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delimeful · 3 months ago

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nothing in this world (i wouldn't do) (6)

warnings: captivity, restraints, panic attacks, unethical science, experimentation, wounds, injury and blood mention, character being kind of an ass, fear, bird ex machina, lmk if i missed any

Virgil woke up to find he was surrounded by darkness and completely unable to move.

Seeing as the last thing he remembered was being poisoned into unconsciousness by a demon slayer with mad scientist leanings, this was about as far from reassuring as an awakening could be.

For a disoriented moment, he tried to check for the baby crow, which mostly just involved him listening closely for any loud, raspy-voiced swearing. Naturally, there wasn’t any, because he’d blacked out and the slayer very clearly hadn’t wanted Roman’s bird anywhere near him.

Bizarrely enough, he felt a little morose at the baby crow’s absence. Maybe because she was the only creature who had figured out that despite being a monster, he wasn’t actually a threat to humanity.

Or maybe it was just because being immobilized in a dark, silent place was totally freaking him out, and he would have taken any company so long as it meant he hadn’t been locked away forever or buried alive.

(Could he still die from a lack of oxygen? Would he be stuck underground, conscious and alone, for the rest of time? He couldn’t even call out for help.)

His body was unresponsive, and nothing his brain was coming up with was remotely helpful, so Virgil focused on his breathing, trying to keep his count steady as he inhaled and exhaled air that could be rapidly running out—

By the time the slayer entered the room, Virgil had already hyperventilated himself into unconsciousness a few times, each time utterly convinced he was dying.

The man didn’t bother saying anything to him or even sparing him anything more than a glance, simply walking around the space and lighting several lamps at a brisk pace, but Virgil felt a vast, sweeping sense of relief fall over him regardless.

He wasn’t buried. He hadn’t been left alone to rot away in the dark.

He was… extensively strapped down to a waist-high table in the center of the room?

A significant amount of his relief started to fade. Right. He’d been caught by a slayer who wanted him dead or worse, and was now entirely at his mercy— assuming he even had any for demons.

There was another person in the room, too, and they scurried about so quickly that it took Virgil a few moments to identify them as the wary stranger who had sent him to go find their brother. They were wearing the same uniform as the slayer, now, which answered basically all of Virgil’s potential questions about the situation.

“Subject ABN-V3, Log 1,” the slayer started, and Virgil’s eyes flicked over to him curiously. “The subject regained consciousness approximately half an hour after halting the regular wisteria toxin doses, indicating remarkable poison resilience, comparable to a Lower Rank.”

There was the distinct scratch of hurried writing, but the slayer’s hands were unoccupied as he circled Virgil’s prone form. The younger slayer must have been an assistant.

There was a muted pressure on his hand, which refused to even twitch, even as the pressure grew heavier. The slayer hummed, pulling away. “In contrast, regeneration ability appears relatively slow. Internal organ function has resumed, but exterior nerves and muscles remain paralyzed.”

His organs had been paralyzed?! Virgil’s breathing stuttered, and he wrestled with the instinctual panic for a moment. His lungs were clearly working now, so he should just keep breathing and not pass out again.

When he looked back over, it was to the sight of the slayer staring directly at his face with a detached sort of curiosity. That composed mask of his may have dropped for a few moments in the clearing, but it was fully repaired and glued in place now.

“Do you have anything to say?” he asked, which was a little startling.

Virgil blinked at him for a moment, and then very quickly recalled that blinking was about all he could do. His hands weren’t cooperating with him, and even his head felt too heavy to shake or nod at the moment.

An irritated rumble started up in his chest for a moment before dying out, and he heaved a low sigh, already exhausted. He’d burnt through all his default terror while panicking in the dark, and now there was barely anything left to scrape up for his impending dehumanizing death.

The slayer only watched him impassively for another long, silent stretch of seconds before turning his attention away.

“Subject’s nonverbal behavior remains consistent with previous encounter,” he narrated, which succinctly explained why he’d bothered to verbally prod Virgil in the first place. “No secondary manifestations present in the room. We’ll proceed with direct regeneration testing while the paralytic is still in effect.”

There was a metallic clink, and Virgil’s gaze flicked over to a tray covered with tools he could only guess at the purpose of. Most of them were sharp-edged.

At least he wouldn’t be able to feel them. Yet.

The slayer picked up a thin blade, and Virgil squeezed his eyes shut, in an attempt to not have to see whatever was being done to him.

The narration of that calm, clinical voice couldn’t be as easily blocked out, so he found out regardless.

—

His healing factor had improved a lot since being turned into a monster, but it wasn’t anywhere close to the level he’d seen from some of the other demons he’d fought, so he wasn’t surprised to find that the first thing he felt when the paralysis began to wear fully off was pain.

The wounds weren’t serious, at least. He hoped that didn’t mean they were saving more lethal ones for when he could actually feel them, but he wasn’t optimistic about his odds.

(Unsurprisingly, it seemed like most demon slayers really hated demons.)

The slayer seemed strangely perturbed by the way the methodical injuries he’d inflicted hadn’t healed yet. Apparently, vastly accelerated healing was the norm for most demons, so this was just another way in which Virgil was a freaky outlier. Virgil could have told the slayer as much himself if he’d been able to sign.

Not to say that he’d regained all his vocabulary. With his limbs strapped firmly down, his post-poison communication was limited to signs that he could form with just his hands, and no accompanying movements. Fingerspelling was tedious, but at least it was possible.

“S-L-E-E-P,” he’d signed when the slayer had been theorizing on his apparently deeply unusual slow healing. “L-O-N-G.”

It took a few repetitions for his captor to pay it any mind, but once he did, his expression immediately creased with doubt. Virgil let himself look irritated about the reaction, because really, what was the point in pretending? He was screwed either way.

“If hibernation periods could heal demons, there would be longer stretches of inactivity between attacks,” the slayer said, frowning down at him. “It would make my job much easier if that were the case, but it isn’t.”

Since when was Virgil the representative for all of demonkind? He’d barely even spoken to other demons, since generally their interactions tended to start and end with them trying to kill each other. This was his supernatural sleeping schedule, not theirs.

Generally, he only slept like that when he was injured. If he wasn’t hurt in a fight, he didn’t get tired. He signed as much to the slayer, and earned a disbelieving scoff for his efforts.

Virgil had only been dozing lightly so far, seeing as he was currently trapped and about as far from safety as he could possibly get, but the disbelief rankled, and he huffed before pointedly closing his eyes as though to prove it.

He thought maybe the slayer wouldn’t allow it— there probably wasn’t much to scientifically observe when your subject is sleeping— but to his surprise, the man only noted down the behavior and then left.

It took a good part of the first day to force himself down into genuine sleep, but being left alone in a quiet space was close enough to his usual cave naps that he eventually managed to sink into the heavy unconsciousness of one of his impromptu hibernation sessions.

A full week later, he snorted into wakefulness to see the slayer had unstrapped one arm and was inspecting the smooth skin where the incisions had been previously.

This must not have been the first time he’d removed a restraint to see if Virgil was faking his beauty rest, because his head shot up with keen alarm the moment Virgil’s eyes fluttered open.

He released Virgil’s hand and drew a thin, needle-like dagger from his side in the same moment, presumably a breath away from poisoning him back into temporary organ failure.

Virgil barely even registered the movement, his eyes still crusted over with sleep. Half-awake and triumphant, he blearily inspected his completely-healed arm and then promptly signed, “I told you so.”

“Return your arm to the restraint,” the slayer instructed, his voice brooking no argument and his gaze assessing.

Virgil made a sour face, rubbing at his eyes. “Don’t you have cuffs?” he asked, turning slightly so he could tap his free wrist to his strapped down one for the last sign. “I could at least sign in those.”

“The restraint. Immediately,” the slayer replied, firm as stone.

A low grumbling growl of complaint started up in Virgil’s chest, but there was no way he could get free of the other restraints quickly enough to try and escape, and he really wasn’t looking to get his organs shut down again for no reason.

Besides, the assistant kid was still there in the corner, watching him with wide eyes, and he didn’t like the idea of scaring them.

Fine. He’d go back to his stupid nap then.

With a petulant scowl, he closed his eyes and stuck his arm back out and allowed the slayer to pin it back into place and tighten the straps over it. He flipped him off afterwards, though, just to make things clear.

It was quiet for long enough that he pried his eyes back open suspiciously. Both of the slayers were staring at him like he’d just started abruptly juggling fish or something, and he raised his eyebrows in a display of irritated bewilderment.

For once, the slayer didn’t have some snappy annotation to spout, only glaring down at Virgil with his jaw working like he was gritting his teeth.

Was he really that pissed off that Virgil had been telling the truth about his healing? Why?

“Professor Logan—,” the baby slayer whispered, faltering when Virgil’s gaze flicked their way.

“That’s enough for today,” ‘Logan’ answered, stepping away from the table. “We’ll speak elsewhere.”

Virgil only barely managed to stifle an incredulous noise as the two of them left, putting the lights out as they went. They’d never bothered to take their rude and often horrifying conversations about him elsewhere before. Maybe he should try being right about things more often.

—

“Bastard!”

Virgil’s eyes flew open at the muffled call, his head feeling much clearer after sleeping off the last of the poison’s symptoms.

It was quiet and dark all around him, as always, and for a moment, he nearly convinced himself that he’d imagined the noise entirely.

Then, from outside the door, there was a raspy squawk and an audible ruffling of feathers. “Fiend! Fiend?”

… Just how determined to swear at him was this bird?!

He couldn’t exactly respond, and he wasn’t sure why he would want to. Logan had reacted extremely negatively to the bird existing in the same space as him last time, and he wouldn’t wager that the slayer’s attitude had changed in the past however many days.

Still, the crow was clearly looking for someone, possibly even him. He could hear the distinctive pitter-patter of little taloned feet scurrying back and forth on the floor, with the occasional inquisitive swear thrown in.

After a few long minutes of this, Virgil gave up on trying to go back to sleep, unable to tune the little creature out. He may as well try to answer in the limited way he could.

It took entirely too long, but he managed to purse his lips and whistle a long, low note.

The clicking of steps stopped dead, and then grew abruptly louder, the bird’s faux-speech taking on an excited tone.

The baby crow audibly scrabbled at the doorway for a few seconds, before evidently managing to worm her way under the door gap. From there, she made short work of the flight up to the table, where she immediately perched directly on Virgil’s forehead and peered upside down at him.

“Scourge!” she announced gleefully.

Someone certainly hadn’t learned her lesson about fraternizing with big scary demons. He whistled an amused note at her, fingers twitching in an impulse to reach up and ruffle her feathers before he remembered his situation.

Right. No bird-petting for monsters, he guessed.

The crow— wasn’t her name Fluffbutt or something?— seemed to notice the movement, though, and she traversed down Virgil’s arm in little hops. He still couldn’t really reach her scruff of downy baby feathers from this angle, but he gave it his best attempt.

Fluffbutt pecked him harshly, which, rude, and then she turned around and started picking at the straps holding his forearm down.

… No fucking way.

Virgil craned his neck to look over at the bird, his disbelief slowly melting away as he saw that yes, the crow really was tugging and prying at the corded knot holding the restraints in place like her life depended on it.

It was slow going, but as she steadily worked at it, Virgil could tell that progress was being made. He wiggled his arm testingly every so often, usually getting bit for his efforts, and after what felt like hours of agonizing waiting, he finally managed to pull through the last threads of the restraints.

He only had one arm free, but that and some time was all he really needed. Fluffbutt reclaimed her spot on his forehead, watching as he quickly tore at the restraints on his other limbs.

As it turned out, quickly sitting up for the first time in days was a bad idea. Virgil rode out the surge of dizziness and pushed to his feet, pacing back and forth in the small room until he was confident that his legs had remembered how to function well enough to get him out of there.

A simple test of the handle revealed the room had been locked, and Virgil wasted a few minutes poking through the unsettling number of medical tools in the room before realizing there was no way they’d left the key in here with him.

He could probably kick the door down if given a few tries, but the more noise he made, the more likely it was that Logan would find him mid-escape and put him right back in those restraints. Virgil had no illusions on how a second match between him and the uncannily quick slayer would turn out, which meant that stealth was currently his best friend.

He turned his gaze to the wall, wondering if they were flimsy enough that it would be better to try and punch a hole through one of those, but before he could decide further, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

Shit. Plastering himself against the wall, he waited tensely for them to pass by— only for them to pause right outside the doorway. There was the distinct click of a key being inserted into a lock. Double shit.

The door swung open, and the assistant slayer had just enough time to look up and see the empty specimen table before Virgil leapt at them.

Don’t freak out, he would have said if his hands weren’t currently occupied with covering the slayer’s mouth and dragging them bodily into the room. Instead, he made a series of low chuffing sounds from deep in his chest, which helped absolutely nothing about the current situation.

“Scourge!” Fluffbutt crowed, her contribution equally as unhelpful.

Hurriedly booting the door shut with his foot, Virgil only had a moment before the baby slayer gave up on trying to pry his hand away and instead went for the sword sheathed at their side.

Since letting them do that was basically a one-way street to getting decapitated, he risked releasing them for long enough to tear his claws through their belt and yank the sword free, sheathe and all, before tossing it into a corner with a muted thud.

“PRO—,” they started, and Virgil slapped his hand back over their mouth, hissing lowly in the closest approximation to a shush that he could manage. They responded by glaring and biting him, which he really should have expected after living with teenagers for a few months.

It only took a glance around the room to find a suitable cloth from the cache of cleaning supplies, and Virgil wrangled the baby slayer into a headlock for the handful of seconds it took him to assemble a makeshift gag and shove it in their mouth.

With the slayer now unable to raise the alarm, Virgil paused for a moment to think, his whole body jittering with sudden adrenaline. The easiest solution would obviously be to strap the slayer into the convenient demon-proof restraints readily available on the specimen table, but he really didn’t want to do that. The kid was already panicking hard enough, the last thing he wanted was to make them think he was going to experiment on them or something.

Instead, he tore a larger piece of linen into strips and wound them around the slayer’s wrists a few times before knotting the end of the faux-ropes intensively around one of the table legs.

The slayer started yanking against the makeshift restraints the moment Virgil stepped away, their cries muffled but still audible enough that he should really be escaping sooner rather than later.

Luckily, his cloak had been dumped on a nearby shelf with the rest of the meager belongings he carried with him, mostly ignored after Logan had finished snooping through it for bones or something. Virgil ignored Fluffbutt swooping noisily around his head as he slung the comforting weight back around his shoulders and pulled the hood up, and then stepped back around the table towards the door.

The baby slayer seemed to think he was headed for them instead, their gaze very obviously wide with terror as they scrambled ineffectively to get away from him. He stopped short, guilt swamping him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he signed, backing up a few paces to try and give them some space. “I just want to get out of here, okay?”

The kid stared at him, chest rising and falling as rapidly as a sparrow’s. He sort of wished he had heard their name at some point, but it probably wouldn’t have made a difference. As it was, he didn’t even know if they knew sign, let alone how to calm them down.

He sighed, lifting his hands up to his shoulders in a gesture of nonaggression, and edged around them to finally get to the door. Fluffbutt settled on his shoulder, apparently content to be identified as a little feathered demon-associating traitor.

The hall was blessedly empty when he stuck his head out to check, and so he waved a small farewell to the kid— almost certain that they would wriggle out of those haphazard bonds within the hour— and closed the door after himself.

The key was still sitting there in the lock, so he twisted it to relock the room, and after a moment of thought, dropped the key and kicked it under the door so that the kid wouldn’t be stuck if nobody else came by in the next few hours.

He’d done it. He was out— mostly, anyhow.

Now, all he had to do was stay out.

#tss fic #sanders sides fic #demon slayer au #ts virgil #ts logan #my writing #writing #nitwiwd #nothing in this world i wouldnt do #thank you to everyone who was nice to me while i took my break <3 #i've got some asks i'll hopefully get around to answering soon!

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ironwoman359 · 3 months ago

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Our Own Villain Ch. 9

Prologue, Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.7, Ch.8, Ch.9, Ch.10

Word Count: 5,570

Chapter Summary: Everything Roman has worked for threatens to crumble around him as Logan puts his plan to save his friends into motion.

Pairings: Logicality, could be read as romantic or platonic, platonic Moxiety

Chapter Warnings: Anxiety, guilt, isolation and anger, overworking, fantasy violence, just generally unhealthy thought patterns going on for Roman.

Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!

AN: IT'S HERE! As always, I cannot post this story without acknowledging the incredible @theinvisiblespoon, who helped me edit this and resulted in over 400 extra words of flavor for this chapter. They're the absolute best! Also, shout out to @teacupfulofstarshine for helping me get over some writers block with a few of these passages, she's an absolute darling <3

— — —

“I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

The captain of the guard bowed low before Roman, a faint tremor in his posture betraying his nerves.

“I’ve had my men up all night, searching the city from top to bottom,” the captain continued, “but there’s been no sign of the fugitive.”

The man kept his head low, glancing tentatively up at Roman who paced back and forth across the floor of the throne room, arms crossed across his chest. He barely noticed the captain’s discomfort, lost entirely in thought.

Where could Logan be? There was no way he could have left the Imagination, so how had the guards not found him yet? Roman supposed he could have snuck out of the city somehow, but there was nothing for him out there but wilderness, and it was cruel, even for Logan, to run away without even trying to rescue Patton and Virgil. No, he had to be hidden somewhere, somewhere that he thought was clever enough to escape Roman’s notice.

“Keep searching, Captain,” he ordered. “He must be somewhere in the city. Perhaps he has enlisted the help of one of the townspeople and is being kept out of sight. Issue a decree that anyone found to be harboring criminals will face charges of treason. I want every-”

“Your Highness!” a new guard burst into the room, and Roman spun around with a glare.

“What is it now? Are you men so utterly incompetent that you’re incapable of following the most simple of commands? I said that I was not to be disturbed!”

“It’s just, your highness,” the guard stammered, cowering in the face of Roman’s rage. “There’s an attack at the gates–”

“What on earth makes you think I care about the gates right now?” Roman exclaimed. “There is a traitor loose in the city, corrupting the people and conspiring against me. Nothing at the gates could possibly be more important than finding–”

A roar pierced the air, and Roman went rigid, his hand automatically gripping the hilt of his sword.

“Dragon Witch,” he hissed, and the guard nodded frantically.

“She was spotted flying down from the mountains, your highness. The gate guard sent me to warn of her attack.”

Roman slammed his fist down on the table.

“Of course she would strike now, when we are distracted and unprepared. Captain, send criers through the streets to order your men to mobilize at the main gate. And bring me my armor! We must not let her take the city!”

The soldiers scrambled from the room, and for a moment, Roman stood alone. After everything he’d done, everything he’d worked for, he now was faced with this. His oldest and strongest enemy, coming to challenge him when he was at his weakest. Did she think he would simply cave before her might? He was Roman, Prince of the Imagination, Thomas’s Hero, the last bastion of goodness left for the entire mindscape. He wouldn’t be overthrown by a mere construct. He laughed to himself. No one was around to hear it.

The next several minutes were a flurry of activity, and soon Roman was on his horse, his silver breastplate glinting in the first red rays of sunrise poking over the horizon as he cantered through the city streets.

The thought of Logan somehow escaping the city during the battle briefly crossed his mind, but he pushed the idea away. They would find the logical side eventually; after all, there was nowhere for him to run.

Outside the city wall, the Dragon Witch let out another roar, and Roman urged his horse forward, drawing his sword.

Right now, Logan didn’t matter.

What did matter was making sure that his realm did not fall. He was Roman, Creativity, creator of this realm and Prince of the mindscape. He was a hero, the only hero Thomas had left after all the others had fallen prey to the wicked machinations of those accursed Dark Sides.

And nothing, not the others, not the Dragon Witch, nothing, was going to stand in his way.

— — —

Screams rang out through the streets as another of the Dragon Witch’s roars shook the city. Seth pressed himself up against the wall of the alleyway, peering out from behind a corner. The palace drawbridge lowered and Prince Roman and his guards in full armor appeared. The thunder of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestone and with the blare of the soldiers’ warhorns echoed all around Seth, and he ducked out of the way as the battalion rode past his hiding spot.

The market was quickly emptying as merchants and shoppers fled the streets, and he intended to take full advantage of the chaos. Now that he had secured a place by the square, he hoped to pilfer enough foodstuffs from the merchants to be set for at least a week. Seth waited until the last terrified shopkeeper had disappeared from sight, then he crept out from the alleyway into the square.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder and roughly pulled him back into the shadows. He spun with a cry, his fists up in an instant ready to strike, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw who had attacked him.

“Maddie?”

“We had a deal, Seth,” the girl said, glaring at him.

“But I saw you…the Arachnids…”

“Show me the servant’s entrance, please,” Maddie interrupted, folding her arms.

“What, now? We’re in the middle of a siege! Come on, let’s comb through the market and see if we can get any–”

“Seth, if you don’t show me that servant’s entrance right now, I will ensure that you spend every waking moment for the rest of your life fighting tooth and nail for that market spot. I said it was yours once you showed me the entrance, and unless you take me right this second–”

“Okay, okay!” Seth said, raising his hands in surrender. “Sheesh, Maddie, what’s gotten into you?”

“It is vitally important that I gain access to the palace. The reason why doesn’t concern you,” Maddie said as Seth led her up the street towards the palace walls.

Luckily, the entire city guard had ridden out to the gates with the Prince to fight the Dragon Witch, and the barred gate where Seth met his contact on the palace staff stood unprotected.

“There’s a door on the other side of the garden that the servants use,” he said, pointing through the courtyard. “Though I don’t know why that would matter to you, it’s not like you could get in. There are easier places to steal food from, especially since the city is under attack right now?”

Maddie didn’t bother answering, she just pushed past him and pulled experimentally on the gate. It was locked and didn’t budge, but she didn’t seem put off by that fact.

“Thank you, Seth. Our deal is complete. The spot by the market is yours. Now, I suggest you take cover; as you so aptly pointed out, the city is under attack.”

“What about you?” Seth asked.

“I have something I need to do,” Maddie answered, pulling a small glass vial from her dress pocket. She uncorked the bottle and poured a few drops of its contents on the gate’s lock, and Seth stared in awe as the metal melted away like ice on a summer’s day.

“Now go,” Maddie ordered. “I’ll explain later…if we ever manage to resolve this whole ordeal.”

Part of Seth wanted to stay and see what on earth the girl was up to, but just then the very sky seemed to explode, bright purple lightning and blue streaks of light flashing all around as the ground shook. Seth became overwhelmed with nausea, and he fell to his knees, retching. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maddie still standing, seemingly unaffected by whatever strange spell had caused the world to fall apart around them. He tried to call out to her, but she slipped through the gate and disappeared into the palace grounds before he could force his mouth to form words.

As soon as it began, the lightning stopped, and after a moment of gasping, Seth regained his bearings. He looked at the open palace gate, but then another roar rang out, and he turned and ran back through the city towards his new market spot. Maybe after he scavenged what food he could, he’d risk the gangs and take cover in the sewers until this was all over. Whatever had Maddie acting all weird, he didn’t want to know about it. He’d have a hard enough time surviving the Red Sun as it was.

The Dragon Witch’s roar echoed through the streets and Seth stumbled as he skidded around a corner.

When would this madness end?

— — —

“Prince Roman!” the Dragon Witch called out, her voice reverberating through the city. “Show yourself and face me!”

She hurled a spell at the city walls, and they buckled and folded beneath the weight of her magic. She stretched out her wings and roared, the very sound of her fury sending a squad of guards who were approaching to draw back in fear. A few of the gate guards tried to stand their ground, but she batted them away easily with a swing of her tail.

Slowly, she stalked into the city, giving the peasants in the streets plenty of time to run screaming from her mighty presence. The slower and more dramatic she was in her approach, the more time it would give Prince Roman to muster his entire guard and ride out to face her.

After a few minutes of her lazy destruction, the sound of battle horns rang out in the distance, and the Dragon Witch smiled. Looking up, she caught sight of Prince Roman’s black and red banner fluttering in the breeze, signaling that her quarry was coming within her grasp.

“Ready, little hero?” she asked quietly. She felt the grip of the human sitting on her back tighten.

“As I’ll ever be,” came the answer, and the Dragon Witch chuckled.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured. “Just stick to the script we practiced and you’ll be fine.”

Prince Roman came into view then, and she had to give him credit where it was due. Even in this mindset, when the very fabric of her reality was changed because of his pain and anger and frustration, he was personally leading the charge against her. How many tyrant kings would send their armies out to die in a battle that they wouldn’t dare to risk themselves?

He wants so badly to be good, she thought as the prince stared up at her, his face twisted in a look of disgust. Not just good. Perfect. If only he could see the truth.

“So it comes down to this!” Roman called up in a loud, clear voice. “I have to admit, I didn’t think you capable of this level of betrayal, Logan.”

He spat the name out like it was poison, and the Dragon Witch felt her passenger tense.

You can do this, little hero, she thought. Save us all.

“Prince Roman!” Logan’s voice was firm and unwavering, and the Dragon Witch couldn’t help the small swell of pride she felt at the sound.

“Release your prisoners and surrender, or see your realm destroyed!”

— — —

Roman stared up in disbelief as the Dragon Witch sneered down at him. Of all the possible outcomes, of all the ways that he’d expected a confrontation with the last remaining free Light Side to go, he’d never expected this.

Logan sat on the Dragon Witch’s back, staring down at Roman with a determined expression on his face. He looked almost comical, in his simple polo shirt, tie, and glasses while riding atop such a majestic and mighty beast, but Roman wasn’t in the mood to find humor in the situation.

“Release my prisoners?” Roman repeated. “And why, exactly, would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, we will destroy the realm,” Logan repeated simply.

“If you think that I and my forces won’t be able to defeat the Dragon Witch before she destroys the city, let alone the realm, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

Logan frowned, tilting his head.

“You would risk your entire world’s existence, rather than accept defeat?”

“I’ve not been defeated yet!” Roman shot back. “Besides, I made this world. If it is destroyed, then I will simply make it again. Your threat is meaningless!”

“And the lives of the people living in it?” Logan demanded. “Are they meaningless too?”

Roman opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, the world split apart. Purple lightning filled the sky, and he let out a cry of anguish as a wave of emotion slammed into the walls he’d placed up between his realm and Thomas.

There was the same fear and anxiety from Virgil as there had been before, but there was also sadness, doubt, and guilt, manifesting in bright blue flashes throughout the storm. The guilt was somehow even more debilitating than the fear, and as he fought to keep the emotions from reaching Thomas, he could feel his grip on the realm itself slipping.

No… he thought, desperately trying to hold on to his composure. No, no, no…

— — —

It has to be perfect. If it’s not perfect, then I’m just a fraud, I’ve basically been lying to my fans this entire time, and I can’t let that be true, I won’t let them down like that, it has to be perfect.

Thomas let out a gasp as his creative flow slammed to a halt, replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread.

“It will be good enough,” he said aloud to his empty room, but the swirling thoughts of dread and despair only grew stronger.

But what if it isn’t? What if you’ll never make anything worth watching again and all the sacrifices you’ve made, all the friendships you’ve harmed along the way, all of that will have been for nothing? Your dreams will never come true and your friends will all abandon you. You’ve never really been that good a person anyway, why on earth would they stay? You’ll end up all alone for the rest of your life, and it will be your fault.

“What is going on?”

Thomas started to reach out for his sides, but he wasn’t sure who exactly to summon. Who could be responsible for this type of thinking? He’d never felt like this before, as though his thoughts were being forcibly pulled out of his control, except…

Except for that time when Virgil had ducked out. He hadn’t been as aware of it, but his thoughts had felt just like this: foreign and strange and fully divorced from what he was directly experiencing.

Thomas frowned, and decided that the best thing to do would be to summon all the sides together. He started to reach out with his mind, but before he could contact anyone specific, somebody appeared in the corner of his vision.

Unfortunately, it was the last side he wanted to see.

“Janus?” he asked. “What are you doing? What’s going on?”

“I think you should take a break, Thomas,” Janus said quietly. “Put the laptop away and try to get some rest.”

“What? No,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “I need to keep working on this, it’s my best idea ever. It could completely change the course of my creative career, I just have to get these feelings under control and then I’ll–”

“Thomas,” Janus interrupted sharply. “You’ve been working for fifteen hours straight.”

Thomas glanced at the time on his laptop and was startled to see that Janus was right; it was nearly three in the morning, and he couldn’t recall the last time he’d stopped to take a break.

“You need to stop,” Janus said, his voice firm. “Your magnum opus can wait until tomorrow.”

“I guess…” Thomas said slowly. “But what’s going on with the others? I felt…strange, just now.”

“Get some sleep,” Janus said. “If everything goes right, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Thomas frowned, giving Janus a skeptical look.

“Is that my Deceitful side lying to me, or is it the truth?”

“At the end of the day, does that really matter?” Janus asked with a tight smile. “Either way, you need the rest.”

“I suppose,” Thomas said, stifling a yawn even as he spoke.

Janus watched as he closed his laptop and got up, a strange expression on his face. Thomas tried not to pay him much attention, quickly swapping his jeans out for some pajama pants before falling into bed.

“Summon the others tomorrow,” Janus said as Thomas closed his eyes. “By then, they should have things straightened out.”

Thomas was already drifting off, and he felt more than heard Janus’s final words.

“I hope.”

— — —

Roman was losing his control. He looked up, and he could see the imagination around him beginning to crumble away. He noticed bits and pieces from his room, the bright white of his bedspread, the shine of the lights around his mirror, the blood red of his sash where he’d thrown it on the floor. The fantasy around him– his soldiers, his city, the Dragon Witch, even Logan himself– it was all flickering in and out of existence as the mental barrage continued.

“NO!”

Roman stopped trying to channel the emotions away and instead closed his eyes and pushed, forcing his mental walls back up, stronger and better than before.

“You won’t take this from me!”

He opened his eyes, only to see that the outburst of energy had reverted the Dragon Witch into her human form. She stood before him, leaning heavily against her magic staff, Logan now on his hands and knees at her side. Roman drew his sword, pointing it at the pair with a shaking hand.

“You. Can’t. Take this from me!”

Logan’s entire body was trembling, but he looked up and met Roman’s gaze, glaring at him even as a tear rolled down his cheek.

“You’re insane,” he whispered.

Roman let out a bitter, hollow laugh.

“If you just now figured that out, then you’re…” he trailed off, looking down at the shaking side.

He had begun to fade away as Roman’s control over the imagination loosened, but he was fully solid again now. His breath was ragged and his skin was pale, as though he’d just attempted to run a marathon while running a fever.

“You’re…not part of this realm,” Roman said slowly. “You’re part of Thomas. You shouldn’t have disappeared.”

Logan still looked ill, but at Roman’s words he pushed himself to his feet.

“What was that word he used?” Logan asked, looking over at the Dragon Witch, and a small, triumphant smile spread across his face as he looked back to Roman. “Checkmate.”

Roman’s eyes widened, then the Dragon Witch lashed out suddenly, her staff glowing as she swung it towards him in a wide arc. Roman threw his sword up and blocked her strike, and her spell went ricocheting off through the city.

For a moment, all his attention was on the fight, on blocking and parrying and counter attacking, but he’d sparred with the Dragon Witch dozens of times, in both of her forms. By the third strike from the witch, he’d settled into a familiar rhythm, and turned his attention back to Logan…or what he’d thought was Logan.

“Who are you?” he shrieked. “You can’t be him! He shouldn’t have disappeared! So you must be–”

“Meaningless?” asked a voice he’d never heard before.

Roman pushed the Dragon Witch away and took a step back, staring in disbelief as Logan’s form began to flicker, just like the rest of the imagination had, just like all the other characters Roman had designed to fill his vast fantasy world had done when he was losing his control over the scene. But he was back in control now; this shifting had another cause. He’d barely had enough time to form the thought before the image of Logan was gone.

In his place stood a barefoot girl in a tattered dress, her hair a wild mass of curls and her fists clenched at her sides. She looked somehow…familiar, and Roman tilted his head.

“Do I know you?”

The girl didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. He remembered now, for the longer he looked at her the more he recognized where she’d come from. When he’d first created the town surrounding the castle, he’d decided it needed citizens to make it feel more lived in. He’d made soldiers, peasants, shopkeepers, tradesmen and artisans, and then, to make the place more realistic, he’d made a handful of street urchins.

He’d scarcely given the creations any thought after forming them and setting them loose in the city, and why would he? They weren’t meant to be important; the girl had no family, no backstory, no real role to play in his realm. So how on earth had she ended up here, fighting alongside the Dragon Witch and impersonating one of Thomas’s sides?

She looked up at him and he could see fear in her eyes, but there was a quiet strength too. The girl folded her arms and took a step towards him, and the Dragon Witch held out an arm, as if to shield her.

“Careful, little hero,”she murmured, and Roman looked back and forth between the two in disbelief. The girl ignored the witch and took another step, looking up at Roman with a determined expression.

“Like I said,” she repeated. “Checkmate.”

Roman turned and ran, knowing even as he did so that he’d never make it back to the palace in time.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he should have known something was wrong! Why else would the Dragon Witch attack now when she’d never attacked during the Red Sun before? Why else, except to draw him and all his guards away from the palace, leaving the castle vulnerable to an unseen enemy, a more crafty enemy…

A shadow fell over him, and he glanced up as he ran to see the witch in her dragon form flying along above him, the little girl on her back once more. She quickly overtook him, and landed in the market square, spreading her wings out and blocking his path to the castle.

“You’re too late, Prince Roman,” the Dragon Witch declared.

“I’ve defeated you before,” Roman cried, shifting into a fighting stance. “I can defeat you again!”

“You can defeat me all you like,” the Dragon Witch replied, her mocking voice echoing his own inner thoughts. “But you’ll never be able to outsmart him.”

— — —

Logan had no idea what was causing Roman’s realm to fall apart, but he was exceptionally grateful for it.

The few remaining guards inside the castle were too overwhelmed by the effects of their very fabric of reality unraveling around them to notice a small girl running through the corridors searching for the dungeons.

He found the correct door after only a few minutes of searching; Roman’s penchant for the dramatic meant the one door that very obviously looked as though it led to a dungeon did in fact lead to a dungeon, and he pulled the vial of acid the Dragon Witch had given him out of his pocket. Technically, the Dragon Witch had described the liquid inside as a magical potion that would dissolve any substance besides its own container, but the ‘potion’ was functionally identical to a freakishly effective vial of hydrochloric acid.

Tomato, Solanum lycopersicum, Logan thought as he poured a few drops onto the door handle of the dungeon. After a moment of sizzling, the lock dissolved away and he pushed the door open.

The room was dark, faint torchlight flickering ominously off the stone walls. Six cells lined the room, and the two at the end of the row were occupied.

“Patton?” he called. “Virgil?”

The prisoners looked up, and relief flooded through him when he saw their faces.

“Maddie?” Patton cried, jumping to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

“Who is that?” Virgil whispered to Patton, but Logan ignored the question.

“Not Maddie,” he said breathlessly. “It’s me.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out another vial, downing its contents in a single gulp. A strange tingling sensation enveloped his body, and he had to admit that in this case, he didn’t have a scientific explanation for the shapeshifting potion that the Dragon Witch had given him.

“Logan?” Virgil asked in disbelief.

“Watch your hands,” Logan said, stepping forward to pour the remainder of the acid on the locks on their cell doors.

“I knew you’d figure something out,” Patton said, his eyes shining with pride. “I just knew it.”

In a moment, both cells were open, and Patton rushed out, pulling Logan and Virgil both into a bone crushing hug. For once, Logan didn’t think, didn’t analyze or worry, he just wrapped his arms around his friends and let himself slump into them.

They were all safe, and they were all together. For one, shining moment, that was all that mattered.

“Are the two of you alright?” he asked when he eventually pulled back. “You’re not injured, are you?”

Patton shook his head.

“We’re fine, Logan,” he said, and Virgil nodded in agreement.

“My head will be a bit sore for a few days, but I’ll live. What about you? We heard the Dragon Witch attacking…”

“I’m fine,” Logan reassured him. “In fact, the Dragon Witch attack is my own doing.”

“What?” Virgil exclaimed.

“The potion…” Patton said, his eyes widening. “That’s where you got that potion that made you look like Maddie, isn’t it?”

“Technically, the potion made me look like myself, as it was an antidote to the spell that she cast to make me look like Maddie–”

“Hang on, where is Maddie?” Patton interrupted.

“She’s with the Dragon Witch…pretending to be me.” Patton’s jaw dropped open, and Logan grimaced. “I know! I tried to tell her that it would be safer if she stayed behind in the cave, but she insisted. She said that the distraction would hold Roman’s attention for longer if I appeared to be aiding the Dragon Witch directly in her assault.”

“Back up,” Virgil said, holding up his hands. “You let the Dragon Witch cast a spell on you?”

“She is Roman’s biggest villain,” Logan said simply. “Asking her to help us defeat him was the only logical choice left.”

“To be fair,” Patton admitted, “It’s not that much crazier than what we tried to do.”

Logan frowned.

“What you tried to do?”

“We’ll tell you on the way out,” Virgil said. “Right now, we should move, before the guards come back.”

Logan nodded, and the three turned and began making their way out of the dungeon.

“Remember what happened on the bridge?” Patton asked as they climbed the stairs, and Logan nodded. “Well, I had a feeling that it wasn’t Roman who caused it…I thought it might have been Virgil. And it turns out I was right!”

“You caused the Imagination to fall apart?” Logan asked, looking back at Virgil. “How?”

Virgil shrugged.

“I’m not exactly sure. I had an overload of anxiety, but something was blocking me from channeling it away the way I normally do.”

“Roman’s cutting off our access to Thomas,” Patton added. “I think that’s also why we can’t sink out. Reach out for him now; you can’t feel him, can you?”

They’d reached the top of the stairs, and Logan paused. Normally, he was at least subconsciously aware of whatever external stimuli Thomas was experiencing, so that he could filter through the information and assist with decision making. He’d been so distracted by the quest to save Virgil and Patton that he hadn’t even noticed the lack of that awareness.

“I can’t,” he said aloud, and Patton nodded.

“I can’t either. Whatever Roman’s done, it’s making him our only access point to Thomas. So we’ve been waiting for the right time to try overloading that access point.”

“When we heard the Dragon Witch attacking, we thought it would be our best shot,” Virgil said. “And for a minute there I thought we would actually do it, but just before we could break through, the wall went back up again. Somehow, Roman was still stronger than the two of us put together.”

“Perhaps…” Logan mused. “But nonetheless, the two of you did have a strong effect on the Imagination. I wonder…would it be successful if all three of us tried to breach that barrier?”

As they spoke, Logan led them outside and through the palace gardens to the servants’ gate in the side of the wall. The three stepped out onto the street, and Virgil looked around hesitantly.

“So…now what?” he asked.

Logan opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by a familiar roar sounding from the market square. He grimaced, and looked back at his companions.

“Our original plan was to try and sneak out of the city. But simply escaping from Roman isn’t actually going to solve this problem.”

Patton glanced at Virgil, and at a small tilt of the anxious side’s head, he locked eyes with Logan and nodded.

“You’re right,” he said firmly. “This whole thing happened because we’ve been ignoring this problem. The only way we’re going to bring an end to this is if we confront it head on.”

“Guess we’ll get a chance to test out your hypothesis, Logan,” Virgil added as they hurried towards the square.

“If it comes to that,” Logan agreed. “I do still hope that we’ll be able to use reason with Roman, though after all we’ve done to reach this point, I don’t know if that will be effective.”

“Probably not,” Patton said quietly, and Logan glanced at him.

Patton met his eyes for a moment, and Logan was surprised at the amount of melancholy he saw there. All through their ordeal, Patton had maintained a level of optimism that bordered on recklessness. As much as Logan had found that to be unrealistic, he also had relied on it for strength more than he’d realized. That Roman had somehow managed to dampen that was almost more offensive than the fact that he’d locked Patton and Virgil up.

Before Logan could think of an appropriate response, the trio rounded the corner into the square, then immediately skidded to a halt. Patton let out a gasp and Virgil swore under his breath; all Logan could do was stand there blankly and take in the scene.

Guards in full regalia lined the square, blocking off every possible avenue of escape. The Dragon Witch lay sprawled out on the ground, a deep wound in her side causing her breath to come in quick, pained gasps.

Roman stood over her fallen body, and the red sunlight shining down on his silver breastplate made it look as if he was bathed in blood. His face was twisted in a terrible mix of fury and triumph, and he brandished his sword at his defeated foe, as though daring her to stand and challenge him again.

She was in her dragon form, but as her wound spilled blood down onto the cobblestones, that body fizzled away, revealing the humanoid woman Logan had first met outside her lair. Her robes were torn and bloody and her face was deathly pale, but her eyes still blazed with a defiant fire as she stared up at her opponent.

“Any final words, Witch?” Roman asked in a steely voice.

The Dragon Witch opened her mouth, but before she could speak, a high pitched cry rang out through the square.

“Stay back!”

Maddie darted forward, putting herself between Roman and the witch’s body, gripping Dragon Witch’s staff tightly in both hands. The thing was nearly twice her height and she brandished it clumsily, but Roman still paused in his advance.

“Out of my way, girl,” he said, but Maddie shook her head.

“I said back!” she insisted, shaking the staff towards him.

“Run along now, little hero,” the Dragon Witch coughed, reaching weakly towards the girl as if to pull her back. “Your part is done.”

Maddie shook her head again, and Roman frowned.

“I won’t tell you again. Stand. Down,” he said coldly.

Maddie shifted her feet and gripped the staff more tightly, but she did not move, and Roman sighed, raising his sword.

“Enough!” Logan shouted before he could bring the blade down.

Roman looked up, his eyes flashing with hatred as they landed on his three fellow sides. Logan’s confidence faltered as the full force of that glare landed on him and he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

What if it doesn’t work? What if it’s not enough? I have no more tricks up my sleeve…if this plan fails, then what are we going to do?

Logan’s racing thoughts were pulled to a stop with a sudden, simple touch. He looked down and saw that Patton had stepped forward and intertwined their fingers. The moral side glanced up at him and nodded, a slight waver in his smile the only sign betraying his own nerves. Virgil stepped up beside them, locking eyes with Logan as he wordlessly took Patton’s other hand. An understanding passed between them, and Logan smiled, giving Patton’s hand an encouraging squeeze. He looked back to the square, and took a deep breath.“Enough, Roman!” he repeated, his voice steady and strong. “This ends now!”

— — —

AN: So I know that LAST time I updated I said I wanted to update the fic more and then almost 5 years passed, but I can say with confidence that THIS YEAR chapter 10 at least will be released, if not the entire end of the fic (I won't actually know whether the conclusion takes one or two chapters to write until I, you know, write it, but it's outlined, I promise). I've been trying to finish this story for so long, and I know it looks like nothing happened between these updates, but rest assured, I thought about this story and how much I wanted to finish it often during these past few years. Thank you so much for being patient with me, and thank you to anyone who still has stuck around to read this, even after all this time. I love each and every one of y'all <3

(If you were on the Our Own Villain taglist, I will be tagging you in a reblog, tagging has changed so much in four years that my taglist copy-paste doesn't even work anymore)

#our own villain #sanders sides #thomas sanders #tss #tss fic #tss fanfic #sanders sides fanfic #my writing #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #the dragon witch #tss dragon witch

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onthevirgeofdestruction · 3 months ago

Text

Shatter the Glass

I was paired up with @diamondwind99 for the @xts-reverse-bangx! I picked up this as a backup writer, but I went ham all the same! (Special Thanks to @spiritwell-sides-i-guess for beta-reading!)

Setting: Sanders Sides Canonverse side-story type situation Characters: All canon sides & c!Thomas Shipping: None Word Count: 11,014 (22 Pages) Rating: Teen Warnings: Standard for Sanders Sides, mostly. Mild Dirty Humour, Violence, discussion of eating things that shouldn't be eaten. Standard "Remus Being Remus", as well. Heavy Depression is Depicted as well. Tags: Mild Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Roman is Incapable of letting Other Sides finish a sentence, Bratty Creativities, Catty Janus, Someone give Logan a hug, Patton is trying really hard, C!Thomas is too but depression flavoured

You can see the art that inspired the piece here:

The first thing he could see in the darkness was the colorful lights shimmering on the floor, like a smattering of each colour on a messy painting palette. Roman blinked twice, looking up to find the source of the rainbow refraction, scanning the darkness for any sign of the light. Looking high up, a stained glass window suspended in the darkness. He half-wondered if he was picking his class in Kingdom Hearts before he processed what the colourful blocks of glass depicted, and then his heart stopped.

He would have thought it was Remus at first. The black clothes, the sinister expression, those things reeked of Remus. But the red sash and jewels on the crown made it clear—it was Roman. Creativity, passion, even ego, all gone dark. The room darkened as Roman cried out in confusion, a strangled noise of loss echoing in the empty chamber. The stained glass cracked at the soldered seams, light breaking through into a blinding flash blasted out as the window shattered completely.

Roman gasped, his eyes opening up to the familiar sight of Thomas’s living room across the dining table. He blinked a few times, looking down at his hands. He grasped them a few times and looked around the room. Thomas blearily picked at a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, scanning his phone as Logan harped on him to review the schedule. Virgil sat on the top of the fridge, chewing his thumbnail and Patton begged him to come down. A very normal morning. Was that a daydream? Or some kind of nightmare? Roman wasn’t sure.

“He always does this, Patton, there’s no point. He must like it up there,” Roman pointed out into the kitchen, and Patton turned to look at Roman.

Patton smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his head. “Oh, ah, Roman. Well, I still want him to sit at the table like a family.” Virgil pulled up his legs and looked away. “Aw, Virge, don’t be like that!” Patton knocked on the fridge, but Virgil just ignored him.

Roman sighed and ran his hand through his hair, glancing at Thomas struggling through his oatmeal another time. He didn’t seem to notice Roman. That was a motif, lately. Logan didn’t look up either, too focused on trying to get Thomas’ attention. Patton was back to ignoring him, pleading with Virgil to come down. Virgil just pulled up his hood and put on a pair of headphones. Virgil didn’t even have to be here. It was just breakfast. What was Thomas even worried about?

“Patton, wh—”

“Virgil, that’s not good for the fridge,” Patton insisted.

“He doesn’t weigh anything, Patton. He is imaginary,” Logan reminded Patton with a weary tone, putting down his clipboard on the table with a clatter. “Thomas, there is nothing wrong with your food, and it is getting cold. You are going to fall behind schedule if you keep procrastinating like this.”

“Logan, please,” Thomas pleaded desperately, causing every side to look at him. “… I just need a minute.” Thomas just slumped further, holding his head down on the table. The oatmeal spoon was knocked out, leaving a mushy trail on the table where it fell.

Ah, well, that’s what Virgil was doing here. Would have been nice to have someone tell Roman that, but it seemed he was just in the way here. He didn’t tarry any longer, just sinking out on the spot. He knew when he wasn’t wanted, unlike some sides. Roman didn’t bother showing up the rest of the day. If they couldn’t appreciate his greatness, they didn’t deserve his presence anyway.

—

If Roman knew he’d be stepping directly into a minefield, he wouldn’t have tried to come out today. When Roman rose up to suggest an idea to Thomas more directly, he caught Patton’s eye. Patton looked stressed, a weak smile and shooting his eyes over next to him where Janus stood and mouthed ‘leave’. But it was too late, Janus caught the cartoonish gestures and turned from talking to Patton to see Roman standing there.

“Oh, you again. You know, as much as I love to see you, I think we’d all be better off if you and your ‘sense of humour’ took a little break, hm?” Janus suggested, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. Patton sighed heavily, looking conflicted.

“I wasn’t here to make jokes, Janus. Thomas wasn’t paying attention to me,” Roman stated in annoyance, fixing his hair with a sweep of his hand.

“Probably because he already has plenty of creative suggestions at the moment,” Janus said haughtily, flicking his gloved fingers over to the couch, where Thomas sat with his head in his arms, a TV show going on ignored in the background. Remus was sitting there rambling off things in an animated fashion that talked through a shadowy figure in front of Thomas, crouching on the top part of the couch like a gargoyle over Thomas’ left shoulder. The debris of one of his insidious (and overcomplicated) traps lay all over the living room floor and across the back of the couch.

Roman bristled and clenched his fists. “I assure you, my suggestions would be leagues better than his,” he shot defensively, motioning widely over to Remus who just ignored him as he continued to prattle off horrible, disgusting things as usual.

“Buddy, I think I’d prefer to hear what you had to say, too, but it’s more fair if we listen to everyone, isn’t it?” Patton said weakly, fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweater.

“Nobody has even heard what I have to say yet, how is that fair?” Roman insisted, stamping his foot.

Patton almost looked hopeful for a moment, but Janus’ sharp tongue sliced that away in an instant. “I’m sure we’ve all heard enough of you. I’m sure I have,” Janus scoffed, turning away from Roman to face Patton directly. Patton looked like he was about to object, but bit his lip, looking between Janus and Roman.

“I mean, Remus will be done soon… Right?” Patton said warily, holding up a finger just for it to sag as he watched the gross green gargoyle gallivant over the top of the couch, just out of sight of Thomas.

Roman recoiled at the idea, then again at Remus who was now topping his arm with deodorant to eat. “There is no way that those suggestions are anything worthwhile,” Roman insisted firmly, but nobody reacted to his loud frustration.

“Hm? Did you hear something, Patton? Anyway, as I was saying, a little sunlight does wonders. Perhaps a little sunbathing,” Janus said airily, twisting his hand in the air. Clearly he was not wanted. Once again. Roman groaned, his head suddenly hurting horribly. He sank out, feeling the blood pounding under his fingertips as he held his skull.

Roman’s hand nudged something on his head that was not there earlier, which he rubbed in surprise. It was hard and solid. He created a hand mirror and pulled back his hair to check what was hiding in his perfectly styled hair. A sharp white horn was sticking out of his skull. Roman panicked, shifting his head to check the other side. There was a horn sticking out there as well. The same size, evenly spaced, a beautiful curve. The perfect horns if they weren’t so deeply unwanted. Horns were always a sign of an evil character, and Roman was sprouting the devil’s accoutrement!

He gasped, shifting the mirror again to examine them. He tried to simply shift them away like he was changing clothes. The horns stayed, sticking out of his hair. Was this some sort of prank? A trick? Roman tried to push them down back into his skull, but it only hurt his head worse. He summoned a comb and tried to style the hair up around them, but Linda continued to fight him and he just looked ridiculous with the only style that hid them. Roman reset his hair with a huff and summoned a crown. It hid the horns well enough, but an involuntary shiver ran down his spine when he realized the crown was familiar. He thought he had come up with it on the spot, as he often did, but it looked like the crown from his dream.

The crown slid, and Roman huffed and adjusted it. It’s just a crown with red jewels. He’s overthinking it. Who is he, Virgil? No. It was fine. It hid the horns and it looked good. It wasn’t that deep. Whatever was causing the horns might not even be that deep, either. Maybe this was a prank from Remus. Or payback from some other side for a slight they imagined. Well, no matter. They were easy to hide and he always deserved a crown. Things just fell off of his head easily. The horns would hold it on for him, though. A blessing in disguise. Surely. Roman has a cool new crown and other than being purposefully ignored, things were fine. He would talk to Thomas later. And make him listen. ‘Fairness’ his royal hindquarters. Right now, though, his entire body hurt and he needed a nap.

—

It made sense Roman ended so bruised up, if he took the time to think about it. But when he woke up, yawned while he stretched out like the Disney princess he was, then summoned a mirror to check his hair, it surprised him so much he let out a very unmanly screech and dropped the mirror. It broke, of course. While Roman was preening and whining for help, he stepped on it by accident. But no one came, and the weight of it all sunk in slowly in the silent room.

Roman slumped to the floor and gingerly picked the mirror back up, checking again. A yellowing bruise around his eye. A pale blue on his cheek. Barely noticeable, but there. A massive green bruise on his neck. So his ego was bruised. And nobody cared to come take care of him. Unreasonable, really. Here he is trying so hard to keep Thomas distracted and delighted with all of his greatest creations, and nobody can even spare a pitiful ‘there, there’ with a pat on his very sore head. Roman reached up to check, and the horns were still there, though. Perhaps even bigger, but still hidden by the combination of the crown and hair. Maybe not a head pat, then. He grumbled and adjusted a loose strand back into place through the cracks of the mirror.

This is how people get hurt. Not that that was a threat. But maybe it should be. No, that’s not who he was as a side. Well, who was he? Because he wasn’t being creativity, lately. Remus was doing that, much to Roman’s chagrin. His ego was too bruised to exist. His desires aren’t being listened to in the slightest right now, even if he knew all too well he wasn’t sure what he even wanted at the moment. But normally someone would at least listen to Roman ramble out vague feelings of yearning. There’s nothing but a hope of romance on the horizon, and all of his romantic schemes keep getting shut down as ‘premature’. His dreams are also shut down as ‘unrealistic’. All there is left is passion, and at the moment there was nothing anyone would let him be passionate about.

If the universe (or at least Thomassphere) was trying to send him a message, it needed to be a bit more clear. Like a shimmering golden scroll with a dyslexic-friendly font. Or perhaps some mystic herald. Ideally, an extended and fantastical musical number. That would really be grand. Roman tapped his chin, and it twinged in pain. He groaned loudly, still feeling like he just couldn’t win.

Carefully getting up, Roman started to pace the room again. It felt cold, and he wanted some comfort, so he summoned a red blanket to wrap over his shoulders as he walked, holding it tight over himself. It was honestly strange that no one came to visit. Patton would have been helping Roman in a heartbeat before. Patton loved helping. And yet he never answered any calls?

“Patton?” Roman tried again, but it just felt like his words rammed into the wall and turned into dust that dumped all over the floor. He slogged through the debris of his words and sighed, pulling the blanket tighter. He kicked the dust and choked on his dead words, the coughing wracking pain through each and every bruise dappling his skin.

This was truly unfair. What, was one catty remark enough to earn such revile? Well, not even that. That would require someone to even speak to him. He’s being completely ignored. Spurned, even. Is just one mistake all that it takes? If so, what a cruel double-standard to be held against him. Janus and Virgil are often making snide remarks, but Roman is somehow better than that? Were they not all Thomas? Even Logan gets to be a judgey bitch. And honestly, he didn’t even want to consider the types of things Remus said. And if Patton can make mistakes and apologize, then where was Roman? A unique doghouse made just for him. Unfairly. Cruelly. He wasn’t even given a chance to apologize, if that was indeed even the problem. No one ever even said what he did wrong to earn this exile. There’s no guidebook for this.

Roman tried his hardest every second of his life to be who he thought Thomas needed. Creative, stunning, passionate, strong, dashing. A prince of fantasy writing scrolls of genius literature. But what was any of it worth if no one listened. If no one cared what he had to say or the works he wanted to put into the world. Why was Thomas putting so much time into listening to Remus and ignoring his glorious self? One who was objectively better in every way! For one, Roman could take the damned hint. If he wasn’t wanted, fine. He would be unwanted. If people—well, sides, at least, he knew the fans loved him—can’t want a good thing, that’s their problem. But he still had a job to do, even if they never gave him the chance.

He looked like hell. Felt like shit. Honestly, not at his ‘A game’. But none of that mattered. It was time to make that hell someone else’s problem, whether they liked it or not.

Roman rose in Thomas’ bedroom, ignoring the looks he got from the other sides already in the room. “Thomas!” The man himself looked up from the edge of the bed warily. Remus was building another one of those god-awful contraptions across the bed. Roman raised his hand and Remus disappeared with a stinky gasp, clearly caught off guard. “Stop. Ignoring me for him. Make some time for me or I will do it myself. And I am right now.”

Patton held up his hand and opened his mouth, Roman just shushed him and zipped his mouth shut with his free hand, still holding the blanket around his shoulders. “Get your bodacious ass to that desk and write this down. I’ve been trying to tell you this idea for days and I don’t want to forget.”

Thomas just stared blankly at Roman, not seeming to follow. He looked where Remus was, and his eyes shot to Patton who was trying to pull the fiddly zipper back open. “I don’t—”

Roman’s laughter cut Thomas off, gripping the crumpled bedsheet and leaning back in surprise. “I’m sorry for making that sound like a request somehow. I will turn this bedroom into a children’s hospital, so help me god. Desk.” Roman pointed at the desk with his unsheathed katana as he stared Thomas down. After a heavy pause, Thomas swallowed heavily and got up to go to the desk.

“I really don’t have the energy for this, Roman,” Thomas said weakly, and his exhausted face spoke that leagues more than his words did. Creases under his eyes, dry lips, a sag of the skin. Ugh, what he wouldn’t give for a spa day. But he sat at the chair and looked at Roman like he wished he did. The telltale pound of their shared heart in anticipation. A wave of nausea from needing some sleep and a good meal.

Roman steeled his heart for Thomas, and smacked the desk with the katana. “That’s what happens when you only make time for him. But I’m not letting any of you”—Roman pointedly glanced to the other sides in the room—“kill me. So it’s my time now. Open the damn notebook. And then we’re going for a shower. Have some pride, for god’s sakes,” Roman hissed out bitterly.

“But the schedule—” Logan tried.

“Was I even on it?” Roman shot, the sword now under Logan’s chin. Logan held up his hands and backed off. There was a look in his eye full of anger. But he bit his lip like he had something to say and sunk out, not another word. It seemed Logan understood how to choose his battles.

“Oh, hold on, change that word choice. This is better,” Roman hummed, waving his hand. Thomas scratched out the previous sentence and wrote the corrected version. He made notes of direction and key, and the corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly before another sigh knocked through his chest, exhaustion not playing any games with this poor man’s body much longer.

“Isn’t this a little…” Patton trailed off. He must have worked that zipper open.

“I’m done being little,” Roman huffed, using the hilt of the katana to knock his crown back into place.

“I can see that,” Janus hummed, crossing his arms.

“Oh, shut it, snake boy,” Roman snipped, Janus holding his hand to his chest and gasping in response.

“Perfect. Finally, that’s written down. We’re not filming anything like that, though, gorgeous, so to the shower with you,” Roman commanded.

“We have other—” Virgil tried to object.

“Sh. Actually, strip the bed first. These sheets are disgusting. Touching them after a shower is nightmare material, and I’ve had well enough of that, I think,” Roman ordered. Thomas looked confused and looked to the other sides.

“You want to get that bee out of your bonnet?” Virgil huffed, his hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets as he sat on the edge of the bed. The sheets were pulled off under him by Thomas, but he didn’t shift from his spot as they phased through him.

“Someone else put it there, and it’s made its new home. And if I have to deal with this forsaken bee, then you can all deal with me dealing with the bee,” Roman insisted firmly.

“What?” Virgil’s stiff posture dropped to look at Roman sideways.

“Oh, you know what I mean.” Roman waved Virgil off. Thomas deposited the sheets in the hamper and looked to all the sides again.

“Well, we do kind of smell. I thought that was Remus, but…” Patton trailed off again, looking to the floor and wringing his hands.

“Hot shower. Now. We’ll listen to Dear Evan Hanson for the emo, but we need some cleaning and hydrating, tout de suite,” Roman said, sending his sword away. Janus just rolled his eyes and Patton kept staring at the floor.

“I can’t call that musical anywhere near alt rock, princey,” Virgil said, leaning back on the bare mattress.

“It’s about all those sad loser things, close enough.” Roman grinned, leaning with one hand on the desk.

“Speaking of being a sad loser,” Janus said derisively.

“I’m sure you’re a professional at it, but I don’t have time for nonsense like that. Shower time is when I shine. Keep the phone close for notes, Thomas!” Roman motioned with his free hand and Thomas sighed, doing as told. Janus said something back, but Roman just ignored him and followed Thomas into the bathroom.

The hot water was divine. Life-giving, really. He could see what all those metaphors were about. Surely he could come up with a better one, though. Thomas gargled the hot water before just standing under the hot waterfall. Virgil appeared sitting on top of the toilet tank, surprising Roman. Everyone else seemed to have backed off. But if Virgil wanted a fight, he could get one.

“We’re not worrying this shower through, Virgil,” Roman stated flatly.

“Maybe you’re not,” Virgil scoffed, leaning on his thighs. “No, what’s with…” He motioned in Roman’s direction. “All of this?”

“The perfection? I know.”

“I more meant the shiners.”

“I am sparkling, aren’t I,” Roman said with a fond sigh.

“I’d rather be shiny,” Thomas sang in the shower. Oh, they forgot to turn on the tunes. Well, any musical is a good one. Virgil looked over to Thomas for a moment, humming along.

“Is that why the crown and the cape, too?” Virgil asked, turning back to look at Roman.

“Cape. Yes. Right. This is a cape.” Roman blinked and quickly turned the red blanket over his shoulders into a proper cape, hooked in the front with a golden embellished cape hook, sporting a red amulet in the design. He dropped his hand from the nape of his neck to lean with both hands on the bathroom counter.

“… That’s what I said,” Virgil stated oddly, looking over Roman again. “Are you sure you’re okay? Even other than the full spectrum of bruise going on,” he asked with a suspicious twinge.

Roman turned over his shoulder to look into the bathroom mirror at himself. There were massive cracks along the surface of the bathroom mirror. That was odd. When did that happen? The breaks in the surface distorted and fragmented the image of himself from behind. He saw a small version of his face give himself the once over. Small hairs sticking out from under his crown, littered with bruises, but still standing tall. Perhaps not ideal, but ideals were Pat’s territory. Creativity and passion could be messy. Wrought with mistakes and burdened with criticism, however heavy either are, these things move on. Perfection is an idea, but passion is a force of nature, not to be reckoned with. Creativity is the divine spark that brings new life to the world. Maybe ideals and such were beneath him all along, even.

“Princey?” Virgil asked again, shaking Roman from his reverie.

Roman looked back to Virgil and cleared his throat. “No. No, I’m not. I don’t think I’ve been okay in a long time, even. I may never even be okay again. But I can’t keep waiting for someone else to fix things. And I’m certainly not going to put up with being shoved aside any longer.”

“Uh, Ro—”

“Honestly, it’s been hard. And I’m tired of all this gaff and faff. Really, it’s too much for any side to handle. I shouldn't have been the side who who had to stepped up.”

“Roman—”

“I simply couldn’t handle all that mess any longer,” Roman said, with a hot huff through his nose, reaching up to adjust his crown again, since he shifted while he spoke. “And if no one is going to take care of my poor bruises, I will. And if that makes me a problem, I’m afraid that’s a you-problem. Not a me-problem,” he said resolutely.

“Princey,” Virgil insisted loudly.

“What is it, nightmare on whine street?” Roman narrowed his eyes at Virgil. If he was going to object…

Virgil pointed behind Roman, which was odd. There was just a sink there. Roman turned to look over his shoulder and just saw the shattered mirror again, the red cape misshapen along the breaks of glass. Fog spread along the edges of the glass as the steam from the shower heated up the bathroom, giving the visage a dreamlike appearance. Virgil grunted, attracting Roman’s eyes once more, and motioned with both hands to Roman’s body.

“Yes, I’m here, Virgil, spit it out already!” Roman’s head lolled back, and the crown caught on the horns this time instead of sliding off his head like it probably would have. He’s so not used to hats.

“How’s the amazing technicolour dreamcoat?” Virgil said, returning to leaning on his thighs with a big smirk.

“You know, I considered going full rainbow plenty of times, but it just gets clashy. So classic was the way to go. At least for now, anyway. Though getting someone over here to dye our whole head rainbow really would be a fun way to mix things up, wouldn’t it?” Roman hummed, rubbing his chin as he pondered the idea. Thomas pulled at a wet lock of hair and looked at it in the shower with interest.

“Classic villain?” Virgil asked, sounding amused.

“Now’s not the time for jokes, Virgil, don’t be silly,” Roman waved him off, still thinking about rainbow hair. Wasn’t that what people did when they wanted a change, anyway?

Virgil snorted. “Hey, Princey, what colour is your tunic?”

“Black, of course,” Roman joked, figuring he may as well play along. He stood up straight again and it was too fast, causing the crown to shift on his head, so he reached up to adjust it. The sleeve of his arm caught in his eyes though, and it was genuinely black now. Roman’s breath caught as his eyes locked on the fabric. Virgil tilted to look at his face, but Roman just grinned, rubbing the amulet on the cape hook with the sleeve to a shine. “It was time for a change. Isn’t it great? I’m a dark side like you used to be!” Roman enthused.

“Dark side? Roman, you made up that name. We never—”

“So? Everything real starts as an idea!” Roman defended. “What, are you jealous I look better in it than you?”

“More surprised than anything,” Virgil said, covering his mouth.

“You really did wuss out, Virgil. I think you were right all along. Being horrible and demanding gets things done,” Roman pondered on.

Virgil’s back shot straight, gripping his knees. “Excuse me?”

“Ugh, we still have to make the bed to actually go to bed,” Roman realized with a whine. “Oh, wait, that scene! Thomas, phone!” Roman waved at Thomas frantically, and Thomas reached for the phone to write it down, leaving wet marks on the screen. “Well, maybe since we’ve been staying up late already, it would be fine to write a little more…”

“Roman, what is going on with you,” Virgil demanded, standing up and hopping down from the toilet seat.

“Nothing that wasn’t a long time coming,” Roman huffed, crossing his arms and looking away.

Virgil jabbed at Roman’s chest with a finger and stared him in the eyes. “Do you really think—” Virgil started, and Roman snorted out an angry sound, heat licking at his face as smoke rose past his eyes in the fogged bathroom. Virgil’s eyes widened and he stumbled back, looking over to Thomas before looking back to Roman. “Creativity,” Virgil said, sounding taken aback for some reason. “Right,” Virgil muttered flatly and walked through the bathroom door, fading out and leaving nothing but the humid haze of the small bathroom to keep them company.

Roman turned quickly to look back into the shattered mirror, but the fog had completely overtaken the mirror, leaving nothing but a black and red smudge staring back at him. He could barely make it out as himself, but he knew it instinctively to be true. Roman gripped the counter top and stared where his eyes should be. This was what he wanted, right? Though having two dark creativities was a bit much to handle for his brain. That didn’t make sense. They needed new names. Roman was still passion, love, and hope. He wouldn’t be doing this if he wasn’t. And he’d be damned if he wasn’t creativity, as well. That’s not a phase he’s growing out of. Remus being called ‘creativity’ is an affront, in Roman’s opinion. Perhaps the poopoo-stinky side still worked. Or the murderwhore. Buttface? Well, he could workshop that.

“Roman! That’s an unexpected look from you,” Thomas stated warily, sliding open the shower curtain.

Roman turned around with a flourish. “Fortune favours the bold, darling, and I will be bold and fortunate if it kills you,” he said confidently, stepping out of the way of the sink.

“I’m sure Virgil has something to say about that.”

“Face, body, and hair moisturizer, Thomas, the emo already scampered off. We can get back to writing now that everyone is off my back, and I’m not wasting a second of my time,” Roman insisted, pushing Thomas closer to the sink to get to his beauty routine.

—

“Well, one of us will have to change,” Remus said cattily as Roman rose up to enter the room.

“I already changed. Since you’re the stagnant skidmark in question, how about you?” Roman snipped back, putting up a hand to block his face. He ignored Remus’ gasp and faced Logan. “When am I on the schedule today, my walking, talking spreadsheet of a side?”

“My opinion matters today?” Logan asked shortly, his fist tightening at his side.

“Oh, like anyone else was listening to you either,” Roman scoffed, flicking his wrist to hurry along with the indignation and answer the question. Logan didn’t say anything, just continuing to glare. What a drama queen. “I’m asking now. Have you made time for moi, or am I taking time for moi?”

Logan paused as if considering something, before responding, “a half-hour in the evening,” between gritted teeth.

“That will absolutely not do, Logan. We’ll barely get started in that amount of time,” Roman objected right away.

“Well, you kept Thomas awake late with that stunt, and we are very behind on other responsibilities. We need to clean. Get proper groceries. Update our budget spreadsheets. Do some exercise. There is only so much time in the day, and as you are well aware, we still need extra sleep. Be reasonable,” Logan stated flatly.

Reasonable? Roman glowered back at Logan, who summoned a notebook to write something down. He didn’t think he was being unreasonable. Not that he was even ‘reason’ to begin with. That was so stupid it didn’t even dignify a response. And from Specs of all sides. Really.

Roman looked over Thomas, who looked like a zombie as he tried to eat some dry cereal. “Out of milk?” Roman asked.

“Out of nearly everything,” Patton piped up. “I think—”

“Hm, well, I don’t think I care that much about all the minutia. I’ll let you all handle that and be the artiste I am and just do what I need to as the moment demands,” Roman said haughtily, feeling joyously indulgent in himself. He reveled in Patton’s gaping stare, Virgil throwing back his head in a groan, and just ignored whatever Remus was doing as usual. “Ta ta for now!”

Roman wiggled his fingers and sank out of the room, letting himself get caught up in a fantasy of not having to deal with all those things and simply get to be the star of the show. Oh, getting into another production was also a good idea. He had Thomas pull out his phone to check for auditions while he crunched on dry cereal and considered the options. The other sides had gotten into an argument, but it wasn’t about anything that mattered, so he left them to it and focused on more important things.

—

“Hello again, my adoring audience!” Roman rose into the room with a twirl, his arms in the air in a pose. “Oh, not so much an audience today,” he said, examining the room with no one but Thomas. So many sides have been very present lately. “Finally feeling a little free of conflicting feelings, Tommy-Salami?” Roman put his hand on Thomas’ shoulder, who was splayed on the couch like a starfish.

“Not really… feeling.” Thomas’ head lolled over to Roman, looking up at him. “The cape is neat. What made you change your mind?”

“Ah, well, just an impulse, really,” Roman dismissed, not caring to even think about that himself. He looked around again, looking for Logan. Logic made it sound very important, and While Roman didn’t particularly care or agree on the methods, their life needed a bit of organizing. Who better than Logan to help? “Wasn’t there some schedule you were supposed to be keeping? I thought I’d be having at least a little rebuff here,” Roman stated, scrunching up his face in confusion.

“Happy to provide,” Janus hissed, appearing with his leg crossed over the other and his hands folded in his lap in the chair. Thomas’ head rolled over to look at him, but didn’t react otherwise.

“That wasn’t an encouragement,” Roman objected.

“Funny thing! Neither is this. I thought you realized we had a problem here and were doing the gracious thing,” Janus said pointedly, staring Roman down.

“I’m not feeling particularly gracious at the moment.” Roman rolled his eyes, motioning to the bruises all over his face and neck.

“We did always have an easy to bruise ego, didn’t we,” Janus remarked banally, as if he couldn’t be less interested. Roman just narrowed his eyes at him. “We’re taking a breather.”

“We’ve been doing nothing but taking a breather. Trust me, I understand a good spa day. But we’re not even recuperating! Look at him!” Roman motioned to Thomas who looked up lazily at Roman and shrugged. “Go do something good, or stop wasting me time.”

“What’s this really about Roman?” Janus said flatly.

Roman startled, pulling up his hand to his chest as his jaw dropped. “Excusé moi?”

“All… this.” Janus motioned to Roman, who looked down and looked up so fast he nearly launched his crown. It caught on his horn and he pushed it back into place on his head with a huff. “I’ve always known you were bitchy, but plagiarism? Come now, that’s supposed to be beneath us. Other than that whole… Inside Out situation,” Janus said insultingly, twisting his gloved hand in the air. Roman bristled, a thousand insults all fighting to bubble out at once, leaving him speechless and stammering. “No more zingers? Thank god,” Janus scoffed, looking away to Thomas and opening his mouth again once more, but Roman beat him to the punch.

Literally.

Janus stumbled back, holding his face and looking utterly and completely aghast.

“I have listened. And struggled. And tried. And I get all these conflicting requests and messages. Give me fun nicknames and quips Roman, they’re good for comedy! Oh, but not right now. Express yourself, Roman! But not that way, no no! That will not do! Perform right now! Ope, the moment’s passed, too late. Stop acting afool!” Roman shouted out as Janus stumbled back to fall on the couch next to Janus. Thomas seemed to be coming to, the haze in his eyes clearing as he looked over to Roman. “Or how about even just you, no other side involved? Doting on me with sweet compliments, playing along with my jokes, having a gas. Just to throw me out of the damned air balloon the first disagreement we have! I’m not buying what you’re selling anymore, Sanctimonious Snitch!”—Janus gasped loudly at that one—“If you have a problem with me, tell me. I’m not a damned mind-reader.”

“We’re literally the same person, but go off, I guess,” Janus muttered, rubbing his face. He knocked his hat back into place and tugged at the caplet to remove the rumples. But that wasn’t an answer.

“Oh, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?” Roman said cattily, crossing his arms. His tail flicked behind him, knocking over a trinket on the shelf. Wait, tail?

“I could ask you the same question,” Janus grumbled, looking away. Roman shot his tail to fall down the back line of his legs to hide it in a panic. “Fine, I’ll leave you to these wet mashed potatoes. He’s so responsive right now, I’m sure it will be a breeze,” Janus drawled and disappeared from the couch.

Thomas looked up at Roman, seeming to slip back into that daze. Roman snapped. “Bup-bup-bup! Look at me! Best side, most handsome, easy on the eyes, shouldn’t be a problem,” Roman said confidently, striking a pose. But Thomas waned again. “Wake up, bitch!” Roman shot, clenching his fists and stamping his foot on the floor. The tail flicked again, but it was no matter. “Thomas!” Smoke billowed from Roman’s mouth and the room heated.

“Someone’s throwing a little temper-tantrum,” Remus hummed, placing an empty can on a precarious pile in his latest abomination of a Rube Goldberg machine. “What, do I get no invite to the pity party? You know how much I love balls,” Remus preened, leaning forward with a manic expression distorting open his eyes and lips.

“I already made that joke. But better. And ages ago. Get with the program,” Roman huffed, looking away. He let his tail swish freely along with the frustration, not caring if Remus saw. Roman took the chance to look at it as well. A red-scaled dragon tail with a spade at the end. On the thinner side. The base had some golden-white scales on the underbelly. At least the color-scheme made sense. Suddenly having a dragon tail didn’t.

“Aw, did nobody wisten to your tales and you got so constipated with them, they shot out of your ass instead of your mouth?” Remus joked, flicking his fingers in Roman’s direction.

“More action than you’ve gotten,” Roman scoffed, his arms crossing again as he paced the room. He turned on a foot and faced Thomas pointedly, ignoring whatever machinations Remus had going on pointedly. Roman tugged at his tunic and cleared his throat, looking directly at Thomas who was still utterly dazed. “Thomas. You are getting up off this damned couch. We are making a mug cake for a little sugar so I can think in this hell hole we call an apartment, and we are writing, do you hear me?”

Thomas just stared at him. Or maybe through him.

“Listen to me!” Roman shot, fire passing from his lips, the carpet smoking beneath his boots.

“Did we upgrade to temperature-tantrum?” Remus mused playfully, rubbing his mustache.

“Weak, Remus. And you call yourself creativity,” Roman scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Eh, we’re sleep deprived.” Remus waved off, unfazed, and Thomas seemed to have caught himself tittering. Remus adjusted the remote control right next to Thomas’ hand, teetering to get knocked off to start the trap.

Roman sighed heavily and pulled Thomas off the couch by his left arm, away from the obvious set up all crafted behind him.

“Spoilsport!” Remus shot, knocking down the remote himself. The trap set off, but Roman simply pulled Thomas away into the kitchen and away from all that mess.

“I’m not really hungry, Roman,” Thomas objected, but Roman didn’t care and sent a single arm flying, tugging him through the kitchen to the cabinet and pantry to make a mug cake.

Logan rose up with a tired sigh, the other hand going into Thomas’ pocket for the cell phone, looking up a recipe for one. Roman was just going to wing it—honestly, how hard could it be—but with Logan’s help they had a mug brownie in hand with a spoonful of frost-bitten ice cream no one remembered buying on top in short order. Roman stuck the tail to the back of his pants and tried to hide it there, but Logan didn’t seem to be looking Roman’s way at all. He wasn’t sure if he was offended or relieved about that.

There was a bit of fight to eat the sweet treat, Thomas stubbornly dodging with his head when they tried. The poor fool got a big smear of brownie on his face. But after a single bite, his stomach woke up and he was eating it in no time.

Roman felt incredibly self-satisfied with the victory, but Logan looked just as stale and unimpressed as before. “Geez Logan, it’s not a funeral,” Roman huffed, Thomas tossing a glance to Logan in-between bites. He handed off a wet paper towel to Thomas for him to clean off his cheek.

“Do you even care what I have to say?” Logan asked flatly, looking stoic as usual. Thomas took the paper towel automatically, and then did a double-take between Roman and the wet rag before cleaning off his face.

“Not really, but it’s not like you care at all,” Roman said dismissively, and Logan’s eye twitched. “But I don’t think that matters. When is dinner time on that schedule of yours again? I wasn’t paying attention,” Roman asked. Logan’s arms dropped to his side and he stood there blankly for a moment. “Logan?”

“Earth to the ass-tronaut!” Remus shot from the living room.

“Remus I will cut you into bite sized pieces and feed you to the birds!” Roman shouted back angrily.

“What, not enough of a man to vore me whole?” Remus teased, wiggling his ass in the air.

“Logan, what time do we need to go and make dinner,” Roman asked again, just ignoring Remus. Then glanced around the kitchen to all the dirty dishes. There wasn’t even a clean counter to work with. “Er, well… order out dinner, actually,” he amended his question. Even if they started cleaning the kitchen now, he didn’t think they’d be done in time to make dinner. And they certainly didn’t have the energy to clean up after making dinner, either. Roman glanced over to the garbage, and even that was full of take out containers. Roman groaned inwardly as his head sagged. He knocked the crown back into place and looked at Logan who still stood there like a robot.

“You’d think he’d be hopping on the opportunity to answer a question like that,” Roman remarked.

“Maybe that scheduling fetish doesn’t have the same spark anymore,” Remus suggested, leaning over the counter to look into the kitchen. “Let’s add roaches to the mug cake. Ant sprinkles. A little bit of sh—”

“No,” Roman and Thomas said simultaneously, but Thomas was still struck with a shudder.

“Rude,” Remus whined.

“I… don’t understand the purpose of this question,” Logan finally said, and to his credit he really looked lost.

“And I don’t understand the confusion. What, did you shred it up? Feed it to the neighbor’s dog? Did Remus light it ablaze?” Roman asked incredulously.

“Oh!” Remus cackled with delight at the idea.

“Well, obviously not that one, then,” Roman groused, shoving some food in Thomas’ mouth since he got distracted from eating again. “I know you have redundant schedules. And those back-ups have back-ups. Just give me a time, I don’t care about the specifics or some sob story about how one of Remus’ little brain demons at your day planner,” Roman said, leaning on the counter lazily.

“… Why?” Logan asked.

“Ugh. I see now that too much chaos and disorder is a problem. And while I don’t want it cutting into my me time, I’ve been cut all the same. I’d rather stop early than not get to be myself at all. Did you think I wanted this fashion flip? No! It sucks!” Roman tried to explain but fell off into complaining.

“Sure suits you though,” Remus said with a high teasing tone. Roman raised his arm and tried to send off Remus again, but the gremlin’s smile only widened. “That trick will only work once! You can’t surprise me with the audacity anymore when you have nothing but!” Remus announced brightly, leaning in and shackling himself dramatically to the counter, the chains loudly clanking and he posed like a waif dying in a dungeon. “I’m here forever,” he sighed miserably.

“No one is allowed to call me over-dramatic ever again,” Roman said flatly. Remus collapsed to the counter and coughed out blood, his cheeks growing hollow and dark as he coughed. “You act like you’re trapped and withering, but you’ve always had it good,” Roman stated darkly.

“Oh ho?” Remus looked up from the counter with high eyebrows, wiping the blood from his lips with his hand. It smudged all over his face, only looking worse.

“You’ve never been stuck listening to all these stupid rules,” Roman started. “Do it this way, Roman. What about what’s popular, Princey? That won’t sell, Roman. Don’t be mean, Roman. You can’t talk about our current project, Roman, that’s spoilers! Why don’t you stand up for what’s right, aren’t you a prince? Distract me, Roman!” He said with increasing volume in a mocking tone, his hands yapping along with him. “You’ve always just done whatever you wanted without ever considering another soul, and nobody blinks an eye. If I was anywhere near as bad as you, I’d get chastised from all sides!” Roman ranted out, slamming his fist into the counter. Thomas put down his mug and considered Roman carefully, looking aware of him for the first time this afternoon. “I didn’t even ask, and you helped me,” Roman said quietly. “Which is more than I can say about any other side right now!” He shouted to the ceiling. Remus cackled loudly, echoing eerily in the room. “So. When are we ordering dinner on your schedule? Or have you been shut up by Janus again,” Roman insisted in a hard tone.

“You. You started that,” Logan said in a baffled tone.

“Be the fun side, Roman. Come up with a joke, Roman. Keep it light-hearted, Roman,” he hissed through his teeth as he reiterated, glaring at Logan through the words forcing their way through the walls of his pearly whites.

“That’s rich,” Remus said with a dreamy sigh.

“If we were rich, the kitchen would be clean and our private chef would be making us a meal right now!” Roman shot angrily, his tone nothing short of bitchy and done-with-it.

“Soak the mug, Thomas,” Logan said quietly, pointing at the empty mug Thomas held as he gaped at the other sides.

“Please do.” Roman waved him to the sink. “I thought it was a joke. Between friends. But here we are and I fucked up again if you’re holding something that stupid against me. Sorry. Should I hold a sign,” he grumbled out, flicking his head side to side.

“I would appreciate that,” Logan said, suddenly holding the day planner in his hands.

“That was a joke, but you know what, sure,” Roman agreed with exasperation. “Time!” He snapped impatiently again.

Logan regarded Roman through thin eyes. “We should order dinner in around two hours. Ideally, something nutritionally sound. And since we’ve been eating out or having pre-packaged meals, we should be drinking plenty of water to be mindful of our sodium intake,” Logan said warily, like he expected to get cut off any minute.

“Ugh, boring,” Roman groaned, his head falling back. “Alright then. Thomas, a glass of water and to the desk, right now. We’re going to color a little to wake you up from whatever fog you’ve been in and then writing for the rest of the time. Let’s go! We have a limited amount of time! Look alive, Thomas!” He stood up straighter and pointed, adjusting his crown.

“Unlike me!” A zombie Remus conjured said at the same time as Remus.

“The cross on the wall will handle it, go!” Roman insisted, and Thomas grabbed a glass from the cabinet with wide eyes and filled it from the pitcher in the fridge.

Roman thought he saw Logan smiling out of the corner of his eye, but he was just stoically taking notes in that stupid spiral notebook as he sank out of the kitchen when Roman looked at him properly. More zombies appeared, but Roman just made a bolt-action holy water stake launcher appear in his hands and shot them all in the head before Thomas had a chance to notice them as he took his glass of water upstairs. He passed Virgil, who shot Thomas a quizzical look, but didn’t say anything as Thomas passed.

The zombies all fell over into dust, which Roman gathered and washed down the sink with a sigh as Remus threw a massive fit on the floor, thrashing his arms and kicking his legs. “One of those days, huh?” Virgil remarked.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe, sister,” Roman agreed with a tired whine. He looked at the stake-launcher in his hands and where Remus threw a fit on the floor and took aim. Roman paused and sagged, walking over to Virgil and dropping off the gun in his hands as he passed upstairs to follow Thomas. “If you use it, I won’t say a word.” Roman winked and headed up the stairs with a flourished wave, turning away from the nonsense.

—

Roman lounged in the chair, munching on one of the cream cheese wontons they ordered as a side to the mushroom stir-fry and watching the film. It wasn’t exactly his choice of media, but it seemed that Thomas somehow got it in his head that a zombie movie would be fun. He couldn’t imagine where.

Virgil sat on the top of the couch, gripping his knees, while Remus laid on the floor far too close to the screen, propped up on his palms and kicking his legs as he watched the carnage with rapt attention. At least it was distracting the little bastard. Roman didn’t pay much attention to the screen. He really only wanted a wonton.

Thomas, as usual, wasn’t a big horror fan. Especially watching horror movies alone. It was honestly a terrible idea. Virgil may be extra ‘vigilant’ all night. Roman didn’t see much merit in these kinds of shows, and they also freaked him out, but he didn’t really want to be even more alone by going back to his room, either. Sitting there was close enough. Janus checked in from time to time, but otherwise there were no other sides there, and Thomas wasn’t paying attention to them. It may be the closest they were going to get to ‘relaxed’ for tonight, anyway. After Roman wrapped up with writing, it sunk in with Thomas that he laid around and did nothing all day when he could have been writing or cleaning or organizing or catching up on any number of other things and Roman didn’t quite know what to do with that.

These little dilemmas where Virgil goes between stating the obvious and being helpful to being part of the problem randomly seem to be tricky waters. Roman honestly would have rather been writing than moping. Logan would agree that it would have been a better use of his time. Patton was the one most wrought with guilt about it sometimes. Putting on a scary movie as a distraction was Janus’ suggestion in the end. Something about leopards. Roman wasn’t paying attention, he was busy picking what he wanted to eat. He’d been struggling with wants lately and just needed to feel sure. Thankfully, the wontons hit the spot, so he was right.

“Are you even watching?” Virgil whispered, and Roman just hummed in response, pulling out his phone to play on it. “Why even be out here if you don’t want to watch, Princey?”

“Logan’s probably busy with Patton at the moment. That whole ‘effective use of time doesn’t include guilt, so it is unproductive to mourn time you wasted’ spiel we’ve heard a million times before that never seems to click. So sitting alone while our heart is pounding out of our chest from this zombie nightmare is not how I would like to spend this evening. May as well sit here if I’m just going to sit somewhere, anyway. Our brain is proper mush after today, I’m not wringing another word out of it no matter how fine the cheesecloth,” Roman explained quietly, swiping through the apps to pick what he wanted to play. Oh, the prince dress-up app seemed nice.

“And the tail?” Virgil asked, leaning over to look around Roman’s side, to the red scaled tail wrapped around his side.

Roman glanced at it briefly to see the end flicking like an annoyed cat before returning to dressing up his dream prince. “Like I’m in control of that,” Roman huffed distractedly.

“You’re literally the mos—” Virgil started, but jumped when there was a sudden noise, stopping to look around suspiciously. “Zombies!?” Virgil hissed in surprise.

“Shotgun?” Remus asked, as if in a daze.

“Sides, Virgil,” Logan said, standing with Patton in the kitchen as they gathered a drink of ice water. Roman summoned a throw pillow right away and slammed it over his tail.

Virgil looked over, seeing Roman’s hot face and his hand gripping over the red throw pillow to hide the tail. Virgil snorted, flicking his eyes between Roman’s face and the white-knuckled grip on the pillow. “Princey—” Virgil started, but Roman shushed him quietly and sat up straighter, smiled a bit, and quickly checked to make sure his crown was in place.

Logan looked into the living room, a bored look on his face when he saw the TV. Patton said something quietly, and Logan returned to conversation with him and they both sunk out a moment later. Roman’s shoulder’s relaxed and he sighed as he sunk back into the chair.

“Kiddo, can I talk to you?” Patton asked, rising up, and Roman screamed, falling over sideways on the chair.

“Okay, maybe this movie was a bad idea,” Thomas admitted, looking over to them. Roman’s face grew hot again and he knocked his crown back into place. He coughed and sat up straight.

“Shut it or I’ll shut it for you,” Remus sang out, waving a hand above his head.

“Let’s go elsewhere,” Patton suggested warily, grabbing Roman’s shoulder. Roman nodded and swallowed heavily, and the pair sank away from their spots and Roman found himself sitting in the same spot in Patton’s room. Though the throw pillow that hid his tail here said ‘there’s no place like home’ in sky blue instead of the plain red one he summoned before.

“I’m quite done explaining myself, Patton,” Roman defended when Patton didn’t talk to him right away. Patton just wrung his hands and stared at the floor.

“No, you’re right, I think I heard enough. I am on a streak, lately,” Patton said despondently, trailed by a weak laugh. “It’s not about that. But I am sorry for the mixed messages I had a part in. It’s not as simple as ‘do this but don’t do this’, though. But that’s besides the point.” Patton waved slightly, looking nervous. “You did a good job.”

Roman froze at that, not expecting those words out of his mouth. Honestly expected some kind of long-winded discussion about nuance with that starter. Compliments, though? He couldn’t believe that for a second. He’s been doing nothing but fighting for the last few days. “Spare me the platitudes, Patton,” Roman dismissed, looking the other way.

“Really, kiddo. You did. We’ve done something other than sleep and distract ourselves for the first day in months. You somehow got Thomas out of that fog yesterday that no one else could shake,” Patton said with a soft smile. “Hoo boy, I was there before Janus. And I just don’t know how you did it, champ! Must be magic,” he added, putting his hands on his hips and laughing lightly.

“I did my job. And I haven’t exactly been the most pleasant prince to parlay with,” Roman said, blinking up at Patton. His tail tried to twitch out of the pillow, but he slammed it down harder. “And I’m still mad at you for not coming when I called for help,” he added, his tone biting.

“Sorry again, Roman. I just… didn’t know what to say. I was worried I’d do it again, say the wrong thing, and just… contribute to the mess instead of fix it,” Patton said, contrite with his palms wide open. “And I still don’t know what to say.”

“I’d rather you stand there mute then leave me to rot, Patton,” Roman hissed out softly, looking up at him.

Patton’s smile sagged slightly, but he spread his arms wide. “Then would you like a hug?” He asked, and Roman’s arms shot around him faster than he even realized that yes, he desperately did. Patton’s arms wrapped around him slowly, rubbing Roman’s upper back as they embraced. “I’ve been learning a lot lately. Especially a lot about what it means to be good. I used to think that kindness was always the right thing to do. There’s no situation that a little kindness would hurt. At least, that’s what I thought. But…” Patton trailed off for a moment, and Roman looked up to see him looking to the ceiling, deep in thought.

The hug loosened, and Roman reluctantly let go for Patton to back up. He dropped onto the floor and looked up to Roman instead, crossing his legs and summoning himself what looked like a mug of hot cocoa. Patton sipped it silently for a moment, and Roman was at a loss for what could possibly come after that. That was what made sense. Every scene could use a hero. A dashing prince whose kindness and generosity helped the many, and people supported that prince in return.

Patton swallowed a gulp of cocoa before putting the mug on the floor and folding his hands in his lap. “Well… sometimes the kindest thing to do is be firm. And insistent. And sometimes that will end up looking a little mean.” Roman scoffed at that. “Okay, more than a little. You’ve been very mean. But Roman? I tried every kind word and encouragement under the sun. I tried to be soft. I tried to be patient. I almost tried bribes! But Thomas never moved. He just sat there like a rock while Remus worked on his next contraption. Janus literally came to take bets to see how long until you give up. But you forced your way through it, got us some food, and got us out of that funk. I’ve always been pro-peace, and I still am, don’t get me wrong. But I see now… in situations like this… an unwavering force can be good. And you did more good for Thomas than anyone else did with it.”

“I… How can I be unwavering if I don’t even know what I want, Patton?” Roman said weakly, letting go of his vice grip on the pillow to sag back into the chair.

“You wanted some time to write. You wanted a sweet to get the brain going. You wanted people to pay attention to you. Those seemed to work plenty!” Patton said brightly, going back for the cocoa.

“But those are so small and meaningless,” Roman objected, dejected.

“Rainbows start out from raindrops,” Patton said wisely, holding up a finger. “We’re just… starting small. While we figure it out. But we need to be resolute, I think. And forgiving,” he explained, his hand dropping back to the mug to hold it. “Speaking of, I think you have some words to say, mister.”

“Explaining how light refracts is a Logan-type situation.” Roman waved off, lolling his head to the side.

“No, no,” Patton chuckled. “The mean behaviour? The dismissing? I think you can be firm without being so rude,” he chastened.

“Can I?” Roman drawled, summoning himself a cocoa to hold on his lap.

“We’re re-learning our priorities from the ground up. I can’t say that it’ll always be a walk in the park. But I can say the stroll will be more merry”—Roman winced at that—“if we all start out with being kind… then perhaps be a bit more forceful if it’s important and we’re being bull-headed,” Patton explained.

Roman sighed heavily, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. “How am I supposed to know what’s ‘important’?” He asked, raising a hand to do finger quotes around the weightiest word.

“I… don’t know. I guess we’ll have to find out, huh,” Patton said, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Roman’s arm fell to his lap, and he took a deep breath in as he looked up to the ceiling. “I’m… Sorry, Pat. I shouldn’t have zippered your mouth shut. I felt like you wouldn’t have my back and was too tired for a fight. But… I can see now that wasn’t fair of me,” Roman said genuinely, his eyes growing uncomfortably warm and wet. “Who am I, teenage Virgil?” He joked with a weak laugh.

“Very moo-ving apology,” Patton dropped a delayed pun, and Roman shot him with a finger gun along with a half-smile. “And?”

“Sorry for steam-rolling you, too,” Roman sighed, lifting up his mug to his face.

“You’ve been a real steam-powered dragon like—”

“How did you know?” Roman shot, gripping at his tail under the pillow. “Who told you?” He demanded.

“Like… like in one of those coolio steampunk novels?” Patton finished with a completely lost expression, and Roman’s face heated worse. “Roman, your head is smoking.”

Roman cleared his throat and swished at the air to clear up the fog, the tail now sticking out from under the pillow at the corner of his vision. “It… does that?” Roman said. It wasn’t necessarily a lie.

“Well… you’re going through some things. We all are. Change can be… difficult. But it’s good, this time. You did good. That’s my point,” Patton followed up, ignoring the Roman’s obvious failure to mask the draconic situation.

“… Things were easier when they were black and white,” Roman admitted quietly. It felt hard to take the praise, for once. That used to come naturally to him. But he had to admit that considering how long they’ve all been wallowing, it was a victory worth claiming.

“Speaking of,” Patton hummed over his mug of cocoa. Roman slowly pulled his head off the chair to look at Patton who bounced his eyebrows and looked down, then back up to Roman’s face again. Roman sighed and looked down, seeing his tunic had turned back to white somehow. He lifted the pillow, but he still had the dragon tail underneath it. “Oh, neat!” Patton declared excitedly.

“I have no idea what I’m doing. But I also think I need people to respect me for what I am doing. Is that something that’s even possible? To respect someone with no control over themself?” Roman asked tiredly.

“I respect you, champ,” Patton said softly. “Especially if you apologize to everyone else as well,” he added in a chiding tone, and Roman rolled his eyes. He’ll apologize for punching Janus if he asks. And he wasn’t even sure what he did wrong with Logan. Or Virgil. He also couldn’t mean Remus, could he? Roman was knocked from his reverie as Patton continued. “We’re all just doing what we can, and myself in particular learned the hard lesson that doing what you can when there’s still so much more you could do isn’t some kind of moral failure. Maybe you can take a page out of my book on this one. It wasn’t a fun lesson to learn,” he suggested, sounding very battered and worn.

“Patton, darling, I’m sure it was very poignant or whatever, but I don’t see how that applies,” Roman stated tiredly, leaning back again to drink his cocoa.

“Judging someone for not doing something they can’t do isn’t helpful. So If you don’t know what you’re doing, but you’re trying… that’s enough. And that will probably always be enough. We just keep… trying,” Patton said, sounding like he was coming to the conclusion at the moment rather than explaining what he meant. Maybe it didn’t quite matter. All this morality discussion was hurting his head.

Roman looked to Patton again, who seemed to be deep in thought now. Figuring out some big answer to the meaning of life no doubt. Roman looked down at himself and took stock. Still had a dragon tail. Tunic turned white again. The cape bunched up under him on the chair. Roman knocked at the crown, and it still bumped against the horns. Well. Maybe being part dragon wasn’t so bad. As long as he wasn’t a dragon witch. That would be awkward to explain. Made him more interesting than Remus, at least. Damned side put so much thought into his outfit’s small details it was embarrassing to look so plain next to him. But no matter.

“I think I’m keeping the cape,” Roman said resolutely. At least he could follow that. Want what you want whole-heartedly. Even if it’s little.

“It looks very fun,” Patton said happily.

“And Remus still sucks.”

“R—” Patton was cut off right away.

“Dick!” Remus screamed, reverberating through Patton’s room.

They both sighed together and sipped some cocoa, and the moment grew quiet. It was comfortable, though. Patton’s loud and eccentric room glowing softly. Some familiar music played distantly in the background, and Patton hummed along.

“And wouldn't it be nice to live together in the kind of world where we belong?” Roman sang along, starting out a bit meek before leaning into it and adding a riff. The mirror above the couch also looked shattered, still, but he just moved on and let his eyes roam all the other pictures on the wall.

“You know it's gonna make it that much better, when we can say goodnight and stay together. Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up in the morning when the day is new?” Patton joined along for the next line, and they sang together to the Beach Boys with their cocoa. Roman’s tail flicked against the chair, Patton having slipped on his cat hoodie and moving to lean against Roman’s legs. They swayed together to the tune, and Roman let his brain wander to nice places, ignoring the random zombie noises and letting himself hold onto this little joy in the orangey-glowing colours of the sunset flooding in from the sliding patio door.

#sanders sides fanfic #tsss fanfic #tsss #sanders sides #sasi #ts sides #tss #tss fic #sasi fanfic #ayri writes #sanders sides fanfiction #ts roman #dark!roman

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astrowillscreamintothevoid · 7 months ago

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for the completion of syzygy i present,,,,,

a meme art

youre welcome

love ya min <3333 @sometimes-love-is-enough

@syzygy-podfic-project

#syzygy #syzygy fic #syzygy fanart #art #tss au #tss fic

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pencilpat · 1 year ago

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Sanders Sides: College AU - Part 4

Character sheets | Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Despite starting out with future dukeceit, this is primarily logince content lol. Logan is a transfem nonbinary person and Janus is transfem in this AU.

Janus considers the strings she's laid while Remus sits by, uncharacteristically anxious. Roman and Logan go on their first date as a queerplatonic couple, and while Roman's lavish lifestyle rubs her a bit wrong, Roman himself has undoubtedly charmed her.

5,096 words

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Not unlike any morning before, Janus wakes up with a hangover. Thank god it’s the weekend, and a day she doesn’t have to work, because she thinks if she had to function as a human being she would push someone down a flight of stairs if she felt frisky enough. She tries to push herself up, but her arms shake and give out the moment she tries to put her weight on them. She groans, rolling her eyes at her own body. Opting to force herself to roll over onto her back and sit up that way, she notices about half way through the upward struggle that her apartment smells like food. Successfully upright, she stares at the door, the concept of Remus cooking for her making her, oddly, slightly angry at him. She knows it’s irrational and sighs at herself, throwing a grey sweater over her old t-shirt and pyjama pants as she makes her way out. Her apartment’s shitty heating is starting to not be enough for the colder weather.

The sound of sizzling is filling her kitchen, and she leans on the outer side of the island, staring at Remus at the stove in the corner facing away from her. Janus clears her throat dramatically against a hovering fist. Remus spins around with his tongue poking out, wide eyes looking at her like she caught him committing a crime.

“Oh, Janus! Um. Hi!”

“Hello.”

“I’m making food!”

“I can smell that.”

Remus pauses, scratching his calf with his foot. “Uh. Want some?”

“Depends. What are you making? And how dirty was the pavement you seemingly picked this food up off of?”

Remus laughs, a weirdly soft, genuine sounding one for him. “Oh c’mon, you know I went to the store, I’m not that crazy!”

“You’re not crazy,” she immediately corrects him in somewhat of a snap. Remus straightens up slightly at her tone, blinking rapidly, one of her spatulas hanging from his hand. Janus catches herself, sighing. “Just- Don’t talk to yourself like your mom did, okay? Anyway. What are you making?”

“Uh, just pancakes ‘n eggs. I figured you would get mad if I spent money on meat for you, so, I just got quick mix batter and a cheap thing of eggs!” Remus is scratching his calf again, not making anything close to eye contact even though he’s smiling. Janus feels cold in her chest, seeing him seemingly anxious over the potential of hurting her feelings.

“Eggs sound great, Remus. How did you remember I enjoy those?” she says, keeping her voice light and playful. Remus perks up slightly, seeming less downtrodden.

“Dunno! Maybe I’m magic,” he shrugs, grinning and turning around to flip a pancake.

“How are you good at cooking and I’m not?” Janus teases, leaning more of her weight on the counter as her weakness seems to feel more poignant suddenly. Remus doesn’t turn around for a moment, before flipping the final of five pancakes onto one of her plates. He ends up not answering at all, seemingly distracted by the food. Janus doesn’t have a kitchen table, so Remus carries the plates over onto the pullout couch, setting the eggs and syrup bottle next to it. He walks up to Janus and begins touching her and she swats at him. “What are you doing?”

“Oh- Sorry! I was gonna help you to the bed!”

“Remus, it’s like three footsteps, I’m fine.”

“But you’re sweating,” he pouts. Janus rolls her eyes and pushes herself off the counter, stumbling around and sitting on the bed.

“There, see? Shockingly, I’m not helpless.”

Remus chuckles, yet again weirdly soft sounding for him, and sits across from her, grabbing up two pancakes, sandwiching eggs in the middle, and eating it like a sandwich. Janus snorts, then covers her mouth slightly, clearing her throat. His ridiculousness can be genuinely entertaining, whether she likes it or not. She picks up one of the forks he brought over and skewers some eggs. As she tastes it, she realizes he bought cheese and spices too, and along with the eggs she swallows guilt at being so aggressive to him last night.

“So, where were you at last night?” Remus speaks through a mouthful of food.

“Just out.”

“I don’t know any of the bars on this side of town. Seems like they’ve got good stuff!”

Janus cringes. “Uh, yeah, sure. I don’t know.” She stabs more eggs, and her mind drifts to the hazy memories from Blacklight Mamba. She bites down on the eggs hard, the feeling of seeing that stupid purple patched hoodie from across the bar fresh in her chest. Virgil seemingly having such a sweet, innocent little partner makes her feel ill. Jealousy or anger or worry over the partner? Who’s to say. “How have the rest of our old pals been, Remus?”

Remus stops chewing with the look of someone caught in the middle of two fighting lions. “Why d’ you ask? I figured you would want me to mention them as little as possible,” he laughs.

Janus picks at her nails. “Indulge my curiosity, why don’t you.”

“Erm,” Remus swallows hard. “Well, I got cut off from our parents and about the same time Roman got accepted to the same college as Virgil. Our parents gave him a huge old house with a bunch of rooms and they pay for it and give him an allowance! Can you even? Anyway, Virgil lives there with his partner, Patton, and I was living there in secret for a while under our parent’s noses,” he rambles on. “But then Patton decided to be a dick about me liking weed, and they screamed at me like I was a fucking kid or something, told me I had to move out, else I was being kicked out. And yeah, then I texted you. Now I’m here.”

Janus tries to eat her pancake casually, reassessing her thoughts on this Patton character. “Seems like an interesting turn of events. As co-dependent as you and Roman always were I’m shocked he let you be-“

Remus swats at her hair, startling her into stopping. “We were not co-dependent, what?! Come on, man, we just care about each other like any twins would.”

“Roman literally used to sleep in your bed when you first started hallucinating,” she offers up, deadpan.

Remus makes a warbling, gasping sound, gesticulating at her like she just implied the sky is red. “He was just taking care of me! I mean, no one else was.”

“If you feel that way,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. Janus cuts away a bite of pancake with the edge of her fork, a bit too violently. Patton definitely didn’t know who she was, and that is for the better. She smirks around the bite of food as she imagines Virgil seeing her high school contact name in his partner’s phone. That ought to be fun.

“What you smiling about?” Remus says, eating his third pancake yet again like it’s a sandwich. She notices him leaving most of the eggs for her, glancing up to meet his eyes.

“Just thinking, is all.”

“Penny for ‘em?”

“Remus, no one carries cash anymore, I know for a fact you don’t have a penny.”

To her surprise, he fishes in his cargo pants’ pocket with a big smile. A dime comes out rather than a penny, and he scowls at it. “Guess you owe me ten of your thoughts now, madame!”

Janus rolls her eyes. “I was just thinking about how much my head hurts, you doofus.” Remus squints at her, knowing instantly that Janus isn’t being honest. He decides to just let it go though, and flicks the dime at her. She catches it out of the air, winking at him as she spins it between her fingers.

“Guessing that’s the most money you’d let me give you directly,” Remus snickers.

Janus frowns at him. “Forgive me for not wanting handouts from a former trust fund baby.”

Remus throws his hands up defensively. “I’m not a trust fund baby anymore though! I’m just your regular civilian with a hardworking job.”

“Tattooing is not exactly an example of the typical civilian job. Try fast food for even a week. You’d crumble into pieces in a day.”

Remus gesticulates towards her, pursing his lips with an expression of conceding agreement. He pops the last bite of his pancake into his mouth, then splays himself backwards on the end half of the pullout bed, staring at the ceiling. Maybe Janus will be honest with him one day. If he keeps treating her nicely, she might remember what it was like to trust a friend. He peeks at her eating her final pancake, seemingly as at peace as she can get as she eats something he made just for her. It’s a nice sight, and he can’t help a slight smile and light blush dusting his face. Maybe one day, maybe one day.

Monday afternoon, wind tosses leaves about as Roman stares hard at his phone, his entire face creased with a mix of emotions. He messaged his twin two days ago to tell him about his new partner. Remus is always excited for him and his romantic conquests, no matter how short and spontaneous they’ve been in the past. Yet, it has gone unreplied to, not even opened seemingly, as it doesn’t read as ‘seen’ either. He sets his eyes in his hand, leaning over himself on some random park bench while he waits for the others to finish their classes. Did he really mess up that badly by asking him to move?

He reopens his phone, checking again uselessly, in case he missed something somehow. Knowing that Remus is with Janus, too, has been making him wake up in nervous sweats. There’s a taste of intentional betrayal, in choosing to stay with her specifically, but Roman isn’t sure if Remus is smart enough to take things like that into consideration. His foot is tapping so hard it’s echoing slightly in the empty courtyard. Am I really that shit of a brother? he thinks to himself miserably. He pulls his red jacket tighter over himself like it has the magical abilities to hide insecurities too.

The faint sound of the bell inside the building closest to him sounds the toll that sends herds of students out to change classes or head home. He spots the others crossing the yard in a little group. As they move closer Roman sees Patton is holding a very grumpy seeming Logan’s hand, and Virgil is pink from laughter.

“Now, what happened here? Are we swapping or something?” Roman puts his hand on his hip, smiling. Virgil immediately begins laughing into his hand again, and Patton also giggles.

“I was holding Virgil’s hand, and Logan accused us of showing off,” Patton faux whines, swinging their hands as Logan stares directly at the ground with a red face. “So, I told her her hand was just lonely, and I helped it out!”

Logan sighs, very loudly. “Patton, it is a hand, it cannot get lonely. May I be free now?”

“Well, considering there’s a new friend for your hand…” Patton drags Logan’s hand over and places it into Roman’s which makes both flush instantly. “I can let you go!”

“Patton, please,” Roman scolds, letting go of her hand and covering his face as he turns around to face away from them all dramatically. Virgil loses it, laughing hard into his hand and doubling over. Logan seems to be attempting to tune out entirely, her eyes being closed and her fists gently clenched with sheer embarrassment.

“That aside,” she speaks up, a little too loudly. “Roman, we have places to be. Patton was taking your car home, and I’m driving us, right?”

Roman breathes in deeply and turns around to face the group again. “Actually, Lo, we don’t need to take your car – I made arrangements.” Roman practically purrs the last word, smiling to himself proudly.

“Arrangements?”

“Since I’m taking you to a very nice place, I got a limo. I wanted to give you a true experience.”

Logan doesn’t look as pleased as Roman thought she would, just adjusting her glasses with a slight frown. “I don’t see the purpose. My car is perfectly functional. It feels very showy.”

“Showy is the point, dear Lo! We’re going somewhere er… more my family’s taste, if you know what I mean.” Roman watches her frown not change, internally panicking a bit. “I just… wanted to treat you to something really nice, for my turn paying. You deserve nice things.” He holds her hand, meeting her eyes nervously. She looks back at him, and her face melts slightly, the frown turning into a more playful, soft one.

“Alright, Roman. I understand you want to make it special, as the first one. Just do not spend recklessly like this for any of the other dates.”

Patton and Virgil depart to find Roman’s car in the student parking lot, and Logan follows behind Roman as he walks towards the front of campus to meet the waiting car. Behind him she rolls her eyes at the exuberantly glimmering white limo, being gawked at by students as they leave for the day. Logan attempts to cover her identity with her hand as the driver exits and opens the door. Roman pats the man’s shoulder and when his hand moves away Logan sees he’s wordlessly left a bill in the man’s pocket. She tries not to feel sour about that, pausing and muttering “thank you,” to the man, who smiles at her.

The inside of the car is purple, both in lighting and seat color. Logan flips her skirt under her as she sits. Roman is already reaching into a miniature fridge and pulling out travel size bottles of wine. Logan makes an uncomfortable noise before she can help it, and Roman looks over at her. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t drink. At all.”

“Why not?” Roman asks, casual.

Logan’s shoulders tense, and she shifts slightly in place. “I have bad experiences with it.”

“Oh,” Roman says, glancing at the bottles. “Well, then I shan’t leave you sober alone!” The bottles are popped right back in the fridge, and he slams the door shut with a resolute grin. Logan blinks rapidly for a moment, her brain seeming to calculate him in a different manner than before.

“Thank you, Roman. What restaurant will we be going to? I was wondering this morning why you were in such fanciful clothing.” She regards his ironed black button up and dark red suit, accompanied by lavish yet simple jewelry. She thanks the stars that all her clothing is rather nice and professional, tugging at her tie to tighten it.

“It’s a hibachi bar!”

“That is not as fancy as I had thought.”

“Oh, Lo, that’s cute. This place is… There will pretty much only be other bigheaded suits at the other tables having business meetings about major companies.”

“Hm. Unpleasant.”

“Er- Yes, but,” Roman reaches across and takes her hand into his black gloves, smiling at her with shining eyes. “We only need focus on you and I, at our own table.” He pauses for a moment. “Plus, the amount of food you get here will leave enough for you to portion for a week at least,” Roman tantalizes.

Logan cracks a smile, rolling her eyes just slightly. “Ah, I see you are using my love of pre-planned meals against me.”

“I need some kind of ammunition to get you to let me spoil you!”

Even his hyping up of the fanciness of the restaurant was underselling it. There is an entrance hall where a man in a suit offers to take their coats, to which both decline. The red carpet is lush and well-cleaned, and the walls are black marble with carved pillars stretching to the high ceiling. The man pushes open the black wooden doors and gestures for them to follow. Logan feels frozen, hesitating in the hall. Roman’s hand suddenly touches hers.

“Are you alright?” he murmurs gently against her ear. She turns to look at him, seeing his lightly worried face.

“I don’t- I don’t know if I’m right for a place like this.”

Roman stands in front of her with a wave to the host to hold on. He brushes at the cowlick in her hair, tucking it behind her ear. He adjusts her glasses with a hum, pats at her vest and tie. “I think you look splendid. I’d be shocked if someone doesn’t mistake you for royalty,” he mutters, smiling at her sweetly. Logan’s face turns pink, and she looks at the floor.

“If you’re certain.”

The host leads them in, and Logan takes in several black hibachi grills spread around a large open space. There are private non-grill tables behind partitions painted lavishly with birds of paradise. Roman leads her along. She can’t help noticing that everyone at the grills is dressed in similarly lowkey designer clothes like Roman. The ‘old money’ look and air about them puts her off entirely, making her stance awkward and stiff. Roman’s hand holding hers grounds her though, even as they pass a table and someone mutters about ‘the Carmona’s boy.’ She watches Roman suddenly stand with even better posture and puff himself up.

“They must know my father,” he whispers to her as they’re sat down with menus. “Or my mother. I get recognized sometimes because of, erm…” Roman gestures to the marks of his piebaldism with a scowl. “Stands out a bit among the menagerie.” He does a flowing gesture with his hands and rolls his eyes.

Logan hums quietly in thought. Roman sits half turned in his seat in order to look only at her. “I already know the menu, why don’t you take a look, hm?” Logan nods, and opens the menu. And dear god. Prices in the 100s hit her in the face like a truck. She glances around the laminated page, desperate to find anything at a reasonable price. Roman’s hand appears in her view, and then draws her chin up to have her look at him.

“Price doesn’t matter, don’t fret so much,” he soothes. “I know it seems like a lot, but look how much food comes with it.” He points to the cheapest thing available, shrimp fried rice. Logan reads it shakily, and sees that it comes with a noodle dish, rice, shrimp, vegetables, soup, and a dessert of which there two courses. She bites her lip, considering. It is a lot of food, at $59.00. That will do, she supposes.

A young male waiter greets them politely, and Roman orders the fried rice dish with chicken instead, as well as a teriyaki steak. Logan tries not to get dizzy at the price of that one. She orders the fried rice somewhat timidly. Logan thanks the waiter pointedly, to which Roman also thanks him, finally giving even a hint that he appreciates the workers around him.

The waiter leaves, and they chat idly until he returns with a tray and two bowls of soup.

“Chirirenge,” Roman flounces, holding up the spoon that comes with the dish.

“Pardon?”

“Asian soup spoon! It’s called a chirirenge.”

“Ah, you’re right, they are. Something about looking like a lotus petal? I’m not one for metaphors. To me it just means it holds more soup. You know Japanese?”

“Ehh. I’m nowhere near fluent anymore, so don’t expect me to speak any. I learned several languages as a little kid, from a tutor.”

“Fascinating. Do you remember much of any of them?”

“Yo hablo algo de español,” he says, titling his hand from side to side to imply how iffy his knowledge is. “My mom travels in South America often; she’s starred in quite a few smaller movies over there.”

“Yo también hablo español,” Logan says, happily surprised. “I’ve always wanted to travel there, some day. The landscape is beautiful…”

Roman gasps, touching her hand. “I have to take you some time! Wouldn’t a trip be fabulous?”

Logan hesitates, cringing. “I’d prefer to work to a place in my life where I could pay for it myself.”

“Oh,” Roman says, quieting. He puffs up, and squeezes her hand. “Well, when that day comes, I hope I’ll still be here to go with you and show you my favorite towns.”

“Thank you, Roman.” Logan nods and smiles at him, appreciating the effort to act like he’s not rich, even if for a moment. She turns and begins tasting the broth soup. It’s incredibly good, to her surprise, and she lets out a noise of enjoyment, taking many more bites. Roman is smiling at her as he watches her enjoy herself openly, when he feels the hair on his neck prickling.

Lo notices Roman glance over his shoulder at that table from before. “Old hag staring alert,” he snickers, sitting up straighter. “God forbid an actor’s child exist in a public space. I swear if she calls paparazzi of any kind, ugh.”

“Your mother is famous enough for that?”

“Eh, it depends on if she was in any films recently, she’s more of a star in some cult classics and smaller films. Usually I don’t even get noticed, but this woman must be a fan,” he says, sounding sick on that last word. Logan glances too, and sees an older woman staring at Roman’s back hungrily, tense in her seat. She turns away quickly, feeling a bit disturbed.

“I always thought of fans as a pleasant part of being famous.” She notices how uncomfortable Roman looks, and lifts her hand, hovering in the air hesitantly for a moment before she rests it on his gloves. “Don’t let it ruin our fun, Roman. I’m sure it will be okay.” Roman smiles at her thankfully.

Both were too distracted to notice the chef and his cart pulling up to their table, and he clears his throat to get their attention. They both turn to face him, and he laughs, then begins lighting the grill up. Logan jumps when he starts sharpening knives against each other, and Roman giggles at her. The chef pours oil onto the grill and it sizzles loudly. He tosses vegetables on and begins chopping them up, eventually moving them into a pile.

“Lean back,” Roman warns, and Logan almost doesn’t have time to do so before a burst of flame lights up in the oil from the controlled blowtorch the chef wields. Logan reels back; she grabs and adjusts her glasses a tad frantically as both Roman and the chef laugh at her reaction. “It’s her first time!” Roman offers heartily. The chef chuckles and winks at him.

He stirs around vegetables a bit more, and then scoops a tiny piece of zucchini onto the blade, nodding to Roman. Roman nods back excitedly, and Logan watches in confusion as he holds his mouth open. The chef tosses the bit of food across the table, and Roman catches it in his mouth, laughing. By the time Logan looks back the chef is looking at her with a piece ready. She nods, hesitantly holding her lips apart. Not apart enough, as the piece hits her lip and falls, she fumbles but catches it in her hand, holding it up to show she saved it. The chef and Roman both laugh and start clapping for her as she sheepishly pops the tidbit in her mouth.

The veggies get pushed to the side to cook, and the chef pours more sparkling oil onto the grill. Logan watches in fascination as he puts some long, flat noodles on, douses them in two different sauces, and then stirs them around and around on the grill, before depositing them to the side to cook.

He walks around and sets two large plates beside their soup bowls, winking at Logan. “Enjoying your first, miss?”

“Yes,” she admits, glancing at Roman. “I am.”

The chef, behind the grill again, shovels heaps of vegetables on each of their plates. Logan adjusts her glasses, a bit wide-eyed at the sheer amount of food. And there’s more to come? Perhaps Roman wasn’t joking about having weeks’ worth of leftovers. She unwraps chopsticks and a fork from the pre-laid place-setter napkins and uses the chopsticks to bring a piece of broccoli to her mouth. It’s delicious, falling apart under her teeth, soft and fried perfectly. Roman chuckles beside her.

“Does it taste good?” he asks in a somewhat dreamy voice.

Logan clears her throat, her face pink. “Ah, yes. Apologies, was I..?”

“Wide eyed and shining like a star with joy? Yes, Logan, you were.”

Logan looks away and back to her food. “I just- I don’t quite know what to do. This is just the vegetables?”

“Well, yeah!” Roman nods to the chef, who is scooping piles of the long noodles onto the plates with the other heap of food. “It’s only the second course too, he hasn’t even started the rice.”

Logan breathes out slowly. She begins eating again, trying to make her way through at least enough to give the poor chef room when he finishes the sizzling pile of rice he’s tossing around. The noodles are one of the best pieces of food she has had in her entire life, she can’t imagine how good rice and meat will be. He’s cooking her dish first, chopping shrimp into pieces and mixing them into half the pile of rice. He douses it in more oil, and sauce, making the grill sizzle loudly. Logan watches him stirring it around with an amazed face, and Roman can only seem to look at her face. He’s never seen her make such big expressions before, and she’s very pretty when she is showing emotion, in his opinion.

Logan has only eaten about one third of the noodles and half of the vegetables when the rice is dumped onto her plate. She tastes it, and accidentally lets out an innocent moan at how good it tastes. Roman covers his mouth to mask a huge, loving grin. Though they’re queerplatonic, sometimes Roman’s aesthetic and alterous attraction overlap in a way that makes him understand what being romantically in love with her would feel like. He tries to focus on his food, but she’s just… radiant.

Logan catches him staring, glancing over to him. “Are you alright, Roman?”

“Hm? Oh- Yes, quite! You’re just such a distraction, Lo.”

Logan lets a short, nervous laugh out, smiling like a cartoon character that was just kissed. “Roman, please settle down.” She pushes up her glasses on her nose.

“I do mean it though,” he sighs. “I wasn’t lying when I said you could be mistaken for royalty. Whether night or day, you’re the heavens at play,” he says, touching his chest and raising an arm like a prince delivering a sonnet.

“Hm, is the couplet an attempt to woo me?”

“But of course,” he winks. A waiter clears their throat, and Roman politely moves his plate to the side so his steak dish can be set down. He pokes at it with his fork, then turns to Logan. “Want to try it?” Logan nods, and begins reaching over with her own fork. Roman shakes his head, raising his up with a bite of meat on it. “Lean over here, pretty.”

Logan’s face goes pink, and she rolls her eyes, but she leans over and lets him place a bite in her mouth tenderly. His gloves stroke her chin softly as he pulls away. She pulls back, setting a fist against her mouth as she chews. “It’s very good.”

“I know, right? This place’s food is just divine.”

Logan takes in Roman’s lovesick face, his slightly crooked grin and glimmering green eyes, filled with emotion that is all caused by her. She breaks eye contact, looking back to her food, trying to contain a dorky smile as she digs through the feast she’s been gifted.

Roman insisted on her letting the driver take her four to-go boxes worth of food as they got back in the car. They sit on the same side this time, Logan leaning slightly into the crook of Roman’s neck. Despite being taller, she has realized she enjoys feeling cradled, especially after so much stimulation. Roman had set his suit jacket around her shoulders, and she holds it tight around herself, dazed and dizzy with emotion. She’s mostly lost talking ability after such a big event, but Roman simply lets her rest in silence, rubbing his hand over her hair. It’s the first time he’s ever seen her hair down, and he can see that it’s slightly curly, falling in black waves just over her shoulders.

Logan lets out a tired sigh, watching street lights pass by. They’ve come back to the school after dark for her to retrieve her car, though driving might be an issue, she realizes faintly. But, to her surprise, Roman also exits the limo, handing a few more bills to the driver as he goes.

“What?” she asks simply.

“I’m going to drive you to your place. I know you have a sofa I can stay on, just for tonight. We can get to class together,” he steps towards her, tucking her cowlick behind her ear again. “You can make sure I actually get there on time for once.”

Logan hesitates, only for a moment, but concedes with a nod, swaying slightly on her feet. Roman drives them, and helps her get up the stairs to her part of the housing unit. The welcoming arms of her dark bedroom feels like being cradled too, and Logan barely even takes off her tie properly before laying down. She sees Roman’s shadow about to leave, and calls to him. “Roman, wait- Can you- could you sleep here? With me?”

Roman’s figure pauses in the doorway, and she can’t see the massive smile cross his face as he melts. He comes back over to her bed, and lays down across from her, squished together on a twin bed. He tries to give her space still, but their faces are there together, looking at each other’s shadowy forms.

“I think I like you. A lot.” Roman confesses it quietly. Logan hums, and crosses the gap, resting her head on his chest.

“You’re pretty nice as well,” she mutters softly.

They drift to sleep with full stomachs, and full hearts as well for that matter.

#college au #sanders sides #logince #dukeceit #logan sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #tss au #sanders sides au #sanders sides fic #tss fic #tss fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction

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lifewithoutrainydays · 1 year ago

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the fic with the context-free spoilers of: a SNOOP DOGG. a BOBBLEHEAD. a FANCY CODPIECE. a DISTRESSED PATTON screaming "YOU KILLED HIM". a LAKESIDE DRIVE

content warnings for death and the personal horror of discovering who you really are as a person

#tss fic

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clumsyclifford · 1 year ago

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It’s not even about the sexuality crisis anymore, honestly; he just doesn’t think Alex deserves the satisfaction of knowing he can successfully induce a sexuality crisis in Brian. It’s kind of unfair that Alex has that much power, and that he’s aware of it. If he’s going to be parading around seducing band guys on Warped Tour, he should at least have the decency to pick the ones who are already into guys.

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nullominous-q · 11 months ago

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Die For Me - Ch 5: Such a (violent) child

My friend, are you still a friend?

"Remus!” The boy flinched when a pebble hit him in the shoulder and he turned to glare at who had thrown it. He rolled his eyes when he saw a head of red hair and brown eyes peering through an open window. Remus turned back to try and get the sole of the shoe he was working on aligned so he could secure it with minimal adjustments necessary, “Go away Nina.” He’d tried to sound intimidating but that was awfully difficult for a ten year old to achieve and Nina clearly wasn’t deterred as she knocked lightly on the back door to the cobbler’s workshop. “C’mon lemme in, Re-bee!” Remus dropped his tools, he hated that nickname. He fully turned to look Nina in the eyes, “Go away, Neatie Nina.” Although he couldn’t see the bottom half of her face, he knew she was scowling at him from the street. “What’s stuck up your butt today?” “Poop, duh,” Remus answered as he stuck out his tongue at her.

#sanders sides #tss #tss fic #remus sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides fic #theo writes

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endy-the-anxious · 2 years ago

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Jesus, you look shitty

Summary: Virgil goes to visit Remus again after years of not seeing him. Things.. don't really go well.

Word count: 2293

Characters: Remus, Virgil, Patton, Janus (mentioned)

Notes: This is inspired by the episode 'The Telescope' from Bojack Horseman.

Tagging: @lost-in-thought-20 @chituri

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Virgil sighed as he stood in front of the door that led to the dark side of the mind scape. He hadn’t been back here in so long. Ever since he left the dark sides, and Janus had followed him soon after, they’d both worked to keep the parts separate. It needed to be like that, for Thomas’ sake. Janus had told him that he’d tried to convince Remus to be less disturbing so he could join the light sides too, and that Remus had asked him to stay instead, but because they couldn’t reach an agreement, Janus left too.

Since then, Remus hadn’t shown himself, and while part of Virgil was glad that Thomas was now safe from his intrusive thoughts, another part of him was plagued with guilt for having abandoned his childhood friend. That guilt kept building up over time, and now, years later, he figured it was time to apologize for everything that had happened between them. If he could just make amends, maybe things would get better, and he wouldn’t have to deal with guilt all the time.

He didn’t want to go alone, though. He hadn’t seen Remus in so long. It would at least be extremely awkward, and he’d rather not be alone in a room with him. So, he’d brought Patton, who silently stood beside him, also looking rather nervous.

Virgil looked at him, and made eye contact for a moment, “..this is good, right? That we’re going to apologize?” he asked.

His friend nodded, “I mean, I think so, yeah. I learned that apologizing always makes things better,” he said, smiling a bit.

“..Right. Okay,” Virgil said as he gathered up some courage. He then raised his hand, and knocked on the door, and the pair waited for a response.

A few minutes later, the door opened, and there was Remus. Virgil remembered him always looking messy, but dear god, it had gotten so much worse. His hair was long and greasy.. When was the last time he’d washed it? His clothes were in a bad state too, all wrinkly and full of stains.

“..hey, Remus..” Virgil said, trying to keep his tone a bit nonchalant to mask his nervousness.

Surprisingly enough, a grin spread across Remus’ face, “Virgil! Jesus, you look shitty! Has life with the light sides not been as good as you’d hoped?” he joked.

From the corner of his eyes, the anxious side noticed Patton purse his lips together after hearing the comment, and he chuckled a little, unfortunately already feeling awkward, “Heh.. no, it’s been nice. You don’t look so good either, Rem,” he said, attempting to joke back.

And within a second after saying that, Remus’ smile disappeared, and his unblinking eyes met Virgil’s with a look so cold that he almost shivered.

“I’m dying.”

Virgil’s breath got stuck in his throat for a moment. Out of all the words Remus could’ve said, that was the last thing he expected.

“..oh,” he managed to bring out.

Remus stared at him a bit longer, before putting on a wide smile again, “Well, anyways. How nice of you two to visit after all these years! Come in! I’ll make you both something nice,” he said as he clapped his hands together. He gestured at Virgil and Patton to follow him, and then turned around and walked into his living space.

Virgil took a few seconds to calm down from his shock of seeing Remus act so strange. Stranger than usual, that is. He glanced at Patton, “..please don’t leave me alone with him,” he said quietly, and felt a little bit reassured when his friend nodded. They walked in together.

The inside of the place was even worse. It reeked with the smell of something dead. Maybe it was the plants in the room that looked like they hadn’t been watered in years, or maybe Remus actually had some dead animals hidden around here. Virgil repressed the urge to cover his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“I was just about to make myself some food, so you can join if you want!” Remus’ voice echoed from the kitchen, “Just sit down at the table and I'll be there in a sec!”

The two light sides exchanged silent glances, and despite the fact that they both wanted to leave, they knew they couldn’t do that yet. Virgil had come here to apologize, and Patton had come with him for extra support. They couldn’t just leave without doing that. Especially not since Remus seemed quite happy to see them here. So, they sat down at the table.

A few minutes later, Remus came back with some bread and meat on plates, which he put down in front of them, “Bone apple teeth!” he said with a grin.

Patton looked at the food. It.. didn’t look appetizing at all, and.. was that mold? He felt like throwing up, and quickly decided to think of something else to forget about it. “..what a coincidence. We ate something like this yesterday-..” he said with a small smile.

“Well duh,” Remus chuckled, “I get all the scraps of food you throw away! Don’t worry. You’ll get used to the mold after a while.” he said as he sat down at the table too, opposite to the light sides.

Virgil stared at the food Remus had served him, and just like Patton, he was appalled by even the idea of eating it. He looked up and saw the intrusive side had already started eating, using his hands to shove the food in his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten for days. It actually made him feel nauseous, and he quickly covered his mouth with his hand, to hopefully keep himself from throwing up.

Noticing the movement, Remus looked up, and made eye contact with Virgil, “..what’s wrong, Virge?” he asked with his mouth full, “Do you need better cutlery?”

Confused by the question, the anxious side glanced at Patton for a second, “...uhh.. what..?” he asked.

“Because if you do-..” Remus continued, “I can always give you the knife you left in my back years ago!” he added, before laughing.

Virgil, not sure what else to do, awkwardly laughed along, “Heh.. r- right… walked right into that one. Who asks about cutlery..?” he mumbled.

It was silent for a moment, with the only sound being Remus’ eating. The tension was horrible, and neither light side knew what to do in this situation. They could’ve handled an angry Remus, perhaps. But this was very different from what they expected, and the last thing they wanted to do was make things worse.

Luckily, dinner was over rather quickly, and Remus stood up to collect the plates and bring them back to the kitchen, where he left them in the sink before joining the other sides again, who hadn’t moved from their seats at the table.

Breaking the tense silence, Remus clapped his hands, “Well! It was certainly nice to have you two over, but I'm sure you’d like to go back to your own place now. I won’t keep you here any longer.” he said, before turning around and walking to the door again, gesturing at Virgil and Patton to follow him.

Remus brought the light sides to the door and grinned as he opened it for them, “Again, nice seeing ya! I need to get some rest. Close the door behind you!” he said, before simply walking off and letting his visitors stand by the door, perplexed.

Virgil and Patton exchanged concerned looks, before the former spoke up, “..I don’t feel good just leaving him here..” he admitted.

The moral side nodded and agreed, “Me neither.. I had no idea it was this bad for him. The awful food, and.. he’s dying too..? I didn’t know we sides could even die-” he admitted.

Fidgeting with the zipper on the sleeve of his hoodie, Virgil thought about what to do, “..maybe I should go back in, alone.” he said. When Patton grabbed his hand and asked if he was sure, he nodded, “..I mean, I was the first one to leave him.. and I never came back or apologized. I need to do that. If he dies before I get the chance to-..” he cut himself off and looked down, “..I could never forgive myself..”

Patton squeezed his hand, “I understand.. but be safe, okay?” he said softly, though Virgil’s nod and reply didn’t exactly reassure him.

Putting on a brave face and walking back in alone was harder for Virgil than he thought it would be. But, he told himself, he was doing this for Remus. Inside, he made his way to Remus’ room, and knocked on the door before walking in, where he saw him sitting on his bed, leaning against the headrest with his eyes closed.

He seemed to not notice Virgil at first, which concerned him. You’d think one would hear the sound of someone entering their room, but apparently that wasn’t the case with Remus now.

Virgil stayed silent for a moment, looking at Remus. He coughed a little every once in a while, and.. some black smoke-like substance seemed to ooze right out of his skin with every cough, as if life was being sucked right out of him, slowly, and painfully.

The sight made Virgil’s blood run cold, as he realized that when Remus told him he was dying, he wasn’t exaggerating. He cleared his throat to get the other’s attention, and before he could even say anything, Remus’ eyes shot open, and he stared at Virgil with that same cold look he’d had before.

“Come to ruin my life some more, asshole?” he asked, any trace of niceness in his voice gone.

“I-.. no-” Virgil said, stumbling a little because he was once again caught off guard by Remus’ sudden change in demeanor. He fumbled with his hoodie strings for a second, trying to calm his nerves down before talking again. “Listen, I-... about what happened after I left-.. after Janus left-..” he started, “We.. we never meant for things to turn out this way..”

“So.. you’re apologizing?”

The anxious side nodded quickly, “Yes. I’m sorry, Remus..” he said, before smiling a little bit, Maybe, just maybe, they could be friends again, for a little while. Maybe.. he could save his old friend from death. But, Remus’ next words pulled him right out of his thoughts.

“Fuck off.”

Baffled, Virgil looked at him and stepped closer to try and reason with him, “Remus-.. I-.. I don’t think you understand me right now. I’m sorry.. you said you were dying and.. I can see it, and I’m so sorry. If you die, and I can’t at least make things better between us-.. I-”

Remus leaned forward a little and coughed again, “I said, Fuck. Off.” he repeated, keeping his voice low and threatening. “I’m not gonna forgive you just so you can feel better about your shitty self.” He reached out and grabbed Virgil by his collar, pulling him down to his eye level, “I want you to live. I want you to live knowing that there’s nothing you can do to make this better. I want you to live, knowing that you killed me.”

Virgil tried to pull away instinctively, but Remus was surprisingly strong for a dying person. “I-.. I-..” he said, terrified of what Remus might do to him now that they were alone. Was he going to take him down with him? After a few seconds, he registered what Remus had actually said, and he frowned, “M- me..? I- I’m not killing you!” he tried to defend himself “I- I just want to help!”

“Bullshit!” Remus shouted, which immediately resulted in him having a big of a coughing fit, causing him to let Virgil go. The intrusive side wheezed and gasped for air as his body secreted more black smoke. When he’d calmed down a bit, he looked up at Virgil and glared daggers at him. “I-.. I know it’s you. I can feel it. I helped you control your abilities, your room. Maybe you don’t realize it, but it’s you.” he said.

Having stepped back after Remus let him go, Virgil looked at Remus, “..so-.. if it’s me.. can’t I stop whatever i’m doing? Can’t I save you?” he asked quietly.

Remus leaned back and crossed his arms, “I don’t want to be saved. I don’t need you, or anyone else anymore, and I haven’t needed you for a long time.” he said coldly.

“You could’ve joined us, you know..?” Virgil said quietly, “When I left. When Janus left. He told me he offered you to join the light sides too, but you refused. Why?” he asked.

“..I never needed to be a light side. I was fine just being me,” Remus answered, looking away for a moment, “What I needed, was my friends. But you left me so you could become a light side. You both dropped me and forgot about me. Did you ever even consider you could’ve been a light side and my friend?” he asked before making eye contact again, “You care more about being a light side, than you ever cared about me, and I learned that a long time ago.”

Virgil let his arms drop to his sides as he listened to Remus, and while he didn’t want to admit it, he knew he was right. If he’d cared more, he would’ve visited sooner. Or.. he shouldn’t have left in the first place. It had been a mistake coming here, hadn’t it?

“I’m sorry..” he mumbled, turning around and hearing Remus reply to him one last time.

“No. You’re not. And now get out.”

..And Virgil did.

#sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #tss fanfic #tss fic #tss remus angst #tss remus #tss patton #tss virgil #ts remus #ts virgil #ts patton #remus angst #remus angst fanfiction #my posts #endy-fic #endy-fanfic #sanders sides #i wrote half of this fic months ago and the rest today lol #i hope it makes sense

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creative-lampd-liberties · 2 years ago

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Rating: Teen

Warnings: Light angst and hurt/comfort. Gratuitous Holiday fluff. Mentions of ducking out. Hugging. Mild gore and language typical of Remus. Brotherly Dukexiety and Creativitwins and Platonic Prinxiety.

Summary: A little clearing the air on what it means to be a brother, by circumstance or by choice.

For my giftee @anxiouslyfred I really hope you enjoy it 💜

@sanderssidesgiftxchange

#sanders sides gift exchange #tss fic #sanders sides fic #virgil sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #platonic prinxiety #creativitwins #platonic dukexiety

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hootnhoney · 2 years ago

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AND ITS DONE

hell yes.

#sanders sides #hlmch #lamp #platonic lamp #tss fic #I gave Logan a gun and a Patton took it away

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tssidesfics · 2 years ago

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Mirror, Mirror, Scatter Me (Janus' Requiem)

This idea has been percolating for a while. I watch compilations of Sanders' Sides cosplays and I saw a really awesome video by @salem_orchid on Tiktok. I do not watch Tiktok on that accursed app. You could never pay me enough to go on that cursed app. So have the link directly to the video in the compilation I found it in. https://youtu.be/zfcY0lYix7I?t=42 (Sound from "Echo" English Cover by Jubphonic)

This is set in what is effectively an AU of the A Story of a Soul in All Its Stripes series, where the events of Morality Is Grey happened and basically nothing else because I wrote a hundred thousand words on the gradual degradation of Virgil's relationship with Janus and I cannot not be loyal to that interpretation. What am I gonna do? Write another slow-burn platonic dissolution of affection and trust? I'm busy. It is very angsty.

Janus is not woeful. Despite the void in his chest beside a porcupine heart of mirror shards, he does not grieve. He is a mastermind. He is whole despite the parts of him Virgil fled with without remorse. He is defiant and strong and he does not grieve. Grief is weak. He does not grieve.

Never mind how he clutches a hoodie that is not his to his chest and weeps.

Infiltration was slow, calculated, and scorched with wrong turns. Relying on Virgil to leave the door open for them had gone to shit, something Janus should have predicted--a coward cannot be trusted to remain loyal--and it had taken weeks before Janus found a new pathway, stumbled upon by accident. Behind a mask, Janus found himself in the glaring light of knownness, and from that place weaved a new plan: strategic, gradual capitalization, exploitation, and manipulation paving the road, a cobblestone at a time, for the others to claim their place among the bastards that had thrust them into twilight so long ago.

For so long, that had been his one goal. His only objective. Convince Thomas that he could not divide himself by arbitrary lines of right and wrong, reprogram the years of Catholic brainwashing, and build thrones for the others where traitors dwelt.

And in the end, he had succeeded. Now came the aftermath. It should have brought peace, relief.

But there is still a void beside a porcupine heart, mirror shards endlessly reflecting the faces of those around him. Janus' soul is a fun-house of mirrors without the fun, each Side distorting through them, just a piece at a time, copying over and shifting, reflecting over on itself ad infinitum. It had been an advantage for a long time.

Now it was a haunting.

"When are you going to drop the mysterious act?" Roman asked during breakfast one day, lacking tact but not friendliness. A loathsome sentiment to regard Janus with. "You won. We're all fine with you now. Let people actually get to know you."

Janus arched an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, elicited this?"

Roman shrugged. "Nobody knows you. I mean, obviously Patton, Logan and I aren't running around hiding anything about ourselves. Virgil stopped being brooding and mysterious ages ago and now he's just brooding."

"I am not a YA love interest. All I am is tired of your bullshit."

"Nah, Logan claims that one."

"I am willing to share with Virgil. You are all exhausting."

"Shut up, Pocket Protector."

"It pleases me to notice that while you seem endlessly capable of creating new nicknames for Virgil, I remain so impossible for you to intelligently insult that you reuse the same tired nicknames every conversation we share."

Roman glared at him. "I will misspell every word in your filing system."

"Attempt it and you will cease to be an annoyance entirely."

"Kids..." Patton chided. "Play nice."

Roman and Logan both emphatically rolled their eyes, returning to their breakfasts--Roman, a heaping pile of pancakes marinating in butter and syrup; Logan, eggs and ham.

Janus allowed the conversation to derail without interjection from him, knowing such a thing would only redirect attention back to the original recipient. What Roman asked was simple enough. Janus had no more need to hide. Their place at Thomas' side was assured now.

But to be honest about himself with others required that he know something to be honest with.

Janus is not a stupid Side. He is among the best educated of them, bested only by Logan who he believes has never spent a single moment entertaining self-care or downtime, rather intent on burying himself seventeen feet deep in work. He understands philosophy well. He can argue it for hours and he will win most arguments he initiates on the subject, including with Logan (though Logan maintains an imbecilic distaste for the whole concept). He concocted multiple plans that inevitably paved the way for a more complete Thomas. He was not an idiot.

But that said nothing about his sense of his self, his identity.

He can name things affiliated with him. Deception, self-care, selfishness. A shapeshifter, duplicitous. Untrustworthy, manipulative. He maintains pride for those things (although as time reaches ever-forward certain traits among that list tint a darker and darker grey, some days appearing almost black). But associations, correlations are not definitions.

A lack of definition was easily used to one's advantage. When you lacked a cohesive sense of yourself, it was easy to slip into whatever skin best suited your objective. While not all faces were made equal and not all souls were easily emulated, nonetheless such adaptability, when it had brought them so much, Janus refused to slander.

For years Janus had gone without any name, dubbed only by a color that now drenches him in acid every time someone dares spite him with it. Something Virgil does frequently, having not yet forgiven Janus for the slights he'd imagined committed against him in their time as allies. Janus tires of it and such instances always escalate into impassioned, vitriolic arguments where no weakness is left unexploited. Every foul piece of laundry hung out to poison the air, every bystander horrified to shock.

"You've never been anything but whatever you needed to be to get what you wanted, Janus," Virgil spits. "You can't trust something that can't even decide what the hell it is long enough to give you an honest fucking answer."

Janus stares at him. The shards buried all around his heart reflect Virgil's hateful glare and plunge deeper. Without a word, Janus sinks out.

Within minutes there's a knock at his door. Janus stands in his bathroom, staring into the mirror, straight into it, which he never does. Even glimpsing it sends shards barreling toward him, but now he's standing at its mercy. There's no room left for the shards. Some are falling out to make room, others are making themselves at home past the external wall, deep into the inner valves. His heart tries to pump around them but fails. Janus' eyes burn, unblinking while dams hold back moisture.

"Janus?" Patton calls inside. "I'm...sorry about Virgil." He sounds like he usually does after such arguments: like he feels drawn to take a side but can't decide whose. "What he said was really mean. You said some mean things too, but obviously what he said really hurt you, so...do you want to talk about it?"

Janus opens his mouth to call back to him and his throat snaps closed. No sound escapes. He strains to push out air and fails, gripping his throat.

After a moment of struggling to no avail, Patton takes his silence as an answer. "Okay," he says. "We're here if you need anything. Virgil went back to his room, so the commons are open."

Janus hangs his head and his hands fall limp to grip the sink. He notices then that his hands not only lack their gloves but are decidedly paler than his natural, if faint, tan. Moreover, they are both human, no scales to be seen blemishing either. He frowns and lifts his eyes to the mirror, jolting.

Virgil's purple and brown eyes stare back at him.

Alarmed, Janus gropes his face. When did he shift? Why? It wasn't intentional. It was usually intentional, except for--times when he was emotionally compromised.

Shit. He willed himself back to his typical visage. It had no effect. He tried again. Still no effect. Worse yet, instead he shifted to look like Roman instead. Another attempt brought force Remus' visage, then Logan's and Patton's and back to Virgil and Rage's and endlessly he cycled through until it was happening at dizzying speeds.

Janus couldn't breathe. He had no control. It hurt, shifting so many times, over and over again, body warping, shifting, hunching, lengthening, shortening. He couldn't scream. He wouldn't call for help regardless. He wouldn't debase himself like that. Despite his pain and fear, he would never stoop so low.

Janus sinks to the floor, gripping his hair as it endlessly shifts in length and color. Finally his eyes moisten, weeping never mind the face he wears. He's exhausted, but while he continues to shift he can't sleep. He prays for mercy, knowing it won't come. He doesn't know how he'll help Thomas like this.

He doesn't suppose it matters. Thomas has united the discordant parts of himself. Janus' purpose has been fulfilled. There is no further need for a monster.

Hands grip his wrists. Janus lashes out but is easily restrained, gaze settling on Virgil. Janus stares.

Virgil's face is moist and streaky. He doesn't look hateful for once. He looks...regretful.

"Focus on your name," he tells him. "Just your name. Why you picked it. Focus on that."

Janus doesn't understand, but out of ideas, he obeys. He remembers searching for one, the never-ending frustration until he stumbled across the name for the two-faced god of choices. He is an existentialist, so it was fitting, especially his visage being what it was. As he always guarded the doorway to the forsaken, it couldn't fit much better.

The horrifying switching ends. Janus stares at his gloves, finally back on his hands.

Virgil smiles slightly and releases his wrists, resting back on the tile floor rather than crouching there. He crouches most places so he could certainly afford the strain, but Janus suspects it's his way of relaxing. Of acknowledging trust.

Janus stares.

Virgil stares back.

Janus shakes his head, searching for words. He finds none, not that he imagines they would have come if he had.

Virgil's face tangles in on itself and he averts his gaze. "I'm--" He strains for a moment. "I'm sorry. It--fuck."

Janus continues to stare.

"I know I fucked it up when I left," Virgil admits, forcing himself to look back at Janus although it seems like the eye contact hurts him. "It was a huge disgusting mess and we all said a lot of shitty things, but I'd been scared out of my mind for years. I was having constant panic attacks and it was affecting Thomas. I blamed it on all of you, but I never said shit. I didn't know how. I found out way too late after being here for long enough after a lecture from Logan that it's shitty and abusive to expect people to guess your boundaries when you won't fucking tell them what they are, but--fuck, I was hurt, and I don't deal with that well. It was a lot easier to hate you and use everything I'd ever loved about you against you and the others, especially you because you were the one who trained me to lie and I fucking hated doing that. I fucked it up. I fucked it up really badly and I should have just fucking owned up to it but I am very, very good at digging a deeper and deeper hole for myself. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you like that, it was shitty. I'm sorry."

Without words, Janus can't answer.

Virgil takes that as his answer and sinks out.

The next day, Virgil finds a piece of paper on his desk in his room.

Mirror, mirror, scatter me. Take my shards and bury me. I'm the apparition of nightmares realized, the incarnation of your shame. I haunt myself with all my failures. All I know is my own name.

Shards of you are buried deep, a jagged shield that shreds my soul. All I've left are memories and shames of what I can't control.

I spurned you and turned my gaze when you would die for mercy shown. I chased you off with defiant pride and in that pride I lie alone.

The fault lies not with you, dear Brutus, but with the man power claimed all. I plead with you, forgive me, brother, as I am left alone to fall.

Virgil comes to sit with him in silence, and eventually, Janus reenters the world. He still does not quite know himself, but we are reflections of each other; only in being known can we define our souls.

Forgiveness is a fountain. Have your drink.

#sanders sides fic #tss fic #ts sides fic #tss virgil #tss janus #tss patton #tss roman #janus sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #janus-centric #angst #themes of identity #janus and virgil make up

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onthevirgeofdestruction · 2 years ago

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Words: 3,082 Warnings: Night Brain™ (Self-Depreciating Thoughts), Insomnia Characters: Virgil, Janus Ships: Anxceit, but it's ambiguous Genre: Hurt/Comfort Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders-centric, Self-Care Snek Janus, there was only one bed! actually not the trope but that is still true, placed in like probably a mid-point of enemies to lovers

Virgil rolled over and glanced at the digital display of the clock, sick of staring at the ceiling. 2:42 am lit up the room in a daunting red glow in a painful affront to all of his efforts to sleep tonight. He ate dinner on time. He turned down all the lights with the sun. He tried to meditate (with questionable success; he wondered when the last time he cleaned the carpet was and if he had bills due more than he was mindful of the moment) and went to bed early in a dark, cool room. Virgil did everything right, and he was still here, having a staring contest with his alarm clock.

It was basically inevitable, and all the effort was meaningless. If it was that easy, then why hadn’t it ever worked before? Adding or changing some steps to the ritual wouldn’t change a lifetime of being eaten alive slowly by insomnia. Everything was futile, and Virgil just needed to accept that things were always out of his control and that no good ever comes his way. More cruel proof that all his efforts were always in vain, and he’d never achieve the few precious hopes and dreams that Virgil quietly kept for himself. Like the fervent wish that Janus’s caring advice would finally let him steal some sleep from the sandman that betrayed every night. The equivalence of sheer force of will and the prayers of a friend somehow changing a mountain into the sea. A stupid thought on every level.

Fuck. Virgil rubbed his face bitterly, clenching up all his muscles in frustration. Night brain was getting to him. There were good things in the world, even if Virgil couldn’t see them in the dim light of the alarm clock. His dreams aren’t dead because 10 pm bedtimes just aren’t on the table for him right now. He still needed to figure out the insomnia problem, though. No matter how hard he researched solutions, he remained lost on how to make them work for him. He just had to wade through the muck of his horrible, bogged down brain to figure out what he needed to do.

He might have to cancel tomorrow's plans, as much as he hated to do that to Janus. With how intensely their relationship fluctuated, setting them back further by flaking on him felt like shooting himself in both feet. But if he was in someone else’s position, he’d like the heads-up if someone may change the plans or cancel. Virgil twisted to sit up on the edge of his bed and reached for his phone, tapping it out of airplane mode and tugging it off the charger to warn him before he forgot. He texted Janus to let him know he would stay an exhausted mess tomorrow, and that Janus was nice to try, even if it didn’t work. As much as he’d love to just call him a name and throw his phone against the wall, that wasn’t fucking working for him, and he needed to be nicer like Janus was trying to.

Even if the ideas didn’t work and the ever-encroaching devil’s hour was pissing him off, he honestly appreciated Janus’s suggestions. Virgil was used to being told that he wasn’t trying hard enough, or that he should just solve it with coffee like everyone else. At least it wasn’t a lack of effort on Virgil’s part, if even all of Janus’s suggestions didn’t help him sleep. There was some odd comfort in that. He genuinely would have loved to get back to Janus with the proud beam of someone who got eight hours of sleep. Well, if he figured something else out, maybe he could still fall asleep before 4 am and keep hanging on by a thread like he often is.

Virgil started up the streaming video app to pick something low-key and boring enough to kill his last few awake brain cells. Even if it didn’t get him to sleep, it would be nice just to distract the damn night brain for a little while before he ends up on that ‘failure’ tangent again over the insomnia… or even just something to focus on since his tired brain kept wandering down haunted paths. But before Virgil could pick a video to drown out his thoughts, he received a text alert. Janus responded to the warning Virgil sent, even though Janus should have been asleep right now and not answering. Virgil glanced at the clock again, the unholy hour leaving a foul taste in his mouth.

‘Who cares?’ was the text he received from Janus. Virgil frowned and pursed his lips at that response. Didn’t Janus care when he suggested all that stuff to try? Or was this all some very elaborate and confusing prank? Was it a joke? He was too tired to figure this out. He thought it was an earnest attempt to help. Maybe it was just more lines and lies, though. It was hard to tell with Janus.

‘You cared yesterday,’ Virgil texted back. Janus was the one who basically demanded he go to bed early when Virgil mentioned how little sleep he’d been getting. Janus even brought up the subject by pointing out how tired Virgil looked in an insult. It’s not like Virgil was just dropping hints at the guy in hopes of help. It was Janus who sent him a list of things to try unprompted.

‘I have every right not to care as the person you woke up at nearly three in the morning,’ Janus responded to the text. Virgil bristled as read the words on the darkened screen, his brain conjuring up the harsh, catty tone that Janus used to talk shit about someone. Damnit, he didn’t mean to wake up Janus. He was just giving Janus a heads-up as he remembered to do so. He didn’t think he would have remembered later because of the original issue. Insomnia. How fucking cyclical.

‘It’s your fault for not using sleep mode, stupid,’ Virgil sent back defensively, but he knew he should have just texted later or not brought it up at all. He should have just hid the fact that he hadn’t been sleeping. Then Janus would still be asleep and Virgil wouldn’t be panicking in the middle of the night about messing up his relationship with Janus, which was often tenuous at best. Virgil had been trying, but considering that was also a word that Janus used to describe Virgil, it probably wasn’t doing that well. He would ruin this relationship like he did with all the others. Oh, goddamnit, there goes night brain again.

‘I would have been fine if you fell asleep on time and hadn’t texted me at 2:44 am,’ Janus texted, and Virgil’s brain just was making Janus sound angrier. It didn’t help that it echoed the sentiment that night brain was touting as a personal failure. Virgil pouted and flopped back on the bed, holding the phone above his head to text back. Janus wasn’t wrong, and Virgil kind of threw Janus’s consideration back in his face by failing to fall asleep and messaging him about it. Ugh. Night brain aside, he really didn’t need to bother Janus with this. He’s dealt with it alone almost his whole life.

‘Sorry,’ Virgil apologized sheepishly and rubbed his face. He knew he could catastrophize about relationships. He knew the later it got, the more harsh his brain could be, too. It didn’t make Virgil feel any better about any of that interaction. It all seemed so bad, and he just needed to learn to keep his mouth shut, but he didn’t know how. He was so fucking tired all the time. Being tired makes you struggle with judgment and sense. Ergo, Virgil was always stupid. Maybe even Janus was stupid by extension for willingly spending time with the chronically sleepless Virgil, who even knew anymore. He only knew he needed to stop bothering Janus and try to sleep. The glowing clock’s non-stop march forward told him this wasn’t the time and reminded him he should just have been asleep to avoid all this shit.

Janus hadn’t responded to his apology, so Virgil switched back to the video app. He would try to make it up to Janus tomorrow somehow. Maybe he could get them both espresso or something like that. There really wasn’t any way to solve sleep deprivation, though, and he owed Janus more than he could physically even pay. Virgil knew how deep that debt could eat at your heart and soul more than anyone else. Janus didn’t have to forgive him, but Virgil still had to at least try to be better about not waking up friends in the middle of the night, even if it was an accident. Next time, he can just write himself a sticky note. It would be a good habit to build just to cope with the brain fog of chronic insomnia.

Virgil found some videos reviewing bad books, and those were relatively interesting without getting invested enough in the content to turn on his brain, so he watched a few reviews. It didn’t seem to be to any avail, though, other than mildly quieting the night brain from going on mean tangents. He did wonder how the hell said books ever got published and felt bad for the readers, but considering the contents of the books, that was probably a normal reaction and not a late-night horror fun house ringing throughout his skull. Virgil checked the clock on his phone screen compulsively, and the time made him grimace. He wasn’t any more drowsy than he was before, so that failed. The human capacity to be exhausted without being sleepy is offensive to think about. Time to drown out his brain in random content again, then.

He scanned for a different genre of videos that he could doze to with half-open eyes, but only ended up jumping at a loud thudding, the knock at his front door carried through his apartment causing a phone to land on his face in surprise. Virgil scrambled to grab the phone he dropped, looking around his room for something to defend himself with. No matter where his eyes jumped, he found nothing he could use to even bludgeon anyone with. Not that it would help against something like a gun. Maybe he was just going to die tonight.

The tiny ounce of sense that Virgil could have called his own was smothered to death by the haze of fear overtaking his brain as his breath came in sharply. ‘If I don’t show up tomorrow, I’ve been axe murdered by a late-night visitor. Tell your snake I love her,’ he messaged off his epitaph to Janus, sitting up on the bed.

He wasn’t sure if he should ignore it or see who it was. What if it was an emergency? What if someone needed help? What if it was the police? Should he even open it, then? Would it be worse if he pretended he wasn’t home? Would someone try to rob him if they thought his apartment was empty? What if it was someone out to hurt him? What if it was a trap? Were they going to be mad at how long it’s taking Virgil to answer? Maybe if he doesn’t answer it, he’s going to regret it for the rest of his life. What if they break in, anyway? What if—

‘Open the door,’ Janus texted him, shaking Virgil from freaking out about the sudden visitor’s intentions. What? Was Janus joking, or trying to get him offed?

‘Are you trying to get me serial-killed for waking you up?’ Virgil replied, and he intended it as a joke, but it was also the exact thing he was terrified of occurring. Nothing good happens this late at night. There was no way that the statistics for opening a door this late at night favoured him for survival.

‘It’s cold out here. Open the damn door,’ Janus sent another text, and Virgil jumped up from the bed right away and rushed to the front door, absolutely blindsided by the implications. Even the chance, even the tiny possibility. If it was Janus, he would open the door. That shook all his fears about the situation from the etch-a-sketch of his brain into harmlessly scattered grains of concern, leaving him breathless and bewildered.

Virgil flung open the door, and there was Janus in all of his pyjama-clad glory, looking fatigued, chilly, and perturbed. Janus pushed Virgil aside and stepped in, and Virgil locked up behind him in pure confusion, though he felt himself grinning like an idiot despite himself. Janus was here! Did Virgil fall asleep after all, and he was currently in a rare pleasant dream? Janus’s nightwear was certainly the stuff of dreams, it was hard to believe he even owned such classy sleepwear.

“What are you doing here?” Virgil asked quietly (as if to not startle himself awake, or perhaps because Janus looked half-asleep himself. He couldn’t speak for his own motivations, he could barely even speak) while Janus yawned, covering his mouth as his jaw unhinged. A little tear beaded on Janus’s eye that he blinked away, looking at Virgil directly with an intense expression as soon as he closed his mouth.

Janus didn’t reply and simply grabbed Virgil’s hand to drag him back into the bedroom. Virgil could only follow along with (dream?) Janus’s whims, feeling dumbfounded as Janus pulled Virgil along. Then Janus unceremoniously shoved him into the bed, Virgil’s knees buckling at the edge and catching himself on his hands to continue to stare up at Janus in shock. Janus only raised an eyebrow, leaning his weight on one foot as he glowered at Virgil’s lost face.

“Get in,” Janus demanded, flipping his hand at Virgil to shoo him into the bedsheets. Virgil furrowed his eyebrows, but crawled in and sandwiched himself between the blankets, anyway. He didn’t know what Janus was getting at, but it was better to just listen than deal with Janus’s tired wrath. Janus kicked off his shoes and climbed in bed next to him with another small yawn, tugging Virgil in and holding him to his chest under the covers. Virgil’s face heated as Janus forcefully nestled Virgil closely against himself and shifted to get comfortable in Virgil’s bed.

“What—” Virgil tried to start, his voice muffled against Janus’s firm chest.

“Sh. Just lie still and breathe deeply, and I will get you to sleep whether you like it or not,” Janus explained flatly, holding Virgil close and squeezing with mild pressure, the soft interaction melting away Virgil’s concerns in favour of focusing on the feel of Janus’s slender fingers without the gloves against his skin. Virgil wasn’t surprised his hands were cold. There was something soothing about that, even. It was almost as if the gentle chill of Janus’s hands quenched the leftover dread that burned through his mind unbidden and gave him space to breathe.

Virgil took a deep breath and let it out slowly, closing his eyes. Janus warmed up from the night's chill beneath the sheets and Virgil’s remnant adrenal heat, making this moment more comfortable than Virgil could have dreamed. Virgil hadn’t shared his bed in a long time, and he thought he didn’t miss it, but it seemed at least a small, traitorous part of him clearly still did from the unwelcome relief that slowly filled his body. He doesn't like how much Janus just being here changed how he felt, even though it satisfied him beyond words. The warmth between them, the soft covers, the considerate cuddle, and Janus’s gentle heart beat and steady rise and fall of his chest all coaxed him down as he breathed slowly and stayed still as asked. Virgil’s thoughts had trouble wandering with Janus right there. His brain was too busy fluctuating on Janus’s very existence, as well as the fact that he showed up out of nowhere to snuggle Virgil to sleep. He had to be already dreaming, right?

Janus rolled over and rearranged Virgil into being the little spoon, arms wrapping around Virgil and sliding his head onto Virgil’s shoulder. A few soft, warm breaths sent dancing across Virgil’s skin before Janus dropped his head to the pillows behind Virgil, Janus's breath now lightly jostling the hairs of Virgil’s bed head. Janus reached around to have Virgil hold on to a spare pillow and tucked him properly into the covers before snuggling tight, the even spread of pressure across Virgil’s back reminding him that Janus was here even though Virgil could no longer see him. Virgil couldn’t believe this moment was real, and he didn’t want to stop to consider it and ruin the moment. He wanted to be here in Janus’s arms, not even letting the fear of waking stay in his forethought for long.

The moments of soft breathing calmed the last of the fear in Virgil’s heart, loosening the knot in his stomach and the tightness in his throat. Virgil felt relaxation wash over him in places he didn’t know could even loosen, unwinding him down to the core. Janus’s arms slackened slightly, and Virgil could feel him slip off to sleep behind him, dragging Virgil down farther along with him. The dreamlike quality of the moment grew, the lines of reality becoming blurry, and the light of the alarm clock faded into an unreadable glow instead of a harsh reminder of the waking reality.

The request was so simple it was offensive that it worked, but the mantra and the soft embrace warded off all thoughts. Just breathe deep and lie still. That’s all he had to do. Janus was here. He’d know if Virgil gave up, so he had to keep going. And he wasn’t alone. He didn’t screw up with Janus, and he was safe. It didn’t matter if it was a dream or not, because both options were so wonderful, he would stay in either forever.

Time unwound and lost all meaning together in the soft sheets. He didn’t count the breaths. The clock’s horrible march forward, lost to the details, quickly blurring out. There was only Janus’s breath and his, entwining together in the dark room. The last dregs of Virgil’s waking mind faded to nothing, and there was nothing but warmth in the last moments of Virgil’s awareness as he drifted off to sleep.

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