#yr literally fucking yrself up MORE by doing this man

[thornsent]

day 53 of me side-eyeing a good chunk of the online plural community (endogenics and people claiming satanic ritual abuse)

[sawyer-saucee]

Fight or Flight

Title: Fight or Flight

Word Count: 1817

Summary: Virgil, Logan, Patton, and Roman are all relatively average college students that share an apartment. One late night, Virgil heats someone breaking in, and it’s on his shoulders to decide what to do - does he run, save himself and hope for the best, or fight to protect his friends?

Pairings: Platonic LAMP, a bit of a spotlight on platonic analogical

Warnings: Blood, fighting, break-in, crying, knives

AN: God, I’m so nervous about posting this. I was told it was good by someone whose opinion I really value, and that’s probably the only reason you’re reading this! Enjoy fam

Virgil sat wide awake in his room, his phone in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. It was just past 2:00am, and the house, for once, was quiet. Virgil loved this time of the morning, when it was dark and serene, and he could hear his three roomates’ breathing if he listened hard enough. Roman Prince, the bombastic thespian who Virgil’s room was right next to, snored delicately, often sighing longingly at nothing in particular. Virgil hoped it was because he was having good dreams. Patton, the far calmer and often kinder child development major tended to talk in his sleep. It was usually incoherent strings of words, but occasionally Virgil could catch a few. Hearing Patton sleepily mumble the word ‘pancakes’ always made him smile. Logan was the hardest to hear, as the studious astronomer was the farthest down the hall. However, he made up for it by having the loudest snore Virgil had ever encountered. The three sleeping men all made a sort of unconventional harmony together, with Roman’s frequent sighs punctuated by Logan’s heavy breath and Patton’s dreamy giggles. Virgil found it strangely calming. Everything was in place, everything had a rhythm that he could count. Perhaps this is why the vigilant college student noticed immediately when an unfamiliar sound interrupted his special symphony.

Clink, clink, clink.

It was the sound of metal on metal- faint and intermittent, but it was definitely there. Virgil’s stomach began to churn with anxiety. They didn’t really keep anything metal in the house, did they? All of the dishes were plastic, and it made no sense for one of them to randomly be clinking together their silverware at 2 in the morning. In fact, the only thing that really made sense would be the brass door lock-

‘Oh. Oh, no.’

Hastily, Virgil listened for all of his roomates’ breathing. Maybe one of them had gone out to pick up a late-night snack and wasn’t in their bed anymore. But… no, he could hear all three of them. Patton’s mumbling and Roman’s sighing and Logan’s snoring. Which could only mean that the person at the door wasn’t one of them.

Virgil was frozen with terror, his head flashing with every possible scenario. It could be a robber, a rapist, a drunk, a murderer! They could all be dead tomorrow morning and no one would know what happened! His whole body was shaking as he desperately reminded himself to breathe, and with unsteady hands he dialled 911 on his phone.

“Hello, this is 911, what’s your emergency?”

Virgil’s social anxiety tried to step in as he was placed on the spot to answer, but his fear of the unidentified clicking at the door quickly overwrote it.

“M-my name is Virgil Shea, I think there’s someone in my house, I don’t know what to do-” He spoke into the phone in as much of a hushed whimper as he possibly could.

“Okay, honey, please stay calm. Can you give me your address?” The voice was calm and even, grounding Virgil enough to let him speak more clearly.

“24 East Ash Street, my apartment number is 236 on the second floor.” He whispered. “Please, I-” He paused as the clinking sound stopped, and was replaced by a soft creak. Virgil felt ready to cry, recognizing the sound of their squeaky old door swinging open. “I heard the door open, they’re inside, please help me-” He breathed, slowly sliding off his bed and over the carpeted floor to hide in his closet.

“Please stay calm,” the dispatcher repeated. “I’ll stay with you on the line. Are there other people that live in the house with you?”

“Mm-hmm. My roomates”

“Okay. If you can, you need to make sure that they are awake and have some kind of weapon so that if it comes to an altercation, they can defend themselves. Can you do that?”

“I can text them,” Virgil mumbled, hyper-aware of every sound that he made. He sent a message to the group chat the four of them shared.

[someone broke in, stay silent, i called 911, find something to dfend yrself and hide in yr closet but dont make any noise]

He sent the text and a moment later heard some gentle shuffling in his friend’s bedrooms, followed by the nearly indiscernible sound of pattering footsteps on carpet. Good, they were all hiding. He updated the dispatcher and they told him that they were sending the police. So, all he could do now was wait and listen. Luckily, listening was what he was best at.

It seemed that at the moment the intruder was just shuffling around in the living room and kitchen. Virgil could hear the rolling of the drawers and the sharp slams as cabinets opened and closed. He flinched when he heard a giant object thud onto the floor of the living room, hoping a bit selfishly that it wasn’t the TV or the Playstation. He’d saved for months to get them. Shaking his head, he silently scolded himself for thinking about something like a video game console when he and his friends could literally all end up dead.

He redirected his attention to sounds of the intruder once again, trying his best to dismiss the frightened nausea that was tickling his throat. To Virgil’s dismay, his panic only grew as he heard the footsteps getting louder.

Dear fucking gods, they were coming down the hall.

Virgil nearly screamed when he heard a loud BANG at the opposite end of the hallway, but a familiar voice beat him to it.

“Logan!” His best friend’s name ripped its way out of his throat, and before he could even register what he was doing, he seized a discarded X-Acto blade from the top of his pile of art supplies and ran to Logan’s room.

When he arrived, he was distraught to see Logan cowering in the corner opposite his door, as if he’d made a run for it from the closet but hadn’t been able to make it out. Even more terrifying was the figure looming over him. The guy was tall, dressed in all black, and the only discernible features on his person was the bag slung over one shoulder and the silver kitchen knife in his other hand. The man spun on his heel, his brow creasing beneath his cheap plastic mask. His eyes, dark and malicious, surveyed Virgil’s form. He hesitated for a split second, fingers tensing around the knife as he glanced briefly back at Logan. Whatever sick decision he had been debating made, he swiped the knife at Virgil. He ducked out of the way fast enough to avoid getting stabbed, but a cut was opened on his shoulder. He cried out in pain as blood gushed down his arm.

“Logan! Get out, run!” He ordered, gripping his X-acto blade in his other hand.

“No, Virgil, I won’t-”

“Shut up, Lo! Just get out!”

Finally, Logan did as Virgil said, climbing to the window and sliding out onto the ledge underneath. Thank god they were only on the second floor.

Virgil shoved his blade into the intruder’s shoulder, sending him stumbling back a step with a yell. All too quickly, though, he recovered, yanking to blade from his skin and pinning Virgil against the wall. He opened his mouth to shout for Roman and Patton, but before he could, he felt the knife pressing up against his throat.

“P-please…” He whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to disappear into the wall. Hot tears began rolling down his cheeks as he felt the knife pressing into his skin, opening the tiniest of cuts on his neck. One wrong move and he was dead.

“Shhh…” The intruder’s voice was deep and menacing, and it sent goosebumps crawling across Virgil’s skin. He had to get out of here before his throat was slit. But… if he got away, then Roman and Patton would be in danger. So, he had a choice to make. Fight, or flight.

He had no time to hesitate.

He brought his knee up into the man’s stomach, knocking the breath out of him. The knife dropped from Virgil’s neck and he didn’t waste a second jamming his elbow into the man’s nose, the sickening crack an indication that he’d been successful in breaking it. He seized the man’s wrist and twisted it as far back as he could. He almost let go after hearing the shout that the intruder released, but didn’t let go until the knife clattered onto the carpet. His injured arm screamed in protest as he brought it up to slam the man’s head into the wall, but it was worth it when Virgil saw him collapse into the floor, unconscious. His entire body was trembling from the adrenaline, and he was so caught up in his own head that he didn’t notice the sirens outside. When police stormed into the room he was still staring blankly at the man, heart beating a million miles a minute.

He heard a woman’s voice in his ear. He couldn’t make out what she was saying. It could have been hours or seconds before Virgil was snapped out of his haze by a pair of hands on his shoulders.

“Virge? Hey, can you look at me?” Virgil eyes flicked up to find the source of the sound. He was sitting on the floor now, he didn’t know how he’d gotten there. Patton’s face stared back at him. “P-pat…” He stammered, reaching out with shaking hands to pull him close. Patton gathered Virgil in his arms immediately.

“You were so brave, kiddo.” Patton whispered, running his fingers through Virgil’s hair. Another set of hands joined Patton’s, rubbing comforting circles on his back.

“You saved us,” The person attached to the hands spoke. It was Roman. “There are no words that are strong enough to thank you, my dark and stormy knight.”

Virgil finally managed to look up, surveying the room with tear-filled eyes. The intruder was nowhere in sight and police were everywhere. His arm was still bleeding, every tiny movement agonizing to make. Though his throat felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper, he managed to croak,

“Where’s Logan?”

“I’m here,” Logan’s voice replied immediately, his shape settling in front of Virgil. “Y-you… Virgil, I would be dead if it weren’t for you.” He mumbled, his eyes filling with tears. “Thank you.”

Virgil chuckled, reaching out to wipe Logan’s tears away. “Don’t mention it, Lo. I’d throw myself into a volcano for any of you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but please…” He returned Virgi’s laugh, though his was slightly more uneasy. “Why don’t we just do our best to stay alive?”

Carefully, Virgil shifted out of Patton’s arms and buried his face in Logan’s shoulder, squeezing him as tightly as he could with his good arm.

“Okay.”

[borom1r]

this this this. it’s late and I feel gross so m not even remotely gonna polish my thoughts but there is so much in just his nails. bc what has he been digging at tht he can have fingers so caked in blood but all of his nails intact? + it’s his own fucking self

idk ik it’s my own mix of Same Symptoms + hyperempathy but i like. man it’s hard to look at. bc ive gone into it over n over again (th effects this type of isolation can have. like literally shrinking part of yr brain. irreversibly changing your fucking brain!! th UN bans total isolation for more than 23 hours. less than a full day. n Eric was there for 6 months. half a year. 182 days. over 182x th “legal” amount of time a human can spend in total isolation.) nd ive written passionate defense after passionate defense of Eric n his character, whose purpose IS to be flawed, but.

his purpose is also love. his single motivation across two whole films is love for his child. which is John’s ENTIRE motivation. nd look what Eric gets for it. like it’s ultimately such a little useless detail tht no one wld normally think twice abt, but as some1 w dermatilomania, to reach th level of distress where yr digging at yr own skin aggressively enough to cake blood near up to yr first knuckle on multiple fingers is. god. god. to love and to be human and to have flaws and to be in th process of changing nd working on yrself only to be tortured to such an extreme extent, for so long a time, as to seek stimulation thru th only means available which is. digging at rashes until you’ve caked tht much blood is gutwrenching.

nd ik im like one of two ppl who’d care enough abt Eric t look twice n notice, let alone analyze it, but it’s shit like that, tht make me sit n pause n do a double take tht made me fall in love w this franchise n keep me so in love w it

hang on. hang on. thinking abt Eric’s nails again where’s th post