#Unsympathetic Patton Mention

[sanders-whump]

the shape of someone's spirit au

TWs:

-Guns/hunting 

-Domestic violence 

-Cheating 

-Mentions of kidnapping 

-Stockholm Syndrome 

Characters: 

-Logan Whittaker: A biologist whose goal is to save the forest he lives in. Very conscious of how the lifestyle of modern society has ruined the environment. Also very interested in astronomy, and learning in general. Tends to see the logic in everything except for his own romantic situation. Unwilling to accept that he is in a toxic relationship with his cheating boyfriend, very meek and shy around him. 

-Patton Parsons: Said toxic, cheating boyfriend. Hunter, and doesn’t care at all about the environment and finds joy in the killing of innocent things. Somewhat sadistic in that sense, but who’s diagnosing? Not me. Cheating on his boyfriend, thinks he doesn’t know. Lazy and rude. 

-Roman: Half-chameleon, half person. No parents. Has lived all over the area, but eventually finds a temporary home in the forest. Kind and silly, and way too brave for his own good. A very quick learner, especially in linguistics. Able to disguise as other people and change colors to blend into his surroundings. 

Plot:

Logan’s passion is biology, and working to find ways to save the planet from ruin. He lives in a beautiful cottage in the woods with his boyfriend, who works in the city while Logan does research from home. But Logan’s boyfriend isn’t good to him. He beats him and yells at him if he makes the smallest mistakes. But one night, everything changes. Logan comes home to Patton being kind and excitable. He’s eager to listen to Logan talk about his research, and he cuddles him gently, instead of being rough and demanding. Logan doesn’t understand what changed. But to his horror, when he wakes up the next morning, Patton is exactly the same as he always was: cruel and vile. And this pattern continues for a few days. Patton is awful, Logan leaves, Logan comes back, and Patton is wonderful. 

But one day, things are different. Logan falls asleep, and when he opens his eyes, he’s face to face with a creature he’d never seen before instead of Patton. A chameleon-looking person. Turns out, Roman had been disguising himself as Patton with his powers whenever Patton left to cheat on Logan (though Logan doesn’t know that Patton is doing this), so he could take care of the precious human that Roman sees through the window being beaten and tortured. Logan at first is horrified, but then, he realizes how sweet Roman is, and how much he enjoys his company. So he agrees to let Roman stay with him, as long as Roman stays hidden from Patton. Logan knew that if Patton managed to get his hands on Roman, then he would be in grave danger. 

(content will be tagged #soss au)

#soss au #sanders sides #thomas sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #angst #logan sanders angst #roman sanders angst #whump #guns #hunting #stockholm syndrome #domestic violence #cheating #mentions of kidnapping #writing #sanders sides au #unsympathetic patton #whumpee logan #whumper patton #caretaker roman #sanders sides whump #sanders sides angst

[darksides-dutchess]

What Thomas lacks in physical strength, he makes up for it in his intelligence.

With him being next in line to his family success of being some of the best creators and inventors there were and having a grand fortune from their achievements, he makes sure to be the most memorable in not only his family history but in world history.

After countless days and nights spent in his lab, he created his most prized idea. A chip that allows a human to take control of any being and even give them unnatural abilities once it has been inserted into their minds, turning them into mindless servants.

With several experimentations done of lab rats and so on it was time to test it on the real deal. A human being.

Using his high power and connection to many concerning devices, he was able to hand pick six different beings that seemed to be perfect for his idea.

Logan Ackrymod, top professor in one of the most prestigious universities and an incredible genius with a hint of madness due to his obsession with denying the laws of nature.

Roman and Remus Kingsley, one of those families with blood relation to royalty and an admirable reputation with the public especially considering the numerous scandals going about their family.

Virgil Vertenis, son of the late CEO of a well known and memorable branded company who has some interesting and concerning ideas for how to skyrocket his business even more.

Patton Mortimer, a simple daycare teacher who spends most of his time with children as a way to cope with the loss of his own son who died from his foolish mistake.

And lastly, Janus Sapphirous, a devoted and determined advisor whose family have dedicated their entire life to serving high class citizens as their right hand worker, making them quite a staple for the rich and powerful.

With these people chosen, Thomas gave orders for each of their captures and to be brought to him. One by one, the sides were tied up before Thomas, who had the glee of the devil as they awoke. 

Thomas began to speak to each individual on how they should be honoured to be chosen for being part of his masterful idea and that they will be of great use to him.

Before any objectio of cry could have been made, the process began and each side was put under anaesthesia. After a long 8 hour procedure, the chip had been inserted in every side and it was time to finally test it.

With a click of a button, Thomas gave the sides a command and to his satisfaction, they all obeyed with no resistance or resentment. Order after order, the sides obeyed every command given to them and did things no human would have ever been able to do. 

The sides lost everything that made them human and were now Thomas's bionic servants.

This brought so much joy to Thomas as he began to use his new toys to play with humanity and take over the world for funsies.

And he regrets nothing.

#sanders sides #ts thomas #c!thomas #logan sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #ts logan #ts remus #ts patton #ts virgil #ts janus #ts roman #kinda unsympathetic thomas?? #kidnapping mention #human experimentation #lemme know what else to tag

[quietrainfan]

Artificial Heart!Patton being solo is all well and good. Just a creepy little guy with a fake heart of unknown origins. We love Patton being the only villain in this Unsympathetic Patton house.

Buuuut....Logan being the one who made him the artificial heart when they were younger has a lot of potential. I think it's no secret that Logan is the family's little scientist. So when he first met Patton, he wasn't....comfortable to say the least. He had to have something to control whatever this thing was. And if creating something for him happened to help Patton with whatever chaotic plans he has, then so be it.

So long as he's easier to handle. Logan enjoys experimenting anyway so the invention of the artificial heart was challenging and very, very rewarding. Cold Scientist Logan who couldn't care less about Patton's existence and literally creating something that'll make him less of nuisance- even slightly- just cause with a Chaotic Evil Jolly Patton who has fake emotions that pops into Logan's lab to give him "affection" and ask for favors occasionally. It's glorious.

So imagine the aftermath of Patton obtaining the Orange Side's nectar and rushing into Logan's lab.

"Logan!~ I have a brilliant new idea!", He tackles him from behind mid-experiment, nearly knocking a very delicate chemical out of his hand, "But I need to borrow your big meaty brain real quick to pull it off!"

Logan is not pleased by his presence but remains apathetic nonetheless. He simply asks what he needs so he can go back to work.

Patton giggles mischievously, "Oh, you'll love it! Trust me!"

He pulls out the container holding the Orange Side's nectar.

"See this?~ It's a little something I picked up in that...forbidden palace.", He cooed with a grimace, "This sweet tasting stuff is apparently our little guy's repressed vices. Turns out it's real dangerous to consume or use if you don't do it correctly, hmm? ....Got a clue what I'm hinting at?~"

"....You tasted it?"

Patton pouted, "Don't make that scary face. My curiosity has good intentions."

"Yeah, sure it does. Get to the point."

"Kay, kay! Mr. Impatience!~", Patton slung his arm around Logan's shoulder, "I was wondering...is it possible for you to replicate that cute little trinket you gifted me all those years ago? I think having some I can implant in the others might give me a bit more of an edge....and ofcourse, you a bit more entertainment.~"

"So, let me get this straight...you want to fill replicas of your heart- which I'm not even certain I can create- with that liquid you stole from the Dark Sides so you can use it to control discourse between the others? And you want me to somehow insert these replicas in them without them knowing?"

Patton nodded, "Uh-huh.~"

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

"Alright.", Logan took the container out of Patton's hand, "It sounds challenging. Absurdly so."

"Yay! You're the best, Lo!"

"Those 'hearts' you requested may have to be smaller than average.", Logan pondered, disregarding his praise, already starting the blueprints, "Considering your....imaginative requirements for this to work, I don't think implanting these will be a small order. I'll have to adjust some things. While also starting from scratch. .....So thanks for that."

"Oh, stop pretending you don't love this!", Patton pranced out of his lab, "I'll leave you to it!"

Yeah....so many scenarios can come of this. The possibilities are endless.

@pattonapologist

#unsympathetic patton #evil patton #artificial heart patton #unsympathetic logan #blue calamity #blue calamity twins #tw manipulation #tw human experimentation #platonic sanders sides #familial sanders sides #sympathetic dark sides #we 👏 need 👏 more 👏 blue 👏 calamity! #blue calamity my beloved #morally ambiguous logan #orange side #orange side mention

[scenecipriano]

Patton meeting Remus for the first time: *bows* I'm Patton it is nice-

Virgil: *smacks him* Don't bow to him, he bows to us! Idiot-

Patton: Oh... I'm sorry father

Virgil to himself happily: I'm so good at daddying!

#sanders sides #patton sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders mentioned #unsympathetic virgil #source: helluva boss

[unsympathetic-snake]

(TW for threats of self harm)

Building on your most recent post, Janus locking himself in Patton’s bathroom with a knife and threatening to harm himself because Patton hinted at wanting to break up.

(Forgot to put feel free to add on)

Ooagh yes i think he would

personally not going to add anything (as of right now,,i might come vack to this) because this kinda says it all. janus is the kind of person who would threaten bodily harm if he thought it would get what he considered ”his” to stay.

#also not adding anything because uag. brain won’t make thoughts rn #but maybe in the morning or smthing!! We will see #tw sh #sh tw #tw self harm #self harm mention #self harm tw #u!janus #unsympathetic janus #unsympathetic sides #unsympathetic dark sides #victim patton #toxic mociet #ask #anon #ro's rambles #ask to tag

[prodigal-explorer]

to celebrate together - a sanders sides fanfiction

this is a cute fluffy fic (for the most part) about human versions of the sides discussing easter, ramadan, and passover, three very prominent holidays from three different religions during the springtime!

(cws -> brief mention of anti-semetism, brief mention of anti-semetic hate crimes, honestly there are brief moments of insensitivity towards all three religions mentioned (christianity/catholicism, islam, and jewish) but they are genuine moments of confusion and not in bad faith! this fic is about learning and growing and respecting other religions, so there is a bit of a learning curve.)

word count: 2.9k

(also, i know i usually write a lot of unsympathetic patton which may deter some people. it will comfort these people to know that patton is not unsympathetic in this fic! he's actually a cool guy! so don't worry about that.)

Everyone in the house knew that Easter was one of Patton’s favorite holidays by now. They had only been living together for a few months, but it was obvious from the new way Patton carried himself in the springtime. He bought a lot of Easter-themed furniture, so by the time March 1st rolled around, the house was covered head to toe in eggs, bunnies, baskets, chicks, and crosses. Lots of crosses. 

“Why are there a bunch of plus signs everywhere?” Roman had dared to ask one day, “Logan, is this one of your math projects?” 

“You seriously don’t know what a cross is?” Patton asked, his eyes wide with shock, “Oh, that’s right. You’re balsamic.” 

“Uh…Islamic,” Roman corrected awkwardly, “Me and Remus just say we’re Muslim. And I know what a cross is, I just didn’t know that it was one of those. They really do look like plus signs with a big tail. What are they all for?” 

“Well, they’re Easter decorations!” Patton explained readily, “Since Easter is the celebration of the resurrection of Jesus, we have crosses here to commemorate all he sacrificed for his people.” 

“Wow,” Roman said, a smile forming on his face, “I guess Jesus must have been pretty brave.” 

“He’s not just brave, Roman,” Patton said, “He died for us. The least we can do is celebrate him.” 

“Yeah, that seems fair,” Roman said, still gazing around the colorful, decked out area with a gentle, somewhat cautious curiosity that was generally unlike him. He seemed to sense that this was sensitive territory. “So…why do you guys celebrate Easter the way you do? With the bunnies and the eggs? Did Jesus really like sunny side up or something? Did he have a pet bunny?” 

“Come on,” Patton said, “I want to tell everyone about this!” 

Roman grinned and followed Patton into the living room, where the others were sitting and chatting. Logan was on the recliner, working on a grocery list, while Janus and Remus were on the ground, playing Go-Fish. Virgil was spread across the couch, scrolling through his phone. 

“Guys, Patton’s gonna teach us about Easter!” Roman said, “Like, why they use the eggs and stuff.” 

“It’s because of Jesus,” Logan droned tiredly, staring up at Patton, “Is this really necessary?” 

“Of course it’s necessary, Logan!” Patton chastised, “It’s the most important event of springtime!” 

Virgil tilted his head. “But what about Passover?” 

“Pass-what?” Patton said, clearly confused, “No, we’re talking about Easter. What’s passover?” 

“I like Layat Al-Qadr best,” Remus shrugged, “It’s the only night of the year where I can get Roman to shut up.” 

“Hey!” Roman protested, “Oh, I have an idea! We’ll have a contest. Each of us will talk about what we think is the most important event of springtime, and then we’ll hold a vote!” 

“I suppose we can do that,” Janus said, “Logan and I don’t celebrate any of these things, so we will be neutral voters. We don’t have any emotional attachment to any of the options.” 

“Perfect!” Patton said, “And we’ll start with Easter, because Easter is-”

“Fat chance,” Virgil said, “Everyone already knows everything about Easter. It’s the only holiday that Americans give a shit about. It’s all over the supermarkets, it gets all the attention and respect. You don’t even know what Passover is, and do you even know that Ramadan exists?” 

“Of course I know what ramen is, I had some for dinner last night,” Patton said. 

The room was silent for a second. 

“Virgil has a point,” Logan said, but when Patton pouted, Logan continued, “But we can still hear Patton out. He may say something we don’t know about yet. Besides, if we’re going to keep this vote objective, we need to hear out every option with equal respect and attention. Can we do that?” 

“Yeah, sorry, Pat,” Virgil said softly.

“Sure,” Remus said, “Tell us about how Jesus got nailed on a cross.” 

“Why would I tell you about that if you already know that part?” Patton asked with a disgusted expression. 

“Cuz it’s the coolest part,” Remus replied with a toothy grin. 

“Well…you’re not entirely wrong,” Patton said, growing excited as he started again to speak, “Easter is the holiday that celebrates the resurrection of Jesus! It’s celebrated every springtime, after the first full moon of spring. Jesus was arrested by Jewish leaders, and he was sentenced to death on the cross for trying to lead his people.” 

“Interesting,” Janus mumbled, narrowing his eyes a bit, “Jewish leaders. That was an interesting detail to mention. Why does that matter to you, Pat?” 

“Anyway,” Patton said icily before continuing the story, “A man named Joseph asked these leaders to take Jesus down from the cross after he died, in order to bury him properly. They allowed it, and Joseph buried Jesus in a stone tomb. But three days later, when people came to put spices on Jesus’ body, they found that he was gone!” 

“So Jesus wasn’t actually dead??” Roman asked, clearly shocked by that twist in the story. 

“Well, of course he’s not dead,” Patton said, “That’s the entire point of Easter, buddy! Jesus was resurrected. Easter is a holiday that represents rebirth. There’s always hope, and Jesus will always be there for us. Even during the darkest times, and even in the face of death.” 

“Jesus is badass,” Remus remarked, “But that still doesn’t explain why there are eggs, though.” 

“Oh! Another part of Easter is something called Lent,” Patton said, “In the 40 days leading up to Easter Sunday, Christians and Catholics celebrate Lent, which is a time of prayer and resisting temptation from sin. People sometimes give up things that they consider to be sinful during Lent. It’s a mindful thing. Right now, I’m giving up alcohol. And back in the medieval times, eggs weren’t allowed during Lent, so on Easter Sunday, eggs were used to signify that Lent has passed on by. Also, eggs…they represent rebirth in a way.” 

“Don’t they just represent birth?” Logan asked. 

“Well, I guess, but…come on, Logan! You like the egg salad I make every easter!”

“Your egg salad is quite good.” 

“That’s what I thought.” 

“Easter is pretty cool,” Virgil said, “That’s really cool, actually.” 

“So you think it’s better than your day?” Patton asked hopefully. 

Virgil laughed. “Good one. Easter sounds awesome and all, but nothing beats Passover.” 

“What’s that one?” Roman asked eagerly, “Why’s it called Passover? Do you play basketball or something?” 

“Okay, where the heck did basketball come from?” Janus asked. 

“I mean…you pass over the ball. In basketball,” Roman replied. 

“No basketball,” Virgil chuckled, “It’s actually called Passover for a bit of a complicated reason. I’ll start from the beginning. This story starts in Egypt. The pharaoh, who is basically the leader of Egypt, didn’t like Jewish people, and he didn’t want too many Jewish people living in Egypt. So he enslaved all the Jews who currently lived there, and ordered that all Jewish babies who are birthed in Egypt get killed.” 

Roman’s eyes widened, and he started to feel a bit sick. 

“But why?” he demanded, “The Jewish babies didn’t even do anything!” 

“You’d be surprised what people do to people who are different,” Virgil replied in a mutter, “Anyway, one Jewish woman decided that she wouldn’t let her baby die. She hid her baby in a basket and put him into the river, to float away to somewhere safer. The pharaoh's daughter found the baby, and decided to take him in. His name was Moses.” 

“Oh! Moses!” Roman cried out in recognition, “Like the movie, like the movie The Prince Of Egypt!” 

Virgil smiled slightly and nodded. 

“Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, like that movie. That’s a good movie if you guys want to learn more about Moses.” 

“And listen to some amazing songs by Stephen Schwartz!” Roman added. 

“Roman, let’s let Virgil finish, okay?” Logan said, and Roman reluctantly nodded, turning his attention back to Virgil. 

“Anyway, Moses grew up, and found out that he was Jewish, and he came from a Jewish family. He saw how horribly his people were being treated, and when he killed a slave master, he ran away to the desert,” Virgil continued, “There, he found a burning bush, and the bush talked to him. The bush basically said that he was God, and he was going to help Moses set the Jewish people free. But when Moses came back and told the pharaoh this, the pharaoh refused, over and over. And every time the pharaoh refused, God sent down a different plague, or curse, to Egypt.” 

“But that’s not fair,” Patton protested, “The rest of the people didn’t even do anything.” 

“Well, I don’t disagree,” Virgil said, “But God wasn’t feeling very forgiving after having his people enslaved for years. He knew that there was no other way to convince the pharaoh.” 

“Yeah, if you’re gonna get mad at anyone, get mad at the pharaoh,” Janus said, “He was the stubborn son of a bitch who wouldn’t set free the slaves. He put his people in danger by doing that just because he wanted more free labor.” 

“There were a lot of plagues because the pharaoh kept saying no,” Virgil explained, “And the tenth plague was a curse called the angel of death, a curse that would kill the first-born child of every home. In order to protect the innocent families, God told Moses to tell anyone who would listen to paint over their door with lamb’s blood. If the door was painted over, then the curse would pass over them, and nobody would die. Passover, see?” 

Roman nodded, his eyes widening as he was enraptured in the story. “Passover,” he repeated. 

“The Israelites listened to Moses, but a lot of others in Egypt didn’t, including the Pharaoh,” Virgil said, a bit sadly, “It sucked. They all had to learn the hard way. If they had just listened to Moses, nobody would have died. If the pharaoh had just let the Israelites go the first time, then none of the plagues would have had to happen. But stricken with grief after his firstborn son died, the pharaoh finally let the Israelites go, and they were freed from slavery.” 

“So that’s the story of Passover,” Logan said, “How is it celebrated?” 

“Well, it’s celebrated for eight days,” Virgil explained, “Seven if you’re in Israel. But here in America, it’s eight. On the first night of Passover, Jewish families have a Passover seder, which is a big dinner where we pray and sing, and we tell stories from a book called the Haggadah. All families celebrate a little differently, but for the most part, we do that stuff. I remember when I was little, my mom would always give me a sip of her wine.”

“Damn, just a sip?” Remus asked with a little laugh, “Shoulda given you a whole cup. Imagine a drunk little Virgil stumbling around.” 

“That would have been cool,” Virgil admitted, “Me and my cousins would drink grape juice and pretend to be drunk. After all the serious stuff was over, of course. A big part of Passover is discussing current events. Unfortunately, most places in the world aren’t very Jew-friendly. Even here in America, there are a lot of hate crimes. Actually…” 

Roman noticed with horror that Virgil was getting teary-eyed. 

“Virgil?” Logan asked quietly, “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m sorry,” Virgil said, trying to wipe away his tears before they fell, “This is hard to talk about. The synagogue that my family went to when I was a kid before I moved here, it- a few years ago- it- it got burnt down.” 

“Burnt down,” Janus realized, “As in…someone did it. On purpose.” 

Virgil nodded, his eyes completely downcast. He was crying, but his face was hardened, almost angry. But not quite. He seemed too sad to be angry. 

“All the drawings the kids made. All the food that people donated. All the copies of the Torah,” he whispered, “It was all gone in one night. My parents still can’t talk about it without crying. I guess I can’t either.” 

“I’ve never heard of anyone burning down a religious building like that,” Patton said softly, “That’s horrible.” 

“Yeah? That’s cuz they don’t burn down your stuff,” Janus said quietly, putting a hand on Virgil’s shoulder, “I’m sorry, Virgil. You…don’t deserve that. Nobody deserves that. No matter what.” 

“Don’t let me stop you from continuing the competition,” Virgil said, “Remus, I wanna hear about yours. What is this one day that can get Roman to shut up?” 

“Do we really have to bring that joke back?” Roman asked, too amused to be sore. 

“Well, the night I was talking about, Layat Al-Qadr, is just one night of Ramadan,” Remus started to explain, “Ramadan’s actually about a month long.” 

“A whole month?” Logan asked, “Wow. That’s a lot longer than Easter and Passover.” 

“Not if you count Lent,” Patton pointed out. 

“Layat Al-Qadr is the 27th day of Ramadan,” Roman continued, “And you pray the whole entire night, pretty much. We ask Allah to forgive us for the mistakes we made, and we hope that he says yes.” 

“How do you know if he says yes?” Logan asked, tilting his head slightly. 

Roman shrugged. “You don’t. That’s why you have to believe.” 

“That sounds kinda boring, praying for the whole night,” Janus admitted, “Is that seriously the only thing you do?” 

“I was worried it would be boring too,” Roman admitted, “But it’s actually really cool. You’d be surprised how therapeutic it is. It feels nice, talking to someone who you know will always listen. Reflecting on all the stuff you did, and figuring out how to do better without worrying about anyone getting mad at you or hating you.” 

“And we also have iftar,” Remus said, “It’s like a giant meal, and we get to spend time with family while breaking our fast.” 

“Wait, wait- you fast?” Virgil asked, “For an entire month?” 

“It’s not so bad,” Remus shrugged, “Especially because we have iftar, and we usually eat a little bit in the morning. Breaking the fast together as a family during iftar is cool, because, like, everybody’s breaking it at the same time. So it’s like- we all are hungry together, and then we all become satisfied together. It’s pretty cool.” 

“We also have five prayers that we say every day,” Roman added, “Along with an extra one at night. The prayers are the really important part because it’s so traditional. It’s been done for so many years before us, it’s like…passing down a torch. We don’t want to forget about it. So we do it to honor the people before us, so that hopefully, the people after us have something in common with us when they celebrate Ramadan.” 

“Well, when you explain it like that, it sounds really cool,” Virgil admitted. 

“I used to think prayer was weird, and kinda culty,” Janus mumbled, clearly a bit ashamed, “But…it actually sounds awesome. Mindful, you know?” 

“Wait, where does Ramadan come from anyway?” Patton asked, “Like the fasting and the praying. Who started it?” 

“It was started by the Prophet Muhammad,” Roman said eagerly, “He’s this really cool guy who told us what Allah wanted for the Muslim people. And Ramadan is the month on the Muslim calendar where Muhammad found the Quran, which is our holy book. It’s sort of like Patton’s bible and Virgil’s Torah.” 

“Oh, gotcha,” Patton said. 

“To be more specific, it’s the ninth month of our calendar,” Remus said, “But also, it depends on the moon. It’s like a thing. To try and spot the Ramadan moon. Roman and I did it a few times when we were younger.” 

“It’s hard to do it now,” Roman said, “There’s so much artificial light in this city. But once it’s high enough in the sky, we can see it great. It’s so cool, feeling like you discovered something.” 

“And we fast because Muhammad told us to, basically,” Remus said, “It’s one of the five pillars of Islam, fasting during Ramadan. And like Roman said, the Muslim people have done it for thousands and thousands of years. So it feels really awesome to continue it today. Even if it leaves us a little hungry and cranky sometimes.” 

“You guys should come to iftar sometime,” Roman said, “A bunch of our Muslim friends and us all come together and eat and talk and laugh, and just enjoy each other’s company.” 

“It sounds amazing,” Virgil said, “Kinda like Passover seder.” 

Remus nudged Virgil gently, smiling over at him. 

“Hey, yeah!” he said. 

“And Easter Sunday!” Patton piped up. 

“Maybe all our events have more in common than we think,” Roman said, “I mean, all of them have cool stories, and big dinners, and just…that festive attitude. That feeling of carrying on a tradition that’s so much bigger than yourself.” 

“Do we even need a vote, then?” Logan asked, “I don’t know what to vote for. All of those events sound lovely.” 

“I agree,” Janus said, “Maybe we can vote on something else. Like what movie to watch tonight?” 

“I vote The Prince Of Egypt!” Roman cried out, “Virgil made me think about it, and now all the songs are in my head!” 

“Oh! I’ll make some egg salad for dinner!” Patton said, “It’s the 21st century, we’re allowed to eat eggs during Lent now!” 

“Maybe I’ll bring in the leftover date cookies from yesterday’s iftar,” Remus said. 

“Yes, those are so good!” Roman agreed, “And I wrapped them in foil, so they should still taste fresh!” 

Virgil smiled and closed his eyes, wiping away his residual tears gently as he listened to his friends ramble and scramble to celebrate together. Maybe tonight, this strange amalgamation of Easter, Ramadan, and Passover, the mutual respect and admiration for these three holidays, was their most important event of the springtime.

--

(i hope you all enjoyed this fic!! during times like these especially, it is so important to remember that every religion is beautiful and valid, and every religious holiday ought to be respected! now, i am not catholic, christian, muslim, or jewish. i wrote about these holidays after doing extensive research from multiple sources for each, but if i got anything wrong, please please let me know and i will correct it to the best of my ability. i promise i want to learn and grow, just like these guys, so if something is inaccurate, please tell me if you feel so inclined, and i will take what you say into account!!)

(have an amazing spring, no matter what you celebrate!!)

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #tss #roman sanders #sanders sides fandom #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic #sanders sides au #sanders sides writing #sanders sides headcanon #sanders sides headcanons #tss roman #tss logan #tss patton #tss janus #tss remus #tss virgil

[vash-the-trans-catboy]

Title: Too Much Morality Will Cause Anxiety

Prompt from @alvodra : Always on the search for more Logan calming Virgil down and being the only one truly understanding anxiety, possibly with Patton messing up somehow

Summary: Patton causes Virgil a lot of anxiety but Logan is there to help Virgil through it.

Word count: 1630

Tag list: @prince-rowan-of-the-forest @ishipgenfics (let me know if you want to be added)

TWs: Mentions of alcohol, manipulation, anxiety, panic attacks, little unsympathetic Patton

AO3

Thomas paced around the living room, occasionally glancing down at his watch. There was a debate going on inside his head and it looked like he was losing. Thomas decided he might as well make this debate real.

“Can everyone meet me in the living room? Please it’s an emergency?” Thomas called out loud to summon his logic, morality, anxiety, and creativity.

First, his logical side, dressed in business casual as usual, popped into the room.

“Is everything alright, Thomas?” Logan asked with a slight face of concern. A few emotions slipped through his stoic face. Logan tries to keep an appearance of seriousness, but Thomas and the other sides know Logan does care a lot.

“I’m-" “THOMAS, ARE YOU HURT?!?” Patton rushed into the conversation, interrupting Thomas.

While Logan and Patton were busy trying to figure out what was wrong with Thomas, Virgil quietly snuck in. Like a cat, Virgil stood on the steps observing everyone, waiting for his opportunity to make his presence known. His purple eyeshadow glimmered in the light. As grumpy as he pretends to be, his eyeshadow clearly gave away that he was having a good day.

Finally, the most dramatic side appeared.

“Oh god! Thomas! This is really an emergency. Your hair is absolutely atrocious. This must be why you called us here so suddenly.” Roman summoned a hairbrush, “Don’t worry as the most stylish side I got you covered.”

“My hair isn’t why I called you all here.” Thomas tried to correct Roman, but Roman was not listening. He threw the hairbrush at Thomas. It flew through the air, then went straight through Thomas’ head. Roman tended to forget since he was part of Thomas’ mind that anything he summoned Thomas could not touch. Thomas blankly stared at his sides as the hairbrush fell onto the floor. “Still isn’t about my hair.”

“Are you sure?” Roman raised one eyebrow in a questioning matter, “Couldn’t hurt for me to teach you to style it.”

“Ok. Moving on. This is wasting time. Thomas, why have you called us here?” Logan huffed at Roman’s antics as he returned the floor to Thomas.

“Maybe he’s dying.” Virgil deadpanned.

Thomas continued talking about his emergency, ignoring the dying comment, “So there’s this party. And this really cute guy invited me to go. But I don’t know if I should actually go.”

Logan rolled his eyes, “You must learn what is a real emergency.”

“A party! With a cute guy! Thomas, you’d be insane to say no.” Roman happily said.

“I don’t know guys. Crowded places aren’t always the best setting for Thomas. We should politely decline and go under our covers instead.” Virgil said looking a bit uneasy.

“Oh, Virgil. Being a downer as usual.” Patton said, “Thomas as your side that is your happiness you have to go. Socialization is great. Plus if Virgil said no you automatically know to do the opposite. When is listening to anxiety ever good?”

“What if the cute guy doesn’t show? Do you know anyone else at this party? What if the host doesn’t want you there? Will there be alcohol or drugs? Who am I kidding, it’s an adult party of course there will be alcohol and drugs. What if you get taken advantage of while not completely in your senses?” Virgil’s eyeshadow turned to a slightly darker purple, all the glimmer disappeared.

“Now you are just being stupid, Virgil. Real life isn’t as bad as your mind tells you it is. Thomas, trust me. I’m your morality. Would I ever really do something to harm you? This party will be good for you, for all of us.” Patton glanced at Virgil, “It will be especially good for dear Virgil here. You know how a little bit of alcohol can take the edge off. Maybe a few drinks and the nagging voice in your head will calm down.”

Virgil’s eyeshadow turned another shade darker. The purple started to mix with black. The joy from Virgil’s eyes was long gone. “If you drink you might not be able to make a rational decision. How well do you know this cute guy? What if he has bad intentions?”

“Please don’t listen to Mr. Fearful over here. Virgil is overreacting. This isn’t even an argument. Everyone knows you should go to the party and you really want to.” Patton smiled at Thomas. Virgil knows that smile and recoiled a bit, pushing his hood over his head, “So you’ll go to the party, right? Wouldn’t you love a night off from anxiety?”

Thomas shifted from one foot to another, he could feel the tension. “I’m not so sure I want to go now.”

“It’s because of Virgil isn’t it?” Patton pointed his finger accusingly at Virgil, “Maybe next time only bring the important sides if you actually want to get anything done.”

The room got deadly silent for a second. The only sound to be heard was heavy breathing.

Virgil’s eyeshadow turned completely black. His eyes dulled in color as well. He wobbled a little as the room spun.

Logan took a step closer to Virgil, “Virgil, you are looking pale. Do you feel alright?”

Virgil promptly collapsed to the floor before sinking out.

Complete chaos broke out the second he disappeared.

Thomas was too stunned to talk. He’d seen Patton and Virgil not get along before, but never to this degree.

“What the hell, Patton?” Roman yelled at Patton.

Logan was trying to hold back his anger, “You crossed a line this time.”

“I didn’t say anything there rest of us weren’t thinking.” Patton shot back.

“I don’t have time for this. I’ll lecture you later.” Logan turned to Roman, “Make sure Thomas is alright. I’m going to check on Virgil.” Logan sunk out.

“Patton please leave”

“But kiddo”

“No. You’ve done enough.” Patton pouted, then left the room in defeat.

…………………………….

Logan appeared in front of Virgil’s door. “Hey, Virgil. Are you in here?” He knocked on the door and waited for an answer. A minute passed; No one answered. He knocked again, “It’s Logan. I’m concerned.”

He attempted to open to door since Virgil was starting to worry him. He twisted the knob; It was locked. “Please, Virgil. I am truly worried.”

Still no answer. Logan sighed and took a seat next to Virgil’s door, “I don’t know if you can hear me but I’m going to give this shot. Take a deep breath. In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight. Repeat. In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight.” Logan breathed in and out as he instructed Virgil on his breathing. He wanted to give off as calm of an aura as possible.

“Getting in touch with your senses usually works to help ground you. What are five things you can see? You don’t have to say them out loud if you don’t want to.”

Logan heard a few mumbles from the other side of the door. It sounded vaguely like, “Bed, plushies, lamp, door, fan.”

“Very good, Virgil. Now four things you can feel.” Logan felt an immense sense of relief hearing Virgil’s voice.

“Carpet, clothing, impending doom, coldness.” The door lock clicked open.

“May I come in?” Logan stood up, putting his hand on the doorknob. He waited for Virgil’s response.

It was quiet for a few moments, a small “yeah” was heard in the background.

Logan slowly opened the door. “Three things you can hear.” He said as he walked in.

“Door creaking, sound machine, your voice.” Virgil closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“You are doing great. Two things you can smell.”

Virgil started to sniff the room, “Lavender and your hand sanitizer.”

Logan sat down next to Virgil, “One thing you can taste.”

“Umm, my tongue I guess?” Virgil wiped his eyes, smudging his eyeshadow.

“Physical contact?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, I’m good with physical contact today.”

Logan took Virgil’s hand. He helped Virgil stand up and lead him to the bed. Virgil collapsed into Logan’s arms and started hysterically sobbing.

“I am just trying to protect Thomas and be helpful,” Virgil mumbled into Logan’s chest.

Logan rubbed circles on Virgil’s back, “I know. I think everything you said had a valid point. It is always important to think about safety.”

“I don’t understand why Patton hates me so much.”

“I do not see the logic in him hating you. We are a team. Targeting one of us will just be counterproductive.” Logan ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair, “Tomorrow I am going to give Patten a stern lecture.”

Logan heard a small laugh from Virgil. He looked up to meet Logan’s gaze, “You’d do that for me?”

Logan smiled, “Of course. You know I love a good lecture.”

Logan shifted Virgil off his lap and onto the pillow. He carefully slid off the bed.

Virgil reached for him, “Please stay.”

“I will be right back, I promise.” Logan went into the bathroom connected to Virgil’s room. He pulled out a container of makeup wipes from the draw. Logan gently took off Virgil’s eyeshadow to prevent it from ruining his bed or getting in his eyes.

Virgil’s eyes drooped in tiredness.

“I think it would be best to call it a night and go to sleep.” Logan pulled the spider web patterned comforter over Virgil.

Virgil reached out and tugged on Logan’s wrist, “Stay here tonight.”

“Of course, Virgil.” He pushed the comforter over and slid over it. Logan pulled Virgil into his arms and kissed his forehead. “Sleep tight, my dear.”

Virgil’s breaths eventually evened out as he fell asleep. Once Logan was sure Virgil was soundly asleep he pulled Virgil closer and fell asleep. Logan held onto Virgil all night to let him know was he always there for him.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #c!thomas #sanders sides fanfiction #thegayemo writing #ts logan #ts virgil #ts roman #ts patton #ts analogical #analogical

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Spoke No More

Title: Spoke No More Summary: Humans are pattern-seekers. They seek to find patterns, specifically ones that are pleasurable and add meaning in life. Humans are not meant to be limited to seeing the same four walls day in and day out. Solitary confinement means there is only one pattern that is pleasureless and meaningless in every way possible. Even with the daily visits of shades that masquerade as his friends, Virgil is still so alone. Such an existence messes with one’s grasp of self after a time. An hour feels the same as a day and a day feels the same as an hour. Cramped, filthy cell or gleaming, luxurious castle--Virgil knows the truth. It matters not his surroundings, he is still in a machination designed by his captors for his impending demise. Yet when a new pattern emerges, one that Virgil has not witnessed within the hundreds of iterations he has endured--there is a question that lingers with it; is it yet another ploy of his captors to extract valuable information from him? Or could it be a sliver of reality shining through? Sequel fic to Heard No More Word-Count: 15k Pairings: Platonic Lamp Warnings: Whump, Malnutrition, Starvation Mention, Disassociation, Nightmares, Aftermath of Torture, Panic Attack, CPTSD, Crying, Injury Mention, Blood, Villain OC, Portrayals of Unsympathetic Sides (None of them are actually unsympathetic), Unreliable Narrator, Guilt, Angst with an Ambiguous Ending (It’s Part of a Series) Hello there, I'm posting this because if I don't post this it will never see the light of day even though this fic could use more time to bake in the oven. This was created as part of the @tss-storytime big bang and @virgeandhis-pocket-protector was my artist partner. Please check out their amazing contribution here! I have felt like I've been drowning the last few months due to ongoing events in my irl so I sincerely apologize for my infrequent communication on here and hope your year is going better than mine. Without further ado please enjoy.

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Part 1: Foul is Fair

Virgil stares at the huge swaths of fabric that frame the huge window of the Prince Quarters. There is a name for them—curtains, he thinks. Even though his mother made her living as a weaver, they did not have curtains in their small cottage. Instead, they used wooden shutters to block out unwanted light and slept close to the fire during the cold months to keep warm.

As a Shadow, he slept wherever he was commanded. A cellar, a field, a stable. He was fortunate if he was able to even have a blanket for his weary body to curl underneath. No, it was when he became Patton’s apprentice, that extravagances such as curtains became known to him. His mage apprentice quarters had white curtains. Not a bold, regal red such as the Prince’s Quarters.

It is still peculiar that His Eminence chose the Prince Quarters as the setting of his new lavish confinement. Why not Virgil’s former quarters? Or a supposed guest quarter? Even Patton’s quarters would be somewhat believable.

Furthermore, where does “Roman” supposedly sleeps? Virgil has not even seen his likeness in some time. In all the lies that His Eminence tells Virgil, He never informs him exactly why he is being kept in the Prince’s Quarters. It is almost insulting if He thinks Virgil is incapable of rational thought.

The illogicalness of it could simply be His Eminence’s ploy. He desires for Virgil to think this is a dream and dreams do not make sense. An obvious absurdity could be purposeful to hide away the more subtle absurdities. Virgil cannot let his defense falter for a moment against His Eminence.

The Prince Quarters is certainly a more appealing sight on his eyes than that of his cramped cell. It does not mean his eyes have not grown tired at looking at it. Isolation in a singular environment is torment regardless of one’s surroundings.

Humans are not meant to be limited to seeing the same four walls day in and day out. Humans are pattern-seekers. They seek to find patterns, specifically ones that are pleasurable and add meaning in life. Solitary isolation means there is only one pattern that is pleasureless and meaningless in every way possible. Such an existence messes with one’s grasp of self after a time. An hour feels the same as a day and a day feels the same as an hour.

The only way Virgil has survived is through sheer spite. If he doubts himself for more than a moment, he could not endure otherwise.

Virgil still cannot seem to grasp a coherent sense of time within the Prince Quarters. Time is a rushing fierce current of water and Virgil is helplessly caught in its current, tumbled and thrashed about.

Even so, time does run differently within the confines of the Prince’s Quarter. It is seemingly more linear, consistent in some ways. He continues to not dream—or at least possess any dreams he can remember. There is really only one dream he remembers. He does not know if it is even a dream. It is very possible it is another ploy, another form of His Eminence’s trickery.

All he knows is that he is in the Prince Quarters and it is dark. The intricate décor of the Prince Quarters is reduced to nothing but vague, shapeless silhouettes of the night. Within this darkness, is a figure. A person. Or at least he thinks this shade is a person. It moves around the room, muttering syllables under its breath. Virgil stays still, not giving any indication of being aware of it. But somehow, it knows.

“Virgil,” The shade says, assumingly turning sharply to face him. Virgil does not make a noise. He does not even move. He only stares at the living shadow looming above him.

“Why didn’t you—why did you—” It’s words dissolve into stifled sobs, “You were right, Virgil. I should’ve listened but I—I didn’t, I refused to—and—and I am sorry.”

The shadow collapses onto itself, falling, falling, falling—

“You’re still a moron, you know that?”

“While I am offended that you’d speak so lowly of me, the kingdom actually did not fall apart within the few hours of my absence.”

“Yet.”

 The shade huddles near the foot of his bed. Virgil continues watching it with half-lidded eyes. The voice sounds vaguely like Roman. But a form of Roman that Virgil has never seen or heard. Even His Eminence’s frail interpretation is closer to the original than this one. Roman is always too haughty, too prideful to admit his faults. Even so, there is no wrongdoing for Roman to admit. It doesn’t make any sense.

Virgil has no one to blame for his torment, no one but himself. It is because he is weak, he is a shadow—an apparition. He should’ve died long before Patton claimed him as his apprentice. Yet selfishly, he cherishes it nonetheless. For a fleeting, few years—he knew some semblance of happiness he hadn’t known since his mother’s passing. It was everything to him and nothing to them.

Even though within the recesses of his mind, he dares to refer to Roman, Patton and Logan as friends—it is a lie. A sweet lie that comforts him through the groves of more bitter, twisted lies.

This shade, barely comparable to His Roman, insists otherwise, “I should’ve been the one—I deserved it, you didn’t—you shouldn’t have—”

Virgil doesn’t understand it. This must be a dream—there is no other explanation for it. His Eminence would not ever portray the others taking the blame—He enjoys twisting the knife that is reality too much. It cannot be anything else. It cannot.

There is also no explanation for what Virgil does next. Dream or not, he should not react. He should stay still, stay quiet. No rustling of the covers, no creak of the bed as his weight leaves it. All he knows is that somehow, he ends up kneeling by this shade, offering a hand.

“V-Virgil? You were--What?” This shade, Roman-But-Not, asks. Virgil prods his hand closer to the other’s line of sight. He does not think at first this Roman will accept it. But then a trembling hand clasps onto it. Virgil stands up, tugging Roman upright with him.

“Where—oompfh!”

He pulls them onto the bed. It’s where Roman should be resting—it is his bed after all. Perhaps this really is a dream—in that his mind is attempting to put to rest the absurdity of reality. Although in its own illogical rationale—as dreams often are apt to do.

He does not say anything to this Roman. If he did, then this dream would be that of a nightmare. So instead of words, he clasps tightly to Roman’s hand when the other tries rising from the bed. As tightly as he could muster—for his strength is oh so meager.

Somehow, it is enough to stop this Roman from leaving the bed. The probable prince also does not say any words of his own. A squeeze on Virgil’s hand and heaving breaths are the only things that indicate there is another person beside him.

Yet when Virgil regains consciousness, the Prince Quarters is empty of any indication that its true owner had visited within the last night.

Strange dreams aside, he starts to be able to eat solid foods more easily with only the occasional puking incident. His body hurts, but not like before. It helps when His Eminence has avoided any torments of the physical kind. His skin can no longer be described as raw and bleeding as a fresh cut of meat.

Not-Logan has remained the one to watch over him. Patton-lookalike has made a few visits, keeping up a cheerful stream of nonsense. Virgil refuses to acknowledge it, but there is a small part of him that has been growing too comfortable at the sight of this Patton. But the Piper Prince, the person whose quarters he currently inhabits? It has been a while Virgil has seen a glimpse of him aside from that odd specter. Virgil almost misses his appearance, even if it is just a fake. Even though he should feel more relieved that His Eminence has decided against using his face.

His Eminence has invited him to view the Library a few more times after the first visit. Like a stranded traveler in a desert thirsting for a drop of water, Virgil seeks it every time. It is a new pattern, an opportunity to briefly leave the confines of the Prince Quarters. Virgil still cannot find a crack, a weakness in the illusion. He suspects that the Library is a ploy to gain forbidden knowledge from Virgil’s mind.

It seems like a logical line of thinking. If you lead your victim into an illusion of a highly protected confidential library, the victim will associate it with their own forbidden protected knowledge. Sometimes, Logan asks him if he wants to read a book. Virgil simply shakes his head, willing to sit among the books. Logan oddly enough, doesn’t insist on it.

Virgil wonders how much His Eminence is willing to be patient before he gives up on this ploy. Eventually, He will snap. He has to. But the Prince Quarters is still a prison cell and he is still a man slowly losing every bit of his sanity. The truth is that his most paranoid thought is that none of this is real. Or real in the sense that he is still living and breathing.

What if this was some cruel afterlife designed by the gods for his failures to live a more fulfilling life? Best case scenario, it involves him fulfilling a requirement to pass on to the true afterlife, where he can be with his mother. Worst case scenario, he’s trapped here forever.

Or maybe instead of the last moments of his life flashing before his eyes before he dies, the Ether has chosen to leave him with this absurdity.

He blinks and the curtains are nonexistent. He sees not curtains but lines upon lines of rusted iron bars. A face lies half-hidden behind them, with eyes that gleam a bit too unnaturally. Virgil stumbles aback, his heart beating faster at the sight of it.

“What do you want?” He demands, baring his teeth in an animalistic fashion. He doesn’t understand why the visitor is here. He wants to be left alone in the few remaining moments he has left.

The visitor looks at him, smiling. It is a semi-circle that does not convey cruelty but something just as violent; kindness. There are lines on the visitor’s face—crinkles that indicate this visitor has done much of this smiling in his life. The visitor opens his mouth and says—

“Virgil!”

Without any rhyme or reason or explanation, Roman is here. It is too much of a coincidence. It makes Virgil on edge as to what His Eminence has planned in this. This Roman does not, however, weep or make guilty proclamations. Instead, he sits by the bed, detailing his latest duel against his sword fighting instructor. 

“So just as he was about to disarm me, I managed to parry and then with quick thinking on my part–”

There’s a knock on the door. It startles Virgil. Never before has there been a knock at the door. Even Roman seems surprised by it, or at least acts surprised. He stands up immediately, positioning himself between the door and Virgil.

“Who is it?” Roman growls, a hand clutching tightly to the hilt of his sword.

“Why, only the most beguiling knight of the realm,” Answers a seasoned, witty voice. It’s familiar. Why does it sound so familiar?  

Roman’s hand flies away from his sword as the tension is sharply swept from his demeanor. He practically bounds across the room to open the door. Virgil watches, his reed pen loose in his grasp. It’s the first time he’s really seen Roman this excited since…well. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think this was really his Roman.

“You’re back!” Roman cries, throwing the door wide open. His back blocks Virgil’s view so he has no idea who he is speaking to. Only that the visible tuft of peppered black hair confirms it can’t be Logan or Patton.

“What, missed me?” The person asks and their question is clearly answered by Roman throwing his arms around them in an encompassing embrace. They share a few words, but Virgil can’t hear them.

“Virgil, look it’s Remy,” Roman says, eyes bright. He clearly expects Virgil to know who it is, but he doesn’t. Is this another ploy of His Eminence? Did He expect Virgil to be more at ease with a foreign face than that of those he treasured most?

Virgil stares, refusing to give His Eminence any sort of reaction.

“Hey Virgil, it’s been a while.” The Knight, apparently Remy, greets him. His voice is softer, more rounded than the shrewd mirth thrown Roman’s way. That isn’t…that doesn’t feel right. Virgil does not know why, but that feels just as wrong as any of the uncharacteristic quirks that occur when His Eminence portrays Roman, Patton or Logan.

Virgil takes a long breath. It does nothing to quell the racing of his heart or the frost that creeps up every inch of his body. If this Remy is disappointed by Virgil’s lack of acknowledgement, it is not made known. Instead he turns to face Roman.

“Your father, The King, is requesting an audience with you.” The knight tells him.

Roman stiffens, the brightness within him extinguishing to burnt coals. “What does he want?”

Remy coughs out a dry laugh, “As much as His Majesty would like it to be the case, I cannot read minds. That is for you to find out when you go to speak with him. I’ve heard you’ve ignored his last two summons, I suggest for the sake of everyone’s benefit, you do not ignore this one.”

At the end of his words, Remy glances towards Virgil. An unspoken message, one that Virgil does not understand. This Roman seems to understand, as his posture straightened, elongating into the perfect poise expectant of a Crown Prince.

“Virgil, I–I must go,” Roman says, “but Remy will keep you company.”

“My prince, I am a busy servant of the crown, so presumptuous of you to claim I may be able to spare the time to keep him company.” 

The reed pen in Virgil’s hand drops with a dull thud into his journal pages. It is one thing for Patton and Logan to speak so freely with Roman–who is this Remy to speak with the same nonchalance? 

“Must I make it a command?” Roman huffs, exasperated more than any hint of outrage,  “you would not be here unless you had the time and desire to spare.”

“Right you are, my prince,” Remy smirks, leaning back against the wall, “your sense of perception seems to have grown in my absence. Go now, lest you want to keep His Majesty waiting.”

Roman rolls his eyes but he does not protest the idea. As his hand makes contact with the doorknob, he looks over his shoulder at the two of them.

“Remy, promise you’ll keep him safe?”

“Of course–your will is mine to fulfill,” Remy says, faithfully reciting the knightly pledge to their lords, “Now go.”

This satisfies Roman at last, who leaves without sparing one last look towards Virgil.

He leaves–and for the first time for perhaps many, many months, Virgil is left in the presence of a face that does not belong to either Roman, Logan or Patton. Early on in his imprisonment, there were other faces. 

Faces he did not recognize—the faces that captured him and presented him to His Eminence as a treasured sacrifice to earn His Eminence’s blessings. There were also the faces that shoved him into the cell and had occasionally been the faces to bring him food and water. Slowly, those faces faded from his awareness as His Eminence isolated him—insisting to be the only one to have the honor of breaking his will and spirit. 

So why has His Eminence taken this unrecognizable form? If Virgil has refused to say anything in the face of Roman, Patton or Logan, why would he say anything to the face of a man he has no attachment to?

A soft clink disturbs Virgil from his thoughts. A knife. There is a small silver knife in Remy’s hands. Oh, oh. This is it, then. Virgil can see the ploy for what it is, now. This is His Eminence’s way of still inflicting pain onto Virgil. This Remy figment will slice into his body, cut him up and tell him that if he says anything to the others, he will produce the same harm onto them.

Remy’s eyes latch onto his own. He steps closer to Virgil, still clasping the knife. Virgil does not move away, remaining the same position as if he is just a statue that also happens to breathe air. He waits for the knife to knick his skin, narrowing avoiding vital arteries or organs but causing pain all the same.

“Here.” Remy says instead, holding the knife out to him, “This is for you.”

Virgil is no longer a statue that happens to breathe air. He is a statue that does not breathe air because statues do not need it to survive. Why is Remy offering him a weapon? Is this a taunt? A demonstration to show that even if Virgil is armed, all of it will be meaningless? 

Yet Virgil cannot help himself as air flows through his lungs at long last. He reaches out, snatching the knife away. It is a simple practical knife, like the ones he once used when he was just a shadow and nothing more. He does not take time to admire it, slipping it away into the folds of his clothes. Remy stands there, making no attempt to take it away from him.

“It is hard isn’t it? To feel safe without a sliver of metal close by your side?” Remy says, the words slicing Virgil deep. 

For it is true–the feeling of a knife close to his person is far too soothening to his soul than it should be. More than the steadiness of a comfortable resting place and food could ever provide. It almost makes Virgil prefer it if Remy had used the knife to inflict actual pain. 

Remy continues on, “Now, I know this goes without saying but don’t let the others know of that knife–they wouldn’t understand that feeling the way you and I do.”

Then his hands move, making crisp, smooth motions. Knight, report?

Virgil cannot speak. He must not speak. As long as he can draw air from his lungs, he will not let words fall from his mouth. But his hands can speak. They were taught to speak first by his mother–forming simple words that allowed them to communicate with the Deaf merchant that would occasionally buy his mother’s crafts. Then as a Shadow–communication by other nonverbal means was essential. Silence is often a necessity.

His hands move before his mind can think. Good, all good. His throat burns all the same–just as it would if sound had attempted to come out. His hands tremble. If he had held onto the knife, he might’ve accidentally cut himself by now. His Eminence now knows he can speak–perhaps this is why His Eminence has never damaged his hands. He should’ve known this would be a possibility, an exploit that His Eminence would use. Similar to the attempt with the journal. 

Hands hold onto his own hands. It is a gentle pressure, one that Virgil could easily escape its grip if needed.

“Sorry, Virge–I had no idea that would–well,” Remy’s eyebrows pinch together, “as I’m sure you know, I’m a man for impulsive follies.”

No, Virgil does not know this. Nor does he intend to convey such a sentiment in any discernible method of communication. More to the point–nothing that has occurred in the last five minutes has made any sense. For months, he has known what to expect from His Eminence’s mockery of Roman, Patton and Logan. He cannot predict the actions of a character that has no purpose in this pseudo play. 

He blinks at Remy. This is enough for the knight to release Virgil’s hands, somehow.

“May I show you something?” Remy asks.

Now, this. Virgil knows what this means. It does not matter what Virgil wants, Remy will show him and it will be whatever His Eminence wants him to believe.

Even knowing this, there is a festering curiosity within Virgil. A small emotionless detached part of him idly wonders where His Eminence is attempting to accomplish.

Slowly, Virgil nods his head. This is all that is needed for a flame to burst into life in the cusp of Remy’s palm. It does not stay contained onto his palm. It dances from hand to hand, winding through the air as it morphs into various shapes. A dragon with terribly fierce teeth descending with a burst of flame. A bird, no a phoenix rising high before crashing and turning into flickers of flames. A great cat of some sort, prowling at some imaginary prey.

But the fire is more than a dragon, phoenix or great cat. There is something Remy is showing him. Remy is a Blessed–one who has been touched by the Ether. This is not surprising information to Virgil–for His Eminence could not twist his visage into the likenesses of others without calling forth the blessings of Ether.

“There is one other thing you should know about illusions,” Patton tells him after a show, “those trained in the illusionary arts are usually capable of concealing their Ether signatures–but sometimes if you concentrate and focus on following the Ether to its source, you can find the individual behind the illusion.”

Virgil can scarcely feel the stirring of the Ether within him. But the Ether that flows through Remy–weaving back and forth in bright fiery images? There is no concealment on his end, no masking the Ether that sings loudly through him. Ether that is untainted and unpolluted unlike the dark, oppressive Ether that His Eminence wields with force.

But that can’t be true. This has to be His Eminence. Because otherwise this would mean this is real–and that somehow, some way, he is not enduring another of His Eminence’s machinations designed to torment and agonize him until he gives up what He wants– 

“Do you understand, Stormy?” Remy asks, the flame dissipating entirely from his hands. 

No, Virgil very much does not understand. But even if he wants to express this, he does not. Instead, he turns to his journal, drawing wavy lines that have no purpose or meaning. Remy does not punish him for not responding. He just takes out a knife, running his fingers against its dull edge. He says words, things that have a sense of meaning and purpose behind them, but Virgil does not hear them. He waits and waits for Roman to return, for something to bring more clarity to his situation.

Roman does not return back. Instead it is a harried Logan who thanks Remy for keeping Virgil company and does not say why Roman did not return. 

Part 2: More is Thy Due Than More than All Can Pay

That night, Virgil sneaks out.

 The castle, like many old structures, is imbued with Ether. The lifeblood of the gods flows through its every nook and cranny. It is said there is a sentience to it that even non-Blessed have felt. The Castle knows its purpose–it is meant to keep unwanted intruders out. It will not let in those who will bring harm to its inhabitants. Such is the reason that there hasn’t been a successful assassination on castle ground for centuries. 

Virgil can barely sense the Ether flowing through it now. It is so faint, he is not sure if he can trust that it is nothing more than the Ether of His Eminence, crafted and manipulated to imitate its more purified form.

He comes across the entrance to one of the lesser used castle towers. It is a familiar sight to him. When he first came to the castle as Patton’s apprentice, he used to sneak off there during nights wrought with insomnia. Now he seeks out its solace as an escape for the anxiety gnawing in his chest.

He rushes up the steep stairway, ignoring the growing ache in his legs from such exertion. But when he reaches the top, there is someone already there.

Roman sits there, his arms wrapped around his knees. His head is tucked into his chest, face hidden from view. Virgil wavers on the stairways. He should not hesitate. The choice is simple–he should flee before Roman is made of his presence.

Virgil does the exact opposite. He creeps closer, keeping his footsteps silent on the stone floor of the tower. He is about a foot away when he realizes he doesn’t know what to do.  So he does what Patton would do. Virgil taps Roman’s shoulder, causing him to startle and turn to face him.

“Virgil?” Roman whispers, his face blotchy from tears.

He reaches his arms out as he tilts his head. Hug?

Roman latches onto him immediately and continues crying as Virgil awkwardly pat his back.

“I shouldn’t have ever insisted on leaving the castle. You wouldn’t have had to save me and go through all of that. Gods, Virgil you have every right to hate me and I don’t blame you,” Roman babbles, leaning his head against Virgil’s shoulder, “I hate myself.”

Virgil is reeling. He doesn’t understand what Roman is saying. No, no His Eminence told him he’d been taken because he was—is—weak. He doesn’t remember saving Roman. He pulls away from Roman to get a look at his face. Roman holds still, barely making eye-contact with him. Virgil opens his mouth.

“W-whaafgk—" He goes into a coughing fit, “W-w-w-wagfk?”

It is low and raspy, barely decipherable but still it is a word communicated through voice. He wants to elaborate more on his question, but his vocal chords freeze up. Because oh gods—he spoke. He shuts his eyes tightly, letting go of Roman completely. He shakes, and he is certain the world has ended because he spoke. Not once, but twice now through his hands and his voice. He has been able to be strong for a long while now–why is he allowing himself to falter now?

A hand touches his shoulder, but he doesn’t flinch. He leans into it. A soft voice whispers  reassuring words to him.

“You’re safe now, my dark and stormy knight. I will not allow harm to ever befall upon you again, I swear it.”

He calms down, once he realizes that Roman hasn’t died because he spoke. He thinks—no, he knows it has to be Roman here with him. It shouldn’t be real. Because if it is real then it means everything that has been in the castle has been real. The food, the textures, the people. Everyone is too kind. But most importantly, Not-Roman never cries. It is Virgil who always cries.

Not-Roman is always placing the blame on Virgil. He always hates Virgil’s guts. He’d never claim it is his fault and that he hates himself more than anything.

Roman looks at him, his eyebrows furrowed.

“You asked me ‘what’ earlier, right?”

Virgil nods.

“Do you…not remember what happened before they took you?”

He shakes his head, staring at the floor. Roman squeezes one of his hands, causing him to look up. The Prince’s gaze is determined and resolute.

“You deserve to know.”

Roman starts telling him, and as he listens, Virgil remembers.

-

There is a day where Virgil happens to utter the words: “This is a dumbass idea and you know it.” 

These words are directed towards the Crown Prince, who scoffs in response, “Oh hush, Mordread, it’s a brilliant idea and you know it.”

“We’re going to get caught.”

“We’re not going to get caught!” 

“Yes we will. We will get caught by the guards or worse yet, you will be murdered outside castle walls and subsequently your father will have me executed for being an accomplice to your murder.”

Roman groans. He is digging through his wardrobe, tossing garments left and right. He then very intentionally flings a blouse into Virgil’s face, “Listen, I am sick and tired of wasting away inside this castle! If I have to spend one more day here, I am going to die!”

“Then perish,” Virgil says wryly, picking up the blouse off his face, “tell me, why have you come seeking my help?”

“Well, Patton and Logan are obviously too busy in their duties to assist me in my endeavors–” “Wrong, you knew Logan would say no because it’s illogical and reckless meanwhile Patton wouldn’t do it because he’s too much of a rule follower for the most part.”

“Do not interrupt me!” Roman cries out, jabbing a finger in his direction, “I could have you hung for your insolence.”

There is once a time in a not so distant past that sentence would’ve struck some amount of fear into Virgil. Instead, he merely raises an eyebrow at it.

“Alright, fine, yes you are right!” Roman admits, “But please Virgil–a good prince needs to know the happenings of his kingdom. How can I do that behind a stone wall?”

“C’mon Princey, we both know it’s more than that chivalrous bullshit,” Virgil rolls his eyes, “out with it.”

“I’m curious what it’d be like to…not be Prince Roman,” The Crown Prince laughs sheepishly, “I mean, not be the Crown Prince? I couldn’t fathom such an idea of a world without my fabulous self!”

Roman twirls in a circle, practically giddy.

“But—” He nervously wrings his hands, “It would be nice to interact with my citizens without the formalities. Plus, with this disguise, I’ll be incognito!”

He wraps a shawl around his shoulders, doing a poor job of concealing his identity.

“What do you think?!”

Virgil withholds a chuckle.

“First off, is that a tablecloth you stole from the dining halls? Second, you’re not going to fool anyone with anything from your wardrobe. Everyone around a ten mile radius is gonna know you reek of royalty.”

“Oh? Can I take your words to mean that you’ll help?” Roman asks. 

Virgil freezes. He isn’t actually going to help him, is he? The idea is ludicrous—there are so many reasons why and how it could go wrong and yet–well.

He can’t help but think back about how Roman dropped his bravado façade for a brief moment. Not enough to fully admit his insecurities. But just enough to reveal them to Virgil. Roman and Virgil don’t get along well—they had a rocky first meeting. Virgil assumed he was your typical pompous noble. Roman assumed Virgil would stab Patton in the back the first opportunity he received.

They have come to tolerate one another since that first meeting. Roman still refers to him by demeaning nicknames and disdain. Virgil still fires back at him with his biting sarcasm. But it is much better than before where the two couldn’t be left alone in the same room without starting an all-out brawl.

Roman has lived most of his life behind the castle walls. The time he has spent outside has been during parades or celebrations, where everyone has been on their best behavior. Or on hunting parties, in the forest where the common people are not allowed to hunt. He doesn’t know what the real world is like.

Still, Roman has enough brains to seek out Virgil rather than execute his plan by himself. Roman’s plan, as idiotic as it is, isn’t entirely without its’ warrants. It'd be good for the Prince to see what his people say when not in the supposed company of nobility. But most importantly, he trusts Virgil.

There is also the other fact that Roman is stubborn. Once he gets an idea stuck in his brain, it’s hard to convince him otherwise. If Virgil says no, he’ll definitely find a way to do it by himself. By the looks of the dinner cloth shawl, that does not bode well. But if Virgil says yes, he can ensure Roman’s safety. He’ll protect him.

“Ugh, alright. I live to serve, my liege.”

“Wait, you mean you’re–”

“--actually gonna help you with your crazy stupid idea? Yeah, I am. Let’s just hope neither of us regrets this.”

“Oh no regrets will be made, trust me!” Roman says, clasping Virgil’s hand, “this is a great favor you are bestowing upon me and as such, I promise to repay you tenfold.”

“If we’re going to go through with this,” Virgil says, holding onto Roman’s own hand firmly, “there’s a few rules you need to promise me you’ll abide by.”

“Such as?” 

“Rule 1, outside these walls–you’re not the prince, you’re a lowly commoner. You have to believe that because otherwise nobody else will believe that.”

“Oh that is easy–I’m a natural born actor.” Roman boists.

“Rule 2, what I say goes. You listen to me out there–or else this is not going to work. And Rule 3? The minute something threatens your safety, we go back. Got it?”

“I swear by my mother’s gravestone, I will uphold your terms and conditions.” Roman says, his hand cradled close to his chest. 

And well–Roman does listen. Throughout the walk through the hidden passageways of the castle and out into the bustling marketplace. When Virgil determines that they should leave for the castle before too many people take notice of the missing Crown Prince, Roman does not protest. All in all, it is rather...underwhelming how nothing went wrong.

In the passageway that leads back into the castle, Roman lets out a laugh. There is a grin stretching wide across his face, one that is a little too haughty in Virgil’s opinion. 

 “Look!” He proclaims, “We’re fine! Back without a scratch! What do you say to that?”

Virgil snorts, “You’re still a moron, you know that?”

“Ah!” Roman sprays a hand across his chest as if struck by an arrow, “While I am offended that you’d speak so lowly of me, the kingdom actually did not fall apart within the few hours of my absence.”

“Yet.” Virgil says, “we still have yet to return properly to the castle.”

Roman just hums, his glee untempered by Virgil’s coarse words. Somehow, someway, it is almost endearing. Despite the crown prince’s frequent open displays of emotion, Virgil has never seen him this happy before.

So when Roman asks him a few days later for an excursion outside the castle walls, he does not have to twist Virgil’s arm too hard on it. Until two outings turn into three and four, and they keep on going out. Virgil grows way too complacent, until the Ether calls out to him in warning one evening. It is a bright evening of a festival that has no purpose other than to be an excuse for good spirits and laughter.

It does not take long to decipher the Ether's meaning. There are several individuals that are trailing them, following their every move. One of them wears a distinct silver gauntlet–a silver gauntlet Virgil knows all too well. He does not know how they know of their presence, but it does not matter. They need to leave, now.

“Roman, we need to go. They’re here.” Virgil hisses.

“Who? I don’t see—”

“Shh! We go now. Rule number two, remember?” He grabs hold of Roman’s hand and tugs him along in a zigzag pattern.

“Hey—what’s wrong?” Roman yelps

“Danger.” Virgil answers, and leaves it at that.

He thinks they have lost them. But really, he should’ve known better. As they duck into an alley, they spring upon the two. Virgil does the only thing he can do—magic.

It is barely his second year as a mage’s apprentice and his connection to the Ether is weak. But he has to try—even if it kills him.

“Og Omeh!” He shouts, placing a hand upon a startled Roman’s chest.

His hand glows and with a bright flash Roman is gone. Virgil is left, collapsed at the foot of the Haldoofse, their pursuers. The spell has taken every ounce of his energy –but Roman is safe and that is what all that matters right now. Virgil has kept his promise.

One of them picks up Virgil by the shirt.

“What’d you do?” The man demands.

“Abracadabra.” Virgil mumbles, spitting blood in his face.

The man doesn’t like that. He raises his fist and then before Virgil can react everything fades to black.

-

Virgil cries in the midst of Roman’s own account of the events that happened. Roman thinks it’s his fault, but Virgil refuses to accept his apology. He keeps shaking his head. He does not have the words to tell him. They remain stuck in his brain, swishing around.

He saved Roman—he isn’t weak after all. But he still feels weak. If he’d refused to help Roman at the beginning, then he’d never been in danger in the first place. He’d grown too complacent in their numerous outings. His captors were right—he does deserve to be in that prison cell.

He doesn’t understand why the others freed him.  Suddenly things feel too big, too open. He shouldn’t be here. Open is bad. Open means freedom and he doesn’t deserve freedom. He yanks his hand out of Roman’s grip and runs down the stairs.  

“Virgil, wait!” Roman calls out, attempting to follow after him.

Weak as Virgil still is, adrenaline is a miracle maker. He races down the windy corridors until he discovers a small broom closet. He opens the door and closes it, dousing him in darkness. He scrambles away from the door, until his back hits the wall of the closet.

He breathes heavily and waits for Roman to open the door and drag him away. But he doesn’t want to leave. Warm soft beds and visits to the gardens aren’t for people like him. He does miss his journal. Virgil has taken to running his fingers against the raised edges of the cover. It helps ground him in times of panic.

Roman doesn’t open the door, though he can hear his voice in the far-off distance. The Crown Prince does not know he is here. He breathes a sigh in relief. Virgil sits and sits in the darkness. He does not think he falls asleep yet when the door does open, it jostles him from slumber.

“Virgil, are you here?” Logan.

He does not respond. He tries not breathing, but it only results in him breathing noisier. There is light streaming in from the doorframe. He is certain Logan knows he is here. Yet he does not attempt to drag him away from the closet.

Logan instead sits by the doorframe.

“Roman did not mean to frighten you by bringing up bad memories.”

Virgil says nothing.

“He is upset that he caused you such anguish. He is concerned about you being lost and hurt somewhere—Patton and I had been as well.”

He hesitates, before slowly crawling forward. Logan, concerned? The Royal Advisor often proclaimed how he wasn’t affected by such sentimentalism.  But there is a soft look on Logan’s face. He does not make a big deal of Virgil showing his face to him. Though his lips do twitch upwards.

“I am pleased to see you are unharmed.” Logan informs him.

Virgil shrugs.

“It is not yet lunchtime, but I am certain we can find something to eat in the kitchens—”

He offers a hand towards Virgil, who shrinks back. Logan’s expression morphs.

“Do you not want to go to the kitchens?”

Virgil shakes his head. He doesn’t want to go to the kitchens or the garden or the library. Not even to Roman’s quarters and his soft bed. He does not know why Roman gives up his bed to him. He doesn’t know why any of them would love him after what has happened.

Logan studies him for a moment. It is not in a cold, callous demeanor like he has seen when They use his face. But more of a quiet, considerate one.

“Would you like to go back to Roman’s quarters?” He adds on, “We can arrange food to be brought up to the quarters.”

A slow shake.

“No?” Logan asks, puzzled, “You want…you want to stay here?”

Furious nod.

“Why?”

Virgil’s lips part—but all his thoughts come careening to a halt. He cannot speak, whether it be through words shaped by voice, hands or ink. He instead stares at the ground, unsure how to tell Logan why he belongs here and not outside.

“Here.”

Something rectangle is pressed into his hands. He looks to see it is a small brown leather journal. It is the perfect size to fit into a breast pocket and half its pages are filled already with Logan’s messy shorthand. There is a reed pen resting where there is blank paper. He glances up towards Logan, confused.

“I wish to help, Virgil,” Logan begins, “but I don’t know how to help if you don’t tell me—or in this case write to me about what’s wrong. Why do you want to stay here?”

Virgil frowns, his fingers curling around the writing instrument. Writing is bad—but that is only because he thought he’d hurt his friends. He’d thought this hadn’t been real but just a ploy by his captors. But this is real—isn’t it?

Virgil doesn’t know what to think anymore. He is a leaf blowing aimlessly in the wind. He is a ship lost at sea. He is a broken compass. What is up is down and what is down is up. Two plus two equals five. Dragons are benevolent, and unicorns are malevolent. The cow jumps over the moon and the dish runs away with the spoon.

If he writes, surely something will go wrong. It’s what the tightening of his throat, threatening to cut off his oxygen, tells him. But that is wrong—the thought, not the actual writing. He has refused to write to protect his friends. But Logan is his friend and he is with him right now.

If he wants to help Logan, doesn’t that mean he should answer his question?

No, he has to know that this is Logan and not His Eminence. Something that Logan possesses, that His Eminence would not know.

Shakily, he draws dots. Meaningful dots, with a line that connects through every single one of them. The Locutus constellation–the very one tattooed on the real Logan’s back. He shows it to Logan, pointing between him and the drawing.

Logan looks at it. He looks at Virgil. His Logan is smart, he figures it out without asking any questions. He turns around, raising up his blouse to show the beautiful ink etchings that stretch across his back. It is on skin that is blemished with irreversible blotches of an illness that nearly took Logan’s life long before Virgil met him. Both things that were always, always, always absent among the welts and cuts and broken bones that Not-Logan would endure.

He starts writing. His hand is shaky, and the words look like chicken scrawl, but they are words nonetheless. He doesn’t look at Logan as he hands it back to him.

I bEloNG hErE. It’S WhAt I DesErVE.

Virgil’s cheeks are wet. He is crying. He does not realize this fact until Logan uses his thumb to wipe away his tears. The journal is abandoned on the ground in the favor of comforting Virgil.

“I do not know what they told you, but I do know whatever they said, it is all falsehoods,” Logan tells him solemnly, “No human being deserves to be treated the way you were. You are entitled to basic human decency. You deserve adequate amounts of food, water and freedom. Most importantly, you deserve love. Do you understand?”

The words take a while for Virgil to process. He knows that His Eminence told lies–He’d execute ploys and tricks, anything to get Virgil finally break and tell Him what He wanted to know.

Where are the castle’s weak points? Does the Court Mage have any lovers? What is the Crown Prince’s fighting style?

The list goes on and on.

Virgil knows He lied and tricked and deceived him—and yet, he still believed the biggest lie of all; he deserved it. His Eminence told him he was there because he was weak. He was there because no one would miss a charity case of a mage’s apprentice. He was there because he deserved it.

But none of that is true.

It takes until Logan’s words for him to realize that fact.

Logan never lies. He likes cold hard facts. He says what’s on his mind—to the point that he’s sometimes too blunt with his words. Virgil thinks that maybe he can trust Logan’s words. They don’t magically fix all of his doubts and fears. But they help.

Virgil nods his head, hiccupping.

Logan envelopes him in a very loose embrace. He places his hands gingerly over Virgil’s back, prepared to draw back at the slightest hint of Virgil being uncomfortable. But Virgil leans into the hug, resting his head against Logan’s chest. They stay there until they hear the distant voices of Roman and Patton.

They are still looking for Virgil.

“We should go to them.” Logan says, breaking away.

The royal advisor stands up and offers his hand yet again to Virgil.

He takes it, after a moment’s hesitation.

-

He doesn’t see Roman for a few weeks after the incident. Patton and Logan both say that the prince is busy with his royal duties. Virgil doesn’t believe them. Especially with how their eyes dart away and they quickly change the conversation.

They start leaving him alone for short intervals of the day. As much as Virgil appreciates not being under constant surveillance, a panic arises from being alone. He feels safe in the others’ presences. When they are with him, it is easy for him to remember that they are here and that they won’t abandon him.

Once, Virgil liked being alone. He enjoyed long stretches of solitude. There is a peacefulness to it, listening to nature’s sounds or the noise of your own heartbeat. But that is then, and this is now. Now being alone brings back memories of the cell.

He’d liked being alone in his cell. Being alone meant His Eminence wasn't there to torment him. That was good. But just because it meant Virgil was away from Him didn’t mean he still didn’t suffer chained in a cell, with no food or water.

The nightmares are back. Nightmares where he screams and screams but no one comes and saves him. Worse, They show up to taunt him and make him think he’s brought harm to his friends. Sometimes, they make him doubt again if being in the castle is a dream and those nightmares are truly his reality.

So, no he doesn’t really like being alone.

Oftentimes, if it is not official royal business, they will let him tag along. Patton has taken him down to the room where he keeps all his magic scrolls and supplies for potions. There, Virgil sits in a corner as Patton conducts his work. The mage explains it to him as he goes, and Virgil listens raptly.

The two have been working on trying to relight Virgil’s connection to the Ether that has been extinguished. It took a lot of coaxing on Patton’s part to get Virgil to try again. Because what if he cannot ever use the Ether again? How can he be the mage’s apprentice then?

Nothing has occurred yet, despite numerous attempts. Virgil has grown disheartened at each failure. Patton keeps faith.

“Virgil, you performed a high energy spell and then you went malnourished for nearly a year,” Patton says firmly, “It is going to be a long while before you recover completely. And that is okay.”

It’s hard to believe that, especially when the Ether remains mostly silent. But Patton believes in it, and so he keeps trying for his sake. Because Virgil trusts him.

Virgil is alone, drawing, in Roman’s quarters. He does not know where Roman sleeps. Virgil has never asked the others that question. Nor does he question who it is that quiets him after a nightmare and lulls him back to sleep with lullabies.

(He already knows it is Roman. It has always been Roman who comforts him with a lullaby. Because neither Patton or Logan sing. Patton whispers soft reassurances while Logan distracts him with the names of the constellations. But he is half-asleep when it occurs, and the prince is always gone by morning.)

He is working on a drawing of a thunderstorm. Virgil is working on the shading when there is a rhythmic knock before the door opens. He tenses, scanning his surroundings for potential escape routes and makeshift weapons. He exhales slowly when he realizes it is only Patton.

“Hello Virgil!” The mage chirps, as he strides over to the bedside. He is hiding something underneath his cloak. It is bulky and cube-shaped. A box of some sort? A gift, perhaps? He notices Virgil’s inquisitive gaze and chuckles.

“I got a surprise for you!”

Virgil smiles nervously. He knows that Patton’s surprises are good things. Like flower-crowns or cookies. But the uncertainty still haunts him.

Virgil hasn’t attempted communicating with words since that moment with Logan. Strangely, the others have not pressured him to communicate, thankfully. What he does instead of words, is nod approvingly towards Patton revealing the surprise.

Patton grins, and reveals what’s underneath his cloak. It is a plain wicker basket with a lid. Something rustles from within the container—something alive.

“Go on, open it.” He encourages Virgil, holding the basket towards him.

Virgil places his fingertips on the lid, takes a breath, and then pulls it off. A pair of glimmering green eyes peers up at him. They are big and round and so, so curious. Virgil gapes at the sight for a long while—long enough for the being to get impatient and let out a pitiful wail.

“Go on,” Patton encourages, “she doesn’t bite—much.”

Virgil lets out an amused huff, before he reaches into the basket and picks up the creature. Now that it is out of the dark interior of the basket, he can see it more clearly. It is a black kitten—old enough to be independent from its mother. A ribbon is loosely tied around its’ neck. Its’ purple. Virgil’s favorite color is purple.

A slow smile spreads across his face as he pets the kitten. That can’t be a coincidence, right? He looks over to Patton for clarification, his eyes flickering to the purring kitten in his lap and back to Patton.

“The kittens are ready to be weaned from Lady Mittens,” Patton explains, reaching out to scratch underneath the kitten’s chin, “and I thought maybe this little lady could keep you company whenever Logan, Roman and I are all busy.”

Virgil freezes, his hand levitating inches above the kitten’s fur. The young feline is discontent with this, batting its paw at him to continue. He ignores it, as he blinks rapidly. It doesn’t stop a few stray tears from falling, however.

Patton knows he struggles with being alone. But rather than making fun of him or call it silly—he found a solution to Virgil’s problem. With this kitten, Virgil no longer has to be alone anymore.

Patton misinterprets the tears completely.

“It’s okay kiddo if you don’t want her! I am sure she can find—”

A finger presses against his lips, causing Patton to stop. Virgil withdraws his finger and the two stare at one another. Virgil breaks it first, an odd guffaw rising from his throat. He carefully deposits the black kitten onto Patton’s lap. The kitten makes little fuss about this, purring with content almost immediately.

‘No.’ Virgil signs, snapping his index and middle finger against his thumb, ‘love kitten. Love you.’

“I’m so glad!” Patton sniffles, throwing his arms around Virgil’s neck. The kitten squeaks in protest of being squished between the two. Thankfully Patton withdraws within seconds.

“You can name her, you know. I called her Blacky but since she’s yours now, you can choose a new name.” Patton says, petting the kitten to assuage it.

Virgil considers it for a moment. His eyes drift to the unfinished thunderstorm sketch in his journal. He thinks of the patron goddess of his home village and her signature weapon; lightning bolts.

‘Taran.’ Virgil decides.

Patton’s eyes widens at the name. The name of such a ferocious god seems odd for a harmless kitten. However, in his home village, to name an animal after a god is to invite their blessing upon you. Virgil doesn’t know how much he believes in that.

But he can’t argue that the distant rumble of thunder that happens moments later is just a coincidence.

Part 3: Toil and Trouble

Divine blessings or not, Taran’s own presence is its own blessing to Virgil onto itself. She is a reminder of the others’ love for Virgil. Being a growing kitten, she sleeps a lot. But during the hours Taran isn’t sleeping, she is energetic, demanding pets and pouncing on insects.

Caring for Taran gives Virgil a sense of purpose, a responsibility to uphold. It’s small yet significant for him. Logan goes on a long ramble about it—Virgil doesn’t catch all of it. But Logan essentially thinks the kitten is good for Virgil’s health.

It certainly keeps Virgil busy and on his toes, making sure Taran doesn’t get places she shouldn’t be. Such as in the present where he is chasing after the black streak that is Taran. He’d snuck out of his room, taking Taran along with him. He planned to go up to the tower, in the hopes of finding Roman once more. Just as he has done for the past week to no success.

It is doubtful he’ll discover Roman up there again. But he has to try. He has no hope of running into Roman during the daylight. The castle is massive and certain parts are restricted. It has been made clear that Roman does not want to see Virgil. Maybe not directly with words, but through action alone.

He is not content with that answer. Virgil has never been one to respect rules without question. He has always been the one to doubt things, to rebel subtly but rebel all the same. Even more so, he cannot understand why Roman is avoiding him. 

Virgil thinks back to the last time he truly saw Roman. It’d been after Logan found him hiding in the broom closet. While Patton fusses over Virgil’s wellbeing, he stands there silently. His eyes bloodshot, his outfit rumpled—unbecoming for a prince. He doesn’t make eye contact with Virgil at all. He averts his eyes to the ground instead.

He leaves as soon as he can. And outside the hysteria of waking up from nightmares, Virgil hasn’t seen him since.

Virgil thinks about the state he found Roman in at the tower and the words he said to him.

“Gods, Virgil you have every right to hate me and I don’t blame you—I hate myself.”

Roman, the haughtiest prince in all of the nine realms, hates himself. He told Virgil he has a right to hate him as well. Virgil, for all his own self-loathing, knows there is some truth to the prince’s words. It is Roman who insisted on the escapades outside the castle walls. But it hadn’t been for Virgil, then Roman would’ve endured the same torment Virgil had gone through.

Virgil would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant he could spare Roman or the others from enduring that dungeon.

He thinks that Roman is hiding from him because he thinks Virgil hates him and doesn’t want to see him. Or rather, he thinks Virgil should hate him. Virgil does want to see Prince Idiot and tell him personally that he doesn’t hate him. He never could.

So he continually keeps visiting the tower and hoping for Roman to show up. He starts taking Taran with him. Usually the kitten falls asleep in Virgil’s arms halfway to the tower. But tonight is different. Taran’s ears prick forward at a sound not audible to Virgil.

Before he can do anything, the kitten wiggles out of his arms and takes off running.

Virgil stares, aghast, before the panic sets in and he races after the kitten. Because oh my gods, what if Taran gets hurt? What if she disappears and never comes back? What if she dies?

His breathing picks up, and it is not due to exertion. Trying to keep track of a black cat in the middle of the night is almost impossible. Virgil is almost certain he is going to lose sight of Taran. The cat ducks into a room and he stops.

There is a faint light coming out of it. Someone is awake and oh gods, Virgil is going to have to go in there, isn’t he?

Virgil could leave Taran in there. She is not an unusual sight in the castle, after all. There are several cats that roam the castle's parameters, keeping it free of mice, rats and other vermin. It is doubtful that the person would harm Taran.

He is worried for Taran’s safety regardless. Yet there is no way in hell he can confront another person like Remy who isn’t Roman, Patton or Logan. They are safe.  Strangers are not. They’re dangerous and unpredictable. He refuses to interact with them, even with one of the others by his side.

As he deliberates a few feet away from the partially opened doorway, there’s laughter that comes from the room.

“Well, aren’t you charming?”

Virgil nearly collapses with relief. He knows that voice, even if it’s been a few weeks. It’s Roman. After all this time, he’s finally managed to find him. It is all thanks to Taran--though god or kitten, he does not know who to sing praises to. 

He barges into the room without a forewarned knock. The sudden entrance startles the prince. He whips out his saber on instinct, cradling Taran in the other hand. The act of aggression causes Virgil to stop within a few paces of the doorway.

“Virgil,” He exclaims in a hushed whisper, sliding the sword back into his hilt, “what are yo—you scared me!”

Virgil doesn’t make any indication he heard Roman’s words. He’s too focused on Roman’s attire. He is not dressed for bed or in his prince regalia, but armor. Gauntlets, breastplate, the whole works. It is not his royal armor either, but that of an ordinary guard’s. There is a burlap sack beside him that is suspiciously bulky.

He doesn’t know what Roman’s planning. But by the guilty look on his face it can’t be anything good. Because unless the castle is under siege, there is no reason for Roman to be dressed in armor in the dead of night.

“Virgil, please, I can explain—”

But Virgil refuses to listen this time. He will not let Roman be in harm’s way from one of his crazy schemes ever again. He storms over there and takes hold of Roman’s gloved hand by force. He pulls Roman off in the direction of his own royal apartment.

The crown prince is taller and weighs more than Virgil. He has always been physically stronger than Virgil, who excels in other areas such as speed and stealth. Roman could easily break free from Virgil’s grip with little trouble. But he is too stunned to even attempt protesting.

When they reach his quarters, Virgil takes Taran from his grasp. He places the cat safely on the ground.  Taran stretches before trotting off to go find a resting spot. Virgil then turns his attention back on Roman. He tugs at one of his gauntlets, wanting it off.

“What are you doing—” Roman protests at last, “I have to go, it’s for your sake Virgil—Ow!”

Roman cries out as Virgil stomps hard on his foot. Virgil who desperately wants to cry out how stupid that is. How could it possibly be for Virgil’s sake, if the last thing he wants is to see is Roman hurt? But the words evade him. Even though he knows he is in the company of friends he is—afraid.

Fear clenches at his throat and refuses to release its’ grip. What is once helpful in survival is now hindering in life.

He instead lights the candle by the bedside and writes something in big, blocky letters. With each letter his stomach threatens an upheaval. He ignores it, tapping the journal repeatedly once finished with the message. Roman leans over to inspect it.

“Don’t go,” Roman reads out loud. He looks up at Virgil, “But I have to go, Virgil.”

Virgil’s response is to push Roman, causing him to fall onto the bed. The prince attempts to rise but gets knocked flat on his back again by Virgil. He climbs into the bed beside Roman and clings onto his left arm. It’s too dark for him to use his journal or his hands to sign and so he hopes his actions are enough to convey their meaning.

Taran, apparently upset to be left out of the cuddling party, leaps onto the bed. She curls up at the base of their feet, purring loudly.

“You’re not…you’re not going to let me go easily, are you?” Roman asks, whispering so quietly Virgil wonders at first if he imagined them.

He shakes his head before realizing the light is too dim for Roman to see him. He leans closer to Roman as an alternative, holding onto him tighter. Roman lets out a defeated sigh.

He shifts, placing an arm around Virgil to embrace him.

“If you so wish, I will stay with you for the night.”

Virgil does, and so Roman stays.

There’s so much he needs to know from Roman. But now is not the time. For now, he is content to coexist peacefully by Roman’s side. Knowing that he is here, safe with Virgil, is all that matters. He falls asleep with his head on Roman’s chest, hearing the steady thrum of the other’s heartbeat.

-

When he wakes up in the morning, that heartbeat is gone. Instead, Virgil is left clutching at a pillow that is decidedly not Roman. All signs of sleepiness dissipate at once. He flings off the covers, as his eyes scan his surroundings of any signs of Roman. None. There is none.

Because Roman said he’d only stay the night, didn’t he? Virgil hadn’t thought too much of it at the time. But He should’ve done so. Because Roman is a dolt and did what he wanted to do anyways. Something white catches his eyes. It’s on his night stand. A white letter addressed in a fancy cursive script.

V I R G I L

He stares at it, breath hitching. With a shaky hand, he reaches down and grabs it. Taran meows, rubbing her head against Virgil’s leg. She probably wants something to eat. Virgil ignores her. He doesn’t want to unfold the piece of paper. He knows he’s not going to like whatever Roman has written.

But he hates uncertainty more than anything, and that ultimately wins in the end. The paper crinkles as he opens it up. His eyes dart across the piece of paper. Left to right, left to right, left to right. He reaches the end and starts over. Repeatedly.

“Dear Virgil,

It is my obstinance that has caused you unimaginable pain that you never should’ve had to endure. For that, I am deeply sorry. I cannot live another day knowing your tormentors still go unpunished. I have left to right that wrong.

Sincerely,

Roman.”

Teardrops fall onto the paper, marring the ink. The words swirl together until they’re nearly unintelligible. But it doesn’t matter. Virgil knows the words by heart already. He knows what they mean.

Roman is gone. Roman left him. Roman is dead.

Virgil isn’t stupid. He has gone to face His Eminence alone, by himself. There can’t possibly be any scenario where Roman doesn’t die. He is going to die, not before being beaten and bloodied. His Eminence is rather fond of slow, suffering deaths. Virgil has heard the screams of the other dungeon occupants.

He doesn’t want this. He could care less about vengeance. All he wants is for Roman to stay. Stay here, with him and the others, in the safety of the castle. But Roman is gone.

When Patton and Logan find him, he’s rolled up in a ball on the bed, hyperventilating. He clutches the paper tightly in his hands. Taran meows worriedly at him. They deduce rather quickly that he has heard the news.

Patton places a hand on his shoulder, causing Virgil to stiffen.

“Virgil, breathe.” He says.

Virgil tries. But the air feels too thin like he’s going to suffocate—

He can’t do it. Can’t, can’t, can’t!

“C—ca--c--” Virgil tries, grasping for breath. But he can’t even say the word “can’t”. How ironic.

A weight settles on the bed to the left of him. Logan.

 “In for four, hold for seven, out for eight.”

What?

It takes him a moment in his state of panic to realize what that means. Logan patiently leads him through it. Even when he fails it repeatedly. Patton squeezes his shoulder, encouraging him to keep trying.

Eventually his breaths become steady again and Virgil is exhausted. He has woken up barely an hour ago and he is ready to fall back asleep again. He slumps against Patton, who massages his back. Virgil lets Logan have a look at Roman’s letter. 

It takes Logan some time to decipher the tearstained letter. When he does, he reads it out loud for Patton. By the time Logan finishes reading it, three of them remain huddled close, and not a word is exchanged between them. 

-

Patton and Logan explain later that day to Virgil when they launched an attack on Haldoofse that resulted in Virgil’s rescue, His Eminence had not been among those captured or killed by the King’s army. Assumingly, Roman had gone looking to seek vengeance against Him.

“The King’s best knights are out searching him,” Logan informs him, “they’ll bring him back before he does something stupid.”

Despite his confidence, Virgil knows Logan is just as worried as Patton and him. He can tell by how Logan clutches his hands together until his knuckles are white.

Virgil can’t stay put, however. He needs to find Roman. He needs to be the one to haul him back by the ear. He can do it. Virgil knows all about how to track down someone who doesn’t want to be found. He needs to do it—he can’t fail Roman again.

He does not tell Logan nor Patton about these thoughts in his head. He knows they’d reject the idea immediately. But Patton is intuitive, he’s smarter than anyone gives him credit for. He looks Virgil in the eyes and takes hold of his shoulders.

“Please, don’t go after him, Virge. We can’t afford to lose you again.” Patton tries smiling, but it’s too wobbly and more of a grimace than anything else.

Virgil sees those blue eyes, dulled with that unspoken sadness, and he can’t do it. If he leaves, then it means Logan and Patton will possibly lose not one but two of their friends. Virgil hardly thinks he is as valuable as the prince. But for whatever reason the others thought he was worth risking death to save him. The most he can do is to live and be there for them.

He can’t do that for Roman. He has made his choice. But he has to be there for Logan and Patton. For now.

Part 4: Blood Will Have Blood

Blood, there is so much blood. Gods, it won’t stop pouring out. Virgil can’t move—there are chains holding him still, restraining him. He can’t move—he is stuck in the cell again. Dark, dark, dark—the sun is gone. Yet somehow he can still see the figure slumped lifelessly in front of him, crimson stains on their armor. This is a…dream, right? This can’t be reality.

“Oh, but this is reality.” A voice says, causing him to flinch.

Had he said that last thought out loud? He can’t remember. Maybe His Eminence can read minds—that thought terrifies him. No, no that can’t be true. That’d mean all his efforts to not talk have been in vain. His mind has always been a safe haven. He could think and think whatever he wanted, and He’d never know. The idea that He trespassed into his safe haven horrified him.  It’d mean His Eminence is just toying with him after all this time. It means he has always been a plaything for His amusement.

As if in response to that last thought, His Eminence laughs. It is a loud, manic laugh. Virgil flinches. Never has he so desperately wished he is deaf to avoid ever having to hear that awful sound ever again. He twists his face away from the horrific sight in front of him. Away from the cackling.  He doesn’t get away with it.

Someone roughly grabs ahold of his chin and forces him to gaze upon it again.

“Looook,” His Eminence hisses, “Look at what you did.”

“I—I didn’t do it,” He protests, those wretched words freely pouring out of his lips, “I’d never!”

“Oh?” His Eminence tilts His head in mock ponderance, “So our beloved prince just happened to run into his own sword?”

White hot anger pierces Virgil’s stomach. He’d never hurt Roman or the others. Never, never, never. His Eminence knows that. That is why He hates Virgil. But with that anger is fear. As the two are oft linked hand-in-hand in joint matrimony with one another. Which is why he so vehemently denies it. 

“No, I’d never—” His throat closes up with emotion but he presses on, “No, you did this—you killed him!”

His Eminence laughs again at him, that cruel, despairing noise far from what laughter should sound like.

“Me? I did nothing. You on the other hand?” Hjs Eminence smirks, “look at your hands.”

Virgil shakes his head. No, he won’t listen. He knows how this will end. But he can’t stop himself. He looks down at his hands—no longer encased with chains. Instead of metal chains, he sees blood. The fingers start trembling, but he can’t feel them. Are they really his hands—do those bloody, bloody hands really belong to him?

No, they can’t—he wouldn’t hurt Roman, it’s not real—it can’t possibly—

A hand squeezes his shoulder. He squirms, trying to escape its’ hold.

“Virgil!”

He freezes. He knows that voice. Patton. Virgil gasps, looking around. There’s no more chains, no more blood and no more Ro—he is awake. Or at least he believes that he is awake. This reality is at least more comforting. Patton is there, Virgil’s head rests on his lap as the mage massages his scalp. The touch is gentle and grounding. He is outside somewhere with Patton. He can feel the warm breeze and hear birds sing nearby. But where outside?

Virgil opens his mouth, words at the tip of his tongue. But the image of bloody hands causes his mouth to slide shut.

“I’m here, I got you,” Patton whispers, reassuring him, “You fell asleep and had a bad nightmare but it’s over now. You’re safe with me in the gardens.”

The gardens. Virgil remembers now. Patton had insisted that Virgil was in need of some fresh air. Patton was right, as he typically is. Virgil had been holed up in the crown prince’s quarters, having no motivation to leave it. Instead he has spent his time pacing the rooms and scribbling in his journal.

Sleep has not been a friend to him. It hasn’t been a friend for a long while. He has accepted by this point that nightmares will continue to plague him. But without the prince’s lullabies or rather—the prince himself, the nightmares have evolved.

Everything he closes his eyes, he sees Roman. Lifeless. Eyes glassy like dolls. Crimson red staining his white satin tunic. His arm outstretched, towards Virgil. He dies with a smile on his face. He dies, his last words reassuring Virgil it is okay. It isn’t okay.

Sometimes Roman knows that. He doesn’t die smiling. Instead he angrily blames Virgil for his death. Virgil thinks he prefers these dreams over the others.

His mind has crafted a hundred deaths for Roman, each more gruesome than the last. Each and every one of them Virgil’s fault. Sometimes he’s back in the cell, chained and unable to move. Other times he’s in that alleyway with Roman and unable to magick him away from the Haldoofse. But no matter what, it is always Virgil’s fault in the end that Roman dies.

Virgil can’t sleep. He tries avoiding it as much as he can, as futile as it is. The images of his nightmares lurking in the back of his head, sleep or no sleep. He is exhausted. The world is blurry, and his head hurts and he can hardly concentrate on anything. His journal pages have been reduced to squiggles.

He can’t sleep, but he must sleep to function. Logan and Patton have tried their best to help him. But nothing much can be done with his nightmares. Even Patton’s sleeping potions can’t prevent that. 

Virgil shifts his gaze towards the sun, noticing it is significantly closer to the horizon than before. He had to have been asleep for about an hour or two. That would be the longest amount he’s had in the last few days. He wishes he hadn’t slept at all. He feels even more drained than before.

It has been nearly a fortnight since Roman left. It has seemed like years to Virgil, especially in his sleep-deprived state. The kingdom’s finest knights scour the lands in search of him. Still, there is no news whether he is alive or dead. For now, the majority of the kingdom remains blissfully unaware. They think he has simply gone on an extended hunting trip. It is the perfect season for hunting. The weather pleasant, the prey plentiful. It is, however, an illusion that will not last for long.

He hears a muffled sound and he looks up at Patton, who is still playing with Virgil’s hair. Patton is saying something, but it is too soft for Virgil to catch.

Virgil looks at him, confused, mouthing, ‘What?’

He still can’t talk. It isn’t like he is physically incapable of the action. His vocal chords are still intact. Yet nothing comes out, as if Ursula the great sea-witch herself snatched his voice away.  He can only really speak in dreams. Bad things always happen when he speaks. Bad things that linger in the back of his mind and keep him from speaking when he’s awake. He knows it’s irrational. He knows they’re not real. But what if he makes them real?

He’s shaken from those thoughts when Patton repeats his words, this time a little louder.

“I said that we should probably head back inside,” Patton says, trying to muster up a grin, “let’s see if we can coax Logan away from his studies to join us for dinner, hm?”

Virgil sits up, offering a small nod.

Much like Virgil has shut himself away in his room, Logan has done likewise with his work. He is Roman’s personal Royal Advisor, positioned to become his right-hand man once he becomes king. As such, Roman’s father, the King, has ordered him to be in charge of recovering Roman.

Virgil sees very little of the King for someone who occupies the same castle as the royal. Even from before, this holds truth. But this is not an anomaly. The King has always preferred to be as far removed from the servants and the common people as possible. He hardly attends the royal council meetings, instead sending a representative in his stead.

“Of course he sends you in his stead,” Roman rolled his eyes once at a meeting, “couldn’t be bothered with actually showing up once in a while, did he?”

There were a few stifled gasps, Virgil included. Only the cocky, bullheaded prince could get away with saying such things.

“The Divine King does not need to meddle in such lowly matters himself,” His representative responded in a droll manner, “Please do try to show proper respect to your father, Crown Prince Roman. When one day you are in his position, you will understand how precious the Divine King’s time is.”

Roman’s eyes flashed dangerously, but he held his tongue. All throughout the meeting, he hardly spoke. Virgil caught him at times, glaring when the representative wasn’t looking.

As Patton and Virgil reenter the castle, they pass by two female servants. One with blond hair, and the other with ebony hair. They do a short curtsy  towards them, a common act of reverence towards nobility. Virgil doesn’t think much of it. He is often trailing after Patton and Logan, both who are considered nobility.

Logan had been born into the nobility class. He grew up knowing Roman practically since birth. Whereas Patton, like Virgil, had been a peasant. His parents are farmers and he himself had the destiny of being a farmer until his link to the Ether was discovered. The title of court mage is of nobility, meaning he became nobility when he took up the title.

“Lyla, Aurora, you don’t have to curtesy for little ole me!” Patton says, attempting to wave them off.

A smile graces Virgil’s lips, a rare sight these days. Of course Patton knows these two servants’ names. He is good at remembering every person’s names that he comes across. Or making friends with everyone he meets for that matter.

“We know.” The blond-haired one says, glancing towards Virgil. He does not know why. Is there something distracting about his appearance?

He doesn’t have time to reflect on it. Patton quickly excuses themselves and they continue on their way. They walk through the stone passageways, lined with tapestries depicting battles long gone. Until at last, they reach Logan’s quarters within the castle.

Patton knocks in his patented rhythmic fashion. Two knocks, a pause, followed by three quick knocks in succession.

“Come in,” Logan says from within.

Patton bursts through the door, Virgil following behind.

Logan is sitting at his desk, papers and scrolls cluttering it. He is writing something, his back facing away from the two. Patton gets a sly look on his face. Virgil watches as he walks up to Logan, carefully to keep his footsteps light.

“Guess who?” Patton says, his hands covering Logan’s eyes.

“Patton?” Logan says, a soft warmth to his voice.

“Yup! And Virgil’s with me as well!” Patton removed his hands, allowing Logan to turn and look up at the two.

“Ah, Virgil. It’s good to see you up—up and about.” Logan says, yawning mid-sentence.

Virgil catches himself yawning as well. Patton follows suit. None of them have managed to achieve a full night’s sleep these past few weeks. There are dark circles hidden beneath the spectacles of the other two. Logan appears worse off than Patton. He sways in his chair, eyes bloodshot.

Virgil narrows his eyes, marching forward to pluck the feather quill from Logan’s hand. The royal advisor lets out a muffled cry, reaching for it. Virgil hoists above his head, away from Logan and hands it to Patton. He shoots Patton a desperate look, urging him to say something. 

“Logan, Virgil and I came here to see if you’d like to join us for dinner…but I think you need more than that. I think you should take a break—until the morning at least.” Patton says, pressing his lips firmly together.

“I appreciate your concerns, Patton, but I cannot give up—not like before—“ Logan lets out a strangled sound, and he turns his head to look away from the two.

Virgil and Patton exchange looks. Virgil’s eyebrows are furrowed with worry. There is concern shining in Patton’s eyes. But there is also something other emotion flitting across Patton’s face. Virgil can’t discern what it is, and it bothers him.

Patton steps forward, “I’m not asking you to give up. We will find him, Logan. But Virgil and I aren’t going to let you destroy yourself in the process. Please, Logan, you can’t help like this. A person needs sufficient food and rest in order to perform their duties well.”

“You are using my own words against me,” Logan croaks, taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes, “but…I suppose I see your point.”

 Logan doesn’t admit often when he’s wrong. It irks him. For him to come close to it is a sign of his exhaustion.

“I’m glad,” Patton says, “You are important to us, Logan. We can’t afford to lose you.”

“Well I am not sure--” Logan starts, before crumbling underneath Patton's’ gaze, “Er, thank you Patton and Virgil. It would be...most inopportune to lose either of you as well.”

At the mention his name, Virgil startles. He doesn’t expect for Logan to acknowledge him. Patton did all the talking after all. 

“Of course,” Patton says, smiling thinly, “now let’s get out of this stuffy study and get some food, hm?”

They take dinner in Roman’s quarters.  It is mostly silent, other than the clinking of cutlery. All of them are on the verge of using their bowls of soup as a makeshift pillow.

Halfway through, Patton lets out a strained giggle. Both Logan and Virgil shoot him a questioning look.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was imagining what it’d be like if—if Roman was with us right now.” Patton says, voice cracking.

Virgil leans over and squeezes Patton’s hand gently. A small gesture of comfort. It is not a reassurance that Roman will return. Virgil can’t promise that. No one can. But it is Virgil showing Patton he also wishes Roman is there with them.

Logan huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Knowing Roman, he’d be making a fuss about the carrots in the soup,” Logan halfheartedly grumbles, “Despite my lectures, he did—he does not seem to comprehend the importance of carrots or vegetables in general.”

“You say that as if you wouldn’t eat Madame Crofter’s jelly for the rest of your life.” Patton teases.

Logan’s cheeks burn red from embarrassment, causing Virgil to snort in amusement.

“I—in any case, when Roman returns, perhaps a fitting punishment would be forcing him to eat nothing but carrots for a week.” Logan says, in an attempt to avert the topic away from him.

 The conversation continues after that, but Virgil drowns it out, focusing on one word: When. Logan said “When Roman returns” not “If Roman returns.”

Did Logan really believe that? Logan “I’m Always Serious” Golic? Logan who always berated Patton and Roman for their flights of fancy? Logan who always advocates for logical, sensible thinking?

If Logan believes Roman will return, maybe Virgil can as well. Virgil badly wants to believe the next time he sees Roman, he'll be riding atop a white horse and not inside a white casket. Virgil knows better. He’s lived enough to be wise to the world’s tricks.

Reality is harsh and cruel and oh so unforgiving. It sets you up into thinking your fairytale ending will happen, only to snatch it away at last minute’s notice. Until the next thing you’re aware, you’re imprisoned in a dungeon and you’re never getting out—

No. He refuses to dwell on that right now. Virgil gazes down at his half-empty soup bowl, his appetite deserting him. Patton and Logan are still talking. Patton glances at him, concerned. Virgil doesn’t look back. He’s still thinking.

Maybe Logan doesn’t truly believe Roman will come back. Perhaps it’s only a charade, to keep Virgil’s and possibly Patton’s hopes up. Both Logan and Patton treat him at best a small child. They tiptoe around certain topics, incredibly careful in their interactions with him.. He is damaged, he knows this. But he can take the truth. If Roman is dead, he’d prefer to know rather than live in an illusion where Roman could either be alive or dead.

Virgil wants to use words to demand Patton and Logan to tell him the truth. He doesn’t do it. Instead, he sits and thinks how the others must’ve felt about his own disappearance. The others didn’t give up on him, even when he’d believed they did. He can’t imagine having to experience something like this a second time. Logan and Patton are better than Virgil will ever be. They have a continual faith that things will be alright. A faith Virgil cannot even hope to possess.

Someone places a hand on his shoulder. It pulls Virgil out of his reveries and back into reality. Weeks ago the sudden contact would’ve startled him. But Virgil recognizes that warm, gentle touch and knows he is safe.

“Hey Virgil,” Patton says gently, moving his hand to tuck a piece of Virgil’s hair behind his ear, “Are you finished eating?”

He nods, mouth twisting to form a yawn.

“Okay, we’ll send it away then.” Patton says, not at all angered that Virgil hadn’t finished his meal.

A servant comes and collects their dirty dishes. Logan rises from his chair, presumably heading to his bedchamber for the night. At least, he starts for the door but freezes midway through. Patton doesn’t move either. It appears none of them are eager to leave each other’s presences.

“Sleepover?” Patton suggests, his smile lacking its usual spark.

Logan’s face scrunches together. He inhales deeply, words already formed on his tongue then stops. Why, Virgil doesn’t know. Something causes Logan to change his mind. Patton’s wide, pleading eyes, perhaps. Or maybe he’s too tired to put up a fight he’s likely to lose.

“I will participate, as long as Virgil is alright with it.” He says.

 The chair creaks as Virgil leans away from their questioning gazes. He should say no. The last thing he wants is his nightmares to disturb the others’ chances of a good night’s rest. He should say no, and yet, he doesn’t. His selfish desire for physical affection wins in the end.

Virgil nods yes, and he doesn’t regret upon seeing Patton’s smile grow wider.

The three of them don’t even change into sleepwear. They barely make it to the bed before they collapse. Logan and Patton fall asleep before Virgil. He can hear the steady sounds of their breathing.  Patton’s head leans against Virgil, an arm draped across Virgil’s chest. Meanwhile Logan’s back presses against Virgil’s side. He is encased between the two, and he does not mind it at all. It is comforting, grounding even.

Still he lays between the two, wide awake despite his exhaustion. The bed is supposed to be Roman’s. The whole spacious bedroom is rightfully Roman’s. Virgil is hardly deserving of such lodging.

 Yet, he understands now why Roman insisted on him staying here; guilt. Roman thinks Virgil deserves a royal’s quarters more than he, the rightful prince, deserves it. The fact the King allowed it is astonishing. But then again, when Roman gets an idea stuck in his head, it’s impossible to persuade him otherwise. Virgil knows this from personal experience.

Unsurprisingly, his fatigued mind is incapable of thinking about anything but Roman. Hot tears spill down his face.

Damn Roman for having the audacity to be more than a snobby, selfish noble. He never imagined wishing that until this moment. A snobby, selfish noble would be safe, behind their castle walls. Not traversing the kingdom, unguarded from its’ perils.

Instead, Roman happened to be a nearsighted, selfless fool. How dare he place his royal birthright in jeopardy for the sake of vengeance? He is the King’s only child. If he fell, the throne would fall to one of his cousins. If they chose to squabble over it, it’d mean anarchy for the whole kingdom.

The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one. Virgil isn’t worth the whole kingdom. An apology is all he needed. Not this impossible task Roman has placed upon himself.

Roman wrote he couldn’t stand remaining idle while Virgil’s tormentors went unpunished. But how could he not realize they couldn’t bear to live in a world without him? That after everything, Virgil could hardly live with himself knowing he’d been—that he’d been the catalyst to Roman’s…doom.

Virgil closes his eyes, his consciousness growing fuzzy. The world swirls into a black hole of nothingness. He’s asleep. Not entirely. A fray of his consciousness stays awake. Just enough for him to hear muffled voices, a soft kiss pressed upon his forehead then nothing. The part of him that’s mostly asleep thinks it’s a dream. A pleasant one, compared to the others. But then the bed grows cold, and that sends warning bells to his brain.

He opens his eyes to find Logan and Patton gone. Just like Roman. Heart in throat, Virgil tears the bedsheets off of him. He abandons the bed, standing up as he surveys his surroundings. It is still dark; the sun has not yet rose.

He refuses to look at the nightstand. He will not read another letter claiming their actions as right and just when that’s bullshit. A noise erupts from outside, startling him. Footsteps. Loud and heavy, belonging to the palace guards. There are shouts. A commotion like this can only mean one thing; there is a threat against the castle.

 Assassins? An enemy kingdom invasion? The remaining Haldoofse launching a surprise attack? Virgil doesn’t know nor does he care. The only thing he cares about is making sure Patton and Logan are safe. He refuses to let another person face danger because of him.

Virgil goes for the knife hidden underneath the bed frame. The knife the others have no idea exist. The knife Remy had bestowed upon him. 

The knife at his disposal, he heads to the door leading out of the quarters. Something brushes against his legs, and he whips out his knife to see two glittering irises. It’s Taran. The feline looks unimpressed at his knife, her chin held high.

He puts the knife away. With a shaky hand, he reaches out and pets Taran. She responds by headbutting his legs some more, purring. It appears Taran came to send him off. Whether it is god or cat, he does not know. It is reassuring all the same. He withdraws his hand and opens the door. He makes sure Taran doesn’t dart out before closing it shut.

Virgil stays away from the light of the hallway torches, keeping to the shadows. The halls are silent. Too silent after the ruckus from earlier. With each step, he could be a step closer from engaging with an enemy. He hears rapid footsteps and holds back, behind a wall. It’s an enemy—it has to be.

As the person rounds the corner, he tackles them. He holds his knife underneath their chin, ready to slash—

“Virgil?!”

He pauses. Even with the hallway lit by torches, it is dim. Yet there is no mistaking Logan gaping up at him in shock. It’s more than just that. There are tear tracks on his cheeks. Logan never cries. Never.

Virgil’s anger from earlier gives way. He removes the knife away from Logan’s throat, unpinning him from the floor. Logan lays on the ground, making no attempts to move. Virgil frowns, reaching out to caress Logan’s cheek. His thumb gently running across the tear-stains. Logan surprises him by leaning into the contact.

Logan is not a very affectionate person. He will offer physical comfort, knowing others reciprocate better to it. Rarely does he himself seek it out. He primarily shows and seeks love in other ways; words rooted in comforting logic and acts of services towards others.

He’s only seen Logan actively desire physical affection in times of duress. Something is wrong. Virgil withdraws his hand, causing Logan to whimper. His eyes widen in horror at the pitiful sound that emanates from his mouth.

“I—I apologize—”

Virgil doesn’t let him finish that sentence. He pulls Logan away from the ground and into a protective hold. Logan lets him. He clings to Virgil, sobbing. Virgil scans the hallways, straining to hear any possible intruders sneaking up on them. But the halls remain silent.

Virgil hums, rubbing Logan’s back. Words still fail him, but humming is okay. He hums, the melody sounding suspiciously familiar. As if he’s heard it sung to him by a certain prince. The soft lullaby appears to calm Logan down, his sobs petering out into small sniffles. Eventually Logan is breathing normally, slumped against Virgil. For a moment, Virgil thinks Logan has fallen asleep.

Then Logan jolts, gripping Virgil tightly by the shirt. There is a wild, almost manic glint in his eyes. It’s far from his usual calculating, reserved demeanor.

“Virgil,” He says lowly, “Roman, he is—he’s—”

Logan inhales deeply, collecting his thoughts. Virgil’s heart rings loudly in his ears. It is only a few seconds, the blink of an eye. At the mention of Roman, and what are merely seconds has transformed into literal years for Virgil. He knows what’s coming. There is no other explanation for Logan’s anomalous behavior. He knows what’s been coming for days. Still, it will hurt to hear those words spoken out loud. To know that Roman is actually de—

“—alive.”

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #remy sanders #sasi #kat writes #i am now using the tags to be self deprecating and i must say this: im so sorry heard no more anon i have let you down on this #btpomt au

[pencilpat]

Sanders Sides College AU: Prologue

A short set-up for my college kid AU of the sides! This is a lead-in to Remus's arc, and a beginning-in-the-middle of a storied friend group. Very little mention of college for the beginning of a college AU, lol. Here are the character sheets for everyone!

2,660 words

CW: undiagnosed psychosis, distress and panic attack, implied neglectful parents, swearing, slightly unsympathetic Patton, drug mention, fight/confrontation

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His head hits a wall.

His fist hits his head.

A hand hits something that is him but not him.

His body is barely his own. Teeth bared; he knocks his head against the oak wood of the floorboards, sprawled on his side with his back pressed tightly to the wall. A scream sounds in his skull and an accompanying one threatens to tear from between his clenched teeth. He grips his fist against his mouth, a restrained squeak leaving him as he clenches his eyes shut.

He shakes himself out, tries to sit up on shaking arms. A hand grabs his ankle; nothing is there. He curls in a ball with his legs against his chest, breathing, trying to breathe. There are Hands, black and wiry, strangling at his skin. Another sob threatens to rip his teeth open, when a different sound breaks the cacophony.

“Remus?”

His brother’s voice and knocking. At that, a sob does leave him. Even if this is part of the episode, he jumps at the chance to be comforted by Roman. He crawls on all fours towards the door, and falls against it, letting himself cry finally.

“Roman!” he cries his name, and his twin opens the door, slipping through as not to knock Remus on his ass. Roman is on him instantly, gripping his shoulders softly and muttering concerns. “Roman, are you here? For real?”

“Yeah- Yes. For real.” Roman hugs him to his chest, both shadowed by the lamp that provides the only light in the room. Remus collapses into his hold, trembling. “Are you okay? Mom heard you shout earlier, but she said not to- I came anyway, I am here, that’s that.” Roman hugs him tightly, his face creased through with worry.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Remus cries, perhaps a bit too loud as Roman startles against him. Roman’s hands are warm and solid compared to the wisps that coldly grasp at him. His breathing calms just slightly, panting instead of hyperventilating as he grips at his twin’s pyjamas. “Roman- Roman, I’m scared.”

“I- I know, Rem. I am too. But it’s ok, it’ll be ok, even if I’m scared, I can put it aside right now,” Roman soothes, setting a hand gently on top of Remus’s head – that hair usually brings him embarrassment with it’s tacky cut, but right now, that is just his brother. And he holds onto him tight, tight, tight. They are curled around each other, as though if Roman holds him tight enough he can hide him within himself entirely. The idea makes a shaky, high-pitched laugh worm its way out of Remus.

“Rom,” he sniffs, shaking knuckles red with how tight they hold him. “What’s happening? I don’t under-“ He pauses and gasps as a man’s voice whispers against his ear, jolting even closer to his brother. “I don’t understand! It’s been weeks, I know dad said it’s nothing, I don’t believe him. Please, I need it to stop.”

“I- I don’t know how to fix it. I’m sorry.” Roman says it like a pledge, as though it’s his fault somehow. Shadowed and curled, they look as young as they are at 18, Remus gaunt and hollow as he’s become over the past few months. Roman brings him food, and finds it untouched hours later. Roman makes the staff bring him food and water so often one of the maids scolded him, chastising that Remus doesn’t touch it anyway.

“We’ll… We’ll figure out what’s happening. Somehow, even if it must be behind dad’s back!” Roman says, with shaken confidence in the man supposed to care for him. “I promise I won’t let this go unchecked, ok? I love you.”

Remus breathes out shakily. “You sound like a movie character, prince charming. Love you, too.” Roman gasps in mock offence, immediately falling back into a faux rivalry at the signs of Remus calming down. He doesn’t retort in his own defense though, bumping their foreheads together at the light patch where they share a birth mark.

“You will be ok. Even if you have to have me bring you food forever. I’d do it, y’know!”

“I know you would. Bringing bread to the poor pauper, eh, princey?” Remus laughs properly now, sniffling away the last of his tears as his gripped fists relax slightly. He grins up at Roman, who smiles back at him tauntingly.

“Let me care about you without being insulting for once in your life, Rem.” Roman pulls out of their hug, sitting across from him on the floor, both looking small as children in the large bedroom of their parent’s manor. Remus rubs his own arm, feeling the tickling and gripping of hands subsiding.

“I’m not an idiot, Roman. I know you’d always take care of my ass.”

“No matter the cost! I promise.”

“Ok, drama king.”

---

Knocking on his door jolts Remus out of a trance. Hands tug at him, but he brushes them off into nothingness and dissolving shadows as he sits up and walks to the door. “In a minute!” He kicks aside a box and a few clothes to make a path for himself as he goes. The door opens onto two of his housemates, one being his twin, and the other being the newest of the bunch. Remus took to simply referring to them as “Pastel” to compliment the “Emo” of his and his twin’s final housemate, their childhood friend Virgil. Pastel has a very hardened look, uncanny on their soft face. Remus glances over their expression, trailing over to Roman’s, which is held taught and drawn.

“Er- Is something going on?”

“Um,” Roman goes to start, stumbling over himself. “Your- your dealer showed up again.”

“Ugh, seriously? I told him not to come to your house anymore, bro, I don’t know what to say. I’ll text him again but-“

“How much money do you owe him?” Pastel speaks up, their voice cracking awkwardly. Remus pauses and blinks at them. He quirks an eyebrow at them, taken aback. “Remus…” they speak as though a beartrap will sink into their flesh if they say the wrong thing. “I know that you- you need that stuff to feel ‘normal’,” the air quotes make Remus roll his eyes, but they continue undisturbed. “But I’ve asked so, so many times to at least not tell those creeps this address!”

“Patton, it’s ok,” Roman cuts in, setting a hand on their shoulder despite them towering above the both of them. “Really, Remus said he can text the weirdo again. I assure you, things will-!”

“Roman,” Patton says, a warning in their voice that makes Remus flinch; as demeaning and scolding as a father to a 3-year-old. “We- we talked about this,” Patton mutters, as though Remus isn’t right there. Roman glances at them desperately, then glances to Remus.

Remus laughs uncomfortably, scratching his calf with his foot. “What is this? What’s happening?”

Roman’s face pinches up again, a sharp breath leaving him. “Remus, Patton and I have talked about the- this whole issue with your dealers coming around. Look, I know… I know that you feel you need those things for your hallucinations, but- just what do you think would happen if they showed up when dad visits?!”

“Uh, they wouldn’t,” Remus laughs.

“You don’t know that! Gosh, it’s enough that you’re staying here under their noses! Remus, you’re going to get one of us hurt!” Patton’s fists are balled, and they keep shutting their eyes as though flinching at their own words. “You need- you need to take this somewhere else. I can’t have you putting Roman and Virgil in danger!”

“What?! They’re not in danger!” Remus is already shouting, even as he watches them both flinch. He holds his hands out to the sides in disbelief, staring open mouthed at his brother. Roman doesn’t counter Patton’s points though, just stands still with his lip trembling just slightly. “Roman? Roman, c’mon, they’re talking crazy!”

“Remus,” Roman pleads. “Look, you have a job and savings… You make enough to get your own place. You-“

“What are you talking about?” Remus shouts, high and strained.

“Please quiet down!” comes a taught, anxious yell from another room in the hall. Footsteps, and then the final roommate is peeking his face out at them. “Guys, it’s freakin’ midnight. What are you screaming about?”

“Oh, I don’t know, apparently how I’m a big boy now so I should fuck off to my own place so these two don’t have to look at me anymore!”

“Remus! That’s not what either of us said!” Roman tries to protest, not quite shouting but not quiet.

“It’s what ‘Pastel’ over here means,” Remus spits, venom dripping off what he used to use as a friendly nickname. Patton’s mouth slams shut and they tense up, their eyes watering.

“Remus, you’re scaring them,” Virgil warns, sliding up beside Patton to hold their hand. All Remus sees is a wall being formed. All he sees is three sets of stone-cold gazes shunning him out. He balls up his fists, heavy, hot breaths leaving him. He cries out, kicks the frame of his door with bare feet, and slams his door on their faces.

“You fucking promised!” he shouts through the door as he kicks the box from before into the wall. Roman flinches hard on the other side, drawing himself up like he might respond, before he turns tail and takes off towards the living room.

Virgil stares back and forth between him disappearing and Patton. “Geeze, guys, that was rough,” he whispers scoldingly. Patton is still tense, eyes closed and breathing uneven. Virgil notices, and holds their face gently, tutting at them. “Hey hey, you know shouting gets at you.” He leads them to their shared bedroom, only sparing one glance back to Remus’s door.

---

Remus seethes, laying face-first on the floor, panting into the nice carpets. He feels like puking. He feels like screaming more. He feels like killing everyone in this house- No, no he doesn’t. He shakes away the images of knives and blood beneath his hands, pressing his palms into the carpet to ground himself.

The only one left, tumbles and falls into the pile of dominos that represent everyone who decided he wasn’t worth looking at. Roman? Roman, his twin? Kicking him out? It’s not something he even considered, not once, not even when he began staying here under their parent’s noses. Their parent’s sneering, poked up in the air noses. He briefly pictures their smashed faces, before shaking that image away as well. He takes a deep breath. It’s that stupid Pastel soft kid – it has to be. They’ve twisted it somehow! His dealers aren’t even scary ones, they just sell weed! And- and a few other things, but they aren’t dangerous! Even- even if he’s starting to owe them in the thousands and that one with that dumb jacket has showed up outside their house about five times. Or ten.

Remus rolls over onto his back, staring hard at the ceiling. He drags a hand down his face. He is dangerous. He is putting them in danger. He can’t stop himself from punching his own forehead at the realization. Remus bites down on his knuckle, chewing at the skin. He’s always going to put people in danger, isn’t he. He groans and sits up, moving finally to his bed- or what was his bed. Who knows what idiot they’ll bring in to replace him. He settles heavily against his sheets, picking up his phone. He scrolls mindlessly through his contacts through blurry eyes.

Surely someone can let him couch surf. There’s Remy from the tattoo shop. They’re always nice to him, even if it is out of some weird pity. Remus bites down on his boney knuckle again, stressed. Remy already had three roommates, and he doubts they need any more with as much as they complain about the cramped space. He scrolls through two previous dealers, through random people he hasn’t spoken to in years and nameless numbers. At the very bottom of his numbers is a halfhearted Christmas wish from his mother, and a contact that hasn’t been texted in actual years.

He sits up slightly, brain turning. The contact’s name is just a green apple emoji and a heart, but he knows it instantly. He opens the texts, a chuckle leaving him as he reads through his high school self’s banter with an old friend. Her spitfire replies are all sent within seconds of his initial messages while his own replies sometimes have days between them. He smiles, slightly, cradling the phone without realizing.

He falls back on his pillow, sighing. The text box comes up, and he begins to type. Fuck, what do you say after three years? After all that happened?

Dooky: heyyyyyyyyy jan

Yeah, he can’t think of anything better. He presses send without thinking any further. He shakes out the anxiety with his arms, wiggling against the sheets that will not be his in the morning.

🍏🖤: Well, well, well.

Her reply is only a few minutes delayed, to his shock. He sits up straight in bed, hunching over his phone with a grin. She still has his number saved?!

🍏🖤: Virgil’s earworms finally wriggle out of your brain Carmona?

Remus giggles, nerves and excitement at speaking to her again behind the other’s backs clashing together in his brain like metal pots.

Dooky: if I tell u theyre getting rid of me too wld u believe me?

The dots come up, the typing bubble rising and falling for long minutes.

🍏🖤: What do you need Remus?

He can’t decipher her tone. Is she angry? She has every right to be. He takes in a shaky breath, brow furrowing up in stress.

Dooky: i need a couch to surf >x(

Yeah, casual and silly, just like in high school. She always loved how goofy he was. The bubbles don’t come up though, and he stares at the screen until it darkens. He gnaws on his lip anxiously, just waiting. Waiting for a deserved rejection. Waiting for her to assign to him the vitriol that their shared friend dished to her years ago. He’s so focused on the ‘maybes’ that her text scares him.

🍏🖤: Ok. You're a lucky man. I happen to have a free couch.

🍏🖤: Hope you like bedbugs and mold.

🍏🖤: Here’s the address.

He shriek-laughs with surprise and delight, and spams so many heart emojis at her that he’s sure she turned her phone off. Reinvigorated, he starts shoving things in bags and boxes. He has a lot of clothes, but enough bags and trunk space in his beat-up truck to get downtown with all his stuff. He pauses with a handful of junk half stuffed in a bag. He doesn’t want to see them. He stumbles on his own feet, staring at the door as though, just maybe, Roman will knock and promise to protect him. As though he’s 18 and not 21, as though he’s in that stupid manor full of people that hate him with a single comfort in his whole world. A stupid pauper being brought bread under his parent’s monarchy.

He sighs out a held breath. No. Roman won’t be coming to the door this time. And he doesn’t want to see him either way.

“Fuck this,” he whispers under his breath. He will wait until they’ve all gone to sleep, and he’ll be gone in the dead of night. Fuck this. The least he needs is another wall of dominos crashing in on his shoulders to crush him under their judgement. An old friend to fall back on has given him confidence, however shaky, and if these assholes want him gone then he will disappear like the Great Houdini. He puffs out his chest, and finishes his packing.

He chucks his entire life into the back of his rusted blue chrome truck, and he is gone. When his twin wakes up, he will be gone. Exactly like he wants.

#college au #sanders sides #sanders sides au #tss au #remus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #my writing

[tss-storytime-summaries]

48

Expected Rating: Teen

Warnings: Fantasy AU, Whump, Malnutrition, Starvation Mention, Disassociation, Nightmares, Aftermath of Torture, Panic Attack, CPTSD, Crying, Injury Mention, Blood, Villain OC, Portrayals of Unsympathetic Sides (None of them are actually unsympathetic), Unreliable Narrator, Guilt, Angst With an Eventual Happy Ending

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Remus (minor), Janus (minor), Remy (minor)

Romantic Relationships: None, all platonic/familial!

Summary: Humans are pattern-seekers. They seek to find patterns, specifically ones that are pleasurable and add meaning in life. Humans are not meant to be limited to seeing the same four walls day in and day out. Solitary confinement means there is only one pattern that is pleasureless and meaningless in every way possible. Even with the daily visits of shades that masquerade as his friends, Virgil is still so alone.

Such an existence messes with one’s grasp of self after a time. An hour feels the same as a day and a day feels the same as an hour. Cramped, filthy cell or gleaming, luxurious castle--Virgil knows the truth. It matters not his surroundings, he is still in a machination designed by his captors for his impending demise.

Yet when a new pattern emerges, one that Virgil has not witnessed within the hundreds of iterations he has endured--there is a question that lingers with it; is it yet another ploy of his captors to extract valuable information from him? Or could it be a sliver of reality shining through?

This big bang is part of an existing series and does hint at darker subject matter. It will be rated Teen but please heed the detailed content warnings if any of that may potentially bother you.

#tss storytime 2023 #tss storytime summaries

[candied-peach]

ao3: “moving like a poltergeist” rating: T warnings: creativitwins, implied prinxiety maybe, mugging mention, minor character death, unsympathetic orange genre: humor/fluff description: Roman makes a mistake. His brother helps him make it right. (day 30: "People who die bad don’t stay in the ground.” — Beloved, Toni Morrison @tsshipmonth2020 )

"He'll come for you, you know," Remus tells his brother solemnly. Roman swallows.

"I know," he acknowledges. His fangs glisten in the moonlight when he opens his mouth.

It's messy. He never intended to kill Orange. Just incapacitate him. Roman caught him mugging a werewolf named Patton, someone who was a friend, and blind fury took over. It was a mistake.

Mistakes come back to haunt you.

"Have you ever heard of a vampire haunted by a ghost?" Remus asks, then cackles. Roman scowls at him. He knows how serious this is. Orange is destined to be one powerful poltergeist. He died violently, and he knows the source of his pain. Not good.

The moon dips beneath a flurry of clouds, and Roman's already cold skin chills even more. The fallen leaves skitter and unfurl down the street.

"Don't leave me," Roman blurts out, barely aware that he's saying it. Remus quickly grows somber again, one hand stealing out and seizing Roman's in a reassuring grip.

"I gotcha, bro," Remus murmurs. "No ghost is getting past us."

A trash can hurtles down the street, and Remus shoves Roman out of the way, just when it would have smashed right into him. Roman stumbles, nearly falling, before pivoting on his heels and facing a similarly disheveled Remus.

"Bastard!" Remus taunts. "That all ya got?"

"Remus, I wouldn't-" Roman starts to warn him, before the street light above them flickers and the bulb smashes, sprinkling broken glass on the sidewalk just next to Remus's feet.

"Now what?" Roman demands. Remus looks at him.

"Now we run," Remus says, grabbing his hand again and yanking him along to the symphony of destruction behind them.

"This is your plan?" Roman shrieks, as they run. "This is the worst plan I've ever seen, what-"

"No, my plan is to have a fucking exorcist come by, but he's late!" Remus pants. "Come on, Virge, where the fuck-"

"What on earth?" A new voice rings out, an oasis of calm among the chaos. Roman looks up to see a man slouched over in a purple-patched hoodie, his hands idly sketching out gestures in the air. Purple-dyed hair flops over green eyes, and a pointy chin stabs the air when he tilts his head in mild curiosity.

"Poltergeist after my bro's ass," Remus gasps out. "Please help."

"You owe me," Virgil says, heaving a sigh as he looks down the street. "Give me five minutes," he says over his shoulder, sauntering down. Roman nearly shouts after him to be careful before realizing how dumb that sounds.

It takes less than five minutes for the street's calm to reassert itself. Virgil strolls back, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, as Roman stares at him in slack-jawed wonder.

"Logan would have had it done in a minute," Virgil complains. "I'm getting rusty."

"Thanks, Virge!" Remus exclaims. "I owe ya one."

"Yes, you do," Virgil agrees. "I'd start cleaning up the street if I were you. It'll look better if you two do it."

"Right," Roman agrees, elbowing his brother in the ribs. "Thank you so much, I don't know how I could ever repay you."

Virgil grins.

"Let me think about it," he says, and with a lazy, two-fingered salute, he is gone. Roman realizes he's staring after him like an idiot when Remus elbows him in return, getting a grunt of pain.

"Let's go," Remus says reluctantly, as neighborhood chatter starts up once more.

"I hope I see him again," Roman remarks, his face blooming pink. Remus looks at him, then snorts.

"You need him," Remus says bluntly. "To get out of all the bullshit you put yourself through, Ro."

"Hey!" Roman exclaims. They argue until the sun starts to peek over the horizon.

#🍬.txt #sanders sides #eotp2022 #tsshipmonth2022 #roman sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #orange sanders #roman #remus #virgil #orange #sanders sides fic #📚 #ok to rb #peach writes

[pleasedonthurtcjstar]

Soup

ao3

Summary: Emilia is just about done with her boyfriend's, Patton, shit. Trans Emile Picani now Emilia.

Characters: Patton Sanders, Dr. Emilie Picani, Roman Sanders (mentioned)

Warnings: Abuse, violence, force feeding

Tags: Unsympathetic Patton sanders, Trans Emile Picani, Not Beta Edited/Read

A/N: I did a roleplay with someone 2 years ago with a person I’ve cut contact with. I told them back then that I’d post it, but I never did. Until now. Patton Sanders x Trans Emile Picani.  Nicknames: Millie, Emmy, or Lia.

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This is before and after the cut. If you don’t see the other message, F in chat and go read this on ao3.

This is before and after the cut. If you see this, hi.

Emilia was in her's and Patton's room, she hasn't said anything all day, and that seemed to make Patton a bit more calm than usual. So she just stayed silent. She didn't want to anger him. 

Patton laid on the bed looking at his phone occasionally laughing at dogs and birds. They were so cute. “Emmy honey bunny” Patton speaks. His voice soft and caring but it was fake. He looked over to the female across the room and waited for her to turn around.

Emilia was scared of what he was gonna do, but she turned around to look at him. "Hmm?" she said, in the sweetest voice she could manage to someone so cruel and vile.

“Are you hungry? Because I’m starving. We should eat something” Patton asked however not giving her anytime to answer. He rolled out of bed and stud up, fixing his cardigan on his shoulders. “Mmm why don’t we have broccoli and cheese soup. I do believe it’s your... favorite?”

Emilia didn't like that, it was actually her least favorite, but she just agreed and nodded her head anyway, she didn't want to piss him off.

They walked down the hallway to the kitchen and Patton made the food. He hummed as he cooked occasionally looking over to make sure Emilia was still in his presence. Once done he poured the soup into their respective bowls and set them on the table. “Eat up, Sugar”

Emilia started eating, blowing on it a bit to make sure it wasn't too hot. She ate it slowly, she hated the taste, but she knew she had to eat it or else he would get mad at her. After a few more minutes, she had finished her food.

"Oh that was fast. you must really be hungry.  Would you like some more?" Patton asked standing up grabbing her bowl and went to go pour her some more. "i wouldn't want you to be starving haha"

"Um,no thank you." Emilia said, smiling, fakely. "Th-Thank you, though."

Patton paused his actions in the middle of the second spoonful. He was turned away from her so she couldn't see his face. "Oh? Are you sure?"

Emilia was going to try and stand her ground this time. She knew it probably wasn't going to work, but she could try..."Yeah, I'm sure."

Patton turned smile returned to his face. "Oh but I," he pauses quickly placing the bowl down in front of her. "I worked SO hard on this sweetheart. And is just I'm worried that you're starving yourself. Please eat. I care about you"

Emilia sighed and started eating again, she was really full when she was about half way done with it. "OK, I'm full. Really."

“But you’re not finished?” Patton pushed up his glasses.

"I-I know....I...I can't finish the rest..." Emilia couldn't bring herself to look up at him, she kept her head down.

Patton slammed his fists on the table. The bowl shook, moving a little closer to Emilia. “Eat it or face the consequences”

Tears came to Emmy's eyes, she whimpered, but scowled and clenched her fists, "Whatever! I'm used to all of your shit, anyway! Not like you haven't done it before!" Her tone was spiteful and full of venom.

In quick movements Patton grabs on to Emilia’s hair yanking her out of the chair and onto the floor, throwing her onto her knees. “Alright, let’s play your game” Patton spoke through gritted teeth.

Emilia hissed in pain, "MY GAME? Fucking bullshit, YOU'RE the one that's playing a 'game'."

“Shut the fuck up bitch!” Patton helps loosing his cool, that is if he hadn’t lost it already. He shoved her shoulders attempting to make her fall onto her back. Grabbing the bowl of soup she wouldn’t eat he pours the leftover onto of her. “You’re just trash. You know you are! You’ll always be trash!” He yelled smashing the bowl on the ground beside her leaving white multi sized chunks of Ceramic all over the floor.

Emmy burst into tears, but she didn't care. Nothing mattered to her at this point. She got up to her feet and kicked Patton in the groin and ran to their room, locking the door. She was going to call Roman and tell him about what happened.

Patton had fallen to the ground after Emmy’s little stunt. But soon he was back on his feet. He walked toward the door. “EMILIA, WE’RE GONNA HAVE TO HAVE A TALK ABOUT WHERE YOUR FOOT BELONGS.” Once he reaches the door he found that it was locked. 

“Lia honey” he calls through the door knocking on it softly. “Open the door,” he pauses, taking a breath to help ‘calm down’. “Baby? Open the door for me. I’m sorry”

Emilia had an urge to unlock the door...she tried to believe him...she really did...but, she couldn't. Her face immediately brightened as she saw that Roman answered the phone.

“Lia” Patton calls one more time knocking on the door. When he received no answer he left the door, going to go get the necessary tools to get through the door. He could just throw himself at the door but that was nothing like Patton. He came back with a hex tool. Slipping it into to the small hole he turned it counter clockwise until he he heard the little click sound signaling him that the door was now unlocked.

Emmy had known what he was gonna do. So she was now hiding in the bathroom, climbing through to window. She had nowhere to go, but she wasn't going to put up with the abuse anymore. She carefully climbed out of the window and bolted down the street, frantically explaining to Roman what had happened.

Patton opened the door and saw that the door leading to the bathroom was open and that the window was also open. He hopped the window and started to chase her down

Emmy was not going to stop. Her heart was racing and her feet hurt, but she rushed to the police station as fast as she could. Patton wasn't going to catch her...not this time.

Patton was a faster sprinter. He ran after her. He was so close to catching her, but she was also so close to the police station. Also it would be weird if he tackled her in public. It was cause too much attention and raise eyebrows. Everyone has cameras these days, he couldn’t risk it.

Emmy quickly ran into the police station, frantically explaining to the lady at the front desk what happened. She was bawling her eyes out.

Patton watched as she hurried inside the station debating if he should follow her. Maybe he can make the police believe she was crazy. He decided to walk in behind her. 

“Emilia ?” Patton called huffing and puffing. “Why’d you run away? You know you need to take your medication. You get all weird and crazy when your off of them” he says attempting to touch Emilia.

Emilia glared at him, "Don't fucking touch me. I have the scars and bruises to prove what you've been doing to me." there were certain reactions and facial expressions to tell when someone was lying, and Emilia had none of those. She was telling the truth.

“I- heh,” Patton was taken back by this sudden defiance in public. Emilia never did that. He looks between the front desk lady and Emmy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can’t believe you’d say I’d give you scars and bruises. You know it was from your abusive parents. Darling, please come home and take your pills. You’re not thinking straight.”

Emilia was about to talk, but she was interrupted. "I'll look on her medical record to see if she actually takes medications. And, we'll have an interrogator come and see who's really lying." the lady said, clearly taking Emmy's side. Emilia smiled at her a bit, "Th-Thank you."

“But that wouldn’t be necessary, ma’am” Patton tries. “It would simply be a waste of your time. My girlfriend is just acting out. This can be fixed, trust me”

The lady shook her head. "we take this stuff seriously, sir. And, I might only work at the front desk, but I sure as hell can tell when someone is lying, and you, sir, are lying." her voice was sharp and snippy. She then smiled and turned over to Emilia "Your name, ma'am?" she asked. "E-Emilia Garcia."

Patton face turned red. And in anger he screamed out “BITCH!” Before storming away. He grabbed Emilia’s upper arm, his grasp tightly making it unable for her to escape. He dragged her unwilling body behind him, heading for the front doors.

Emilia was screaming, kicking, and crying, just doing anything to try and get herself free. She then felt relieved when she was picked up by someone else and watched as Patton was arrested. She finally felt safe and free for once..

“No! Let go of me!” Patton yelled struggling to get free from the officers. He was tackled to the ground, pinned with his cheek squished against the tile floor. 

“Sir, calm down!” The officers spoke over him.

“Absolutely not. You don’t understand! She’s not mentally ok! She needs me. She won’t make it. She’s- she’s harmful to herself and others!!!” Patton was lifted off the ground hands tightly cuffed behind him as he was escorted, unwillingly to the back. “I FUCKING HATE YOU EMILIA!”

Emilia whimpers and burst into tears, his words hurt her...so much. She then felt someone grab her hand and hug her. Emilia saw it was the front desk lady and she hugged back, sobbing.

#patmile #patton sanders #emile picani #patton x emile #unsympathetic patton #u!patton #trans emile picani #PleaseDontHurtCjstar works #fanfic #sanders sides

[aollosjustlurking]

you know the deal by now, "folklore" by taylor swift is an amazing retelling of virgil leaving the dark sides dripping in past anxceit. today's addition is focussed on "illicit affairs". this one is very focused on an anxceit breakup btw.

TW: unsympathetic deceit? it's from virgil's point of view so it's not very complimentary of janus, but it's also not that accusetory or anything. just kinda calls him a liar, which is sort of on the nose i'd say.

Make sure nobody sees you leave Hood over your head, keep your eyes down Tell your friends you're out for a run You'll be flushed when you return Take the road less traveled by Tell yourself you can always stop What started in beautiful rooms Ends with meetings in parking lots

hood mention everybody! hood mention! this song tells a story of virgil trying to maintain a relationship with janus while simultaneously trying to become closer with the light sides (i see this as just before his acceptance but you could see it as a little bit after as well). whether this secrecy is because virgil thinks it's necessary or because janus thinks it's necessary is up to interpretation.

And that's the thing about illicit affairs And clandestine meetings and longing stares

despite virgil and janus' relationship not being one of adultry, it is still "illicit" due to how the others view them. It's born from just one single glance But it dies, and it dies, and it dies A million little times

the ending of their relationship was a long time coming I think. they are in their very nature not incredibly well suited for each other, i mean lies literally make virgil more anxious, so their relationship had to be a messy one. the idea that it would die a million times before they truly cut it off is fitting.

Leave the perfume on the shelf That you picked out just for him So you leave no trace behind Like you don't even exist

if we stick with the timeline of this being just before virgil's acceptance, it makes sense for virgil to not feel as though he exists in this moment. he's drifting away from the dark sides, notably janus, but also is not accepted by the light sides yet.

Take the words for what they are A dwindling, mercurial high A drug that only worked The first few hundred times

virgil knows he cannot trust the lofty claims janus makes about their relationship because he knows janus. he might've believed more in the beginning, but not anymore.

And that's the thing about illicit affairs And clandestine meetings and stolen stares They show their truth one single time But they lie, and they lie, and they lie A million little times

this would be why virgil believed in this relationship at the start. one moment of vulnerability and truth from janus that gave virgil hope, only to be followed by millions of lies.

And you wanna scream Don't call me "kid" Don't call me "baby"

we've seen through interactions between virgil and patton that virgil does not appreciate being patronized or being treated as a small little thing. additionally i would argue that he has felt this behavior from janus. we know janus has the capability because of how he talked down to virgil in the courtroom episode and how he's treated roman as of late. Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me You showed me colors You know I can't see with anyone else

the dark sides actually seem pretty close. virgil sort of references this when he tell thomas that he should've known how to deal with remus. i feel as though that because the dark sides are outcasted the way that they are, they are able to behave more freely around each other because they understand each other better. the light sides hide things from each other all of the time, mainly emotions and thoughts. what virgil is referencing is the freedom he felt with janus to a certain degree that he no longer has.

Don't call me "kid" Don't call me "baby" Look at this idiotic fool that you made me You taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else

additional to the last point, you could tie this to that theory on the dark sides all having a way to communicate directly to thomas without the others interrupting. janus can silence others, remus can draw everyone's attention directly to him, and virgil has that distorted voice we see in "moving on". this could be a "secret language" that virgil can no longer utilize because he is considered a light side now.

And you know damn well For you, I would ruin myself A million little times

despite leaving the dark sides being a major event for his character, virgil seems intenesly loyal. he has that sort of "ride or die" vibe about him. evidence of this could be that even now when he hates the dark sides, he still never refers to them as "dark sides", he always uses the term "others". he will not diminish them to "dark sides". you could argue that this is because he doesn't want thomas to view him as dark, but he has been using the alternative name for years, even before he told thomas his history. this proves that a bit of him is still somewhat looking out for janus and the others, even if just a little.

#idk why the formatting is being weird sorry all #sander sides #thomas sanders #taylor swift #ts #virgil sanders #janus sanders #thomas sanders and taylor swift are my favorite things #folklore #illicit affairs #anxceit #past anxceit #anxceit angst

[unsympathetic-snake]

Love your post about Patton and Remus! Also my friend said that Janus is the kind of person to threaten self harm if Patton ever tried to break up with him. Your thoughts?

thank you!! and yes i could totally see it.

i dont think he would actually self harm, but he would absolutely threaten to, especially to Patton.

he knows that Patton is very caring and concerned with the well being of his loved ones, that Patton would put his own happiness at risk for others. And so he would use his own potential pain as a way to get Patton to stay with him.

#anon #ask #self harm tw #tw sh #self harm mention #u!janus #unsympathetic sides #unsympathetic janus #toxic mociet #victim patton #ro rambles

[prodigal-explorer]

evening star - sanders sides fanfiction - ii

(let me know if you want to be on the tag list!)

previous part | next part

word count: 2.4k

(cw -> whump, unsympathetic!patton, unsympathetic!virgil, dehumanization, pet whump, collars, physical abuse, violence, muzzles, cages, starvation)

summary: roman belongs to patton and virgil now. he isn't his own person anymore, he doubts he even is a person. he tries to follow the rules, but he fails once again. mistake after mistake leads to punishment.

---

Rule three: Don’t speak except to obey orders. 

Roman had rules one through ten memorized. Those were the important ones. He tried to memorize all of them, but there were so many that he started mixing them up, and he eventually gave up. It was easier to figure out what Patton liked and only do that, instead of constantly risking doing something he didn’t like. 

“Aww, come here, Puppy!” Patton cooed, and Roman entered the living room, walking on all fours as he did. 

Virgil was watching, but the embarrassment that came with walking this way had long faded. It was rule seven, after all. Pets don’t walk like people do. The amused glint in Virgil’s eyes caused a visual shudder throughout Roman, and the pair sitting on the couch exchanged a glance and tittered with laughter, as if Roman was a toddler who was doing something silly, like bouncing or putting his foot in his mouth. 

Roman slowly moved so he was sitting in between Patton and Virgil, and Patton tousled his hair, continuing to tangle it up. Pets don’t brush their own hair. That was rule…something. It was in the twenties somewhere. Either way, Roman’s hair would be a hopeless, tangled mess until Patton had the mercy to brush it for him. 

After three months of this without Patton even mentioning it, Roman had a feeling it would never happen. 

It had all happened so suddenly. One night, Patton snatched Roman from his bed, and forced the collar around his neck, snapping it in place. He told Roman the rules, over and over, and at first, Roman didn’t take them seriously. He thought Patton was kidding around. 

But then, Patton inflicted his first punishment. Roman still had the scars. 

When Roman realized that Patton was serious about turning him into a human pet, he rushed to tell Virgil what was going on, hoping for some guidance or protection. But Virgil beamed when he heard the news, and now, Roman belonged to him too. 

Roman regretted ever giving Virgil a reason to do this to him. 

Now, he was sitting, obediently looking up at both of his “owners”. The word put such a bad taste in his mouth, but that was what they were to him now. They told him what to do, and he did it. That was that. They fed him, and bathed him, and put him to bed. 

“Yes, Patton?” he asked quietly, avoiding eye contact with Virgil at all costs. 

Patton was the one who gave most of the orders, but Virgil was the scary one. Virgil had even worse punishments than Patton, and he relished in the victory of reducing Roman to a broken, bloody mess. 

“Hi, Puppy! Oh, you’re so cute!” Patton squealed, “Okay. Here’s what I want now. I want you to go to my room and get me the leash.” 

Roman’s face paled, and his breathing grew shallower. Patton laughed at the panicked expression on his pet’s face. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not using it on you,” Patton chuckled, “It’s broken. The handle is coming off, and I need to fix it. Get me the sewing kit too, pretty please!” 

Roman crawled off, scrambling out of the room as quickly as he could. Every moment he could have away from Virgil was one he was going to take. And if he obeyed Patton quickly enough, it delighted his owner. By now, he found the trip from the living room to Patton’s room easy, as he had done it so many times. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and looked around, trying to find the leash. 

Patton’s room was messy. Very, very messy. Filled with memorabilia from the back corners to the wall beside the door. Roman could barely pad through without stepping on something. 

The sewing kit was easy to find, just sitting on top of Patton’s desk next to a scarf Patton had made a few days ago. Roman picked up the kit with his teeth and held it in his mouth, seeing as it was rather small. He knew that was how Patton wanted him to hold it. Now, he had to find the leash. 

The leash was only really used for punishment. It was used when Roman was being bad, and Patton had to tie him up outside overnight. It was also used when Roman couldn’t be trusted on his own, and would be dragged around by Patton or Virgil all day, going wherever they did. 

Roman didn’t really want it to be fixed. But his opinion didn’t matter to Patton or Virgil. His obedience did. 

He continued looking around, digging through the piles of stuff to try and find the leash. Where had Patton put it? Where did it go? Roman knew that he would get in trouble if he came back without it. He couldn’t handle another punishment after just healing from his last one. Roman was desperate to show Patton that he could be good. 

So he kept looking. And looking. 

But the leash was nowhere in sight. 

Fear started clawing at Roman’s chest as he searched even closer, touching each object to make sure it wasn’t the leash before setting it aside. He started to grow more desperate, turning Patton’s room upside down in search of the thing. He couldn’t get in trouble again. He just couldn’t. 

“Well, well. Look what we have here? I thought Patton told you to find the leash. Not trash his room.” 

That voice, that deep, rumbling voice that oozed with an endless amusement for the sadistic wasn’t Patton’s. Patton’s was bubbly and bouncy to the point where Roman could at least pretend he was saying good things. But this wasn’t Patton. 

Roman turned around and forced himself to look at Virgil, the sewing kit falling out of his mouth as he rushed to defend himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, starting to back up, “I couldn’t find the leash- I got scared. I thought I would get in trouble.” 

“Well, you’re right about that,” Virgil sneered, moving closer to Roman, “But now you’re in even more trouble. You think Patton will appreciate having a messy room? He’s going to be so disappointed when he sees what you’ve done.” 

“Please-” Roman stammered quickly, “Please don’t tell him. Please. I’ll clean it up. Let me clean it up, I promise, it’ll look just like it did before I came in.” 

“What’s rule three, Puppy?” Virgil asked, borrowing Patton’s nickname. 

The action made Roman nauseous. He immediately went silent and bowed his head. Virgil grabbed Roman’s collar and dragged him by it, out the door and down the hallway. Roman moved with Virgil, knowing that resisting would only create a choking sensation that would make his panic even worse. 

His eyes were glued to the floor. He couldn’t face Patton after what he had done, and his entire body was trembling, knowing that a punishment was going to come. Patton’s punishments were bad, and Virgil’s punishments were worse. But when both of them punished him together, it was the worst of all. 

Soon enough, Roman was picked up and placed onto the couch. It was rare that Roman was allowed on the couch. He allowed himself to sink into the warmth and comfort of the cushions, knowing that he was going to be very miserable very soon. Might as well enjoy something nice while he could. 

“What did you do, cutie pie?” Patton asked, tilting Roman’s chin up so Roman was looking at him, “Tell me. Lying won’t make things any better for you.” 

“I…” Roman’s throat felt closed. He couldn’t speak. 

“Don’t just stare at him,” Virgil said, pinching the back of Roman’s neck, causing him to squeak. “Answer his question.” 

“I couldn’t find the leash!” Roman whined, bursting into tears. “I tried, I tried so hard, and I- I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to mess up your room!” 

“You messed up my room?” Patton asked, standing up, “Let me see.” 

He took an agonizingly long time walking down the hallway, opening the door to his room, processing what was inside, closing the door, and walking back. His expression was calm, but Roman could see by the stiffness in his motions and his pale face that Patton was anything but. He continued to wail, as if it would grant him any pity. 

“Virgil, please shut him up,” Patton said sweetly, “He’s giving me a headache with all that noise.” 

Virgil obliged gladly, going into his room and taking out a muzzle-like thing that snapped around Roman’s head, keeping him from speaking or even making much sound at all with his voice. It was perfect for Patton and Virgil, since it kept Roman so quiet during punishments. They didn’t want Logan finding out the full extent of their favorite hobby. They didn’t know whether or not he would care enough for Roman’s well-being to put a stop to it, but they weren’t going to run the risk. 

Roman clawed at the muzzle with his hands, trying to pry it off, but he knew it wouldn’t work. His body was trembling madly, to the point where he couldn’t even hold himself upright anymore. Muffled apologies that couldn’t move past his lips streamed continuously as Virgil picked up Roman, carrying him to his bedroom. Roman struggled in Virgil’s hold, but he was weak with fear, and Virgil was a lot stronger than him anyway. 

Virgil held onto Roman even tighter, and grabbed his jaw with one hand, able to hold his body up with only one arm. 

“If you keep squirming like this, we’re gonna have a problem,” he practically growled, “You were a bad dog. Own up to it.” 

Roman sniffled and sobbed, the muzzle suffocating him slightly as he stared at Virgil with round, tear-filled eyes. Virgil eventually threw down Roman’s head, continuing to carry him until they were at Virgil’s room. There, he threw Roman onto the ground and kicked his side. 

“You’re going in the cage,” Virgil glowered, “Go on. Get in. Unless you want me to drag you.” 

The threat was what got Roman moving. He collapsed a few times, but he got up slowly and continued to crawl to the large dog crate that was under Virgil’s bed. Being in Virgil’s room for too long wasn’t good for any side. It created anxious thoughts that only grew more and more intense the longer one was inside. Which made it the perfect place to torture Roman. 

Once Roman was inside the cage, Virgil closed it and locked it, using a key. When he used a combination lock, Roman figured out the combination and escaped. 

He regretted that stunt. 

The cage was small, and when Virgil shoved it farther under the bed, Roman whimpered and huddled into a ball, continuing to scratch at his muzzle. He didn’t care what the rules were anymore. He was desperate for someone to help him. The cage walls seemed to be closing in on him, and Roman was sure that he was going to die in Virgil’s room under his bed. Unable to make noise with his voice, he banged on the cage with his arms, trying to make some kind of noise to alert somebody, even if it was Patton. Maybe Patton would say that Virgil’s punishment was too harsh and let him go. 

Roman wanted to tell Logan. But when he told Virgil, he turned on him. What if Logan did the same thing? Patton kept dropping hints about how much Logan would love to join in on the fun, watching Roman struggle and suffer with all of the impossible demands he had to comply with. 

Roman was barely hanging on with Virgil and Patton. 

Logan was smart. Roman was sure he would be able to come up with punishments that Patton and Virgil hadn’t even considered. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Roman continued banging on the cage walls, even though he knew he would regret it if one of the light sides discovered him. It made a rattling sound that wasn’t exactly loud, but it wasn’t quiet either. 

He thought he could hear something else coming from the room next door. The room that Roman recognized as his own. That was strange. He hadn’t been in his room in days, since his most recent punishment had been sleeping next to Patton. It wasn’t that bad of a punishment, but it had been hard to sleep when he was being cuddled and squeezed like his breathing wasn’t a concern. 

For a moment, Roman stopped his noise so he could listen to what was going on. It didn’t just sound like talking. It sounded like yelling. And the voice he could easily pick out was Patton, but there was another voice that was harder to recognize. 

Roman tried his best to listen, but the voices were so far that he could only hear a word or two per sentence. And when they went quieter than a yell, Roman couldn’t hear any of it. None of it made sense, and when the voices died down and eventually stopped, Roman realized with burning frustration that he had no idea what the argument had been about, or who it had been with. 

But he didn’t have a lot of time to think about it. The door to Virgil’s room opened, and Roman stayed still and silent, sitting on his knees so whoever lifted the sheet would see that he was being good and obedient. 

When the sheet did lift, Roman looked up to see Patton, staring at him with a benevolent smile as he carefully opened the cage door, sliding a bowl of food inside. Roman grew excited, but as he tried to eat it, he realized that the muzzle was keeping him from eating too. He looked at Patton again, and gently pawed at the wall to try and get his attention. 

“Oh? What’s wrong, puppy?” Patton asked, before cooing softly, “Aww, you can’t eat it? Maybe if you hadn’t been so bad, you would be eating right now.” 

He giggled and pulled down the sheet, once again shrouding Roman in darkness as he whined and banged on the cage wall again. 

Inside the bowl was some ground chicken, green peas, and even a little piece of red candy. The sight of it was taunting. This was Roman’s fifth day without a meal, and it pained him to think that if he had only stopped crying quicker, he would have finally been able to eat. 

Roman curled up once again in the cage, shutting his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at the food. He could still smell it, but there wasn’t much he could do about that in such a small space. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, he felt tears form in his eyes, and he hiccuped and sobbed until at last, his eyes fell closed and he fell asleep.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #tss #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #unsympathetic patton #unsympathetic virgil #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fandom #sanders sides whump #ez's writing #whump writing #whump #dehumanization #pet whump #collars #physical abuse #violence #muzzles #cages #starvation #evening star

[lexdrabbles]

Masterlist

Hi! This is a new masterlist pinned post because every time I try to edit the other one to add something it is formatting hell, and you can't uh. edit old posts with the new editor so I am giving up. New pinned post it is.

Also here I will put a further link to my fandom list! (Which includes fandoms i have never written for but i will take nearly any excuse. For... Ask game and request purposes👀)

Without further ado, under the cut you will find the children (sorted alphabetically and by fandom):

Miraculous Ladybug:

Partners (AO3) Word count: 1,239 Ship: Platonic Marichat Warnings: None (only Extreme Amounts of Fluff)

The Face We Choose To Wear (AO3) Word count: 2,122 Ship: Julerose Warnings: Beginning of a panic attack (kind of)

Thought You Should Know (AO3) Word count: 9,361 Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Ship: Love Square (Mainly Adrinette with hints of Ladynoir and Ladrien) Warnings: Description of a mild(-ish) panic attack

What Must Be Done (AO3) Word count: 2,957 Ship: No ships, only pain. (But the pain is Ladynoir flavored) Warnings: Idk if there’s anything specific, but it ended up a little too angsty for my liking. Hurt/no comfort.

Noragami:

Everything we are (AO3) (Featuring OCs) Word count: 3,711 Warnings: Non-graphic violence, armed robbery, background character death, nihilism, thoughts of revenge (briefly), blood mention, death mention. (Yeah… it’s basically One Big Angsty Fight Scene)

Sanders Sides:

Golden Hour (Hockey AU) Word count: 406 Ship: Platonic Losleep Warnings: None

Solitary (Don’t Leave Me) (AO3) Word count: 1,225 Ship: Loceit (Romantic? Platonic? Who knows lmao) Warnings: Isolation, Slightly unsympathetic Patton and Roman.

The Adventure Zone:

Fire, rot, and other fun meet-cute ideas Word count: 1,180 Ship: Blupjeans Warnings: Fuckin uhh main character death lmao (non-permanent yk how it is)

#masterlist #lex said a thing?? #lex wrote a thing??