinked. “We’re what?”

“First you gotta learn how to control whatever power you have. It’ll be more useful for long range attacks, probably. I know most lock codes, but there’ll be guards everywhere. You ever pulled an all-nighter before?” Remus jumped to his feet.

“Uhhh yeah, lots of all-nighters. Sleep is for the weak. What the hell is happening?”

Remus grinned. “Great! Let’s get started. This might hurt a bit, but not as much as what’ll happen if we fail,” he said. “We’re gonna figure out how your powers work.”

~*~

Hours later, Virgil had somewhat of a handle on things. He could summon the darkness at will and aim it to some degree. Which would need to be good enough, as they were running out of time.

“You ready?” Remus asked, cracking his knuckles.

Virgil took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be,” he muttered, then shot a bolt of darkness at the door.

Nothing happened.

“Harder,” Remus said, then giggled.

Virgil flexed his hands and shot another bolt of darkness, and another, and a third for good measure.

The door was blown off its hinges.

Followed quickly by alarms blaring through the building.

“Shit! You didn’t tell me you had alarms on the fucking doors!”

“Oops! Run!”

Remus darted out the door and Virgil scrambled to follow. The alarms didn’t stop.

It wasn’t long before the guards came at them, swarming through the halls. Virgil threw darkness from a distance, while Remus fought hand-to-hand with any guards that got within range.

“You go, I’ll keep them off your tail,” Remus said, stopping within view of the exit.

Virgil skidded to a stop. “Wait, what? You’re not coming?”

Remus smiled sideways. “You’ll get farther without me.”

“I’m not leaving you with them! You said they’d torture you or worse!”

“Eh, I’m used to it by now. Besides, if they kill me, at least it’ll be a cool way to die.”

“You’re not dying! Get your ass over here! Or I’ll drag you with the shadows!”

“Kinky!”

“Shut up and run! If we get out of this alive, then I’ll show you kinky!”

Remus’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“You’ll never find out if you die here alone! C’mon!” Virgil shot darkness at the approaching thugs, careful not to hit Remus. Luckily that was enough to get him to follow. They’d figure out the rest later.

Together, they ran towards freedom.

[goldenmeme]

For day 14 of the TSS Fanworks Collective’s November art prompt challenge: Art Nouveau

@thatsthat24​

[c-swirlz]

Submerged

Summary: Logan's job at the aquarium comes with its fair share of benefits. A decent paycheck, a close-up view of the plethora of marine life the institution has on display, and a mer person for a boyfriend. Of course, that doesn't mean there are not also risks, most of which stem from the shenanigans of the brown-haired, tentacled man floating idly in a lone fish tank. Pairings: Logan/Remus Warnings: Drowning Characters: Logan, Remus Notes: Written for the TSS Fanworks Collective's January Remix Challenge! This is a remix of @the-princey-pie's fic, Entangled. [AO3 link]

There are many benefits to being a marine biologist. Unfortunately for Logan, he isn’t quite that privileged. Yet. Rather than having the opportunity to professionally examine a plethora of aquatic lifeforms, he is simply the equivalent of a janitor at the local aquarium, wiping the glass surfaces of the tanks clean of dirt and grubby fingerprints after closing.

Thankfully, this monotonous task is made ever so slightly more bearable by a certain person: Logan’s significant other. He goes by Remus, but contrary to what people may believe upon hearing that name, he’s far from human. Conveniently enough, he also happens to live in the very aquarium Logan works at, making it laughably easy for the two of them to meet. Most of the time, they simply engage in some idle conversation, allowing Logan to focus on his job while still giving his boyfriend the attention he demands. Some days, however, Remus gets… a little carried away. This, of course, leads to all sorts of trouble every single time, without fail.

Today is no different.

“Logan,” Remus whines, his nasally voice echoing throughout the large, empty room. Some of the water in his tank splashes over the edge as he fidgets eagerly, his tentacles wiggling. “Logan, my trout-ed love, I desire love and affection from my darling boyfriend.”

Logan’s expression is blank, devoid of any sort of visible emotion. He squints at the surface of a nearby tank and begins wiping away a smudge, watching Remus out of the corner of his eye. “I will give you as much attention as you want when I’m done. You know full well I cannot slack off under any circumstances.”

Remus pouts, leaning forward until he’s practically hanging out of his tank. “Not even for me?” he says, fluttering his lashes.

“Not even for you,” Logan confirms, running a hand through his dishevelled, sweaty hair. He removes his glasses and pulls a sleeve over his hand to wipe the lens before placing them back on his face, waiting a moment for his vision to readjust before turning to face his boyfriend. “Now, I need to get into your tank to clean the inside. No funny business, alright?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, coraling.” Remus winks, sinking back into the water, and Logan feels a faint buildup of dread. He gets the feeling he might as well accept his imminent fate; Remus isn’t exactly the type of person to simply take no for an answer and move on. Retrieving his wetsuit, he heads to the employee break room, emerging several minutes later with his work clothes in his arms. Tossing them onto a nearby bench, he returns to Remus’ tank, gesturing for him to move aside as he removes his glasses and gathers the items he requires for the operation: a waterlife safe synthetic sponge, goggles, and his submersible breathing apparatus. Remus sticks his tentacles to the glass to stabilise his centre of gravity, watching with loving eyes as Logan climbs into the tank, shuddering when he makes contact with the cold water.

Placing the breathing apparatus in his mouth, Logan ducks his head beneath the water, immediately getting to work wiping down the smudged, ink-stained glass. Meanwhile, Remus remains suspiciously still, staying out of Logan’s way as he works diligently. Five minutes pass, then ten… Eventually, Logan is finished, every surface of the inner tank practically sparkling. Satisfied with his work, he moves to exit the tank, though he can’t help but wonder why Remus was so compliant this time around. Honestly, he expected him to–

Slimy, wet tentacles wrap around Logan’s torso without any semblance of a warning whatsoever, startling him so badly he almost spits out his breathing apparatus. He’s pulled into Remus’ chest, and though he’s embarrassed to admit it, he partially melts into the embrace, momentarily forgetting that he is still on the clock. Though they’re underwater, Logan can still feel Remus’ warm breath tickling his ear as he leans in close, moustache twitching.

“Y’know, sea shelly mine,” Remus murmurs, stroking Logan’s face with a tentacle and bumping their foreheads together, grinning. “You look pretty good in that wetsuit.”

Logan’s cheeks burn, and he curls in on himself, though Remus does not release him from the embrace. Making use of a tentacle once again, he tucks it under Logan’s chin and lifts his head. The two of them lock eyes, and Remus giggles.

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?”

The tentacle withdraws, and before Logan has a chance to react, his breathing apparatus has been practically ripped out of his mouth. While he’s still underwater. Which, as any normal person could easily figure out, is very bad. Having managed to hold his breath just before the apparatus was removed, Logan begins to squirm in Remus’ hold, the agonising urge to breathe quickly washing over him as the seconds pass. Remus leans in close, eyeballing Logan’s lips, but upon seeing his strained expression, he stops. His brow furrows, though his grip on his boyfriend only tightens.

“Logan?” Logan’s vision begins to warp and blur, and he can tell it isn’t because of the water. “Hey, what’s–”

The breathing reflex kicks in before Logan is consciously aware of it. A large mouthful of water rushes down his throat, and he starts coughing, tears building up in his eyes. Remus’ eyes widen as Logan begins fighting to escape his grasp, thrashing and kicking. The colour slowly drains from his face, and the situation finally clicks for Remus.

Remus is mer. Logan isn’t. Remus can breathe underwater. Logan can’t. At least not without the device Remus just pulled out of his mouth.

“Fuck.” Logan is visibly losing steam, his eyes dull. Eventually, he goes limp, and a lump lodges itself into Remus' throat. “Shit–” Wracking his brain for Logan’s advice regarding a drowning – that’s what this is, right? – he chooses to start with the most logical action: getting Logan out of the water. It takes some time, but he’s eventually able to safely get the two of them out of the tank, though he’s left with a few sore tentacles. In his defence, how was he supposed to know the fall from the tank would be so far? Alright, that’s off topic– off topic. He may have Logan back on land, but that doesn’t mean he’s in the clear.

A glint in the corner of Remus’ eye catches his attention, and he looks over at the bench where Logan left his work clothes. The shine appears to be coming from the sun reflecting on–

Logan's phone.

“It’s best to contact emergency services if possible. Paramedics are better equipped to handle those kinds of situations. If it comes to that, you just have to dial their number…”

Remus has Logan’s phone in his grasp before he can really think about it. Upon turning it on, he’s prompted to enter a passcode. Luckily, he’s seen Logan enter it a number of times, so unlocking the device poses no issue. Recalling his boyfriend’s description of the app that is required to make the call, he taps on the green box with a white image of a wired phone, opening the dial screen. Remus has the number memorised; just three simple digits.

911.

He presses call.

Logan wakes to a pressure on his chest and the lingering taste of bile on his tongue. He’s turned onto his side as he begins coughing, water spilling from his mouth and onto the tiled floor. His head spins, his vision swimming, though despite his dazed state, he recognises that he is still in the aquarium. A face peers down at him with concern, but it isn’t one he recognises. The stranger calls out to someone Logan cannot see before smiling back down at him and wrapping something around his upper arm.

“Hi there,” the stranger says, glancing at something beside them for a brief moment before shifting their attention back to Logan once again. “My name’s Thomas, I’m a paramedic.” Logan’s eyes widen, and the paramedic – clearly instinctively – places a hand firmly on his shoulder, likely expecting him to fight– or at least something to that effect. “Sorry– Hey, there’s no need to panic, alright? We’re just making sure you’re okay. We received a call for a drowning, and by the looks of things, you seem to have gotten pretty lucky. We’re probably gonna take you back to the hospital for a proper examination just so we can make absolutely sure you’re not still at risk.”

Logan nods, keeping as still as possible as the paramedics continue to bustle around him, the beeping of their machines ringing in his ears. Thomas stays by his side, the hand on Logan’s shoulder keeping him grounded. During this time, however, he has the lingering feeling that he’s forgetting something…

It doesn’t take him too long to figure it out.

“Remus,” Logan gasps, reaching up to grab Thomas’ sleeve. “Where– Where’s Remus?”

Thomas blinks, his brow furrowing in thought. “Uh… I don’t think any of us saw anyone else around when we got here.” His eyes suddenly light up with revelation. “Now that I think about it, I remember hearing something about this being an anonymous call. Could that have been him?”

Logan exhales shakily and nods again. “Yes, I… I believe that would have been him.”

Thomas begins gnawing on his lip, glancing around without really looking at anything in particular. “Okay… Well, if you give us his phone number, someone could–”

“No.” The response escapes before Logan can stop it. “No, that– That won’t be necessary.”

“Are you sure? It really wouldn’t be a problem–”

“I’m sure.” It would be all well and good if Remus were human, but Logan has an inkling the hospital staff wouldn’t exactly have an ordinary reaction to a man with tentacles walking in and asking to see his boyfriend who almost drowned in his own tank at an aquarium. Things wouldn’t end well, to say the least.

“Alright…” Thomas doesn’t press any further, though that gentle look of concern settles back onto his face. “Well, do you have any other family we could call? Parents? Siblings?”

Logan’s silence is enough of an answer. Thomas releases a slow breath before looking over his shoulder, calling another paramedic over as the others around them start packing up the machines and other equipment, making room for another to hurriedly walk inside, pushing a stretcher in with them.

“We’re gonna get you loaded into the ambulance now,” Thomas murmurs, smiling. “Like I said, this is just a precaution, so don’t worry. Chances are you’ll be fine, and you’ll be out of the hospital in just a few hours.”

Logan doesn’t doubt that. Cases similar to his are rarely ever kept longer than what is necessary for a simple observation. If he’s lucky, he’ll be home before nightfall. He says nothing as the paramedics load him onto a stretcher, refraining from commenting that it isn’t really necessary, even if it is ‘just a precaution’.

Getting Logan outside and into the ambulance takes several minutes, as the paramedics are forced to navigate the labyrinth-like structure of the aquarium. They don’t get lost though, and Logan is rather impressed. When he first started working here, it took him at least three weeks to get the hang of navigating the entire building. Images of Remus’ concerned expression back inside the tank flash in his mind’s eye, and he bites the inside of his cheek. Yes, what Remus did was incredibly stupid, but Logan knows he didn’t do it intentionally. He gets a bit too excitable for his own good at times, and to be honest, Logan can’t really blame him. They don’t see each other too often, so what little time they get to spend time together will always be treasured by the both of them.

Of course, with all this in mind, Logan still plans to have a conversation with his boyfriend the next time they see each other. Not later today, though; that’ll simply be him assuring Remus that he’s okay and that he isn’t going to die. After that, though, Logan intends to have very stern words with his partner. He will reiterate that he isn’t angry; he simply wants to make sure Remus is absolutely sure of the difference between humans and mer, if just for the sake of preventing a repeat of this incident.

He just hopes Remus will actually listen.

[shadowling-guistical]

A Failed Escape

For the March Ado About Nothing challenge in the TSS Fanworks Collective Server! Basically the premise is to take whump/angst prompts and turn it into something fluffy! Enjoy~! --- “Janus please,” “No,” “Come on--”

“No,”

In retaliation, Virgil poked Janus at the soft skin of his side. The resulting affronted noise that came from his husband made Virgil chuckle. Too bad that instead of letting him go, Janus’ arms only curled around him tighter. Figures, Virgil thinks. Janus had always been a bit of a cuddlebug, no matter how much he refused to admit it.

 “Don’t be mean Virgil,'' Janus raised his head momentarily, shooting Virgil a sleepy, annoyed look. Even clouded with sleep, Janus' stunning eyes were the highlight of his morning. Virgil found them to be so cute that he couldn’t help but crane his head forward, kissing whatever skin he could reach. It just so happened that it ended up being Janus’ nose. It was cold. His lips must have been the same way, because Janus then wrinkled his face, “I’m just here trying to shower my husband with the affection he deserves,”

“And I’m just trying to get myself to my computer so I can work,” Virgil wriggled his toes, ignoring Janus’ complaints of how cold and frigid it feels, “So I can shower my husband with a gifts that he deserves. For our anniversary. Expensive chocolates, a bouquet of roses, and a dinner date, remember?”

It was recited from memory, things that Janus had told him over and over again on nights when it was just them, trashy reality tv, and a bottle of wine. Maybe it would end up being two. Sometimes, three. The first time Virgil realized his then partner was a romantic was, in fact, a three bottle night. 

“I don’t need it,” The quick way Janus countered his words really had made Virgil laugh. Outside, the light dusting of snow against their window casted an ethereal, dim light in their bedroom. Virgil considered his choices. 

The chill will probably be worse when he leaves his bed. It’s almost Christmas. He’s practically his own boss, so it’s not as if he had someone breathing down his neck....

And to be fair, the warm duvet is better than his cold desk.

Janus must have sensed his thoughts, because a soft, drawn out whine pulled him out of his musings.

“Stayyyy,” 

And obviously his husband had certainly agreed. 

Virgil gently carded his fingers in the blond locks splayed on his chest. Immediately, he felt Janus hum and settle himself to a more comfortable position. Virgil didn’t need any light to know that he was probably the picture of someone who had just gotten their way. Nor did he need it to know that Janus was probably smirking, being awfully pleased with himself. 

In the end, Virgil had no choice but to concede.

 (Not that he minded at all).

“Okay…” Virgil closed his eyes. He felt something warm inside his chest, which definitely isn’t from being cuddled by another person, “Maybe for five more minutes,”

A deep, content exhale. 

“Perfect,”

Virgil began to feel himself dozing off again. A pull that slowly lulled him and made his mind delightfully blank. All the while, his fingers didn’t stop playing with his husband’s hair. For a few moment, all Virgil could hear was only Janus’ deep, calm breaths. 

“...Virgil?”

His pair of mismatched eyes fluttered open. 

“Mmm….Yeah Jay?”

He saw that Janus raised his head again, eyes now  noticeably brighter.

“...What kind of chocolates?”

[beauty-and-passion]

First fanfiction in the Sanders Sides fandom! And it’s all thanks to the TSS Fanworks Collective server on Discord!

Dear @alicat54c, this gift is for you! I’ve got the honor to be your Secret Santa, so I seriously hope you will like this!

WARNINGS: Intrulogical because yes, so there will also be graphic descriptions of violence, sex, blood and gore. I mean, there’s Remus in, so what did you expect?

SUMMARY:

A man wakes up and his mind is a blank slate. The guy with him doesn't know anything either. They have no documents, no phones, nothing.

Just a tiny little dice.

There were three things wrong with his current situation.

First he was in a river, trapped in chest-deep water, fully dressed, his back against a rock.

Second, he had absolutely no memory of how he got there. He had never seen that place before, and no matter how much he kept looking around, searching for something familiar: he was still surrounded by simple gray rocks under a black sky.

Third, there was an unconscious guy laying on him, his face immersed in water. Maybe dead - or soon-to-be dead, if he did not do something quickly.

TAGLIST:

@willpowerwisps @royalprinceroman @reesiereads @mudpuddlenl @shelby-711 @allmycrushesaredead @aquatedia @sweetkirbi @whatishappeningrightnow  @effortiswhatmatters  @atlasistryingherbest @bella-in-a-bag  @doydoune  @miasheer  @forever-third-wheeling @mishanthropist  @corndot @payte @mcang3l  @geekyapollokid  @kawaiipotatuh  @hypnossanders  @idontreallyknow24  @imcrushedbyarainbow  @simplyapannightmare  @patton-cake  @hereissananxiousmess  @purplebronzeandblue  @cynicalandsarcastic  @empressserelene

@riseofthewerewolf @frog-candy-bee @bosspotato01  @rosesandlove44 @methaley @sololad  @firey-alex  @sashootkahoot​ @chewy-rubies @groaaaaan  @croftergamer​ @misty-the-girlflux-mess​  @thedevilseyes​  @arya-skywalker​  @csi-baker-street-babes​ @queen-of-all-things-snuggly

@virgildarknessdementiaravenway​ @mishanthropist​  @dracayd-universe​  @unknown-artworks​   @lonelyfangirl453​  @starlightnyx​ @alienvamp-hesitantflowerface​ @stubbornness-and-spite​  @alittletoo-extra​ @averykedavra  @iloveeverytjing123 @bookedforevermore @joyrose-fandomer @anachronismes @the-cloud-14  @mihaela-tbg @igonnatalknothing

@thatoneloudowl​  @grayson-22​  @softangryfuckingdepressed​ @theotherella​  @boopypasta​ @nevenastark​ @varthandi @floofyconfusednerd @nothing-worth-mentioning @mikalya12 @roses-bubbles @cuter-on-the-inside  @coldbookworm  @orchidstanslogan  @snixxxsmythe  @frog-candy-bee  @holleratyour-buoyancy @alexowlndra  @fadingbagelbananapatrol  @our-bloody-mari666  @cxsmospooks  @riverraysong @sanity-whosshe-neverheardofher