#minor virgil appearance

[tulypes]

the good mistake

a little obscenity with the captain. forgive the mistakes, english is not my first language. ♡ tw: suggestive content & age gap. - f!reader. minors don't read

There was something inexplicably exciting about doing the wrong thing. Maybe the feeling of being caught red-handed, doing something you shouldn't, was the dangerous gasoline between the two.

Virgil considered himself a centered man, few things distracted him, but when he saw [Y/N] for the first time, the whole thing fell apart. The girl was a demon with a nice ass and a magnetic smile. She knew she was beautiful, it was obvious because everyone was fawning over her and there wasn't a single human being in that room who hadn't been attracted by the sound of her laugh.

Months ago, if someone had dared to say that Virgil Van Dijk would be able to leave his house, drop everything in the middle of the night to see a twenty-one year old girl, he would have argued; because this was something absurd in his head... that was until [Y/N] appeared.

— I do not want you anymore. — the dark eyes looked at the girl in front of him. — This can't go on...

His voice was hoarse, with fear. As much as he wanted to get out of that room, a selfish part of him still kept him there.

—Then why did you come here? — lying, completely naked, on the thin sheets, [Y/N] questioned.

— I didn't think it was right to do this over the phone.

— Many things are not right and yet you do them.

Virgil tried not to look, but the hard peaks of her breasts, adorned with heart-shaped piercings, which he had already sucked, caressed and bitten, seemed to scream for him.

She spread her legs, showing her wet and excited pussy. [Y/N] watched him lick his lips. Virgil had no control when it came to her and [Y/N] loved controlling him.

The girl took two fingers to her mouth and sucked them, making noise, then guided them to the already lubricated entrance.

Virgil felt the pressure drop, the air left his lungs, his dick became harder than he could have imagined. All that man wanted was to stick his face between that woman's legs and have a complete feast.

[Y/N] stuck her fingers inside her own pussy, without taking her eyes off Virgil. She was absurdly excited and that was his fault. She didn't plan on masturbating for him, oh no, she just wanted to show him how wet she was. Just that! Virgil would do all the work.

With wet fingers, she removes them from inside herself. No word needed to be said, [Y/N] raised her fingers towards Virgil and he came at her like a dog. Obediently, he sucked her fingers, licking away the excitement; feeling your taste.

— I want you to suck me, captain.

#virgil van dijk x reader #virgil van dijk #virgil van dijk imagine #virgil van dijk smut #football imagine

[askdeceitsanders]

Ask Janus Sanders

Rules, Guidelines, and info:

Ask mainly questions for Janus

You can ask questions relating to Janus and other sides

No nsfw, the person running this blog is a minor

The other sides can make appearances

Have fun

Ships I will incorporate are Intruloceit, familial anxceit (Virgil is my son) and apparently prinxiety because most of my asks have been related to them lol

This blog is run by a Janus Fictionkin, most headcanons will be my memories

(i dont know the artist it was a sticker on picsart, if you know the artist, please put it in the replies!)

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #ask blog #ask away #deceit sanders #tss janus #ts janus #ask janus sanders #ask sander sides #not janus answers

[idontknowreallywhy]

A Part of Her

For various reasons (train strikes etc) I haven’t done a commute fic (where I just thrash something out in a linear form and don’t obsessively edit it later) for a while, but a little idea occurred to me today so here is a hurried lunch-break fic…

What do we call these two? Was it Astro Turf?

Whatever, a bit of Allie and Virg…

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

“Virg?”

“What’s up, Allie?”

His little brother had drifted across the room and was slowly running his hand along the edge of the piano lid watching the hammers rise and fall as Virgil played. He’d not said anything for a while and not wanting him to believe his presence was unwelcome, Virgil had just smiled at him and waited for whatever was coming. When he eventually spoke, Alan’s voice was steeped in uncertainly.

“This was… Mom’s, right?”

“Yes Allie it was. We had it shipped over when we moved here.”

Alan nodded and was quiet again for a while. Clearly something was brewing. Virgil shifted from the concerto he was niggling at into a slightly sparser, atmospheric piece which gave more space and time for any words that might be coming.

“She… played a lot?”

“Pretty much every moment she got. More than me I think.”

“Why do you play so much?”

“Why do I play?”

Virgil paused to consider, looking down at his hands as he ran a couple of gentle arpeggios through a series of chords. There was a lot more behind that question than there appeared and he needed to choose his answer carefully.

“Firstly, because I enjoy it, I like the music I create and I like the fact it’s something I’m creating, even if it goes a bit wonky.”

Alan nodded, blue eyes met his with very deliberate focus. He was clearly concentrating on every word Virgil said.

“Secondly, because you guys enjoy it. I like being able to help Scott relax, or Gordon laugh… or cheer you up sometimes.”

Another nod. Virgil stopped playing a moment and rested his fingers over the black notes.

“Um, I also often play to try and process how I feel about things. Sometimes it’s hard to put the difficult stuff into words but…” he played a series of chords around D minor and then coughed and reverted back to a slightly cheerier key as he noticed Alan try to cover up rubbing at his eye by scratching his nose.

“Then I guess the final one is… it helps me feel close to her, to Mom. I imagine her hands on the keys, making the same sounds and I feel like a part of her is still with me.”

Alan closed his eyes and whispered something hurriedly. Virgil leaned over to put his right hand over his brother’s left where he held the side of the instrument in a vice grip.

“I didn’t quite catch that Allie?”

He opened his eyes and looked Virgil full in the face again, eyes wide. “Can you teach me?”

Virgil knew his expression must have betrayed his surprise as his baby brother rushed on hurriedly.

“I know you did before when I was a kid and I sucked, I didn’t try very hard or practise because I didn’t get it. I didn’t get what it meant. And I’m probably still going to suck at it Virgil, I know that.”

Alan swallowed hard.

“But I want to try because maybe, maybe there is a part of her inside me too and if there is I want to find it.”

Virgil pulled gently on the young man’s hand and guided him around to perch next to him on the stool and wrapped him in his arms.

“She’s in your every cell, your every breath, Alan. And she would be so proud of you.”

Alan sniffed and tightened his grip on Virgil’s shirt. Virgil unpeeled his little brother’s fingers from the flannel and guided his right hand to rest on the keyboard.

“If you want to play it would be a privilege to teach you, but you need never doubt she is a part of you Alan.”

Alan twisted and placed his left hand on the keys alongside his right.

“Show me. Please?”

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #alan tracy #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #commute fic #music is everything #piano!virgil #lucy tracy #is there such a thing as slightly sad fluff? #Thunderfluff #Sad fluff?

[johaerys-writes]

Do you think Patroclus is Homer's self-insert OC? No but for real, the Iliad is like Avengers Endgame level universe crossover of Greek mythology. Why isn't Pat in more stuff?

Lol!!! Patroclus as Homer's self insert is so funny actually, like yeah who DOESN'T want to be the underdog that somehow manages to very dramatically steal the show and change the course of an entire war 🤣 mary sue behaviour right there

I have often wondered why Patroclus isn't in more things myself. Like most of the heroes in the Iliad come from myths even older than the Iliad, and their lore just kept expanding after the Iliad was composed. Like you have SO much stuff about Achilles and Agamemnon and others, not to mention Odysseus; you have extensive Iliad fanfic about the most minor Trojan characters imaginable (looking at you Virgil); you have all those later myths that have the main heroes' offspring doing things and going on adventures and killing/maiming people....... but nothing about Patroclus. Zilch. Nada. And it's just so bizarre to me. Like Patroclus is an awesome character if you think about it. He was probably invented only for the purpose of shifting the narrative of the Iliad, of bringing about Achilles' grief and rage because Achilles' death has to be as dramatic and intense as possible, but I don't think that's reason enough to not include him in any other myths.

An answer to this could be that there are a lot of myths and stories that simply didn't stand the test of time. Like we know for a fact that Patroclus makes an appearance in some ancient greek tragedies, but the fragments remaining do not have any of his lines, or we only have the summaries of those plays by later authors who didn’t go into too much detail about his role in the plays. Another answer could be that Patroclus' existence as a character is very closely tied to Achilles', but whenever Achilles appears in a myth or play or story, he tends to eclipse every other character and draw the attention on himself. So the people who later preserved those stories in writing simply didn't bother to include Patroclus. But that also bears the question: why didn't Patroclus capture the people's imagination more, the way Menelaus or Nestor or even Neoptolemus do? I really don't know. If anyone has a better answer than this, I'd love to hear it.

Thank you so much for this ask!

#the Iliad #homer's iliad #patrochilles #patroclus is blorbo supreme and there's no ifs and buts about it #perhaps people until pretty recently just didn't have good taste. like that's also an option

[alexthefly]

Snakes on a Thunderbird

For @godsliltippy for TAG MiniBang 2023 (@tagminibang)

Inspired by this adorable piece of Fishtank art here. (@tippystreasurebox)

Trigger warning for snakes. Also brief mention of animal neglect, plus some minor whump and peril.

As Virgil went through his post-flight checks, Gordon twisted and revelled in the several satisfying pops his back made. 

“Oh god, that is so much better! Want me to crack yours for ya, Virg?”

There was a grumble of disapproval from his right. 

“I’ll pass thanks. Hearing yours was an experience in itself. In fact…” 

His brother reached over and snagged the small metal box Gordon had been carrying on his lap. 

“...perhaps I’d better take that before you do yourself any more damage.”

Gordon rolled his eyes and snatched the box back with perhaps just a little too much snap.

“Right Virgil(!) ‘Cos hauling passengers and crates off of a sinking ship was fine, but this last hundred yards to the rescue centre is where things gets really tricky(!)”

The rescue hadn’t really been all that bad physically. The crates in question had been lighter than expected, though that was because apparently properly feeding the various animals inside had clearly not been much of a priority for the smugglers on board; about as high as safety and ship maintenance had been. And although Gordon’s back was definitely starting to twinge a bit now, he’d have been a lot happier to be a lot achier if it meant those poor creatures had been treated right.

Well, whatever. He’d stayed professional. …Mostly. That Johnny hadn’t mentioned his little brother's prolonged blue streak ricocheting over the comms was likely a sign that he’d felt the same way.

The fact the GDF were already briefed and waiting with an arrest warrant the second they’d touched down was probably another one.

A yellow light broke through his thoughts and dragged him back to the present. He batted the medi-scan away with a grunt.

“Would you quit it, Virg? I’m fine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Gordon opened his mouth, ready to deliver a witty yet devastating retort, but then thought wiser of it. Better to just let the big guy get it all out of his system. He'd only worry otherwise, and a worried Virgil was a pain in the backside, especially with the flight home and debrief to get through. He closed his mouth and submitted to the inevitable with a huff.

Virgil for his part stayed quiet too as he completed the scan; once it was done, he continued to look Gordon over with the practised eye of both a medic and a big brother.

“Well, Doctor Virgil? Are you done? Can we go now?”

Another moment of scrutiny. Then: 

“You know today was a good day, right?”

Dammit. The big green angst-detector strikes again.

Gordon really didn’t want to talk about it now.

“Whatever you say, bro.”

“I mean it,” Virgil insisted. “You’ve said it yourself - this shelter is the best. They've got the facilities and the expertise; they’ll take good care of all these guys, big and small. And the GDF will make sure the people that did this get what's coming to them."

“Uh-huh.”

"Gordy, the good guys won. Take the win.”

Honestly it didn’t feel like a win. Not even a tiny one. The memory of all those sad little eyes was too raw. It was going to take a lot for it to fade into the background, and he just didn't have the energy right now. All he wanted was to get everything unloaded, go home, swim ‘til he couldn't think anymore and then crawl into bed and sleep for 12 hours.

"Virg, could we please do the pep talk another time? The shelter staff are waiting for us."

A little frown appeared on his brother's brow, but he sighed and nodded.

"Are they all okay in there?” Virgil asked instead, nodding at the box balancing on Gordon’s dashboard. 

It was an obvious change of subject, but a welcome one. Gordon gave the portable incubator a protective little pat.

“Should be. I candled them earlier and they look good. Not pipped yet, but I think it should be soon.”

He blinked as a sudden thought occurred.

“Actually," he said as he opened the incubator lid and retrieved the covered tray inside, "I’m just gonna check they’ve not been turned mid-flight. I’ve been holding them steady the whole way over, but you never know.”

“I thought you were supposed to turn eggs?” said Virgil with a hint of confusion. He leaned across to watch what Gordon was doing. "Grandpa said it stopped the embryo getting stuck."

“That’s for birds. Snakes are different. All the little veins and stuff are fragile; you flip the egg, the umbilical cord tears away and they die.” 

Gordon gingerly lifted the lid and peered inside. 

"Of course, these guys are almost ready to hatch so I don’t know how much of that appli-”

But the rest of his thought died on his tongue as he lifted the lid and took a look inside.

A beat.

“What?”

“Erm, not sure. Hang on a sec…” Gordon gently slid the eggs to one side of the tray and running his gloved hands very carefully in the sandy substrate below.

"Where are you?" he muttered softly.

"Where's what?" Virgil quickly jumped to his feet, unease radiating from every pore.

"One of the eggs must have hatched in transit," explained Gordon, still rifling through the soft gravel, looking for any flash of movement. "Once the shell breaks they usually take a few hours to come out, but I guess with all the jiggling…"

"Okay, so presumably there should be a snake in there then. Where’s the snake, Gordon?!"

Gordon kept digging, slightly more urgently. 

"Some snakes bury themselves down into the substrate after hatching - it’s a kinda protection thing. They wait there for their first shed, then they come out looking for food."

Virgil reached out gingerly over Gordon's shoulder and picked up the soft and clearly empty egg shell, complete with a neat split down the middle. He held it softly in his hands, turning it over and over as if he might find the wayward snake still clinging to it somewhere.

"Exactly what sort of snakes are these, Gordy?" he asked slowly, deliberately.

"Umm…”

“Gordon!”

“I don’t know! I’m not a snake expert, and you can only tell so much from just the eggshell anyway.” 

He set the tray onto the dashboard and started checking inside the incubator itself, just in case. He could feel heat starting to rise across his cheeks.

“Gords, could it be… poisonous?”

Gordon swallowed back the sour taste in his mouth.

“I don’t know.”

There was a moment of horrible silence as those words sunk in. Of course, the chances of the snake being venomous were slim - only about 10-15% of known species were after all - and in any event their uniforms were designed to withstand pretty much anything, but there was still that tiny sliver of doubt in his mind. Was Brains far-sighted enough to have considered snake fangs as a variable during the testing phase?

Virgil took a step back, eyes darting everywhere, and tapped his wrist controller. 

“I’m not picking anything up. John? Any chance you could run a sweep of the cockpit for… uh… unusual heat signatures?”

“Unusual?” 

John’s projected image leapt out of the dashboard holo’ right in front of Gordon’s face, causing him to almost fall off his chair. 

“What sort of unusual?”

Virgil cleared his throat in a far-too-obviously guilty way. 

“We’ve kind of… misplaced something.”

“O-kaaay… What sort of something?”

Gordon opened his mouth to say… Actually he wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but in any case Virgil got there first.

“Can you just do it please, John?” he asked, brow furrowed. "Now?"

The look John shot them both could have stripped paint, but he turned away and started swiping.

“No unusual readings found,” he said after a few seconds. "Perhaps if I knew what I was looking for…”

Gordon caught Virgil’s eye. Despite his obvious concern about the situation, the big chonk was clearly still trying to cover for him. 

He really was the softest marshmallow.

But as touched as he was, right now the most important thing wasn't avoiding blame; it was finding the snake before anyone got hurt, including the creature itself. There would be time to wriggle out of Scott and John’s inevitable lecture later.

“The signal’s likely very subtle,” he said, drawing John's attention. “He’s cold-blooded, so his core temperature’s gonna be mirroring the immediate environment. Look at components a little below body temperature and check for tiny, unexplained fluctuations.”

“Cold-bl… You lost a reptile?!”

“A snake,” clarified Virgil.

There was a moment while John processed this new information, then he closed his eyes and pinched the top of his nose. 

“Of course it's a snake(!)” He sighed. “EOS? Did you catch all that?”

EOS’s voice rang through clear over the comms. “Yes, John. Checking now…”

“In the meantime,” said John, “I suggest you put your helmets back on, just to be safe. The less exposed skin you two have the better.”

The brothers nodded. 

Gordon set the incubator down and grabbed his helmet from the dash in front of him, just as EOS brought up a schematic of the cockpit onto the screen in front of him.

“There’s a slight irregularity in temperature around the co-pilot’s control panel, but it’s too indistinct to pin down to a specific component.”

Gordon’s eyes darted all over the dashboard in front of him. 

Where?

Scrabbling to push his chair back and get his helmet on, he vaguely heard Virgil say something about lifting the main cover off the console before he was suddenly distracted by a sharp, stabbing pain in his right cheek, just above the jaw.

“Yeow!”

Virgil was by his side immediately, mediscanner in hand. “What?! What is it?”

Gordon remained in his chair, sitting stock still.

"Don’ scan.”

"What?"

"Don' scan. Th' noise'll scare 'im."

Virgil's eyes went wide.

"Where is it?" he whispered, looking him up and down.

“I’z on m’ face."

“What?!?”

“On. M’. Face. W’z inside th’ helmet.”

Virgil and John exchanged a panicked look.

…Yep.

By rights, Gordon should have been scared. After all, there was a chance he could die here; the little danger-noodle might be pumping deadly venom into him by the second. But surprisingly he wasn’t overly worried about that possibility just now. In fact he felt strangely calm and clear-headed. What was done was done after all, and the priority now was to a) not do anything to make the snake strike again (him or Virgil); and b) get it secured.

“Ah’m gonna slowly r’move th’ helmet," he mumbled, trying not to move his mouth too much. "When y’ see ‘im, grab ‘im c’refully b’hind th’ head an’ unhook ‘im.”

Keeping his head stock still, he looked sidelong at his big brother to check he’d understood. Poor Virg looked pale, but he nodded and shifted into position in front of him, mouth set in a grim line. Behind him, John's face was a picture of worry.

“R'dy?” Gordon asked. 

Virgil nodded, hands poised.

He gave a little blink in lieu of a smile. “Okay."

Deep breath.

"One. Two. ‘Hree.”

And slowly he took off his helmet.

Virgil reached forwards and closed his hand next to his face. Gordon's skin pulled painfully for a moment, then released, leaving a sharp echo across his cheek.  

He exhaled in a big whoosh that seemed to come from his very soul, and raised his eyes to finally look on the thing that had bitten him.

“Scanning for a species match now,” said John urgently as Virgil stepped back, holding the offending creature out at arm’s length. “Cross-matching size, markings and-”

“It’s a Children’s Python!”

“A what?” Virgil asked roughly.

John took a massive breath in. “Oh thank god! Are you sure?”

“Certain,” replied Gordon, finding his feet and bouncing over to look a bit closer, all concern for his safety gone. “We had one as a class pet in 5th grade. Native to Northern Australia. Fantastic pets.”

“I can confirm the identification, John” said EOS. “The species is non-venomous.”

All the remaining colour drained from Virgil's face. He lowered himself down shakily into his chair, arm still outstretched. “Well in that case would someone please come and take this thing out of my hand before I have a heart attack?”

“Oops! Yep, give me one second…” 

Gordon grabbed the tray of eggs and fished out a roll of electrical tape from one of his console drawers. 

“This should keep the lid secure until we can get him into the shelter, at least.”

Gordon reached out and gently took hold of the little snake, who had stopped thrashing around and instead seemed content to curl its body gently around his hand. He took a second to admire its beautiful mottled markings in light and dark brown, and the gentle undulation of muscles pulsing as it moved.

"Hey, little guy."

The tiny snake flicked its tongue at him, tasting the air.

Slowly, gently, Gordon encouraged the snake back in the tray, extracted his hand, and then put the lid on and taped it down.

As soon as the tray was closed, John seemed to deflate like he was the one who’d been punctured.

“Please, for the love of god, don’t ever scare me like that again, okay guys? My cortisol levels can't take it."

"Take it easy John," soothed Virgil as he stumbled over to examine Gordon's cheek. "You sit back and have a float and we'll finish up here." 

He took Gordon by the chin and turned his face to the side. 

"...C'mon Blofeld, let's get you cleaned up."

…

Fifteen minutes later and sporting a natty Baby Shark band-aid on his cheek, Gordon skipped across the animal shelter car park towards the front desk. Alongside him, Virgil carried the now-definitely-sealed incubator. (Gordon had argued it was his privilege as 'the walking wounded’ not to have to carry stuff. Virgil had just rolled his eyes and agreed, muttering something about checking for himself to ensure no more 'jailbreaks'.)

Behind them, a dozen or so vets and other volunteers were unloading the various other crates of animals from Two's hold, checking them over and directing them to their respective enclosures.

Gordon grinned.

"Feeling better now?" asked Virgil, quirking a smile in reply.

He was, in more ways than one. Somehow, staring into the face of that tiny serpent had made him feel a lot more positive about everything. Nature really was amazing. If a baby creature, just out of its egg, could survive and protect itself in a hostile environment like that little one had today, then with a little bit of care he was sure the other animals they'd rescued would as well.

Life was good. He had his health, he had his family, and they’d done good today. 

Suddenly overcome with happiness, he couldn’t help doing a little jumping air punch, earning a low chuckle from his left.

"You were right, Virg. Today really was a win.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow at him. "Not sure I'd quite describe it that way, but if you say so. You did still set a snake loose in my ‘bird, though.”

“Hey, don't blame me! I'm as much a victim as you are. Little Hissy Houdini's a force all of his own.”

A pause. “You named him?”

“Yep! Kinda fitting, don’t you think?”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed. 

"You’re not keeping him.”

Gordon gasped dramatically. 

“Virgil Tracy, I am shocked! I would never-”

“Sully the Gully, Puppy Longstocking, Razorbill Bob, the Swift Family Robinson…”

“...again. Never again.”

“Well that’s just as well then, because I don’t think Scott would appreciate finding this little escapologist in his sock drawer, do you?"

As Gordon contemplated all of the delicious trickster-y possibilities that that image brought up, he stretched and gave his back another series of cracks.

Virgil regarded him coolly. "You sound like a goddamn popcorn maker," he grumbled. "Speaking of, I wonder if the others'd be up for a movie night tonight? I feel like we've earned a bit of down time."

"Sounds good to me," said Gordon, flinging an arm around the big man's shoulders. "And I have the perfect one in mind… You like Samuel L Jackson films, right?"

#tw: snakes #tagminibang2023 #thunderbirds are go #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #tagminibang

[ajpendragon]

I know it's the 5th, and not the 7th, but these turned themselves into a story along with number 14, and the two are in the wrong order. So have a little emotional whump to brighten your day.

Radio Silence

Radio Silence. Any rescue coordinator’s worst nightmare. At best, it simply meant your operative was ignoring you. Over the years, John had dealt with enough annoying younger brothers (and occasionally older ones) who were either mad at him, or simply too distracted to answer. Sometimes, it was simply a comm malfunction, which, although stressful, was easily fixed back at home. But today…

Today was the worst-case scenario. 

It shouldn’t have been a hard rescue. As far as disasters went, this one was relatively minor. The collapsing building was the first in the new development, so there was nothing else nearby it could bring down with it, and it was still under construction, so it was relatively empty. 

Virgil and Gordon had been tag-teaming it, alternating getting people out and shoring up the weakest points. The building was going to come down, there was no question about that, but they could delay it until everyone was out. 

“You’re doing great, guys.” John encouraged, eyes darting between life signs, weak points, and his brothers’ vitals. “There’s one more life sign in the southeast corner of the building. Looks like ground level or lower.”

He could see the weight lifting off their shoulders as they wiped dust and sweat from the foreheads. They were both flagging, he could tell, but they would finish the job. Gordon grinned brightly. “I got this, Virgil. Keep my exit open until I come back.” He dashed out of view, his hologram flickering out. 

Virgil sighed heavily. “He’s doing too much, John. He’s going to burn himself out.”

“I know, Virgil. After this, he’s on mandatory downtime for the next week. You both are.”

Virgil shook his head, moving to secure a crumbling beam. “I can keep going.”

“Funny. That’s exactly what Gordon would say. You’re both grounded. You’re way over your flight hours.”

Later, John would blame his lack of focus on bickering with Virgil. Whatever it was, he missed the yellow blip on his screen indicating a major weak point until it turned blaring red. 

“The building’s coming down now!” He shouted. “Get out of there.”

Virgil responded immediately, getting clear fast enough to avoid the debris, but Gordon must have been underground, for all they could hear from his comm was static. 

“Gordon? Gordon!?!” John and Virgil both shouted simultaneously. John’s hands were flying, pulling up images of the building and Gordon’s last known location, as well as any other information he had. “EOS! Get me Gordon’s suit readouts, now!”

“I cannot. Gordon’s suit appears to be malfunctioning or damaged. There is no data transmitting.”

Just then, the rubble shifted, a few last pieces of debris settling down, and the garbled static from Gordon’s comm cut off, leaving something worse…

Silence

#whumptober 2023 #no. 7 #radio silence #thunderbirds are go #john tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #presumed dead #thunderbirds fanfiction

[gumnut-logic]

A Sign of Purpose

Okay, this is new fic, but it is weird fic. Since I haven't written for months, I'm going with whatever it is.

So what is it? Well, it reads like the beginning of a new AU. I was reminded of the Soulmate trope today where everyone has a mark somewhere on their body that indicates who they are meant to be with. The traditional idea doesn't work in this fandom very well without the addition of OCs, and I don't have the energy to build a new bunch of OCs right now, so I tried something different. Don't know if it works, but eh, 1500 words of what appears to be some kind of intro to this AU. Don't know if it is worth expanding or exploring, but I wrote something, so yay! :D

I hope you enjoy it at least a little in any case.

-o-o-o-

He rubbed his chest with a wonderfully soft towel. Thank goodness, Scott had taken his advice and really splurged on the quality when it came to the locker room towels.

As to the brand of the towel, he did not have a clue and did not care. As long as they were soft and sucked up water from tired skin.

The mirror at the end of the room blurrily reflected his movements through the steam and habit drew him to stop and take a step towards it, his eyes narrowing on the scar across his left pectoral.

He didn’t know why he did this. It wasn’t as if he expected his Sign to appear. He had lost hope a long time ago.

At least he had thought he had. If there was no hope, then he could just be who he was.

There were a few in the world who had never received their Sign, an imprint of a symbol or icon on their left breast which indicated a person’s ultimate Purpose in life. Most due to accident like his. The scar was old now and in a way more of a Sign than any Purpose. More a reminder of his failure.

He did have to admit that watching each of his brothers gain their Sign when he didn’t had affected him. Scott, of course, had grown up before Virgil, maturity bringing the almost predictable Sign of Flight.

Their parents had been so excited, just after Scott’s sixteenth birthday. The family had celebrated and there had been several excited questions as to what Virgil’s might be.

Their parents were both Stars, both born to reach for space, Dad with wings and Mom with numbers, so it hadn’t been surprising that Scott had aspects of both merging into Flight.

The traditional Reader had been brought in and the new Sign had been examined, interpreted, and aligned with Scott’s interests. The Reader had frowned a lot. Not that Virgil had any experience with Readers, but the elderly man in his carmine robe had muttered about success, challenges, losses and gains.

Scott hadn’t had to do much upon the revelation of his Sign. He had been heading for the Air Force in any case. But it had been good to know his choices were meant to be.

Unlike Virgil.

He sighed and ran the towel down his leg, turning away from the revealing glass.

It was the bruises on that leg that made him grimace, not the long ago loss…

Who was he kidding?

The scar twinged as if to remind him.

He shied away from the memories of losing his mother and the avalanche responsible. He had been lucky to survive with minor injuries.

Just happened that one of those injuries hurt more than the others.

The year that followed was traumatic enough for everyone to forget Virgil’s sixteenth birthday and the importance of that time in his life. Dad had fallen into grief. Scott was juggling the entire family, trying to keep everyone and everything afloat.  Virgil did everything he could to help, but survivor’s guilt and the thought that everything, especially his mother’s death, was his fault, sucked him into a deep dark hole.

His father couldn’t even look at him.

It took Scott finally cracking and a screaming match from hell between him and their father for it all to fall apart. Enough to create a turning point in all their lives and the first shaky step towards recovery.

So it wasn’t until John received his Sign early, that the question of Virgil came up.

John was only thirteen, very young to receive his Purpose, but considering how far advanced he was in his learning, it shouldn’t have been a surprise.

John was Stars, just like his parents. The Reader who visited them frowned at Virgil as he walked past, but nothing was said. The Reading declared John would follow his parents into space, that he would bridge communication across the planet, that he was destined for greatness.

Everyone celebrated. Dad drank soft drink instead of alcohol, but the glasses clinked together all the same and John shone, the centre of attention and, for once in his life, enjoying it.

Virgil slunk away early and spent the next half an hour peering at himself in the mirror, willing the red scar across his breast to reveal something…anything.

By the time Gordon turned sixteen, Virgil was an adult and had comes to terms with his loss…mostly.

It just wasn’t going to happen.

It did affect his life choices. Unlike everyone around him, he had no guide to his true Purpose. His interests flickered back and forth between the arts and the sciences. He loved to paint and play music. But he also loved pulling machines apart and putting them back together. He was handy with his hands and could repair just about anything. He could plan and organise and create. He could do so many things, but he had no idea which he was supposed to do, which direction he was supposed to go.

What was his Purpose?

He had to admit that for at least part of that time, he followed Scott around like a lost shadow. Scott had enough direction for both of them and Virgil willing followed his big brother. After all, what wasn’t to follow? Scott was at the top of everything he did. Academic, sports, socialising…if there was a direction to go, Scott was a good choice.

But Virgil was not Scott.

It came close, though. Virgil gained his pilot’s license not long after his brother, and was a hair’s breadth away from following him into the Air Force.

If he could have. The Air Force did not accept those without a Sign of Purpose. Apparently it was too much of a risk to enlist those not destined to Serve.

There were words, none of them polite, but looking back, Virgil knew he wasn’t military material. He didn’t need a stupid Sign for that. If he was honest with himself, it was simply doing what his big brother was going to do.

Maybe the Sign of Flight had been taken from him by the avalanche?

Grandma had so many hugs for him the day Scott left for the Air Force.

But perhaps Scott leaving was necessary, because it forced him to stop following and work out what he should be by himself.

In the end he chose a bit of everything and the hell to a blasted Purpose.

Looking back, it all seemed so long ago. All the things that had happened since - Scott returning from Bereznik, broken and in pieces. The birth of International Rescue and the Thunderbird that gave his big brother his wings back.

John reaching the Stars he was destined for.

The loss of Dad.

An echo of their father’s Stars appeareing on Scott’s left breast overnight, blurring his Sign of Flight, almost caging it.

Grief.

So much grief.

Virgil straightened and cleared his throat. Even now, a good five years after, it still hurt. Scott had stumbled and it had been Virgil’s turn to juggle the family and support where he could.

Gordon won gold at the Olympics.

Honestly, joyful though it was, it wasn’t really a surprise. After all, The Reader swore he had never seen so many fish in a Sign before. Gords was aquatic life personified.

Until he wasn’t.

So many hundreds of knots worth of speed and a sudden stop did that.

Another hard year. More grief, more challenge. he could have taken it personally and declared his Purpose as one to bear witness to each member of his family going through hell. But since they all were experiencing the same pain, he couldn’t claim any originality or self-centred angst.

But they were lucky. Gordon survived and clawed his way back to health. Some of the fish were now missing due to Gordon’s own set of scars, but as he had so many, the hydrofoil hadn’t got them all.

Plus one scar had warped one of the little fish into a shape Gordon was determined to call shark, so watch out, he had teeth now.

Virgil smirked and found himself grinning into the foggy mirror. You know, the mirror that he pointedly hadn’t been looking at.

A sigh. It annoyed him that even now, the lack of his own Sign, his own Purpose, still bugged him like this. He should be over it. Take a bruise or two and claim that was his Purpose, to take a hit while saving people’s lives.

But yeah, it was bugging him again because he still had one more brother who was due to receive his Sign any day now.

As he hung up the towel and started shoving on his clothing he thought about little Allie. Or not so little, because sixteen was tomorrow, no doubt to be followed by a Sign…predicted to be Stars of some kind. It wasn’t like the kid wasn’t begging to go into space every moment of every day. Stars was pretty much a given. But there were subtleties to Signs that needed interpretation…and celebration.

His littlest brother was growing up.

Pulling his t-shirt over his head, he straightened it across his chest, only to have his hand automatically trace the scar through the thin material.

Would he ever stop hoping?

Apparently not.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #nuttyfic

[uh-e-rinnie]

[click/tap images for better quality]

(1/3) of my TSS RPG au, originally posted on IG

Character Details and Backgrounds underneath:

[This was formatted for Instagram!]

Logan

Prodigy turned Professor of the Academy of Knowledge

Character Class: Magician

Weapon Class: Catalyst

Specialization: Time and Space

Associated Titles:

Royal Magician of the Kingdom of Creare

[Text Content]

Character Background [Lore]

There is much praise for Creare's Royal Magician. Despite his cold and icy gaze, Logan has the heart of a humble man, shaped by hardship and trial.

Logan was not born a magician, unlike his peers in the academy. A simple farm boy living with his parents, poor as they may have been, the young boy was determined to pursue a life of knowledge with the support of his guardians through every step. Poverty be damned, the boy held his head up through every step he had to take.

One day, while out staring into the deep blues of the night sky, a star fell into the young boy's hands, and in the blink of an eye, magic bloomed on his palms and through his veins. A case, not unheard of, but extremely rare; A gift from the heavens above, some say, only given to those who are destined for greatness.

Of course, Logan would roll his eyes, and simply state in a monotone voice; Coincidences.

Still, many believe that to be the case; For little farm boy Logan, not having the gold or silver to afford the teachings of skilled magicians, took it upon himself to turn this blessing into a miracle. Stars blooming from tired palms, restless eyes scanning through every word in every book he could find, whatever may help this star shine brighter.

Such hard work was deserving of a reward, and rewarded he was. Why, anyone who catches the eye of the previous royal magicians from the Academy of Knowledge, must be quite the special star, wouldn't you agree?

Role in Party [Position]

Logan is a magician that specializes in space-based magic, heavily on elements of Time and Gravity, as well as common elements that may be associated with space (See: Fire, Electricity, Water, Earth, etc.). He uses a book (Letters from the Universe) passed down onto him by the previous Royal Magician as a catalyst for his magic.

Logan is well equipped in using his magic for combat, making him a good Damage Dealer. His range allows him to fight from up close and from afar, however, it has been observed that the closer he is to the target, the more damage he deals. The father he is, the quicker he is able to cast more combat magic.

Though he is more common with combat magic, he may also serve as a Support magician. With the ability to increase his party members' fight speed, or decrease enemy speed. He may also increase his party member's gravity to increase the weight of their damage, of course, this is only applicable to physical fighters or members' with physical weapons.

Logan also has minor healing abilities, but does not use them often as it is not his speciality. 'Leave it to the Sunshine Frog', he'd say.

Virgil

Odd Magician found on the outskirts of Creare

Character Class: Magician

Weapon Class: Catalyst

Specialization: Unknown - Not Previously Recorded

Associated Titles:

Wanderer to and from nowhere.

Character Background [Lore]

While only few know about this strange wanderer, many have seen him soaring in the sky as he travels from one kingdom to the next, never staring for longer than a week or two. Those who have interacted with the wanderer describes him as quiet, almost docile despite his rough appearance; Speaking in hushed tones and staring at the world around him wide-eyed and curious. For that reason, amongst many others, the wanderer was welcomes as he never seemed like a threat.

What may be even more odd about this wanderer is the question of what he is. Many had mistaken him for one of the beastfolk; of the avian kind, wings and all. Upon being questioned so, the wanderer would shake his head and shrug, before moving onwards on his path, unwilling to continue the conversation.

A particular debate surrounding the wanderer is the color of the feathers on his back, and the mop of hair on his head; Some say it would be a deep dark black, too dark, almost like the shadows beneath his feet. Others would say it would be as pale as the moon's glow.

Currently, the strange wanderer takes rest on the outskirts of the kingdom of Creare, garnering the attention of many of its people. Not just for the strange wanderer's eccentricities and mysteries, but for the new development in the wanderer's routine;

It's been over three months, with no tells of leaving anytime soon. How odd, this wanderer.

Role in Party [Position]

Virgil is a magician that uses a floating crystal (Eye of the Storm) as a magic catalyst in battle, such is a gift from a member of his previous party. He has two forms that he can interchange in battle, with the condition that he must give his previous form time to recharge. His role and range in the party depends heavily on the type of form he's taken.

Flight form is similar to his dormant form at night; His hair and wings turn a bright white, with his wings growing slightly larger than in his other form. His speed increases greatly, but his strength lowers just as much. This is his best form to take role as a Support, as this form consists of magic that can boost the other members.

Fight form is similar to his dormant form at day; His hair and wings turns a deep black, with his wings growing denser and feathers sharper. His speed decreases greatly, but his strength increases just as much. This is his best form to take role as a Damage Dealer, as this form consists of magic that can boost himself.

Changing forms while a form is still partially recharges is dangerous, and thus, not advisable.

Other Concept Stuff

Design: Logan appears tall and lean, with tan skin, dark blue eyes and black, slicked-back, hair. He wears rectangular shaped glasses with golden frames, attached to a golden beaded glasses chain.

He wears a dark blue tunic with gold accents; You may also notice golden planets, moons, stars, orbits as well as a large golden sun with the silhouette of a crescent moon in the middle. There is a noticeable sparkle of glitter surrounding those golden shapes. These golden swirls and shapes are also seen on his sleeves.

Two brown belts, with one connecting to a small pouch, hangs loosely around his waist and over his hips. Two ribbons are connected to one of the belts, a red and cyan crystal hanging from a respective ribbon.

Under his tunic is a black button up shirt and a blue tie.

He wears long fingerless black gloves that take up most of his forearm, with gold lining at the end of the glove and around his wrist. A blue crystal is attached to the glove, below his knuckles.

He wears black pants that are tucked into a pair of brown and white leather high boots that reach a few inches below his knees. These boots are accented with gold and a blue crystal is noticeable above the bridge of his feet.

There is a noticeable pin on the right of his chest, colored gold and shaped like a thing four-pointed star, with arrows and a golden ring around it. Much like a clock or compass.

His weapon is a dark blue floating book, with two dark blue ribbons attached between the pages with golden stars hanging from the tips, serving as a sort of book-mark. There are rings, similar to his pin on the upper right corner and lower left corner of the book.

Design: Virgil is a pale skinned man with a short frame, a short mop of hair on his head, with a noticeable braid of hair starting from his temples. His hair switches between black and white, depending on the time of day.

His ears are slightly pointed, with a black ring helix piercing on his left ear, and a black studded earring with a purple crystal hanging from both.

He has heterochromic eyes, with his right eye being purple and the left being green, with a black/purple ring of color under his eyes.

He wears a cropped hoodie, it is a pale lavender, with three patches of various shades of purple (with two being plaid) sewn together in the hoodie's lower half. The hood is dark purple and plaid, with two dark purple hoodie strings.

He has long gray half gloves, starting from under his shoulder to a few inches over his wrist. The gloves are secured on him through black strings, on his shoulders and wrist. There are three, beads around the string on his left wrist, colored in yellow, green and orange. Similarly to Logan, he has purple crystals on his gloves, under his knuckles.

He wears baggy dark gray pants that hang from his waist, secured by a brown belt, with two long belt straps hanging from it. There is also a gold strap on the same side, with red, blue, and cyan circles on it.

He wears long brown boots with black accents, stopping several inches below his knee.

He has thick wings that switch between black and white together with his hair. Though the wings do look bird-like, feathers and all, none can point out the type of bird it can be associated with.

Virgil also has black long nails with sharp tips.

His weapon is a crystal orb that consistently swirls between the colors black and white, usually towards its center. Floating around the orb are two golden shells shaped like wings turning inwards toward the orb.

this was tiring! but i missed designing characters so yay!

edit: 7/5/22 ID added.

#wooooo #look at em #rin tss rpg au #this was totally genshin inspired #sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #rinart #ts sides #ts logan #ts virgil #ts art #tss

[edutainer2022]

This turned out sadder, than I expected. Oh well... Virgil gets to contemplate Renaissance art as Scott finds a baby in the earthquake debris. John makes a brief, bit meaningful appearance. There be angst and melancholy, and lots of Earth and Sky love.

CW: mention of earthquake and destruction; mention of a minor character death in an earthquake

BABY BLUES

Their tech would undoubtedly blur the image for security purposes, but Virgil made a point to commit the sight to memory. It didn't get more awe-inspiring or symbolic than a figure in blue, ascending into the air from the smoking pile of rubble and ashes, a small bundle cradled in a sure arm, against the backdrop of a cloudless sky, the blazing sun providing a natural halo around the stunning visage. It made Virgil think back to the stained glass windows and frescoes he got see for the first time in Rome, dragging his grumpy brothers around and pulling every favor and blackmail chip to see more of what Renaissance had to offer to an aspiring artist.

Scott landed next to Virgil, killing the jetpack, and the bundle in his arms made its presence known with a wail, breaking the spell. A baby! The sole survivor, apparently, of that building collapse in an earthquake. A baby boy, to be precise. He made it, thanks to his mother throwing herself over the crib. The crashed ceiling didn't leave her any chance. Rendered quiet in the face of an abject tragedy, that hit them all close to home, Virgil concentrated on assessing the baby for possible injuries and smoke inhalation. That was a bit of a problem as Scott was yet to relinquish the hold of the child. Parallel to Virgil's ministrations he knew John or Eos would be already running the database checks for any relatives, hopefully a father or grandparents. The first sweep came up empty fairly quickly - the owner of the demolished house was never married nor had any close relatives listed. The baby boy's birth certificate registered no information on the father, but did give them a name - Jeffrey. Jeff. Talk about symbolism.

Miraculously, the medscan flashed nothing more aggravating than yellow - baby Jeffrey escaped the ordeal relatively unscathed. Still, they had to get the child to Two's infirmary and then to a nearest hospital STAT. Babies were extremely fragile, especially in a danger zone like this. Virgil reached to transfer the now somewhat quietened baby to his hold, but, to his surprise Scott wouldn't let go. He shifted the small weight to one arm and with a flick of one hand slaved One to TB2 controls to fly in formation, turning on his heel and marching to the green bird, a baffled Virgil in tow.

Virgil busied himself with fixing a tiniest oxygen cannula on the fussing boy, as Scott materialized once again with a blanket and a bottle of formula, picking the baby up. They kept all kinds of supplies in Two, for all kinds of rescuees, of course, still Virgil found himself pausing in surprise again. Scott waved him away to pilot, his focus completely on the now happily munching little Jeffrey. Virgil turned one more time before leaving for the cockpit, catching Scott features soften and glow the way he only remembered the biggest brother look at a much younger Alan.

Virgil's heart constricted at the weight of everything their brother gave up, was still giving up every minute of every day, to be what they all and the whole world around needed of him. Part of his mind wandered into the forbidden territory of calculating if they could successfully baby-proof the villa. Or maybe not so forbidden? They had the resources and the manpower of responsible adults (well, almost) at home now, right? It takes a village, they say. Well, they did have a small taskforce of people completely dedicated to making sure Scott got every ounce of happiness and fulfillment he deserved, regardless of his take on the matter. It could work. Safely in the cockpit, Virgil pinged John over an isolated channel.

Baby Jeffrey was placed in the pediatric ward for an overnight quarantine and observation. Virgil hung out nearby, as Scott stayed, transfixed, by the huge bay window, overlooking the rows of tiny beds. Two would need to leave soon to pick up Gordon and Alan in their pods - the earthquake mission was almost wrapped up - but there was still time. He certainly didn't want to startle or hurry Scott away. Not now.

A cry down the hospital hallway disrupted the quiet reverie. Both Virgil and Scott turned their heads in the direction of the sound as a young man, not much older than Scott, practically flung himself at the IR Commander and sobbed. Virgil's first instinct was to regroup for danger, but there was no menace in the stranger's fierce hug - only relief, gratitude and sadness. The man couldn't seem to stop weeping on Scott's shoulder, a jumble of frantic thankyous and I'msorries muffled by the IR uniform. The man was baby Jeffrey's father. John was exceptionally good at data analytics and cross-reference. A part of Virgil, he wasn't particularly proud of in that moment, wished he weren't. But it was just as well. They had a huge spat with a then fiancée and broke up - she never got to tell him they were expecting. John examined the data through the late mother's social media and financial records, ran the numbers and identified the man in the neighborhood, thankfully, unaffected by the earthquake. The guy was shaken by the grave news, but extatic to meet his son and adamant to step up. Which he did immediately, rushing to the hospital and pouring out all the emotional turmoil to the leader of IR who saved his baby. Virgil nudged Scott away by the elbow, gently, as Jeffrey's Dad took over the vigil by the ward. Where he belonged.

Gordon reported they were ready for the pick-up, and generally ready to leave that particular disaster behind them, but Virgil still lingered where Two and One were parked in the field. Scott was yet to say anything after they left the hospital and was staring up at the sky. It was the kind of wistful gaze that usually filled Virgil with dread - as if Scott was not all there, missing something up, amidst the endless blue, as opposed to staying on sturdy earth with them. Virgil summoned all the courage he could and ventured to speak first:

- You can have that, you know? - he nodded in the general direction of the hospital, the baby they left behind. Virgil found his conviction strengthen, as he spoke. - You CAN. If you want to, you can start a family. We'll all help!

Any adoption agency would fall over themselves if Scott Tracy as much as blinked their way. And any child could not be luckier to have Scott Tracy for a father. If Virgil ever believed in anything, that was their biggest brother was born to be a Dad. He only wished the biggest brother in question shared that faith.

Scott shook his head slightly, in cadence with some unvoiced thoughts, his eyes not leaving the skies:

- I shouldn't. I should've known better.

Virgil took a sharp breath for a vehement contradiction, but the wrist-com blinked blue - John was inquiring their ETA to the original danger zone.

Scott looked back down on him with a rueful smile, that threw all Virgil's panic stations into red alert:

- Go, pick up the Tinies, Virgie. Go!

For the second time that day he was reminded of the art in Rome, when looking at his brother - the serene bliss and detachment of martyrs and saints, captured in marble.

- Aren't you coming, Scotty? Let's go home. Please! Please!

Virgil found his voice cracking into a plea, small and scared, as his hands moved to clasp, almost spasm, around his brother's. He wasn't above adding the biggest, teary puppy eyes to a litany of begging, in an irrational hope of compelling Scott to follow the cue. If they could just go home now, it would be alright. It will all be alright from there.

Scott returned the gentle squeeze of the hands and shifted his eyes back to the sky:

- It's okay, Virgil. I'll stay at Gran Roca tonight. I need to talk to Mom.

***

Fifty two thousand miles above John mused, not for the first time, that Open Comms was, by far, the best of their protocols - that, and the compatibility of all their crafts with all their properties - as he gave Eos instructions to reposition Five over the family estate and to prepare the space elevator for a trip down. Noone was wallowing and mourning a self-professed lost chance at fatherhood alone tonight.

#thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #scott tracy needs a hug #thunderbirds 2015 #my fic #virgil tracy #virgil tracy needs a hug #john tracy needs a hug #methinks i have astronomy #scott tracy is skirting the empty nest syndrome #scott tracy needs his dad #earth and sky

[sageheartwriting]

Virgil Hawkins (YJ Static Shock) x Artist! GN! Reader

Author's note: First time writing something on tumblr! I just love YJ minor characters so much but there's like not much content SO I'm feeding myself and if you'd like to send in requests that's fine too! Tell me if there's anything that I can improve on!!

Story: Virgil breaks his old skateboard and gets a new one. (name) offers to doodle some stuff on it and stuff ensues. (This is more fluff than anything romantic I think, tell me if it's bad haha)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Virgil whisked through crowds of people, music blaring through his headphones. He weaved through the streets, the wheels of his skateboard scraping along the floor.

"Shit, shit, shit! I'm so gonna be late...!" Virgil grumbled as he peeked at his phone. In that moment of his absent-mindedness, he bumped into a person and...accidentally stepped on his skateboard.

Unsurprisingly, he showed up late.

(Name) sat idly at the table, scrolling through their phone with a neutral expression, occasionally scribbling down sketches down on a small notebook. Virgil pushed open the door of the coffee shop, his signature skateboard and chirpy attitude absent for once.

"It's rude to make a friend wait, y'know."

(Name) looked up with a smug smirk, teasingly mocking his late appearance. They cocked an eyebrow at the dread-head, suddenly noticing his saddened expression. Virgil sat down opposite (name), eyebrows wrinkling into a frown (which they found cute).

"Ugh, I'm real sorry. I know we wanted to meet up and talk and stuff, so I actually wanted to come earlier! Ah, just my luck. My skateboard broke so I had to walk the rest of the way...sorry, man." He whisper-yelled in frustration at his own misfortune.

(Name) nodded and took a sip of their drink. "That's fine." They looked up to smile at him, flashing their teeth in a charming smile. "Maybe you should get a new one? Actually...when you do...can I..can I doodle on it?" (Name)'s eyes lit up at the idea that suddenly came to mind.

The pair soon found themselves in Virgil's room, seated on the floor with a brand new shiny skateboard, waiting to be decorated in colourful neon markers. (Name) took out their sketchbook - full of small doodles - and their phone - full of reference images - and went to work.

Virgil watched as (Name) got in 'the zone', completely immersing themselves in the moment. They held up a picture of a cute puppy. "Can I draw this?" They asked, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. He could feel his chest tighten from (name)'s adorable actions.

"Sure. But why that?" He leaned back, giving them full creative freedom over the design of his skateboard.

"It's cute. It reminds me of you." (Name) spoke with zero hesitation.

Virgil's face flushed and he sat back up straight, leaning in closer to hear better. "S-sorry, what?" He tried to cover up his embarrassment. Surely, they didn't mean that...he just heard wrong! Right?

(Name)'s face reddened as they slowly realised what they said, and their hands stopped abruptly.

"Um...I...I said it's cute! Yeah! It's cute." (Name) also shook it off.

The atmosphere suddenly became tense and Virgil realised just how close his face was to theirs.

"Tell me the truth...please..?"

(Name) gulped and bit on the inside of their cheeks. Sure, Virgil was a nice guy...and his jokes was always the highlight of their conversations...and was just a joy to have around...

"Hey-you're getting really red...are you okay?" Virgil grabbed (name) by the shoulders, shaking them lightly. (Name) snapped out of their trance, staring back at him. "H-huh? What did you ask? I forgot." (Name) lied, eyes darting around the room in nervousness.

"What about the puppy that reminds you of me?" He asked.

Alright, time to rip off the band-aid.

"It's..." (Name) sucked in a deep breath. "It's cute like you."

They both sat there for a while in silence, before bursting into laughter. Virgil slapped his knee. "You're kidding!"

"No, I mean, yes. I mean it." (Name) regained composure, sitting upright to look at him properly. "I think...I...I think you're cute, Virgil." The feeling of something cold spreading along (Name)'s sock alerted them and they looked down.

"Oh, shit. I left the marker uncapped."

~

#virgil hawkins x reader #young justice imagine #young justice #static shock x reader #static shock #virgil hawkins #x reader #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader

[motherstone]

Which characters do you think you're going to leave out/downsize their role in your rewrite?

Honestly, I'm not finalizing things for now but looking back on it, it does seem like almost EVERY character NEEDS an increase of focus or at least more active participation in the plot. I will end up omitting many of the new characters because there's far too many Amulet characters that it's bloated the FUCK outta the series, and instead try to prioritize those most crucial to the plot. Meanwhile, I would maybe try to change the nature of their roles/their story journey:

Main Characters: Emily, Trellis, Navin (in that order)

Great Impact on the plot: Leon, Vigo, Max (he won't die in this version), Karen (up in the air), Luger (he'd last longer and stay villain til the end), Riva

Minimal focus, Great Impact: Miskit (working on him), Virgil (he's not related to Trellis, but an advisor to EK), The Human Resistance (maybe?), the Elven Resistance (definitely)

Crucial character to the flashbacks to why everything is shit: Silas (he's not a good guy here, I'd argue he never really was), EK, Cielis... Vigo.... Roy. Virgil.

Increased minor character focus: Daniel (Vigo's son)

Increased villain focus: Elf Army, Cielis

Still important, but we really gotta reduce their appearances: Alyson, David Hayes, General Pil, Gabilan

The character I'd reduce the role of most is.... the Voice. Because I can't fucking stand him, removes too many chances for the characters to choose for themselves, be it fuck ups or triumphs, and an overall tumor on the plot. In fact, there would be no fucking possession or mind control or what have you in this Rewrite, because we love character agency in this house. Instead, the Voice as a character would be merged with the Elf King to solve character focus and pacing issues. The EK isn't the main source of all problems, but he is the most obvious, widespread, and the biggest priority to be taken down right now.

#asks #amulet rewrite #LET! CHARACTERS! CHOOSE! FOR! THEM!SELVES!

[pielove123clan]

I'm sleepy and never post but I keep thinking about Spiderbud Ryoshu and this one fan art with the spiderman from spiderman into the spiderverse, the O'Hara. This is kind of crack but I want to make a spiderman Ryo-shu because I love the idea of Ryo-shu biting the spiderbud and becoming a spider man. Maybe she eats the spider or makes art with it, but then she has all these spider babies she's adopted.

- The person she loses is obviously her daughter. After that, Ryoshu becomes a fixer (or maybe she just joins Limbus Company)

- I know next to nothing about the Avengers actually but now it's a minor crack idea the Limbus Company can be the Avengers of that universe. This is just based off appearances. Mersault with that one angel ego as the stand in for Thor, Gregor as Antman (maybe with the centipede ego) , Dante or Virgil as the eyepatch guy of course, Outis as Captain America, I can't think of anymore. These are flawed.

-The backstory would probably follow Hellscreen with Ryoshu completing her art. After that, she uh, goes to seek better art instead of suicide? Eh? She still feels the need to live. I don't think

-Ryoshu's daughter is too much of a sunshine on earth and accepted all her new siblings.

- another crack head idea, Ryo-shu gets a role in the spiderverse to take care of the radioactive spiders like the mother she is.

- Ryoshu rightfully horrifies everyone.

I might post more later if I come up with something else. I need spider ryoshu to be real. I want to rp her ha.

#limbus company #ryoshu #lobotomy corporation #spiderman

[selfdestructivecat]

The Best Medicine

AO3 Link (kudos are greatly appreciated!)

A/N: FINALLY it’s done! My fluffy magnum opus! You want simps? Boy howdy, you’ve come to the right place!

HUGE thanks to @lovelivingmydreams for being my BETA again! Her help is always greatly appreciated! Check out her fics!

I hope you guys enjoy! ^.^

Words: 17,127

Rating: T

Genre: Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Pairings: Roman/Virgil (Prinxiety)

Warnings/Triggers: Minor injury and blood; Self-deprication/hatred; Swearing

Summary: Roman hears Virgil laugh exactly one (1) time, and decides that he will do literally anything to hear it again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman and Virgil do not get along.

Roman is Creativity, wonderous and striking and beautiful. He speaks as if barely resisting the temptation to burst into song, his voice boisterous and lyrical. He dresses like the prince he knows he is, purest white and passionate red accented by the noblest of gold. His very presence demands attention, confidence shining from him like rays of sunlight and charisma dripping from every word, sweet as honey. And of course, he deserves this attention. His ideas are unmatched, his execution flawless. When he requests attention, he receives it, because his existence brings a promise to dazzle and amaze.

Virgil, on the other hand…

Okay, so maybe Virgil isn’t as useless as Roman initially thought. The emo’s own demands and urges occasionally serve a noble purpose in protecting Thomas. A star can’t shine if its light has been extinguished, after all. And perhaps Virgil’s frantic nudges towards rehearsing more for performances are… helpful. And Roman appreciates the assistance. Truly, he does!

But by the gods, why does Virgil have to be such a downer!?

Virgil’s voice is low and growling, almost like a warning that he can, and will, bite if provoked. His clothes are as dark and gloomy as his personality, all blacks and grays that seem to drain the color out of any room he occupies. His nonchalant sloppiness regarding his appearance – evident in his unkempt hair, ill-fitted clothing, and splotchy eyeshadow — seems to mock Roman’s diligent perfection. Where Roman is loud and bright, Virgil is quiet and subdued. Not that Virgil lets that stop him from being frustratingly persistent whenever Thomas tries to approach a cute guy.

Roman and Virgil do not get along. They don’t get along because they literally can’t. They are like water and oil, fire and ice, Patton and spiders, and whatever other cliché Roman can come up with to accentuate the fact that they just aren’t compatible.

Even after Virgil revealed his name, the Anxious Side barely shows himself. When he does sulk from his room into the commons, it’s always with a sullen expression, like he had just attended a funeral. His demeanor rarely changes when he interacts with the other Sides, and when Roman does notice a change, it’s usually Virgil simply alternating between “Grumpy” and “Very Grumpy”. Even Patton’s bubbly cheer, usually infectious, seems unable to penetrate the darkness that is Virgil’s seemingly endless pool of angst.

This stubborn insistence on gloominess persists even when the Sides attempt to include him in fun activities, such as game nights and movie marathons. While the others are laughing and cracking jokes (including Logan, in his own… unique way, usually involving flash cards), Virgil rarely even smiles. At most, he would flash a smirk or snort in amusement, which in Roman’s humble opinion doesn’t count. A smile is meant to convey happiness, and laughter is the definition of unrestrained joy. Virgil smirks like he's plotting something, and he is quick to slap a hand over his mouth at the slightest hint of a chuckle.

Virgil’s smiles are few and far-between, a feeble candle’s attempt to pierce an all-encompassing darkness. And not once, in all the years that Roman’s known him, has Virgil laughed.

Until…

Well.

Let’s start at the beginning.

For Roman, the day began like any other. He woke up at approximately nine o’clock, lured from his bed by the delectable aroma of Patton’s patented (or rather, “Patton-ted”) pancakes. He spent the next thirty minutes donning his usual ensemble and brushing his hair meticulously, so that not a single strand was out of place. With a snap of his fingers, the speakers in his room turned on with a satisfying click, providing pleasant music for Roman to sing and hum along to as he worked on his appearance. By the time the last few notes of Beauty and the Beast’s ‘Be Our Guest’ faded away, Roman left his room with a grin on his face and a song in his heart.

He had taken the stairs two at a time, loudly declaring his presence with a sweep of his hands. He was greeted with Patton’s chirpy “Heya, kiddo!” and an eyeroll from Logan, as was the norm. However, he was surprised to see that Virgil was also in the kitchen, quietly setting the table as Patton flipped the last of his pancakes. At Roman’s entrance, Virgil looked up and slightly grimaced, as if Roman’s presence were akin to a bug that had naively wandered into the house. Roman made sure to lock that memory up in a safe place in his mind, because he was absolutely going to bring it up later and he was going to redefine pettiness.

(Not because it hurt. Because it didn’t. Roman didn’t care what Virgil thought. He knew that he was amazing, and one gloomy emo’s opinion wasn’t going to change that. Obviously.)

And so, ignoring the grumpy Side in favor of the delicious stack of pancakes Patton was plating for him, Roman had walked over in long, confident strides.

Until suddenly, he wasn’t.

Now, Roman is usually the epitome of grace. He has memorized dozens of choreographed numbers from various musicals, perfecting his control over his body and honing his ability to transform movement into art. He is a well-seasoned fighter with many victories to his name, his body sharpened just as much as his beloved sword. But at that very moment, as Roman approached the breakfast table, his hip caught the edge of the couch in the common room, causing him to lose his balance. The next thing he knew, he was face-to-face with the floor.

Roman groaned in pain, hip already bruising from the impact. Luckily, he was otherwise unharmed, aside from the severe blow to his dignity. He was just starting to push himself up from his spot on the floor when it happened.

“Pfft—!”

Roman’s eyes had shot up, face flushed when indignation, but whatever snappy defense he had planned on shouting was soon caught in his throat.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Virgil was laughing, nearly doubled over and needing to support himself on the kitchen table. His eyes, normally stoic and unexpressive, were sparkling with mirth, crinkled from the wide grin that seemed to grow with every moment. The laughter itself was loud and raucous, as rough around the edges as the Side it came from, but it was delightful and genuine in that way all laughter is.

And it was beautiful.

Which brings us back to the present, where Virgil is heaving from the force of his laughter, Patton is rushing to Roman’s aid, and Roman has been staring at the cackling Side for approximately seven seconds too long to be considered normal. He barely processes Patton helping him to his feet, the fatherly Side chiding Virgil for his behavior despite his own lips quirking in amusement. He completely misses the smirk Logan sends his way, sharp and teasing, as he sits at his spot at the table. He doesn’t even touch his pancakes as Virgil’s giggles slowly die down, allowing him a moment to breathe and wipe tears from his eyes.

“You sure you have enough room for those pancakes, Princey?” Virgil snickers, “After the carpet you just ate?”

Patton spit-takes the milk he had unfortunately been sipping at that very moment, and Logan hides his own smile behind a napkin as he brushes away crumbs that aren’t there. And Roman would be offended, except he is too distracted by how Virgil’s eyes sparkle from unshed, happy tears. And how had Roman not noticed that Virgil has heterochromia, his left eye an emerald green and his right eye the loveliest of purples, both shimmering like gemstones?

“Nothing?” Virgil goads, smiling around a bite of sliced strawberries, “You got a stomach ache from your pre-breakfast meal?”

Logan barks out a loud “HA!” at the quip, and Patton scolds Virgil despite looking close to laughter himself. This finally snaps Roman out of his stupor, allowing him to hastily shoot back a jab of his own. The rest of breakfast is spent exchanging light-hearted insults with the Anxious Side and nearly dropping his fork every time he glances up and sees Virgil’s teasing smile.

And as he’s lying in bed that night, replaying that moment over and over again like a broken record, he comes to two important conclusions.

One, that Virgil’s laugh may be the most wonderful sound he has ever heard in his entire existence.

And two, that he would do literally anything to hear that laugh again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Exactly two days have passed since The Incident. Roman had dedicated those two days to intense research, hours spent watching various comedians and reading pages filled with jokes. Roman is now a certified comedy expert, and he is ready to perform just as he always has: perfectly.

…Since when did Roman get pre-performance nerves?

Roman finds himself frozen at the top of the stairs, hand on the railing and ready to descend. He can faintly hear Logan and Virgil conversing in the living room, their voices too soft to discern anything specific. Roman knows his hesitance is absurd. He is more than prepared. 

And yet, as soon as he heard Virgil’s voice, his mind was filled with memories of precious laughter and an insufferable smirk. Blood had flooded his cheeks for reasons he couldn’t discern (or perhaps simply refused to), and suddenly descending the stairs seemed like a horribly daunting undertaking. 

This is stupid!

With a deep breath and much more effort than such a task demanded, Roman takes a hefty step, allowing the momentum to guide him the rest of the way down the stairs. He turns towards the common room, and his breath catches when he sees that Logan and Virgil are turned towards him. His journey downstairs may have been an unrivaled feat of mankind, but it certainly wasn’t quiet.

“Greetings, Roman,” says Logan, who is situated comfortably on the couch with a notepad on his lap. 

Virgil, lounging sideways in the loveseat with his legs draped over the armrest, gives a wordless salute. Roman feels slightly irked at the lack of a proper greeting, which is strange, since it had never bothered him before. 

The two continue to stare at Roman, who stares back in confusion before realizing that he should probably give them a response.

“Oh! G-greetings, Logan! Virgil!” Roman leans on the banister and crosses his arms in a hasty attempt at nonchalance, but if his aching back is any indication, the position must look incredibly awkward.

Logan and Virgil both raise an eyebrow in sync. 

“No nicknames today, Princey?” Virgil asks, looking suspicious at Roman’s abnormal behavior.

Roman inwardly winces. Only a few seconds, and he is already completely thrown off kilter, his charisma slipping through his fingers like sand. Fumbling his words slightly, he tries to recover.

“I, uh, decided that I should focus my creative talents on… our upcoming videos! Yes, that’s right! I sincerely apologize for the lack of nicknames on my part.”

Regaining a bit of confidence when his words come out evenly, Roman smirks playfully.

“Careful, Emo. One might think that you want me to call you nicknames.”

Virgil balks, the tips of his ears noticeably red. 

“N-no, that would be stupid,” Virgil grumbles, looking away. 

Roman smiles triumphantly. While the two are now allies instead of enemies, it is still way too much fun to tease Virgil.

Logan takes that moment to speak up. 

“Well, nicknames aside, I’m glad that you are focusing your efforts on future projects,” Logan commends, “In fact, Virgil and I have been conversing on a similar matter.”

Roman perks up, interested.

“Oh? A new Sanders Sides video? Perhaps one featuring… moi?”

Roman strikes a dramatic pose, and Virgil rolls his eyes.

“Actually, we were discussing a potential livestream with some of Thomas’ friends,” Logan corrects, “Virgil was helping me identify some potential obstacles that come with streaming live, rather than simply recording and releasing a video.”

“Everything you say will be out there forever…” Virgil mutters, his voice low and sinister, “No editing. No take-backs. Just thousands of people catching your every word, waiting for you to say something wrong or problematic…”

Virgil shudders, his eyeshadow darkening like clouds before a heavy downpour. Roman can’t help but scoff, and Virgil’s eyes dart back towards him, sharp and challenging. 

“I think you’re over-exaggerating, Gloomy Tunes. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Virgil’s expression darkens, and he opens his mouth to retaliate. However, to Roman’s surprise, Logan reaches over and places a hand on Virgil’s knee. Virgil startles, eyes wide as he turns to Logan instead.

“Roman is partially right, although his tone could use some work,” Logan says, throwing a pointed look towards Roman that makes him feel slightly taken aback, “You are catastrophizing, assuming that everyone watching will be looking for reasons to tear Thomas down. While it is certainly possible that there may be a few–” 

Logan quickly summons his pile of flashcards, flipping through them until he finds the one he is looking for.

“...”trolls” in the chat, the vast majority of people will likely be there because they like Thomas, and won’t be purposefully looking for ways to disrupt the stream.”

He then offers Virgil a rare smile.

“But nevertheless, you make a good point. Because we are streaming, we will not be able to edit out any mistakes. So it would be best to execute greater caution before we speak, so that we don’t say anything that can be interpreted poorly. I’m sure we can count on you to assist with that.”

Logan gives Virgil one last reassuring pat. Virgil remains still for a moment, flabbergasted at the praise, before turning away in embarrassment. But Roman catches a hint of a smile.

Roman suddenly feels inexplicably jealous.

“Roman, now that you’re here, perhaps you could help us brainstorm activities we could do during the stream?”

Roman shakes his head slightly, dismissing the strange feeling. 

“Of course!” Roman grins, walking towards the couch, “Have we decided on a theme?”

“Not yet,” Logan says, shaking his head, “But Patton did suggest that we could use the stream to raise money for a charity. While we haven’t decided which charity we will be raising money for, we have narrowed our options down to three different organizations”

Logan flips to a page in his notebook and places it on the coffee table, but Roman is no longer paying attention. 

Charity… Charity…

Roman’s eyes light up, suddenly remembering his reason for venturing downstairs to begin with. Seeing the opening, Roman pounces. 

“Say, Virgil. Speaking of charity…”

Virgil turns towards Roman, once again suspicious. He is no longer smiling, and some part of Roman feels… colder, like a camper whose campfire was suddenly extinguished by a great gust of wind. Nevertheless, he presses on.

“Do you know why crabs don’t donate to charity?”

Virgil blinks, not expecting such a shift in the direction of the conversation. Roman pauses, allowing a moment for the suspense to build.

Unfortunately, he waits a moment too long. As he opens his mouth to deliver the punchline, Logan interrupts. 

“Crabs don’t use money, Roman,” Logan asserts, frowning in confusion, like how a teacher may react to a particularly dumb question from a student, “Nor do they use technology that makes donating to charities possible.”

Roman’s eye twitches. 

“Yes, that is true, Logan,” Roman says through gritted teeth, “But also—”

“Furthermore, I doubt that crabs possess the intellect necessary to make such a transaction,” Logan continues, “I don’t understand why you are bringing this up. I’m very certain that all of the stream’s viewers will be human, unless a viewer’s pet is sitting with their owner, and even then the animal does not have the ability to make any donations.”

Virgil snickers behind his hand, and Roman feels his face grow hot. He doesn’t know if he’s more upset at the fact that Virgil is laughing at him, or that Virgil is hiding his pretty laughter. 

“I know, Logan,” Roman growls, a vein popping on his forehead, “I’m not arguing about whether or not crabs are capable of donating to charity. I’m not that stupid.”

“Could’a fooled me,” Virgil pipes up.

Roman sends a scathing glare towards Virgil, although most of his anger quickly dissipates at the smirk playing on Virgil’s lips, and his mind is filled with pretty pretty pretty.

“Well then, I don’t understand why you are bringing up the subject of crabs,” Logan frowns, his brow furrowed in confusion, “Unless you are suggesting that as a potential theme for the stream? One of the charities Patton suggested is called “Mermaids”, so perhaps a nautical theme is not out of the question…”

“No, Logan,” Roman whines, running a hand roughly through his hair, “I was trying to do something—Look, can you just let me say what I want to say without interruption? Please?”

At the near-pleading tone in Roman’s voice, Logan raises an eyebrow. Even Virgil’s suspicion momentarily gives way to curiosity. After a moment, Logan sighs, then gestures towards Roman to carry on. Roman sighs in relief.

“So, do you know why crabs don’t donate to charity—”

Roman quickly raises a finger towards Logan, seeing the Logical Side open his mouth to answer.

“Don’t answer that, Logan.”

Logan looks even more confused, likely at being asked a question he is not expected to answer. He looks towards Virgil, who simply shrugs, before turning back to Roman with skepticism. 

Roman pauses once again, although not for as long as he would have liked, fearing another interruption.

“...It’s because they’re shellfish!"

Roman grins broadly, arms outstretched, like a museum tour guide presenting a grand painting.

The silence that hangs in the room is heavy. 

No… no reaction?

Logan, somehow, looks even more confused, while Virgil remains silent, looking towards Roman as if silently judging him. A far cry from the laughter that Roman was hoping for.

“What… What does being a shellfish have to do with donating to charity?” Logan asks hesitantly, as if trying to parse a trick question. 

Virgil sighs as he turns to Logan, his expression noticeably gentler than when he was looking at Roman. 

“I think it’s a pun, Teach,” Virgil explains, “Like, a play on the word “selfish”. So it’s like saying that crabs are selfish, so they don’t donate to charity.”

“Ah!” Logan brightens, pleased at finally understanding, before his expression suddenly sours.

“...Ah.”

Virgil snorts as Logan wrinkles his nose in displeasure, as if he had smelled something particularly unpleasant. 

Roman, still holding the pose, feels his heart sink like a deflated balloon. While Virgil had technically laughed, it had been at Logan’s reaction, not Roman’s joke. He feels like an actor on stage who flubbed their lines, except he has no idea what he did wrong. 

Does Virgil not like puns? Roman wonders, No… No, Virgil tries to hide it, but he always laughs at Patton’s puns. Does he not like crabs? He didn’t react too negatively to the first half of the joke, so that doesn’t feel right.

…Is it me?

Roman feels strangely hollow, as if something deep inside him had either shrunk or disappeared.

…No, that’s ridiculous. It can’t be that.

Before Roman can ponder further, Logan speaks up once again.

“Well, now that we’re done with… that,” Logan shudders, flipping through his notebook once again, “perhaps we can continue discussing the charity stream?”

Sighing in defeat, Roman takes a seat beside Logan.

But his mind isn’t on the stream. As the three Sides converse, Roman is already planning his next move.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman leaves his room with a renewed sense of confidence. He faintly hears his computer buzzing away, struggling under the weight of hundreds of open tabs, the fruits of Roman’s rigorous research. 

He has soared beyond the title of a mere expert. He is now a comedy connoisseur. No one will be able to withstand the pure, unfiltered humor contained in every joke he tells. 

He’d like to see Virgil try to hide his laughter now.

Roman smiles as he makes his way to Virgil’s room with a pep in his step. However, right as he’s about to knock, he notices a delicious aroma wafting up from downstairs, something sweet and homely. 

Ah, Patton must be baking, Roman concludes, mouth already watering at whatever delicious treats Patton must be whipping up. Given the smell, the baked goods must nearly be done.

…Perhaps Virgil can wait just a few minutes. Just long enough for Roman to sneak a cookie or two. 

As he heads downstairs towards the kitchen, the aroma of sugar and chocolate growing stronger and more enticing, he’s surprised to see not only Patton, but also Virgil in the kitchen. Roman notices flour in the Anxious Side’s hair, as well as splotches of cookie dough on his cheeks and around his mouth. 

He is grinning ear-to-ear, and Roman suddenly feels as if an invisible assailant had punched him in the stomach, hard. 

Patton, a hot batch of fresh cookies in his hands, finally notices Roman. He smiles brightly in greeting, settling the tray on the counter. 

When Virgil sees him, however, his smile nearly vanishes, and Roman feels strangely hurt. 

“Hi, Roman! You’re just in time! Virgil and I made some chocolate chip cookies. Did you know that Virge is an amazing baker?”

Patton lightly hip-checks Virgil upon mentioning his name. At the gesture, Virgil smiles slightly, but it’s a shadow of its former self.

“I was not aware,” Roman says, turning towards Virgil with a teasing smile, “I didn’t know he had time between all of his brooding.”

The smile is completely gone now, and Roman realizes too late that Virgil had taken his words seriously.

“Wait, Virgil, I didn’t mean—”

“Whatever,” Virgil growls. He pointedly faces away from Roman and, spotting the tray of cookies, snatches one off the tray in an attempt to play indifference. He winces slightly at the heat, as the cookies haven’t been given the proper time to cool, before popping it into his mouth anyway. He immediately hisses in pain, spitting the hot cookie back into his hand and reaching for a napkin.

“Oh, careful, Honey!” Patton warns, rushing to the fridge and pulling out a carton of milk, “They’re still really hot! Here, let me get you something cold to drink.”

Roman snickers, but stops immediately when Patton shoots him a disapproving look. He suddenly recalls Logan reacting similarly after Roman had teased Virgil. 

He doesn’t quite understand. He and Virgil had always teased each other and traded jabs like this. He knows that they don’t mean anything, and surely Virgil does as well. So why were Logan and Patton looking at him like he had done something wrong? And why had Virgil taken his words so seriously instead of reacting in kind?

Virgil takes the offered milk gratefully, downing almost the entire glass.

“Thanks, Pop-Star. I appreciate it.”

Patton beams at the nickname, squeezing Virgil’s arm affectionately. 

“Now, I know you’re eager, but good things crumb to those who wait!”

For a second, Roman expects the same silence that had followed his own joke. However, Virgil immediately starts chuckling, hand once again rising to hide it. 

“I guess I couldn’t take the heat,” he shoots back, to which Patton responds with peals of laughter. 

“Nah, you’ll be okay, Virge. You’re one tough cookie, after all!”

Virgil snorts indignantly, his hand falling to support himself on the table, and he and Patton lose themselves to giggles. With his hand out of the way, Roman gets a full view of Virgil’s laughter, and breathing suddenly feels slightly more difficult.

After a moment, however, the warm feeling is quickly replaced by irritation. In what way was Patton’s joke better than his!? Patton hadn’t spent hours researching the best jokes and puns. He likely makes them up on the fly! 

So how is Virgil laughing so easily!?

Flustered and indignant, Roman interrupts, determined to produce the same result.

“W-well, I gotta say, these cookies will certainly, uh…”

He fumbles further when Patton and Virgil turn towards him, his words catching when a ghost of a smile is directed his way.

“...They’ll do what, Roman?” Patton gently prompts, giving Roman the opportunity to pick himself back up. Roman shakes his head, dispelling the irrational emotions.

“These cookies will certainly… bake my day!”

Roman grins, pleased that he was able to remember a cookie-themed pun off the top of his head. Patton cheers, laughter intermingling, and runs over to give Roman a hug. But Roman doesn’t feel victorious, because as Patton wraps Roman in his arms, he sees Virgil over Patton’s shoulder.

His arms are crossed as he leans against the counter. He is no longer laughing as he gazes as Roman, unimpressed. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s been weeks, and Roman isn’t making any progress.

Roman had tried numerous jokes, ranging from knock-knock jokes, to dad jokes, and even a single “Yo Mama” joke that had produced such a disastrous reaction that Roman had quickly decided to not attempt a similar joke again. 

(He knows that they don’t technically have mothers, being manifestations of aspects of a personality. He didn’t need Logan to remind him.)

And yet, every time without fail, Virgil doesn’t react. 

Roman doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong, which frustrates him to no end. He knows that comedy is subjective, and that certain subjects may only appeal to some. 

But he knows that Virgil likes puns! As much as Virgil claims to enjoy only dark humor, Roman has seen the way Virgil quickly turns away at corny jokes, his shaking shoulders giving his amusement away. Roman has seen the way Virgil responds to Patton’s puns. Hell, even Logan’s drier sense of humor can produce a snicker from the usually grumpy Side. 

So what is Roman doing wrong? 

…A voice in his head whispers an answer that Roman refuses to consider, so he ignores it. 

No, he would not allow himself to be discouraged. He’ll reach a breakthrough eventually, or his aspect isn’t Creativity. 

As he leaves his room, a new batch of jokes rattling around in his head, he passes by Patton in the hallway.

“Hey Roman!” Patton says cheerfully, and despite Roman’s melancholy, the Moral Side’s cheer brings a smile to his face.

“Hey Pat, have you seen Virgil?”

“Yeah, I was just talking to him. He’s downstairs in the living room.”

It’s subtle, but Roman notices a slight change to Patton’s demeanor. His smile is still bright, and he is still bouncing on the tips of his toes, but it is as if clouds had drifted to partially block the sun.

“Did you… need something from him?” Patton asks, slightly hesitant.

“No, I just wanted to talk to him about something,” Roman answers, frowning slightly at the change in tone.

“Ok…” Patton stops swaying, and his expression shifts to something more serious. “But, Roman… Please go slightly easy on him, okay? Today has been a bit rough for the Shadowling.”

“Rough?”

“Yeah, he didn’t say anything about it, but he seems a bit more on edge. I think that’s why he left his room to spend time downstairs. You know how his room can be sometimes.”

Roman nods, shuddering at the memory of doubts and fears invading his mind, like monsters creeping in the darkness and concocting evil schemes. 

“Do you know why he’s upset?” Roman inquires further.

“No, I didn’t want to pressure him,” Patton says, brow furrowed in worry, “I just hope he knows that he can come to us if he needs anything…”

“I’m sure he does, Patton,” Roman reassures, patting Patton on the shoulder, “and I’ll be nice, I promise.”

At his words, Patton smiles in relief. 

“Thanks, Roman. See you for dinner? I’m sure you’ll be waffle-y pleased at what I’m making tonight!”

“Of course,” Roman chuckles, “I won’t miss it.”

With a final wave goodbye, Roman heads downstairs. Sure enough, Virgil is lounging on the couch, lying down sideways with his head propped by a pillow. He is scrolling through a social media app Roman doesn’t recognize, probably Tumblr if he were to guess. Roman can faintly hear music emitting from Virgil’s earbuds. He seems lost in his own world.

If Patton hadn’t said anything to Roman, Virgil would have seemed perfectly relaxed. However, now that Roman is looking for the signs, Virgil definitely appears slightly worse-for-wear. His eyes are glazed from something other than boredom, and despite the fact that he’s lying down, Virgil carries tension in his shoulders, and his hands are shaking. 

Roman hesitates, unsure how to proceed. His presence seems to be far from pleasant for the Anxious Side, if their previous interactions are any indication. However, simply leaving when Virgil seems so upset leaves a sour taste in Roman’s mouth. His purpose as Creativity is to inspire and entertain, after all, spreading wonder and happiness to all. Besides, he sought out Virgil for a reason, and is reluctant to back out now when Virgil is sitting right in front of him.

Roman brightens like a lightbulb, an idea beginning to take shape. If Virgil is feeling down, then Roman can do something to cheer him up. And what better way to do that than with a joke? 

Pleased with his plan, Roman struts forward, greeting Virgil with a wide smile.

“Hey Virgil!”

Virgil yelps, his phone flying from his hands and landing on the carpet. Virgil swirls towards Roman, his gaze nearly murderous. 

“Geez, Roman! Warn a guy, will you!?” Virgil snaps.

Roman winces under Virgil’s glare. His words had come out slightly louder than he had intended, his excitement leaking into his voice. He does feel slightly miffed at Virgil’s reaction, though. Roman hadn’t intended to scare Virgil, so he doesn’t think he deserves the daggers Virgil is shooting at him.

…Although, perhaps Roman can afford Virgil some grace. He did seem to be on edge before Roman announced himself, so Roman can understand the reaction. And his original intent was to make Virgil feel better, so it wouldn’t do any good to start any arguments. 

“Ah… my deepest apologies, Surly Temple. It was never my intention to scare you.”

Virgil’s eyebrows shoot to the ceiling.

“You’re… apologizing?”

That catches Roman off guard. Why does Virgil seem so surprised? Why wouldn’t Roman apologize? He is a prince, after all, and chivalry is an important tool in a prince’s repertoire. Of course he would do the polite thing and apologize for his errors. Roman suddenly feels offended at Virgil’s insinuation.

“Of course I’m apologizing! Why wouldn’t I?”

Virgil seems even more bewildered.

“Well, excuse me for being surprised! It’s not like you do it that often, do you?”

Roman is stunned. What does Virgil mean by that? 

“What are you talking about?” Roman demands, his voice rising, “When have I not apologized to you for something I’ve done!?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about when you constantly make fun of me and treat me like a villain!” Virgil yells, his own voice rising to match Roman’s.

The two fall silent, Virgil’s words hovering in the air like a putrid gas. Virgil’s tough exterior cracks, like hardened clay when heated for slightly too long. 

“I… Ignore that,” Virgil says, his expression regretful, “I didn’t mean any of that. Sorry for raising my voice. ”

Roman can’t hear a word, Virgil’s voice muddled as if Roman is submerged underwater.

After Virgil’s acceptance, he had thought that everything had been resolved. Virgil was listened to, his role as Anxiety accepted and even commended, and he no longer had to play the part of a villain. He had even seemed happy. So naturally, Roman had thought everything was okay, that Virgil had forgiven them for everything they had done. But Roman…

A whirlwind of memories suddenly barrages him, moments strung with insults and passive-aggressive comments directed towards the Anxious Side. Moments he had easily brushed off at the time, assuming that Virgil would naturally do the same.

Roman… never apologized to Virgil. For any of it. Even worse, Roman had continued to exhibit the same behavior, completely unaware of the pain his words were inflicting. An overwhelming emotion encompasses him, one he is finally able to identify: guilt.

“I… I really haven’t, have I?” Roman whispers, his voice croaking slightly with emotion. Virgil’s eyes widen in panic.

“Roman, it’s fine, seriously!” he exclaims, rising from his lounged position on the couch, “It’s not a big deal–”

“It is! I thought things were okay, but you must have assumed…”

Roman’s words trail off as a more horrifying thought crosses his mind.

“You don’t think… You don’t think that I still hate you, right?”

Virgil’s eyes dart to the side, purposefully avoiding Roman’s eyes.

“I mean… Don’t you?”

“No!”

Roman’s voice comes out desperate, and Virgil recoils as if struck. Another silence hangs in the air, even tenser than the first. 

Slowly, as if approaching an easily-spooked animal, Roman delicately settles next to Virgil on the couch. Virgil curls into himself, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. Seeing how unsettled Virgil looks, Roman is tempted to back off, or to cut the tension with theatrics. But he holds his ground, like a weary soldier bracing himself for the next wave of enemies. This conversation is important, and if he wishes to make any ground with Virgil, he needs to persevere. His jokes can wait.

“Virgil.”

Virgil reluctantly faces Roman, his face partially hidden by his arms so that only his eyes are visible, guarded and apprehensive. Roman wants to kick himself for putting that expression on Virgil’s face.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Yes I do.”

Virgil falls silent. Roman takes a deep breath. 

“Virgil, I treated you horribly.” Roman begins, cringing when his voice cracks at the last word, “I ignored and berated you when you were just trying to help. I assumed you were the enemy, and I treated you as such without truly getting to know you. That is not how a prince should act. That’s not… That’s not how anyone should act. And for that, I deeply apologize.”

Roman meets Virgil’s eyes, trying to convey his sincerity through his expression. Virgil’s eyes widen, holding the gaze for a few seconds, before he squirms uncomfortably and looks away.

“I already told you, you don’t need to apologize,” Virgil mumbles.

“But I—”

“Roman.”

Roman’s mouth clamps shut.

“Please, just listen to me for once,” Virgil pleads. Roman’s expression must have betrayed his hurt, because he quickly amends: “Sorry, shit, I’m bad at this. I just—I mean—You’ve—UGH!”

Virgil rises to his feet, hands gripping his hair tight enough to hurt. He takes a few deep breaths, and Roman notices, with another guilty pang in his heart, that his eyeshadow has darkened significantly.

“I-I’m sorry,” Roman stutters, moving to stand before Virgil, “I didn’t mean to—”

“STOP APOLOGIZING.”

Virgil’s voice echoes, magnified by his anxiety. As if the words are an incantation, Roman freezes in place.

“I—I’M SORry, I didn’t m-mean—"

Virgil inhales, shaky and uncertain, then exhales. His shoulders are still tense, his eyeshadow as dark as a starless sky, but he still forces himself to meet Roman’s eyes.

“I’ll admit, you’ve treated me horribly in the past,” Virgil starts tentatively, “and I won’t lie and say that your words didn’t hurt me. I didn’t want to be the bad guy. But I—”

Virgil words catch, as if a dam had suddenly slammed down. But with another wobbly breath, he continues.

“You weren’t the only person who was being an asshole,” Virgil admits, hugging himself tightly, like he might drift away if he loosened his grip even slightly, “I called you names, too. I… I made your job a lot harder than it had to be. I purposely sabotaged your plans instead of just… communicating with you.”

“We didn’t make it easy,” Roman defends, taking a step towards Virgil, but not moving any further when he notices Virgil flinch at the movement, “I never gave you any chance to say your piece, and when you did attempt to voice your concerns, I brushed you off. That wasn’t fair of me.”

“I just… I don’t know what you guys want from me,” Virgil breathes, his voice nearly a whimper, “At least before, I knew where we stood. I knew what boundaries I could push, and what lines I couldn’t cross. But now Patton runs up to hug me whenever he sees me, and Logan asks me about the audiobooks I’ve been listening to, and you—”

Another breath.

“You’ve been acting weird!” Virgil cries, “You keep seeking me out, almost like you want something from me. But whatever I do just isn’t enough for you, because you always end up sulking off like I had somehow insulted you. I’ve been trying so hard to be nicer. I’ve even held back on the name calling and insults, but obviously I must still be doing something wrong! And I—”

Virgil chokes, as if emotion is clogged in his throat, and his face crumbles in mortification as his eyes well with tears.

“What do you want from me!?”

Roman watches helplessly as the tears start to fall, Virgil frantically wiping at his eyes and struggling to get his breathing back under control. This isn’t how Roman had wanted this interaction to go at all. It was the last thing he wanted. He had spent all this time trying to get Virgil to laugh, to feel happy in his presence. And yet, all Roman had managed to do was make him cry. If Virgil’s laugh is like warm sunlight, then his tears are like a blizzard, battering him and driving a chill into his bones that leaves him feeling numb and hopeless. 

Roman is bombarded with another wave of memories as frigid and painful as a hailstorm, echoes of past interactions between the two, and Roman realizes with a start that Virgil is right. He has been holding back on the insults. In fact, Roman can’t recall a single jab thrown at him since his conversation with Logan and Virgil about the livestream. And that was weeks ago.

But, to Roman’s horror, he can remember several times he had insulted Virgil. He had meant to be teasing, and he had expected a similar jab in turn, but Virgil had just taken them silently. As if… accepting them as the truth.

What have I done?

Roman remains frozen in place, silent and useless, as Virgil attempts to rein in his tears, black streaks of eyeshadow trailing down his cheeks like rain on a windowsill. At the time it matters most, Roman has no idea what to say. So instead, he does what he does best, and acts impulsively.

He grabs Virgil, who had started shaking from barely repressed sobs, and pulls him into his arms.

Virgil tenses up, instinctively pulling away as if the gentle gesture is an attack, and Roman despairs at how he could have possibly messed up so horribly for Virgil’s first instinct when Roman grabs him is to expect pain. Roman braces himself for an attack, ready for any punches Virgil will throw at him. He deserves it. 

Instead, Virgil, who Roman has never seen display any sign of vulnerability, collapses in his arms, hands clutching the back of Roman’s shirt.

And he wails.

The sound is so devastating that it brings Roman to tears. He didn’t think Virgil was capable of making such a sound. He is tough, not allowing the slightest bit of hurt or weakness to show on his features. His expression is constantly guarded, not giving the slightest indication of his true intentions. When the two were enemies, Anxiety’s nonchalance frustrated Roman to no end, because it hinted at Anxiety knowing something he didn’t.

The shield is down now, Virgil lacking the strength to pick it back up as his body is wracked with sobs. Roman, still feeling hopelessly lost, eases the two of them back onto the couch, muttering soothing reassurances that feel futile against Virgil’s anguish, like a few meager sticks attempting to block a torrential river. But somehow, Roman must have offered some form of comfort to the Anxious Side, because Virgil’s sobs eventually subside. Roman wonders if Virgil will push him away, but he makes no effort to move, so the two remain still and quiet in each other’s arms, the silence only occasionally punctuated with a wet sniff. The silence is uncomfortable for Roman, who is so used to filling every moment with noise, but he allows it to linger. For Virgil’s sake. 

After a few minutes, Virgil finally speaks.

“So, uh… Just to clarify. You… You don’t hate me?”

Roman’s heart breaks all over again.

“No. Of course not,” Roman declares firmly.

“...Really?”

Roman tightens his grip around Virgil, a few stray tears falling.

“Really.”

He states it like a promise, one he intends to keep until his dying breath.

“...Okay.”

Virgil’s voice is hesitant, lacking conviction, and Roman knows that Virgil doesn’t quite believe him. But that’s okay, because Roman will be sure to dedicate his every moment to proving he is a man of his word. It will take time, but Roman is nothing if not determined. 

After another few moments, Virgil begins to pull away. Roman lets him. 

“So… We’re cool?” Virgil asks.

“Cool as cucumbers,” Roman reaffirms, giving Virgil a watery smile. 

Virgil chuckles shakily, and Roman’s chest does a funny little flip. Virgil scoops his phone from where he flung it onto the floor, then plops back onto the couch. 

“So… Did you need me for anything?”

Virgil’s expression is tentative, remnants of suspicion still clinging to him like icicles after a winter storm, but he is giving Roman a chance. If Roman wants to try to make Virgil laugh, now would be the perfect opportunity.

But he looks exhausted. Their emotional conversation had likely taken a toll on the introverted Side. Even though Virgil indicated that he is willing to speak with Roman for a bit longer, Roman knows that a prolonged conversation is probably the last thing Virgil needs right now.

“No, I’m alright,” Roman says, “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Get some sleep, Ebenezer Snooze. Can’t have Thomas saying something embarrassing to a cashier at Starbucks, right? We’ll need you to help keep us in check, so you need to be well-rested.”

Virgil’s lips quirk, a ghost of a smile. While it’s far from the laughter Roman craves, it still fills him with a great amount of pride, because for the first time it’s truly meant for him. His heart flutters again, like a butterfly prepared to take flight, and he feels content. He waves farewell, turning to return to his room upstairs. 

Except apparently, the couch has a vendetta against him. In a flash of pain and déjà vu, Roman’s leg catches the side of the couch, and he goes crashing down like a baby deer on unsteady legs. 

He groans, slowly pushing himself up, when he hears a familiar sound.

“Pfft—!”

He whips towards Virgil, who has a hand covering his mouth.

“S-sorry,” Virgil says, his body shaking with repressed laughter, “You okay?”

Roman doesn’t know what expression he makes, but it must be hilarious, because Virgil can no longer contain his laughter. 

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Roman suddenly doesn’t feel so embarrassed anymore. In fact, he feels more like he’s flying on soft, puffy clouds.

“Your—hehe —your face!” Virgil squeaks through giggles.

Still laughing through his poor attempts to conceal it, Virgil kneels down to help Roman up.

“I’m sorry—hehehe—You’re not hurt, right?”

Something akin to concern suddenly flashes across Virgil’s features, and Roman momentarily panics, fearing that Virgil may stop laughing. He stumbles to his feet in a rush, determined to soothe Virgil’s worries before they can completely snuff out his joy.

“I’m okay! Really! Just a silly fall, no harm done.”

Despite his reassurances, Virgil’s laughter does subside, and Roman feels like a general watching his army get swept by enemy forces.

“I still shouldn’t have laughed. And after that whole conversation about being nicer to each other—”

“Virgil, truly, it’s okay,” Roman insists, “I’m tougher than I look, I can handle some heckling.”

Then, Roman suddenly remembers the past few minutes, where Virgil was an absolute mess in his arms because of awful things Roman had said. His eyes widen as he realizes his error, and he quickly backtracks.

“N-not that you aren’t tough for feeling upset when I said mean things to you! Anyone would feel upset—I mean—”

“Okay, okay, I get it, Princey!” Virgil interrupts, pressing a hand to Roman’s mouth to stop him from talking, and Roman goes incredibly still at the contact, “I know you didn’t mean it like that. And…”

Virgil’s expression softens, suddenly shy as he retracts his hand.

“I don’t mind if you call me those nicknames, or make jokes at my expense. I know now that you don’t really mean them. And…”

He cringes, as if already regretting the words he plans to say.

“I kinda… like the banter. It’s fun. Y-y’know, when you don’t actually mean any of it.”

Virgil’s cheeks are tinted pink. It’s absolutely adorable.

“Very well then, Stormcloud,” Roman says with a smile, “I look forward to it.”

Virgil appears momentarily stunned, his cheeks darkening, before he turns away in an embarrassed huff.

“Well, don’t let it keep you up at night, Mr. Bold and Brash,” Virgil grumbles, turning his attention back to his phone.

Roman grins, leaving Virgil to his scrolling, and he’s pleased to note that Virgil’s hands are no longer shaking.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman blinks bleary eyes as he stares at what must be the five hundredth joke article he’s visited this month. His eyes dart to the time on the corner of his screen. 3 AM glares at him condescendingly. 

But he can’t sleep yet. He’s so close to a breakthrough. He knows he is. He just needs to push on a little longer.

Now that he and Virgil have finally resolved things, Virgil is sure to be more receptive to his jokes. Roman now understands that what he had interpreted as stubbornness and judgment before was actually Virgil’s guard raised in preparation for an insult or deprecating joke. 

Roman blinks rapidly at the memory, forcing away something other than exhaustion, and takes a deep breath to steady himself. 

They’re okay now. While Virgil may not be completely comfortable around Roman, he is willing to listen and give him a chance. 

But that presents another problem.

Roman had previously believed that the problem was the nature of the jokes themselves, when it actually was his and Virgil’s strained relationship. Not realizing that, Roman had experimented with different types of jokes and narrowed his repertoire down to several categories, eliminating types of jokes that Virgil didn’t seem receptive to. Now, after months of work, Roman is back to square one. 

It’s good to have more options, and from a logical standpoint, this development is entirely beneficial. But as an artist, Roman can’t help but feel a little frustrated at a month’s worth of work entirely down the chute. 

But hey, it wasn’t all for nothing. Roman knows so many jokes off the top of his head that he could fill several books. If he plans correctly, he can probably get in several jokes with each interaction he has with Virgil from now on. And surely it can’t take too long to narrow down Virgil’s favorite flavor of humor? 

Roman pulls up a document containing all of the jokes he had discovered in his research. It goes on for hundreds of pages, and the font is tiny. 

Reasonably, if Roman is able to get in three to four jokes per conversation, and he typically sees Virgil around two times per day, then it will only take Roman…

Roman summons a calculator to quickly do the math. He winces. That’s a lot of digits…

Okay, so maybe he should at least try to narrow it down a bit. 

Groaning, Roman rises from his desk and slumps to his bed. From his bedside table, he snatches a notebook covered in sparkles and with the words “Operation: Laugh Track” tastefully adorned on the cover. It’s almost completely filled with notes in Roman’s neat, curly handwriting, the text shimmering in red, sparkly ink. While Roman has a separate document on his computer where he keeps his growing supply of jokes, this notebook is dedicated to detailing Virgil’s reactions and speculating different methods of approach. 

Roman sighs, noting glumly that most of the notebook’s contents are now completely useless, before turning to the very first page. 

Compared to his later notes, the first few pages were written in a rush, the handwriting sloppy and the ink smearing in several places. Roman’s face heats as he remembers the breakfast that started it all, when he had first heard Virgil laugh. Roman had been so flustered that his mind could barely keep up, and he had opened the first notebook he could get his hands on and poured his heart out, like a poet starstruck by his first love. 

As such, the first few pages were mostly an… embarrassingly detailed recollection of Virgil’s laughter: the way his eyes shone, the way he needed to clutch the table to keep himself upright, the way his lips parted into such a huge, happy smile…

Roman’s face burns hotter, and he quickly flips through a few more pages. Eventually, the text becomes slightly neater, as Roman had finally been able to collect himself. It details Roman’s determination to recreate the laughter, and several potential plans. Roman scans over a small section titled “Types of Jokes Virgil Might Like”.

“Dark Humor” is the first bullet point on the list, immediately followed by “Puns”. Roman had decided to focus on the latter, as puns were easier to find online and quicker to tell, allowing Roman to experiment with different jokes faster. Plus, Virgil usually responds positively to Patton’s puns, so Roman had concluded that corny humor was still his best option. 

Roman pauses, then rapidly flips back to the end of the book to a blank page, scrawling the words “Things That Make Virgil Laugh”.

Compared to the other Sides (sans Logan, perhaps), Virgil is still very subdued when it comes to expressing emotion. However, ever since they had made a greater effort to include him, Virgil has opened up significantly. Smiles came more easily, and the ever-elusive laughter was slightly less elusive. In fact, Roman can recall several occasions that have produced giggles from the normally sullen emo.

For the first item on the list, Roman writes “Patton’s Puns”. While they don’t always make Virgil laugh, they consistently produce smiles, sometimes followed by an appreciative chuckle. Not quite the result Roman is looking for, but it’s a promising start.

The next item is “Logan’s Deadpan”. This is a bit more abstract, and not nearly as consistent as Patton’s jokes, but Roman can recall several occasions where a dry comment from Logan made Virgil laugh. Indeed, several of these moments made Virgil laugh even harder than Patton’s puns. This is closer to the result that Roman wants.

However, this approach presents more obstacles. Roman isn’t exactly sure why Logan’s comments make Virgil laugh, or what about the delivery is so humorous in Virgil’s eyes. He also doubts that he would be able to recreate Logan’s humor, given how Roman operates in grand displays, while Logan is not one for dramatics. 

But it is still good to lay out his options, so Roman simply adds a question mark and moves on.

Something else that makes Virgil laugh…

Well, there is something that definitely created the result Roman wanted. It is the exact moment that incited Roman’s fervent plunge into comedy in the first place. The very first moment Roman had heard Virgil laugh.

Roman had fallen on his face.

Roman groans, his bruised hip throbbing slightly at the memory. His pride still hasn’t fully recovered since that incident. He has an image to maintain, after all, and the visage of a gallant prince is slightly skewed when said prince is on the floor. The wound had also reopened when he fell again this afternoon, and although Virgil had attempted to hide his laughter this time, the damage was already done. 

Feeling slightly miffed at recalling such a humiliating moment, Roman decides to finally call it a night. He won’t be able to focus on his work when he’s in a bad mood. He returns the notebook to his nightstand, snapping his fingers to change into pajamas as he crawls into the silk covers. Another snap, and the lights turn off with a soft click. Roman sighs, unable to completely disperse the embarrassing memories. But accompanying the memories is the sound of Virgil’s laughter, ringing in his ears like twinkling bells, and Roman is suddenly much more reluctant to part with them. 

Roman’s pride may have taken a heavy blow, but if it made Virgil laugh so beautifully, maybe it wasn’t all so bad…

Roman’s eyes fly open, and he shoots to a sitting position, his exhausted limbs crying in protest. He figured it out. A sure-fire way to make Virgil laugh, and to make him laugh hard. Best of all, it wasn’t something the other Sides did that Roman had to attempt to recreate. It was something Roman had done all on his own. 

Of course! The solution is so simple! How had Roman not thought of it before?

Eager to write down the idea before it can escape, he grabs the notebook and once again begins to write. Sleep can wait a little bit longer.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman sits restlessly on his bed. He hadn’t been able to sleep, scribbling frantically in his notebook until the sun peeked over the horizon. Despite the exhaustion that had seeped into his bones, Roman had risen from his bed and carried out his morning routine, dressed and ready to tackle the day before another soul had even stirred. 

Patton usually calls all the Sides to breakfast at around 9 o’clock, which meant that Roman had several hours to kill before he could attempt his new plan. Those hours were filled with a sad attempt at researching more jokes and several discarded sketches. Eventually, Roman gave up on trying to distract himself, too excited to focus on anything.

Finally, Roman hears Patton’s familiar voice, and he shoots up like a dog rushing to enthusiastically greet their owner. Moving as quickly as he can without outright running, he stumbles his way downstairs. He is delighted to see that Virgil is with the other Sides in the kitchen, grumbling about waking up so early. 

“Good morning, everyone!” Roman exclaims.

The greeting does its purpose. Everyone gives him their attention, including Virgil. Perfect.

Roman strides forward in long, graceful steps, a perfect antithesis to the event about to occur. As Roman rambles nonsense about how delicious breakfast smells, he angles his strides so that his leg catches the couch on his way over, similarly to his previous blunders. This time, however, Roman is prepared, and he slightly angles his fall so that the impact doesn’t quite hurt as much. Holding his breath and forcing his muscles to relax, he collides with the floor with a loud bang! To further sell the act, Roman groans, as if in pain.

And it works.

After a moment of silence, he hears Virgil snort involuntarily, then start to giggle, and before long he is laughing hysterically. Patton lightly scolds him, hands on his hips, and Roman resists the urge to tell Patton to cut it out. Virgil smiles apologetically, before rising from his seat, and Roman is momentarily terrified that he’s leaving, carrying his gorgeous laughter elsewhere. 

Instead, he crouches down beside Roman and offers him a hand. Roman stares at it for a second, as if he has never seen a hand before in his life, before accepting it. 

In the few seconds of contact they share, Roman is acutely aware of how warm Virgil’s hand is. He feels the rough texture of subtle calluses on Virgil’s fingers, and he wonders what kind of hobby the Side partakes in to achieve those calluses. Does he play an instrument? Does he create art? Would he be bothered at all if Roman were to join him—

Virgil pulls Roman to his feet, and Roman is stunned once again because holy shit Virgil is strong, and then Virgil lets go of his hand and walks back to his seat in the kitchen, and Roman feels cold.

“Are you alright, Roman?”

Roman is startled out of his stupor by Logan’s voice, and when he returns his attention to the table, he sees that all three other Sides are looking at him with various degrees of concern. 

“You didn’t hit your head or anything, right?” Patton asks, walking over to check Roman’s head for bumps and bruises.

“Oh shit, you don’t have a concussion, do you?” Virgil suddenly speaks up, joining Patton beside Roman, “They don’t seem like a big deal, but I’ve heard that they can really mess you up. You don’t feel dizzy, right? Wait, there’s a thing that happens to your pupils if you’re concussed, let me grab my phone–”

Virgil rushes to turn on the light on his phone, his previously carefree demeanor suddenly reverting to a familiar anxiety. This tirade is very familiar to Roman, as Virgil would often lose himself in a hastily-rambled list of what could go wrong in any situation. When he was Anxiety, it would come out condescending, a silent reprimand for not thinking of all the potential dangers in the first place. Since then, Virgil has worked hard to soften his tone, fighting against the instinct that someone would interrupt or dismiss his arguments. And the other Sides have put in effort as well, giving Virgil room to say his piece and taking it into consideration, even if his conclusions are slightly exaggerated. 

Still, some of that frustration had always lingered for Roman. He knew that Virgil just wanted to keep them safe, and that he wasn’t trying to ruin Roman’s ideas. But he still couldn’t help but be irked, and slightly hurt, when someone had only negative things to say about something he worked so hard on. 

But this is different. Virgil isn’t tearing down Roman’s creative pursuits, exposing every flaw like a judge on a cooking TV show; he’s listing all of the possible negative symptoms that Roman could be suffering, occasionally glancing at Logan as if hoping the Logical Side will tell him how to defeat each and every one of them. 

Virgil is feeling anxious for him.

As Virgil attempts to fuss over him, gently held back by Patton while Logan kindly debunks his reasons for concern, Roman realizes that he really likes seeing Virgil worried for him, seeing Virgil care about him.

If Roman wasn’t convinced to go through with his plan before, he certainly is now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman proceeds with his plan slowly, only tripping once every few days, and spreading out the incidents irregularly so as to prevent a pattern from emerging. He even practices stage-falling in his own room, although he fears that Virgil, who is always meticulous when it comes to Thomas’ stage performances (specifically the smaller details that could leave room for error, which would result in “complete humiliation”), would recognize his fall as unnatural. So while Roman does slightly alter his falls to prevent some pain, he still falls hard enough that small splatters of bruises trail along his hip and arm. 

But Roman doesn’t care how much it hurts. He would endure falls five times as painful if it made Virgil laugh harder. But nevertheless, Roman’s plan works perfectly. Every time he would fall, without fail, Virgil would laugh. Roman would punctuate his fall with groans, perhaps a swear for colorful effect, and quickly swivel towards Virgil. He would pretend to glare at Virgil making fun of his expense, but it was really just an excuse to look at Virgil as he laughed, to soak in his beautiful giggles and to watch as his face lights up like a firefly. A light fluttering in his chest and a warm happiness would numb any pain Roman was feeling.

(And Roman may have been imagining it, but sometimes, when Roman’s fall is particularly funny, Virgil’s eyeshadow seems to sparkle in the light. He plans to confront Virgil about it later, but for now he’s content.)

Most of the time, Patton would rush to his aid, chiding Virgil for his behavior as he helps Roman to his feet. Logan’s reaction would always be much more subdued, a quirk of the lips or a sparkle in his eye the only indication of his amusement (although by Logan’s standards, he might as well be laughing just as hard as Virgil). 

However, the best days are when Virgil comes over to help him. 

He would clasp Roman’s hand for only a moment, giving Roman barely enough time to appreciate the slightly rough calluses on Virgil’s hand, which Roman has since learned is from several different hobbies he occasionally dabbles in, including playing the guitar and drawing. The warmth would envelop Roman’s hand, like he was warming numb fingers before a crackling fireplace, and spread from that one point of contact to all over his body. Then Roman would be pulled to his feet, and even after numerous falls, Virgil’s strength surprises him every time. Perhaps he could ask Virgil to accompany him on one of his adventures? He wonders how Virgil would appear decked in armor and with a sword in hand, ready to protect and defend…

Then it would be over, often accompanied by a quick examination of his person to ensure that he is unharmed, and a pat on the back if Roman is particularly lucky that day. And Roman would feel cold, like a window had suddenly blown open, beckoning frigid air into his once-warm home that would leave him shivering. 

If Roman were to describe his predicament to Logan, to explain the rush of euphoria he experienced every time Virgil laughed, followed by a withdrawal that felt more devastating every time it occurr, Logan would likely claim that he’s developed an addiction of some kind. Roman wouldn’t be able to dispute it.

But it’s alright, because Roman never has to suffer for long. So what if he has to fall slightly more often? So what if not a day goes by where Roman experiences a dramatic tumble? So what Roman’s left side is almost entirely covered in bruises, like a canvas attacked in shades of purple and brown? Virgil is still laughing, and that’s enough. In fact, it’s perfect. Roman will gladly paint his body in bruises if it makes Virgil smile.

Roman should have known better. All good things eventually come to an end.

Things were going so well. Too well. Roman has seen enough theater to know that everything comes crashing down in the second half of the performance. Perhaps his hubris is to blame, or maybe he couldn’t see the warning signs through the rosy haze Virgil’s laughter always managed to produce. He had been so warm, so happy basking in Virgil’s sunlight, that he couldn’t see the clouds creeping along the horizon until they had completely blocked out the sun. 

And once again, Roman is left fumbling, diving to recover something he didn’t realize had slipped through his fingers.

Virgil stops laughing when he falls. 

He doesn’t stop all at once. The change is subtle at first, Virgil’s face still contorted in laughter as he helps Roman to his feet, but his laughter is slightly quieter, or he’s able to stop sooner. Then, it diminishes to a small chuckle, no longer so hard to control. Soon, Roman’s clumsiness only produces a teasing smirk, but Virgil’s eyes are no longer crinkled and shining from unrestrained laughter, instead reflecting confusion and concern. He’s starting to notice the pattern.

This will not do.

A joke loses its humor when repeated one too many times, and Roman knows this all too well. He has progressed well beyond the rule of threes, to where Roman’s tumbles are almost expected from the others. The novelty has worn off, leaving only worry regarding Roman’s personal coordination. 

Roman tries not to panic. He had finally found a way to consistently make Virgil laugh, and he honestly doesn’t know what he would do if he lost that laughter forever. Patton’s puns don’t pack the same punch without Patton’s delivery, and Logan’s unorthodox sense of humor is nearly impossible for Roman to replicate. This is his only option.

Okay, so if he can’t change the punchline… maybe he can change how it’s delivered?

Yes, that could work. Maybe he could flail his arms a bit, like those inflatables often found at car dealerships. He could even use a bit of creative magic to suspend himself in the air for a second longer, like a cartoon character who has yet to realize they had sprinted straight off a cliff. A harder fall could also accentuate the comedy. That shouldn’t be too difficult to pull off. It might hurt a bit more, but he couldn’t care less.

Roman nods to himself, feeling a bit better at having a new course of action. He faintly hears Patton calling everyone for dinner, and steels himself for his performance. 

Show time. 

Roman exits his room, and he’s surprised to see Virgil leaving his own at the same time. Virgil smiles when he sees him, saluting with two fingers. Butterflies flutter around in circles in Roman’s stomach, but he manages a smile and a wave of his own.

They walk down the stairs together, exchanging small-talk and nicknames, just in time to see Patton place a steaming pot at the center of the kitchen table. Logan is assisting with setting the table. 

As Roman and Virgil pass through the living room to the kitchen, Roman spots a familiar couch, and sees the opportunity to put his plan into action. He subtly moves towards the couch, bumping his hip against it at such an angle that he would fall forward. Roman relaxes his limbs, and after weeks of falling in this manner, he no longer feels the instinctual urge to throw his hands out to catch himself. As he falls, he manifests creative energy within his body, ready to be released in a thunderous smack! once he collides with the floor.

Except the collision never comes. 

Instead, Roman falls into something else, and he feels two arms quickly wrap around and support him. Roman’s eyes fly open in surprise, worried that he may have accidentally fallen into someone, before involuntarily gasping.

Virgil’s face is hovering inches from his own. 

Virgil had somehow whipped around and caught him. His arms are around Roman’s waist, holding him suspended above the ground like one would dip a partner during a romantic dance. His arms are so warm and strong and protective and it’s a good thing he’s holding Roman, because suddenly his knees feel weak with the desire to swoon. Virgil is looking deep into his eyes, his face a lovely shade of red and very close to Roman’s.

Virgil hastily manhandles Roman to his feet, once again astounding Roman with his unexpected strength, then awkwardly takes a step backwards, putting some distance between the two that Roman desperately wishes to close.

“S-sorry, didn’t mean to grab you like that,” Virgil stutters, and Roman wants to tell him that he can grab him as much as he’d like, “You were just suddenly falling and—jeez, Roman, be careful! That’s, like, the fifth time this week!”

“Virgil’s right, Roman,” Logan says, causing Roman to whip towards the table. To be quite honest, Roman had completely forgotten about the other two Sides. Both Patton and Logan look concerned, although there is another emotion hidden in their features that Roman is unable to identify.

“You’ve been awfully clumsy recently, Ro,” Patton adds, and the unidentifiable emotion vanishes, “Not that that’s a bad thing, but… You didn’t hurt your legs recently on one of your adventures, right?”

“No!” Roman is quick to reassure, flailing his hands, “I promise, I’m okay. I’ve just been a bit clumsier than usual. It’s that damn couch, it has a grudge against me, I’m telling you! It’s proving itself to be my most difficult adversary yet!”

Virgil smiles slightly at the joke, but Logan takes his words at face value. 

“Well, that is something we can easily remedy. Perhaps we could move the couch elsewhere, or replace it with a smaller—”

“You don’t have to do that!” Roman interrupts, suddenly feeling oddly protective over a piece of furniture that had helped him make Virgil laugh so many times, “I was joking, it’s really just me being clumsy. It’s not because of the couch.”

The tension is back, the others looking even more worried than before, and Roman feels like he’s been cornered. 

“It’s not like you to be so clumsy, Roman,” Patton says, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Roman smiles in what he hopes is in a reassuring manner.

“I’m okay, really—”

Virgil shoots to his feet, suddenly looking incredibly panicked. 

“You didn’t hit your head recently, did you!?”

Roman is momentarily taken aback, and he suddenly feels slightly overwhelmed at Virgil looking at him with such intense worry. He had hoped they wouldn’t return to this subject.

“N-no, I didn’t hit—”

“Concussions can lead to dizziness, or a lack of coordination, right Logan?” Virgil presses on, ignoring Roman’s words completely, “He fell really hard over a month ago, right? Before breakfast?”

Logan nods, appearing deep in thought.

“That’s true, although he didn’t show any of the usual symptoms of a concussion afterwards. His consistent clumsiness started more recently.”

Logan turns to Roman.

“I know you said you weren’t injured recently on your adventures, but are you sure you haven’t been hit on the head by one of your, uh, “assailants”?”

Roman flounders helplessly, unsure how to exactly disprove Logan’s hypothesis. The truth of the matter is, Roman hasn’t ventured into the Imagination in a while, too occupied with researching jokes to make Virgil laugh. But he can’t say that. He would never live the humiliation down.

Patton moves as if to approach him, and Roman decides to put an end to the conversation before it can escalate any further. 

“Darlings, I promise you that I’m fine! Look, the delicious dinner Patton worked so hard to prepare is getting cold. Let’s talk about this another time.”

Logan narrows his eyes, recognizing that Roman is deflecting his questions, but eventually sighs and takes a seat at the table. Seeing Logan yield, Patton and Virgil also reluctantly sit down, but Virgil’s eyes follow Roman as he walks over.

“Well, if you’re sure, kiddo,” Patton relents, “but you’ll tell us if something is wrong, right?”

“Of course!” Roman grins, his steps quickening as he makes his way to his spot at the table, an escape from the uncomfortable topic in sight, “Now, what’s for dinner–”

One moment, Roman is reaching for his chair, and the next he is feeling a familiar vertigo as he lurches backwards, his feet slipping out beneath him with a piercing squeak! Roman doesn’t even have a moment to comprehend what just happened before he hears a loud crack! 

His world blurs, a rush of adrenaline struggling to catch up with the situation. He blinks open his eyes, his surroundings swirl around him like he’s looking through a kaleidoscope, and he can’t quite seem to focus on anything. Even his thoughts feel slower than usual as he tries to figure out what just happened. 

He’s on the ground. He… fell? What could he have tripped on? He doesn’t think he bumped into any of the chairs. But Roman is having a hard time reaching any concrete conclusions, like his thoughts are a bit more slippery than usual, constantly squirming from his grasp like fish desperate to return to their ocean home. He feels dizzy and almost nauseous, a feeling similar to the drop of a rollercoaster, except it isn’t going away. In fact, it seems to be getting worse. Soon, it is joined by a dull, repetitive throb, like someone is using his skull for drum practice.

He sees… faces above him. His friends, although it takes a bit of effort to remember their names. Patton looks incredibly distressed, tears beginning to form in his eyes, as he fusses over Roman but doesn’t quite touch him. Logan grabs Patton by the shoulder to gain his attention, and speaks to Patton in a commanding voice. Roman is struggling to comprehend the words they’re saying, but Patton seems to have no trouble, because he nods shakily and leaves the kitchen. And Virgil…

Virgil.

Virgil’s face is deathly pale, and he looks shell-shocked as he simply stares at Roman. He presses his hand gently to Roman’s temple, and Roman has enough clarity to hopefully anticipate Virgil’s warm hand cradling his head. Instead, the touch is answered by an intense pain in Roman’s temple, and he gasps in surprise. Virgil doesn’t seem to hear him, and he withdraws his hand, the blood draining completely from his face. 

The tip of Virgil’s fingers are red. That’s… that’s blood. Is Virgil bleeding? Did he hurt himself?

Roman struggles to make the connection, his head throbbing more intensely, as if trying to resist his efforts.

Virgil touched… his head. There’s blood on his head. He’s… bleeding? 

Logan grabs Virgil’s arm and shakes him, saying something urgently. Virgil doesn’t respond, completely fixated on his bloody fingers. Logan shakes him harder, and Virgil flinches violently, looking like he’s going to be sick. 

Through the dizziness and nausea, regret pierces through his thoughts like an arrow. He doesn’t want Virgil to feel sad. Why isn’t he laughing? Roman had fallen, right? Shouldn’t Virgil be laughing?

Roman tries to raise his hand to cup Virgil’s face, but his limbs feel incredibly weak. All he manages is a soft brush along his cheek.

“Why… not laugh…?” Roman attempts to speak, but his words slur like he’s several glasses deep into a bottle of wine.

Virgil expression shifts, flickering through several emotions so quickly that Roman’s frustratingly slow brain can’t keep up, until it returns to a devastating fear. If Roman’s arms didn’t weigh five hundred pounds, he would have hit himself for causing that expression. Luckily, his head is doing a fine job on that front, pain and nausea battling for dominance.

Roman feels his eyes closing on their own, and despite Logan and Virgil shaking him and calling a name that he realizes belatedly is his own, he slips into unconsciousness. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roman wakes slowly, bleary eyes blinking away a dreamless sleep. The first sensation he feels is a throbbing, familiar pain pounding away in his skull. He raises a hand to touch the area the pain is coming from, and his fingers meet bandages. 

Groaning, he pushes himself to a sitting position, slowly gaining his bearings. Walls decorated in velvet reds, a scattering of canvases and art supplies, and numerous twinkling fairy lights confirm that Roman is currently in his room, more specifically in his bed. Roman notices an additional blanket had been added to his silk covers, a baby-blue, hand-knitted affair with a slightly-skewed pattern of hearts. Roman also counts several additional pillows added to his already impressive collection, fluffed and arranged around him like a nest. 

Roman smiles. Patton may be the self-proclaimed “dad” Side in the Mindscape, but he sure acts like a mother hen. 

Roman moves to sit up further, but he meets resistance. Something heavy is resting on his legs. Puzzled, Roman looks down to where the weight lies, wondering if Patton had gone against Logan’s advice and adopted a pet of some kind. It takes a while to discern the shape, given the dimness of the lights, but once his vision clears, it doesn’t take long to recognize. Roman lets out an involuntary yelp, flinching back in surprise.

Virgil is kneeling at Roman’s bedside, head nestled between his arms and softly snoring. Despite Roman’s violent reaction, he doesn’t stir. 

Roman’s headache suddenly feels far less important as he stares unabashedly at the sleeping emo. What is Virgil doing in his room? How long must he have been waiting there by his bedside for him to fall asleep in that position? And, most importantly, why?

Roman’s head throbs again, and he finally makes the connection between his pain, the bandages, and Virgil’s bedside nap. He was injured, and given how he was wrapped in bandages and moved to his bed, it must have been somewhat serious. But it’s difficult to think through his headache, and Roman grits his teeth in frustration. 

Before he can ponder further, his bedroom door opens to reveal Logan and Patton, the latter holding a tray of food. Upon noticing that he’s awake, they both perk up. 

“Kiddo! Oh my gosh, you’re okay!” Patton exclaims, although his voice is much lower than Roman expected, so it comes out like a stage-whisper. He rushes to Roman’s side, placing the tray on the bedside table.

“I made you some soup,” Patton says, his voice even softer now as he kneels next to Roman, “I know you aren’t technically “sick”, but hopefully it’ll help you feel a bit better.”

“Thanks,” Roman says gratefully, carefully maneuvering the tray onto his lap and sipping a spoonful of soup. It’s delicious, spreading a warmth that almost seems to chase away the pain. 

“I am glad to see that you are alright,” Logan says, his voice also low and gentle, “We were all very worried about you.”

He frowns slightly, and his next words are slow and tentative, as if he’s carefully choosing what to say.

“I know you must not be feeling your best right now, and if you would prefer, we could save this conversation for another time. With that being said, would you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Roman doesn’t answer right away. It’s difficult to think through the pain, and he is still having trouble remembering how he hurt himself. Still, Roman is not one to back away from a challenge, so he nods. 

“Alright, thank you. And we can stop at any time if it’s too overwhelming, okay?”

Roman nods again, feeling slightly unnerved. He has no idea what Logan wants to ask him, but it must be serious, given both his and Patton’s expressions.

Logan takes a deep breath, then asks the first question. 

“What is your name?”

It takes a while for Roman to process the question, because it was honestly the last thing he expected Logan to ask. His name? Why is Logan asking if he knows his name? Of course he knows his name! Roman wants to ask why Logan would ask something so obvious, but he stops, seeing the grave look on Logan’s face. This question must be important, even if Roman doesn’t yet realize why, so he decides to table his curiosity for now.

“My name is Roman.”

Despite the simplicity of the question, as well as the obvious nature of the answer, Logan’s shoulders relax. He seems incredibly relieved, like Roman just told him that a dangerous medical operation was successful, rather than just saying his own name. 

Logan hesitates again at the second question, but presses on.

“Do you know… our names?”

Another curve ball. Roman feels even more bewildered, but continues to humor Logan. 

“You’re Logan, and he’s Patton. The guy sleeping beside my bed–” Roman’s words stutter when he momentarily turns his attention back to Virgil, and he hopes that the dim lights are enough to hide his blush, “–is Virgil.”

Logan smiles widely, like how a teacher would praise a student correctly solving a difficult math problem. 

“Good. That’s very good.”

Roman can no longer hold back his overwhelming curiosity, and so he gives in and voices his confusion.

“Why are you asking me these things?”

Logan’s smile vanishes, and Patton frowns with concern. 

“Do you… not remember?” Logan asks slowly.

Roman’s head throbs, as if trying to answer the question for him, and Roman hisses in pain. The memories are still very fuzzy, like they’re hidden behind thick glass.

“Bits and pieces,” Roman answers honestly, “I’m assuming I hit my head, right?”

Logan nods.

“A few days ago, you slipped on some water that had spilled onto the kitchen floor. You fell and hit your head on the tiles. There was some minor bleeding, but the injury wasn’t too severe. We still decided to disinfect and bandage the wound to prevent infection.”

Roman nods along, his memory of the event slowly returning. 

“While the cut on your head wasn’t serious,” Logan continues, “you did hit your head rather hard against the floor. You seemed to experience some difficulty focusing after you fell, so we concluded that you may have experienced a concussion. Rather ironic, given what we had been conversing about right before that very moment.”

Right, the dinner. Roman remembers them pressing him about his increased clumsiness, to which he managed to deflect their questions. He had then rushed to his own seat, eager to escape their interrogation. 

It had all happened so fast. But Roman can remember the moment he fell, the sound of his head banging against the tiles, and the dizziness and nausea that followed.

“Yeah, I think I remember,” Roman says.

“That’s good,” Logan says, looking relieved, “One thing that we were most worried about was possible amnesia, which can sometimes accompany a concussion. That’s why I asked you those questions. I wanted to confirm that you didn’t suffer any memory loss.”

Roman nods, finally understanding.

“I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything. My head is killing me, but otherwise I feel alright.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Logan smiles, “and I’m sorry to hear that you’re still experiencing some pain. I suspected as much, since headaches are a very common symptom of head trauma, so we have made a greater effort to keep our voices low. We can also provide you with some pain killers, if that would help?”

Roman nods earnestly, eager for even a momentary respite from the pain. At his response, Patton smiles and leaves the room to fetch the medicine.

“While Patton takes care of that,” Logan says, “would you mind if I asked a few more general questions? While I’m very pleased that you remember your identity, as well as ours, it would be good to ensure that you haven’t forgotten anything else.”

With Roman’s approval, Logan begins asking another series of questions, asking for general facts like the year, or which state they live in, or the current U.S. president. He then shifts to more recent, significant events, like what Roman gifted Patton for his most recent birthday, or the most recent video they filmed together, or the day that Virgil revealed his name. 

Once Virgil is mentioned, Roman gathers the courage to ask what’s been on his mind since he woke up.

“How… How long has he…”

Patton, who had returned with the medicine during Logan’s questioning, follows his gaze to Virgil’s sleeping form, and he smiles.

“He was beside himself with worry.” Patton explains, “We tried to get him to sleep in his own room, but when I came to check on you in the middle of the night, he was right back here.”

“I believe he wanted to see that you were alright with his own eyes,” Logan elaborates.

Both of their expressions are knowing, and Roman feels himself blushing.

“He was that worried about me?” Roman asks, feeling incredibly touched.

Patton’s smile takes on a mischievous edge, curling like a cat’s.

“He was,” Patton grins, “He really cares about you, y’know?”

Roman’s face grows hotter, but he can’t help a dopey smile from spreading on his lips as he turns to Virgil, diligently guarding Roman even as he sleeps.

Suddenly, Virgil begins to stir.

“Oh! That’s our cue to leave!” Patton announces, grabbing Logan by the arm and dragging him towards the door.

“Wait, what?” Roman startles, “Where are you going—”

“I’m sure you two have some things to talk about,” Logan says, eyes twinkling mischievously, “We’ll leave you to it.”

“What do you mean—”

The door closes with a soft click, leaving Roman alone with a slowly-waking Virgil. The Anxious Side yawns, rubbing his eyes, before his gaze falls upon Roman. He freezes in place, and Roman is just as stunned. 

Virgil isn’t wearing his eyeshadow. 

The lack of dark make-up, coupled with unruly, sleep-tousled hair, has given Virgil a gentler look, almost innocent. His eyes, usually stark against black eyeshadow, sparkle and shine like flickering candlelight. To top it all off, Virgil is bathed in the warm glow of Roman’s fairy lights, softening his sharp and angular features. And amidst it all is a discovery that causes the butterflies in Roman’s stomach to throw a party.

“You have freckles.”

Virgil snaps out of his stupor, his hands flying to his cheeks with a squeak. However, his hands aren’t big enough to cover his ears as well, and their red hue gives away Virgil’s embarrassment.

“N-no I don’t!” Virgil declares vehemently.

“Yes you do!” Roman exclaims, leaning closer to Virgil so he can get a closer look, “You totally have freckles!”

“It’s just the light!” Virgil attempts to argue, leaning away from Roman’s awe-struck gaze, “It’s too dark to see! And you have a concussion, so you don’t know what you’re seeing!”

“My vision is completely fine, Phoenix Wrong,” Roman counters, grinning when Virgil blushes hard enough that his freckles contrast against the red, making them stand out even further, “I also haven’t experienced any hallucinations or memory loss since I woke up.”

“O-oh,” Virgil stutters, “That’s… That’s good.”

Roman laughs, unable to hold it back any longer. Virgil is just too adorable. Virgil scowls grumpily at the laughter, lowering his hands to cross his arms and giving Roman a wonderful view of his beautiful freckles.

“Why would you hide them?” Roman asks, “They’re so pretty.”

Virgil’s eyes widen at the word “pretty”, and he blushes harder, much to Roman’s delight. He then turns away, embarrassed.

“...They’re stupid,” Virgil mumbles, “Ruin my image.”

“I don’t think they’re stupid,” Roman frowns, “They’re cute.”

Virgil chokes, his hands clutching his arms tighter, as if resisting the urge to once again cover his face.

“Yeah, but I’m not cute! I’m Anxiety! Anxiety isn’t supposed to be “cute”!”

Roman wants to argue against that, to present a long list of evidence he had compiled over the past month, but he refrains, knowing that Virgil would probably not appreciate it. Instead, he settles for a compromise.

“Well, I think they’re lovely,” Roman says genuinely.

“You’re lying,” Virgil shoots back immediately. Roman gasps in indignation.

“I would never! Honesty is a necessary virtue for every prince!”

The theatrics have the desired effect, and Virgil snorts, some of the tension leaving his body.

“They still look stupid.”

“Patton has freckles,” Roman retaliates, “Are you saying that Patton looks stupid?”

“Of course not,” Virgil scoffs, “He, like, defines cute. He’s the fucking Heart, for fucks sake. They suit him. I’m not… That’s not me. I’m not cute.” 

Roman sighs, knowing that he won’t be able to change Virgil’s mind anytime soon, even if he so earnestly disagrees with him.

“If you say so,” Roman relents. Virgil sighs in relief, the blood finally leaving his cheeks. He slowly begins to stand, groaning at the sudden shift in position, and Roman winces sympathetically. Holding such an uncomfortable position for so long couldn’t have done his back any favors. After stretching out his sore limbs, Virgil hovers awkwardly, appearing unsure if his presence is still wanted. Seeing this, Roman scoots to the side and pats the now-empty spot on his bed. Virgil blushes, but still gingerly settles beside Roman. 

He’s gone completely silent, biting his lip and messing with the hem of his sleeve. Something seems to be on his mind.

“What’s wrong?” Roman asks.

Virgil flinches, hand reaching to clutch at his arm. 

“It’s nothing,” Virgil deflects, “Don’t worry about it.”

Roman raises an eyebrow.

“Well now I’m definitely worrying about it,” Roman says, crossing his legs and shifting so that he’s facing Virgil, “That’s, like, literally the worst thing you could have said if you didn’t want me to worry about it.”

“No– I just–” Virgil fumbles with his words, squirming under Roman’s determined gaze, “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“It’s a big deal if it’s bothering you.”

The blush returns with a vengeance, creeping down Virgil’s neck and to the tips of his ears. 

“What’s wrong with you!?” Virgil groans, bewildered, “How can you say stuff like that with a straight face!?”

“I’m just built different,” Roman replies with a smile. He cradles his face in his hands, arms perched on his crossed legs, and stares Virgil down with wide-eyed attention.

Virgil hesitates, but something in Roman’s expression must convince him, because he eventually concedes.

“It’s about… something you said. Y’know, right before you fell unconscious.”

At these words, Roman is gripped with an ice-cold fear. He can’t remember exactly what he said after he fell, but given Virgil’s reaction, it must have been bad. Did he reveal his plan? Did he confess how utterly smitten he has become with Virgil’s laugh? With Virgil himself?

“You were asking why I wasn’t laughing. Like you… expected it.”

The memory hits Roman like a baseball bat to the face. He had said something along those lines. Oh shit, that’s basically a confession, right? Virgil must have figured out his plan. Or at the very least, Logan had drawn the necessary conclusions and promptly shared his findings with Virgil. Either way, the result is the same.

Oh gods, Roman feels like he might melt from the heat of his embarrassment. His face is no doubt the color of a deliciously ripe tomato.

He expects Virgil to look uncomfortable, if not outright disgusted. He knows how silly he must have appeared to have spent days looking up every joke under the sun, just to recreate a single sound that completely undos him. And it’s definitely extreme to continuously hurt yourself for another person’s amusement. 

It was too much. He’s too much. 

Roman usually prides himself in the sheer magnitude he conducts himself in. His presence fills a room, his voice commands attention. For him, too much is never enough. He always needs to be more, to go beyond the limits that had previously held him back, to break the walls that hold him captive. He is color, he is music, he is imagination incarnate. He is grand, dramatic presence. And that is probably the last thing Virgil wants. 

Virgil, snarky and defensive and introverted. Virgil, mellow and muted and subdued. Virgil, the soft whisper advising caution, the shadows that warn of potential danger, the hero in villain’s clothing. He is darkness, he is trepidation, he is a knight without armor, loyalty and diligence without the shiny exterior. 

Roman is Creativity, noisy and boisterous and loud. Virgil is Anxiety, dark and subdued and quiet. They are like water and oil, fire and ice, Patton and spiders, and a million more clichés that Roman wishes he could rewrite to fit his desires. They just aren’t compatible, and it was stupid of Roman to think otherwise. 

Roman braces himself for rejection, but yet again, Virgil surprises him.

“Do you really think so low of me, that you expect me to laugh while you’re bleeding?”

But the conclusion he draws is even worse than Roman could have anticipated. 

“W-What?”

Virgil’s expression hardens, and if it weren’t for the way he was rapidly blinking, Roman would think that he was simply angry.

“I thought we were okay now! You said you didn’t mind if I teased you! But I would never–”

Virgil takes a shaky breath.

“Do you really think I’m the type of person who would laugh while you’re bleeding out!?”

“No! ” Roman shouts frantically, “No, of course not!”

Roman rushes forward to pull Virgil into his arms, but Virgil evades his grasp, his shoulders beginning to shake. 

“You said that I’m not the bad guy anymore!” Virgil cries, “You said that I’m good ! That I make you guys better!”

“You do!” Roman reassures, “Gods, Virgil! You do! Every moment that I spend with you, I become a better Creativity. I become a better me. Virgil, you are not the bad guy. You are one of the kindest, most selfless people I’ve ever met. You work so hard to protect us without expecting anything in return. You continuously go outside of your comfort zone to accommodate our needs. You are wonderful. I’m so sorry I made you think otherwise.”

Virgil doesn’t seem convinced, and despite his best efforts, a few tears fall, glittering under the fairy lights like tiny cascading stars.

“Then why did you think I would laugh when you were in so much pain? That’s not something a good person does!”

“I didn’t think you would laugh at me!” Roman yells desperately, “I wanted you to laugh at me!”

Silence.

“Wha… What?” Virgil whispers, sounding absolutely gobsmacked, “Why would you… Huh?”

Roman looks down at his hands, unable to stomach whatever look of disgust Virgil must be giving him.

“I… wanted you to laugh,” Roman confesses, ears burning, “That’s why I tried to fall earlier that day. That’s why… I’ve been falling for the past few weeks.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything, and Roman wonders if this is what dying feels like. 

“I’ve been trying to get you to laugh for over a month,” Roman continues, “You didn’t seem to like any of the jokes I told you, but then I remembered that you laughed when I tripped, so… yeah.”

Another minute of silence, so palpable Roman can barely take it. 

“So… all of the jokes, all of the falls…” Virgil speaks slowly, as if trying to parse the meaning of the words coming out of his mouth. “...it was all just to make me laugh?”

“Yeah…” Roman sighs, feeling utterly defeated.

“But… why?”

Roman laughs, a pathetic, broken sound. Does he really need to draw this out, to humiliate himself further? A warrior is already dead once the fatal blow is dealt. One doesn’t need to bother themselves prolonging a battle that’s already decided. 

But Roman can’t refuse Virgil anything. He’s already proven that he would throw himself to the ground countless times for this man. So really, Roman has no choice but to admit the truth.

“You have the most beautiful laugh, did you know that?”

Virgil makes a choked sound, like a bird caught by the neck.

“It’s true,” Roman chuckles, not giving Virgil any chance to dispute it, “Your laughter is like… It’s like leaves dancing on an autumn wind. It’s like the thrum of a guitar building up to an electrifying solo. It’s like shooting stars streaking across the sky, one after another. It’s so…”

Roman’s chest heaves, and he suddenly feels overcome with emotion.

“Brilliant.”

Virgil gasps, his voice wobbling, and Roman can’t help but look up. Silent tears are pouring down Virgil’s cheeks. 

“You can’t–” Virgil’s body shakes involuntarily as he fights back sobs, “You can’t mean that!”

“I can, and I do!” Roman insists, “You are amazing, Virgil! Just as brilliant as your wonderful laughter!”

“Stop!”

“I heard you laugh a single time, and I thought I might die if I never got the chance to hear it again.”

“Stop it! You’re lying!”

“I’m not,” Roman sobs, his voice a desperate plea. He reaches towards Virgil again, and this time he doesn’t resist.

“You are beautiful, Virgil,” Roman professes, pulling Virgil to his chest, “You are every bit as beautiful as your laughter. Gods, just a simple smile from you and I lose my mind. Do you know how gorgeous your smile is?”

Virgil tries to protest, but he can’t get a word in between his sobs. Roman hugs him tighter. 

“I’ve created countless works of art, and none of them hold a candle to your beauty. I’ve had nights where I can’t sleep because I’m haunted by your breathtaking eyes. You have such wonderful eyes, did you know that?”

Indeed, even when they’re filled with tears, Virgil’s eyes are no less beautiful. 

“You are wonderful, Virgil. You are kind, intelligent, and unbelievably funny. I can’t comprehend how I ever could have thought that I hated you, because now my favorite moments are the ones I get to spend with you. And my greatest wish is that you would allow my company for a little while longer.”

Roman closes his eyes, a few tears escaping.

“...But I understand if that is no longer possible. It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable, my dear. I just wanted you to understand how incredible you are. If you so wish, I will ensure that we only encounter each other when necessary and give you the space you–”

Virgil punches Roman on the arm. Hard. 

“OW!” Roman yelps, grasping his throbbing arm. The punch was particularly painful, as Virgil had hit an area covered in bruises. “What was that for!?”

“You’re an idiot,” Virgil growls, “Literally the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”

Roman opens his mouth to protest, but he’s cut off once again when Virgil rockets back into his arms, hugging him tightly.

“You… Y-you…” 

Virgil squeezes him, his next words coming out in a wail. 

“You’re such a dumbass and I love you so much!”

Roman’s heart decides it’s done with simple gymnastics and leaps so high that it soars and lodges itself into Roman’s throat. The butterflies are having a rave in his stomach, EDM and flashing lights and all. He can’t breathe, but breathing has never felt less important than at this very moment.

“Y-you–!”

“I love you! I love you! I love you!” Virgil howls, clutching Roman so tightly he might actually be cutting off blood circulation. 

Roman, quivering from dancing butterflies and his wannabe gymnast heart and him feeling literally every single emotion at once, crumbles like a house of cards, the two of them falling together into silken sheets and a knitted blanket patterned with hearts.

“I love you, too.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s a beautiful day in the Mindscape. The state of Florida had decided to bestow mercy upon its residents with a perfectly sunny day. Sunshine poured through windows throughout the house, basking the rooms in a warm, cozy glow. On perfect days like this, Roman would normally venture off into the Imagination, the cheerful weather sparking inspiration. If he didn’t feel up to a grand adventure, he would go for a walk outside, seeking interesting encounters or simply enjoying the fresh air. Suffice it to say, Roman does not like to let such beautiful days go to waste. 

But today, Roman is not in the Imagination, nor is he outside. The inviting sunlight peaks through Roman’s bedroom window, which the Creative Side pointedly ignores. Instead, he is curled up in his bed, writing snippets of poetry in red, sparkly ink. Sitting with Roman is his reason for not leaving the house. Virgil is lying down perpendicular to Roman, back supported with a few of Roman’s many pillows and legs draped over Roman’s own. Like Roman, he also has a pen in hand, except instead of poetry, Virgil is drawing. 

The atmosphere is quiet and peaceful, like the haze blanketing the world just before sunrise. Normally, Roman would avoid silence at all cost, unable to endure a single moment of boredom. But right now, he is content to sit in complete silence with his favorite person in the world, basking in each other’s company.

…Well, maybe not complete silence. What can Roman say, old habits die hard.

“Hey, Virgil?”

Virgil looks up from his sketch.

“Yeah?”

Roman resists the urge to smile and give himself away.

“Are you a broom?”

Virgil tilts his head to the side, like an adorably confused puppy. 

“...because you’re constantly sweeping me off my feet!”

“Pfft—!”

Surprised and flustered, Virgil dissolves into giggles, a lovely shade of pink blooming on his cheeks. Despite his embarrassed state, Virgil doesn’t bring a hand to cover his face. He doesn’t hide his laughter anymore. At least, not for Roman. 

“God, that was awful, ” Virgil laughs.

For Roman, that’s more than enough encouragement to carry on.

“Are you a parking ticket?” Roman says, his grin widening, “because you’ve got FINE written all over you.”

Virgil laughs harder, bending at the waist over his sketchbook. Amidst his hot-red face, his eyeshadow shifts to a sparkly lavender (and wasn’t that a delightful discovery on Roman’s part).

“Hey Virgil!”

Virgil can barely speak through his laughter, but he tries.

“Ye—hehehe—y-yes?”

Roman pauses, allowing Virgil to regain a bit of his composure, so he can tear it back down again.

“You’re so beautiful that you made me forget my pickup line.”

Virgil snorts indignantly before falling victim to another powerful wave of laughter, tears pooling in his eyes and threatening to fall. The laughter is contagious, and Roman can’t help but join him.

Gods, how did he get so lucky?

“H-hey,” Virgil says between bouts of laughter, “Hey, Roman?”

Trying to reign in his own giggles, Roman responds.

“Yes, Stormcloud?”

As a less-seasoned performer, Virgil isn’t quite able to stop himself from grinning ear-to-ear before telling the joke. But nevertheless, he delivers it with enough gusto to make Roman proud.

“I think there’s something wrong with my eyes,” he states, trying to feign seriousness but failing miserably, “I just can’t look away from you.”

Roman howls with laughter, Virgil quickly joining in, and the two are a giggly mess.

Even after a year of dating, Virgil’s laughter still takes Roman’s breath away. And making Virgil laugh? It’s Roman’s favorite thing to do in the world.

Well… Maybe not his favorite. There is one thing that’s even better.

“Hey, Virgil?”

Virgil turns to Roman, still giggling, lively and breathtaking and beautiful.

“Yeah, Princey?”

“...Kiss me?”

Virgil’s smile softens into something saccharinely sentimental, and he doesn’t hesitate to lean over to Roman and grant his request. Butterflies erupt in Roman’s stomach as he pulls Virgil in closer, feeling content and warm and loved.

When the two part, they can’t stop themselves from laughing again, each filled to the brim with pure, unrestrained joy.

#sanders sides #prinxiety #virgil sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides virgil #sanders sides roman #myfics #google docs and AO3 decided it didn’t want to format correctly #so yay 1 hour fixing spaces around italics! #but it was worth it #(will really appreciate anyone pointing out weird spacing!) #hope you guys enjoy!

[filmtv2022]

To the Bitter End: Chapter Nine 

18+ Minors Do Not Proceed

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Masterlist

Pairing: Doc Holliday x Earp!Reader

Chapter Notes: Doc gets pulled away from Y/N to help the rest of the Earps at the O.K. Corral. Y/N reflects on the first time she met Doc. 

Story Summary: The youngest Earp sibling joins her older brothers in Tombstone with the hope that the new climate will ease her consumption/tuberculosis symptoms and reconnect her family.  But as she settles into this new life, will she find something worth living for? Someone who can tame the loneliness?

Warnings: kissing + swearing + alcohol + death (not specifically shown) 

A harsh knock on the door startled the pair of you, it sounded through the room like a gunshot. Wanting Doc to keep resting you peeled yourself from him & padded slowly towards the door while putting on your housecoat. Opening the door you were met with two faces you didn’t fully recognize, but Doc certainly did as he hollered a greeting from his place on the bed. The men slipped past you, tipping their hats to you as they moved. 

“Creek…Texas, what the hell are you doing here?” Doc was clearly miffed at being interrupted, but the look on the men’s faces kept him from speaking further. 

“The Clantons & McLaurys are gunning for the Earp’s. They’re waitin’ in the lot behind the O.K. Corral.” 

Your breath caught in your throat as you heard the man speak. This is what you had been afraid of since your first run-in with the cowboys.  But you didn’t have a chance to process the news before another knock sounded at the door. Opening it, this time you found a more familiar face staring back at you.

“Mayor, what in God’s name are you doing here?” Doc spat the words like venom out of his mouth. You could tell that the news had him worried, he was getting shifty in the bed like an animal ready to pounce. But regardless of how he felt about the unfolding situation, more than anything John hated having people see him in this weakened state. 

“Well, I came to tell you that the cowboys are fixin’ to square off with the Earp’s today at the O.K. Corral. However, it appears as though Texas & Creek beat me to it”

Throwing the covers off, John swung his legs over the side of the bed pausing for a second before moving to retrieve his clothes. Shedding his sweat-covered shirt from the previous night, Doc pulled on a long sleeve cotton shirt. Grumbling, John mumbled profanities to himself as he continued to dress. 

Meanwhile, you were frozen in place. The fear that had started to bubble left your throat feeling tight, trapping any words you would have liked to say within. 

“Where’s Wyatt?” Doc barked the question to no one in particular as he fastened his holster around his body.

“Last time I saw him he was standing outside the town marshall’s office with Virgil & Morgan.” Creek was the first to answer, the others nodded in agreement. 

Slipping his guns into the holster John continued to speak. 

“Okay, I’ll take care of it. Now get the hell out of my room!” 

All three men moved quickly out the door with the Mayor being the last to go. John threw his black cloak over his shoulders before moving across the room to where you stood frozen in place. In your mind, you recognized that he was standing in front of you staring down at your face, but you were incapable of speaking at that moment. John let just a few more moments pass before reaching up to brush away the tears that had fallen on your cheeks. The tears were coming of their own accord as you processed what was likely going to happen, and along with it the possibility of catastrophe for your family. 

Reaching out you settled one hand on the back of John’s neck while the other played gently with the strap on his holster. Your forehead fell forward landing softly on the center of Doc’s chest. You could feel the sweat from his exertion already dampening the fabric there, but it didn’t matter, it was a reminder that at least for now he was here with you… alive. Without thinking, John wrapped one arm around your waist pulling you closer to him while the other reached up to meet your hand on his holster. There he searched for the feeling of the metal band he’d placed on your hand only hours earlier. Finding it, he started rubbing his fingertips along your knuckles, with each brush the feeling of the ring steadied him and acted as a reminder of what he needed to come home to.  

“Promise me-” The tight feeling in your throat flared halting your words from flowing.

“I promise. I’ll keep them safe Y/N, and…” John cleared his own throat that was thick with emotion he was trying to conceal, “I’ll do everything I can to come back to you.” 

Bending down Doc pressed his lips to yours in a passionate kiss, letting the feeling of you possess his senses before pulling back. 

Without further delay, Doc grabbed his flask & headed out the door. You could hear voices in the hallway after the door was shut. The sound was muffled, but it was clear that more people had come to warn Doc of what was happening today. Unsure of what to do, but realizing there was no way you were going to be able to simply sit around in this room waiting for John to return, you began to get dressed. Hastily, you pulled on one of your most sun-worn dresses, the light yellow cotton fabric was soft & thin from repeated washing. Running your fingers along the skirt brought back a long-forgotten memory. 

-----------------------------------

The dry Texas air blew briskly over your skin, warming your body along with the sunshine. Your eyes closed as you allowed the sounds & smells surrounding you to fill up your senses. The sound of boot steps on dirt disturbed the quiet bubble you had let yourself slip into while you rocked in a chair on the front porch of the home you were renting with Wyatt. The bright sun accosted your eyes as you blinked them open. Turning your head slightly, you instantly recognized one of the people as your brother, the other person, however, was a stranger to you. Studying them more closely it was obvious they were both a bit worse for wear. Wyatt’s hat was in his hand & was covered in dirt. A layer of perspiration covered his face as if he had been working hard. The other man didn’t look much better, his hair was mussed and stuck to his forehead. Additionally, there was a deep red stain across one of the white sleeves of his shirt. As he walked he rolled the long sleeves up to his elbows in what appeared to be an attempt to hide the evidence of bloodshed, his jacket was draped over his opposite arm. 

You stood quickly before speaking, “Wyatt, what the hell is going on?” With your words, both men snapped their heads in your direction. It was as if you had yanked them from their own minds back into reality.

“Everything’s fine Y/N, just got into a bit of a scuffle today.” Wyatt smiled widely at you in an attempt to convince you that he was alright. He knew that you didn’t believe him, but he hoped that you wouldn’t push for more right now. 

Turning your head you took in the stranger from head to toe. He was well dressed despite the signs of a fight, and he had the most lovely ice blue eyes. The holster around his torso held two beautiful pistols with nickel barrels & ivory handles, without a doubt this man knew his way around a gunfight. The slight pallor of skin became noticeable as he moved closer to where you were standing on the porch. 

“And who are you?” The question sounded a bit more forward than you had intended, but then again you’d never been very good at playing the demure young lady. 

“Y/N, this here is Doctor John Holliday.” 

Nodding his head John finally spoke, “How’d you do miss?” 

“A doctor…hmm?  You must be one hell of a martyr to fling yourself into a fight on the behalf of someone you don’t even know. Or perhaps more so, you value the thrill of it all.  Either way, I suppose you’re the reason that my brother here is home in one piece today?” 

John was stunned at your boldness & perception. You had read him like an open book in no time flat, and God, if that didn’t get his heart beating faster. 

“Yes ma’am. I was happy to lend my particular skill set to Wyatt today”

“Well, thank you. We can’t offer much, but I can feed you. There’s stew inside with some freshly made bread. Feel free to help yourselves.”

Both men silently acknowledged you as they walked by you into the house. The look on Wyatt’s face was one of thanks for not prying any deeper into the day’s debacle. John’s face on the other hand was more difficult to read, it was mixed with intrigue & sadness. 

......

The conversation & food flowed smoothly, along with the alcohol that night. Despite opening the windows the room had grown stuffy with heat from the fire & smoke from the men’s cigars. Needing a small break for fresh air you excused yourself to the front porch. Wyatt took advantage of the moment to go seek out yet another bottle of whiskey as you all had worked your way through the first. 

The air had cooled substantially from this afternoon and sent goosebumps running over your skin. But you didn’t care, the clean, crisp scent of the air was exactly what you needed to clear your head. There on the porch, staring out into the vast nothingness ahead of you, the palpable tension you felt in your body began to dim. Losing a loved one was something that scared you through and through, and realizing how close you’d come to that today put your nerves on high. The creak of the door opening had you turning your head back to see who had joined you. You were pleasantly surprised to see John making his way toward you. Laying your palms on the wooden railing in front of you, you closed your eyes & and let your head fall back a little as you inhaled deeply. The scent of the night air mixed with another, one that over time you’d realize was distinctly John. It was a perfect mix of whiskey, smoke & sweat. It filled your lungs sweetly bringing with it a feeling of peace. 

You could feel him stop behind you, only a few inches separating the two of you. The pair of you stood there for a moment in silence. Your eyes are still closed allowing your body to relax. John on the other hand was fixated on you. His eyes mapped your face, trying to commit every beautiful feature to memory. His gaze landed finally on your lips, and the longer John stared the more difficult it became for him to refrain from leaning down to kiss you. A small gust of wind blew over the porch causing you to shiver slightly. Without thinking John removed his jacket & placed it over your shoulders before rubbing his hands along your upper arms in an attempt to warm you. Sighing with contentment, you leaned your body back until you met his frame. The skirt of your light yellow dress blew in the wind wrapping itself around John.

Opening your eyes you turned your head to look up at John.

“Thank you. Thank you for keeping him safe.”

“Anything for you darlin’ ” 

It was here on this night that the invisible string that would tie you two together had started to form.

—---------------------------------

Stepping back you took a quick look at yourself in the mirror before rushing to the door. With shaky hands, you locked the door behind you before stowing the key away in one of the hidden pockets of your dress. Making your way down the stairs, and through the lobby, you passed several groups of people all of whom were gossiping about the threats made by the cowboys. This did nothing to calm your nerves, but you knew you had to keep going. Quickly you found yourself turning in the direction of Virgil & Allie’s temporary residence. Just as you rounded the corner you heard the gunfire. In a town like Tombstone, a single gunshot drew no attention, but as more & more bullets rang through the town, people began crowding towards the O.K. Corral like it was a magnet.  

With little forethought, you too began moving with the crowd towards the sound of the gunfire. With each step, you sent up a silent prayer for your family and for Doc. But with each additional shot, you felt your worst fears edging closer to reality. Then came the deafening silence. The lack of gunfire brought you to a standstill. There you stood working to collect yourself & willing your body to move, to push forward to see the aftermath. Through the quiet murmur of the crowd, you heard the sound of fast-moving feet. Turning you saw all of your sisters-in-law converging on the same place. They spotted you as well, and the four of you began weaving your way through the crowd towards the O.K. Corral. All sense of manners and politeness had been set aside as you shoved your way past people who had stalled in the streets. 

Mattie was the first to round the corner, followed by Louisa & Allie. The running had stirred up your lungs causing you to break into a coughing fit. Pulling a handkerchief from your pocket you slowed down to catch your breath before continuing on. As the scene at the corral came into view you paused by Mattie to take in the chaos that still enveloped the lot. Mattie’s stare was intensely trained on Wyatt as he gazed longing towards Josephine. It was at that moment that Mattie’s worst fear was realized. Wyatt no longer loved her, and if his heart belonged to another, how long would it be before he himself fully realized this & he moved on from her. 

Louisa and Allie clung to their husbands as they called for help. And while it didn’t quell your fears entirely, the fact that they were both still conscious dampened the worry just enough for now. That was when you saw Doc. He was already moving towards you, and upon first glance, he appeared to be perfectly unharmed. Leaving Mattie’s side, you all but ran to John. Wasting no time, John pulled you tightly to him. His lips crashed roughly with yours, it was all teeth & tongue as the pair of you fought for control of the kiss. You would have loved to stay in this moment for longer, but another cough racked your body causing you to pull back from John. He didn’t let you move far, as his grip slightly loosened around your body. As the coughs slowed you felt Doc’s hands slide down your arms, moving to capture your hands. Once again he found the ring on your finger, pulling your hand to his lips to press a soft kiss to the metal before lowering your hand & lacing your fingers together. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Wyatt approaching. Without words, the three of you moved away from the scene and began to short trek back into town. 

—--

Hours passed and the sky grew dim as you watched the cowboys bring their dead to the cemetery to be burried. They toted with them a sign that read, “Murdered on the streets of Tombstone”. Ike Clanton was out ahead of the sign, and as he passed by he gave Wyatt a look filled with so much hatred & loathing it would make even the most courageous man’s heart go cold. 

Wyatt & Morgan sat in a pair of chairs on the porch at Morgan’s place, taking in the sight before them, both working to process what had unfolded. You sat next to Morgan in the empty space, while Doc sat in the chair next to Wyatt with a cup of whiskey in hand. Doc’s cloak was wrapped around your shoulders for warmth. As you sat watching the world around you, you spun the ring on your finger for comfort. This action did not go unnoticed by Wyatt. He found himself growing emotional at the implication of Doc’s ring on your finger. His best friend and his sister, what a pair you were. Wyatt made a mental note to find a time to talk with you and Doc about it all. 

Breaking the silence Morgan quietly spoke to Wyatt.

“You were right. It’s nothin’ like I thought. I almost wish that–”

“I know, Morgan. I know. Me too.” Wyatt paused deep in thought before continuing, “Why don’t we get you into bed Morgan? Hmm? Its been a long day and the doc says you need all the rest you can get” 

Normally this kind of fathering behavior from Wyatt would send Morgan into a fit, but tonight it was just the opposite. It was as if all of the energy had left his body, and the only thing holding him up was Wyatt’s firm grip on his good shoulder as he pulled him from the chair. 

Quietly you stood from your seat, moving towards the railing on the porch. Reflexively, you placed your hand on the piece of wood, feeling the texture of it bite into your hands. For the second time today, you thought about the night you first met John and the nearly instant connection that had been sparked that day. Closing your eyes you inhaled deeply letting yourself get lost in the memory again. Slowly, John moved from his seat walking his way towards you. The memory of the same night played in his mind as fresh as if it happened yesterday. Reaching you, John’s arms wrapped around your waist as he dropped his head to your shoulder, burying his face into the crook of your neck. 

Doc left sweet kisses along your neck and shoulder basking in your presence. The feeling of his mustache on your sensitive skin brought a flush rushing through your body. Your left hand snaked its way up to John’s head, running your fingers gently through his hair. Turning in his arms you brought your lips to John’s, allowing the moment to linger. After what seemed like ages the two of you pulled back and settled into each other’s arms. You were in front leaning back against John while his arms anchored you to his body. It reminded you so much of that first meeting you couldn’t help, but smile as you spoke.

“Do you remember the night we met?”

“How could I forget darlin’. ”

-------------------------------

Taglist:

@luckyladycreator2

@sassyactorsandmanyfandoms

#doc holliday x reader #doc holliday #tombstone 1993 #tombstone #val kilmer

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

The Stresses of Shapeshifting

Janus is struggling to regain control of his shapeshifting powers after they get away from him.

Thankfully, the noble Roman (and the others helped a bit too, I guess) was there to save the day!

In the end, all anyone really needs is a cuddle pile, Disney movies, pizza and... possibly inedible... cake.

----

| Ao3 |

Warnings: General distress, a panic attack, minor swearing

Pairings: Platonic DRLAMP

Word Count: 3325

Notes: This is my first posted Sanders Sides fic!! I'm super excited, please be nice, but also please reblog/comment and let me know what you think because I'm nervous. Oh yeah, remember that I had ages ago about Janus' shapeshifting powers going crazy? this is that. haha.

Pings: @seren4d3 (there were a few more people who said they wanted to see it but didn't say they wanted to be pinged specifically so I won't ping because anxiety. If you want to be pinged for future fics in general or something specific, lemme know!! (be specific please lol)

~~~~

“Hey there padre-” Roman said with a smile, it was almost dinner time and he wanted to inquire who’s turn it was to cook, but he stopped as he walked around the sofa, smile falling. Just the look on Patton’s face making him stop in his tracks. Patton was sat on the couch, gripping his jeans with white-nuckled fists, he was staring into nothing with gritted teeth, the tensest Roman had ever seen his fellow side, “What on earth happened to you?”

Patton shook his head sharply, and thats when Roman noticed the glitchy flickering- his glasses, his eyes, Patton didn’t look quite right, something was just off, and then it wasn’t- then it was again. Minor shifts in appearance, nothing big enough to notice if you weren’t looking closely. Roman quickly placed his cup of coffee down on the coffee table and took a step closer, glancing around to see if he could spot any evidence as to what might be happening right now.

There was a small pile of black fabric with a hint of yellow off to the side- as if it had been thrown; it rang as familiar in Roman’s brain, on the arm of the sofa next to Patton was a pair of yellow gloves- Janus’ gloves? What were they doing here? 

“What in great Odin’s eyepatch is going on…” Roman muttered, looking back to Patton as if for answers, Patton only curled in further in response, moving his arms so he was in a position almost to hug himself, the flickering got stronger for a second, and Roman thought he saw Patton’s face shift completely before it it was pulled back into place. 

Roman moved over to the fabric and lifted it up- black with yellow lining- that was Janus’ cape… what on earth was Janus’ stuff doing here? Patton made a noise- it sounded strained and upset, but was obviously in protest, Roman huffed and carefully folded the cape, before putting it neatly on the coffee table. Patton relaxed minutely, before jerking forwards, his clothes glitched this time, Roman saw them turn black, for a moment Patton’s cardigan was gone, replaced with Logan’s collar, before immediately returning to Patton’s signature look. It almost looked like rubber banding in a video game. As if you were trying to customise your character but it kept lagging back to the default. 

“Patton?” Roman said gently, stepping forwards with his hands raised up, he wasn’t sure what was going on, but he knew it wasn’t good. Something was wrong with Patton. 

“Not- not-” Patton started through gritted teeth, before tensing up again, Roman could see his fingers digging into his arms, “Not Pa- not Patton-”

Roman stared for a moment, as (not?) Patton’s eyes shifted through colours, he noticed his own red- Remus’ green- Virgil’s purple- Logan’s blue and then back to Patton. He glanced at the gloves, then back at the cape, clues falling into place. In a flash, Roman pulled out his phone, sending a ping to the groupchat- ‘Code Yellow!!!!’ before shoving it back in his pocket and looking back to the side on sofa. 

“Janus?” Roman asked, Not-Patton nodded, going to say something before clenching his jaw, face contorted in what looked like extreme effort, the flickering got worse for a moment, before it cleared up, but Roman was no longer looking at Patton, but a mirror image of himself, granted his reflection looked like it had been dragged through a bush backwards. For a moment he had no words. 

“My hair is not that messy,” Was the statement that chose to come out of his mouth. Eloquent, Roman.

“Sorry-” Janus choked out, but even with the strained tone Roman could tell it wasn’t sincere, well, good thing the sarcastic snake was still in there somewhere, “Can’t- can’t control it-”

“Hey kiddos! What’s hippety happening down here- oh!” Patton- thank goodness the real Patton- had arrived on the scene first, Roman breathed a sigh of relief as Patton rushed over to the sofa, “Roman? Janus? What’s going on?”

Janus tensed up, digging his- now neatly painted and manicured- nails into the soft fabric of Roman’s tunic, the fabric bunching up under the pressure. The real Roman took a second to wring out his hands, feeling the nervous energy building up, he took a deep breath.

“I think Janus is having trouble with his shapeshifting powers,” Roman tried to explain, “I found him down here as you but he’s been glitching and shifting and- I mean you see him, right?”

“Yeah- yeah kiddo,” Patton nodded, quickly moving around to the front of the sofa and sitting down next to Janus, “Are you ok with touch right now, kiddo?”

A small nod was given in response, before Janus’ eyes went wide- his hair flickering from different styles- long to short, Romans’ regular fluffy but tamed look to Logan’s neat slicked back to Virgil’s dramatic bangs before settling on something not quite Roman but closer than before. Patton waited for the glitching to settle down a little before carefully putting an arm around Janus’ shoulders. 

“I can’t- I can’t-” Janus started, eyes still wide, he still was incredibly tense, he didn’t seem to be able to finish the thought though. Roman sat down on the sofa too after a few seconds hesitation, on Janus’ other side, and took a gulp of coffee that could not have looked princely in the slightest before putting the cup back down. 

“It’s ok,” Patton said softly, rubbing calming circles into Janus’ back, “You’re safe here, kiddo,”

“We don’t need anything from you right now,” Roman added, placing a hand on Janus’ arm to add his own comfort, he felt Janus relax slightly, slumping forward just a little. The glitching picked up for a moment, before settling back again as he relaxed. 

“What seems to be the issue?” Said Logan, appearing from the stairs, Roman looked back to see the logical side adjust his glasses, surveying the scene.

“Janus is struggling to control his shifting ability,” Patton explained easily, upon mention, Janus tensed up again, he curled in on himself as he glitched through a series of forms, before returning to Patton this time. The real Patton chuckled softly as he had to readjust his postion with the change.

“Keeps- changing,” Janus forced out through his teeth, “I can’t- can’t get back-”

“We’ll figure this out, kiddo, don’t you worry,” Patton said sotly, “Hey Logan? D’you think you could try and figure out what’s going on?”

“Of course,” Logan nodded, turning back to the stairs, “I’ll start in the memory hall, please contact me should there be any developments,”

“You got it, teach,” Roman said, shooting a smile back at the Logical side before focusing his attention back on Janus.

“I can’t- hold it,” Janus said, gripping his own arms tight as if for emphasis, he gasped, “Why- I can’t- I can’t keep hold of a form-”

With that he started shifting again, his clothes flickered first, then his hair, his eyes, his face shape, the fabric changing from Patton’s soft shirt to Virgil’s firmer but still amazingly soft hoodie, his hair settled on Virgil’s purple and Patton had to readjust again- Virgil was like a stick compared to both him and Roman. 

It took a moment to realise Janus hadn’t taken a breath since he shifted, simply staring at his arms eyes wide, his hands had released their vice grip on his arms and were now shaking violently in his lap, seconds later Janus had shrugged Patton and Roman off and was starting to take sharp short breaths that Roman was certain weren’t getting him the air he needed.

“No no- not Virgil- no, no I promised- I can’t-” Janus forced out between breaths, “I promised I would- I would never this-”

“Janus, Janus, kiddo I need you to breathe, you’re panicking, it’s ok,” Patton instructed firmly, wanting to reach out again but keeping his hands threaded together in his lap. Janus’ refusal of touch just now had been clear. 

“It’s not, it’s not ok I promised him- I promised- I can’t-” Janus shook his head, gripping his trousers.

“Jan?” Roman’s head whipped around to find the real Virgil had arrived in the doorway, Janus jolted hearing his voice, and began to shake even worse.

“Virgil I’m sorry- I’m sorry- sorry-” Janus repeated, Roman looked up at Virgil, trying to ask for help using his eyes. Virgil mumbled something, before hurrying over to join them.

“Jan, Jan you need to calm down,” Virgil muttered, kneeling in front of Janus in his own form, “You’re having a panic attack Janus,”

“Virgil I’m sorry,” Janus said, sounding so upset that Roman couldn’t help but want to wrap him up in a blanket and hug him to death, “I didn’t- I can’t- I can’t control it- I can’t shift- I-”

“It’s ok Jan,” Virgil interrupted, he reached forwards and gently took Janus’ hands, Roman could see that the hold was loose enough that Janus could easily pull away, but Janus did the opposite, gripping Virgil’s hands like a lifeline, “Breathe with me, alright? Breath in for four seconds…”

Janus did so, Roman recognised this breathing exercise, Virgil had had Thomas do it all those years ago in Virgil’s room. When they first accepted him.

“Hold for seven seconds, you’re doing really well Jan,” Virgil told him, rubbing the tops of Janus’ hands with his thumbs, “And breath out for six seconds, good, keep doing that, in for four…”

Amazed, Roman watched as Janus’ shoulders relaxed, he started flickering again, but Roman thought that might be a good sign right now- he hadn’t flickered at all as Virgil, maybe it was to do with how panicked he was? Roman watched at Janus eventually switched to Remus’ form, Patton’s nose wrinkled for a moment, before he smiled.

“Ew…” Janus huffed after a final deep breath, finally calm enough to find words, “I hate being Remus,”

Roman couldn’t help but snort, “Too messy for you? Mr. Prim and Proper?”

Janus shot him a glare, which only made Roman laugh coming from Remus- who wasn’t really a ‘glare’ kind of person, rabies infested dog? He could portray one perfectly, glaring? Remus had never been able to get it right, Virgil gave Roman a reproachful look, though, which shut him up pretty fast. 

“Oh hey am I late to the party?” The real Remus flung himself over the back of the sofa- startling Patton, who’s lap was unfortunately the target of this horrible attack, “Hi other me! Where’s Janny?”

“I am Janus, you fool,” Janus said, pushing Remus’ legs off of him, Remus simply put them back. 

“His shifting was on the fritz,” Virgil sighed, glaring at Remus, who stared at Janus with a look that could have been surprise.

“That hasn’t happened in forever though!” Remus said, swinging an arm.

“Woah- careful there, kiddo,” Patton said, narrowly dodging an elbow to the face.

“Sorry sweetcakes! Speaking of cake, I should make some! Cake always helps!” Remus grinned.

“Not when it’s your cake,” Roman muttered, Remus gasped, offended, and jumped up, Patton winced. 

“My cake is the best around!” Remus yelled, turning around and slapping his own ass. Roman sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

“I meant literal cake and you knew that,” Roman said, still adamantly looking away. Remus just giggled. 

“Cake… would be nice,” Janus said slowly, Remus cheered.

“See! Janny wants cake, so I should make cake,” Remus grinned, Roman deemed it safe to look back, and found Remus kneeling on the ground and giving Patton pleading eyes, “Pwease? I pwomise I won’t make a mess?”

Patton sighed, “Remember the rules?”

“No usually inedible ingredients, no explosions,” Remus counted off on his fingers, “I’m not allowed to use the entire pot of paprika… um.”

“No intentional messes, or science experiments,” Patton finished.

“Yeah that! Can I use the kitchen now?” 

“Go ahead…” Patton said with a wistful sigh. He may as well say goodbye to the kitchen now.

—-

“I think I’ve figured it out,” Logan said, having reappeared about fifteen minutes later. Janus’ switching had calmed down from what it had been before. Though occasionally he would still switch between the other sides. In that time, Roman and Patton had switched sides so that Patton could keep a better eye on Remus in the kitchen. Virgil had remained with them as well, and was now wedged in between Roman and Janus. Roman thought he looked rather content, curled up against his side.

“Oh really? That’s great Lo!” Patton said, smiling happily, “What is it?”

“It seems to be connected to stress, so the condition may be elevated by stressful of anxiety enducing situations,” Logan said, looking at a notebook, “Have you observed something of the sorts?”

“Yeah I think so… It was worse when you were panicking, right Jan?” Roman asked, looking over at Janus.

“Yes…” Janus said, “Panicking made the switching worse or more- eugh- more frequent,”

“And a panic attack trapped you in one form until you calmed down a little,” Virgil added quietly, Janus managed to hide the flinch well, but Roman still noticed the slight jerk of his hand.

“That seems accurate to what I have found as well,” Logan nodded, scribbling something on his book, “I believe the best course of action would be to get some rest and avoid any situation that may cause negative emotions to take hold of you,”

“Thanks Logan!” Patton grinned, “Hey, since we’re already all here and comfy, how about we have a movie night?”

“Can we watch Disney?” Roman perked up, Patton chuckled.

“We’ll let Janus choose, ok kiddo?” Patton smiled, Roman sighed but nodded, it made sense. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Disney is fine,” Janus said with a small smile as his face flickered between Virgil and Patton’s, “Aladdin first,”

“Aladdin is a perfect choice!” Roman said, raising a fist with renewed vigour.

“Hey Logan, I hate to ask for another favour, but would you mind checking on Remus…?” Patton asked with a worried smile, “He insisted on making cake…”

Logan leveled Patton with an unimpressed look, “And you let him?”

“He said he’d follow the rules!” Patton protested, Logan let the tiniest hint of a smile slip onto his face.

“I shall check on the state of our kitchen,” Logan promised, “I will also check the freezer to see what ‘comfort foods’ we have, I will forgo insisting on a healthy choice in favour of comfort tonight.”

“You’re amazing Logan!” Patton called as thanks.

“Thank you Lo,” Virgil called.

“I shall create a more comfortable space for us to sit and watch the movies,” Roman said, wanting to contribute to the night of relaxation they were gearing up for.

“Thanks kiddo, that would be awesome,” Patton said, giving him a thumbs up.

“Can I have one of those fleecy blankets?” Janus asked quietly. 

“Done!” Roman grinned, a folded blanket appearing in his arms, he quickly handed it to Janus, before conjuring a good seven more- so that everyone would have a blanket to snuggle under with more to spare. He conjoured the fluffiest pillows he could and laid them out so everyone could find a space to be comfortable.

“Onesies, anyone?” Roman asked, snapping his fingers to switch his regular outfit into his onesie. Patton gasped, clapping his hands in excitement, before switching his own clothes to his cat onesie. Virgil shrugged off his hoodie before willing his onesie to replace his clothes. He handed the hoodie to Janus, who wrapped it around his shoulders.

“A onesie may not mesh well with this constant shifting,” Janus sighed, “So Virgil’s hoodie will have to do,”

“Don’t you dare imply that my hoodie is second rate,” Virgil pouted, glaring at Janus, who smiled.

“Did I say that? I missed the part where I said that,” 

“Asshole,” Virgil said, shoving Janus lightly, though there was a smile on his face.

“Now kiddo, theres no need for that kind of language,”

“Sorry Pat,” Virgil said, “But that language is always necessary when it comes to Jan,”

“Virgil!” Janus gasped, a hand to his chest, “I’m offended!”

“Shut up and get comfortable, doofas,” Virgil huffed, elbowing him in the side. Janus elbowed him back. Which led to a playful fight breaking out on the couch. 

“You guys are going to ruin my pillow arrangement!” Roman whined as he dimmed the lamps so that- while they could still see- it was dark enough to comfortably watch a film. Patton laughed.

“It’s ok kiddo, they’ll probably get messed up anyway, don’t worry too much,” Patton smiled as Virgil attempted to suffocate Janus with a pillow, though both Patton and Roman could tell that Janus wasn’t actually suffering and they were both having fun, so simply decided to leave it be (with a comment from Patton about how violence wasn’t the answer of course).

“Remus’ cake is baking at the moment,” Logan informed the others after he had surveyed the place, Remus in tow, “I made sure to test it for toxins and/or other harmful substances before he put it in the oven, so I can assure you that it’s safe as of now. As for dinner, I’ll be able to put the pizza in the oven after the cake has finished baking, so we may as well start the film now, as it will be about 54 minutes until the food can be served.”

“Thanks Logan! Come sit down, both of you, Roman made the place all comfy!” Patton smiled. Logan nodded, calmly switching his clothes into his unicorn onesie (he had become much more comfortable wearing it around the others as time had passed) before sitting in one of the armchairs (instead of the sofa where everyone else was crowding) and covering himself neatly with a blanket. 

Remus, in comparison, dove onto the sofa and wormed his way underneath the blankets. Ending up with his head in Patton’s lap and his feet in Roman’s, his body splayed over Virgil and Janus, effectively stopping them from continuing their fight.

“Can I-” Remus started, Logan cut him off.

“Onesie or decent pajamas,” Logan said, holding up a finger, “If you wish to watch the movie naked, you will have to go behind the sofa. That is the rule.”

Remus pouted, but switched into a tank top and sweatpants nonetheless, Once everyone had adjusted to Remus’ presence on top of them, Roman pressed play on the movie and the group settled into a comfortable night of movies and relaxation.

—-

When Janus woke up the next morning, he registered multiple feelings at once. First, he was himself again and didn’t feel any of the weird queasiness from constantly changing as he had been the night before, even the lingering nausea from the amount of truth-telling was managable. Next, Virgil was curled up at his side, fast asleep, and he himself was resting against Patton’s chest who had one arm wrapped around Janus in return. He was also still asleep, and Janus realised that- while he had an arm around Virgil, he was also hugging Patton. Remus was there as well, curled up against Patton’s other side, stealing the comfort of his other arm. Roman was sandwiching Virgil against his side, snuggling up against the anxious side and trapping him there. They were still all wrapped up in blankets and still on the couch from last night. Though Janus noticed that all of the plates and glasses had been cleared away and the coffee table wiped down. Logan was up then. This was only confirmed by the smell of toast and pancakes he noticed wafting from the kitchen. 

He smiled softly, making no effort to move, as he marvelled in the sight of the others, sleeping soundly all together, with him in the middle. They all cared so much about eachother, him included, it really was amazing how far they’d come.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #deceit sanders #ts deceit #ts roman #janus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #platonic drlamp #drlamp #fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fluff #hurt/comfort #they're just cute little beans #i love them all very much #cw panic attack #cw swearing #food mention #rowans writings

[homomenhommes]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more …

70 BC – Virgil (Publius Vergilius Maro ) (d.19 BC) - also spelled Vergil – was a classical Roman poet, best known for three major works—the Eclogues (or Bucolics), the Georgics, and the Aeneid—although a number of minor poems, collected in the Appendix Vergiliana, have also sometimes been attributed to him.

Virgil came to be regarded as one of Rome's greatest poets. His Aeneid can be considered a national epic of Rome and has been extremely popular from its publication to the present day. His work has influenced Western literature. His epic, the Aeneid, followed the literary model of Homer's epic poems Iliad and Odyssey. The story is about Aeneas's search for a new homeland and his war to found a new city.

Virgil was tall, olive-skinned, of sturdy build and of rustic appearance. He had a weak constitution: he suffered from stomach pains, sore throat, and headache, and it was not uncommon to see him spit out blood. Moderate in drinking and eating, he had inclinations toward boys, among whom he loved in particular Cebetes and Alexander, two learned Greek slaves. This inclination for boys is both mentioned in the Eclogues (II) and in an epigram of the Catalepton (VII) addressed to Varus where the poet says:

My dearest Varus, this I may Without deception clearly say, I'm hanged if 'tis untruly put, That lad has ruined me. Howe'er, if thy commands forbid Me speaking out of what he did, Of course, I won't declare it, but-- That boy has ruined me.

He also tells of the love of Nisus and Euryalus, a pair of friends serving under Aeneas in the Aeneid, his epic poem. They appear in Book 5, during the funeral games of Anchises, where Virgil takes note of their amor pius, a love that exhibits the pietas that is Aeneas's own distinguishing virtue.Their foray among the enemy, narrated in Book 9, demonstrates their stealth and prowess as warriors, but ends as a tragedy: the loot Euryalus acquires attracts attention, and the two die together. Vergil presents their deaths as a loss of admirable loyalty and valor.

Nisus and Euryalus

In describing the bonds of devotion between the two men, Virgil draws on conventions of erotic poetry that have suggested a romantic relationship to some. In portraying the amor of Nisus and Euryalus, Virgil draws on a Greek model of love between men. In the Roman military, homosexual behavior among fellow soldiers was harshly prohibited, in keeping with Roman values that defined a citizen's political liberty in part by freedom from physical compulsion, including sexual compulsion. Among the Greeks, however, there was a long tradition of idealized homosexuality in a military setting. Although the relationship between Nisus and Euryalus initially conforms to the Greek model of the erastes (older lover) and eromenos (young beloved) , their shared military exploits transform them into solidly Roman viri, "men." By describing their love as pius, Virgil endorses it as "honorable, dignified and connected to central Roman values." The elevated decorum of the Aeneid excludes explicit sexuality in general.

1844 – Friedrich Nietzsche (d.1900) is both one of the most influential and one of the most misunderstood of modern philosophers. Born into a sexually repressed family in the earlier nineteenth century, and plagued with ill health, much of Nietzche's work expresses a search for a primal joie de vivre that he felt had been squashed and distorted by the hypocritical religiosity and overbearing morality of his time.

Nietzsche himself fell victim to the same repressive forces. Although he had intimate and intense relationships with other men, he was never able to have an openly sexual relationship with either gender, and some historians believe he died in the mental torment of late-stage syphilis acquired from male prostitutes.

After his death, parts of his work were used by Nazis and other anti-Semites to reinforce their mythology of an Aryan super race. His writings unquestionably contain misogyny, racism, and anti-Jewish statements.

Friedrich Nietzsche was born in Roecken, Saxony. His father was a Lutheran minister who died from a painful brain disease when young Friedrich was only four. Nietzsche was raised in a household of five women: his mother, sister, grandmother, and two aunts. However, it was not a warm home. His female relatives had a Prussian severity that caused them to be reserved with the young boy in their care.

When he was fourteen, Nietzsche received a scholarship to a boarding school near the town of Naumburg, where the family had moved after Karl Ludwig's death. It was here that Nietzsche experienced his first romantic relationship with a boy. He wrote poems about his love, and also discovered the poetry of such gay or bisexual literary figures as August von Platen and George Gordon, Lord Byron.

Nietzsche was a brilliant and creative student, and in 1864, he entered the university in Bonn to study theology and philology. At Bonn, he became a member of the Franconia fraternity, and may have had homoerotic relationships with other students.

A year later, Nietzsche attended the university in Leipzig, where he continued his studies. There he met and became intimate with another student, Erwin Rohde. He and Rohde shared a fascination with ancient Greek culture.

In 1869, he accepted a position teaching Greek and Latin at the university in Basel. There he began to write. His first published book was The Birth of Tragedy out of the Spirit of Music, released in 1872. One of the most original books in the history of philosophy, The Birth of Tragedy emphasized (and celebrated) the irrational, instinctual, and emotional aspects of Greek culture rather than the rational and the logical. Nietzsche brought to the fore Dionysos as a leading figure in Greek culture, lamenting that the wild, amoral, deeply creative Dionysian life force had been weakened by the Apollonian forces of logic and order. The book created a scandal in philological and philosophical circles.

During the late 1860s, while teaching and writing in Basel, Nietzsche became involved with composer Richard Wagner. What started as a passionate infatuation for the composer's music and personality deteriorated into jealousy, intellectual argument, and bitterness. Nietzsche had become very close to fellow philosopher Paul Ree. Ree was Jewish, and the notorious anti-Semite Wagner snubbed him, further alienating Nietzsche. He withdrew his friendship with hostility, and Wagner spread rumors that hinted of Nietzsche's homosexuality.

The philosopher continued to teach, write, and travel, publishing Untimely Meditations (1873-76) and Human, All Too Human (1878-79), while making several visits to an area of Sicily that was home to a colony of expatriate homosexuals.

In 1879, Nietzsche's health forced him to retire from teaching, but he continued his social and intellectual life and his travels to Italy. He also continued to publish, producing such famous works as Thus Spake Zarathustra (1883-85), The Gay Science (1882-86), and Beyond Good and Evil (1886).

In his work, Nietzsche takes the perspective that life is "beyond good and evil," and challenges the traditionally moral idea that exploitation and domination of others are universally objectionable. Rather, he argues that living things naturally aim to express a "will to power." Rejecting the idea that there is a universal morality to which all human beings are subject, he finds different moralities appropriate for different kinds of people, depending on whether they are strong and overflowing with life or whether they are weak and on the decline.

Nietzsche had just finished writing his intellectual autobiography Ecce Homo (published 1908) in late 1888, when he suffered a complete mental and physical breakdown, collapsing in a street in Turin, Italy. He was brought back to Germany for treatment and lived with his sister for the rest of his life. Though he lived for ten more years, neither his mind nor his body ever recovered.

His sister gained control over his work and used it selectively to support her own anti-Jewish, Aryan supremacist views. There is still dissent among students of philosophy about whether Nietzsche's ideas of the Übermensch, or "superior man," who rises above society's restrictive morality, were actually founded on prejudice and racism or were misrepresented and misunderstood by his sister and, later, by Adolph Hitler himself. This controversy gives special poignancy to the last line of his biographical work, Ecce Homo: "Have I been understood?"

1970 – Zeb Atlas, born in Portland, Oregon, is an American male softcore performer and hardcore porn actor.

Raised in Portland, Oregon, Atlas received a university degree in Health Science and Sport in June 1993 from Oregon State University. He began modeling for fitness magazines after being noticed at a bodybuilding show. From there, Atlas met erotic photographer Ron Lloyd and posed for some photos; this led to the "Body Solo" video series produced by Lloyd's Body Image Productions.[

He filmed his first gay oral sex scene for JakeCruise.com. His role in Falcon Entertainment's film Best Men garnered Atlas GayVN awards nominations for "Best Supporting Actor" and "Best Oral Scene." He won the Grabby Award for "Best Duo" with Adam Killian. In addition, the film Best Men Parts 1 & 2 was nominated for "Best Picture" but lost to Raging Stallion Studios's To The Last Man.

Zeb continues to make films [both gay and straight] with such stars as Adam Killian and Skye Woods including The Boyfriend, Built Tough and Zeb Unzipped Part 3, Zeb in Ft. Lauderdale.

Zeb is also a personal trainer, singer (he did a cover of Love Hangover for example) and dancer and stands about 6ft 3ins tall.

1973 – The Australian and New Zealand College of Psychiatry Federal Council declares homosexuality not an illness, the first such body in the world to do so.

1977 – The Santa Barbara, California, board of education voted to ban discrimination against GLB students, making it the first US school board to do so.

1982 – On this day, a White House Press Secretary is questioned about HIV/AIDS. When asked about the President's reaction to the announcement that AIDS is now an epidemic, Larry Speakes asks, "What's AIDS?" When told it was known as the gay plague, Speakes laughed.