#i love my little disaster tiny thomas

[shingekinomyfeelings]

what you really are // 2nd installment

Reiner finds that his first sexual encounter with a girl he truly cares for brings up a lot of memories and conflicted emotions. Loving a Devil is wrong, right?

warnings: none yet; explicit sex in later installments. characters are cadets here, but aged up to 19. honestly minors dni I'm so tired of y'all reading my porn just go finger paint or something

notes: listen, I've recently learned that Reiner being a tsundere man-baby is very, very funny to me

“They’re not our friends. They’re Eldian devils. I’m just gaining their trust for our advantage.”

Reiner had almost believed himself when he’d said those words to Annie, time and again. It’s easier to pretend he really means it when he’s talking about Eren, or Connie, or Sasha. He can pretend his jovial big brother routine is a mask. He can pretend he doesn’t really care about how much they look up to him, and that the sense of camaraderie is just a facade, most of the time...

But then she’d wiggled into his line of perception, somehow, little by little. Catching one another’s eyes now and then had turned into exchanging smiles, and smiles turned into shared observations, and quiet jokes, and tiny, happy waves upon seeing each other from across the mess hall. And then a feeling had appeared that really troubled him.

At first he had told himself that it wasn’t really happening: pretending that his growing curiosity about her was his merely gathering intelligence; that she was a useful pawn, or a game he was playing; that it didn’t really matter to him when he saw her physically and emotionally exhausted; that the strange, flipping feeling in his stomach the first time she’d hugged him was disgust.

When he realized he couldn’t convince himself, he tried to convince Annie and Bertholdt.

“It’s so troublesome the way she follows me around.”

“She really has a thing for me. Looks like I’ll have to play along, huh?”

“It’s kind of funny that she thinks this is real, isn’t it? It’s a little pitiful when she leans against me, I almost feel sorry for her.”

Gradually, as months passed, his attempts grew in some sort of petty desperation.

“I’ve spent so much time with her, I’ll be pissed off if nothing useful comes out of it.”

“Did you hear her joking around today? I had a hard time pretending to laugh.”

“She’s not as cute as Thomas always thinks she is.”

“She hugged me again and it almost made my skin crawl. Eldian devils really are totally different from other humans.”

“Sounds like you’ll really be relieved when she’s eaten alive on her first expedition outside the walls,” Annie had finally said one night, her voice caustic and bored. “Maybe you’ll even get to see it. But, if she survives and you’re disappointed, I can crush her in one hand for you. Touching her won’t make my skin crawl.”

Her impassive gaze when Reiner turned to her with a defensive fury only made him even angrier, and he’d stomped off into the night, aiming a splintering kick at the fence post Annie had been leaning against.

Still, he hasn’t complained to them about the girl since then.

When outright denial had failed him, Reiner had tried to simply will the girl out of his life, which had been an unmitigated disaster, because after nearly two weeks of him avoiding her gaze, excusing himself when he saw her approach, and even once or twice making a point to talk over her as if by mistake when she spoke, she went and turned it right back on him.

During training one afternoon, Annie had thrown her, far harder than she needed to. Whether it was deliberately to provoke him or out of simple meanness, Reiner wasn’t sure. She’d rolled to her feet and shaken herself off, looking at Annie with wonder.

“Can you teach me how to do that?”

Maybe neither one of them saw the way Reiner had started towards her to check on her, stopping himself short after three paces, nor the way Reiner’s face fell when he greeted her with concern after training, only to have her breeze by him as she talked to Annie as if he weren’t there.

It seemed less likely that she didn’t see him when he laughed a little too loudly at a joke she made in passing during dinner the following night at the mess hall, and he knew she saw him when he tried very hard to act casual two days later as he stepped out of a corridor at just the right moment for her to nearly collide with him, but even then she had just blinked as if he were merely a door flung open in her path, and sidestepped to walk towards Connie and Sasha with a cheerful wave.

After four days of this, he had waited to catch her leaving one of Hanji’s lectures and followed her down the hallway, while she acted like there wasn’t a huge guy trailing behind her like a dog with its tail tucked.

“Ah- listen, I just-- if I’ve done something to offend you, I--” The words had died on his lips as she turned to him in an instant, face flushed with anger, and then she’d layed into him like he was a training dummy, except that instead of with blades, she proceeded to eviscerate him verbally right there in the hallway. If he’d looked like a dog with its tail tucked beforehand, he was sure he’d looked like something a dog had chewed to pieces by the time she’d finished.

Well, maybe it wasn’t a completely unmitigated disaster, he figured later, because in that moment, acceptance of the situation had finally hit him like a brick, and he’d apologized, and stammered, and said a few things that barely made sense, and finally confessed his feelings with an utter lack of grace in the middle of the hall.

She’d looked at him with an uncomfortable stare, and then told him to get bent and walked away.

A day or two later, though, as he’d wallowed in the kind of dejected, confused misery that can only be brought on by acting like a jackass in front of one’s love interest, she’d met his gaze and greeted him tersely in passing. And then, much like before, small things like that turned into bigger things, and one day she’d kocked him to the ground during training with a technique he’d seen Annie use a thousand times, and while he was breathless in the dirt, she’d confessed her feelings, too – albiet with a degree of raw annoyance in her voice instead of an apology.

“I really wanted to tell you, right around the time you started being a dick, you know.”

“I uh... yeah, I know. I’m so sorry...” His meek voice and utterly abashed expression had made her laugh after a moment, and she’d offered her hand to help him to his feet.

“I’m not still mad about that,” she tells him with a lopsided grin, amused when he apologizes for it yet again. “That was months ago. It’s kind of funny now.”

“Uhh, glad you think so? It wasn’t one of my better moments.”

“I know, you were being so fucking stupid. But, it made me realize you weren’t as perfect as everyone thinks you are.” She laughs when he fixes her with a deep pout. “I mean that in a good way, quit making that face. You always seemed so out of reach, like someone who could only really be matched up with somebody... ideal. Like the couples you see in picture books.”

He watches her say this with what he thinks is a cool, interested expression, but his eyes are clearly asking what the hell that means. She gives a little huff of what might be amusement or mild exasperation.

“I just didn’t think you’d really be interested in someone who’s...” She trails off, suddenly unsure how she wants to finish that sentence. Reiner doesn’t wait for her to decide, though, ruffling her hair over her face with his hand, pulling her close and pressing his lips to her temple. He doesn’t say anything, just sighs very, very softly against her, and she lets him stay that way for a moment before pushing her hair out of her face and lifting a hand to gently brush the backs of her fingers along his cheekbone.

“I was kind of relieved to see you really are just a regular, flawed person like the rest of us are.”

It makes his heart flutter a bit, but for a reason he can’t quite pinpoint, it makes him sad, too...

#reiner #reiner braun #reiner x reader #reiner braun x reader #cadet Reiner! #he's so goddamn dumb I love him so much

[isleofair]

Hero Stats from the Museum of Tiger & Bunny 2

The T&B2 museum that's currently open in Japan has physical versions of all the in-universe hero cards (both the Single and Buddy cards). We'd previously seen Keith and Nathan's cards and stats in the show (and most of Kotetsu and Barnaby's), but now we have them all! @kazuko_01 on Twitter took some lovely pictures of them and has very kindly given me permission to use them for this post. どうもありがとうございました! 💙

I'll put all the stats and a some analysis of them under a cut, because the post will get quite long.

Every individual hero card has scores out of 6 for Experience, Speed, Power, Intelligence, and Spirit, plus a special stat that is unique to each hero and is always maxed out. The scores are:

Wild Tiger: Experience 6, Speed 3, Power 5, Intelligence 3, Spirit 5, Passion 6 Barnaby Brooks Jr.: Experience 4, Speed 6, Power 5, Intelligence 6, Spirit 5, Cool 6 Blue Rose: Experience 4, Speed 4, Power 3, Intelligence 4, Spirit 5, Singer 6 Golden Ryan: Experience 5, Speed 4, Power 5, Intelligence 4, Spirit 4, Gravity 6 Fire Emblem: Experience 5, Speed 4, Power 5, Intelligence 5, Spirit 5, Love 6 Sky High: Experience 5, Speed 6, Power 4, Intelligence 4, Spirit 6, Loyalty 6 Origami Cyclone: Experience 4, Speed 5, Power 4, Intelligence 4, Spirit 5, Traditional 6 Rock Bison: Experience 5, Speed 2, Power 6, Intelligence 3, Spirit 5, Pure 6 Dragon Kid: Experience 4, Speed 6, Power 4, Intelligence 4, Spirit 5, Healthy 6 Magical Cat: Experience 2, Speed 4, Power 3, Intelligence 4, Spirit 4, Cute 6 Mr. Black: Experience 2, Speed 3, Power 4, Intelligence 3, Spirit 4, Honest 6 He Is Thomas: Experience 2, Speed 6, Power 5, Intelligence 6, Spirit 5, Smart 6

Kotetsu, the veteran hero, is the only one with max Experience (6); Ryan, Nathan, Keith and Antonio have 5 (Ryan evidently worked a fair bit overseas before coming to Stern Bild). The new kids (on the block) all have 2, which might mean it's the minimum possible score, or that the cards were updated after the start of the season; beating Fugan and Mugan, for example, should certainly count as experience! And Bunny has the same score as Karina, Ivan and Pao-Lin, despite having become a hero at least one season after them and having taken a year off, so this is most likely not strictly how much time they've spent on the job (Bunny was the one who beat Jake, so they might have counted that as extra experience, for example).

Bunny, Keith, Pao-Lin and Thomas all have max Speed, and the lowest stat of any card except for the kids' Experience is here, for Antonio (2). Evidently this counts something other than just the top speed a hero can reach, because Kotetsu only has a 4 even though he also has Hundred Power (although the way he runs might have something to do with it 🤣), and I don't see how Thomas could move as fast as Keith does when he flies, or even as fast as Pao-Lin, Queen of the Quick Flips. Maybe it's just how fast they can run without using their power (or a combination of that and their reflexes)?

The only hero with max Power is... Antonio! This stat honestly seems to just indicate everyone's physical strength, again without accounting for their power, since Kotetsu and Bunny aren't first and the lowest score goes to Karina and Lara. (This might imply that tiny Pao-Lin can deadlift as much as Keith, King of Training, which I adore.)

The heroes with max Intelligence are Bunny and Thomas (who also has Smart as his unique stat, so that's evidently his thing). The only runner-up at 5 is my clever girl Nathan 💖; everyone else is at 4 (yes, Keith too! He's not dumb, he's just... an airhead 😅), except for Kotetsu, Antonio and Subaru, who have a 3. Oh, you disaster boys. 😅

Perhaps predictably, only Keith reaches a perfect score in Spirit, which seems to indicate conviction. Everyone else has a 5... except for Ryan, Lara and Subaru, whom I want to hug while I tell them they can believe in themselves and in being heroes a little bit more. 🥺

As for the unique stats... excuse me while I melt even more at FireSky's being Love and Loyalty! Because yes, we already new, but in the context of the others they're just so... UGH. My heart. They're literally a relationship. 🥺❤️💜

Kotetsu and Bunny's Passion and Cool are very interesting because they illustrate their contrasting approaches and personalities perfectly, but they work so well as Buddies! 💛

And of course, very honorable mention for Antonio's being freaking Pure. Bless him. 🥹 Everyone give the man a hug right now.

(I want to know what poor Ryan did to the person who wrote the cards, though. Like... seriously? Just Gravity? At least I know Thomas's just says Smart because he doesn't really give you anything else you can use, lol.)

If you sum up all the stats you get the following individual rankings:

1st: Barnaby Brooks Jr. (32) 2nd: Sky High (31) 3rd (tied): Fire Emblem and He Is Thomas (30) 5th: Dragon Kid (29) 6th (tied): Wild Tiger, Golden Ryan, Origami Cyclone (28) 9th: Rock Bison (27) 10th: Blue Rose (26) 11th: Magical Cat (23) 12th: Mr. Black (22)

The Buddy cards show the individual stats again, and then a sum of each score for the pair as a whole. The unique stats for each hero are added together here to make a Buddy stat, which is, therefore, also always maxed out... and to be honest I personally have qualms with that (Subaru and Thomas, for example, certainly don't work together as well as the others), but I that's what we get. 😅 I suppose it could represent how well their personal characteristics go together, potentially.

The stats for the Buddy pairs are:

Tiger & Barnaby: Experience 10, Speed 9, Power 10, Intelligence 9, Spirit 10, Buddy 12

BlueGolden: Experience 9, Speed 8, Power 8, Intelligence 8, Spirit 9, Buddy 12

FireSky: Experience 10, Speed 10, Power 9, Intelligence 9, Spirit 11, Buddy 12

OrigamiRock: Experience 9, Speed 7, Power 10, Intelligence 7, Spirit 10, Buddy 12

KidCat: Experience 6, Speed 10, Power 7, Intelligence 8, Spirit 9, Buddy 12

Mr. Black: Experience 4, Speed 9, Power 9, Intelligence 9, Spirit 9, Buddy 12

The highest combined non-Buddy stat is FireSky's Spirit at 11 (🥺🥹💕); the lowest is Mr. Black's Experience at 4 (fair).

Adding everything together gives us these rankings for the Buddy pairs:

1st: FireSky (61) (❤️💜) 2nd: Tiger & Barnaby (60) 3rd: OrigamiRock (55) 4th: BlueGolden (54) 5th (tied): KidCat and Mr. Black (52)

In conclusion: I need a copy of that FireSky card like I need air. 🥺

#tiger & bunny #Hero stats #Hero cards #please forgive my obvious FireSky bias 🙏 #kotetsu t. kaburagi #barnaby brooks jr. #karina lyle #ryan goldsmith #nathan seymour #keith goodman #ivan karelin #antonio lopez #pao-lin huang #lara tchaikoskaya #subaru sengoku #thomas taurus #The Museum of Tiger & Bunny 2

[dustedmagazine]

Learning to go out again:  Jennifer Kelly’s 2022 in review

Meg Baird plays Chicago

Meg Baird calls it “people practice,” the ordinary skills that we require to interact successfully with other human beings. Small talk, the appropriate amount of eye contact, a certain minimal degree of comfort in crowds: these are all things that eroded in the pandemic.  And going even further, I’d add we ran short of “leaving your living room practice,” the difficult process of readjusting to unpredictable environments again. I got really bad at that in 2020 and 2021.

So, while 2022 was, in many ways, a joyous return to the norm, it was also deeply uncomfortable. Again and again, I’d show up far too early to shows and avoid talking to strangers.  I’d mistake soundchecks for music. I’d get bands mixed up and think the opener was the headliner or at least the second band. It was like I’d never been to a show in my life.  But gradually, over a year that was really genuinely rich in opportunities to see live music, I started to remember why I loved it — and how to be marginally less annoying to everyone around me. And I got to see some wonderful performances.

There was James Xerxes Fussell’s intricately re-arranged Americana on the eve of a blizzard in January and Jaimie Branch’s mesmerizing Anteloper just a month or so before she died. Our local festival, Thing in the Spring, once again delivered incredible abundance with Lee Ranaldo, Myriam Gendron, Jeff Parker, Tashji Dorji and others all taking turns on the stage. I experienced the twilight magic of Bill MacKay and Nathan Bowles on a back porch in Northampton as the bats darted overhead, as well as the viscera-stirring low tones of Sarah Davachi at a three-story-tall pipe organ at Epsilon Spires in Brattleboro. I got to see one of my very favorite bands, Oneida, at a club in Greenfield, MA, late in the year. I saw my friend Eric Gagne’s band Footings expand Bonny Prince Billy’s songs into epic, twanging bravado. Yo La Tengo came to my tiny little town and tore the place down.  In Chicago for my birthday weekend, I got a chance to hear Meg Baird and Chris Forsyth at a whiskey distillery on the Chicago River. It was a great year. I’m so glad I was there for it.  

It was also an exceptional year for recorded music as, honestly, it always is. Here are the records I enjoyed the most in 2022, but don’t pay too much attention to the numbers. The order could change tomorrow, and I may very well discover more favorites in other people’s lists.  (We’ll have a Slept On feature at some point early in 2023.) I’ve written a little bit about the top ten, but you can find longer reviews of most of them in the Dusted archives. I’ve linked these where available.

1. Winged Wheel—No Island (12XU): An underground-all-star remote collaboration melds the hard punk jangle of Rider/Horse’s Cory Plump, the unyielding percussion of Fred Thomas, the radiant guitar textures of Matthew J. Rolin and the ethereal vocal atmospheres of Matchess’ Whitney Johnson in a driving, enveloping otherworld. Just gorgeous.  

2. Oneida—Success (Joyful Noise): The best band of the aughts has dabbled in all manner of droning, experimental forms in recent years, but with Success, they return to basics.  “Beat Me to the Punch” and “I Wanna Hold Your Electric Hand” are gleeful bangers.  “Paralyzed” is a keyboard pulsing, beat-rattling psychedelic dreamworld. Success is Oneida’s best album since Secret Wars and maybe ever. (I wrote the one-sheet for Success, but I would feel this way regardless.)

3. Cate Le Bon—Pompeii (Drag City): Eerie, madcap Pompeii refracts pandemic alienation through the lens of ancient disaster, floating narcotic imagery atop herky-jerk rhythms.  Abstract and experimental, but also sublimely pop, Pompeii haunts and charms in equal measure.  

4. Destroyer—Labyrinthitis (Merge):  Dan Bejar is always interesting, but the COVID lockdown seems to have shaken him loose a bit. Labyrinthitis is typically arch, elliptical and elegant, but also a bit unhinged. Hear it in the extended rap that closes “June” or in the manic disco beat of “Suffer” or oblique but perfect wordplay in “Tinoretto, It’s for You.”  

5. Horsegirl—Versions of Modern Performance (Matador): Horsegirl elicits a lysergic roar that’s loud but somehow serene, urgent but chilled. The trio out of Chicago were everywhere suddenly and all at once, as sometimes happens to bands, but on the strength of “World of Pots and Pans” and “Billy” I suspect they’ll stick around.  

6. Jake Xerxes Fussell—Good and Green Again (Paradise of Bachelors): An early favorite that refused to fade, Good and Green Again considers old-time music from a variety of angles, often incorporating more than one version of a traditional tune in a seamless way.  The music is lovely, made more exquisite still by James Elkington’s arrangements, which are subtle, right and unexpected.  

7. Lambchop—The Bible (Merge): Stark and lavish at the same time, The Bible catches Kurt Wagner at his morose and mesmerizing best. Surreal sonic textures—including orchestral flourishes and autotuned funk beats—wreathe his weathered baritone, as he traipses through ordinary landscapes turned strange and warped.  

8. The Weather Station—How Is It That I Should Look at the Stars (Fat Possum): Tamara Lindeman drew on Toronto’s vibrant jazz community to form her band for this sixth album as the Weather Station. The band improvised alongside here as it learned the songs. As a result, these songs have the usual pristine folk purity, but also a haze of late night sophistication in elegant runs of piano and pensive plucks of bass.  

9. The Reds, Pinks and Purples—Summer at Land’s End (Slumberland): Glenn Donaldson is pretty much the best at bittersweet jangle pop right now, and this wistful, graceful collection of songs about life’s dissatisfactions is every bit as good as last year’s Uncommon Weather. Plus it’s got a seven-plus minute improvised guitar piece right in the middle, what’s not to love?

10. Tha Retail Simps—Reverberant Scratch (Total Punk): Montreal’s Retail Simps make ferocious garage rock with a bit of soul in its tail feathers. “Hit and Run” sounds like a lost Sam and the Shams b-side and “End of Times – Hip Shaker” with having doing exactly that. If they ever remake Animal House, here’s the band. 

25 more albums I loved: 

Non Plus Temps—Desire Choir (Post-Present Medium)

Joan Shelley—The Spur (Important)

Mountain Goats—Bleed Out (Merge)

The Sadies—Colder Streams (Yep Roc)

Spiritualized—Everything Was Beautiful (Fat Possum)

Superchunk—Wild Loneliness (Merge)

Hammered Hulls—Careening (Dischord)

Kilynn Lunsford—Custodians of Human Succession (Ever/Never)

Oren Ambarchi/Johan Berthling/Andreas Werliin—Ghosted (Drag City)

Green/Blue—Paper Thin (Feel It)

E—Any Information (Silver Rocket)

Sick Thoughts—Heaven Is No Fun (Total Punk)

Pedro the Lion—Havasu (Polyvinyl)

Pan*American—The Patience Fader (Kranky)

Weak Signal—War & War (Colonel)

Frog Eyes—The Bees (Paper Bag)

Pinch Points—Process (Exploding in Sound)

LIFE—True North (The Liquid Label)

Mary Lattimore & Paul Sukeena—West Kensington (Three Lobed)

Wau Wau Collectif—Mariage (Sahel Sounds)

Vintage Crop—Kibitzer (Upset the Rhythm)

Anna Tivel—Outsiders (Mama Bird)

Chronophage—S-T (Post-Present Medium/Bruit Direct Disques)

Sélébéyone— Xaybu: The Unseen (Pi)

Zachary Cale—Skywriting (Org Music)

Jennifer Kelly

#dusted magazine #yearend 2022 #jennifer kelly #winged wheel #oneida #cate le bon #destroyer #horsegirl #jake xerxes fussell #lambchop #the weather station #the reds pinks and purples #tha retail simpls

[yourgaydads]

oh no!

#i love my little disaster tiny thomas #thomas hamilton #apologies to those awaiting chapter 3 of always be knolling #my drawing #queue you #tiny thomas

[slasherhaven]

Hey, my birthday is soon and so I thought, what would the slasher do on their S/O’s Birthday? What would they gift them? You probably know what I mean, I already say thank you^^💕💕

How the Slashers would celebrate their S/O’s Birthday: 

Thomas Hewitt

Luda May lets you take the day off. It’s your birthday, so you get to skip your chores for the day. Luda May will take care of them. Thankfully, that gives you more time to spend with Thomas since she becomes more lenient with him on your birthday as well.

He and Luda May bake a cake. The two of them surprise you with it. Thomas knows how to cook and bake basic things, Luda May had taught him, but there is no way she is missing making your birthday cake. So, they make it together. They’re both just so glad when you like it.

He probably makes your gift. He might find something in a victim’s belongings that he thinks you’ll particularly like, and he’ll hang on to it so that he can give it to you as a gift. But if he doesn’t come across anything that he considers worthy, he will make you something. He is pretty crafty after all.

Michael Myers 

You kinda think he’s going to forget. Birthdays don’t seem like a think that Michael would care too much about, and that’s not completely wrong. However, the two of you had been together for a while at this point and you had made an effort for his birthday, making him a cake and getting him a gift. So, he figures he should do something similar for you.

Probably steals a gift for you. He is trying. It’s not like he can walk into a shop and purchase something for you, so he will probably just steal something that he think’s you’ll like. It’s the thought that counts, right?

There will be a cake. Michael probably won’t make it, but you don’t really want to take that risk anyway. But he’ll assist you as you bake it. The cake is his favourite part of your birthday or his own, he has a bit of a sweet tooth.

Jason Voorhees

Plans a picnic date. He wanted to do something special and feels bad that whatever it is has to happen out in the middle of nowhere or in the abandoned camp. However, the picnic was a brilliant idea. He enjoyed it and the happy look on your face told him that he had done something good. It’s simple, it’s cute, it’s perfect.

Gets you flowers. As for a gift, he gets you a bunch of flowers, your favourites that grow in the woods. Jason isn’t as willing to pocket a past victim’s belongings and pass it off as a gift as some of the other slashers, but if he sees something that he knows you’ll like, he’ll take it for you.

Brahms Heelshire

It’s your day! He knows that pretty much every other day is his day, you’re always doing for him. So today he is going to do things for you! You shouldn’t have to do anything chore like on your birthday.

Tries to bake a cake. Brahms will do his best to bake you a cake on his own but you might end up stepping in and helping him out, but it’s a sweet gesture and he’s not completely hopeless so don’t worry too much. He just tends to make a mess.

Will get you whatever you want. The two of you obviously have access to his family’s money and Brahms will use it to get you something nice, of course having it delivered to the house. So, you will probably answer the door to a random delivery and have Brahms run over to you, snatching it from your hands and running off again as soon as you close the front door.

Bo Sinclair 

Does just spend the day with you. Bo isn’t too sure what to do for your birthday (and god forbid he lets you think that he actually cares). But he does actively spend the day with you, ignoring both of your responsibilities for the day.

Might actually take you into town. If he’s feeling extra nice, he might take you into the town they get their supplies from. Taking you for something to eat and maybe even buying you something before heading home. All in all, you have a good day and you can tell that Bo tried to make it a little special.

Vincent Sinclair

Just tries to spend the day with you. Vincent makes sure to work extra hard on the days leading up to your birthday so that he can spend the day with you, without giving Bo anything to complain about.

Gifts you little wax a sculpture. He puts a lot of thought and effort into your gift, crafting you a flawless little wax sculpture for you to cherish. It will likely be of your favourite animal or even a tiny replica of yourself.

Lester Sinclair 

Plans a day with you and Jonesy. Ambrose can be a lot to handle so Lester thinks that you’ll appreciate a lazy day with your two favourite Sinclairs. Him and Jonesy. And he was right, it’s a peaceful but fun day.

Get’s you something from town. He went into town a day or two prior to pick up a cake (which he was determined to hide from you, making him act awfully suspicious but you figured it was something to do with your birthday approaching). He also picked up something that he thought you would enjoy so that he could give you a gift, he had been saving up for it and everything.

Bubba Sawyer

Will make a cake but has to hide it from his brothers. He wants you to have a birthday cake but everyone in that house likes cake, snacks always go missing, having been stolen by someone. So Bubba makes sure that you’re the first person to have a slice of your cake.

Makes you a gift. He can’t really buy you anything but he thinks it mean more to make the gift anyway. And, of course, you adore any gift he gives you.

You might even get something from Nubbins or ChopTop. If the family has warmed up to you enough and you have befriended the two of them, Nubbins and ChopTop will wish you a happy birthday and maybe even get you a little gift each.

Billy Lenz

Extra affectionate (if that is possible). As soon as you wake up, Billy is wishing you a happy birthday with a hug and a kiss. He just wants to show you how much he loves and appreciates you on your birthday. 

Will attempt to bake. He certainly isn’t used to baking so you might have to help him out if you don’t want him making too much of a mess or burning the house down. But it ends up being a fun thing to do together.

Might gift you something that he found in the attic. Since he isn’t about to go shopping, he kinda gives up on giving you a gift. But if he founds something of particular interest hidden in the attic that he hadn’t noticed before, he decides to gift you that. He thinks you will like it and you appreciate the thoughtfulness.

Asa Emory (The Collector)

Will take you out for dinner. It’s a nice restaurant, your favourite if you have one. If not, he definitely already has one in mind that he knows you will like.

Asa is observant, he’ll get you something you want. If you’ve ever mentioned something that you liked or wanted, Asa will make sure that he gets it for you. If you have never mentioned anything or made a hint towards something, he will definitely get you something that you will like. He knows you very well.

(If you have more of a ‘favourite pet’ relationship) He is more lenient and affectionate with you. The whole day feels like a reward, doing what you want to do, receiving a gift, and getting all the attention and affection you could ask for.

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull) 

Will take you out for dinner, or whatever you want to do. Jesse takes you to a fancy restaurant that he loves (he will take you to your favourite place if you have one). He will also do whatever you want, if there’s somewhere you want to go, a show you want to see, anything, he’ll take you. 

Will spoil you with gifts. Anything you want or could want, Jesse provides. It doesn’t need to be your birthday for him to get you gifts, so he gets you even more when it is your birthday. He enjoys spoiling you so it’s no surprise.

Otis Driftwood

Mama Firefly tells Otis to do something special. She gives him a bit of a lecture about how he should make your birthday special, get you something nice or take you somewhere. Otis rolls his eyes and bats her away but he was already planning on doing something, he just hadn’t told anyone that. Can’t have anyone think he’s going soft. 

He takes you out so the two of you can spend the day together. Otis decides to take you out of the house for the day, just the two of you. While Baby is always excited to party, Otis is more open to doing something calmer if you’re not in the partying mood. Whatever you want to do, that’s what the two of you will end up doing, he’s feeling generous.

Just a small gift. Otis doesn't get you anything big or expensive but the fact that he is getting you a gift at all makes you smile, knowing he is one for sentimental things like gift giving.

Baby Firefly

The whole family remembers, Mama is most likely to make you cake. You’re family now so the whole family will remember your birthday and make sure to wish you a happy birthday. Plus everyone is happy to have an excuse for cake.

You have to celebrate! Baby is definitely going to be dragging you somewhere with alcohol and music to celebrate properly. It’s difficult to not have a good time when Baby is involved.

She has a gift for you, but it’s definitely stolen. Of course she got you a gift! And yes...it’s stolen, but what do you expect? Still, it’s the thought that counts and she makes sure that it’s something you’ll like.

Yautja (Predator)

You’ve explained to him how you celebrate birthdays. He wants to learn everything about humans and your culture differences, so when you mentioned your birthday was approaching, he asked how you would normally celebrate. And, of course, he is going to give it his best shot even though he doesn’t have too.

Tries to bake. A cake, that’s a tradition you mentioned right? He’ll find a recipe somewhere and give it his best shot. It’s not a disaster but it’s your kitchen so you ended up intervening and offering to help. He has waved you off, telling you that you shouldn’t help because it’s your birthday, but you convinced him to let you step in and do it together.

His gift is...unconventional. You never specified what the gift should be, so he lets some of his culture slip into the celebrations. The gift is most likely some sort of alien skull or bones, which he presents to you proudly. How can you turn them down when he looks so proud of himself?

#thomas hewitt x reader #michael myers x reader #jason voorhees x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #billy lenz x reader #asa emory x reader #the collector x reader #jesse cromeans x reader #chromeskull x reader #otis driftwood x reader #baby firefly x reader #yautja x reader #predator x reader #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slashers #slasher #My writing

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Mind of a Child

Prompt: Ok so to make for all the Roman Angst I've requested heres some minor angst/fluff. Again I apologise for all the Roman Angst I've been requesting. Prompt: Roman was a mess. You see there's something that happens to sides if they reach a breaking point that they can't handle. Logan was lucky he finally realized it was time to talk about his feelings and look after himself after the wedding but Roman didn't. So after he sinks out from that awful conversation he finds himself beginning to feel really dizzy and as if he's getting younger and smaller. The next morning when Patton and Janus go to find Roman and comfort him they don't expect to see a five year old curled up in an oversized prince costume terrified to death. So there's only one solution to show how much all the sides value and care for their little Prince, help him destress and look after himself. - meltheromanstan

Fluff and angst time, m'dudes

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues, but it all gets cuddled better

Pairings: found family ain't going anywhere

Word Count: 6047

He wants to go back to the way it was.

He just wants to go back.

He just wants to be loved again.

He wants to go back to the way it was.

Roman sinks out and lands hard in his room, bashing his knee against the wall as he crumples to the floor. His hair protests as he tangles his hands in the strands and yanks, trying to think. He lies on the ground, frantically breathing but his lungs won’t inflate properly and his nose starts to burn. He feels nauseous. Is he sick? He turns on his back and it goes away. Humming. You’re supposed to hum when you feel like this. He starts humming something, some parody song that’s stuck in his head. The twitching in his gullet starts to recede only to be replaced by dizziness. Why is he dizzy? He’s on the floor.

His hands flop limply out to the side as he turns back and forth, trying to make sure that he can breathe, that it won’t hurt, what’s happening to him?

A small voice that sounds like a demented version of Remus—a more demented version of Remus—whispers that he deserves this.

But Roman doesn’t know anything anymore and he’s so tired and he just wants things to go back to the way they were.

When there wasn’t so much to worry about aside from making sure Thomas was happy and that he could dream.

When all he had to think about was not hurting Thomas with his dreams and making them good dreams.

When heroes were good and villains were bad and that was it.

He just wants to go back.

He just wants to be loved again.

The lights in his room are too bright. It hurts to keep looking up. So he won’t. He closes his eyes and the dizziness abates, just slightly. He lies on the floor, the cool wood pressing into his back. He lets his head flop from one side to the other. It’s impossible to get comfortable. It’s so loud. It’s so much. He wants someone here with him. He just wants to be told it’s okay. But it isn’t okay. It hasn’t been okay for a very long time.

He wants it to be okay again.

————————

The Mindscape is quiet. Hardly anyone makes a noise as they move about the rooms, some still too on edge to start making peace, some too nervous about sparking another disaster, some too confused to try and navigate the minefield they’ve all found themselves in.

But everything has to start somewhere.

Patton and Janus are the only two on…pretty much alright terms when the morning comes. Virgil is locked in his room. Remus’s brand of chaos is nothing helpful right now. So the two of them take a deep breath and go try to find Roman.

Patton took far too long to put the words to it and Janus would never admit it, but when Roman isn’t around, or when he’s not talking, it’s much harder to cut through the monotony of silence. For better or worse, the prince is impossible to look away from, impossible to ignore. And yes, maybe that has to do in part with how Creativity and the Mindscape work together, not to mention the manifestation of the Sides, but Roman is Roman. And if they’re going to start making any progress on getting back on their feet and getting back to normal, they need to get Roman back.

Patton probably thought that Roman would be easy to apologize to. Not just because it’s worked in the past—although Janus would hiss if he said that wasn’t part of it—but because he knows he’s the one who messed up. Roman likes sincerity, Patton knows what things went wrong, he knows he’s at fault here, a lot, and it won’t be as easy as one apology and everything will be fixed, but it would be a good start.

Janus knows Roman. For better or worse, he knows Roman. Knows what buttons to push, knows when not to push them—or so he thought—and knows that maybe, just maybe, he might be able to do what Patton can’t. Cite the good of the others, the good of Thomas, possibly even the good of Roman if he’s that stubborn. Or he’s a convenient punching bag if Roman needs to lash out before he can start putting the pieces back together if it needs to come to that.

But that’s not what happens.

What happens is Patton knocks lightly on the door and asks if Roman would let them come in. There’s no response. Janus speaks up, says he knows Roman is in there, please, they do just want to talk. Patton sets his hand on the door, just to rest there, maybe coax Roman to come to open it, when it swings open.

Their mouths run dry as it opens fully to reveal Roman’s costume on the floor in a heap.

And no Roman.

Janus muffles a curse and turns in a swirl of black fabric as Patton rushes inside, dropping to his knees by the abandoned costume and searching frantically for any sign of Roman.

What he finds makes him gasp.

Janus whirls around as quickly as he’d turned away to see Patton there, kneeling on the ground next to a tiny child clutching Roman’s sash like a red blanket.

“H-hey, kiddo,” Patton says carefully, trying to regain his composure, “what are you doing here?”

The child shuffles. “It’s my room.”

“This is Roman’s room,” Patton says as Janus carefully closes the door.

The child nods, rubbing the sash across his chin. Patton’s brows furrow as he watches the child’s gaze dart to Janus and back, then to Patton’s hands on his knees. He looks back up at Patton and clutches the sash tighter.

“Do you know where Roman is, kiddo?” The child nods but doesn’t make eye contact. “Can you tell me where?”

The child nods again but doesn’t say anything. The tip of Janus’s tongue starts to tingle. His eyes widen and he starts to walk over, raising his hands when the child’s gaze snaps to him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, crouching down to make himself a little smaller, “I’m just coming over to you.”

The child stays very still as Janus crouches down beside Patton. Janus tilts his head back and forth as he considers the way the child clings to the sash, the way he seems to be somewhat engulfed in the remains of the costume, and the way he keeps looking fearfully between Janus and Patton.

“…Roman?”

Roman’s gaze turns to him and Janus could cry.

“Wait—Roman?” Patton gasps and his hands fly to cover his mouth. “Oh, kiddo, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Don’t overwhelm him,” Janus warns under his breath as they watch poor Roman flinch a little. Patton takes a deep breath and softens his voice.

“Hey, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you. We won’t hurt you, we promise.”

Roman’s grip on the sash doesn’t waver but his eyes lose a little bit of their frightful sheen. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Janus takes off his glove, ignoring Patton’s look and—perhaps—the fact that Roman might not remember what this means. “I promise too.”

Roman looks back and forth between them. “…okay.”

Patton smiles and lets out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness. He does have to restrain himself from reaching and pulling the cute little prince into his lap but Roman’s normally defined face is now all chubby cheeks and puppy dog eyes and—no. No.

“Are you okay, kiddo,” he asks instead, still careful to keep his voice soft, “are you hurt at all?”

Roman shakes his head, still clutching the sash.

“What about in here,” Janus asks, laying his hand on his head, then his chest, “or here?”

Before Roman can answer, however, his stomach growls loudly. Janus chuckles.

“That’s enough of an answer for me. Shall we get you something to eat, little prince?”

Roman shakes his head so hard he almost knocks himself over. “Not a prince!”

They both freeze.

Not…not a prince?

Roman is The Prince. He’s Princey. The Prince of Thomas’s Dreams.

“What do you mean, ‘not a prince,’ kiddo?”

“Not a prince,” Roman insists, staring at the ground, “couldn’t—I couldn’t be a prince so…I had to start over.”

Something tugs at a dark place in their chests. Patton glances at Janus. Janus shakes his head slowly.

“Okay, then, Roman,” he says instead, “but can we get you something to eat?”

Roman glances around at the mess of the costume around him. “Clothes?”

“I’m sure someone as creative as you can make as many clothes as you like,” Janus smiles, watching carefully to see Roman’s reaction.

Roman looks at Patton. “What do I make?”

Patton’s smile slips a bit. “Whatever you want, kiddo.”

Roman frowns. “But what do I make?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have to tell me.”

Oh. Oh, dear. Patton’s smile fades, replaced with a slowly growing awareness of what’s going on. “You don’t need my permission, kiddo,” he says firmly, leaning down a little so Roman’s eye level is the same as his, “you are allowed to make what you want to make. What makes you happy.”

“What is that?”

Patton is going to cry.

“Why don’t you make what you think would be the most comfortable,” Janus tries, shooting a glance at Patton and laying a hand on his arm, “maybe to go downstairs and get something to eat in?”

Roman thinks for a moment, then he rubs the sash against his cheek and a t-shirt and shorts appear. But they aren’t red. They’re just grey. Janus smiles and stands.

“There you go,” he says, “well done.”

And oh, if the way Roman’s head jerks up in a quick moment of shameless eagerness doesn’t make that smile a little more sincere. He holds out a hand to the little one and Roman takes it, standing slowly as they begin to lead him out of his room.

“What would you like to eat,” Patton asks as they get Roman sat down, “how hungry are you?”

“What can I have?”

“Well,” Patton says as he starts to open and close cabinets, “we’ve got pasta if you want a full dinner, we’ve got crackers, cereal, pretzels, fruit, quite a lot of options.”

“…can I have pretzels, please?”

“One bowl of pretzels coming right up!”

Janus sits next to him as Roman begins to eat the pretzels. Patton comes to join them, sitting a little further away as to not crowd the poor kiddo. He exchanges a look with Janus as Roman continues to eat.

Footsteps on the stairs.

Janus looks up just as Virgil and Logan come down into the living room, talking between themselves. They trail off as they notice Janus staring at them.

“Can we help you?” Then Virgil’s eyes land on Roman. “Holy—“

He slaps a hand over his mouth and glares at Janus. Janus raises an eyebrow and slowly lets him go.

“Rude.”

“But necessary,” Janus says, folding his hands and drawing himself up. Virgil gives him a strange look but refocuses on Roman.

“So…who’s the kid?”

“I believe,” Logan says softly, the way Roman hasn’t looked up at them once and instead continues to eat pretzels almost mechanically not escaping him, “this is Roman.”

At the mention of his name, Roman looks up slowly, meeting Logan’s gaze with more than enough trepidation to set Virgil’s fingers buzzing. Logan tilts his head and waves a little. Roman just stares at him.

“Hello, Roman,” Logan says, still in that very soft voice, “it’s good to see you.”

Roman waves back. Then he glances down at the bowl of pretzels and twists his hands together.

“Are you full, kiddo?” Patton takes the bowl when Roman nods. “Good. I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

Roman glances around, shifting a little in his grey t-shirt. “Can I go back to my room now?”

“Of course you can,” Janus says, “would you like one of us to come with you?”

Roman shakes his head quickly. A little too quickly. But he’s been given permission to leave so he scoots off the chair and all but scrambles up the stairs. Logan watches him go, concern written over his features. Virgil waits to hear the soft click of his door shutting before rounding on the others.

“Why the hell is Princey a child?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Patton sighs, stretching a little and rubbing his face, “Janus and I just went up to try and talk to him and found him like that.”

“So it didn’t happen after the wedding?”

They wince and Virgil pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I may not have been there, but I know what happened. And no,” he says, raising his voice a little when both Patton and Janus try to say something, “I’m not interested in your excuses. But if you’re gonna try and tell me you don’t think it’s related I will throw a chair at your head.”

Patton bows his head, twisting his hands together in his lap as shame and guilt color his face. “He…he said something.”

“What did he say?”

“That he couldn’t be a prince,” Janus finishes, looking at the table, “and that he had to start over.”

Fuck.

“A-and he felt like he needed my permission for…everything,” Patton continues, “and Virgil, he looked so scared.”

“Of course he did.”

They turn to look at Logan, still staring up the stairs with gentle concern on his features. Virgil pokes his arm when he doesn’t continue right away.

“Roman’s sudden de-aging is likely due to stress,” he explains, looking back at them, “and thus the initial mindset he had when he regained consciousness as a child was fear. Fear of not knowing what to do or of doing something wrong.”

Patton gulps. Virgil shoots him a soft look and he nods slowly. “I…we were going to talk to him. We…I have been putting pressure on Roman since…it’s been a long time.”

“I think we all have.” Virgil’s gaze darts to Janus who is still all drawn up and inspecting his glove. “And you can turn that off, please.”

Janus sighs and Logan has to blink at how much his character shifts. Janus tugs nervously on his glove and straightens his hat.

“Roman is incredibly fragile right now and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Keeping that off around him is probably a good start.”

“We will need to ask Roman how much he remembers.” Logan adjusts his tie. “What he does remember will dictate how we need to help him.”

“Praise and reassurance.”

Logan raises an eyebrow at Janus who shuffles under his gaze.

“Praise and reassurance,” he repeats, tugging on his glove again, “he…he likes having a sense of structure. To know he’s doing something right.”

The regretful undertone to the words tells them all exactly how he knows that.

“We cannot let him believe that we are only behaving this way toward him because we believe he needs to be fixed,” Logan says firmly, “because that isn’t true. If this is a result of Roman feeling…unloved, then we must show him that he is.”

The word ‘unloved’ gets stuck in his throat and he clears it. Around him, the others are showing similar signs of discomfort.

Roman…their Roman. The idea that he wouldn’t feel loved—that he doesn’t feel loved sits strangely. Like a puzzle piece that just doesn’t fit, even though it has to go there.

While this lovely conversation is happening, of course, they’ve forgotten that there’s someone else who’s noticed the absence of a singing prince.

Remus doesn’t bother entering his brother’s room the normal way, instead sinking straight through the ceiling, fully intending to drive his elbow into Roman’s stomach.

What happens instead is he lands on Roman’s mattress with a dissatisfying thump as a tiny thing squeaks and scurries under the desk.

Remus sits up, frowning at the trembling figure underneath Roman’s desk and peers closer. Did Roman make a new pet for them to join on adventures? Is this one of the villagers that got too hurt and needed to be brought back here to recover?

Only when he sees the eyes peering shakily out at him do his own widen in realization.

“Roro?”

“R-Remus? Re?” And fuck, yeah, that’s Roman’s little head poking out from under there as he scrambles out. “Re? Are—are you back?”

Remus blinks. “Sure, Ro-Bro, I’m back, what—oof!”

A pint-sized pugilist rams itself into Remus’s stomach and knocks him backward onto the bed as his arms instinctively fly around the mass. He looks down, panting, only to see little Roro shaking with the effort of holding onto Remus as tightly as he can. His ribs are starting to protest when Roman turns his head and a cold nose tucks itself right into the crook of his elbow.

“Hey, hey, Roro,” Remus croaks, clumsily petting Roman’s head, “you’re okay. I’m right here, you got me good, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You—they said you were never coming back—everyone hated you, I—they made me say I didn’t like you—they said I was you but they don’t like you and I—I’m sorry—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow your rolls and buns there, Roro, take in some oxygen before you pass out on me.” Remus wraps his arms gently but firmly around his now-panicking little bother—brother, pulling him securely into his lap. He has to pry Roman’s grip off of him a little but quickly reattaches the little limpet. “There you go, see? You got me! I’m trapped! I can’t go anywhere!”

His jokes don’t seem to work. If anything, Roman clutches him tighter, trembling in his hold.

“You gotta breathe for me, Ro-Bro, come on…in and out, you can do it.” Remus starts to take big slow breaths, feeling Roman start to copy him. “There you go, Roro. Just like that.”

Little Roman dissolves into a shaking and trembling puddle, cold nose buried in the crook of Remus’s neck as hot tears begin to trickle down his cheeks.

“Hey, hey, what’re those for? You’re safe, Roro, I gotcha, you got me, we got each other. We’re not playing right now, I’m not trapping you, what’s up?”

“Y-you’re—you’re back,” Roman wails, “you’re back, you’re back, don’t go—“

“I’m not going anywhere, Roro, I promise.” He gives Roman a light squeeze. “I’ve gotcha.”

Remus is very glad he actually washed his hands this morning as he begins to wipe away Roman’s tears. His hands are damp within moments but he keeps going, letting the little limpet wipe his nose on his costume and not giving a single flying fuck. Roman’s red nose keeps sniffling so Remus lays back against some of the pillows, heaving the little beast on top of him to have him settle down. Roman does, eventually, slumping into a sprawl all over Remus’s chest. Remus rubs his little brother’s back and nuzzles the top of his head.

“D’you want to tell me what this is all about, Roro?”

Roman mumbles.

“I can’t hear you, Ro-Bro, you gotta speak up.”

He can feel Roman’s throat work against him. “I couldn’t be the prince so I had to start over. Couldn’t—couldn’t do it right.”

“Do what right, Roman,” Remus asks, slowly tightening his grip on his brother again, “what couldn’t you do?”

“Kept messing up. Messed everything up.” Roman’s voice starts to choke off again. “Had—hadda make it right. Wanted to go back to—to—to—when it was okay.”

‘Okay.’

Yeah, nothing about this is ‘okay’ right now.

“Well,” Remus says, resolutely ignoring that for the time being, “why don’t we do something fun?”

Roman nods eagerly, pushing himself up so fast his hands slip and he falls face-first down on Remus’s chest again. Remus chuckles and helps him sit up.

“Wanna go into the Imagination?”

Roman’s smile falters. “We need permission.”

“No we don’t, we’re Creativity. That’s our domain. We run it, we decide when we get to go in!”

But Roman shakes his head stubbornly. “N-no, we—we have to ask first. And I don’t want you to get in trouble f-for me.”

“They can try and make me be in trouble,” Remus sniffs, “but it won’t go well for them.”

Roman looks up at him, expression changing as he slowly reaches up to cup his hands around Remus’s face. “I wanna be like you.”

Remus’s chest clenches. “You want my mustache?”

Roman makes a face. “No. I want—I want to be as sure as you are that nothing bad can happen. I want that.”

Ah, fuck. They had a joke going when they were—well, when both of them were smaller that Roman got the Ego, Remus got the Pride. He never—well, kids hold ideas and let them go. He tossed that one over his shoulder a long time ago. Roman, it seems, never did.

“Hey,” Remus says instead, reaching to cup Roman’s face in his hands, “you’ve got it, Roro. It’s yours too. You just gotta look for it.”

“But that’s hard.”

“Nothing worth doing is ever easy,” he says, fighting back a joke that he knows Roman won’t understand.

“…you’re really smart, Re.”

“Well—“ he chucks him lightly under the chin— “you’re the one that taught me that.”

Roman’s little face smiles and oh, Remus could rip his fucking thumbs off.

“If you don’t want to go into the Imagination we could always do something here.” Remus jumps off the bed and starts rifling through his ideas. Well, most of them aren’t…something he would do when Roman is this small. “…paint?”

There it is. Roman’s face lights up and he scrambles off the bed to join Remus. “Painting? Can we paint together?”

“Sure. One big canvas, let’s see, you wanna help make it?” They put their hands together and slowly draw a big rectangle in the middle of Roman’s room. “Good job, Ro-Bro, it’s just the right size.”

His brother almost glows at the praise. “Now all we need is—“

“Paint!”

They both turn to each other with their hands full of it. Roman has several bottles clutched in his little hands and Remus is juggling an armful of tubes. They drop them all over the floor and Remus rubs his hands together.

“What’re we gonna paint?”

“The canvas!”

“Yeah, I mean—“ Remus’s jaw drops open when Roman just pours paint onto his hand and smears it across the canvas— “whoa.”

Wrong reaction to have. But the second he sees Roman’s brilliant grin start to fade, he jumps straight on the fuck-that train and grabs another bottle. Soon they’re smearing paint all over the canvas. They end up creating a pretty good gradient of pinks and blues and reds and oranges and yellows. Then Remus grabs a green tube and just squirts it right onto the canvas.

“Hey!” Roman rubs his cheek. “You got paint on me!”

“I think you got paint on you.” Because when your brushes are your hands and you rub your face, paint goes onto your face.

“It was green! You put the green on me!”

Remus grins, bending closer and pretending to examine Roman’s cheek. “I dunno, Roro, I can’t see any green on there.”

Roman grabs a tube of red paint—

“Whoa, hey, there—“

—and squirts it onto the canvas. But mostly Remus.

“Oh, that’s it.”

The two of them spend the rest of the time splashing paint around, not caring about whether it gets on the actual canvas or the canvases they’ve made out of each other. Remus ends up with red splattered across his sash—not a bad look—and a bright blue handprint on his chest. Roman ends up with some green in his hair and streaks of purple down his arms. They’re laughing too hard to be spiteful about it as they chase each other around the canvas, each trying to get their hands on the other first.

If Roman never sees the others opening his door a crack, only to smile and leave them be when they see Remus and the paint with him, it’s perfectly fine.

Remus ends up using his size to his advantage and scooping the little monster up into his arms. He spins him around, laughing maniacally as Roman shrieks and squeals. He holds onto his brother’s arms, head thrown back as they whirl there.

“I win,” Remus pronounces as he sets Roman—carefully!—back down, “you lose.”

Roman giggles, reaching up to poke Remus’s nose with a bright red finger. “No, I win!”

“We both win.” Remus shakes his head only for some of his hair to stand straight on end—the only straight thing in this room—from the paint. “Uh…we should wash this off.”

Roman examines his paint-colored self, his gray shirt and shorts now absolutely awash with rainbow. “Yeah, probably.”

Remus looks at him and gently touches the fabric with his fingers. Roman’s eyes widen as the fabric changes from having paint on it to the colors being part of the fabric itself.

“Whoa! That’s so cool!”

Remus chuckles. “You’re welcome, Roro. Now let’s get cleaned up. I’m sure you’re gonna get hungry in a little bit.”

They make their way to the shower where Remus gets them out of their paint-covered clothes and squeaky clean. Roman’s eyes start to droop as Remus massages the shampoo into his hair.

“You can close your eyes, Ro-Bro, I gotcha.”

And if little Roman is so tired he can barely keep his eyes open long enough to put on pajamas after they get out of the shower, then Remus will happily carry him to bed. Of course the little limpet decides to latch onto him but there are worse fates. He resigns himself to being a personal pillow and stretches out, rubbing Roman’s back to help soothe him to sleep.

There’s a soft knock on the door and Logan eases it open. Remus has a quip on the tip of his tongue at the way the nerd’s expression melts at the sight of little Roro.

“Asleep, then?”

“Mhm.”

Logan glances at their painting. “I must say…it’s spectacular.”

Remus looks at the painting. An abstract swirl of colors and splatters that looks like the perfect chaotic nonsense. He’s more proud of it than expected too.

“He seems happy,” comes Logan’s soft voice, calling his attention back as he sits on the edge of the bed, “or…happier.”

Remus runs a protective hand down Roman’s back. “He said he missed me.”

“Well, yes, I suppose that…being suddenly reverted to an age where you two were together would—“

“No,” he says firmly, “he missed me. When he was big too, Lolo.”

Logan winces. “Oh, dear.”

“Has he told you why this…happened?”

“Not me explicitly, no.” Logan looks up and waits. “Did…did he tell you?”

“He said he wanted to go back to when everything was okay.”

Logan’s eyes widen. Oh. Oh, dear. “He…the last time he was okay…”

Remus’s sharp nod only confirms it. Logan lets out a breath as Roman’s hands twitch in his sleep. Unbidden, the impulse to reach out and squeeze comfortingly rises up sudden and sharp and he reaches out, covering the little one’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“He wasn’t supposed to get hurt,” Remus whispers, “when—when they took us away, they—they were allowed to do whatever they wanted to me, but—but not my brother.”

“Never again,” Logan promises low in his throat, touched by Remus’s sudden display of vulnerability, “you won’t be separated.”

Quite frankly, as he watches Remus tighten his grip on Roman, he’d like to see the others try.

As it turns out, that isn’t anywhere near their realm of possibility. When Roman wakes a little while later to them talking quietly with a rumble in his stomach, Remus carries him downstairs as Patton starts making dinner. Logan has to hide a smile at the way Virgil mouths ‘oh my god’ and Janus stuffs his fist up to his mouth to hide the coo. Patton clumsily answers Remus’s question about whose night it is to help—his—and gently asks Roman if he can set him down.

“You won’t go far?”

“I’ll be in the kitchen the whole time.”

“Here,” Virgil calls, holding out his arms, “I’m the softest thing in this room. Give him to me.”

He’s gonna regret that later but not right now. Not when little Princey is deposited into his lap and promptly snuggles right up to his chest and sighs. Virgil wraps his arms around little Roman and sits back against the couch, absentmindedly scrolling on his phone as his breath warms the top of Roman’s head.

“V-Virgil?”

“Yeah, Princey?” Virgil winces when Roman tenses. “Sorry, sorry, I forgot. What is it, Roman?”

Roman’s hands clench and unclench in his hoodie. “Do…do you miss the other me?”

Well. Don’t start off easy or anything, kid.

Does he?

He’s gonna be honest, he does miss Roman. Misses the banter, misses the confidence, misses the warmth of walking into a room and seeing Roman there. He misses the feeling that Roman would always come up with something, even when things seemed hopeless he would be there to try.

But even though he’s had this Roman for two minutes, he already knows he’d miss him like a lost limb. This Roman, who is all clumsy affection and easy smiles and soft cuddles.

“I miss him,” he decides on eventually, “but you’re my Roman too.”

Roman’s little face is too cute. It’s illegal. Who allowed this?

“Your Roman?”

“Yeah,” Virgil says, giving the boy’s hair a gentle tug, “you’re our Roman.”

Roman’s hands tug gently again. “E-even if I’m not a prince?”

Ah. Virgil sits up a little and pulls Roman into his lap properly. “You were our prince because we thought that was what you wanted to be.”

“Even if I wasn’t good at it?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Virgil swallows the curses and pulls Roman into a tight hug, muttering into his shoulder.

“You were good at it, Roman,” he mumbles, “you were the best prince. You were the best prince because you were our prince. And you were our prince because you were Roman first.”

He can feel Roman’s jumpy little breaths before he’s hugged with a ferocity that takes him by surprise. But he’s not complaining.

“So I can be a prince?”

“If you want to be.”

There’s a pause during which Virgil pointedly does not make eye contact with Janus, before Roman speaks again.

“…I, uh, I think I’d be okay with the nickname, then.”

“Princey?” Roman nods and Virgil grins. “Okay, Princey.”

When he pulls back, there’s a little smile on Roman’s face that stays throughout dinner.

“Well,” Patton says as they start to clear the dishes away, “I’d say it’s a good night for a cuddle pile, wouldn’t you?”

“A splendid idea.” Logan closes the dishwasher. “Down here?”

“Might as well.” They start to organize, Logan directing the creation of the mattress and pillows, Patton and Virgil moving the blankets. Roman looks around for a moment, waiting, before Janus beckons him over to the last of the fading sunlight by the window.

“We,” he says gently as he coaxes Roman to lie down, “have the most important job.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re the ones that get tired first.” To prove a point, Janus lets himself yawn, big and wide. Sure enough, little Roman yawns too. “When Logan tells us all where to go, it’s our job to start being tired so the others have an easier way of settling.”

“That sounds like we have an excuse to fall asleep.”

“That too.”

Roman giggles and it makes Janus’s chest feel light.

“Come here, little prince,” he murmurs, opening his many arms to gather the little one to his chest, “there you are. You look tired, go ahead and close your eyes, it’s alright.”

Roman shifts a little in his grip. “…Janus?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Are…are you gonna take care of me?”

Janus pulls back a little, enough to cup Roman’s face in his hand. “Of course, sweetie, I will always take care of you.”

“N-no matter what?”

“No matter what.” He leans down to gently knock his forehead against Roman’s and press a chaste kiss there. “I’ve got you, little prince.”

The weight of the acts gone without acquittance sit heavily in his stomach, but with Roman cradled tenderly in his embrace, they start to get a little more bearable.

“Come on, cuddle bugs,” Patton calls, hands stroking gently through their hair, “let’s get you onto the mattress.”

Janus uncurls first, only for Roman to blink sleepily up at him.

“Do you need to be carried, sweetie? Is that it, little prince?”

Roman nods and blearily holds up his arms, letting out another squeaky yawn. He makes a few grabbing motions at Logan as he adjusts the last pillow.

“Ah, come here, little one,” Logan murmurs, picking him up, “let’s lie you down, shall we?”

The others join them in their pajamas, Roman’s head in Logan’s lap as he sits against the foot of the couch. Logan’s hand tangles in his hair, nails dancing over his scalp to encourage him to sleep.

“You’re safe, little one,” he promises, “just close your eyes. We’ll be right here for you when you wake up.”

Roman blinks up at him lazily, eyes wet with sleep as he nuzzles into Logan’s stomach. Logan keeps up the soothing rhythm of fingers in his hair, nails across his scalp, until the little one yawns away and closes his eyes. Only when sleep begins to call to him too do they shift, one of Roman’s hands on his chest, the other in Remus’s shirt as his head tucks into the crook of Logan’s shoulder.

The little prince falls asleep, surrounded by the warmth of his family.

————————

Roman blinks awake.

His ceiling doesn’t look like his ceiling and there’s a weight on his stomach that definitely isn’t a pillow. He cranes his head up to look around and his mouth drops open when he sees a slumbering Virgil lying with one arm around him. He turns his head a little more and comes face to face with Logan’s sleeping visage. Remus’s whistling snores are in his ear.

He risks sitting up a little farther, only to see Patton and Janus at the edge of the frankly giant mattress they’ve seem to set up on the floor of the living room. The two of them are almost protectively positioned, guarding the rest of them from whatever would plague them in the night.

His head is a little fuzzy and he can’t remember much of how they got here. Flashes come to him. Pretzels, paint, something about the word ‘prince.’

But, right now, with Logan’s chest rising and falling as Janus mumbles something in his sleep, he can’t be too bothered to worry about it.

Roman settles back down onto the mattress and closes his eyes. As he drifts off to sleep, a small smile touches the corners of his mouth.

For the first time in a long time, he feels okay.

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#dragonbabbles #fic #sanders sides #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders

[babylooneytoonz]

mr. shelby's secretary [CEO AU]

[GIF by @maskingfragility]

— pairing: Modern! Tommy Shelby x Reader

— summary : Prompt request 1) “Can you shut up for once in your life?” 2) “Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.” 3)“You’re insane,” “You love me,” “Not right now I don’t.” 4) "I think you might be my soulmate," as requested by @sighonahurricane and @screechingexpertpruneneck [ Hope you like it. I decided to club both the requests into one as the prompts were almost the same ones.🤍]

— warnings: none

[Masterlist]

You had been an exceptional student, all through school, then all through college and then had begun working for one of the most famous firms in London. Due to unforeseen circumstances, when your father passed away due to a terminal illness, you had to quit your job in London and move to Birmingham to take care of your mother.

Birmingham was an altogether different world, atleast as compared to London, but it was a good change for you. Even luckier for you was the fact that just weeks into moving to Birmingham City, you interviewed for a secretary position for CEO of Shelby Brothers LTD, Thomas Shelby and you had gotten the job.

You had been now working for him for over three months now, but the journey had definitely not been easy. You still remembered how your first day at work had been an absolute disaster. You had arrived on time, at 9 am. You still had an hour to go before Tommy entered his office at 10 am, and there were a few stacks of papers that you had to clear.

Before starting your work, you had decided to get yourself a mug of coffee to boost up your day but while you were at the pantry, sitting and sipping your coffee, your phone beeped. When you looked at the message, colour drained from your face.

Thomas Shelby had a meeting at 10, and thus, he had decided he would come in early, and he hadn't found you in your adjoining cabin, and neither were the papers from his room that he wanted gone were actually gone. The colour drained from your face when you saw his text— in three words did he write— get in here, ASAP.

The hearing that you received from Tommy that day, you doubted if you had retained your job after the first day, but strangely, Tommy didn't fire you. That was the only time you actually made him angry though and things slowly changed after that. Thomas Shelby began relying on you more and more as the days passed. He even took your opinions, or let you select the suits he was going to wear on events, without even expressing any doubt on you.

For Tommy, you were like a breath of fresh air in times he needed it the most. You were exceptionally good at your work, but what he liked secretly about you was the fact that you were good at handling him— be it his anger, that you took almost gracefully, without even bothering to spite him back. You listened to him scream and yell at you, but you never lost your own temper. Or be it the recognition of his tiny needs, like when he was in a dire need of coffee.

Tommy would be lying now if he said that he didn't need you; he was now completely dependant on you. Everyday, when he came to work, the first thing he looked at was your smiling face through the glass panels of your adjoining cabin, before he disappeared into his office, and there lay his mug of piping hot black coffee without sugar, and a sandwich, or pancakes, you knowing well aware that the man came to office on an empty stomach. He would call you into his cabin atleast fifty times in a day.

Few months into you working for Mr. Shelby, you were finally growing to despise the man less and less, and learn to get accustomed to his cold outer exterior, and get warmed up to the minutest reflections of the gentleness he hid inside of him.

Tommy was getting impatient, as he leaned against his mahogany desk, his shirt rolled up by the sleeves up to his elbows as he rested the elbows against the surface of the desk. A lit cigarette rested in his left hand, as he stared at the rain clogged glass window in his office. It was raining heavily, and he wondered if it was the weather that had you actually running almost two hours late when you never were late.

He swiped his palm over his face, worry gnawed at the pit of his stomach. He knew you weren't like that. In fact, you were one of the most punctual person he had actually met. He stood up, dabbing the lit end of the cigarette into his ashtray, before he grabbed his coat and walked out of his office. Mary, one of the employees who were friends with you, was outside, talking to one of the interns.

"Mary? Have you heard from [Y/N]? She isn't in yet," Tommy asked, and the woman turned, her eyes almost widening for Tommy seldom spoke to anyone in the office, unless required.

"Mr. Shelby, uh, sir, I don't know. I haven't seen her in today, I was also wondering—" she began, but before she could complete her sentence, impatient Tommy had cut her off.

"Mary, can you go through the company records and give me her address?"

"Definitely, Mr. Shelby," the woman drawled, as she hunched over her system, her fingers tapping against the keypad as she pulled out your address from the company records. She noted the address down on a slip of paper, and looked up at him, "Mr. Shelby, I can ask someone to check on her if you'd like? Maybe due to the weather, her car broke down."

"It's okay, Mary, I'm already headed out, just hand me the address," he impatiently threw out his palm, and the woman placed the parchment in his hands, knowing well as to not say anything else. Tommy turned around and slowly began walking out of the building towards the elevator and pressed the button.

The rains were not going to die down anytime soon, that was something that Tommy noted as he brought the car to a halt outside the address that Mary had handed him. He squinted his eyes, eyeing the plain looking building that stood in front of him, eyeing the first floor that you occupied. He wondered if you had already left for he couldn't see your car anywhere in sight.

Finally, he pulled out his umbrella from the back seat of the car, and stepped out into the lashing rains, dashing through the puddles towards your apartment where an elderly woman was at the door, shielded from the rains underneath the front porch.

"Can I help you?" The woman said in a kind voice, as she moved out of the way, and let Tommy fix himself underneath the porch to find a shelter from the rains.

"I'm looking for,uh, Miss [Y/N]. She works for me," Tommy muttered, under his breath.

"Oh, dear. You're Thomas Shelby? The CEO of Shelby Brothers LTD?" The woman's eyes began glistening with excitement and Tommy nodded, his eyebrows creasing into a hint of a frown. He wasn't here for a fangirl moment.

"Is she here?" Tommy's impatience was a good enough answer for the woman, who nodded and immediately informed him that you had already left for work over an hour ago.

This did nothing to cease the worry pooling inside of him. If you had already left for work, then why weren't you in office? He pulled out his phone, placing his palm on the screen as though shielding it from the woman's unwanted, prying eyes, hoping you had left him a message but you hadn't.

"Thank you," he finally muttered, as he ran out into the rain again, and this time, he didn't even bother using the umbrella, letting himself get drenched from the porch to the car.

Turning the ignition on, he slowly pulled the car on the road, and he started driving in a slow pace, his eyes on the road in front of him.

As if someone had been listening in on his thoughts secretly and had decided to act on it, Tommy brought the car to an abrupt half, applying the brakes. There you were, right in front of his eyes, and Tommy couldn't help but let himself smile warmly, after ages.

From what he could see, it was clear what had taken you so long. You had your heels in your hands, your body was drenched in the rain, your hair sticking to your face. Your knees had mud on it, but that didn't deter you from running about the muddy road, helping the elderlies out of the bus that had broken down.

He saw, as you took the shopping bags from one of the older men, and gave your arm to him that he took and you helped him step out of the abandoned vehicle, and you helped him cross the muddy road, where the tyres of the bus had gotten stuck.

He watched you for a few minutes, leaning back against the car seat, his hand flying to his wet hair. After a few seconds, he decided to quietly head back to the office, without even letting you know that he had seen you.

About an hour later, you rushed into your office. You had managed to head back home and change into a fresh set of clothing, and put your dead phone on charge. Now you were back, and your heart was strumming inside your chest with fear, you knew Tommy would be mad— very mad.

Slowly, you brought your fisted palm to his door and knocked twice.

"Come in," Tommy called out from the inside; he sounded much calmer than what you had expected him to be, and this made you frown. You had expected him to be snarling. Timidly, you made your way up to his desk, your fingers nervously toying with each other as you looked at him. He had his laptop in front of him, and his fingers skimmed over the keypad. He gave you one glance, and looked back at the screen once again. His ignorance made your heart churn.

"Mr. Shelby?" You asked.

"Yes, [Y/N]?" Tommy looked at you, through his round frames.

"Aren't you angry I'm late?" You blurted, mentally cursing yourself, silently.

He looked at you, amused. Your innocence made his heart flutter but he wasnt going to admit it anytime soon. He noticed your body posture, you were standing like a meek little lamb, afraid of him. He stood up from the leather chair he was sitting on and placed his glasses on his desk, before he moved around his desk to where you were. He then fixed himself directly in front of you and gave you a smile, "Why would I be angry? Go take an off today, [Y/N]. You deserve it."

You were confused by his sudden behaviour but you dared not complain, or question him lest he changed his mind. You gave him a haphazard smile as you dashed out of his office, weirded out by the change in his behaviour.

It was Saturday night, and it meant staying up late with a good Netflix series on, and some good bingewatching and munching on snacks for you. Your mother had already gone to bed, for she was an early sleeper. You had managed to sneak into the kitchen, and heat up the leftovers from lunch; the pasta your mum had prepared for you.

You turned your laptop on, letting it rest against your belly as you began browsing through the newest Netflix collection, trying to settle on a movie, when there was a buzz in your phone. You squinted your eyes when your phone started glowing. Your hand reached out as you grabbed it and began reading the SMS from your boss.

Thomas: be at Richard's at 7 in the eve. Got some really imp clients coming over. will be needing you to take the notes.

You frowned, there went your Sunday weekend plans down the drain; not that you had any solid plans, other than Netflix.

Sunday came by faster than you had imagined it to be, and you were standing in front of your wardrobe, weighing the different outfits that you had to fix a suitable one for the dinner at Richard's. Richard's was one of the posher restaurants, and you wanted to look your best, even if it was just business.

Finally, even though your bedroom looked like a typhoon had occurred inside your room, you were able to pick out a dress. It was just the right amount of professional, and casual. It was navy blue, the neck cut deep enough but yet, it wasn't trashy one bit. Once you had changed into it, you admired your form in the mirror, secretly content by the way it hung across your curves, ecen accentuating your curves. You couldn't help but secretly think of Thomas Shelby's reaction when he saw you in this dress.

You were startled when your phone started ringing, pulling you out of your not so in innocent thoughts about your own boss. When you saw his name flash on your lockscreen, you couldn't help but frown. Reluctantly, you tapped on the talk icon, flinging the phone to your ears, "Yes, Mr. Shelby?"

"Grey or black? Red tie or navy blue? I can't fucking decide what to wear. Why is it the fucking weekend [Y/N]. I don't fucking know what to wear," he sounded exasperated and worked up on the other side of the phone and you couldn't help but chuckle silently, silently enjoying this. You knew this would happen.

"The grey with the blue tie, Mr. Shelby, you can make any girl crazy in the grey tux of yours," you smiled, aimlessly drawing your fingers through your hair. You didn't know how you got that courage to openly flirt with him, but you didn't stop yourself from doing it. What suprised you was the fact that Tommy only let you do it. After a minute of silence, he hummed and you could hear him practically pull his tux off the hanger and he murmured, "the grey one it is then."

You kept the phone to your ear, not wanting to disconnect even though he wasn't speaking to you. Oddly enough, even in the silence that lingered on that call, you felt a sense on intimacy, something that you didn't want to let go off, as you grabbed your lipstick and using your free hand, began applying it delicately to your lips.

"What are you wearing?" Tommy's voice reached your ears, and you couldn't help but bite into the insides of your cheeks, feeling giddy in your chest.

"Navy blue dress I wore at the office party, Mr. Shelby. I can change if you want, it's a little too much, don't you think?" You nervously babbled.

"No, keep it on. It compliments my tie."

You smiled upon listening to his words, and just like that, without a parting, Tommy disconnected, sliding his phone into his pocket, his fingers toying with the fabric of his navy blue tie. Even if he was bent of wearing the red one silently, he was now going to switch to the blue one, just because you were wearing blue.

"Miss, do you have a reservation?" The manager asked you, and you smiled courteously.

"Yes, it should be under a Mr. Thomas Shelby?" You replied, and the man immediately nodded and his eyes began scanning through the contents of the register in front of him.

"Ah, you must be Miss [Y/N]. Please follow me, we are delighted to have you," he slowly turned away from you, and you began following him through the open air restaurant, where archaic white gazebos stood tall, adorned with fairy lights, and inside the gazebos were comfortable tables and dine in facilities.

Tommy was finally in sight. He was at the farthest gazebo that stood directly beside the narrow stream, that shone due to the moonlight falling on it.

It wasn't Tommy that captured your attention though, it was the woman dressed in a beautiful red evening dress, her perfectly toned legs covered in sheer black stockings. Her long black hair fell lusciously over her shoulders as she threw back her head and laughed at something Thomas probably said. What made you a tiny bit of jealous was the fact that the two of them looked like they were long time friends; Tommy rarely smiled, and especially never in the open.

You cleared your throat a little too loudly and Tommy turned towards you, and so did the woman in the red dress. You couldn't help but think how beautiful the woman was.

"Tatiana, this is my secretary [Y/N]. She will be going through the final papers and the other formalities," Tommy blinked, his palm ghosting the low of your back as he guided you into an empty chair and you sat down, smiling at Tatiana.

"[Y/N], this is my friend, and soon to be business partner, Tatiana Petrovna," You watched from the corner of your eye as Tommy leaned towards her and he placed his hand on her thigh. You grabbed the fabric of your dress, awkwardly balling the fabric along your fists, although shielded by the table.

The business meeting lasted for an hour, and by the time the three of you were done, half of the restaurant had gotten empty.

"It was a pleasure meeting you once again, Thomas, and even a greater pleasure doing business with you," she gave Tommy her hand and they shook it. You noted how the handshake lingered for a little longer than it was supposed to. Thomas stood up, but you kept seated, as you watched the woman turn away and began strutting down the garden path, towards a massive black SUV parked by the other side.

After a minute of silence, Tommy sighed and he sat down, his earlier jolly expression having dissipated into thin air. He pulled out a cigarette box from the pocket of his tux and brought it up to his lips, flicking you a quick glance.

"You alright?"

"Me? Oh I am more than alright, Mr. Shelby. It's a lovely night, and I'm sitting at one of the loveliest places in Birmingham, with such a lovely company," you deadpanned, giving him a stare down.

"You don't look happy to be here, love," he brought the lit cigarette to his lips, inhaling smoke from it as he eyed you carefully. One of the waiters stepped forward, clearing his throat and you saw that he had a bottle of wine in his hands. Tommy blinked and motioned to the waiter to fill up the glasses and once he had left, his fingers curled against his glass and he lifted it, taking a sip of it.

"Oh, Mr. Shelby, I am delighted to be here, don't you see that? Can we leave?" You arched forward, letting your elbows rest against the table, your glass of wine laying untouched.

Tommy parted his lips, as though he wanted to say something but before words came out, he pressed his lips shut and stood up, grabbing his coat that hung from the back of his chair, "Alright, I'll drop you home yeah? Come on."

Tommy and you quietly walked back to his car and you got into the passenger's seat as Tommy got into the drivers. He slowly pulled the car off the driveway and began driving towards your apartment.

You were still fuming; raging from the inside as you kept glancing at the silhouettes of the buildings passing you by.

"What is the matter with you, ey?" Tommy suddenly turned towards you, lowering the speed of the car and moving it to the side so he could slowly bring the vehicle to a halt.

"Nothing is. Can we please keep moving, Mr. Shelby? I don't have all night," you hissed venomously at him and he just ran his hand through his hair, exasperated. He didn't know what had gotten into you suddenly.

He suddenly reached for your arm and pulled you forcefully towards him, his eyes gazing into yours, "Will you answer me? What the fuck is the matter with you?"

"Oh, nothing's the matter with me, Mr. Shelby. I don't get why you had me over that wretched little romantic dinner as a third wheel when there weren't even enough notes to make," you blurted out the entire sentence in one go, firing the words at him so fast that it took him a minute to digest them.

"Wait, romantic?" He tilted his head slightly, and his index came to rest on his chin for a second before he sat back against the car seat again, "you think me and Tatiana..?"

"Don't spill your romantic or your sexual endeavours in front of me, Mr. Shelby, Im just a lowly secretary," you fumed, and Tommy couldn't help but feel his lips twitch in amusement at how adorably cute you looked when you were angry and jealous.

"Well, now to think of it, eh, we did have some good fucks a few years back," Tommy muttered, in a low voice. Although he knew this would most probably not end very well, but a devil inside of him was already rising, and your jealousy had given birth to a sudden desire in him to have you spill everything you felt for him to him.

You gasped, your jaw dropping as you turned to him, studying his face. Your hand flew to the car lock, and you unlocked it, immediately stepping out of the vehicle, and Tommy cursed under his breath when he realized that he had probably taken it too far. By the time, he stepped out after you, you had already drawn your phone out, and you were trying to book an Uber when he snatched your phone.

"Get into the fucking car, [Y/N]."

"Give me my phone back, Mr. Shelby, I am not in the mood to do this," you threw out your hand, nudging him to hand you your phone.

He was ready to give you back your phone but before he could, his thumb mistakenly pressed on to the power button, and your phone lit up, your cheeks turning a scarlet red when he saw your lockscreen that had his photo on it.

"Wait, am I your lockscreen?” he looked at you smugly, and you couldn't help but feel embarrassed at the sight of it. Great job done [Y/N].

"You weren't supposed to see that," you whispered, tonguing the insides on your cheeks, flustered.

This time he gave you a smile that was gentler than what he had ever given you. He handed you your phone back, and decided not to tease you about the lockscreen.

"Get into the car, [Y/N], please?" He looked into your eyes, his eyes beckoning yours to listen, and you groaned, nodding. He opened the car door for you once again, and quietly you sat down inside, crossing your arms over your chest.

It was as if he knew that you were in no mood to talk, because he didn't force you to. Quietly, he manoeuvred the vehicle through the cuts and turns and you let your head rest against the windowpane. Within seconds, you were drifting into a light sleep.

About ten minutes later, Tommy pled up on your driveway, but even the car coming to a halt wasn't enough to break your slumber. He slowly turned to look at you, and the sight of you was enough to melt his heart. Reluctantly he brought his shaky palm up to the side of your face as he pushed your hair off the side of it, his fingers gentle against you. You stirred slightly, your eyes fluttering awake as Tommy smiled to himself, whispering, "I think you might be my soulmate, eh, if there is a concept of one. I'd like to believe you're my fucking soulmate." It was so low, you couldn't hear any of it.

"We're here," he announced, louder and clearer this time and you took this as a hint to get the fuck out of his car.

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby, I'll see you at work tomorrow," hurriedly you got out of the car and before Tommy could utter another word, you ran down the side of the apartment towards the side staircase that led to your first floor apartment.

Tommy kept watching as you saw you cash up the flight of stairs, struggling to fish out your bunch of house keys from your purse. He watched as you unlocked the front door and stepped in, hurriedly slamming the door shut.

He kept sitting in the car, and finally turned the ignition on.

"Fuck," he cursed as he turned the ignition off, pulled the car keys out and got out of the car. With big steps, he strode towards the side staircase, from where you had just ran up a few seconds back and reached your doorstep, bringing himself to ring the bell. He waited nervously, tapping the wall awkwardly with his fingers until you opened the door.

He pushed himself inside the minute you opened the door, kicking the door shut behind him.

"Why are you here?" You bit back on your words, trembling slightly. He could see that your eyes were red and puffy, and that you had been crying.

"Were you crying love?" He asked, trying to reach for you. He grabbed your wrists, pulling you towards him.

"You're insane," you whispered, your eyes planted to his lips, but you dared not look up and look into his eyes.

Gently, he let go of your wrist, and instead, placed his palm on the low of your back to hold you steady in his arms, "You love me." He rasped, in a low voice that caused your lips to part.

"Not right now I don't, Mr. Shelby," you spat at him, feeling your eyes start getting cloudy again. To be fair, you were feeling stupid, and embarassed at yourself, for reacting this way, showing him how weak and vulnerable you were, but you couldn't help it. You couldn't stop thinking of Tatiana and Tommy, and the more you did, the more angrier you got. You looked away.

"Look at me, love," Tommy chastised you, placing his hand on the base of your chin as he tried lifting your face up, but you dodged his hand and glared at him,"You're not my boss in here, Mr. Shelby. This is my house."

He gave you a tight lipped smile, and his palm reached out to cup your face, his fingers tracing the outline of your lips. He parted his lips, and fluttered his eyes close, letting an exhale out, before fluttering his blues open again, "this fire within you will be the fucking death of me someday, woman." You curled your lips slightly, licking the insides of your mouth and your nostrils flared, "Shouldn't you be with your business partner? Shagging the fuck out of her? You seem to be at the wrong apartment."

Tommy growled, pushing you to the wall; his knee coming to press against the wall, between the space of your legs. His hands fixed on either side of your head, barring you from escaping.

"Can you shut up for once in your life? I did not fuck Tatiana, ever, yeah?" He looked down into your eyes, and you glared into his, wondering if he was lying.

"You.. didn't?"

"I didn't. And I don't intend to, in the future," he said, in his low husky voice. You fluttered your eyes shut and slowly, like a doe, lifted your face so your lips were now in line with his. You parted your lips, waiting for him to kiss you. He took the hint, a ghost of a smirk forming against his lips as he brought the distance to a close, his plump lips pressing against yours as he kissed you by the wall, "now let's not talk of her now yeah? I would rather spend my night in your bed than stand out here, talking about a woman that doesn't interest me."

"then what interests you?" You smirked.

"You do. You interest me, love."

Your cheeks hurt and your eyes leaked water; tears of happiness flew openly from your eyes. You were dressed in a beautiful black evening gown and your son, Charlie, held your palm, his eyes everywhere but on his father as he walked up to the podium to where the microphone was.

You knelt down gracefully, tickling your son lightly on his Adam's apple, and murmured, "Look, Charlie, your daddy is up there, would you look?"

"Dada!" Charlie babbled, and you hoisted him up and fixed him on your hip as your eyes met Tommy's and he gave you a nod, his eyes twinkling.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you all for coming. You see tonight, eh, is a very special night for me. And I am pleased to announce my endeavours first with you—" He found your eyes again, and you smiled at him, wondering what he was referring to. Ever since you found out you were pregnant with Charlie, two years back, you had decided to quit your job.

"I am pleased to announce [Y/N] and Charles Shelby Center for senior citizens," Tommy turned slightly so he could move out of the way and a huge projector began showing the architectural designs of a massive modern looking building on the screen.

Your heart swelled with pride as you watched your husband gracefully walk down the stairs. People came and greeted him, shaking hands with him, and he stopped momentarily to greet them back. You tickled Charlie's belly as you began striding towards where he was.

Tommy threw out his hand towards you and you gladly accepted, as he pulled you to his side, planting a quick kiss on Charlie's forehead. You lifted your neck up high and you and Tommy posed for a few pictures, and soon the cameras left you alone with him. He leaned closer to you and smiled, "Did you like it, love? I've been planning it since I saw you that day, four years back, helping out in the rain. You were beautiful. "

"You saw that, Tommy? Is that why you didn't even scold me for being late?" You gasped, and he smirked, nodding.

"No wonder I kept thinking that something was wrong with you, Mr. Shelby."

He suddenly turned around and his right arm came to rest on the low of your back as he pulled you to him. On one hip, you adjusted your son, who was now struggling to get into his daddy's arms; you placed your free hand on Tommy's chest and patted it before grabbing his tie, "If there was something bloody wrong with me, why would you still choose me as your husband and then gift me with a lovely boy?"

"Well, because, Mr. Shelby, I love you, and wouldn't trade our family for anything."

#modern! tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #ceo! tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders ceo au #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction

[lazyevaluationranch]

I was wondering if you would be willing to share the titles of your resilience-inspiring lesbian farm books? My google search led me to a book titled “Attack of the Lesbian Farmers” which, while certainly inspiring, is not exactly what I was looking for.

Here are two very different books in the Farm Lesbians Write Honestly About What Went Wrong And How They Got Through It genre. Hopefully at least one is to your taste.

It's nearly fifty years old now, and can be hard to find, but Country Women: A Handbook for the New Farmer is deeply important to me. Country Women was a black and white xeroxed magazine written by a collective of woman-run farms in California in the 1960s. (There are some issues scanned at the Lesbian Poetry Archive). Each issue was half articles about feminism and half articles about small-scale farming. In the 1970s, the how-to articles on farming were expanded and organized to make the book, along with some scattered journal entries, lovely hippie-style line drawings and poetry about wood splitting, bees, and gazing at one's beloved while fixing the tractor on a summer day. The contributors have names like Jean and Ruth Mountaingrove, Ellen Chanterelle, and Sam♀ Thomas. 

It's written in an informal and pragmatic style, mostly organic hippie farming, but using pesticides or conventional medications when necessary.

This afternoon the Anderson brothers began teaching me how to graft fruit trees - the careful joining of life with life. Even more than I loved gaining a new skill, I loved learning from two old men who have so very much to teach me. I admire the audacity of eighty-three-year-old men setting grafts that will not bear fruit for years: the total involvement in a process they love. Those trees will stand and live; I doubt whether Jake or Fred even stop to wonder if they'll pick the fruit. I want to live my life with that kind of harmony and purpose. I want to be planting seeds the day I die.

The first lamb was born today. Premature and dead. Olivia, the mother, seems to be all right though. I had a dream a few weeks ago that the lambs were born tiny (like mice) and pink. And that I struggled to save them, but they were too small to feed. The lamb today was small and pink, its fleece plastered against its body, thin and sparse. For a moment it was nightmareishly like my dream... This is my first animal death. The beginning of a long cycle. It seems even harder to have death come before life, than to have an old one die giving birth. Hopes for the future stillborn.

Driving home today, I suddenly realized that this really is going to be a sheep ranch, that I have done, and am doing, and will do it. That I'm making my livelihood from the land. The canyon is fenced now. There are  sheep out there on pastures that were open hillsides two years ago. 

The very act of building this place, the simple actions of tamping dirt, stretching wire, dumping hay in feeders, has profoundly changed my sense of self. I'm doing things I never dreamed I could do, and I'm doing them easily without even considering whether I really can. Last night I was talking with Susan about fencing the front meadow for feeder calves, and I realized that I could say that realistically, no fantasizing, no bragging: I can fence the front meadow as soon as I get done with the hay barn and get a little more money.

Like almost every other farmer in America today, I'm in debt and hoping for a good season. I'm only at the beginning now, and I know there are many struggles to come and overcome and come again: Someday I too, like my neighbours, will be counting carcasses killed by a marauding dog or watching the spring oats be wash away in an "unheard of" late storm. No matter how prepared I am, there us always that vulnerability - to the weather, other animals, disease - that seems to strike when things are finally going smoothly. But inside me there is also this incredible joy: This life is real and good, and it has made me strong and real and good too. 

I gotta stop or I'll type the whole book into this post. One more: 

My father is here this week ... working on the truck whose engine has been alien to me. I am learning now what I could have learned at 7, 11, 15. Beneath my truck, side by side, lie his seven-year-old son and his twenty-five-year-old daughter, both of us learning for the first time how bearings fit together, how to remove pistons. And here beneath this truck the patriarchy stops: he has passed his knowledge to his daughter, and from me  it will pass to sisters, from sister to sister to sister. 

That's this book. The things women weren't supposed to know in the sixties. They found people to teach them; they taught each other; they learned through bitter loss. The book says: we have gone before you and you are not alone. Here is what we have learned, and here is how we have learned it. We have failed, and we have wept, and we have gotten up and gone on, and it was alright. Here is the fire, passed from hand to hand to hand. Here is the light that will never be put out. 

The week after we first got goats, we received a package in the mail from my coolest relative, a veterinarian who was the first woman to graduate with a specialization in large animal medicine at her school. People thought that women just weren't physically capable of handling large animals. (Hint: the bull weights 1100 kilograms. It doesn't much matter if the veterinarian weighs 50 kilograms or 150 kilograms.) I remember staying with her a child, in summer, laying on the stainless steel operating table in the barn; it always felt cool when the heat was unbearable.

The package, of course, contained Country Women. An old well-loved copy, with notes on long-ago calving dates penciled in the margins, and random scraps of paper with sketches of possible gardens and goat sheds as bookmarks.  A light passed from hand to hand, a light that will not go out. It was like receiving a video game quest artifact.

Country Women is rooted in second wave feminism, which is not everyone's cup of tea. For something more modern and story-focussed, consider Hit By A Farm or Sheepish by Catherine Friend. These are collections of short, funny autobiographical essays about farming and relationships. Their tone is honest and wry, self-deprecating. You can see Catherine Friend's blog here and decide if you like her writing style. She wanted to call Hit By A Farm "Sheep Sex and Other Disasters" but her editor didn't think it would sell. 

In Hit By A Farm, Catherine - a professional writer - goes along with her partner Melissa's lifelong desire to ranch sheep, and describes the results from the perspective of the slightly reluctant farmer's wife as they start a farm in Minnesota.  Sheepish is written fifteen years later, when they're thinking about quitting the farm, after all the shiny newness of farming and the relationship has worn off. There are different mistakes then, different sorrows, and new joys. 

From Sheepish: 

We rarely pay attention to middles. Perhaps we ignore them because they're problematic. The middles of our beds often sag. The middles of our bodies sag. The middle of a long story told by your brother-in-law is likely to sag, and so you'll need another beer to stay focused. Everyone needs a reason to keep going when they're in the middle. 

And:

Don't expect a farm to fix your life, for once the romance dims, you must still muck out the barn and stack hay bales and give that sick goat an enema...Although there are tons of stories about starting something new, there just aren't that many about how to keep doing something, about how to slog through the middle when the going gets tough.

The quotes are all from Sheepish; I can't find our copy of Hit By A Farm:

My spinning wheel continues to torture and confound me. I realize I'm not interested enough in the craft to really commit to learning it. After a few more tries, I tuck the wheel into a corner of our living room and turn it into what Melissa likes to call a Dust Accumulation Research Project. Clearly our wool market will continue to be the wildly unlucrative wholesale warehouse.

The patron saint of spinners is, interestingly enough, Saint Catherine. She was a Christian martyr in Alexandria. In 307 AD, she was condemned to be torn apart by the spokes of the wheel.

Well. No wonder.

Spoiler: things get pretty rough, there’s illness and hard winters and financial issues, but they do not, in fact, give up the farm or each other. 

The book says: We made it. You will too.

#the-revolution-will-be-feminized

[rainingpouringetc]

ya know what? fine. tlh characters as poems.

this is a long post and i don’t even have all the characters lol anyway without further ado...

Alastair Carstairs :: “The Breather” by Billy Collins

Just as in the horror movies when someone discovers that the phone calls are coming from inside the house

so too, I realized that our tender overlapping has been taking place only inside me.

All that sweetness, the love and desire— it’s just been me dialing myself then following the ringing to another room

to find no one on the line, well, sometimes a little breathing but more often than not, nothing.

To think that all this time— which would include the boat rides, the airport embraces, and all the drinks—

it’s been only me and the two telephones, the one on the wall in the kitchen and the extension in the darkened guest room upstairs.

Cordelia Carstairs :: “Meteor Shower” by Clint Smith

I read somewhere that meteor showers are almost always named after

the constellations from which they originate. It’s funny, I think,

how even the universe is telling us that we can never get too far

from the place that created us. How there is always a streak of our past

trailing closely behind us like a smattering of obstinate memories.

Even when we enter a new atmosphere, become subsumed in flames, turn to dust,

lose ourselves in the wind, and scatter the surface of all that rests beneath us,

we bring a part of where we are from to every place we go.

Matthew Fairchild :: “One Art” by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

James Herondale :: “Time does not bring relief (Sonnet II)” by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied   Who told me time would ease me of my pain!   I miss him in the weeping of the rain;   I want him at the shrinking of the tide; The old snows melt from every mountain-side,   And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;   But last year's bitter loving must remain Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.   There are a hundred places where I fear   To go,—so with his memory they brim.   And entering with relief some quiet place   Where never fell his foot or shone his face   I say, "There is no memory of him here!"   And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

Jesse Blackthorn :: “Nothing Gold Can Stay” by Robert Frost

Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.

Thomas Lightwood :: “This Was Once a Love Poem” by Jane Hirshfield

This was once a love poem, before its haunches thickened, its breath grew short, before it found itself sitting, perplexed and a little embarrassed, on the fender of a parked car, while many people passed by without turning their heads.

It remembers itself dressing as if for a great engagement. It remembers choosing these shoes, this scarf or tie.

Once, it drank beer for breakfast, drifted its feet in a river side by side with the feet of another.

Once it pretended shyness, then grew truly shy, dropping its head so the hair would fall forward, so the eyes would not be seen.

It spoke with passion of history, of art. It was lovely then, this poem. Under its chin, no fold of skin softened. Behind the knees, no pad of yellow fat. What it knew in the morning it still believed at nightfall. An unconjured confidence lifted its eyebrows, its cheeks.

The longing has not diminished. Still it understands. It is time to consider a cat, the cultivation of African violets or flowering cactus.

Yes, it decides: Many miniature cacti, in blue and red painted pots. When it finds itself disquieted by the pure and unfamiliar silence of its new life, it will touch them—one, then another— with a single finger outstretched like a tiny flame.

Lucie Herondale :: “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers” by Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - And sore must be the storm - That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land - And on the strangest Sea - Yet - never - in Extremity, It asked a crumb - of me.

#yes i did this instead of writing my four page essay. what of it? #might do a part two later #ya never know #tlh #the last hours #alastair carstairs #cordelia carstairs #matthew fairchild #james herondale #jesse blackthorn #thomas lightwood #lucie herondale #poetry #poetry with artie

[britishboystm]

Photographs (Tom Blake)

Warnings: fluff, slight angst

Word Count: 1432

A/N: idea from @blueeyedheizer 🥰🥰🥰

...

It was too close a call. They had barely made it out alive. Ringing in the ears from the explosion and the sudden change to the bright outside caused discomfort for the two young lance corporals.

Once the ringing subdued for Tom, he was met with the sounds of Will choking. Dust most likely from being buried alive underneath the German bunker they had just passed through.

Catching his breath, Tom turned to Will to check on him.

“Here.” Was all he spoke while handing over his petrol can of water. Without even a single word of gratitude, Will snatched the bottle and poured the water in his mouth, immediately spitting it out after to get rid of the taste of rubble. Then he used the last little bit to clear his vision.

“Thank you.” He gasped out while weakly handing it back to the younger soldier.

Tom took back the empty bottle with slight irritation, having no clue when they may come across clean water again on their long journey. As he went to place the bottle back in his harnessed satchel, he felt as though something was missing. His breath caught in his throat as he grabbed the casing to reveal it was empty.

“No, no, no!” He yells suddenly. Will jumps slightly at Tom's sporadic outburst.

“What?”

“My photograph, it’s missing!” He cries out, still looking inside the case, desperately hoping that the photo in question would magically reappear in its original spot.

“What photograph?” Will was getting slightly irritated. This mission was so crucial and time was of the essence, but here they were standing around as Tom panics about a piece of film.

“Of Y/N, it was the only photo I had of her when I left. I need that photo Will.” This was astonishing. Will had yet to see Tom be so vulnerable and sad. Of course he now understood how important this photograph was. Tom really only talked about three things- his family, his dog and you, but mostly you.

You were a muse for Tom, a motivator. You were the main reason Tom needed to come out of this war alive. He had promised he would marry you when he returned and by god he would never break a promise.

“Tom, I’m sure it’s around but we really don’t have the time.” Tom had already turned around and was speed walking towards the collapsed bunker.

He planted himself in a random spot amongst the destruction and began sifting through the rock and wood panels left behind.

“Tom.” Will said sternly. All he received in return was Tom speeding up his actions in a more frantic way. Sobbing was then added to the mix.

“Tom!” Will now yells, marching over and grabbing Tom by the arms.

“No, get off me! I need to find it!” Tom resisted heavily against Will as he tried to lead him away from the disaster.

“Tom we need to get to your brother.” Tom stopped and fell to his hands and knees, sobbing like no tomorrow.

“I can’t lose her Will.” He whimpers as his tears mix with the grey powdered rock beneath him.

“Tom we have to keep walking.” Tom stayed silent for a moment, regaining his composure and letting out a couple sniffles before standing up and dusting himself off,

“Let’s get to your brother yeah?” Will says grabbing Tom's shoulder and leading him away from where your photo was buried deep, never to be retrieved.

As they continued to walk, Tom visualized you in that photo. How your hair was pinned up in a messy bun, strands of hair slightly falling down from the up-do in different places. The dress you wore was a mixture of white and light blue lace and since it had been taken for your birthday, the necklace Tom had got you sat gently on your exposed upper chest.

Then after taking a hold of that image in his mind, Tom began repeating the words you had written on the back to himself;

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

Come home to me Thomas

Always yours,

Y/N

You had bought him a book of poetry a couple years back and whenever he could he would read ‘How do I love Thee,’ by Elizabeth Barrett Browning to you underneath both your favourite cherry tree on his farm.

The importance of trying to remember how you looked in that photo as well as the words you had written down was almost impossible to explain. Tom had a bad feeling that if he were to die in this war, it would mean he wouldn’t ever see you again. Having that photo in his head would allow him to fill his mind with you as his final thought.

———

You sat on the porch impatiently causing loud creaking on the stairs from your leg bouncing. Tom would come home today.  You had longed to hold and kiss him after these 2 long agonizing years of separation. It was close to unbearable.

Myrtle laid at your feet as the puppies played in the grass not far from where you were. The cool November air nipped at you causing you to tug your knitted shawl tighter around your upper body.

The smell of a roast beef dinner wafted out from the kitchen window. Iris had missed her boys so much and this was her unique way of expressing her excitement and happiness. This was a ugly war, and you were just so grateful Tom was able to get out of there alive.

It felt like eternity. The sun was now setting, allowing oranges and pinks to fill your vision. Any cloud that sat in the atmosphere was tinted the same colour as the sunset as well. Because the sun was now falling behind the horizon, any heat that would have kept you at a somewhat comfortable temperature had disappeared. Myrtle and the puppies had all huddled up into your lap and around you, also feeling the coolness. But they waited, almost as though they knew Tom was coming.

You had been too preoccupied scratching behind Myrtles ear that you didn’t hear the heavy footsteps walking up the driveway. The crunch of the gravel alerted Myrtle and her head shot up, admitting a loud bark as she jumped away from your side and down to the two men approaching. You looked up to see a tired Tom and Joe bend down to greet the hyperactive dog as she jumped at their legs. The puppies had tried to follow their mom, allowing their tiny legs to carry them as quickly as they could.

Your shawl fell down your shoulders as your breath caught in your throat. Your stomach was holding a circus as you let out a scream,

“Tom!” You bolted down the steps and sprinted down to meet them. Tom’s eyes diverted from the labrador and gave you a beaming smile, starting his run in your direction. Meeting halfway you jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs around his torso. He let out a content laugh as you grabbed his face in your hands.

“Oh Tom.” You swooned as you sprinkled every single part of his face with kisses. He placed you down and grabbed your face as well, taking in your features.

“Just like the picture.” He whispered while using his thumb to wipe a tear away from your flushed cheek. You didn’t know what he was talking about but you didn’t care. You were just happy to see him again. You then bite your lip before slowly going in for another deep and intimate kiss.

“Nice to see you too Y/N.” Joe chuckled jokingly as both you and Tom stayed preoccupied with expressing your love for one another.

#dean charles chapman imagines #dean charles chapman x reader #1917 #tom blake #fanfiction #fanfic #romance

[izzyfandoms]

Beach Day

SHIPS: Thvi

CHARACTERS: Virgil Sanders, Thomas Sanders

WARNING: Nothing this is just pure plotless fluff

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @aj-draws @phantomofthesanderssides @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread @mrbubbajones @glassferns @pun-master-logan @gayturtlez @k1ngtok1

Masterpost

“Virgil, you know I love you, right?”

Virgil lifted a hand, creating shade over his eyes to keep the glaring sun from blinding him as he turned to squint suspiciously at his boyfriend.

The couple was sat together on the beach, huddled together on one towel, watching the waves and watching their friends as they splashed around and played in the sea. There were no clouds in the sky, nothing to block the brightness of the sun except Virgil’s hand over his own face.

Beaches weren’t really Virgil’s thing. He preferred being inside, and, in his opinion, storms and rain were much better than the hot, humid heat of the Summer.

“I get the feeling I’m going to regret saying yes,” he told Thomas flatly.

Thomas made a sound that was halfway between exaggerated offense – a habit he seemed to have picked up from his older brother, Roman, which always gave Virgil a feeling of equal exasperation and fondness – and entertained laughter. He leant closer, gently bumping his elbow against Virgil’s side and shifting even closer to him, pressing up against Virgil’s side.

“Come on,” Thomas laughed. “Would I ever do anything to hurt you?”

Virgil continued to squint suspiciously at him. “Hurt? No. But annoy? Yes.”

“Aww, would I do that?”

“Yes,” Virgil said bluntly.

Thomas laughed again, a little louder this time. “Come on, Virge. You know I love you, right?”

There was a beat, where Virgil continued to stare suspiciously at his boyfriend. Thomas reacted by doing his best innocent expression, which, of course, only made Virgil’s suspicion of him grow. But, after only a moment, Virgil sighed.

“Okay, fine,” he said, gesturing vaguely with the hand not shielding him from the sun. “Yeah, yeah, you love me. I love you. What is it?”

“Aww, you love me?”

Virgil gave Thomas a flat look, and didn’t say anything in response to that.

Thomas laughed again. “Okay, okay. The point is that... well, you know I love you, and therefore you know that when I say this, I only mean the best.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t like where this is going.”

Thomas shrugged, and gave Virgil a slightly sheepish, apologetic smile.

“Why are you wearing your hoodie at the beach?”

“Oh,” Virgil said.

He looked down at himself, at his hoodie, which he was wearing over a purple t-shirt and black swimming trunks. He blinked, looking a little startled, though Thomas wasn’t sure whether that was because he hadn’t expected Thomas to point that out, or if he’d just completely forgotten that he was wearing it.

Thomas leant forward, taking Virgil’s free hand in one of his own, and using the other to slowly run his thumb over Virgil’s knuckles.

“It’s, like, a bazillion degrees out, and I feel like I’m going to boil in just this,” Thomas said, looking down at his own outfit – just swimming trunks and flipflops. “I have no idea how you’re still alive in all those clothes, and I’m just a teeny tiny bit concerned you are going to die.”

Virgil huffed. “I’m not going to die.”

“Fine, fine, you’re going to pass out.”

“I’m not going to pass out, either.”

Thomas gave Virgil a flat look of disbelief. “Do you remember what happened the last time you told me that? About, I don’t know, a month ago?”

“No,” Virgil lied immediately.

Thomas’s look of disbelief only strengthened, and he didn’t even need to say anything – just stare at Virgil – for his boyfriend to sigh and give in.

“Fine, I... I passed out.”

“You passed out,” Thomas nodded. “So, forgive me for worrying about you when you already look like you’re overheating and about three seconds from melting on the spot.”

“But I like my hoodie.”

“I like it, too,” Thomas agreed, before grinning. “And I admire your commitment to the aesthetic but please, I’d rather keep my boyfriend un-melted, thank you very much.”

Virgil snorted. “I don’t think that’s a word.”

Thomas laughed again. “Who are you, Logan?” He teased.

“I wish. I’d get so much more done with a brain like his.”

Thomas nodded, humming in agreement. “You’re right, you’re right. It’s a shame he couldn’t make it, but at least Pat stayed behind with him.”

“He’s not exactly the beach type, either,” Virgil added. “I think he’d just sit here and read, and then complain about getting sand everywhere and talk about how he just could have stayed and read at home.”

Thomas chuckled. “Oh, exactly and- hold on, are you trying to distract me?”

This time, it was Virgil’s turn with the shrug and the sheepish expression.

“Sorry.”

“Come on,” Thomas said. “If you take off your hoodie, I’ll give you kisses.”

“You’d kiss me either way.”

“Well, yes, but if you take off the hoodie, you get kisses and life. And if you keep it on, you’d get kisses and death. And I don’t really want to kiss a corpse.”

Virgil’s nose wrinkled. “I’d hope not.”

Thomas squeezed Virgil’s hand. “Hey, I’m pretty sure Logan would agree with me. Want me to call him and ask?”

Virgil huffed. “No, no, I get it.”

He let go of Thomas’s hand for just a moment, shrugging off his hoodie and then holding it carefully in his lap as he returned his hand to Thomas’s without a second thought. He squinted again, glaring at the sun as best he could without blinding himself, as he now didn’t have a hand to protect his eyes from it: one was in Thomas’s, and the other was holding his hoodie.

The beach was loud, which usually Virgil wouldn’t be a fan of, but he had hardly noticed it most of the time since their arrival. He was too distracted by Thomas talking to him or kissing him or holding his hand – or even just existing in his natural oh-so handsome state – and the things that usually would have stressed him out seemed seemed almost smaller in comparison to Thomas.

And, well, Thomas had been right. It had gotten rather hot and stuffy in his hoodie, and now that he’d taken it off, he felt significantly cooler and more comfortable.

He turned back to Thomas, who was smiling at him cheerfully, but with just the hint of teasing in his expression.

“Feel better?” Thomas asked, and it was impossible not to hear the slight smugness in his voice.

Virgil rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the upwards twitching of the corners of his lips, or the fondness that seemed to always creep into his expression when he looked at Thomas.

“Yeah, yeah,” Virgil said, squeezing Thomas’s hand. “No need to be smug Mr. Right-About-Everything.”

Thomas laughed. “Ha-ha, you said it, not me.”

“Aww, you two are adorable.”

Both Thomas and Virgil looked up in unison, their eyes immediately landing on their friend, Emile, who had somehow walked up to them without either of them noticing. He was smiling down at them, stood up whilst the couple were both sitting down, which was the only time he’d ever seemed taller than them, since he was by far the shortest of the friend group.

Virgil could feel his face warm slightly, though it was a little difficult to tell since he was already warm and red from the summer heat.

Thomas laughed. “Thanks. We try.”

Emile smiled, before slowly and carefully sitting down in the sand at Thomas’s other side.

“You two can go swim now, if you want,” Emile said. “I’ll watch our things.”

“Oh, nice!” Thomas said.

He dropped Virgil’s hand, jumping up and then immediately held out his hand for his boyfriend to take again. Virgil hesitated for a moment, before he glanced at Emile.

“Can you take my hoodie?” He asked.

“Yup!” Emile held out his hands, and took Virgil’s hoodie, placing it in his lap. “I’ll take good care of it.”

Virgil was never a fan of leaving his hoodie alone with someone else – it was his favourite possession, after all: the patches having been made by hand – and it meant a lot to him. But, he supposed, Emile was the one friend he trusted most with it, other than Thomas and Patton and Logan. The latter two weren’t there, though, and Thomas was coming with Virgil.

“Thank you,” Virgil nodded.

He then turned back to Thomas, who was still holding his hand out for Virgil to take. Virgil took it without hesitation, and let Thomas help him stand up.

Virgil stood too fast, wobbling and almost tipping over, but Thomas caught him by the waist before he could fall over.

“My hero,” Virgil said flatly.

Thomas laughed. “Don’t let the others hear you calling me that,” he joked. “I don’t think they’ll ever let it go. It took three months for them to forget about the time you accidentally called me ‘baby’ in front of them.”

Virgil’s nose wrinkled. “God, that sucked.”

“My lips are sealed,” Emile piped up, prompting the couple to turn to look at them. He mimed zipping his lips shut, locking it, and then throwing away the key with the hand not holding Virgil’s hoodie in his lap. “But you two are absolutely adorable! A real Ruby and Sapphire.”

“Aww,” Thomas practically cooed, before turning back to Virgil. “I bet if we were gems, we’d have the coolest fusion.”

Virgil snorted. “Or maybe it would just amplify both of our anxieties.”

“Oh, right. You know, I’d almost forgotten about that,” Thomas then nodded his head in the direction of the waves. “So, swimming?”

“Okay, just as long as we don’t go too deep,” Virgil said. “I don’t want you to drown.”

#me #writing #thvi #sanders sides #thomas sanders #character thomas #virgil sanders #human au #fluff

[omgheyala]

simonverse characters as things my friends and I have said

Leah: Permission to ship everyone with theraphy?

Bram: If Dan and Phil or Thomas Sanders ever post on their Instagram that there are random voices whispering to them, that’s me.

Abby: LEAH DO YOU WANT TO SMEELL THE CSNDLE ON STAURDAY

Bram: Abby is the CEO of exclamation points.

Simon: Good. Now go put on that emo playlist and fucking WALLOW

Garrett: VODKA.

Ms. Albright: I love you you beautiful bitch

Simon before Bram: I’m going to marry Cal Price one day (istg this is an actual quote)

Taylor, drinking a milkshake and answering why she can't hang out: *slurps* coronavirus *slurps*

Nick: Wait. Is Bram my father???

Taylor: I’m in love with Renee Rapp!

Martin: You’re dying from chlamydia.

Cal: Your hair looks like, if I ate it, it would taste like Tutti Frutti.

Cassie, texting Molly when Abby calls her to tell her she kissed Leah: “Oh its fine shes a lesbian”

Simon, talking about Cal: He's so cute and french though i don't regret liking him at all

Anna: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMJfADwFc/ Can i just say that if these gay anime children ever had a nerf gun war rhis is 100% how it would play out and I love it

Ms. Albright: welcome to my world sweetie! also SHUT HIM THE FUCK UP,THIS IS A GODDAMN SCHOOLYARD FIGHT

Nora talking about Nick: i think my guitar teacher forgot about me

Simon talking about Elton John: our gay drug recoverist song baby

Reid trying to be cool: HIGH KANGAROOS VODKA DRUNK KANGAROOS

Alice: But you’ll have to witness him make love to a pasta maker and do you want that???

Abby: *in horrible british accent* Daniel Radcliffe has nothing on me.

Garrett: “also i sing and listen to a lot of songs about sex for someone genuinely scared of it lmfao”

Will: So we’re ignoring that I just said I gave Molly chlamydia...

Leah: Stop wearing makeup on the beach Abby!

Leah: Helen is a stupid name for a weapon.

Leah: what im i doing now you may ask? Reading my hero acidemia Do i have the manga? no Do i like most long time anime fans know where to look for good pirated manga? hell yea So im a illegally reading my hero acidemia? yes yes i am.

Garrett: Who is Tyrian? Leah: A bottom.

Nick: but you know hopefully i don’t get robbed Leah: nicks gonna die/span>

Nora: GUSSE WHO JUST CHUGGED AN ENTIRE CUP OF BLACK COFFE?! ME B/C IM AN SMART DUMBASS AND WAITED UNTIL THE WEEKEND TO CHUGE COFFEE THIS LATE Cal: ELEANOR JANE SPIER Nora: y e s? Cal: HOW DARE Cal: SLEEP IS IMPORTANT Nora: ADHD says otherwise Nora: and i dont noramly have coffee this late but tonights a late coffee night Cal: okay sweetie

Olivia: I have 30 children and only one of them is from my real life. Cassie: Sound like Molly’s crushes.

Bram: *Typed with videos* Guys we are literally a little under an hour away from DC there most likely will be riots all over the U.S but they'll be very intense in DC and in the states neighboring it aka Maryland and Virginia. Simon: well we're all gonna die Bram: Y E P Bram: HOW FAST CAN WE BUY NATURAL DISASTER RATIONS?

Bieber: *walks across Nora’s keyboard and puts his butt in her face* Nora: Bieber your tiny dog butt does not spark joy!

Nick, drunk: Okay but let’s be honest I'd be a great God Leah, sober but humouring Nick: I'd be a great Lucifer

Simon: Garrett are you good? Garrett: I’m just eating my burger

Bram: But what if I’m dangerous? I’m chlamydia Simon: Well, you can still stay, because… Simon: Simon: Simon: I like chlamydia Leah, a few seconds later: I’m personally a gonorrhea person.

#my friends #ala rants #Simonverse #love Simon #simon vs thsa #simon vs the homosapiens agenda #leah on the offbeat #the upside of unrequited #love creekwood #yes no maybe so #what if it's us #Becky Albertalli #leah burke #garrett laughlin #simon spier #bram greenfeld #abraham greenfeld #cal price #calvin price #nora spier #bieber spier #will from upside #molly peskin-suso #cassie peskin suso #Taylor Metternich #reid wertheim #Martin Addison #anna cheung #nick eisner #morgan hirsch

[averykedavra]

Valley of the Dolls 2/10

The wonderful idea of apathy!Roman goes to @caffeinated-cryptid, an amazing artist and all-around great person. Check out their @ts-unsolved au, it owns my heart! This is mostly in line with their ideas, but I took it in a slightly different direction. And my description doesn’t do justice to their amazing costume design, so take a look yourself! Also, this chapter is chock-full of my favorite headcanons. I got some of the ideas from this post and this post. You can find this fic on Ao3 here.

(Title is from Valley of the Dolls by MARINA. Chapter is based around Surrender by Malinda)

Pairings: platonic DLAMPR

Warnings: sympathetic Remus, sympathetic Janus, a ton of angst (but I’ve got a happy ending planned), blood mentions, death mentions, death threats, slightly NSFW jokes, attempted violence. Basically Remus being Remus. Set immediately after Putting Others First.

Summary: After the disastrous video and a week of spiraling, Roman becomes a Dark Side, Apathy. At first, Remus is thrilled, dragging his brother into all sorts of trouble. But Roman’s no fun anymore, the other Sides are paying a visit downstairs, and it’s becoming clear that Thomas can’t survive without Creativity by his side.

Chapter 2: Hours From Another Day

First. Previous. Next. Masterlist.

We're a bomb, ticking time away You belong to hours from another day... All we need is one disaster, one relief Hearts beat, hoping for that old belief... But that was then, and this is now And we made it through the woods somehow Willing and able to breathe.

Remus was minding his own business, welding two dildos together, when his brother fell from the ceiling and landed on the living room carpet.

Remus hopped off the couch and tossed the half-melted dildos behind him, where they burned a hole through the middle cushion. But there were enough stains and burns already that the new hole fit right in.

Roman was lying still, three inches from the coffee table with the extra tentacle leg, face-down and silent. Wait, was it Roman? He wasn’t wearing the right clothes. Black, not white. And Roman would never go this long without jumping up, waving his sword, and making declarations of undying love or great heroism or something.

Still. Remus just knew. Maybe it was intuition, or twin-tuition, or separated-from-this-guy-at-age-seven-tuition. This was Roman Creativity Sanders himself, lying on the Dark Sides’ ragged tan carpet.

Which begged the question. What in the name of Mary Shelley was he doing here?

“Ro-bro?” Remus asked. “Why’d you decide to drop in?”

Roman didn’t congratulate Remus on his pun. He didn’t respond at all. He didn’t even twitch.

“You in there?” Remus tilted his head, neck cracking. “Did you pass out? You’d better not have passed out, Jan will kill me if I bring another unconscious human into his room.”

No answer.

Remus summoned a chalkboard and dragged his nails down it. The ear-splitting screech echoed around the room.

Roman didn’t flinch.

Which was rude! Remus didn’t like being ignored. He grabbed the fused dildos and chucked them at Roman’s back. But he’d never been super great at throwing things so it flew over Roman’s shoulder and began to burn a hole in the carpet. Eh, there were lots of stains in the carpet, too. Nice things in the Downstairs didn’t tend to last very long.

“C’mon!” Remus prodded Roman with his foot. “C’mon, wake up! Say something! This is boring!” He kicked Roman’s ribs, hard, and Roman curled a little tighter, making a pained noise.

Success!

Now. If a kick got him to move, what would get him sitting up and talking? Maybe a nuclear warhead in the face? Or nipple tasers? Or branding his face with swear words! All fun options, but if Roman was in too much pain to talk, it wouldn’t do anyone any good.

Remus decided answers were more important than nipple tasers. A sad truth, but there it was.

“Get up,” Remus ordered, kicking him again. “Or I’ll electrocute your nipples.”

Usually, that statement elicited a lot of screaming. Or, in Jan’s case a ‘good for you, Remus,’ but Jan was different. So it was a surprise when Roman didn’t even look up.

Was he sleeping? Unconscious? Ignoring Remus like the little bratty baby he was? Wait, was he dead? No, he wasn’t dead, he’d moved—but what if he died right after that? Could Sides die? Remus had done a lot of real nasty stuff that would probably kill a regular boring human body twenty times over. If ripping out his own beating heart and feeding it to a dinosaur didn’t kill a Side, Remus didn’t think anything would.

But Roman still wasn’t moving. And hey, intrusive thoughts sucked. Remus couldn’t stop picturing Roman dying, his corpse decaying on the carpet, his eyeballs drying up and—

He wasn’t dead! He was breathing! He was breathing, right? He wasn’t dead, right? Remus sniffed at him and grabbed his arm, lifting it high in the air. It immediately fell back down. Alrighty, fun game! But he needed to figure stuff out. No time for games. Be a detective instead! Logan liked detective stuff, right? Remus caught him reading a Sherlock x Watson fanfic that one time. What would Logan do, and how could Remus do that better and with more butts?

Remus stuck out his tongue as he thought. He should try to gather information! Right? Like the answer to that is-Roman-breathing question. He’d completely forgotten about that. Sometimes Remus really didn’t like how his mind worked, all slippery and fluid and changeable. Like a greased pig on caffeine. How slick was a greased pig anyway? Were some animals faster when greased? What about humans? What about a few specific body parts—

Breathing. B-R-E-A-T-H-I-N-G. Focus, focus, focus. Remus had a mystery to solve and he didn’t have time for this.

How did someone check for breathing? Remus held his hand in front of Roman’s face. Was that breath? He hoped it was. He barely got to see his bro and it would be a real shame if Ro-Bro’s visit was cut short by cardiac arrest. If Roman died before Remus got to kill him, Remus would murder him.

Wait, heartbeat! That’s something Remus should check, right? Remus immediately reached for Roman’s chest to extract his heart. Nope. Wait a sec. They were both Creativity. Injuries hurt when the other did them.

Although it might get Roman to move—

Before Remus could decide whether to jumpstart Roman’s brain with a defibrillator-style shock to the system, Roman shifted again. It was tiny, but there.

Okay. Definitely alive. Cool. Cool cool cool. Was he asleep? Wouldn’t the impact have woken him up? And he was sleeping face-down, which sounded fun and suffocating but not the sort of thing Roman was usually into. Remus couldn’t see if his eyes were open. They’d better not be, or Roman was just ignoring Remus and making his life harder on purpose.

Remus lodged his foot under Roman’s chest and flipped him over.

Huh.

That was new.

Roman wasn’t wearing his usual prince costume. Well, he was? Sort of. But the white parts were all black, and the sash might have been darker as well or maybe it was just Remus’ imagination. Maybe it was because the red didn’t gleam and the gold didn’t shine. Roman was always easy to spot, like a strangely plumed peacock. Remus was the same, dousing his outfit in sparkles and ruffles. Maybe it was tasteless in Remus’ case, or ostentatious in Roman’s, but it made sure they were always the center of attention. Now, the colors were dull and seemed out-of-place on Roman’s outfit. They didn’t have any life to them, like veins with the blood drained out, only a shell left behind.

This was Roman, right? He’d never be caught dead in that outfit. It looked like Jan and Virgil had dressed him on a dare. But no. It was Roman’s face. Although his skin was pale and he looked a little thinner than usual and dark purple makeup dripped down his face. Like tears.

And was a lock of hair in front darker than the rest? Remus absently reached up and fingered his own white patch. He’d dyed it as a teenager and kept it around. It reminded him of Cruella de Vil, of raccoons. Roman talked about dying his hair sometimes, but usually something colorful. Red, or purple, or full rainbow. Never just darker brown.

Very emo indeed, Remus decided. Maybe this was a prank from Virgil? Virgil wasn’t really the prank type.

Then Remus noticed something really weird. Roman was wearing a crown.

When they were little, back when they were the same person, they wore a crown. After they split, for a while, they’d wear cardboard crowns and paper wreaths. But as they grew older, Roman and Remus decided against the crowns. For Remus, they brought back bad memories and stories he didn’t want to revisit. For Roman, the crowns always ended up falling off. Roman was full of restless energy—maybe it was a twin thing—and any hat or headgear was bound to wobble around and tumble to the floor. Remus was the same way. He tried wearing a dear skull to dinner and it fell into Virgil’s soup. Virgil was not impressed.

But now, Roman had a crown. A small golden crown perched on his head. Like it was glued to his scalp. Like Roman wanted a crown so bad he made it stay put, or he knew he wouldn’t move around enough to make it come off.

Something was definitely wrong.

Remus reared up to give Roman another kick, because he was getting answers. Then he noticed Roman’s eyes were open.

“You dork!” Remus yelled. “You’ve been awake this whole time? Why are you here if you’re just gonna ignore me?”

Roman’s eyes shifted over to him. He didn’t speak.

“Are you giving me the Silent Treatment?” Remus stuck out his bottom lip. “Rude! You visit just to act like I don’t exist? I thought princes have manners!”

Roman swallowed and whispered “Not visiting.”

“He speaks!” Remus paused. “Wait, what d’ya mean? You’re here, aren’t you?” He groaned. “Oh, is this another hallucination? I knew I shouldn’t have eaten those carrots—”

Roman shook his head slightly.

“What are you saying?” Remus stomped his foot. “If you don’t start talking sense, I’ll bash your skull in!” Remus summoned his mace and swung it from his hand, leering at Roman. “I’m gonna.”

Roman looked away.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Remus said, poking Roman hard in the leg with his mace.

That leg should have bled, thick and strong. Roman should have screamed like a girl and clutched the wound as the skin split and veins separated. Remus should have Sides at his door, patching Roman up and giving Remus dirty looks that weren’t the fun kind of dirty. Roman should be back the next day, sword in hand, and it would be Remus’ turn to bleed out, JanJan lecturing him as he tightened the bandages, asking why they couldn’t just leave each other alone.

That’s what should have happened.

But the mace stuck in Roman’s leg. No blood bubbled up around the points. Remus pulled it out with a squelching noise.

There was no damage.

“What?” Remus said aloud, prodding the area. Not a scratch. Even Roman’s clothes were intact. He’d sharpened that mace this morning, why wasn’t it—

A new outfit. A new crown. Makeup running down his face. The usual just-the-brothers-can-maim-each-other-rule no longer applying.

Remus dropped his mace. It clattered on the ground.

“No.”

Roman met his eyes and nodded.

“No, no, no.” Remus shook his head hysterically. “No! Nope! Not dealing with this!”

Roman exhaled and turned away again. Remus stared at him with wide eyes. This was a prank. A joke. It had to be! Sides didn’t just change, that wasn’t how this worked. Virgil switched, but Virgil was different. Roman was the fan favorite, the pretty boy, the good twin, everything Remus would never be.

“Jan?” Remus called, eyes trained on his brother. “Roman just fell into the living room and I think he might be a Dark Side now?”

He waited for Jan to respond. The Mindscape was quiet.

“JanJan?” Remus yelled at the top of his lungs.

No answer.

“Guess you’re not here,” Remus muttered bitterly. “Again.”

Great. He was alone in the Downstairs with a half-way comatose twin brother in a weird new outfit, that he couldn’t even stab!

“What happened to you?” Remus asked, not expecting an answer. “Did someone say something? I know the last video was a mess, but I thought y’all would figure it out. That’s what you do, right? Kiss and make up like in My Little Pony?” Remus blew a giant raspberry at Roman’s face. “I had things to do today and you completely messed up my schedule, so thanks a lot.”

Roman didn’t apologize. That tracked.

“You know what?” Remus asked, pacing back and forth. “You know what?”

He reached down and grabbed Roman’s face, squishing his cheeks and puckering his lips. “What?” he asked in a falsetto.

“I’m so glad you asked!” Remus released Roman’s face and stood up again. “I’m going to pay Upstairs a visit and see if I can pawn you off. You’re gonna be someone else’s problem, dearest brother-of-mine.”

Roman did not protest. Remus grabbed his mace off the floor and, swinging it joyfully, headed down the hall. His feet squelched on the carpet—it never really recovered from that cloud of blood, did it? The staircase was past the doors, a rickety set of spiral stairs perfect for pushing people down. Jan did that to Virgil once. It was hilarious.

Remus passed his own door first, a green slimy slab of putrid, hardened pus. ‘CREATIVITY’ was scratched into it with, Remus recalled, a double-bladed knife. The next door was Jan’s, made of dark burnished wood, a golden plaque proclaiming ‘DECEIT: Please Enter.’ The third door had no doorknob or keyhole, and the only marks were four long scratches down the front, like something had clawed it.

Remus deliberately ignored the blank, dirty patch of wallpaper where a fourth door used to be.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move.

Remus whirled, mace at the ready. At first he didn’t see anything. It was just a stretch of ugly wallpaper with some unidentifiable stains and graffiti that yelled ‘EAT THE RICH’ in bold letters.

But one of the stains, a dark one in the center of the wall, was steadily growing wider. No, it wasn’t really a stain—it was a rip, a tear. The wallpaper peeled away, revealing—a door handle?

What?

Remus creeped forward, hand still on his mace. Despite himself, hope bloomed in his stomach. The door was a familiar shade of black. It was impossible, but—was Virgil coming back? No. He wouldn’t. Would he? Could he? And if he wasn’t, why as a door appearing on the wall?

Maybe it was a storage closet or something. Who summoned it, Jan? Ugh, if Jan was here and had just ignored Remus, he’d have a bed full of shaving cream tonight.

The door was getting larger, stretching until it reached over Remus’ head. The wallpaper folded around the corners of the door and was scored away along the edges. The gold doorknob rattled and clicked, a new keyhole right below it. Remus reached out and tried to turn the knob. It wouldn’t budge.

The whole door was black. On closer inspection, it wasn’t the same black as Virgil’s door. Virgil’s was iridescent and almost purple. This black was just matte black. Virgil’s door was paint on wood. This was—Remus touched the surface carefully—almost glassy in texture. Cool and smooth.

Then, under his fingers, red scribbled across the surface, looping around and tucking back into itself. A red square settled around the doorknob, a red stripe slashed across the door like a sash, and on that sash, black cursive etched out a name.

APATHY.

In little golden letters beneath, ROMAN SANDERS.

In even littler letters, DO NOT ENTER.

Remus pressed his fingers to his mouth, reading the words again. Apathy. Roman Sanders, do not enter. Apathy. Roman Sanders. Apathy, Roman. Roman.

A hysterical laugh bubbled in Remus’ throat. He stumbled to the opposite wall and slid down it, staring at the door. He blinked hard. It didn’t disappear. He ripped his eyeballs out, dusted them off, and popped them back in. The door was still there.

Apathy Roman.

“You little…” Remus laughed. “You little b*tch!”

He didn’t even mind that Thomas’ mind censored swears. He swore anyway. He swore and laughed until he was gasping for breath. He said every swear word he knew and some he was pretty sure he’d just made up. He laughed until his eyes watered. Was he complaining or celebrating? Remus didn’t know.

He didn’t know a lot of things. How did this happen? Was it permanent? Would Roman stay for a day, a month, a year, forever? Remus glanced toward the living room. Roman hadn’t moved from the floor. Well.

“Hey, turd!” Remus called. “You’ve got a room here, did you know that?”

Roman didn’t respond.

“Seriously? Don’t tell me you died while I was over here.” Remus walked back down the hall and poked Roman in the chest. “Get up. The door won’t open for me and I’m really curious what it looks like inside.”

Roman looked blankly up at Remus. Remus leered back. When that got no reaction, he tore off his nose and let blood drip down his face. Still nothing! Was Remus losing his touch or was Roman just that apathetic?

Apathy. Apathetic. Oh. Yeah, that made sense.

“Okay, I get it,” Remus said. “Your new gig is being a grumpy formless blob. Cool. Fine. But I’ve got business to do in the living room and you can’t just lie there forever. Get your tuchas moving and come check out your new digs.”

Roman looked away again.

“You’ve taken a vow of silence or something?” Remus flexed his fingers. “That’s irritating, I can’t read minds like Jan. Tell you what. Blink if you’re gonna get up and walk with me to your room, don’t blink if I’m gonna have to drag you down the hallway like a dead body.”

Roman didn’t blink. Either he wanted to be dragged or couldn’t be bothered to move his eyelids. Good enough for Remus. He grabbed Roman’s ankles and tugged him down the hall.

It was slow going. Roman was heavy and he kept getting stuck on the carpet. Remus tried his best to make conversation. He was used to talking to people who ignored him, so it was pretty easy. It was like that scene in Inside Out, he thought vaguely. Huh, that was weird. Usually his similes were more X-rated.

Wait.

If Roman wasn’t Creativity anymore—did that mean Remus was—

Remus stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, his brother in one hand and his mace in the other.

Was he the only Creativity now?

Was he like Him?

No. No, he wasn’t. He’d know. He could tell if something was different. Remus hadn’t changed. He was still demented and disgusting and delectable.

But wasn’t that worse?

Thomas…Thomas didn’t have Roman anymore. No flights of fancy or unicorn horns. Just asphyxiation and zombies and everything in between. Creativity was no longer balanced in a yin-yang black-white good-evil situation. It was all Remus.

He’d always wanted more control. More attention. To really have a say in Tommy’s decisions, to not be shunted aside and sidelined because his ideas were too ‘mature.’ He’d always wanted to knock Roman down a peg, kick him a few rungs down the social ladder.

Just...not like this.

He didn’t want Roman to fall off entirely. He didn’t want Roman to leave the stage. He didn’t want Roman gone.

Remus couldn’t—he couldn’t be the only Creativity. He was no good! Everyone said so! They’d probably blame him for Roman’s fall even though, for once, it wasn’t his fault, and Virgil would hate him and Jan would finally leave and—

There was a light tap on his leg. Remus jerked out of his thoughts, glancing down at Roman. Roman’s eyes were a little wider than normal. He looked worried.

“Okay?” Roman asked quietly.

Are you okay?

“Of course,” Remus said, waggling his eyebrows and ignoring the pang in his chest. “Let’s go.” He grabbed Roman’s arm and swung him around his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Without the friction from the floor, Remus was at Roman’s door in seconds. He reached out and jiggled the handle. Still locked.

“You’re gonna have to open this,” Remus told Roman, twisting his head around to look at him.

Roman sighed quietly. His finger twitched, and the door swung open. Remus barged in and tossed Roman on the bed. It had black and grey sheets with a red quilt and was the only thing in the room. The walls and floor were bare plaster. It looked like a prison cell.

“Jeez,” Remus complained, “not very stylish, bro. Would it kill you to add some color?”

Roman was already curled up on the bed, not bothering to cover himself with sheets. He stared at the wall.

“Fine, I’ll decorate.” Remus snapped his fingers and added a large mirror with claw feet, a few grotesque paintings on the walls, and a knitted carpet the color of dried blood.

“Perfect.” Remus glanced at the still motionless figure on the bed. “Look, I’m gonna call in some backup, okay? Don’t die while I’m gone.”

Roman closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep immediately. Remus watched him for a second before bolting out of the room. The door banged on the wall as he threw it open.

“Jan!”

Why wasn’t he here?

Remus stomped down the hallway toward Jan’s door. If JanJan wasn’t here, he’d just break into his room and make Jan pay attention.

As he passed the handle-less door, he paused. The food flap was locked but Remus knew the combination, he could—

No. He wasn’t that desperate. Not yet.

Instead, Remus kicked the snaky boy’s door open. Ha, joke’s on JanJan for letting Remus come in whenever. A snake hissed at him from its terrarium. Remus hissed back.

It would be pretty much impossible for Jan to ignore this. All Sides knew if someone else was in their room. Remus usually resented that. It made pranking harder. But today it came in handy.

“Oh, JanJan!” Remus stepped toward the bookshelf. “Sure would be a shame if all these lovely volumes were dumped into a vat of motor oil and set on fire!”

No angry snake appeared. Remus kicked over a end table and tossed some slime on the bed.

“Seriously, Jan,” Remus continued, releasing some crickets in the closet. “I’d get in here if I were you!”

There was a loud clang outside. Footsteps. Remus ran to the door and saw Jan, capelet flying behind him and face flushed, running down the stairs.

“There you are!” Remus complained. “Took you long enough.”

“I—” Jan stumbled to a stop in front of him, bending over and panting. “There—Remus—”

“What’s up, Double Dee?” Remus glanced at the open door behind him. “Um, I’d be careful going inside if I were you—”

“Remus,” Jan repeated, finally catching his breath. He straightened. There was panic in his eyes. “Remus, we—we have a situation.”

“Yeah, no sh*t, Sherlock!” Remus snapped. “While you were off playing nice Upstairs, that situation fell into our living room.”

“What?” Jan’s mouth dropped open. “Roman—what?”

Remus grimaced. “You’d better come see this.”

Next. Masterlist.

General taglist:

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@csi-baker-street-babes​

@caffeinated-cryptid

Valley of the Dolls taglist:

@cluttered-wonder

@wouldnt-you-like-that

@gotta-love-alejandra

@mihaela-tbg

@tombombadi1

@kaefish

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Ask to be included or removed!

#averywrites #valleyofthedolls #platonic lamp #platonic dlampr #platonic creativitwins #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #apathy roman #dark sides #dark side roman #sympathetic remus #sympathetic janus #angst #angst with a happy ending #angst with a hopeful ending #dark side angst #roman sanders angst #remus sanders angst #creativitwins #creativitwins angst

[my-happy-little-bean]

Picnics in the Imagination

pairings: no romantic ones! just a nice LAMP fic :) words: 3294 warnings: mild swearing, insecurity, slight hurt/comfort vibes

summary: 

Everyone stared at those two bees in front of them; what were they doing? 

Or: the sides share a moment in the Imagination. 

a/n- hello! pls excuse this like, weird character study of a one shot heh. i have been having trouble with characterization, so i guess my way to solve that was to,,,write solely based on characterization lol. it was good practice, and even if it’s a bit rough, i still hope you enjoy it :)

read on ao3~

---------

There were two bees fighting in front of him.

They were about seven feet away, and he decided that he should be able to outrun them if they decided to team up against him; or worse, if they were going to attract some equally-terrifying friends. But for the time being, they seemed like they were too wrapped up in trying to murder each other to even notice him. 

It made Virgil wonder why Roman did stuff like that; why he would create a world so beautiful, only to have it destroy itself. He wondered if the self-inflicted drama was some stupid way of him validating his own strength or whatever.

Or maybe it was only this destructive when Virgil was here. 

It wasn’t too far-fetched of an idea. That was why it took two and a half weeks to convince Virgil to even take a step into the Imagination again, let alone sit down in it and eat sandwiches. 

Though, who could really blame him? He wasn’t meant to exist here, where everything was all special and breathtaking and make-believe. It was literally everything he wasn’t. The last time he was here, it had seemed like the Imagination was actively trying to push him out via a million tiny goblins. 

(Virgil couldn’t help but shudder at the memory of stuffing them all in a box, frantically searching for the key to trap them there forever before they set off again and ruin someone else’s hat.)

And even if it was okay for him to be here, there wasn’t much for him to do. No one wanted to imagine the storms Virgil found himself under, anyway. After all, the things Roman triumphantly held on the ends of his sword were from monsters Virgil embodied. The grass he stepped on literally burned at the tips if he stood on it for too long.

So why did he feel so...so safe?

Logan had told him once that the Imagination responded to everyone who stepped into its territory. It was supposed to be reassurance, but it was something that scared Virgil the most; that something could reflect the heavy static he could barely walk across everyday. And the first few times he was here, it did.

But now, the Imagination felt like a weighted blanket; almost suffocating at first, but gave way to the unfamiliar feeling of a hug. If he closed his eyes for a second, he could hear a distant thunderstorm coming from who-knows-where; a gentle memory of the only natural disaster he found comfort in. And the grass he stepped would burn, yes, but not all the time now; and it would always resolve itself anyway by bringing to light a small, black rose from the ashes.

His place in the Imagination today only reminded him of the effort everyone was willing to put forth for him; that everything was slowly getting used to the fact that he wasn’t some leech latching onto the sun. Roman eased the worries of his creation, one that had once despised him and all he was; and then eased the worries of Virgil, who didn’t believe he could finally be anything other than the bad guy. Logan made the plans—he always made the plans—and Patton…

Well, Patton tried everything. 

He took a sip from his tea and set it aside, pulling his hood over his head and curling up on Patton’s lap. He heard the side giggle and felt him push his hood back ever-so slightly; just to scratch idly behind his ear and braid his fingers through his hair. 

And Virgil let him.

Besides, he was too wrapped up in another thought to really care much; the thought that he wasn’t in the moment enough that the moment would pass him by before he could properly appreciate it. He couldn’t help but think about how everyone would eventually pack their things when his storm finally came around. He picked at the sharp grass beside him, scared that it would all go away somehow when he finally– finally– woke up from this dream.

He couldn’t help but look up at the bright blue skies above him. 

Virgil sighed, chewing his bottom lip nervously. The Imagination, even as a concept, was so daunting. It stretched so far beyond him that it pretty much scared him shitless. The clouds looked like they could fall on him at any given second, and the bees—as pretty as they are— were still fighting; who’s to say they couldn’t hurt him too?

But it was beautiful. 

And he was here. 

Virgil closed his eyes and heard the soft sound of rain, far far away.

And when he opened his eyes, he saw Roman, 

who was shaking his head at him with a knowing smile. 

---

Roman couldn’t help but beam as he watched the two bees in front of him dance, a harmonious waltz above the lush, green grass they grew. Logan could say anything he wanted about the Imagination; the real world could never compare to all of this.

Or at least, that’s what Roman used to think. 

Truth be told, the Imagination was only this beautiful when Thomas was satisfied. For the most part, Roman would be running around, dousing fires– literal fires– in every direction. He’d end his days without really ending them, fighting monsters to make his world flawless when the sun rose. This picnic was actually the first time he really stood still in the Imagination since…well, since the Great Goblin Incident of 2019; though that was less of a wake-up call and more of an unwelcome surprise.

(Roman wasn’t able to get the goo out of his hair for weeks.) 

And he took great pride in how special his creation was. After all, he made it — and he was pretty awesome. He was able to plant seeds in Thomas’s mind and thus grow a beautiful, magnificent garden. He grew so many gardens actually. He’d grow them left and right, without much of a thought. Anything to spruce up the place.

But there were other days when the Imagination would claw at him for more– for something else. It would grab his ankles as he walked and drag him through the ground when he least expected it, begging him for a new garden; a new village; a new adventure; a new anything. 

And at some point, the Imagination became his office. Sure, it was a place Roman would escape to so he could build a tower to hide in when the real world got too much. But it was also a place that Roman would eventually give into; one that would force him to stay the night so he could finish that thing– there was always that one thing. 

It was where he would fight Anxiety and win. It was where Morality would cheer for him and carry him on his shoulders with glee. It was where Logic didn’t exist. 

It was a place where Roman was everyone’s hero; where everyone needed Creativity.

Not today, though. 

Today, the sun glowed bright in the crystal-clear skies without him. He didn’t need the birds to sing him ballads, and he didn’t need the squirrels to care about him all that much. And he would come here to work, yes; but he’d come here to appreciate his work as well. 

Nowadays, Patton, Virgil, even Logan appreciated his work alongside him. They saw beauty in every crack Roman would dwell over; saw love and care in each one of his masterpieces. They even took the time to appreciate the gruelling effort that bled through his creation and made sure he was resting– actually resting– when he was done for the day. 

And he vowed to repay their love — even if they insisted that he didn’t need to. A glorious battle, perhaps! He could put himself in danger for them, just to show them he would. He could even wage a war with the feelings the others held too close to their chests, those feelings embodied as gruesome monsters and foe,  and he would win. Every time. 

Because Roman could never lose. Not with them by his side.

He looked around him with a bright smile and a dawning realization, one that he came across a thousand times, nowadays:

The realization that he was surrounded by everything he could ever need.

Roman finished another song on his ukulele and Patton burst into applause. Logan simply nodded at his performance, flipping through another page of the book Roman recommended to him. Virgil just pulled his hoodie over his head and curled up in Patton’s lap. 

Poor storm-cloud. He almost felt sad watching him. A part of him would always be jaded by the fact that he ever hurt Virgil. 

Roman stood up and walked a few feet away from everyone else, looking off into the distance before closing his eyes. He thought for a little while, and then sent the wind away to bring back the sound of rain and sprinkle it over their heads. 

That would hopefully help.

He turned around and looked at the rest of his family. For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. He could feel the grass tickle his feet, as if it were planning to lift him off the ground any second now. A cool breeze weaved itself through his hair and when they dropped off the sound of rain, they picked up the song Roman played to spread it across the land. 

He looked up at the sky and watched the birds soar above them, 

and thought about how his creation no longer hated him. 

He then met Virgil’s eyes, and wondered if he felt the same thing.

Nothing can hurt you here, Roman thought. Not anymore.

---

Swarming was a natural process in the life of a honey bee colony. It was a method of propagation; one that occurred in response to crowding within the colony. If a bee was huddled close to another, it was most likely that they were in the beginning phases of attracting a swarm. 

Perhaps that is what those two bees were doing in front of them. 

How fascinating. 

Logan took a break from reading to take in his surroundings. Roman must have dedicated a respectable amount of time to making the Imagination so faithful to real life. The way each tree was carved in patterns unlike each other, the way the waters seemed to move endlessly and not on a loop. 

He knew they were not real. None of them were. So it was interesting to think that not one part of Roman’s world was fabricated in a way that was mechanical and half-hearted; but was instead crafted with such caution and care. Every grass in its own, respective place; every flower grown for a reason. 

Logan had made numerous visits to the Imagination in the past; for research purposes, more often than not. Well, other than the dreadful incident with the exploding goblins; though his presence in the whole ordeal was the by-product of an untimely coincidence.

He had interviewed Roman countless times to learn more about this place, but he was yet to leave with an unbiased point of view. Roman would not contribute many useful points to their discussions, choosing to speak only in fanciful, unhelpful metaphors. All he would say about the Imagination was that it merely existed; and it existed so beautifully that it did not need much explanation. 

Everything was there for a reason he could not explain. 

He had compiled a few notes based on his own extrapolations and observations; consuming knowledge he would then pass onto Thomas so that he could better understand himself (or onto Virgil, to ease his trepidation towards Roman’s creation).

However, he had never really taken the time to just...sit in it. 

There were so many creatures and biomes, even cities; all nestled safely underneath the boundless shelter of the Imagination. And the sky was always stunning, no matter the weather. He wondered if Roman would allow him into this strange place more often for recreational purposes. He wondered if Roman would even enjoy his company.

The picnic, of course, was Patton’s idea. It was his way of “bonding” with everyone. Patton had many ideas of what ‘bonding’ looked like — weekly onesie-and-movie nights, having dinner together (even if they did not need to consume food), bi-weekly board game nights, et cetera. With so many options, Logan was not quite sure why Patton found the need to spend even more time with him. 

He was not blind to the fact that his presence was not arbitrary. Really, his only function was to present knowledge when needed, then allow the others to use that knowledge in order to make Thomas...well, content. If anyone were to benefit from Patton’s many “family excursions”, it was Virgil. His attempts of reassuring the anxious side paled in comparison to Patton’s efforts. 

Logan, unlike the rest of them, did not need love or affection; nor was it necessary that he ‘bonded’ with anyone. He just needed to exist for everyone and live to exist for as long as he could. 

He was not real, anyway. 

(Though, the thought haunted him far more than he would like to admit.)

He snuck a brief glance at Patton, who was enthralled by Roman’s performance under the sun. It was almost as if the sunshine in the Imagination folded itself around him; like he was the one keeping it warm.

Patton seemed to thrive in the Imagination; and for good reason, too. He was everything the Imagination was; a safe haven, a home, alive. He could extend the observation to Roman, even Virgil. They all belonged here, rested on the grass underneath the brilliant sun.

Logan...did as well. 

The thought was hesitant—illogically so—but it was reassuring enough that it was there. Normally, he would think the opposite, but his counterparts only reassured him that that was not the case. He really did belong here, on the same pedestal as them; for reasons unrelated to work. 

He was a part of their silly...loving family.

And they were real enough; real enough that he was able to absentmindedly hold Patton’s hand as he coddled Virgil on his lap. He was real enough to look at Roman work his magic in this strange wonder of a world and feel a sense of pride for him.

He was real enough to feel close with them; even though there were times when it felt like he was better off uninvited.

Perhaps this was the meaning behind Patton’s madness. Perhaps it was his way of reassuring him that he, like the rest of the sides, were just simply loved; unconditionally and without a doubt. It is a feeling that, surprisingly enough, Logan held close to him.

No amount of research would ever be able to tell him why. 

He sighed, going back to his book and flipping to the next page. The Imagination, at the end of the day, was simply an enigma; constructed by weird science and magic alike. 

But his family...well, they turned the Imagination into a reminder of how special existence was; how delicate the universe crafted each and every one of them. 

How purposeful it was when creating him.

---

Aww, look at those bees playin’ with each other, Patton thought happily to himself. What good friends they are!

The Imagination was un-bee-lievable. The fact that his kiddo made the whole thing himself? He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been! He was so proud of him. 

He was proud of everyone, really; which was precisely why he planned this picnic! Roman created such a beautiful place, Logan worked so hard, and Virgil...well, he had finally said yes.

And besides, it was just nice. For once, there was nothing to do. No difficult thinking, no one to fight. It was just him and his family, sitting under the big, blue sky.

Surprisingly enough, this was the first time Patton ever visited the Imagination when it was sunny. More often than not, Patton would visit the Imagination after-hours; sneak in when he knew everyone was asleep. Most of the time, he’d get caught by Roman; who was just as restless as him, yet more curious as to why he was there. Patton would never tell him the real reason, though — only saying that he wanted to check in on him. It wasn’t really a lie, anyway. It was just the right thing to do.

The Imagination was different in the night. Patton was sure that he was one of the only other sides to have seen it. It felt more like an ode to Thomas’s youth; the years when he would tape glow-in-the-dark stars to his ceiling and try to catch fireflies in mason jars. Each daisy seemed to sway in the warm sense of familiarity the wind carried; and the ocean always looked like it was folding on top of each other in a sea of scribbles coloured Pacific, Navy, and Midnight Blue. 

If he squinted, Patton could see constellations in the sky. Dancing in the velvet blanket above him were stars, mapping out the image of a young boy helping someone off the ground after a nasty fall.

It was his perfect Thomas. Always selfless, always perfect.

On the nights when Roman would find him, sitting on top of a hill with his knees brought close to his chest, he would always let Patton lie down in his lap and weave him a fairytale; one that Thomas used to love. The prince would always save the day. The teacher would explain absolutely everything. The mind would never reel, and the heart was always right.

He couldn’t help but miss it. He missed the days when it seemed like royalty could be as honourable as the ones in Thomas’s old picture books; that learning was not as painful as it was now. And while the mind was buried through layers of heavy static and storm clouds, the heart didn’t know the way.

Thomas wasn’t as good as he wanted him to be, and Patton just didn’t know what to do. 

But all of that didn’t really matter in the Imagination. The fact that it was bright and sunny only meant that Thomas was the same goofy, loving child he used to be. Sure, a few things slip past Roman every now and then (Patton would never ever ever forget what those goblins did to his new top-hat), but that didn’t mean that Thomas was inherently bad. 

Besides, the day was just as beautiful as the night. With Thomas all grown up, he was creating things Patton could only dream of. Yes, storms would still roll around; but they would always give way to a beautiful rainbow. 

The Imagination was always the same, no matter what crossed its path. 

And perhaps, the same thing could be said about him.

Patton tried his best to get lost in the music Roman was playing for the group. He set aside his sandwich, and snuck glances at Virgil and Logan. They seemed at peace; Virgil was drinking tea he made for him, and Logan was reading a book. 

And if Roman was singing, it meant that Patton still had it in him to bring his family together. 

Patton sighed wistfully. He would do anything to capture this moment in any way he could. He wanted this single second to last forever. He yearned to keep the sunshine safe and sound in a small jar to put on his shelves. 

Really, he just wanted everyone to be happy. 

But as beautiful as nights in the Imagination were, Patton could learn to love the present if it felt this good. 

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #lamp/calm #hurt/comfort #gabbie writes things

[cheseyre]

good news, sluts! my brain's no longer being completely stupid (only mostly), i've seen the new asides and...have some thought-y thot thoughts:

*deep inhale*

Okay, first things first: this art style is soooo fucking cUTE and I'm a jealous, squealing bitch. Anyone who knows who the artist is, could you link me to them, stat? I think Thomas mentioned them at the beginning of the ep, but nYeh, brain hurt, doesn't wanna do wooork-

Okay, I'll admit, I was a little...apprehensive when I first saw the thumbnail and title. Part of it's just me being a bitter Remus Stan, but also...okay, deep breaths, controversial opinion time, get ready:

I don't ship Prinxiety.

Like, at all. 

I can see the appeal, and these dorks were so very, VERY cute in this particular ep, but I was honestly turned off by the ship long ago due to how overwhelmingly popular it is and how some fans characterize these two and treat this relationship as if it's the only valid one, y'know, the works—slight tangent, but that's also why I don't ship Logicality or Remile. I honestly vibe much better with ships like Roceit or Analogical, y'know?

Cutting in for another brief tangent: I'm surprisingly okay with Demus/Dukeceit/Receit/Trashnoodle/Whatever-Their-Ship-Name-Is-Oh-God-Why-Do-They-Have-So-Many-Fucking-Names; maybe it's cause they haven't actually interacted in canon and the fan content gives me such good Gay Disney Villain content, idk man im weird—).

Still, their interactions were both hilarious and sweet and like I said, I see the appeal, it's just not my cup of tea. y'all Prinxiety fans got fucking FED and I'm happy for you nerds. Enjoy ze happy boys!

I guess another factor in my...low-key hesitance when I first saw what the ep was about is that...okay, get ready, another controversial opinion, le gasp: well, I'm not a big Virgil fan. In fact, at times, he swaps places with Patton as my least favorite sides—especially with some of his recent behavior in eps like DWIT (the "prohibit your breathing comment" really triggered me, for example). Sometimes, his attitude, especially around other sides like Roman or Janus, reminds me a little too much of my sister, who I don't have...a very good relationship with. Add to that how the more...intense side of the fandom has a disturbing tendency to turn him into the 'uwu precious woobie emo baby who can do no wrong' while unnecessarily villainizing other CERTAIN sides in the process, and...I think you all see where I'm going with this little rant 😅

However, upon actually watching the ep, he wasn't...that bad? I don't think? I enjoyed watching him be a flustered, disaster-y mess and genuinely excited at the end, his interactions with Roman were nice enough, and him literally pushing Thomas to make a move with Nico despite his obvious panic attack was a nice moment of genuine character development. I like seeing that, that's the good shit right there. And him being all flustered and shit, and smiling so much at the end of the vid was just...well, adorable. This man has no fucking right to be this cute, my god

alsoooo 

pURPLE EYESHADOW

PURPLE EYESHADOW HE LOOKS?? SO GOOD?? WTF?? SLAY EMO, SLAAAAAAAY FUCK, DOES THIS MEAN I HAVE TO CHANGE MY HALLOWEEN COSTUME NOW?

alsoooo 

hAPPY ROMAN

YESSSSS~ MAH BOI MAH SON MAH DUMB BITCH HIMBO PRINCE MAH EXTRA MESSY CINNAMON ROLL

ITS  BEEN SO  LONG

AND HIS LITTLE HEART EYES THROUGHOUT THE VID, OH MY GOD-

IMMA JUST IGNORE THAT "ADDING [MISTAKE] TO THE LIST" COMMENT I AM LOOKING AWAY I DO NOT SEE IT LALALALALA

THOMATHY, SIR, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT MAKING THESE TWO GAY IDIOTS SO BAEBY

Okay, but Virgil not realizing that "cyberstalking in real life" is literally just stalking is both a big ass mood and further proof that, yes, Logan is indeed the only one holding the braincell out of this disaster of a lot. God help them all if he ducks out in the next ep.

👀

And Thomas x Trash Can is my new OTP.  I dub thee ✨ "Trashmas" ✨

we sTAN TRASHMAS

Wait, does that mean Remus actually WAS in the ep? Cause, y'know, trash man?

hmmm

👀 👀 

Okay, okay. 

With how much Virgil and Roman were going off about Thomas constantly lying, I was (understandably) a tad bit disappointed my snek son didn't even make a fucking cameo, but y'know what? In hindsight, I'm okay with this it's fineee~

He was just off playing with shadow puppets and stealing money from us desperate, content-starved peasants with his sheer extra-ness and, honestly? Gotta respect the hustle. 

Get that precious, precious coin, dapper snake! Wring us poor losers dryyyy!

*evil snek laugh*

Also, this is a breather ep and adding Janus in probably would've caused unnecessary drama with the Roceit breakup and the constant antagonism between Virgil and him. It probably would've distracted from the point of the ep (flirting with social anxiety, exactly what it says in the tin)—much like it wasn't really Virgil or Remus's place to show up during POF. Does that make sense? I think it makes sense. Sorry, brain going brr-

Still, I can't believe the "Fuck Janus Sanders" Club is actually canon now 😂

God, first Patton in a skirt and now this. 

Thomas Sanders, you delight in fucking feEDING this gremlin nest of a fanbase, don’t you? You RELISH our screams of joy and pain and suffering, dON’T YOU?

What's next, actual canonical Janus and Remus interaction? Patton saying the fuck word? The Dragon Witch comes back? Janus's bowler hat gains sentience and takes over the world, Doris-style? What do you have planned, Thomas? Joan? WHAT ART THOU PLANNING, I MUST KNOW YOU HEATHENS YOU FIENDS-

And Virgil's little "would it be fair to him" comment, tho.

👀

Like, I get in the context of the ep, he was likely talking about Nico and how it wouldn’t be good for a potential relationship with Tomas to be founded on lies, but still...my anxceit heart aches, man. 

Gimme that sweet, sweet angst with a side of mutual regret and possible future reconciliation and maybe something more wink wink nudge nudge on top, pls

...and fries.

Honestly, tho, that entire bathroom monologue was fucking beautiful, man. And relatable, too—i can't tell you how many times I've talked to myself in public restrooms because I just didn't know how to get the words I wanted to say out. It's...kind of embarrassing, tbh

Speaking of embarrassing, uh, crying stall guy.

Just...

Crying Stall Guy

Like, I was expecting someone to come out the bathroom stall after Thomas stopped talking, but...I honestly wasn't expecting that. God, that whole scene was so cringe worthy and fucking hilarious

Honestly, Thomas in the ep in general was a huge ass mOOD and we collective gay/bi disasters ALL related with him, and if you say you don't, you're either lying to yourself or a demon. 

There is no in between 

sorry I don't make the rules

Like, I get this series is literally a gay disaster talking to himself for thirty minutes or longer, but like- EMPHASIS on the 'disaster' part 😂

Like...Thomas, you're lucky you're such a goddamn bean, because GOD, I cringing so hard when he first started talking to Nico

Although, I too have apologized profusely for genuine mistakes and am a flustered bi mess around my crush sooo

😅

And god, Roman's "thirty = old man" jokes made me feel old...and I literally just turned twenty, like, come on, man!

Maybe that's because I was literally watching this ep after finishing my ACT and had been sitting with a bunch of high schoolers, with their tiny fucking desks and tiny fucking water fountains smeh

*clears throat*

Anyways, uh, we STAN Nico Pintrovert Florés in this house

Like

He gives me such big Carlos from WTNV vibes for some reason and this makes me sooo happy

and YESS, he's a WRITER

And he's??? So sweet?? A pure bean?? Just sits on his laptop at the mall food court all day, like a god-fucking iCON?? A Nightmare Before Christmas fan?? weARS GLASSES??

my hEART

*cries*

The fandom seems torn between "Nicomas" and "Karrot Kings" as a ship name atm—personally speaking, I'm casting my vote for the latter

*crosses fingers* please dont be another janus x remus multiple ship name issue guys, please please please I can't keep track of them all-

*clears throat*

On that note, I'm guess I'm gonna go try and whoo over my crush with carrots now. If THIS disaster can do it and make it actually fucking work, god damnit, so cAN I

Meanwhile, in hell, my brain's just screaming "CANON LOVE INTEREST CANON LOVE INTEREST CANON LOVE INTEREST-"

God, I hope Nico isn't just a one-shot character, he's too pure and Thomas and him are adorable gay Disney fans and I stan

Oh, I wonder how the other sides'll react to him.

Wait.

Oh god.

Oh god.

This ep just unleashed a new fresh hell of potential Nico x Sides ships, hasn't it?

Welp, time to prepare for ze incoming flood of fanfics, I guess. I'll get my umbrella and rain boots.

That last shot of Virgil during the endcard was so fucking ominous oh my god mom im scared can you come pick me up-

Goddammit, Thomas and Joan, I'm NOT fucking ready to be traumatized again, fUCK

I wish I wasn't a broke ass university student so I could contribute to Thomas's gloriously extra Patreon—both so I can support my favorite content creators who make this amazing blessed content and also, to join my boi Janus in fucking  destroying society by giving money to the people who actually deserve it, fuck YOU GOVERNMENT-

Okay. 

Okay. 

New headcanon time as to why Patton, Remus, and Logan weren't in the ep: they were helping Jan film that Patreon promotional video. 

Like

Remus directed it, Logan helped with the lighting and script, and Patton was just there as the cheerleader. 

The reason Janus made a dog with shadow puppets wasn't just to flaunt his deity status and prove how he is truly above us mere wretched mortals 

despite that being the absolute truth and we all know it, don't lie to yourselves

No, it was really him trying to do something cute and silly for Patton, because Moceit rights, daMMIT

*inhales*

noww 

guys, gals, and nonbinary pals

it’s time forr

the most wonderful time of the yearrr

WAITING FOR THE NEXT EPISODE

Step right up, folks! Hear ye, hear ye, my prediction for the next episode: Prinxiety v. Moceit! With special guest stars: Karrot Kings vibing in adorable gay and Intrulogical, bitter at being excluded aGAIN

Who will win? Who will lose? 

here’s a hint: we all will because in this sick twisted game they are no winners only losers-

Place your bets, folks! ✨

Haha im not readyyy~

tl;dr

this episode has cleared my skin, watered my crops, and ended my suffering—an adorable calm before the... angsty fucking shitstorm that’s coming far too soon. Prinxiety stans, enjoy your food. Place an 'F' in the chat for me and my fellow grieving Remus stans. Trashmas is the true OTP, but Karrot Kings is cute too I guess. I've only had Nico Florés for 24 minutes, but if anything happens to him, I'll kill everyone in this room and then myself. Purple eyeshadow Virgil makes me question my sexuality aGAIN, and happy gay disney prince rights y'all. Say a big ole 'fuck you' to capitalism by giving your local dapper snake moneys. Concussion makes brain go brr and imma go buy some carrots and be gay now.

psst hey @quarantinevibes2020​ you wanna join me in being disaster-y? i’ll bring my best gay stare and you bring the wine

Until next time, my lovelies! ~ Ches 🖤

#sanders asides #ts spoilers #flirting with social anxiety #virgil sanders #roman sanders #c!thomas #janus sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #nico flores #karrot kings #nicomas #prinxiety #moceit #virgil negativity #its not like a major thing #i just have mixed feelings on him is all #thomas x trash can #trashmas #i will make that a crackship guys #you can't stop me #in other news #i'm forfeiting all my worldly possessions to our local cryptic dapper snek #and buying carrots #because that's life sometimes #please work tumblr #i know you hate me #but please #shut up ches

[pact-mom-kyrie]

Hey after a year I wrote a thing. I called it “Brooding nerds“ because is about Alesso (sniper, priest of Grenth) being broody after the event of Hall of Chains. He got some weird powers because hey, he had been dead once before, in Queensdale. He feels alienated. Fron his brothers, from the guild, from everything. So his brother Enzo (mesmer, nerd) goes to talk to him.

Shout out to @disaster-bi-canach for always being there. I mention her main Sinéad here. Go and read all her stuff. Is really good.

Also HAPPY FANFIC DAY!!!

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The nights on Istan were cold, or at least the wind blowing up Champion’s Dawn made him feel like it. The little town was gleaming under the moonlight, pretty like a painting with Churrhir cliffs beyond. 

This was the ancient homeland, thought Alesso. Or at least part of it. He was not knowledgeable enough about the story of Zephaniah, he has bearely heard the story of his ancestor, the man he had only known as Zephare. The only thing he knew for sure was what Koss had said to him: “Another touched by the gods?! By Dwayna, never knew a child of Zephaniah could get this pale, huh?”

Somehow it hurt. But he didn’t say anything. Koss seemed like the kind of nosy grandpa he had never known. Salva noticed though and glared at the old man. Somehow the judgmental gaze of sweet, kind Salvatore made him feel guilty, or at least act like it.

It felt nice, but it was not enough to make him feel better.

That was the reason behind him being sit down, brooding on his own in a cliff, reaper-forged rifle by his side. He had given the excuse of going up just to shoot any awakened that dared come close to the town. But there were none, otherwise, he would have seen them walking through the plains or the breach… that was kilometers away.

Such accuracy was unnatural.

“The eyes of a god” Maesta said while they were in the Priory. He only thought it was about the fact that now they shone like embers, but he realized soon enough that it was something more terrible than that.

When he shot an awakened soldier.

From the cliffs.

With his eyes closed.

“Now you’re just fuckin’ cheatin’ partner” Exclaimed Johnny, his voice a mixture of anger and excitement. 

Alesso knew that yeah, he was cheating. But he couldn’t stop it. He had been dead twice, and that allowed him to gain some weird boon, and it felt extremely weird. After all, who else could say they had held a tiny bit of that kind of power?

All of sudden, a portal appeared by his side, and from its glimmering depths, a figure appeared. Tall and aristocratic.

“Good evening, little brother, nice weather for alienated brooding isn’t it?” Lorenzo has managed, after all their years as adventurers, perfected the art of princely sneer. Alesso glared at him, but could only mumble a weak curse. Years ago, he would have said “Yeah, fuck you”, and close himself up. But not now. Not like before.

“Don’t you have an entire observatory to read? Or did you run out of paper for interviewing zombie grandpa?”

The mesmer almost laughed, but he just gasped as if scandalized “Don’t call Koss Dejarin like that, young man” he faked the intonation of a scolding mother “he is not your grandpa!”

Alesso snorted, his devilish laughter barely escaping his lips “So you’re accepting he is a zombie, right?”

“Well, to be honest...” Enzo got lost in thought for a second, half-joking, half-serious “Awakened have peculiar characteristics, and have different needs from other types of risen-type creature, so they belong to their own category in Howard’s classification of unde-”

“You fucking nerd” The sniper rolled his eyes, huffing slightly “Whatever, tell everyone I’m ok, just thinking of stuff and… stuff”

The redhead sighed deeply and sat down, looking slightly distraught. “Oh no, I came here because I am worried, you little twerp. You’ve been way too quiet and sullen. That is not normal”

“What is normal then?” Claimed Alesso, wiggling a bit far from his brother. He was slightly scared, not ready to face any of his siblings, and tried to mask his fear with annoyance.

It wasn’t working.

“You being with us, smiling when no one looks, competing with Johnny over shots, praying for the fallen of Elona, just...” Enzo looked down, into the town “not like this, not as if we still were the same idiots running around Queensdale”

Alesso winced. Queensdale. It had been five years, it used to feel like a month ago, and now it felt like yesterday.

“Gyro behaved the same when I came back this time. He checked my pulse, he looked at my pupils, almost asked me for a blood test, as if he believed I was… as if I am-”

“You are not dead, Alessandro Zeppeli” The voice of Enzo broke a bit as if he was trying not to sob “You re here, with us. Still the same fool that tried to wrestle a spider queen, still the same child that broke into the home of Thomas Silvertogue to learn how to be a spy”

Those words felt like a knife stabbing his heart. Lorenzo was not the kind of man who broke easily, even if his emotions were there for everyone to see. It was not simple nostalgia, but a sort of awed reminiscence, and Alesso could not help to feel it too. 

“I’m scared” He murmured. It would have been better if he didn’t remember the last time he had said that. The sight of the ashes of Commander Steinbrecher in an urn, the greatest hero of all Tyria, had sunken his heart into the abyss of terror.

“I know” Enzo replied softly “The letter you gave me. Maesta… she wrote about everything”

Alesso lowered his head, feeling smaller. Silent in his own uncertainty. He had a snarky comment ready, but he felt too tired to say it. He was tired of hiding his thoughts behind the words of an asshole.

His brother sighed “You didn’t read it” It was not a question “You had a letter from a noble of Kryta, an agent of the Shining Blade, and didn’t even peek under the seal, knowing it may have some valuable intel. Thank you”

“What? She is my friend. Besides I don’t know if she had enchanted it or something” the thief tried to explain, not ready to show how much he cared about their relationship “Also I don’t wanna read the correspondence of someone whom actually thinks you are hot enough to fuck”

Lorenzo scoffed, no doubt rolling his eyes. “There were no details of that kind if you are interested, dear brother. Actually...” His tone changed to a more solemn one “She was asking for an explanation about… the way I said goodbye in Lion’s Arch”

The sniper raised his gaze. That was not a good memory, if anything, it was extremely awkward to remember Enzo being a jerk towards anyone, more so the woman he loved. “Did she break up with you via letter? I mean you mocked her for being emotional...”

“I am perfectly aware of what I did and I am ready to face punishment for my actions” Once more, the princely manners return “but that is not the point, as a matter of fact, the letter made me realize that we have something in common”

“That we deserve a slap for being assholes in serious moments?” Alesso raised an eyebrow, cringe clawing his heart. Enzo looked surprised, not ready for such a display of painful self-awareness.

“No, not that. Maybe a bit of that, but this is something completely different. Something we cannot… solve, so to speak” Enzo looked above them, gazing at the starry sky, “She wrote you were given a portion of Grenth’s power. As well as she did, but since you’ve been to his realm twice, your abilities got… stronger”

The eyes of a god. The reason for his accuracy, his eyes changing, now gleaming in the darkness. 

“Here is the question, Alesso: do you think you’re the only one who has felt the power of a god running through his blood?” It was a serious question. Way too precise. He would have expected it from Salva, or from Commander Sirhasi, but not Lorenzo. Then again, he had the bad habit of underestimating Lorenzo.

“I think so. I am the only one who has been so close to the gods...” he stated with unnerving confidence “Damn now I feel like an arrogant little shit”

“Well you arrogant little shit!” the mesmer exclaimed joyfully, opening his arms “You are SO wrong I could write a whole treatise on how wrong you are. But since I love you so much, I will give you a short version: I have felt the power of a god too, and it was fucking awful”

And so, Alessandro Zeppeli, a descendant of the house of Zephaniah, Lightbringer of the Order of Whispers, opened his mouth and gasped like a fish out of water. Because he had no idea what his brother was talking about.

“W- what? When? Why?!” He almost yelled, more confused than ever. He looked all around him, somehow waiting for someone to appear, to confirm it was all a joke at his expense.

“Do you remember the battle in Lion’s Arch against the minions of Zhaitan?” 

How would he forget that? He had spent days with Ihan and Joseph cleaning the city, trying to heal his sadness with risen’s blood. Until Commander Sirhasi asked if he was alright and he ended up crying like the child he was into the norn woman’s bosom.

“Yes, that face tells me that you do” Enzo whispered. Maybe lost in his own memories of those awful times. “Steward Gixx told Magisters Irene and Gialinn to help him with a relic of Balthazar. He thought that someone had to wield its power and since it was a human god...”

“It had to be a human, and there were no other nerds close to you” he muttered.

“Yes. I had to carry a part of the spirit of a god of fire, fury, and mass murder. As powerful as I felt, it was not a good experience. I thought nothing of it later, just a weird experience in an extremely hard time. Until Balthazar returned..” he lowered his head, while Alesso put the pieces together in his head.

“Whatever remained of the fucker within you, resonated with him, then” The sniper stated, only understanding the implications a second later “So your behavior, the fire that sometimes escaped from your illusions… that was Balthazar...”

Enzo nodded “Yes. One time I spat molten embers, one night I cried fire, and sometimes I just wanted to kill someone. Anyone. And I hid it all from everyone but my colleagues of the Priory”

“Well shit, even I didn’t saw that coming, except the part when you almost scared Cesare to death, of course,” Alesso looked at his brother, making him recoil slightly “Did you use your illusions to hide? Because you are good, but not that good”

“You rude prick. I happen to be that good” Lorenzo sneered “I was scared of any of you realizing it, I didn’t want you t think I was going to join the Zaishen or something like that”

Alesso moved closer to his brother “I get it... but if there was anyone of us who would have joined that prick, it would have been anyone but you” he saw the mesmer smiling, moved by his trust “After all, the stick in your ass wouldn’t let you bend the knee towards that monster”

“Fuck off” the strange laughter of Enzo pierced the night, sounding like a weird harpy in the cliffs “The point is: you are not alone, dumbass. Your god loved you. Maybe all that happened is sad, and I cannot imagine how you feel about it but...” He sighed and hugged Alesso from the side “You are still out little brother. The one who creeps us out because he looks a lot like dad. You’re part of the best and strongest guild in Tyria. The weirdest guy of the whole Pact...”

Now it was the turn of Alesso to laugh, like a tiny devil mocking Champion’s Dawn “I get it, you old cheesy geezer” He returned the hug, and felt his loneliness fading away “Thank you, really”

“I know, I am amazing. You are welcome” The fake pride of Lorenzo was even worse than his stupid smile, and he knew it “No, but in all seriousness, it is alright. You can tell me every time you feel bad about your existential crisis, at least regarding your godly issues. You’re my brother, and we are very similar....”

“Ew. Don’t remind me that. Makes me wanna hide under a rock” Alesso broke the hug, stood up, and took his rifle before looking up to the sky, smiling “Maybe Grenth is gone but... I feel I can still carry his will as long as I am with you, my family... bunch of losers” 

Lorenzo also stood up, stretching his back “You better. Without you, we wouldn’t be as good as we are. Also, I wouldn’t be able to fulfill my main familial obligation without you”

Knowing what kind of obligation he was talking about, Alesso sneered and said a single sentence. “To keep Cesare humble? Alright. Seems all this ‘Hero of Three Nations’ thing has started to go to his head, do you have a plan?”

The redhead smiled, malice covering his face “Oh yes, it includes portals. Lots of portals” he stated while opening one by their side.

“I may have an idea, but you lead the way”

The two brothers entered the shimmering pond of light, and for a moment there was nothing but peaceful silence in Istan.

Until the shriek of a heroic guardian pierced the night.

#Them Boys #Alessandro Zeppeli #Lorenzo Zeppeli #My writing