#Okay yeah I think i will stick to their basic romanized names when tagging

[tumatawa]

#dungeon meshi #laios touden #falin touden #tumatawart #Okay yeah I think i will stick to their basic romanized names when tagging #Edit: I like to refer to them as sisters in plural form. It just feels right. But by himself Laius is still a brother #Kind of like food that sits in its own sauce until the ingredients just taste like the sauce itself

[rynnaaurelius]

Hi! same anon who asked for more tkc aus here. I’d like to hear more about that tkc-gang-as-demigods au you put in the tags?

Oh hell yeah.

Okay, so first order of business: The general TKC cast doesn't have easy counterparts to certain characters in the PJO 'verse (Mostly because the primary antagonist is much more akin to the Sith and Dark Side of the Force in Star Wars than, well, Luke). As such, certain PJO characters are gonna get name-dropped. Not many, though.

Anyway, here goes:

-There are, like, five different ways you can take Carter and Sadie, considering we get multiple sibling pairs in PJO/HoO, but here, they're modern-day children of Hades.

(But Ryn, you say, isn't Carter obviously a Roman demigod? And no, I respond. Carter is, at heart, just as much of a chaotic loon as Sadie)

-I kinda fiddled with keeping Julius around but couldn't quite crack it (Maybe if I expand this into a fic) so we're just merging the two and saying Hades' default appearance is basically Julius and his personality is a bit more Julius-like here.

-Carter's the eventual half-blood of the prophecy, but it's absolutely a recurring Thing where people try to get Sadie on their side by promising to kill Carter for her. This does not end well for those people.

-Sadie can summon a mean skeleton army.

-The two of them are raised separately--Carter by Amos, Sadie by the Fausts--until they're both brought to Camp Half-Blood when the Master Bolt is stolen by Luke, "for their own protection." Amos gets a similar treatment to Sally, Sadie takes on a Fury, and Carter fights the Minotaur.

-Unsurprisingly, these two are the prime suspects--doubly so considering their dad, is, well. Walt Stone is a twelve-year-old son of Athena and legacy of Thanatos who comes with them when they decide to go questing.

(I considered making Walt a son of Hephaestus, but it's a cleaner fusion this way for down the road)

(And yes, there is a half-serious idea for a satyr nicknamed Muffin here)

-If nothing else, I think that, objectively, The Quest To Punch Our Dad In The Face And Save The World is really funny, especially since Walt's automatically falling back into a long-suffering straight man role, and no, Sadie is totally not paying attention to his pretty brown eyes.

-Also, yeah, Carter is already fourteen, like in the trilogy, which makes this just. . .Olympus has cornered the market on painkillers, man.

-So they save the world, get Amos back, Sadie is pointedly Not Impressed by Hades, while Carter is left angsting over the whole Destroy Or Save The World thing, which is so fun when you have his control issues.

-After their equivalent of TLT. . .they really kinda go their own ways from canon? Carter's already much closer to Doomsday than Percy starts off, and he and Sadie are going to get into different kinds of trouble.

-Oh, yeah, running thing about how it's generally assumed that Sadie, who will insult Hades to anyone and everyone's face given half an opportunity, is much more amenable to joining Luke, when, really, it's Carter and his idealism and similar determination to Annabeth's to build something better.

-Walt is not an Annabeth counterpart; no special relationship with Luke. He does have the whole stick thing going on, though.

-Hmmm. Pretty sure Sadie gets kidnapped at one point because I like torturing Carter, she and Luke get on suspiciously well, but she's decidedly anti-having the guy who ate his own kids rule the world.

-Anyway, they eventually save the world via Great Prophecy, Jaz gets Luke the Knife to stab himself, the day is saved.

(Jaz is the closest thing we've got to a Thalia analog here; daughter of Poseidon who Luke grew attached to in a little sister-type deal, got pine tree'd and shortly de-pine tree'd. Does not join the Hunt; she's a bit younger than Carter here. I don't think Carter needs that push here to take on the weight of the world)

-The two of them live at camp year-round. Things are a bit spotty in my notes after that, but here's what I've got left:

-Zia's a daughter of Jupiter and the praetor of Camp Jupiter, I think. Carter eventually gets kidnapped and left amnesiac, and is still just as much of a smitten dorkface over her as he is in TKC canon.

-He's exchanged with. . .fuck it, Zia's little brother is Jason in this universe, she deserves family who hasn't been horribly murdered. He makes friends with the resurrected daughter of Hekate, Cleo.

-Setne is our Octavian counterpart in that here, he's a smarmy teenage officer whom Carter wouldn't mind repeatedly stabbing in the face, who, uh, may or may not be a dead ghost in disguise sent by Gaea.

-Felix is a son of Khione, because I do not have it in me to deprive him of his penguins. He summons them. Chiron hates them. Monsters are traumatized by bloodthirsty giant snow birds. The author has a good time.

-Alyssa is the Demeter cabin's counselor, Julian is That One Son Of Ares That Clarisse Swears Is Going To Fulfill His Potential Any Day Now Or So Help Her.

-Emma and Liz are co-counselors of the Hermes cabin; I absolutely put nothing past the two girls who were immediately on board with Sadie fighting gods through the Tube, and running after their best friend in highly impractical footwear.

(Rachel lives next to Brooklyn House canonically so we can still say she's the Oracle)

-Anyway, I dunno how I'd make Heroes of Olympus work without grafting in half the Greek/Roman cast after the fact (Which could work, considering the likes of Drew do still show up in TKC). Why are there seven main characters. Why.

Can't leave this without also saying that Carter does have a very strange encounter across the river, with a pair of staff-wielding teenagers his own age named Percy and Bianca. . .

#i got an ask! #tkc #the kane chronicles #pjo #carter kane #sadie kane #zia rashid #walt stone #jasmine anderson #the biggest problem with fixing this up is the egyptian gods get SO much screentime in tkc #also the greek corner has ten books and many more characters #but this is still fun to mess with

[asterythm]

some thoughts on virgil’s name, post-SVS2.

(+ bonus orange side ponderations, because of course the sides that i’m thinking the hardest about right now are the ones who didn’t appear even a single time in the entire video.)

okay anyway when i'm in a place where i've got my thoughts sorted and can be coherent i might organize this a little better, but for now can i just -- hgnmg. can i just.

i think i saw a theory post a while ago about virgil having had a different name before he joined the Core Four? and at the time i didn't really give it much thought, but i mean... now we have jan-us and rem-us, right? and suddenly so much room has opened up for theorizing.

now as much as i'd looooove to spend hours upon hours deconstructing the symbolism and history of every single -us name that's ever been created, i do also have pages upon pages of homework that i pushed aside to watch this video (hey, i'm just taking leisure time) so i'm just going to very briefly touch on a quick little idea, if you'll bear with me here.

lazarus.

this name means “God is my helper”, but that’s neither here nor there -- the thing that made this one really stick out to me is its Biblical history. 

as we know, thomas is a devoted Catholic, and in the Bible, i can think of at least two highly notable instances of Lazaruses (plural): 

the first is a famous miracle involving Lazarus of Bethany being brought back to life after four days of death, and

the second is the parable of Lazarus and the rich man, in which the poor man Lazarus sat outside a temple and begged for charity from the rich man until the day he died. upon death, Lazarus was raised up to sit in the lap of God, whereas the rich man’s own pride and greed created a sort of self-formed hell where he continued to try to order around Lazarus, ignorant of his own sorry state.

in both these instances, we get a story of overcoming “darkness” to reach a place of light and life -- in the case of Lazarus of Bethany, it’s literally coming to life. i dunno, i just feel like it’s a very, very nice parallel to virgil’s character arc.

i was also originally going to propose “odysseus” for another character name but then i started actually thinking and uh. if i may be so bold, i think i might have galaxy brained regarding the orange side. i’ll slide that under the cut though.

in the meantime, before i dive too deep into the Orange Zone, just a quick disclaimer: i don’t honestly have any emotional attachment to this theory whatsoever. odds are, i’m thinking way, way, way too deep, because that’s just what we do in this fandom. but even if somehow it turns out to be true that virgil’s name was once Not Virgil, i don’t think that i’m ever going to start calling him anything else. virgil is virgil is virgil -- that’s the name that he chose for himself, that’s the name he identifies with, and that’s sure as heck what i have come to know and love him by. this is all just speculation!!

aight, you hit read more, which means you’re ready to be taken to the orange zone. let’s get crackin’. while i was on the hunt for -us names for our resident raccoon man, i stumbled across the name odysseus.

i have a lot of thoughts and not enough time to write ‘em all, so let me just lightning-round this stuff here:

the dark sides so far seem to be following a pattern of “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil”, what with remus muffling all sound before his appearance and literally tearing his ears off + janus forcibly covering the mouths of the other sides to prevent them from talking about his existence. 

i’ve been thinking for a while, then, that the orange side will probably have something to do with eyesight -- i talked more about that here. the name odysseus would be in keeping with this, considering that one of the most famous stories from the odyssey involves the blinding of a cyclops.

i think that we’ve already seen the orange side, just not... physically. i think he’s been here all along, and he’s been in effect “corrupting” the other sides, in instances like logan getting mad and throwing the ball of paper in LNTAO (and hitting roman in the eye) and basically the entirety of WDWGOOBITM.

oh yeah, also, “odysseus” literally translates to “wrathful”. wrath has been a really popular headcanon for the orange side for a while. just sayin’.

i could swear i had more thoughts but my head is so so scrambled right now and i desperately need to go finish my homework, so actually, that’s all i got. i would absolutely love to hear your thoughts, though?

general tag list: @surleytemple @starryfirefliesbloggo @icecoldparadise @lyditist @fandom-random2405 @beach-fan @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @starryeyedhomicide @unring-this-bell @flix-net @pheonix-inside @thelowlysatsuma @residentanchor @sanderstalker @kazykazu @theres-no-winning-on-christmas

#ts virgil #virgil sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides theory #orange side #ts janus #ts remus #long post #spec speaks #ts spoilers #sanders sides spoilers #last post for tonight fellas and thats a promise

[today-only-happens-once]

the only exception

Title: the only exception

Word Count: 4,549

Summary: College!AU, Musician!AU. Patton shows up to a music festival that Virgil—along with his twin brother, Roman—is headlining, hoping to surprise him. Turns out, it’s Virgil that surprises him first. Romantic Moxiety, brief background Logince. Song-fic.

Warnings: lots of fluff and softness and sappiness, mutual pining elements, declarations of love, description of crowds, cursing, discussion of anxiety, mention of anxiety attacks, kissing, Virgil “writes” a song that’s actually written irl by Paramore but ssshhh Paramore doesn’t exist in this AU, please let me know if I forgot anything.

A/N: Someone on tumblr once made a textpost that said “The Only Exception” was a Moxiety song, and weeks later I listened to it and realized they were right. And then I had this image in my head that wouldn’t go away for like. Months. And then eventually I decided to write this. It’s basically a song-fic. Crazy self-indulgent, heh. Also, I’ve never written Romantic Moxiety before, nor have I written a Patton-POV focused fic. So writing this was a whole boatload of new. I hope it turned out okay! Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine.

You can listen to the song Virgil sings at the end here! 

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge, @bibbidy-bobbity-booyah, @procrastinations-my-middle-name, and also @randomslasher because moxiety! ^u^

…

Present. March. Junior Year.

Patton shoulders his way through the crowd as rock music blares loudly over the speakers. The late March air is cool, and the breeze tugs at the COLLEGE-PALOOZA MUSIC FEST banner hanging from the amphitheater’s stage. A few people he recognizes from his classes wave to him as they nod their head to the music. Patton slows as he finds a small gap in the crowd, not particularly keen on getting into the tightly packed mosh pit that had formed right in front of the stage.

The sun is beginning to set, casting the sky in a light purple hue. Perhaps ironically, it reminds Patton of the guy he’s actually here to see perform. Patton glances at the stage, but there’s no sign of him. He checks his phone for the time. The group was supposed to be on now, but perhaps he’d missed them already.

He looks at the guy beside him—leather jacket and sunglasses, holding a Starbucks cup—and asks over the music, “Which group is this?”

The guy takes a long swallow and then jerks his head towards the stage. “Planets Align. They had trouble getting the sound system working, so they’re running behind.”

Patton nods his understanding, smiles, and thanks him. Planets Align was scheduled to go on right before them, if the pamphlet he’d found on Virgil’s desk was anything to go by. He’d felt terrible at the time when he realized that the band Virgil had formed with his twin brother, Roman, would be headlining a music festival the same day Patton had already promised to help with a group project.

But the other members of his group canceled the meeting earlier today and rescheduled it for next week. So Patton really didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t come support Virgil. And if he maybe didn’t tell Virge in the hopes of being able to surprise him… well.

Besides, he had a feeling Virgil could use a nice surprise. He’d seemed really nervous about the festival when Patton was talking to him about it when he found the pamphlet. Virgil often seemed nervous, but… more nervous than even Virgil’s normal.

Patton smiles a bit to himself when he remembers when they first met.

…

September. Sophomore year.

“For the purposes of this research presentation, I will allow you to choose partners. We will need one group of three, but that certainly seems manageable.”

Patton glances around the stuffy lecture hall. It was only the third time the class had met, so Patton hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to many of his classmates yet. On top of that, it was a pretty big class. Patton had a feeling that he wouldn’t know everybody even by the end of the year. The professor waves her hand to indicate that they should select a partner and begin discussing the project.

Chatter rose up—most people leaning over towards people they were sitting next to, a few calling to friends across the room—and there was shuffling movement and the scraping of chairs as students milled about to find a research partner. Then Patton caught sight of a black and purple hoodie in the back row.

What was his name? Patton couldn’t remember, despite the ice breaker during their first class. He does remember the snort the guy had released when Patton had made a pun about his name when introducing himself. He also remembers the way he’d immediately ducked his head a second later when Patton grinned at him.

Patton gathers his things and squeezes through his classmates. “Hey,” he says. The guy in the hoodie looks up, seeming startled. “Wanna be partners?”

The guy blinks at him, then shifts in his seat and motions to the empty chair on the other side of his desk. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“I’m Patton, by the way.”

“Virgil. What, uh, what are you studying?”

Patton pulls his laptop out of his bag. “Oh! I’m an early education major. What about you?” As he asks, Patton casts a quick glance at the laptop in front of Virgil and notices the stickers on it: SANDERS in messy black scrawl, a thundercloud with a bolt of lightning, a small circle with a paint-smear style gay pride flag, and a few music notes.

“Graphic design with a minor in music,” he replies. Patton notices him glancing at the buttons on Patton’s backpack that he threw in the empty chair beside him—some about cats, some about dogs, a heart with glasses that he thought was cute, and a pride pin from last year’s Pride week.

“That’s pretty cool. You play music?”

Virgil lifts a shoulder. “With my brother, mostly.”

“Wow. That’s… really awesome,” Patton says, sincerely impressed. He’d always loved music, but really only dabbled in the ukulele. He’d always thought musicians were cool: having skills like that took a lot of work, and a lot of dedication. That seemed pretty admirable to Patton.

Virgil smirks. “If you say so.”

“I do. I mean it.” For a fleeting moment, Virgil looks taken aback by the insistence in Patton’s voice. “What do you play?”

…

Present.

“Roman is totally the hot one,” Patton hears a girl behind him say to her friends.

“Elliot thinks he has a crush on Logan Berry, you know.”

“He’s gay?” The girl sounds surprised, but not hostile.

“Ace, I think. Panromantic, if the stickers on his laptop are anything to go by.” Patton recognizes that voice as one of the girls in the LGBTQ+ club that Patton was secretary for.

“You have class with him?”

“We had English 100 together freshman year. Elliot’s in class with him and Logan, though, and says they want to gag literally any time the two so much as talk to each other.”

Patton grins to himself. Subtlety when he had a crush had never really been Roman’s strong suit. That was another place where Virgil was markedly different from his twin brother. Both Roman and Virgil had ways of keeping their distance from others, but where Roman put up a front of fearlessness and confidence and friendliness… Virgil seemed more likely to withdraw into himself.

Patton had learned that, and many other things about Virgil, slowly as meetings for the research project gradually developed into hanging out regularly and casually. Patton picked up on things about Virgil relatively quickly. He gets quiet and irritable when he’s actually anxious about something. He tends to catastrophize, especially when it comes to academics. He hasn’t yet learned how to accept compliments—something Patton didn’t let deter him from giving them. He hopes that the more he’s able to expose Virgil to them, the easier it will eventually get for him to accept them.

Patton learned that Virgil is fiercely protective, too. The fastest way for Virgil to overcome his anxiety about a situation is usually when it’s related to someone he cares about. He still remembers the fire that had alighted in his eyes when someone had started harassing Roman when he, Patton, Roman, and Logan had been heading back from a party on a Friday night a couple of months ago. Logan had been the one to diffuse that particular situation, but Patton hadn’t missed the way Virgil hovered closer to his brother and looked ready to fight when he’d seen the shaken look in Roman’s eyes.

But then there were the softer moments from Virgil, too. The fleeting moments when Patton saw something gentle and relaxed from him that a secret part of Patton liked to believe were just for him. They were a sign of trust from Virgil, and Patton had always cherished that trust precisely because it was so rare.

   …

April. Sophomore year.

“What time is it?” Virgil asks with a yawn. He’s sitting on the floor of his dorm, his guitar in his hands. His back is leaned up against the drawers of his desk. Patton sits on the floor across from him with his back against the cinderblock wall and his legs stretched out in front of him.

Patton digs his phone out of his pocket and checks. “Almost 1 in the morning.”

Virgil nods and strums a few chords softly. “You’re welcome to stick around, Patton, but… y’know. It’s chill if you’d rather go home.”

Patton shakes his head “I like it here,” he says. For reasons he is still figuring out, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Patton watches him; he watches the way Virgil’s bangs fall in a soft sweep across his face, the dark eyeshadow smudged under his eyes, the slight parting of his lips as he mouths unheard lyrics. He always loves watching Virgil play guitar. There’s something about watching him hold the light brown acoustic instrument—like it steadies him, like it’s a shield that protects him—that Patton can’t help but love. Virgil seems to… breathe easier when he has a guitar in his hands.

“Virgil? Can I ask you something?” Patton says suddenly.

Virgil glances quickly at him, then back down at the guitar in his hands. Avoiding his eyes. “Yeah. Sure.” His voice sounds oddly tight to Patton.

“Why do you play music?”

The question seems to catch him off guard. Virgil stops short for a moment, glancing back up at Patton. His hands still against the instrument, his eyes flit away in thought.

Then—to Patton’s surprise—he sets the guitar aside.

“It… gives me a space where I can… connect, I guess?” He rubs the back of his head, glancing at Patton as if unsure whether or not his own words made sense.

“Connect?”

“Well,” Virgil pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on top of them, “Yeah. I’ve never been good at… at the whole…” He waves a hand and sighs. “At the whole ‘words’ thing that’s required for making friends or helping someone or… whatever. I’m always afraid I’m gonna say the wrong thing, or make them feel awkward, or… shit, I don’t know. But music is different. It…” He huffs a frustrated sigh as the words escape him. Then he tosses Patton a wry smile. “See what I mean? Words aren’t really my thing. Music is different, though.”

Patton nods. He glances around at the MCR and Dear Evan Hansen poster on walls of Virgil’s side of the room. “I think I get it. Music lets you speak from where you are emotionally at a given moment, and people can come to you—or your music—to find that connection and community. It… lets you express yourself, and by doing that, lets you connect to other people.”

When Patton looks back at Virgil, he’s looking at him with something like disbelief. But there’s a softness and light in his eyes that makes Patton’s stomach flutter. “Yeah,” Virgil says eventually. “Exactly.” Patton meets his gaze with a small smile, even as he feels suddenly like Virgil can see all the parts of himself that he wants to hide.

The corner of Virgil’s mouth quirks slightly and he digs a small purple leather notepad out of his back pocket. He grabs a pen from the top of his desk and scribbles something down.

“Whatcha writing?” Patton asks curiously.

Virgil folds it and slips it back into his pocket. “Nothing, Pat.” He still has that soft kind of smile and look in his eyes even as he grabs his guitar and pulls it back into his lap.

…

Present.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Planets Align!” The emcee shouts into the mic as he runs on stage and the band waves as they exit to the cheers of the crowd. Patton applauds them and briefly considers moving closer to the stage before deciding against it. He’d never done well with tight crowds.

The sun has dipped below the horizon now, the sky darkening quickly. The lights from the stage bleed out onto the grass clearing, providing some lighting of the crowd itself as well. The air is a bit colder now, but Patton doesn’t mind. Besides, all the people around him moving and dancing have helped keep it from getting too cold anyway.

“Next up, the ones you’ve all been waiting for. Let’s hear it for… SANDERS!”

Patton lets out a cheer as the crowd screams. He sees Virgil’s twin brother—though you’d never know it from how differently they do make up and their hair—run on stage with his arms up to encourage the crowd’s response. The cheers get louder, and Roman grins and strikes a hero pose. He’s energized. Patton smiles at his evident excitement.

Virgil follows behind him, an electric guitar strapped to his back. Even from his distance from the stage, Patton can see him shaking his head at his brother’s antics. He gives a small, appreciative wave to the crowd. His eyes scan it, and a part of Patton can’t help but wonder if he’s looking for him someone.

Reasoning, though, reminds him that Virgil said he always tries to get a feel for the size of a crowd when he goes out on stage at a venue for the first time. It had started as a nervous thing—how many people might see me fail?—but as Virgil’s confidence in performing grew, it had mostly just become a habit.

“What is UP, everybody?” Roman says into the mic. He’s wearing a bright red leather jacket with a white shirt underneath, shiny gold skinny jeans, and red high top converse. “We’re so glad you could come out tonight. How about this awesome weather, yeah?”

More cheers. Patton watches as Virgil pulls the guitar from around his back with a smile. He’s in his familiar hoodie, purple shirt, black ripped skinny jeans, and his black sneakers with purple laces. At first glance, he doesn’t seem too nervous—Patton had long ago gotten in the habit of glancing at him to check if he’s okay when he knows Virgil might be getting anxious—but it’s hard to tell from this distance.

“My brother, Virgil, and I thought we’d kick things off with an original song. How’s that sound, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals?”  There’s louder cheering, and the two of them waste no time starting a song that Patton remembers from previous concerts of theirs he’d attended.

…

November. Junior Year.

Patton’s phone dings while he’s eating lunch in the student union and flipping through an education textbook to study for his quiz tomorrow on Vygotsky’s Zone of Proximal Development. Exams are quickly approaching, and Patton had always struggled to remember theorists’ names for some reason.

It’s a text from Roman. Is V with you?

Patton frowns and types back quickly. No. It’s Tuesday. Then he sends a second text. Why?

The student union is bustling with students breezing through to grab lunch before rushing off to the library or their class. Groups are clustered around tables to hash out the details of final projects as their deadlines approach in the next week or two. Exhausted English majors slump over their stale coffee cups and computers as they edit their final paper for the eighth time. Engineering students running on caffeine and spite chug another energy drink before hurrying off to the lab building. A couple others that Patton can see are watching Netflix in a desperate attempt to give themselves a break before plunging back into the grind of end-of-the-semester assignments.

Roman’s reply comes almost immediately. He sent me a single letter text which usually means he’s freaking out but idek where he is

Patton stands up and forgets his half-eaten sandwich, dropping it in the compost bin as he slings his backpack over his shoulder and hurries out of the building. Have you tried calling him?  He texts quickly.

R: Yeah. No response… just lemme know if you see him or if he texts you or something ok

Patton rolls his eyes. As if he’s just going to go about his day and not try to help. Especially if V might be freaking out. We’ll find him, Roman. You check the science center and I’ll check the music floor of Stokes Hall.

R: ok.

R: Thanks

Patton turns his ringer on at full volume and braces against the cold air as he hurries to the building beside the Student Union. The November air is biting. Students bustle with their noses tucked into their scarves and red fingers curled around coffee cups. There was no snow on the ground, but the grass still crunches under Patton’s shoes as he hurries across the quad towards Stokes Hall. His light blue beanie is pulled low over his light brown hair.

He’s wishing he had a scarf to hide his nose in—instead opting to try to tuck it into the sleeves of the sweatshirt tied around his shoulders—when he walks straight into someone.

“Shit! I’m so sorry—”

“Virgil?” Patton asks, immediately recognizing the voice. He looks up, and Virgil seems frozen for a moment. It only takes Patton a second to realize that his eyes are red and sunken slightly. His usual sweep of hair is a disheveled mess under the hood of his sweatshirt that engulfs his frame.

If Patton’s being honest, he looks… rough. Concern twists in Patton’s chest.

“I’m so sorry, Patton. I’m an idiot, I just wasn’t watching where—”

“Hey, it’s all good, Virge,” Patton says, quickly but sincerely. He places his hands on Virgil’s shoulder to anchor him. “Breathe.”

Virgil laughs but it’s humorless and shrugs out from under his grip. Patton frowns. “I’m fine. I know I look like a mess, but really. It’s fine now. I was just. Um. Coming outside for some air.”

Patton considers the deflection and decides to meet Virgil half-way. “I could use some too.”

“You don’t have to do that—”

“Honest, V. The cold air is kind of nice.” Patton slips his phone out of his pocket and sends a quick text to Roman. Got him. He offers a small, reassuring smile to Virgil.“ You wanna take a seat?”

Virgil meets his gaze, then glances away. He seems to think about it for a moment, then relents with a slight sag to his shoulders. “Sure. Fine.”

Patton wanders over to a bench across the pathway and takes a seat. He looks around as students rush quickly towards their classes, smiling brightly as a service dog trots dutifully beside his owner and pushes the button to open the door as the student hurries inside. He intentionally keeps his gaze from lingering on Virgil, even as he hesitates before sitting beside him.

Virgil waits until most of the students have rushed off before breaking the silence between them. “You aren’t going to ask?”

Patton glances over at him. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and you seemed reluctant to talk about it…. Should I ask?”

“No. Yes?” Virgil groans, zipping up his hoodie against the chilly air. “It wasn’t anything like. That bad. Y’know? I just get… anxiety attacks sometimes, and sometimes they get…” He trails off. Patton senses more than sees the way Virgil glances quickly at him. “Anyway. I’m fine now.”

Patton isn’t sure what to say. He’d known for a long time now that Virgil struggled with anxiety. That Virgil had anxiety attacks doesn’t exactly surprise him, and it definitely isn’t off-putting or anything of the sort. But Patton hates the way Virgil keeps trying to deflect… something. Judgement. Concern. Patton suddenly and fiercely wishes Virgil would just let someone care about him. Let someone love him.

Patton thinks maybe he already does.

“Virgil….” Patton says softly, looking at his hands folded between his knees, “It’s okay. You know that, right? You can talk to me about it. And I’m not gonna judge you or think you’re weird or that there’s anything wrong with you.”

“I… I’m fine.”

Patton lifts a shoulder. “Okay. But… it’s okay if you aren’t, too. And either way… you’re definitely not alone. You know? You know Roman’s there for you, but… but I am too. I care about you.”

In his peripheral, he sees Virgil look at him. “Patton—”

“There you guys are!” Roman exclaims as he jogs up to the two of them. Patton smiles at Virgil—who looks, for all the world, like the ground has shifted underneath him.

Patton wants to ask him why. He never does.

…

Present.

SANDERS has played through five songs, which means they’re nearing the end of their set. Patton is beaming. Virgil and Roman play off each other so well, and their music seems to be a blend of both of them in a way. They balance each other on stage. They’re fun to watch. Patton can’t help but think, though he may be biased, that if they really wanted to… they could make a career out of it.

But then they do something that surprises Patton, and apparently everyone else too from the way the crowd starts to murmur.

Virgil trades out his electric guitar for his light brown acoustic one. Roman grabs a wooden stool from one of the wings and sets it in the middle of the stage. Virgil adjusts the strap of the guitar around his shoulders, nodding his thanks to Roman.

“So I hope you all don’t mind if we close out with something a little different than our usual pace,” Virgil is saying into the wireless mic attached to him. “But I lost a bet against Roman, and that means I gotta do this.”

“If I lost I was gonna have to wear jorts for this concert. You all should be thanking me,” Roman quips back through his own mic. There’s a chuckle from Virgil as well as the crowd.

“Yeah, well. This is a song I wrote over the course of… probably about a year. It’s about someone very… important to me. He couldn’t be here tonight, but… he’s pretty great. Anyway, it’s a little different, so uh.” Even under the stage lights, Patton thinks he can see Virgil flushing slightly. “I hope you all like it.”

Virgil starts strumming and all Patton can do is watch him, transfixed by the sound of an acoustic guitar and the sight of Virgil under a spotlight on stage. It’s a much softer song already than any other song in their entire set. Virgil ducks his head slightly, his black sneaker tapping out the ¾ meter. And then Virgil starts to sing.

“When I was younger I saw my daddy cry, and curse at the wind.

He broke his own heart and I watched as he tried to reassemble it.

And my momma swore that she would never let herself forget.

And that was the day that I promised I’d never sing of love if it does not exist.

But darlin’ you are the only exception. You are the only exception…”

As Virgil sings, Patton can’t help but feel rooted to the spot. Virgil sitting and playing his acoustic guitar reminds Patton suddenly of that moment again back in Virgil’s dorm room. That moment of honesty and openness from him that always felt so rare. Patton feels like he’s experiencing that again, despite the crowd and the spotlights. Because this is not performance-Virgil, this is just…. Virgil. At his most honest. At his mot exposed. And it’s breathtaking.

Patton doesn’t even fully realize that he’s moving closer to the stage until he almost trips over a girl that’s swaying and holding her phone with a flashlight up in the air.

Virgil breaks into the second verse, and Patton feels his stomach fluttering all over again at the sound of his voice.

“Well maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul that love never lasts.

And we’ve got to find other ways to make it alone or keep a straight face.

And I’ve always lived like this. Keeping a comfortable distance.

And up until now I had sworn to myself that I’m content with loneliness,

‘Cuz none of it was ever worth the risk.

Well you are the only exception. You are the only exception…”

And a part of Patton—a part he’s afraid to admit to—suddenly starts to grow insistent with the realization that he might be really, truly, unequivocally in love with the person singing on the stage in this moment. The one with his bangs falling into eyes that had always looked to Patton to be a little bit afraid and a lot brave.

This song, this moment, is no exception to that. Music, for Virgil, had always started from some place deeply personal. It is what allows him to connect to others, after all. And Patton doesn’t know if the song is about him, but he wants it to be. Because that deeply personal space that Virgil is singing from resonates with Patton in a way that leaves only one thought repeating in his head. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Almost as if he hears the thought itself, Virgil looks up and starts scanning the crowd again as he reaches the bridge.

“I’ve got a tight grip on reality  

But I can’t let go of what’s in front of me here.” He’s scanning, scanning, scanning…

“I know you’re leaving in the morning. When you wake up,

Leave me with some kind of proof it’s not a dream. Oh…”

And then his eyes settle squarely on Patton, and Patton swears he hears the very faint catch of Virgil’s breath through the mic.

Patton gives him a small, faint smile. There’s a brief moment where uncertainty flickers through Virgil’s dark eyes, and then something sets firmly in them. As if he’s made some kind of split-second decision. Virgil stands up from the stool and starts making his way towards the stage stairs, continuing to play and sing as he does so.

“You are the only exception. You are the only exception….”

Patton loses sight of him as he steps down to ground level, the crowd blocking his view. But Virgil keeps singing that line over and over, you are the only exception, as if imploring Patton to hear it and understand it and know it is meant for him. As if perhaps Virgil has to repeat it himself to fully believe in its truth, but each time he sings it, Patton can hear the conviction growing. Far ahead of him, Patton can see people shifting around in the mosh pit in front of him.

Patton doesn’t move. He doesn’t think he knows how to.

And then through the crowd of people in front of him steps Virgil, still playing. Still singing. And Patton can’t help but notice his eyes look wide and scared and vulnerable—but unwavering—as he sings the final line.

“But I’m on my way to believing…”

He plays the final chord and stands there, looking up at Patton. He’s so close. The guitar and a few inches is all that separates them. Patton swallows past the lump in his throat and brings a hand up to cup Virgil’s jaw before leaning his forehead against Virgil’s and whispering.

“Can I kiss you?”

His eyes are closed, so he doesn’t see Virgil’s relieved, crooked grin. But he feels it when Virgil presses his lips to his own.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #romantic moxiety #moxiety #romantic moxiety fanfiction #fluff #crowds #cursing #kissing #softness #sappiness #virgil sanders #patton sanders

[andiandyandee]

Runs In the Family

Look, the title is an Amanda Palmer song because my wife was listening to it and it worked, so whatever. 

Also I wrote this instead of writing the Next chapter of We Are Going to Be Friends, deal with it.

You’ll probably need to have read some of the AU to know what’s going on here tbh.

Words: 2206

Virgil is sick of looking like Logan. (That’s it that’s the summary.)

Here’s  the first part of We Are Going to Be Friends  and Here’s the whole series on Ao3

Tag List: @datfearlessfangirl @princemesscharming @illogicalthinking @holliberries

Okay here’s the Fic:

    After another conversation with another store clerk who asked if he was related to the Starrs, Virgil was officially sick of this town, and so he was currently working through his annoyance in the best way he knew, by punching things.

    “I. Am. So. Goddamn. Sick. Of. Looking. Like. Papa.” Virgil grunted as he swung at Patton. Or more specifically, at the boxing pads Patton had on his hands. The younger of the two laughed a little and his brother’s pout.

    “Why? Papa isn’t like, ugly or anything. And guys and girls alike would kill for the chance to ‘gaze into those icy blue eyes’” Patton mimicked one of the girls who had recently asked Virgil out. “What’s the problem with looking like him?”

    “Every teacher expects me to be Just.” Punch. “Like.” Punch. “Him.” The last swing missed the target pad, only narrowly missing Patton’s face. “Jesus, sorry Pat.”

    “It’s alright! Maybe let’s take a break from this though, you can use the punching bag, I’m gonna do some yoga I think.” Virgil perked up at that.

    “Oh, actually would you mind if I did your routine with you? I really need to work on my flexibility, and I could definitely use some relaxation” Patton nodded, pulling out a second mat and block from the cupboard. Having a home gym was certainly something they both appreciated. The only one who didn’t use it was Dad, who preferred running outside to working out in the basement, so they had a pretty decent array of workout equipment. “I just get frustrated when everyone sees me and their first thought is ‘Oh god Logan reproduced’. I love Papa, I just wish I didn’t have his face. I can’t believe they decided to stay in this stupid town anyway.” They both started in a sitting position, going through some basic stretches.

    “I mean, you two look similar, but I don’t really think you look as much alike as people think. You just look close enough that they’ve convinced themselves that’s what Papa looked like too.” They were kneeling in child’s pose now, and Virgil was already struggling.

    “God how do you do this every day, my back already hurts.” They moved back into a sitting position, in the pigeon pose. “This is so much worse. ” Patton giggled. “Listen, even if we didn’t have the same face, which we do, by the way, It’s still frustrating to have people say ‘you look just like your father’ every day. I wish people would say I looked like literally anyone else at this point.” Patton rolled his eyes and moved down into a head-to-knee bend, which had Virgil whining, only halfway down.

    “How are you so inflexible? I swear me and Papa do this with no issues. I’ve even had Dad in that position without much complaint.” Virgil Flipped Patton off, sitting back up and crossing his legs into a Lotus Pose. “I mean you’re going to college out of state, aren’t you? You’re going somewhere - No Virgil, you don’t cross your legs in Marichi’s Pose, just tuck it in, yeah there you go- you’re going somewhere they won’t even know Papa. You’ll have tons of people who won’t think you look like anyone!” Patton had twisted around into a revolved head-to-knee pose that made Virgil nauseous just to see. That’s not how spines worked .

    “I don’t think that’s any better, honestly. I hate being alone, I just don’t always want to be ‘Logan Starr’s Kid’, You know?” They were kneeling again, both in a hero pose, Patton half leaned back easily, Virgil shaking as he leaned back only half as far as his brother.

    “Yeah, I mean I get it, I guess. I mean I don’t really look like Papa or my Surrogate save for her eyes and this mop of hair, so I’ve never actually been recognized as their kids, so I don’t really understand, but people make assumptions on the last name, you know? Mostly because of Grandpa, but Dad too.” Patton giggled as Virgil switched to a camel pose, unable to hold himself up or lower himself completely down to the reclining hero. “You have so little core strength for someone who enjoys punching as much as you do.” Virgil again flipped him off, now sweating way more than was really necessary. “Just use your block, I don’t know why you’re so against sticking with the easier poses until you get it figured out, Virge.”

    “Easy poses are for cowards. Can we stand up and do some poses that don’t involve my feet bending like this?” Patton laughed, obliging his brother. They tabled the conversation, mostly because Virgil was too busy groaning to actually talk.

***

    The next morning, which was really more like early afternoon, Patton woke Virgil up with his regular cheerful knocking. “Virge! It’s Saturday! We run on Saturdays!” Virgil groaned, trying to ignore the way his muscles protested moving after the nightmare yoga session.

    “I know exercise is healthy, but I think I’d rather die than move, Pat.” Virgil groaned into his pillow. He heard his Dad laugh loudly at that.

    “Come on, Virge! It’s the one day a week we actually spend together! And I’ll buy you lunch at that diner across town that just opened up!” Virgil was not a fan of running, or being outside, but the teen was nothing if not food motivated.

    “Do you think a cheeseburger and milkshake counts as a balanced breakfast?” Virgil asked, already pulling on a tank top and a pair of running tights, trying his best to brush his hair with his fingers. He pulled the door open, faced with looks of amusement from both his Dad and brother.

    “No. Grab a protein bar, water, and maybe a hairbrush, and meet us outside in like, fifteen minutes for stretching, Panic! At the Everywhere.” Roman chuckled, leaving the hallway with Patton. Virgil did grab a hairbrush, and made his way to the kitchen, only to find his Papa sitting at the island with a cup of coffee and what appeared to be a lukewarm bowl of oatmeal next to him, immersed in a book.

    “Hi, Papa.” Virgil grabbed a kind bar from the basket on the counter, and a water bottle from the cabinet, filling it with tap water.

    “Hello, Virge. Are you all heading out for the afternoon?” Virgil nodded, stealing a drink of Logan’s coffee as he passed.

    “Yeah. You wanna come? We’re going to get lunch after.” Logan wrinkled his nose.

    “You will see the heat death of the universe before you see me jogging outside with your father. I wouldn’t be caught dead in public with that man when he’s on a runner’s high.” Virgil laughed, shrugging and leaving his Papa sitting in the kitchen alone.

***

    The run, as expected, was miserable, and Virgil was sweating and starving by the time they made it to the diner.

    “Jesus, how am I so out of shape compared to you two?” Both Roman and Patton were a bit sweaty, but not even out of breath.

    “Well we run that distance three times a week, and you run it twice a month, so..” Patton joked, walking towards the diner door. “You’re also way stronger than me and Dad though, so I guess you have that going for you.” Roman nodded, holding the door open for his sons. A voice greeted them as they walked through the door, peppy and quite loud.

    “Hi! Welcome to Dot’s Diner! I’m Dot! Y’all can sit anywhe-” The voice cut off, the woman staring at Virgil with a bit of horror and a bit of sadness in her eyes. “Oh, uh, you-you can sit anywhere, boys.” Virgil glanced at Patton and Roman, confused. They both shrugged, sitting down at a booth and shooting glances over at the woman who greeted them.

    “She looks kind of familiar, actually... Maybe she went to school with Me and Logan?” Roman whispered. “I don’t know.” Roman pulled out his phone, texting Logan to ask if he remembered a ‘Dot’ because she definitely recognized Virgil. Logan texted back thirty seconds later, instructing them to stay right where they were. Roman showed the boys the message and shrugged again. “He must know her.” A waitress, not Dot, took their drink orders, dropping off menus. They were all discussing what they wanted when the bell rang again, and Logan came in, looking around. His hair was still a mess, but he was in a pair of blue jeans and a Greenday shirt that had no business being tucked in instead of his pajamas. He spotted Roman, Patton, and Virgil, and waved, but was obviously looking for someone else. When Dot came through the kitchen door, and saw him, they both looked a little tearful.

    “Logan! Oh, it’s so good to see you, I haven’t heard from you in so long,” Dot came around the counter, pulling him into a hug.

    “I’m sorry I didn’t stay in touch, Dot. I lost your number, and the only social media you had hasn’t been updated since-” He cut off, and Dot glanced to Virgil, who was staring at the pair with a look of confusion that was mirrored in Roman and Patton’s gazes.

    “He’s yours, then? It’s too uncanny to have been a coincidence.” Virgil rolled his eyes. Of course, she thought he looked just like Logan, they always did.

    “I know, it’s like looking in a photograph, sometimes. He even has the same color pallet. Black and purple everything.” Logan said conspiratorially. They weren’t that loud, but there were only two other patrons in the diner, so it was easy to hear them talking. Virgil raised an eyebrow at that. He had seen pictures of his papa when he was young and never had he had much of a black and purple pallet. The two walked over to the table, Dot still looking at Virgil with that same sad look.

    “Hi, I’m Dot. I’m a friend of Logan’s. I’m sorry how I reacted earlier, you just look so much like” Virgil went to sigh, but before he could, Dot said something that stopped him in his tracks. “Your Uncle Larry, I thought I was seeing a ghost.” Virgil was dumbfounded.

    “What?” Logan laughed at his son’s face.

    “I guess we’ve never really talked about it, but my older brother, L, shares an astonishing amount of features with you,” Logan explained, pulling out his phone. “Hold on, I bet I can find a photo…” Dot was smiling sadly at him.

    “I was newly engaged to your uncle before he passed.” She swallowed, “I’m sure you get it a lot, but I haven’t seen you boys since you were so young, I wasn’t expecting it.”

    Roman mumbled “Oh!” to himself before smiling at Dot. “It’s been so long, Polka Dot, I hardly recognized you!” She smiled at him.

    “If it makes you feel better, I couldn’t tell if you were you or Remus. The only way I used to be able to tell you apart was the scar, but you both have it now so..” Roman laughed.

    “Remus is quite a bit thinner than I am now, so we don’t actually get mistaken for each other much anymore. I had almost forgotten what it was like!”  

    “Ah Hah!” Logan held out his phone for Virgil to see. Staring back at him was... Well, him. This teenager, probably around 17, the same age as Virgil, was leaning on who was clearly Dot’s shoulder, a purple and black hoodie and shaggy hair looked eerily similar to Virgil. Logan swiped to another photo, of Logan and Larry standing next to each other in what he assumed were their prom outfits, Logan an easy 6 inches taller than Larry, much like how Logan towered over Virgil. Seeing them next to each other, Virgil realized that while the two looked similar, Virgil looked much more like Larry. They had the same nose, slightly shorter faces, less defined cheekbones.

    “Holy shit, I have his whole face.” Virgil croaked, glancing up at his Papa. “I thought I looked just like you, but like, that’s like, time travel. If he dyed his hair purple that could literally be me.” Patton and Roman were glancing between the photo and Virgil, looking more and more confused as they did.

    “How have you never mentioned our oldest son is literally your brother?” Roman asked, a little dumbfounded. Logan laughed softly.

    “You know how I feel about talking about him. And I didn’t realize until he was about fifteen, anyway. Remember when he got the tattoo? When we were fighting he did that thing, Dot, you remember, where he just kind of-” They both did the hand gesture, which from an outside perspective looked a lot like a combination of jazz hands and flicking water at someone, and started laughing, and Virgil blushed. He DID do that hand gesture a lot. “and I was like, Oh my god, He’s literally Larry.” They all dissolved into talking about old memories, and Virgil sat there content, leaning on his brother's shoulder. Sometimes, he hated how much he looked like his Papa, but he supposed looking like his uncle wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #logince #parent logince #the boys work out #because it's punk to be strong enough to punch nazis #punk au #human au #past character death #it's larry #like from cartoon therapy #he's logans brother #don't worry about it #food mention #dot (cartoon therapy) #is there too #my writing

[perspective-series]

Thomas Perspective (8/19)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Fear, unwanted touching

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter 

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 Thomas blinked, not believing his luck. Roman had just...left him alone. Thomas grinned. Now was his chance. He may be far away from his home, but at least he wouldn’t have to deal with anymore humans. He would take a long trek if it meant no humans any day.

 Thomas moved past the books and towards the door. He looked underneath, into the hallway, not seeing anyone. He then shimmied underneath, thankful he was able to fit under. He looked up and down the hall before moving the way Roman had come in. Sticking close to the wall and keeping a watchful eye for any humans.

 He didn’t think he would have to worry though. Since they were all in class at this point.

Of course, one student was not in class.

Logan Sanders was still wandering the halls, having just stayed late to discuss the probabilities of the multiverse theory with his physics professor. After a while, the professor had excused himself. 

Now, Logan was faced with an even greater anomaly than the multiverse theory. He paused, watching the creature for a moment with a tilted head. He was behind it, and therefore hadn’t been spotted, but this was the most curious thing Logan had ever seen. It was the size of a mouse yet looked exactly as though a human being had been shrunken down!

“Incredible.” Logan quickly began to walk closer, eyes locked onto it.

 Thomas froze, eye wide as he caught the voice. Slowly, he turned his head, looking up and seeing another human watching him. Crap, not again! 

 Quickly turning back around, Thomas booked it towards the front exit.

Seeing the creature speed up, Logan quickened his pace. He almost dove to the floor, wrapping his hands around it. “Gotcha!”

 “Ah!” Thomas yelled. Again. He couldn’t believe he had been caught by three humans in less than 24 hours. He really was a terrible borrower. He struggled against the grip, ignoring how his bruises from earlier flared up.

“Extraordinary.” Logan’s eyes almost sparkled, pulling the tiny person up to look at him more closely. Logan sat back on his heels, holding it higher. “What- who are you?”

 Thomas froze in his struggling, realizing he recognized that voice. He looked up into a pair of eyes framed with glasses. “Logan?” He said before he could stop himself. He immediately closed his mouth. Crap, what had he just done? But, another question, why was he being caught by all the residents of the same building.

Logan blinked. “How do you know my name?” Logan whispered, puzzled. What sort of creature was this? Logan looked down at himself but spotted no name tag that could have offered the miniature a clue.

 “Uh…” Thomas wasn’t sure how to answer that without Logan getting mad at him. “Lucky guess?” He chuckled nervously.

Logan frowned, knowing for sure ‘luck’ had nothing to do with it. “Alright, so what is your name, then?” Logan asked, pushing himself off the ground to continue walking. After all, the halls were hardly a private place to hold a conversation.

 At least that was something Thomas was okay with giving out, more or less. “Thomas.” The borrower then looked around as they started to move. “Um, w-where are you taking me?”

“Home.” Logan answered, peeking out the door to check for anyone around. “Well, first my car. Then home. It’s not exactly the safest place for you here.”

 Thomas could agree with that. But it also wasn’t safe to be with a human either. Thomas continued to squirm in the grip, wincing when he rubbed at his bruise wrong.

“Shh, it’s alright.” Logan tried to readjust his hands so that Thomas was more comfortable, making a quick dash to his car. Panting slightly from the exertion, Logan climbed into the driver’s seat and re-evaluated Thomas. “Are you alright?”

 “Um...yeah.” He lied. He shifted again, unable to keep from wincing as his bruised flared up once again. Wow, that fall had really gotten him. And also all the tight grips. He was going to be bruised for weeks.

“Are you...hurt?” Logan moved Thomas closer, gently prodding him in the side.

 Thomas flinched, releasing a hiss of pain.

“Sorry!” Logan quickly removed his finger, lessening his grip on Thomas so that he lay in an open palm. “You look...quite injured…” Logan’s eyes widened. “Is that because of me?”

 Thomas was thankful to be out of the grip but couldn’t help but look up at the human in slight confusion. It was weird having three humans seemingly caring about him. He fought with himself over what to say. “Uh, no, no. This was from, ah...earlier.”

“...I see.” Now aware of Thomas’ injuries, Logan was gentle as he set Thomas down to rest inside the cup holder. There the small man would hopefully be the least jostled. “May I ask what happened?”

 Thomas wondered how much he should tell Logan. Because he knew Logan knew who Roman and Virgil were, they were best friends after all. And he didn’t want to end up in their hands again, especially Roman’s. And maybe Logan would actually let him go? Well, maybe not, but maybe he could escape from him better.

 “A...Another human found me and...well…” Thomas shrugged. He was glad to be out of Logan’s hands but the angle was less than ideal now.

Logan felt his blood boil slightly at the indication of another person treating Thomas poorly.

“Who was it?” Logan asked, turning the key in his ignition. “What did they do?”

 “I’m not sure.” Thomas lied, wincing as he did so. “But they uh, grabbed me too rough and well...dropped me.”

“What? Why?” Logan fought to stay focused on the road instead of glancing down at Thomas.

 “I asked to be let go and he panicked and dropped me.” Thomas said with a shrug. He rubbed at his sides.

“What kind of an idiot would do that?” Logan murmured, half to himself.

 Thomas just shrugged, keeping his mouth shut this time. He didn’t want to say anymore and have Logan figure out who it had been.

It was only a few minutes before they reached the parking structure. Logan turned off the car, carefully picking up Thomas and peering out his window to check if the coast was clear.

 Thomas squirmed in the grip once again but made himself still as he realized Logan was about to go outside. He tried to sink further into the hand in order to remain hidden. “L-Logan, please don’t let me be seen.”

“I won’t.” Logan assured Thomas, giving him a brief smile. Noticing that no one else was around, Logan got out of the vehicle and began briskly walking up and into his building. Logan’s hands were kept cupped around Thomas to hide the tiny from any passersby that Logan might have neglected to spot.

 Thomas shook, hating being out in the open like he was but at least Logan understood to keep him hidden. And at least now he didn’t have to worry about getting back home.

Thankfully, Logan ran into no one on his way up to the fourth floor. He leaned against his apartment door briefly, letting out a sigh of relief. Slowly, Logan uncupped his hands.

“How are you doing?” Logan asked, eyes glancing over Thomas’ form as he began to walk down the hall, grabbing a pillow in his spare hand as he passed the couch.

 “Um...fine.” Thomas said, only half lying that time. He still didn’t know what Logan was going to do.

Logan entered the kitchen, setting the pillow down on the counter. He placed Thomas in the center before grabbing a small plastic ice cube and wrapping it in a washcloth.

“Here.” Logan held it out to Thomas. “Hold this to your injuries, it should help.”

 Thomas hesitated before taking it and basically hugging it in order for it to reach his sides, stomach and chest. He shivered at the cold but relaxed into it. “Th-Thanks.”

“Are you bleeding anywhere?” Logan asked, already pulling out the first aid kit from the top shelf. “I have bandages.”

 Thomas shook his head. “No, I’m alright. It’s just bruises.” Thankfully.

“Okay.” Logan gave a small sigh of relief. He hadn’t been looking forward to trying to mend any tiny broken bones. Now Logan looked around for something to use as a cup. Spotting a water bottle. Logan removed the cap and splashed some water into it. Careful not to spill all the contents onto Thomas, Logan held this out for Thomas to take.

 Thomas looked from the cap to Logan before taking it. He adjusted the ice cube and his grip, before taking a sip. He sighed in relief as the cool water ran down his throat. He set it down once he had had enough and then looked up at Logan. He bit his lip. “Um, Logan?”

“Thomas, do you want strawberries or carrots?” Logan asked, now busy searching through the fridge.

 Thomas blinked. “Strawberries would be great, but, Logan?” Thomas tried again.

“Wait, do you have any dietary restrictions?” Logan frowned in thought, reappearing with an armful of strawberries. He began to cut these into manageable pieces.

 “No.” Thomas bit his lip, not liking how Logan was ignoring him. He just wanted to ask a simple question. “But Logan, can I ask you something?”

“Yes, what is it?” Finally Logan turned his attention to Thomas’ words, handing Thomas a strawberry chunk.

 Thomas took the strawberry and was grateful that Logan was finally paying attention to him. “What’s...going to happen now?”

Logan frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.” 

 “I mean, like...are you going to let me go?” Thomas said, just getting the question out there and over with. He braced himself for whatever reaction Logan would have.

“Let you go where?” Logan glanced around his apartment.

 “Um...home? My home, that is.” Thomas explained, trying not to get his hopes up. Things were not looking good so far.

“It’s not exactly ideal to move you in this state.” Logan advised, not wanting to drive back to the school with an injured Thomas. Since Logan had discovered Thomas in the hall, it was only logical the little lived in that vicinity. “You should rest and recuperate.”

 “But...you will let me go? Eventually?” Thomas asked, shoulders tense.

“I will take the course of action most beneficial to your health.” Logan promised. Whether that was releasing Thomas back into the world, it was hard to say.

 Thomas deflated. Of course. Why did every human he meet think they knew what was best for him? Guess that meant he had to try and escape the old fashioned way. 

“Now eat up.” Logan instructed, handing Thomas another strawberry. “Keeping your energy levels high is essential to a steady recovery process.”

 Thomas sighed but took the offered strawberry, taking a bite. The only good thing about all of this was that he was eating more than he had ever had.

#thomas perspective #borrower!thomas #human!logan #human!roman #ish #part 8 #i think #tp #perspective series

[italian-sides]

“Ombre e Bastoni”, ch. 2

Here I am with the second chapter! Again, a huge thank you to both @misslilidelaney on Tumblr for writing this and @watcher-from-the-heights for being my beta! I also tag @ts-italian-gang, just in case. One last thing: if you want to support the ff, it’s on AO3 too! Thank you if you’re gonna step by! Enjoy!

Whenever Emilio Picani walked into the Dolce&Remì, all heads turned.

And when all heads turned, Giuda Schiavon's only instinct was to turn away.

To avoid imploding.

At the exact moment the young man crossed the threshold, Giuda understood that he was Patrizio's famous "psychologist cousin".

And at the exact moment he saw his face, only one sentence echoed in his brain:

- Sò ciavà. - [1]

The newcomer sat down at the counter, while Remo looked illuminated with immense light and Romolo seemed to be having a heart attack.

"Patrì. Are you kidding? You should at least have said that your cousin was so beautiful!"

"What are you saying, Romolo? C'mon, you're embarrassing him!"

"Orco can, Pati [2], take it easy! Trust me, it takes much more to embarrass me.", the interested party replied, giving Romolo, who just laughed like a twelve year old, a benevolent smile.

- Nice, exactly what I needed, even the competition with the Stellina. -

Giuda glanced at Remo, who had been wiping the same glass for three minutes.

-Ah, well. Both the Stelline. [3] -

He just looked at the newcomer from behind the counter, through the mirror in front of which the liquors were placed.

Of course both twins already came out swinging, while Virgilio and Luca simply looked at him with the gaze of two hungry lions.

And obviously Patrizio noticed the looks that the Trentine guy - that is Luca - launched at his blood relative, and Giuda shook his head after seeing the Emilian's eyes getting a little bleary.

-If I end up like this too, I'll set myself on fire.-

"You're quiet, Giudino [4].", Tommaso, the only one who seemed immune to the charm of the newcomer, chirped.

Giuda merely smiled slyly, pointing to the group behind him with a nod:

"I'm enjoying the vultures."

"Pffftt, they're terribleee!", the pastry chef whispered, biting his lip from laughing, which made Giuda smile even further and then continue:

"They look like they haven't seen a man for ages, eh? And Patrizio has the face of someone who repented 'a sbrega'."

"At what?"

"Someone who regretted it very much. I’ll have to teach you Venetian sooner or later, boss."

Tommaso nodded, and Giuda decided to get defensive even before anyone could attack him.

"Plus, like... He's not even that  cool. He's pretty, don't get me wrong, but c'mon, to the point of making all four of them lose their heads?"

Tommaso nodded, shrugging:

"Agreed. And I hope Luca will soon get over this thing before Patrizio goes on a killing spree."

"Patrizio should also get a move on, however; Luca is too much of a wimp to realize he's drooling like a slug. If he doesn't get moving, someone else will take him and I’d like to remind you that the last time Patrizio got drunk, he got a sad hangover."

"Don't remind me, please."

"Ao, regà!" [5], Remo sneaked in and took them both by the arm, smiling like the idiot he was.

"Come and meet the newcomer!"

- Oh, no, please. -

"Boss, at least let me take off my dishwashing gloves!"

"No no, you have to keep them, I want him to understand who's in charge!", the 'older' brother of the Stella twins laughed at the request of his dishwasher.

- Curses.-

With a movement worthy of the worst drunks in Caracas, he brought Tommaso and Giuda in front of the newcomer, who had a smile capable of melting Giuda's heart in an instant.

And it did.

"Emilio, here's my co-partner and pastry-chef Tommaso Sandero, and my all-rounder, dishwasher, whatever-you-want, Giuda."

"I have a surname too, you know, old man.", with an eyeroll worthy of a Hollywood star, Giuda turned to Emilio.

Shit, he was even more beautiful, up close.

"Giuda Schiavon. I would shake your hand but I have gloves on."

"Schiavon?", Emilio asked, lighting up.

How beautiful a human being could be? Was he even legal?

"Ahah, his name is Schiavon. Which is perfect, since he's ours... [6]", Remo started, but Emilio dreamily clasped his hands in front of his face and asked, interrupting him:

"Are you from Veneto too? I'm from Verona!"

Giuda just shrugged, nodding immediately after:

"Par tera, par mar, Sammarco. [7]"

"Can del porco, un Venexian! Beaaa! [8]"

Having said that, Emilio approached him, pretending to speak in great secrecy - which was impossible, since everyone was still staring at him as if he was a wonderful thing, except perhaps Romolo, who was just looking at Giuda as if he was the worst thing that ever happened in this world:

"Cossa go da far pa aver na bona ombra de vin qua? [9]"

Was he trying to speak Venetian?

Was there a limit to how cute he could be?

"Ask Remo. I only wash the glasses, I don't fill them."

Having said that, he turned to the owner, making a superhuman effort to take his eyes off Emilio, who seemed quite dazzled by the answer.

"Can I go back? I have to go to the kitchen to finish washing the dishes before other people arrive for happy hour."

Then he turned back to Emilio, waving at him with half a smile:

"Fellow countryman, enjoy your stay in Bologna."

And then he left, without giving him time to answer.

*

Three years passed since their first meeting.

Three years in which Romolo made the funniest epic fail with Emilio, in which Patrizio decided to stick his tongue down Luca's mouth, and Virgilio pretended to be drunk to touch Romolo's ass, whom he said he'd forgotten, but Giuda knew that was bullshit.

Because he, being a chronic liar, could basically smell the lies.

In fact, not even for a second did he let anyone remotely suspect of his mind-blowing crush on the psychologist, especially the above mentioned, given that he was probably now convinced he hated his guts.

Which was the intention of the Venetian, since he took for granted that the thirty-year-old was far beyond what someone like him could afford.

After the disastrous relationship with one of his university buddies, Giuda indeed decided that being single was far better than being heartbroken.

Even though his heart wasn't too good.

Treating Emilio badly was making him lose sleep, at times he risked forgetting to put on his contact lenses due to tiredness, and even Virgilio took the piss out of him for the bags under his eyes.

And now he was there. Gloves in one hand and a broom in the other.

With Remo looking at him with a Cheshire Cat's smile on his face.

"You little snake. I get it, you know? You like the Veronese."

"You're speaking nonsense. I’d rather kill him right now. I dropped the glasses because of him."

"Don’t fuck with me. Tommy and I yell at you all the time and you’ve never jumped like this. Yo, Coso [10], I can smell lies too, you're not the only one. You’re being a little shit because you like him."

Giuda kept looking the bar owner in the eye, trying to deny it with all of his body language.

"I. Don't. Like. Emilio. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but Mr. Psychoanalysis isn’t exactly my cup of tea, okay?"

"Giuda..."

There was something in Remo’s voice, something that for a moment opened a breach in the Venetian's heart.

Maybe... Maybe he could trust someone.

"...From the first day he walked in here. You all got over it. But me? Never. I don’t have a crush on Emilio, Remo. I’m in love with Emilio. But I’ve suffered enough in the past to know that I’m better off alone. What if it goes wrong? How am I gonna look at him? How...?"

"You don't know that. I mean, I don't know either even if I live with him, how can you, if you run away every time you see him?"

"I personally believe that what you don’t know can’t hurt you."

"If Luca were here he would scream 'Boiate' [11]. Giuda... I..."

"Welp. It's too late now, the damage is done, right? He’s probably convinced I hate him even more after today's crap."

With a bitter laugh, Giuda surpassed the roman, continuing:

"I blew every chance, amen..."

"Giuda."

"But surely he won’t stop coming, we’re his favorite bar and you’re his roommate..."

"Giuda, shut up."

"I'm sure he'll find someone else pretty quickly, he just needs to breathe and someone always comes along."

"Giuda!"

The dishwasher turned again towards Remo, biting his lip as the stupid tears began to stream down his face.

"I can’t do this, okay? After Mattia, I don’t know what to do, with a man. Besides, I’m kind of a mess. Emilio will never appreciate someone like me."

Remo remained silent for a moment, before moving forward... and hugging? Giuda.

The Venetian was baffled, usually it was Tommaso, the one with whom he sometimes allowed himself affectionate gestures.

"Shut your mouth, you’re not that bad. And I swear on Totti [12], I’ll help you get the therapist, whether you want it or not."

Giuda laughed bitterly, his face stuck in the chest of his tallest peer.

"Yeah, sure. And how are you gonna do that?"

Remo let him go and asked, very seriously:

"Do you know how to play briscola [13]?"

[1]: transl. "I'm fucked" [2]: "Holy crap" + Pati = a nickname for Patrizio [3]: this is a pun with Romolo and Remo's surname, "Stella" = "Star", that here is referred as "Stellina/Stelline" = "Little Star/Little Stars" [4]: a nickname for Giuda, a diminutive of his name [5]: a Romanesco dialect exclamation that means more or less "Hey, guys!" [6]: it's a pun with Giuda's surname, Schiavon, that in italian, without the "n" at the end, is "Schiavo" = "Slave" [7]: it's a Venetian saying that literally means "on land, on sea, San Marco", but more broadly it means the power of the Venice Republic that reigned both on the land and on the sea [8]: "Good heavens, a Venetian! Niiice!" [9]: "What can I do to have a good glass of wine around here?"; in Venetian dialect, "ombra" means both "shadow" and "glass of wine" [10]: "coso" is the italian version of "thingy" and/or "dude/dingus" [11]: yes, "boiate" is the italian term for "falsehood", in this case [12]: a famous Italian soccer player, specifically from Rome [13]: a very popular Italian card game

1 - 2 - ?

see ya next time, ciao!

Quando Emilio Picani entrava al Dolce&Remì, tutte le teste si giravano. E quando tutte le teste si giravano, l'unico istinto di Giuda Schiavon era di girarsi dalla parte opposta. 

Per evitare di implodere.

Nel momento esatto in cui il giovane aveva oltrepassato la soglia, Giuda aveva capito che era lui il famoso "cugino psicologo" di Patrizio. 

E nel momento esatto in cui aveva visto il suo volto, solo una frase gli aveva rimbombato nel cervello:

- Sò ciavà.-

Il nuovo arrivato si era seduto al bancone, Remo che sembrava illuminato d'immenso, e Romolo che sembrava stesse per avere un infarto.

"Patrì. Ma stiamo a scherzare? Ce lo dovevi minimo minimo dire che tuo cugino era così bello!"

"Ma cosa stai dicendo, Romolo? Mo' dai guarda, che lo metti in imbarazzo!”

"Orco can Pati, stai calmo! Guarda che ci vuole molto di più per imbarazzarmi." aveva risposto il diretto interessato, scoccando un sorriso benevolo a Romolo, che si era limitato a ridere come una dodicenne.

- Ben ciò, perché mi mancava la competizione con la Stellina.- 

Giuda aveva lanciato uno sguardo a Remo, che stava strofinando lo stesso bicchiere da tre minuti. 

-Ah beo. Entrambe, le Stelline.-

E si era limitato a guardare il nuovo arrivato da dietro il bancone, attraverso lo specchio davanti al quale erano sistemati gli alcolici. 

Ovviamente entrambi i gemelli erano già partiti all'attacco, e Virgilio e Luca si limitavano a guardarlo con lo sguardo di due leoni affamati. 

Ovviamente, Patrizio si era accorto degli sguardi che il trentino lanciava al proprio consanguineo, e Giuda aveva scosso la testa vedendo i suoi occhi velarsi un po’.

- Se finisco anche io così mi do fuoco.-

"Sei silenzioso, Giudino." Aveva cinguettato Tommaso, l'unico a sembrare immune al fascino del nuovo arrivato. 

Giuda si era limitato a sorridere sornione, indicando il gruppetto alle sue spalle con un cenno del capo.

"Mi sto godendo gli avvoltoi."

"PFFFF sono tremendiii!" Aveva sussurrato il pasticciere mordendosi il labbro dal ridere, cosa che aveva fatto sorridere ulteriormente Giuda che quindi aveva continuato:

"Sembra non vedano un uomo da millenni eh. Veramente. E Patrizio ha la faccia di uno che si è pentito a sbrega."

"A cosa?

"Pentito molto. Devo insegnarti il veneziano prima o poi, Boss." 

Tommaso aveva annuito, e Giuda aveva deciso di mettersi sulla difensiva ancora prima che qualcuno potesse partire all'attacco.

"Che poi... Neanche fosse così figo. Bellino eh. Ma insomma, da far andare fuori di testa tutti e quattro?"

Tommaso aveva annuito, facendo spallucce. 

"Ti do ragione. E spero che a Luca questa cosa passi presto prima che Patrizio faccia una strage."

"Patrizio dovrebbe anche darsi una mossa però eh, Luca è troppo impedito per accorgersi di quanto stia sbavando come una lumaca. Se non si muove finisce che se lo prende qualcun altro e ti ricordo che l'ultima volta è andato di sbronza triste."

"Non ricordamelo, ti prego..."

"Ao, regà!" Remo era arrivato di soppiatto e li aveva presi entrambi sottobraccio, sorridendo come lo scemo che era.

"Venite a conoscere il nuovo arrivato!"

- Oh, no, ti prego.- 

"Capo fammi almeno togliere i guanti da piatti!"

"No no, li devi tenè, voglio che capisca chi comanda!" Aveva riso il maggiore dei gemelli Stella alla richiesta del suo lavapiatti. 

Maledetto.

Con un movimento degno dei peggiori ubriachi di Caracas, aveva portato Tommaso e Giuda al cospetto del nuovo arrivato, che aveva addosso un sorriso capace di sciogliere il cuore di Giuda in un istante.

E lo aveva fatto.

"Emilio, ecco il mio socio e pasticcere Tommaso Sandero, e il mio lavapiatti tuttofare quello-che-vuoi, Giuda."

"Ho un cognome anche io sai, vecchio." con un eyerolling degno di una star holliwoodiana, Giuda si era voltato verso Emilio. 

Merda, era ancora più bello, da vicino.

"Giuda Schiavon. Ti darei la mano ma ho i guanti."

"Schiavon?" Aveva chiesto Emilio illuminandosi. 

Ma quanto poteva essere bello un essere umano? Ma era legale?

"Ahah, si chiama Schiavon. Il che è perfetto visto che è il nostro..." Aveva iniziato Remo, ma Emilio aveva stretto le mani davanti al viso con aria sognante ed aveva chiesto, interrompendolo:

"Ma sei veneto anche tu? Io sono di Verona!"

Giuda si era limitato a fare spallucce, annuendo subito dopo.

"Par tera, par mar, Sammarco."

"Can del porco un Venexian! Beaaa!" 

Detto questo, si era avvicinato facendo finta di parlare in gran segreto - cosa impossibile visto che tutti lo stavano ancora fissando come se fosse una cosa meravigliosa, tranne forse Romolo che stava guardando proprio Giuda come se fosse la peggiore delle cose mai capitate a questo mondo:

"Cossa go da far pa aver na bona ombra de vin qua?" 

Stava cercando di parlare in veneziano? 

Ma c'era un limite a quanto potesse essere carino?

"Domandarghe a Remo. Io lavo i bicchieri, non li riempio mica." 

Detto questo si era girato verso il titolare, compiendo uno sforzo sovrumano per distogliere lo sguardo da Emilio, che sembrava parecchio abbacchiato dalla risposta.

"Posso tornare di là? Devo andare in cucina a finire i piatti prima che arrivi altra gente per l'happy hour." 

Si era quindi girato di nuovo verso Emilio, facendogli un cenno di saluto con un mezzo sorriso.

"Conterraneo, buona permanenza a Bologna."

E se n'era andato, senza lasciargli il tempo di rispondere.

*

Erano passati tre anni, da quel loro primo incontro. 

Tre anni nei quali Romolo aveva fatto il più divertente degli epic fail con Emilio, nei quali Patrizio si era deciso a ficcare la lingua in bocca a Luca, e Virgilio aveva fatto finta di essere ubriaco per toccare il culo di Romolo, che diceva di aver dimenticato, ma Giuda sapeva essere una balla. 

Perché lui, le balle, le subodorava, essendo un bugiardo cronico.

Infatti, nemmeno per un secondo aveva lasciato che qualcuno sospettasse minimamente della sua cotta allucinante per lo psicologo, specialmente il suddetto, visto che si era probabilmente ormai convinto di stargli sullo stomaco.  

Il che era l'intento del veneziano, visto che dava per scontato che il trentenne fosse ben oltre quello che uno come lui potesse permettersi. 

Dopo la disastrosa relazione col suo compagno di facoltà, Giuda aveva infatti deciso che single era decisamente meglio che col cuore a pezzi. 

Anche se il suo cuore non stava troppo bene. 

Trattare male Emilio gli stava facendo ormai perdere il sonno, a volte rischiava di dimenticare le lenti dalla stanchezza, e persino Virgilio lo prendeva per il culo per le occhiaie.

Ed ora era lì. I guanti in una mano ed una scopa nell'altra.

Con Remo che lo guardava con il sorriso dello Stregatto dipinto in faccia.

"A serpentino. L'ho capito eh. Te piace er veronese."

"Tu stai vaneggiando. Ora come ora lo ammazzerei. Ho fatto volare i bicchieri per colpa sua."

"Nun me piglià per il culo. Io e Tommy ti gridiamo contro in continuazione e non hai mai saltato così. Senti Coso, pure io le subodoro le stronzate, non sei mica l'unico. Fai il merda perché ti piace."

Giuda continuava a guardare il titolare negli occhi, cercando di negare con tutto il linguaggio del corpo.

"Non. Mi. Piace. Emilio. Non so cosa ti sei messo in testa, ma Mister Psicanalisi non è esattamente di mio gradimento okay?"

"Giuda..."

C'era qualcosa nel tono di Remo, qualcosa che per un attimo, aveva aperto una breccia nel cuore del veneziano. 

Forse... Forse poteva fidarsi, di qualcuno.

"...Dal primo giorno in cui è entrato qui dentro. A voi tutti è passata. Ma a me mai. Non ho una cotta per Emilio, Remo. Io sono innamorato, di Emilio. Ma ho sofferto abbastanza in passato da sapere che sto meglio da solo. E se poi va male? Con che faccia lo guardo? Come..."

"Non puoi saperlo. Voglio dire, non posso saperlo io che ci vivo assieme, come puoi farlo tu se scappi ogni volta che lo vedi?"

"Sono del parere che ciò che non sai non può farti del male."

"Fosse qua Luca urlerebbe 'Boiate'. Giuda... io..."

"Beh. Ormai il danno è fatto, no? Si sarà convinto che lo odio dopo la stronzata di oggi." 

Con una risata amara, Giuda aveva superato il romano, continuando: 

"Mi sono bruciato ogni possibilità, amen..."

"Giuda."

"... Però di sicuro mica smette di venire, siamo il suo bar preferito e tu sei il suo coinquilino..."

"Giuda piantala."

"Di sicuro troverà subito qualcuno, gli basta respirare e arriva sempre qualcuno..."

"Giuda!"

Il lavapiatti si era girato di nuovo verso Remo, mordendosi il labbro mentre le stupidissime lacrime iniziavano a scendere.

"Io non ce la posso fare okay? Dopo Mattia non so più come comportarmi, con un uomo. E poi sono un casino. Emilio non potrà mai apprezzare uno come me."

Remo era rimasto in silenzio per un attimo, prima di avanzare ed... abbracciare? Giuda. 

Il veneziano era basito, di solito era Tommaso, quello con cui a volte si permetteva gesti affettuosi.

"Ti devi de sta zitto. Non fai così schifo. E te lo giuro su Totti, io ti aiuterò a prenderti lo psicologo, che tu lo voglia o no." 

Giuda aveva riso amaramente, la faccia ficcata nel petto dell'altissimo coetaneo.

"Seh, vabbè. E come credi di fare?"

Remo lo aveva lasciato andare ed aveva sentenziato, serissimo.

"Sai giocare a briscola?"

#thomas sanders #thomas sanders au #sanders sides #sanders sides au #ts deceit #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #emile picani #ts emile #deceit sanders x emile picani #emceit #cartoon therapy #italian au #italian!au #giuda schiavon #emilio picani #logicality #prinxiety #remy sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #other people's stuff #ff #fanfiction #au

[chungledown-bimothy]

Music and the Mirror (and the chance to dance with you)

Hey look! I actually finished something! :D

AO3     Masterlist

Summary: It had been five years, and Virgil was finally ready to dance again. The last thing he expected was Roman and that goddamn tongue piercing.

Warnings: some swearing, sympathetic deceit, accidental misgendering, dysphoria. lmk if i missed anything!

Pairing(s): prinxiety, background remceit and logicality

Word Count: 4,739

Tag List:  @ren-allen​ @ccecode​ @emo-sanders-sides-loving-unicorn​ @ilovemygaydad​ @bloodropsblog​ @funsizedgremlin​ @raygelkitty​ @roxiefox23​ @thomasthesandersengine​

If I don't do this now, I never will, and I'll regret it for the rest of my life. Virgil took a deep breath, staring at the cursor blinking in the empty search bar. After a few minutes and a significant amount of emotional effort, he searched for 'adult dance classes'. Almost immediately, the screen was full of dance studios offering classes, and he had to breathe through the knot of anxiety that formed from the sheer number of options. He scrolled past ballet (I couldn't do ballet back when I was in shape), hip hop (I'm not nearly confident enough for that), and tango (No way I'm getting that close to a stranger), but none of them felt right. It had been so long; if he made the wrong choice, it would destroy what little confidence he had, potentially stopping him from ever dancing again. That's a bit dramatic, the small, logical part of his brain insisted. Dancing is part of you; it's in your blood. You could never give it up forever. You're here now, after everything that happened. That voice, however, was drowned out by his anxiety. Until he saw it.

Beginner West Coast Swing! No experience or partner needed. 8-9pm Tuesdays. $18 drop-in, $45 all 3 weeks.

West Coast Swing. Perfect. Upbeat and energetic, but not too technically demanding at first, and half the fun is in the tension held in the space between partners. And it starts tomorrow, so there's no time to chicken out. He followed the website's registration process, signing up for all four weeks. It's only four hours over the course of the month, he figured. Even if it went horribly, he'd gotten through worse.

After registering, he quickly shut his laptop and went to dig out his old dance shoes. Hopefully they still fit; a lot has changed over the last five years. They did, just barely.

-

Tuesday

Virgil walked into the studio at 7:55, his heart pounding. Immediately, he was greeted by a very tall man, likely in his early thirties, with a clipboard in one hand.

"Hello, and welcome! I am Logan Sanders; I own the studio. Are you here for west coast swing?" Logan stuck his hand out.

"Uh, hi, nice to meet you. My name's Virgil." Virgil shook his hand. "Yeah, I registered online yesterday." Logan checked the clipboard, and looked back up at Virgil.

"Wonderful, I have you right here. Follow me, your class is going to be held in the Blue Room." Virgil followed him through a huge room with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and through a door off to the side. Silently, he thanked whatever deities that might be listening that the class wasn't in that room and prayed that the Blue Room would have fewer mirrors. Fortunately, it only had a few mirrors on the far wall; it was clear that they would rarely, if ever, use them. "Alright, here we are. Have fun, and please do not hesitate to let me know if there are any issues." Logan gave him a small smile and adjusted his glasses before practically gliding out of the room. That man did decades of ballet; I'd bet my life on it.

Virgil slunk around the fifteen or so people who were milling about on the dance floor waiting for the class to start. Once he got to a bench in the corner, he changed into his dance shoes and reluctantly took off his hoodie. Instead of joining his classmates on the floor; he took this opportunity to observe them. They were largely what he expected, most of them looked to be between twenty-five and thirty, with the exceptions of himself, at twenty-two, and a couple who were probably around sixty.

"Good evening! My name is Patton Sanders, and I'm your west coast swing teacher! Alright, let's line up; leads to my left, and follows to my right."

Virgil froze. He hadn't considered if he'd rather lead or follow. He felt the teacher's eyes on him, however, and had to make a decision. Something in his gut told him to follow, so he fell in line to Patton's right. He immediately noticed that there were more follows than leads, and briefly chastised himself for choosing wrong. Fortunately, Patton's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"I see a bunch of familiar faces tonight; thank you so much for coming back! Your focus this month should be on moving beyond the basics. Focus on your posture, your technique, and your styling." Patton looked at all of his students, giving them all a blinding smile. "New students, thank you for joining us! West Coast Swing is incredibly unique. Unlike most other ballroom dances, what really matters is the energy and elasticity between partners, and each partner is given far more independence than in other styles. But listen to me, getting ahead of myself," Patton giggled. "None of that matters if you don't know how to move your feet! Okay, let's start with the leads." Patton walked them through the basic step, giving Virgil a chance to assess his future partners. The dance snob he used to be scoffed; he was not impressed with anything that he was seeing, but some of them seemed to have potential. Reminding himself that he won't be good at this at first either, he focused on the leads' basic step and constructing the most likely follows' counterpart.

"Fantastic, now ladies, your basic is very similar," Virgil flinched. In the excitement of starting to dance again, he'd forgotten about his wide hips, and he didn't have a binder in the right size to exercise without potentially causing a lot of damage. Just dance, Virgil. Remember how it all fades away. Focus on the steps, so you can build a foundation strong enough that you will be able to leave everything but the music behind. Virgil did just that, quickly picking up the step.

"Awesome! Okay, let's partner up; I'll put on the music and come dance with y'all who don't have partners." Virgil was one of the two follows without a partner, and he stifled a laugh when "Madness" by Muse started playing through the speakers. It probably does seem kind of mad, doing this alone. Patton called out "5, 6, 7, 8!" and they all started moving. Virgil did his best alone, but it wasn't long until Patton took his hand and started leading. Virgil only then realized that his posture had been terrible. He straightened up and looked Patton in the eye, and he thought he saw approval there. They danced for a little bit longer before Patton gave him a thumbs-up and went to turn off the music.

"That looked really great, you guys. That's officially all the time we have, but I'll put some music on for a bit longer if any of you want to hang around and keep dancing!" Virgil wanted to stay for a while longer. It felt so good to be dancing again, to feel that powerful and confident, but he saw himself in the mirror and practically ran to put his hoodie back on and change his shoes so he could leave. When he got to the door, he hesitated and looked back, but he quickly turned back around and went home, deciding to not risk getting misgendered again and ruining his post-dance elation.

--

The next week, Virgil approached Patton after class, heart hammering in his chest.

"Uh, Patton? Can we talk for a minute?"

"Of course! Virgil, right? What's up?"

Virgil looked down, afraid of what he might see in his teacher's eyes. "My pronouns are he/him. I know I don't look it, but…." Virgil hesitated, not sure how to finish the thought, "yeah. He/him."

"Oh, my! Thanks for letting me know! I won't misgender you again." Surprised, Virgil looked up to see a smile on Patton's face. "By the way, what's your dance history, if you don't mind me asking? You clearly have a whole bunch." Virgil hoped his blush wasn't as strong as it felt.

"Um, it was pretty much all in high school. Dance classes for PE credit, danced in all of the musicals, and I took some jazz classes outside of school. Haven't danced since graduating, though." Clearly Patton read between the lines; his face softened, but it was with understanding, not pity, as Virgil had feared.

"Well, whatever happened back then, welcome back. You've got a lot of talent, and I'm excited to see where it takes you, if you choose to stick with it. See you next week, kiddo!" Virgil thanked him and left, head held high.

-

The following class passed without incident. Virgil learned and grew as a dancer immensely, and, when given the opportunity, he signed up for the next cycle, excited to learn more. Nothing could have prepared him for that next class.

--------

The class started completely normally. Virgil arrived, put on his new dance shoes, and waited for Patton to start the class. He was so wrapped up in mentally reviewing the patterns from the previous weeks, he didn't notice that there were new students until Patton had them partner up and someone took his hand.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Virgil Raine is very, very gay. He had had his fair share of Gay Panic moments, but none of them compared to what happened in Virgil's head when he made eye contact with the stranger holding his hand. He was shorter than Virgil, with curly black hair and eyes like brown enstatite that sparkled with confidence.

The stranger gave him a blinding smile. "Pleasure to meet you; I'm Roman."

"V- Virgil." He was amazed that his voice worked, and he thanked every deity he could think of that Patton cut him off, giving the class a pattern and counting them off.

Virgil stood tall, more confident in his abilities to dance than to talk to Roman, and then they started moving. Virgil's biggest struggle in west coast swing was the concept of connection, of creating and maintaining the elasticity that is a fundamental part of the dance. With Roman, however, the connection was instant and perfect. As Roman led him through a left-side pass into a whip, he felt alive in ways he hadn't in years, especially since Patton hadn't said anything about doing a whip. He knew it was cliche as hell, but he could have sworn that the rest of the world stopped existing- for those short minutes, all that existed was him, Roman, and the music.

All too soon, however, the music stopped, and the spell was broken. Virgil stepped back, painfully aware of how much he was blushing.

"Looking good, y'all! Leads, rotate, and let's do it again!"

Roman winked. "Thanks for the dance, stormcloud," he said before turning and walking down the line, not giving Virgil a chance to respond. Stunned, Virgil took his new partner's hand and went through the pattern by rote, too distracted to pay attention to connection or styling.

The rest of the class passed in a similar fashion- Virgil trying to keep his cool and not look at Roman too much. They were partnered once more before class ended. Neither of them said anything, but the connection and energy was even more intense, if anything, and Roman's flamboyant styling left Virgil reeling. As soon as class ended, he put his headphones on, turned his music up, changed his shoes, and left. He felt a pair of eyes on him as he left the studio. He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted that feeling to be correct.

Once he was safely out of the building, he texted his best friend, Declan.

[Emo]: askfkaldjsl there's a really cute guy in my west coast swing class, and he can Dance. By far the best dancer in the class who isn't the teacher. Extra as hell, based on two interactions. I'm literally too gay to function help

[Snek]: Gay panic is so pure

[Snek]: Fuck YEAH dude

[Emo]: Helpful as always, D.

[Snek]: You know I just call it like it is. So are you gonna make a move, or just write another fanfic that basically is just a self-insert about what could have been if you weren't a coward?

[Emo]: Hey, I only did that ONCE, and I didn't even finish it, let alone post it.

[Snek]: *raises an eyebrow* are you sure about that?

[Emo]: Okay, twice, and yeah I posted that second one. But it wasn't even really a fic, just a list of ideas that developed something like a plot.

[Snek]: So….? What are you gonna do about this unnamed hottie?

[Emo]: Play it by ear. Two more weeks of class gives me two more weeks to gather information.

[Snek]: No comment on not knowing his name?

[Emo]: Damn i was hoping that'd slide by. It's Roman.

[Snek]: Good strong name. Maybe I'll show up and take a shot at him

[Emo]: *hiss* Fuck off he's mine. Besides, you have someone. Someone you still refUSE TO TELL ME ABOUT, BITCH

[Snek]: Love you too <3

Virgil closed his phone and drove home, in desperate need of a shower and a good night's sleep.

--

Virgil walked into the studio, head low with his hood up and headphones playing louder than was safe for him or the electronics, but he didn't care. What mattered was quieting the voice in his head that had been saying 'Why would he look twice at you? You're a mediocre dancer at best, and you know he's misgendering you in his head. You know from experience how few people want to date trans guys. Wrong parts for gay guys, wrong gender for straight guys. Putting yourself out there would be a disaster' for the last week. I'm here to dance, he reminded himself, not to flirt.

He quickly got to the Blue Room and changed his shoes, not bothering to take off his hoodie or headphones until the last possible minute- nothing calmed his nerves like Gerard Way not being okay either. When the time came, he reluctantly shed his armor and took his place in the line of follows.

Class began as normal; a brief review of previous lessons and a few warm-up patterns. Virgil kept his attention on Patton or his current partner. While this strategy kept his eyes and mind (mostly) off of Roman, it meant that he was entirely unprepared when it was their turn to dance together.

"Virgil, right?" Roman asked, eyes still infuriatingly bright.

"Yep. What's up, Roman?" Virgil smirked, surprising even himself. Patton counted them off, but that didn't stop Roman from responding as they went through the series.

"Ah, you can speak! I'm doing fabulously. And you?"

"Fine. Just trying to learn, princey." To Virgil's surprise, Roman was silent for the rest of the dance, and didn't say anything before moving to his next partner, either. Shit. Good job, Virgil. Why did you even call him that? Figuring there wasn't really anything he could do about it, Virgil tried to put it out of his mind and keep focusing on Patton's lesson.

As in the previous class, he danced with Roman one more time, right at the end. The pattern was complex, and the music was fast, so there wasn't any opportunity to talk until after the music stopped and Patton dismissed the class.

"Thanks for the dances, Roman. You're a great dancer." He turned to leave, not wanting to stick around for small talk.

"Wait, Virgil!" He turned around to see a look on Roman's face that he couldn't quite figure out. "Why'd you call me 'princey'? How did you know?"

Virgil furrowed his brow, confused. "Know what? Dunno where the nickname came from, you just kinda carry yourself like you think you're royalty or something."

"You really didn't know that my last name is Prince?" Roman looked up at him, incredulous.

"I swear I didn't. While we're on the topic of nicknames, why did you call me 'stormcloud' last week?" Virgil was surprised to see Roman look down and fidget with the hem of his shirt.

"Your hoodie. It has that purple stormcloud on it. And your energy isn't exactly sunshine and rainbows."

Virgil chucked. "I didn't think you were that observant. See you next week, princey." Virgil smirked.

"Looking forward to it," Roman responded. Well, Virgil thought that's what he said. His brain short-circuited when Roman said 'looking' and revealed a silver stud in the middle of his tongue.

Completely unable to speak, Virgil turned and hurried to his stuff, shoving his headphones in his ears and changing his shoes as fast as possible. He didn't even take the time to put his hoodie back on before practically running out of the studio to his car.

[Emo]: 911 HE HAS A FUCKING TONGUE PIERCING I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW I WAS INTO THAT

[Snek]: Who, roman? Oh shit. I distinctly remember you telling me once that you definitely *aren't* into tongue piercings. Damn you are SO WHIPPED. This guy must be a fuckin Adonis

[Emo]: I'm not whipped. He just really is that hot. And sassy. And observant. And funny.

[Snek]: …

[Emo]: ah, fuck. I really am whipped. But I think it might not be one-sided. You know how terrible I am at flirting?

[Snek]: Whatever could you possibly mean? Being a sarcastic ass is peak flirting. *Everyone* knows that.

[Emo]: No need to be a bitch about it. Anyway, I unintentionally did a whole bunch of it, and he gave it right back. Maybe even better than I did?

[Snek]: Boy that's your fuckin soulmate. If you really pulled a You as a first conversation and didn't scare him off, hold the fuck on to him

[Emo]: you know I hate it when you do that. And yeah, I don't plan on letting him go. Next week is the last week of the class. I'll ask him out after. That way, if he rejects me, we never see each other again. No harm, no foul.

[Snek]: Solid plan. I gotta go- date night. Talk later?

[Emo]: You gotta tell me who this mystery person is. It's been *months*, and I still don't know anything about them.

[Snek]: About whomst? Significant other? I don't know her.

Rolling his eyes at his enigmatic friend, Virgil drove home.

----

The next week, unlike previous weeks, he walked into the studio, head held high, not wearing headphones. He had a plan and the confidence of a man with nothing to lose.

Virgil danced through the class better than he ever had before. As usual, he was partnered with Roman a few times, but aside from a brief greeting, neither of them said anything, but Virgil thought he felt a silent conversation between them as they danced- a meeting of two souls consumed by a love of dance.

Before he knew it, class was over. He took a moment to collect his thoughts under the guise of changing his shoes before looking around to find Roman. When he did, his heart stopped. Roman was in the middle of the dance floor, gliding effortlessly through what appeared to be an argentine tango. His partner was about Virgil's height, with sharp, high cheekbones and a flawless jawline. He couldn't see their eyes; they were hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. What really made Virgil's stomach knot was the fact that their styling was likely in violation of public indecency laws- the two of them clearly knew each other intimately. Blinking away tears, Virgil grabbed his things and ran to his car. He went to text Declan and saw that he already had a message from him.

[Snek]: So how'd it go, loverboy? When's the date?

[Emo]: There won't be a date. He's with someone. A gorgeous someone. I didn't know an argentine tango could look *that* much like sex on the dance floor.

[Snek]: Oh shit, Virge, I'm so sorry. Do you want me to kill that guy for you? Because it sounds like he sucks, and I will totally kill him for you.

[Emo]: thanks, but no. I can't fucking breathe, D. Why the fuck do I always do this? Why can't I feel things a normal amount? Why do I let my heart run away like this?

[Snek]: I could give you a smartass answer about your childhood traumas, but the bottom line is that it's because you are a deeply good and caring person. The fact that you choose to see the best in people despite everything you've been through is incredible, Virgil. Now, get your cute butt home. I'll meet you there with ice cream, and we're gonna watch Nightmare Before Christmas and talk it out, okay?

[Emo]: Give me half an hour to get home and showered. Love you <3

Ten minutes later, Virgil unlocked his front door and turned on the light.

"Well helloooo, Virgil," a familiar voice drawled.

Virgil let out a scream that neither man knew he was capable of. "Declan you sack of shit I'm going to fucking murder you. My internal organs have had enough stress today, thank you very fucking much. I said half an hour."

"I know you did, but I also know you. Right now, you're spiraling into self-loathing, and the easiest outlet for that is dysphoria. I would be a terrible friend if I let you suffer through that alone."

"I thought we agreed that you weren't gonna psychoanalyze me." Virgil cocked an eyebrow, his heart rate returning to almost normal. "Are you offering to shower with me?"

"It's not psychoanalysis. It's just knowing my best friend and his self-destructive tendencies. And no, I'm not. I'm just here for emotional support. We both know that that smart brain of yours likes to tell you all sorts of lies, and-"

"And you're a human polygraph. I got it. Thanks, Dec. I'll be back out as soon as possible. Make yourself at home- you know where everything is." Virgil turned and walked towards the bathroom.

"Easy on the hair product- it your hair is full of goop, it'll fuck my eczema up, so I won't cuddle you!" Declan called out after him. Virgil flipped him off, but they both knew that he would not only eschew hair products but also use the eczema-friendly body wash they both pretended he hadn't bought just so they could cuddle more comfortably for Declan.

Fifteen minutes later, Virgil returned to the living room. He expected Declan to make him talk through the storm that was going on in his head, but instead they watched movies and joked around all night. The only talk of dancing that night was Virgil confirming that he would not give it up for anything, let alone some guy, no matter how cute.

--

Virgil had been so wrapped up in thoughts of Roman, he missed why the following week's class was a one-day workshop instead of a new cycle, but he figured it didn't really matter. He was there to dance, logistical semantics be damned.

His resolution to stick with the classes no matter what was immediately tested when he entered the ballroom and saw Roman on the floor dancing with the same man from the previous week. At least it's west coast swing this time, Virgil mused as he changed his shoes and tried not to stare. Fortunately, it wasn't long before Patton started the class.

Unfortunately, it also wasn't long before Virgil and Roman were partners.

"Hello again, stormcloud!" Roman said as he began leading Virgil through the pattern.

Virgil nodded curtly. "Roman."

"What's with the attitude, Edgar Allen Woe?" Virgil told himself he was imagining the hurt in Roman's voice.

"We're here to dance, not chit-chat." Roman tried to lead Virgil through a turn, but he tripped over his own feet. Because Virgil was in the middle of that turn, he was thrown off balance as well. In an instant, both men were on the floor, Roman on top of Virgil.

"Well hello there," Roman laughed.

"Get. Off. Now." Virgil shoved Roman off of him and scrambled back to his feet, praying that his blush wasn't as scarlet as it felt. The blush was, of course, completely from the embarrassment of falling in front of the class and had nothing to do with being underneath Roman.

Patton, fully aware of the tension between the two dancers as well as Virgil's shyness, quickly grabbed the class' attention and moved on with the lesson. Patton showed mercy on Virgil and prolonged the time between partner rotations to keep him from having to dance with Roman again. I hope those kiddos work out whatever's going on between them, but they can't do it during my class time.

For the rest of the hour, Virgil kept his head down unless absolutely necessary and tried to learn as much as possible, but he just couldn't focus. Remembering how close Roman was with flecks of gold in his eyes and clearly as muscular as Virgil had imagined had him grateful for the first and only time that he wasn't assigned male at birth- the situation would have been far more awkward than it already was if there was even the slightest possibility of a boner to deal with.

Eventually, the class ended, and Virgil hurried out of the studio as per usual. This time, however, he was followed. He was barely out of the studio when Roman called after him.

"Virgil! Wait! Please!"

Virgil turned to face him, anxiety about this conversation manifesting in anger. "What do you want, Roman?"

"A date with you." Roman's shoulders dropped, and he suddenly seemed very interested in his shoes.

"W- what?" Roman stood tall and looked Virgil in the eye.

"Will you go out with me? I know you felt what I did when we danced. Before tonight, I mean. Please, go out with me, let's give that energy a shot off of the dance floor." Virgil's eyes flashed with hope, want, and caution.

"What about your boyfriend?" Virgil spat.

"What are you talking about? What boyfriend?"

"I'm not an idiot, Roman. Tall, sunglasses, dances with you with a chemistry I've never seen before? WHAT?" Virgil snapped, when Roman started laughing.

"That, Virgil, is Remy. My best friend. My best friend who agreed to pick me up last time and come with me today to help me show off for you. We've been dancing together since we were eight; of course we have damn good chemistry. But that connection is nothing to what I felt when we danced that first time. We have something special, Virgil. Please, tell me you felt it too." Virgil stepped forward, closing the gap between them.

"I- I'm not good with words," he whispered, gently tilting Roman's head up and leaning down so that their lips were almost touching. "Yes, I felt it too." Virgil searched his face, looking for discomfort. "Can I kiss you, Roman?"

Instead of responding, Roman lifted onto the balls of his feet and pressed his lips to Virgil's. After a split second of shock, Virgil deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around Roman's torso and lifted him to his height. He quickly put him down, however, when they heard a wolf-whistle and a "WHOOP!".

Embarrassed, Virgil and Roman looked to see Remy and Declan standing at the door of the studio, smiling and laughing.

"I told you not to sweat it, girl. I couldn't tell you how bad my boy has it for yours, because he made me promise not to tell anyone, but look at that." Remy winked at Declan.

"Yes, and this totally wouldn't have been easier if we just told them how the other felt, like I definitely didn't suggest weeks ago." Declan rolled his eyes.

Virgil looked at the two of them suspiciously. "You two know each other?"

"Obviously, babe. Who do you think D's been seeing all these months?"

Virgil turned to Roman. "Did you know about this?"

"I mean, I knew Remy was seeing Declan, but I had no idea he was your friend. You know what this means though, right?"

"What does it mean?" Virgil asked, apprehensive.

"The most epic double dates of all time!" Roman punctuated his proclamation with a flourish. Virgil, Declan, and Remy all let out a groan.

The four men swapped numbers as needed and parted ways with promises to see each other again soon.

#sanders sides #prinxiety #virgil sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides fan fic #dancer au #patton sanders #logan sanders #remy sanders #deceit sanders #deceit #my writing

[virmillion]

Ibytm - T minus 58 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 2,594

Aside from the one confrontation post-petticoat ukulele conspiracy, Logan still hasn’t talked with Cadmium. Really, truly talked to the guy. Tagging along on his tours doesn’t count. Granted, a fair amount of his Tuesdays and Thursdays are occupied with thoughts of Cadmium, but Logan does still have a life outside of him. It comes with no small amount of annoyance that this other life involves dealing with unsolvable problems at his internship.

“I heard there’s no real answer,” Cassidy says. She stabs her pen in the air, writing imaginary equations and scowling at the empty space.

“I heard they had this problem, like, years ago,” Joy says. Logan steeples his fingers under his chin with his elbows propped on his knees, watching Joy spin circles on her chair with her nose pointed at the ceiling. “I bet they already know the answer, and any intern that can’t crack it gets kicked to the curb.”

“Somehow, I feel like excessive alliteration isn’t the answer, Joy,” Micah calls from the water jug. His perspective might seem more valuable if his cheek weren’t flattened against the top of the machine in an utterly pitiful display of boredom.

“Oh, and I bet you already figured it out, huh, smart guy?” Joy’s retort also seems less valuable, as it comes at the same moment that she smacks her ankle into the leg of her desk, her spinning cut short. Logan is getting the sinking feeling that he chose the wrong scientific field.

“Maybe we’re looking at it from the wrong angle. Does someone want to read it again, and we all think of it with clean slates?” Logan glances around the room, hoping that his non-contribution will be sufficient. “Or, hey, Alex, have you got an idea? You haven’t said too much yet.”

Alex’s shock of dyed yellow hair jolts as they lift their eyes to peer over the top of the computer. “Can I get you a handkerchief, or did you dodge the splashback when you threw me under the bus just now?”

“ I’ll read it, you bunch of babies,” Cassidy sighs. “Okay. Riddle me this, folks. Thought experiments for the modern era.”

“Lay off the Mcelroy references and finish the question,” Micah grumbles.

Cassidy wrinkles her nose and sticks out her tongue before continuing. “The ship of Theseus proposes that a ship leaves a location and has every single part of itself periodically replaced before reaching a second location. The question is whether the ship to arrive is a different ship than the one to depart. Bear this in mind while assuming all cultural divides and disparities—cultural, political, scientific, or otherwise—are held in an impenetrable stasis that has no effect on the contents of the riddle, and conclusively solve the following. Jeez, talk about a run-on sentence.

“NASA launches a rocket to Neptune, and the only passenger is the child of a Russian and an American, where the parents were born on Earth and the child on Mars. The inhabited rocket was built half of parts from NASA and half of parts from Roscosmos. It contains enough parts to make an entirely new rocket, all of which were created on the moon. Allowing adequate suspensions of disbelief in favor of the passenger’s ability to build the new rocket and touch down on Neptune alive, which flag should be placed on Neptune as the first to arrive: That of Mars, the Moon, Earth, America, or Russia?”

“Does the moon even have its own flag?” Micah muses.

Joy slams the side of her fist on her desk hard enough to rattle the pens scattered across the floor. “This is such a stupid question. It barely even has anything to do with space!”

“It is about non-mathematical rocket science,” Alex points out.

“You could take the exact same problem and change a few key words to make it about a fish being flushed down a toilet,” Logan counters, “and nothing would change.”

“Is the fish dead?” Micah asks. “Because now you’re introducing aquatic zombies to the equation.”

“No aquatic zombies!” Joy and Alex shout in unison. Logan joins in the cry with a muttered mimic of his own, and even Cassidy looks quite done with Micah, who traces his finger along the side of the water tank before patting the top.

“Aquatic zombies,” he whispers forlornly. Logan isn’t entirely sure how Micah managed to weasel his way into an internship here, but he stopped questioning it a long time ago.

“It’s the moon, isn’t it?” Cassidy tries. This brings about a chaotic storm of argued disagreements through which Logan couldn’t possibly begin to sort.

“But the passenger was born on Mars, so it’s the Martian flag.”

“But their parents were of Earth, do we know where the passenger was conceived? Earthling parents mean it can’t be Mars’ flag.”

“Oh, like the Opportunity rover would plant a flag on Neptune.”

“Rip in pieces, Oppy.”

“Well, wouldn’t it be the country of origin of the mom, since she’s the one that had to carry the passenger to term?”

“That’s sexist, and we don’t know which parent is which.”

“It’s heretonormative, anyway.”

“You mean cisnormative.”

“I know what I meant to mean.”

“Unless you meant both. Trans father for the win.”

“Trans father, transformer, illuminati?”

“Does Earth even have a flag?”

“Where was the passenger raised? That might change the answer.”

The door opposite the stairs slams open as another intern with dirty blond hair and a beanie stumbles in looking particularly disheveled—well, more so than usual, at least.

“The passenger opened a wormhole immediately after being born, and raised themself on Neptune,” Logan deadpans. “Roman, if you haven’t got any good news, I swear to—”

“They cancelled the level eight project,” the man at the door says. Were it not for the bright gold name embroidered along the breast pocket of his shirt—Roman—Logan might believe him to be a random guy from off the street. “They figured out the missing sections—without our input, obviously—and decided the clearance rate was excessive. Basically, they said a toddler with a functioning search engine could crack it, so we should stop wasting our time.”

“Has the toddler ever been to Neptune?” Logan asks dryly. A hollow chorus of laughs ricochets around the room, quieted only by the click of the hour hand on the only analog clock hung on the wall. It must’ve been ages since Logan souped up the old thing to announce clockins, breaks, and clockouts.

“For the next hour,” Joy declares, “Neptune does not exist.”

“Seconded,” the other interns agree, putting their respective monitors to sleep and shuffling for the break room.

Roman lags behind to enter after Logan, prodding the small of his back and tilting his head toward the computers. He clears his throat meaningfully. Logan sighs, casting one last doleful look into the breakroom before joining Roman out on the floor again.

“They did want me to give you this,” Roman murmurs, “but keep it cazh.”

“Nothing is less ‘cazh’ than you shortening the word ‘casual’ like that,” Logan says, nonchalantly stretching an arm over his head. On the downswing, he takes the item from Roman’s hand and threads it between his fingers.

“I think I got the same deal, but don’t mention it, yeah?” Roman steps into the breakroom first, allowing Logan a moment to dawdle and inspect his acquisition. A flat disc, about the size of a well-used roll of scotch tape, with the NASA logo on both sides. Logan pinches the edges beside the first and last letter experimentally, and a USB plug pops out from the bottom of the logo. He pinches again, and it slides away. It looks for all the world like an overly expensive keychain one might find in a cheap museum. Logan shrugs, pockets it, and joins the others in the breakroom.

Only Roman appears to be in any semblance of a good mood—then again, he got clearance to visit the upper offices while everyone else pondered that stupid riddle. After teasing Roman about how he was probably about to get The Talk (the firing talk, that is) from the higher ups, it only took the rest of the floor about five minutes to give up on individual glory and try to solve the problem together. Obviously, it didn’t help.

“We could send someone for coffee,” Cassidy says. At least, Logan thinks that’s what she said. Her voice is a little muffled, what with how her face is pressed against the table.

“And get yelled at for prioritizing caffeine over the crappy cloud juice we’ve already got here?” Alex replies, tracing their finger over the glass front of the vending machine. Its only products are bottled water and expired heath candy bars. Four bucks a pop. “I’d rather dehydrate than take that kind of reprimanding.”

“I am literally going to commit multiple federal and moral crimes if I don’t get some real bean juice in my system in the next hour,” Joy grumbles. A true testament to her name.

Micah, apparently having moved on from the destruction of his aquatic zombie idea, springs to his feet from where he was sprawled across the floor. “We could use Logan’s app!”

This might be a good time to mention that, in padding his resume to apply for this extended internship, Logan made a brief foray into coding, which resulted in an app he dubbed ‘fetch quest.’ Basically a personalized coffee order service, more specialized than door dash, where instead of ordering food straight to your location, you put out a request for coffees—usually from Starbucks, Tim Hortons, Biggby, the like—to be delivered by the colloquially nicknamed fetch kids. Upon getting their coffee, the buyer reimburses the fetch kid for the coffee, as well as an obligatory tip so the fetch kid can turn a quick buck.

To tell the truth, Logan was genuinely too lazy to walk to the campus cafeteria for a coffee while working on homework, and paid his roommate five dollars to do it for him. (He paid in nickels, by the way.) So lazy was Logan, in fact, that he made an app to avoid ever dealing with the inconvenience again.

“I’m down for that,” Cassidy mumbles. “Who’s got the app? Seems kinda rude to do six separate orders, y’know, like ordering a different personal pizza from different locations and having them arrive at the same time, then fight to the death for the right to deliver their pizza first, so they miss the thirty minute limit and no one gets paid.”

“Okay, so Cassidy gets a decaf,” Alex says, swiping around on their phone. “Everyone just getting their usuals? Same as the last fetch quest?” Grunts of agreement are their only answer—aside from Roman, who peers over Alex’s shoulder to design an obscenely personalized drink.

“Pitch in a five dollar tip for the barista,” Logan calls. “I’ll cover it.” Roman perks up at that as Alex taps the appropriate button on their phone. Before he can ask, Logan nods, saying, “I’ll spot you the six dollars.”

“It’s actually closer to seven,” Roman admits, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. “I got a dairy substitute, don’t sue me. I’m broke, anyway, so it wouldn’t help if you won the suit.”

“This is a paid internship,” Joy points out.

Roman looks aghast. “You guys are getting paid?” It’s unclear whether he’s kidding.

“Order placed and transaction pending,” Alex announces, “so start up the charitable donation pool to my wallet.” Roman initiates the process, pulling the beanie off his head and carrying it around the room for everyone to toss their bills in. He can only manage a weak smile when Logan tosses in double what he ought to.

“Wait, Logan,” Micah says, “you didn’t get anything last time.”

“Shoot, yeah, what can I get you? No one’s picked it up yet,” Alex says, pulling the wads of bills from Roman’s hat.

“Just do a fetch kid’s delight, I guess. Price limit five.” Roman darts across the room to grab the proffered bill from Logan, attempting (and spectacularly failing) to parkour over the chair on his way back. The rickety plastic flies out from underneath him and his chin smacks the carpet as he goes down. Before anyone thinks about moving to help, he jumps to his feet and dusts off his knees, pretending as if nothing happened.

“It’s been accepted,” Alex announces.

“Maybe the trick is to work out whether the rocket, being from the moon, is the first to land, or if it has to be a life form in order to count for reaching Neptune first,” Joy suggests. Cassidy lifts her head to respond, thinks better of it, and drops her face back onto the table.

“That’s only assuming you give the rocket living rights to plant the flag,” Micah says.

“Did you guys consider the ramifications of the nationalities of each parent?” Roman asks.

“Yes,” everyone else groans in unison. Even Logan says it, now thoroughly annoyed by how much inconvenience Roman was able to skip in favor of retrieving a little flashdrive.

“Do we need to take into account the heritage of the parents?” Cassidy tries.

“It wasn’t included in the information backing up the question, and we’re only supposed to get an answer based on what we concretely know already,” Alex replies.

“We don’t concretely know already which flag they plant,” Logan offers, “so maybe the answer is that we aren’t supposed to have one.”

“That’s exactly what someone who knows the answer would say,” Joy mutters. This manner of conversation continues for another fifteen minutes or so, until someone knocks on the door at the top of the stairs.

“Liquid inspiration!” Roman shouts, vaulting over the empty chairs on his sprint for the door. As he swings it open to reveal a very familiar silhouette, Alex clicks a few times on their phone, finalizing the transaction upon receival.

Apart from the grey and red plaid scarf wrapped around his neck, Cadmium looks like he walked straight out of one of his own tours, down to the maroon cardigan and black skinny jeans. “Fetch quest fulfillment for Ally-oopsy-olly—”

“Yep, yes, that’s me,” Alex interrupts quickly, not letting him finish saying the username. They take a couple of the cups from Cadmium, stepping aside to let Joy and Micah help with the rest. Cadmium makes eye contact with Logan for a split second, inclines his chin, and turns to leave. He pulls out his phone, the screen angled enough for Logan to see the fetch quest home screen loading in more requests.

“Wait, we didn’t tip you,” Logan calls, surging past the other interns to catch up.

“Yeah, we did,” Alex says, “I put in your five, and I have my account set for an auto-gratuity of twenty—”

“Shut up , Alex,” Logan hisses over his shoulder. He turns to Cadmium, who looks somewhere between amused and bewildered. If he landed on Neptune, which emotion would touch down first? “Here y’are. Thanks.” Logan allows the last word to linger in the air, implying an unvoiced request for a name as he passes Cadmium a ten.

Cadmium glances from his phone—now proudly displaying a cheerful reimbursement and tip breakdown message—to the bill and back to his phone. He nods slowly, taking the ten and heading down the stairs. Logan blinks, watching him go.

“Wow,” Roman says, coming closer to rest his elbow on Logan’s shoulder. “You’ve got it bad, my guy.”

“Oh, shove off.”

#labhwrites #mine #i'll bring you the moon #ibytm

[biomeberry]

Friends

Ayy, it’s ya girl Salty, back at it again with the fanfic!

Alright, I’ll never intro anything like that ever again. This was supposed to be a drabble but hit the 2k mark so that’s a thing. @prinxiety-logality-sanders-sides asked me to tag them the next time I wrote so hey.  I’m also going to tag @sanders-sideblog for being a cool and supportive bean, hope you don’t mind! 

Fandom: Thomas Sanders (I know I’m shocked)

Pairing: Prinxiety (mostly brotp with fairly strongly implied romantic feelings)

Prompt(s): the last two lines of dialogue

Summary: A collection of moments between childhood best friends Anxiety and Roman. 

Warnings: Very deceptive beginning. This is gonna be angst guys. Childhood Prinxiety is precious but it doesn’t last. There’s some very light swearing I guess? Nothing too foul. 

Roman doesn’t know what year or month or day of the week it is when he first meets Anxiety, but he remembers the moment.

He's coloring at the table. Thomas is busy with homework, which he isn't used to, so Roman is kind of on the back burner. He's vaguely aware of Thomas’s mom scolding him for leaving the project for too long.

“Roman!” Morality calls out to the boy. Roman looks up from his picture to see the oldest trait leading an unfamiliar figure into the room.

“We have a new friend! Why don't you show him around? I'm sure he'd like to get to know you!” Mo ruffles Roman’s hair before slipping back out.

The new boy is thin, with a too-large coat and too-small shoes, which he stares at instead of meeting Roman’s eyes. He reminds the young Prince of a nervous alley cat he’d seen once on Thomas’s walk home.

“Hi there!” The boy doesn't answer.

“I'm Roman, what's your name?” He tries again. No answer. The young prince bites his lip, thinking hard. He's not about to be bested so easily.

“I'm coloring, do you want to see?” The other looks up and gives the slightest of shrugs. “Awesome!” Roman walks back over to the table and picks up the paper. “It's a dragon witch, see? It's got fire and magic and lasers and stuff! I’m gonna battle it!” He uses the paper as a makeshift sword, with his own personal sound effects. He has a sudden thought. “Hey, do you want to draw too? I don't mind sharing my crayons!” The new boy seems to consider for a long while, before very softly nodding. He goes over to the table and grabs a piece of brightly colored construction paper and a black crayon. Roman smiles and goes back to his dragon witch, as the other boy colors the entire sheet of paper black.

“Ooh! Logan taught me a really cool trick with that earlier, let me show you.” Roman reaches over to grab another piece of paper. He then pulls out a small Swiss Army knife. “Don't tell anyone I have this, Mo would freak out.” He scribbles quickly with a thick layer of black crayon over the red paper. He then gently presses the knife into the wax, just above the paper. He scratches it off in the shape of a crown, then holds it up. The new trait’s eyes widen slightly, a small “woah” leaving his lips. He grabs a popsicle stick and tries it on his own paper. Satisfied with the result, he begins to doodle. The work in contented silence for a while.

“Um...Roman, right?” Roman jolts up at the sound of the other’s voice.

“Yeah!”

“You asked what my name was earlier…” He squirms in his chair. “I don't have one. Thomas’s mom called me ‘anxiety’ when he asked about me...but I don't have a real name like you do.” ‘Anxiety’ looks down again, putting an unnecessary amount of concentration into his doodling. For a moment, Roman is just shocked by the unfairness of it all. Why would you bring a trait into the world and not give them a real name?

“That's okay, I'll give you a name! Can I call you Ann?” Anxiety shrugs.

“Sure, if you want. I don't care.” But Roman can see the way his mouth turns up.

“Well, Ann, I’m super glad to meet you! Can we be friends?”  He holds out his hand. Ann stretches out his own hand, pausing for a second before grabbing Roman’s.

“Yeah. Friends.”

2 weeks after Ann comes to live with the rest of them, Roman is woken up by a knock on his door. He's been practicing his vigilance lately, so as soon as he hears the noise he's awake, with one hand on the knife Mo still doesn’t know about.

“Come in?” It comes out too much like a question to be as brave as Roman would've liked, but all thoughts of that fled his mind as a tiny, shivering Ann crept through the doorway.

“H-Hey Roman.” He takes a couple steps back. “I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you, I’ll just go…”

“Nonsense!” Logan had just taught him that word yesterday. “If something has upset you in the dead of the night, it's my duty to kill it!” Ann looks slightly taken aback and opens his mouth to reply. He's cut off, however, by a loud clap of thunder. He lets out a small squeak and cowers. Roman can feel Thomas whimper too, his fear and anxiety getting the better of him. Ah.

“Oh, I see. That's a pretty bad storm, isn't it?” Ann nods.

“But it's dumb to be scared of them, you probably think I'm really lame. And, I-I know I'm scaring Thomas--I'm not trying to, but I am and so you probably hate me, too.” He rambled. Roman feels his heart break a little.

“Ann, don't be silly. About the hate, not the storms!” He clarifies quickly as the younger’s face drops even more. “I know you're just doing your job, trying to keep Thomas safe, right? Anyway, thunderstorms are pretty scary. I used to hate them, but then Logan told me that the sound is basically clouds bumping into each other! Cool, right?” Ann rubs his eyes quickly.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Hey, come over here.” Roman pats the bed next to him, the other boy pads over, hesitant as always. “So you know how I'm Thomas’s creativity and stuff?” Ann nods. Roman grins and snaps his fingers. The large window high above his bed shifts from bleak rain and clouds to a bright, sunny day. Shadows from a tree bounce against the glass and cast the whole room in dappled light.

“Woahhh….” Anxiety smiles in spite of himself. “That's so cool.” He turns to look at Roman with shining eyes. “You’re really cool.” Roman blushes in spite of himself.

“Of course I am!” He tosses Anxiety a blanket. “Just because it looks warm doesn't mean it is. Don't be foolish.” Ann rolls his eyes, but smiles and wraps up anyway. They spend the next hour cycling through window designs, everything from lightly falling snow to a tropical beach with waves lapping against it. After a while, Ann’s eyes start to flutter shut. Soon enough, he leans against Roman’s shoulder, completely asleep. Roman gently moves the other boy so that he's lying on one of the enormous fluffy pillows that lined the bed. They both sleep better than they have in a while. 

“No, no, hear me out!”

“Ro, for the last time we are not sneaking back into the middle school late at night and using Mr. Brunsby’s tables to make a skateboard ramp!” Ann gestures wildly with the straw of his smoothie.

“But it would be so cool!”

“Thomas will break something, and it’ll probably be a bone.” Roman sighs, flopping dramatically over onto the floor. Deep down he knows it’s a stupid idea.

“Why do you have to be such a buzzkill?” Ann wraps his arms around Roman, smirking. “It’s just what I do, Princey boy.”

“Ew.” Roman pushes him off, though secretly he doesn’t mind all that much. The other trait is weirdly warm and it’s kind of nice. “Okay, so what about--”

Slurp. Ann makes deadly eye contact as he sips his smoothie as loudly as possible.

“What about if-”

S l u u r p

“Ughhhhh. I was saying--”

Sluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp.

“ANN!” Roman shrieks and hits Ann so that he tips over, laughing wildly. “I hate you.” He puffs a lock of hair out of his face and pouts. Ann looks up from his spot on the floor.

“You love me.” As Roman looks at him, hair a mess and the grin still stretching across his face, he thinks that Ann just might be right about that one.

“I hate high school.” Ann wails, flopping onto the couch. Mo makes a sympathetic coo and offers the younger trait a cookie. “It’s terrible.” Roman joins him on the couch.

“Tell me about it. But hey, at least there’s auditions for the musical on Friday. I can’t wait to get back into it!”

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Born-For-The-Stage. But speaking of which, is Thomas prepared?” Roman smiles proudly.

“Indeed! We have our song choice down, and we’ll make sure that he gets a good night’s sleep.” He pats Ann gently. “But, I know you get worried. Do you want to assist my conquering of the theatre?” He offers Ann the script. The other pushes it away. There’s a sick feeling in his stomach. Thomas really, really wants to do well on this.

“Are you sure? What if you forgot something?” Roman frowns, his brow furrowing.

“Yes, I am quite sure. And no, everything is in order.”

“You don’t know that though, do you? Not really.”

“Ann, don’t antagonize him.” Logan calls from across the room.

“I’m not trying too! Look, all I'm trying to say is that there are a million things that could go wrong.”

“And that’s not helpful.” The prince says, a little icily. Ann feels his throat constrict a little.

“Um...I’m just going to go. You guys don’t need me here.” He gets up and quietly begins to leave the room.

“Ann,” Roman says gently. “Just go for now. We can play video games later, how about it?” Ann shrugs and slinks out.

When that Friday morning comes and a very anxious and sleep-deprived Thomas pours orange juice in his cereal, Ann can feel Roman staring at the back of his head.

A plate smashes.

“Can you just stop?”

“No, I can’t! If I could, I would!”

“Thomas has been so happy lately. He likes the campus, he has friends, and he’s doing so well. Ann, I lo--like you, but you can’t just take over like this!”

“I’m not trying to!” His voice is harsh, abrasive and cold. But Roman isn’t oblivious. He’s learned how Ann reacts to things. He’s about to cry.

“Ann, listen to me--”

“Don’t call me that! It’s not my name.” Roman is slightly taken back. There’s never been any rejection of the nickname before. “Anxiety,” he says slowly, the syllables sounding wrong and foreign on his tongue. “Anxiety, you’re my friend. I care about you. I want to help you.”

“No, you don’t.” Anxiety hisses. “You want me to go away. You want me to just stop existing.” Roman is getting frustrated.

“You know that isn't true!” He’s starting to see red. “Christ, Anxiety! You know what? Yeah, my life would be a lot easier without you! Is that what you want to hear? That you're a burden? Well great, cause it’s true!”

Roman has never felt more suffocated by silence. Ah, crap. He's messed up. Anxiety--no, Ann, his Ann--really did start to cry then. Hot, angry tears that slipped down his cheeks.

“Hey,”

“Save it.”

Morality sighs.

“You two have been attached at the hip since the beginning of your existence. You’ll make up.”

They don't.

Then, Roman cries, too.

It's a Saturday morning, and Logan suggests they all do a spring cleaning of the mindspace. And Logan, who for all his brilliance could learn to take a hint or two, decides to pair up Roman and Anxiety.

“You two have disagreed on the pettiest things. It's high time that you resolve your issues through teamwork.” No amount of groaning or complaining from either party could change his mind.

And so, the two traits end up shifting through a box of Thomas’s old memories. Anxiety mutters the entire time about how Logan probably just wanted a chance to make out with Morality. It was a fair accusation.

“Hey, remember this?” Anxiety says, out of the blue. He holds up a beaten up cardboard crown. Roman leans over.

“Oh, yeah.” He reaches behind the crown. “What’s this?”

“Hey maybe don’t--” Roman pulls out a photo.

A much younger Roman and Anxiety are hanging from a tree branch, both holding popsicles. Roman is giving the camera a huge, gap-toothed smile, and the photo catches Anxiety mid-giggle, slightly blurry. He still brings his hand up like that when he laughs. The back of the photo is covered with Morality’s loopy handwriting. Princey and Ann, age 10.

“I remember that…” Anxiety says, very softly. Roman nods.

“You know, back then I thought we’d always be friends.” For a moment, the look on Anxiety’s face is one of pure misery. Loss is scrawled so plainly across his features it’s almost painful to look at. Then, he smooths his expression out and gets up.

“Yeah, well that’s where you were wrong.”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #my writing #angst #roman sanders #anxiety sanders #sorry guys #hope you enjoyed though