#hap borth roman

[hotwetskeletontits]

Roman is precious and deserves the world (click on the image for better quality)

#i love all the sides equally #but roman is definitely one of the best bois #hap borth roman #romansanders #roman #roman sanders #thomas sanders #fanart #roman fanart #sanders sides #sanders sided art #ts sides

[maple-keenes]

gloxinia and a tattoo pen

summary: logan has a crush on the boy across the way. 

pairing: analogical

tw: cursing (he says damn once)

wc: 1138

a/n: HAP BORTH @theresneverenoughfandoms ILY

read it on ao3

general:

@analogical-chaos @romanochez @pattoncaketocelebrate @ipaniceverywherenotjustthedisco @ilovemygaydad  @darknightvirgil @virgiliananxiety @romanticsanders @virgilsblogofanxietys @everyday-emo-stuff @the-incedible-sulk@iassureyouicannotwrite @creativity-killed-thekitten  @cowboybitch-mas @wooflesthatwoof @lyditist @heck-im-lost @max-is-tired @thesealwhodraws  

Logan was not content. Of course, his life was fine. It was good. Being a tattoo artist with acclaim all over the state and even out of it in some circumstances was a perfectly good occupation. It was that goddamned flower shop across the way that was causing him so much discontent. It was far too... bright, and pastel, contrasted with the dark exterior of Logan's tattoo parlor. 

It also wasn't helping that Logan had a massive crush on one of the employees of said flower shop.

Logan sighed and went back to sketching out something he was planning on adding to the back of his hand, a sort of advanced Fibonacci spiral. He'd pay 20 dollars for the ink when he did it. He wasn't going to lie and say that he thought anything was going to happen between the boy with the light purple hair across the way, because people tended to be... intimidated, by Logan. He was covered in tattoos from his chest to his ankles, and yet still wore polo shirts and ties to his tattoo shop. The boy across the way probably wasn't even gay. Logan's talents lay in design and maneuvering the pen on skin. He was also adept at astrophysics and other forms of math and science. His baking skills, since baking was all science anyways, were also quite refined. Notice nowhere in that list of talents does it include flirting. He was indeed, 'relentlessly gay', as his best friend Roman once put it, so he was indeed very much attracted to men and the like, and this employee with the purple hair was a very attractive man. He was a bit pale, with pierced ears and a purple choker. He was also rather tall, in contrast to Logan. Logan did not know his name. Someday, he would find out, but that day was not today. He heard the bell ring and glanced up. "Hello? One second, I'll be right there." Sundays were usually slow days, even acclaimed tattoo artists need a break sometimes. Logan walked out front, greeted by the very face he was just fantasizing about. "Hi. I heard you were a good tattoo artist?" the boy asked, and Logan flushed. Normally the praise rolled right past him, but flower shop boy wasn't yet another customer. "I am one of the best, in fact," Logan responded, noticing the boy was clutching something behind his back. "Would you like a tattoo?" He nodded. "Sorry, I just kind of decided on a whim to come here, I work across the way." Logan had to restrain himself from saying 'I know'. "Oh, at the flower shop?" A second nod. "And, I, uh, I brought these for you. Because I thought - I thought your shop might need some flowers. Uh, these are... this one is a jonquil, the white ones are really pretty, these are gardenias, these are, um, white camellias, gloxinia, and a little bit of mistletoe." He blushed. "But only because it looked nice!" Logan stared at him. "Right," he said, graciously taking the flowers. "What's your name?" "Virgil. Uh, Virgil Marron. Yeah." Virgil smiled sheepishly, scratching at the back of his head. "So... tattoo?" Virgil. It suited the young man, with his pastel purple hair and choker and gorgeous eyes. God, Logan was so gay. "Indeed. My name is Logan Dalton. I'll help you back here. Did you have a design in mind?" "I do! Uh, my boss actually designed it for me - well, my boss is also my best friend, since he owns the shop - and here, I have the picture." He shoved a slightly crumpled piece of paper towards Logan. Logan studied the drawing, noticing intertwined flowers. "What do these mean, if you don't mind me asking?" He blushed even harder (if that was possible). "Uh, well, that's a hyacinth, he knows that Apollo is my favorite and I always thought the story of the hyacinth was a sad but cool one, and uh, this is an alstroemeria. It's often called the flower of friendship. And he's uh, he's really big on friendship," Virgil said, smiling sheepishly. Logan returned the smile, leading Virgil to the back. They chatted a bit during the parts where Virgil wasn't biting his lip or screaming in pain, and then Logan gave him the instructions on how to care for it and bid him good day. It was an interesting first interaction, especially when at the very end as Virgil was leaving he turned around and said, "You may wanna look up what those flowers mean," then winked and turned bright red as he walked out. Logan rolled his eyes, then flipped the sign to closed - they finished at 2 on Sundays. He dug his laptop out of his bag and looked up each of the flowers one by one, his heart beating steadily faster with each definition. White camellias, 'you're adorable'. Jonquil, 'love me'. Gardenias, 'you're lovely'. Mistletoe, 'kiss me'. Gloxinia... "Love at first sight," he mumbled. "Love..." Virgil, the boy across the way, was in love with him. The boy across the way loved him back. Logan covered his mouth so as not to yell out in some sort of romance-induced glee, but he had to find some way to contact this young man so lovely as he was. Luckliy for him, he knew where Virgil worked. On his lunch break on Monday, Logan walked across the street to the flower shop and opened the door, leaning against the doorway until Virgil noticed him. Virgil went pink immediately, stuttering out a "hi, Logan!" before Logan made his way across the empty shop, leaning across the counter to cup Virgil's face in his hands and kiss him softly, leaving the taller boy to melt into the kiss. Virgil smiled, though both boys were rather breathless, as they broke apart. "I take it you googled the meanings?" "Oh, everyone is aware of the meaning of mistletoe," Logan teased. "But yes, Google did, in fact, inspire that, er, idea." He blushed. "God, you drive me crazy, Logan. Do you want my number?" Logan nodded, letting Virgil punch the number into his phone. "I'll text you?" "Don't wait too long," he replied. epilogue Logan adjusted his collar, ignoring the small tattoo of a gloxinia poking out from under his shirt collar. Virgil didn't care much anyways - it was their special flower. Two years to the day, Logan had decided that he needed to take Virgil on a special date. First to dinner, then to a show of his choice, then a romantic walk - as his best friend Roman and his husband Patton had advised - through the park, where Logan would have yet another surprise waiting for Virgil. He rubbed at the gloxinia. Love at first sight. Amazing, wasn't it?

#analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #cursing #tattoo parlor/flower shop

[vincent-frankenstein]

Warmth

Summary: Remy is snowed in at Emile's house. But Emile has pumpkin cookies and hot cocoa (and a smile that makes Remy's heart sing). Only good things can come from this.

Pairing: REMILE , v fluffy

Warnings: you might get cavities from reading???

YO YALL IT'S @aliferous-ly's BIRTHDAY TODAY GO WISH HER A HAP BORTH BC SHE'S AMAZING AND SHE DESERVES IT anYGAY i wrote u some remile b!!!!!!!!! i hope u like it ILYSM

ALSO tagging @joygaytrash my Remile Bud™

There was a storm brewing outside.

Remy watched through breath-fogged glass as snow swirled and flurried just outside, buffeted by the gentle prelude to the powerful wind he knew was coming. He tapped his fingers against the windowsill, his eyes searching the darkness in the quiet backyard. The old sofa creaked and groaned beneath his weight as he shifted on his knees, resting his head on his arms.

The TV crackled behind him, the kind-faced weatherman detailing the dangers the storm would pose. It wouldn’t be long now before it hit the old house, and when that happened, there’d be no leaving. Remy should have gone home long ago.

But — he thought, as the front door opened and a gust of cold air blustered into the room, as a golden retriever bounded inside, shaking snowflakes from his fur — he couldn’t find it in him to leave just yet.

Emile stood in the front hall, stomping snow from his boots and unwrapping a pink scarf from around his face. Aang, his dog, paid no mind to the snow he was tracking into the house as he barrelled towards Remy.

“You’d think he’d never seen snow before, he’s so excited,” Emile said fondly, his nose and cheeks flushed red from the cold. Pieces of hair stuck out from beneath his knitted hat, speckled white with snow. Remy twisted just in time to catch Aang as he leaped onto the couch, falling back beneath his weight.

“Can’t really blame him, hun,” Remy said, craning his face away from Aang’s tongue. His eyes landed on Emile as he shook off his coat, and a smile grew on his face. “It’s a gorgeous sight,” he said with a wink.

He wasn’t talking about the snow.

“Mmhmm!” Emile hummed, pulling off his hat and shaking snow from his curly hair. “Very unsafe to drive in, though, which begs the question: how come you’re still here?”

“Aw, yall aren’t happy to see me?” Remy teased.

“Of course I am!” Emile protested. “And from the look of it, Aang is too.”

At the mention of his name, Aang perked up, ears flopping as he looked at Emile. Remy chuckled, scratching him behind the ears.

“I’m just a lil’ worried,” Emile continued, smiling fondly at the sight before him. “You can’t exactly drive in this kind of weather. How’re you going to get home?”

“Gurl, don’t worry your pretty little head. I’ll be just gucci.” With a groan, Remy pushed Aang from his lap. “Just wanted to see you one more time before I left,” he added with a cheeky wink.

Emile rolled his eyes, light pink dusting his cheeks. That was what Remy loved about their friendship: he could flirt as much as he wanted, and it wouldn’t change a thing. “You’re not driving in that, Rem. It’s almost here.”

“Aw, babe, you care about me?” Remy placed a hand over his heart, grinning. “Mmmaybe I could crash here, if you’re gucci with that?” He tilted his head just a bit to one side, offering the best puppy-dog eyes he could muster.

Emile shook his head, chuckling. Snowflakes drifted from his hair. “Well, I’m not about to make you leave,” he said. “Besides, you know I can’t say no to your puppy-dog eyes.”

“‘Course you can’t, girl! These beauties work on Virge. They worked on Lolo, the most serious thot in the world.” Remy quirked an eyebrow, pride sparkling in his eyes. “I’m the most adorable ho on this planet, babe.”

“Sorry, Aang’s got you beat there.” Emile smiled cheekily. “Don’t you, sweetie? Yes you do, you do!” He crouched over and patted his lap and Aang jumped to attention, bounding across the floor.

Remy fell back onto the couch, letting out an overdramatic sigh of defeat. “Defeated by my bestie. This is so not cash money.”

“Sorry, Rem!” Emile said, grinning adorably. Remy rolled his eyes, ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“Friendship ended with Emmy and Aang, now loneliness is my only friend.” He shifted on the couch to lie on his back. “And coffee. Coffee is my friend. You got any, girl?”

“No coffee after eight PM, Remy,” Emile said sternly. “You won’t be able to sleep!”

“Hun, you know I can’t catch a wink either way. Gimme the good stuff.” He fixed Emile with a smirk. “Got any pumpkin spiced seasonal depression?”

“Remy, no,” Emile sighed.

“Remy, yes,” Remy replied enthusiastically. He reached out towards Emile, offering his puppy-dog eyes at double strength. “Please?”

“It’s late, pumpkin,” Emile said gently, turning away from the puppy-dog eyes, a feat few had ever accomplished. “I can, however, offer some hot cocoa, if you’re interested?” He drew a box of cocoa mix from the cabinet and turned, winking.

Damn. He knew Remy’s weaknesses too well. Remy couldn’t hide the way his face lit up at the prospect — but who could blame him? Emile made the best hot cocoa in the entire world, even when it was just the cheap box stuff. Emile, satisfied, set the box on the counter and slid on his socks towards the fridge.

“And!” He pulled something from the fridge, grinning. “I’ve been saving these babies. Ta-da!” he exclaimed, holding out the box of pumpkin cookie-dough like it was some magnificent treasure. Remy’s face bloomed with warmth as Emile smiled, his eyes sparkling.

Emile pushed his soft hair away from his face and set the box on the counter and Remy pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the way his heart fluttered in his chest. The way his heartbeat stuttered, you’d think he’d just drank ten coffees all at once.

“Mmm,” he hummed, setting his forearms against the countertop and leaning across. “Looks delicious.”

“It will be!” Emile said, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “What better snack is there on a blizzardy night than cookies and cocoa?”

“I dunno, gurl, you?” Remy suggested, waggling his eyebrows playfully. Emile choked, shoving Remy away as his face flushed red. “I’m joking, I’m joking!” Remy said, voice shaking with giggles as he held up his hands in surrender. “It sounds delish, hun.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Emile said, shaking his head. Remy was pleased to note the amusement sparkling in his eyes. He winked.

“You bet your ass, gurl,” he boasted, setting a hand on his hip and puffing out his chest proudly. Emile rolled his eyes, pushing up his sleeves.

“Keep up that sass and you’re not getting any cookies,” he said, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. His tongue stuck out as he read the instructions; Remy, torn between keeping his reputation and collapsing of cute-overdose, let out an overdramatic gasp that could have rivaled Roman.

“But —” He gestured wildly at himself. “I’m legit made of concentrated sass. Five feet three inches of pure sass. There’s no stoppin’ this, hunty.”

“Ah, what a shame.” Emile turned away, cradling the box of dough like a child. “I guess I’ll just have to eat all the cookies.”

“You wouldn’t,” Remy dared, eyes narrowing as he leaned over the counter.

“Try me, bi…” Emile trailed off, refusing to swear. Remy snorted, rolling his eyes fondly as he made his way into the kitchen.

Together, they unboxed the dough and rolled it out. With a practiced hand — and to Remy’s great Halloween-loving chagrin — Emile cut gingerbread-man shapes from the slab of orange-brown dough. As the weather grew colder and the oven grew warmer, Emile danced through the kitchen to the tune of the Christmas-music station he’d turned on the tv, brandishing a tube of orange frosting like a microphone.

Remy hopped onto the kitchen counter and watched him dance. Shifting, he squinted through the window, watching the mad flurry of snow outside. He drew one leg up onto the counter and let the other dangle, rubbing away the orange frosting Emile had dabbed onto his nose.

“You’re like a cat,” Emile said, peering at him. Remy raised an eyebrow.

“Explain.”

“Likes to sit on my counter.” Emile strode to the oven, leaning over to peer at the cookies through the tinted oven window. “Looking good!” he said happily as he straightened up.

“Thanks, gurl, I try,” Remy joked, throwing a flirtatious wink Emile’s way.

“You certainly do,” Emile said with a snort, shoving Remy’s leg out of the way to rest his hands on the counter and lean towards the window. Remy’s heart jumped into his throat as the soft scent of Emile’s shampoo filled his nose. His pink curls were close enough to touch — and god did Remy want to touch them.

“It sure is blowing out there.” Emile gazed at the snow, eyes sparkling. “It’s so pretty,” he said, his voice whisper-soft. Remy was sure it was — but he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes from the sight before him.

“It sure is,” he whispered, all traces of sass or bravado wiped from his voice. His gaze traced the gentle curve of Emile’s lips. At his words, Emile turned, shifting to gaze at Remy rather than the blizzard outside. A moment passed in silent stasis.

Remy was drowning in Emile’s gaze.

“Rem?” Emile breathed. Remy stared, denial flashing through his mind between bouts of gay screaming — and he knew what he wanted to do, but he knew he couldn’t do it, because they were just friends, and no amount of flirting would change that —

Emile licked his lips. Remy’s heart skipped several beats.

Fuck it, he thought, and the two leaned together as if drawn by magnetism, their lips locking in an explosion of warmth. Remy’s heart soared as Emile deepened the kiss, his hands moving to cup the back of his head as Emile’s arms rested around his neck.

Emile tasted like chocolate and sunshine; Remy was surprised the blizzard hadn’t halted in the face of his warmth. His fingers tangled in Emile’s soft pink curls as his lungs forgot how to work, as Emile stole his breath right from him.

And all too soon, they pulled apart, and Remy fell from cloud nine back into the little kitchen. The blizzard raged outside, the cookies still baked in their oven, the Christmas music crooned from the tv. Everything was normal.

Everything had changed forever.

He gaped, face bright red, and Emile giggled. “I never thought I’d see the day when the great Remy Somnus is stricken speechless,” he said, voice ever-so-gentle.

The oven beeped insistently, and Emile drew away. Remy fell back against the cold window, his fingers brushing his lips in shock. He watched as Emile pulled the tray of cookies from the oven, eyes wide, his heart bursting with fondness.

“Gurl,” he said finally, his voice a quiet whoosh of air. “You are a good kisser.”

“Well, I try,” Emile said. When he turned around, a plate of cookies in hand, Remy was pleased to see the soft red blush spread across his face. “You want a taste, Rem?”

“You know I do, babe,” Remy said, a smile growing on his face as he hopped down from the counter. He pushed aside the plate and stood on his tiptoes, pulling Emile down to connect their lips once more.

#OLLIE ILY I HOPE U LIKE THE REMILE #AAAAAA HAVE A HAP BORTH U AMAZING PERSON #remile #sanders sides #remy sanders #emile picani #my fic