#roman: you mistake him for your pillow every night

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

This Distance Between ‘Probably’ and ‘Certainly’

Ok, here's an idea (sorry in advance if this is too long!): A fic about the ordinary (or, as ordinary it ever is) day-to-day of the Mindscape. Except... We're following a self-aware Janus. – amateurmasksmith

Janus is happy right now. Everyone has been accepted, issues are being healed and fixed. He's friends with the light sides, he got Virgil back and Remus hasn't left him. Janus is genuinely happy...And it scares him. He's waiting for the other boot to drop. He's waiting for the one thing to take his happiness from him like what always happens. He's flinching at every disagreement, freezing at every mistake he makes, and holding his breath when things get quiet or when Thomas has a bad day. He knows something is going to take his happiness away and he's scared. But the others notice and are there to reassure him that they're not going anywhere. 💜- insanitori

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none!

Pairings: none!

Word Count: 1594

You know what they say: if it seems like it's too good to be true, it probably is.

No one knows that better than Janus. Come on, he's Doubt, Deceit, whatever you want to call it, it's his job to know when something's afoot. Even when the lie is perfect, undetectable even, he'll know. He was made for it, after all, it would be quite a feat to be able to get something past him. He's fairly smug about it too, able to do everything from tell who ate the last muffin—Logan—to who spray-painted dicks all over the Imagination door—Virgil—to who's been telling everyone they're fine when they're actually on the verge of a mental breakdown—everyone.

So when there comes a time that everyone is just…happy, it sends a chill up his spine.

There are no arguments. No barely-hidden resentments. No double meanings behind words, no thinly veiled threats, no glares at backs when the others aren't looking.

Everyone's…fine.

Now, it's not perfect. There are still things that need to be fixed and problems that need to be solved, a few of them are…testier when alone together as opposed to with the group, and there are still rifts and rough patches that lead to people needing to go calm down before it can be properly resolved.

But it's…good. It's really good.

Which means that it won't stay good.

Nothing lasts forever, especially nothing good, and the fact that they're all on an upswing means that when it inevitably takes a turn for the worse, the fall will be all the more devastating. Admittedly, this is a tad dramatic.

Janus snorts. "You would be equally as dramatic, you know."

"Huh?" Patton turns. "What was that, kiddo?"

"Nothing, nothing." Janus smiles—must not have been quiet enough. "Don't mind me."

Patton gives him a bit of a strange look but passes it off as just Janus being Janus and turns back to the conversation. They're all in the living room, talking about what they're going to watch for the next movie night. Roman and Remus are advocating for one of the new Disney movies, Logan is asking for a nature documentary, Virgil said he'd be fine with anything, and Patton, well…

"Patton doesn't have an opinion."

"J?" Virgil nudges him. "You gotta speak up, bud, otherwise we won't hear you."

"No, no, just talking to myself."

"Do you have an opinion?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact: you should embroider ACAB on your hoodie."

Virgil snorts. "Okay, I will, but I meant about movie night."

"Oh. On that, no, I don't, as long as we get to snack while we watch."

"Snek gotta snack," Remus says as Roman nods seriously, "them's the rules."

"Speaking of rules, have we checked content lists for everything?" Patton shudders. "I'm not in the mood for nightmares tonight."

"Aw," Remus whines, "but those are fun?"

"What? No, they aren't!"

"Yes, they are!"

"They are not!"

Roman just whacks Remus in the face with a pillow and Logan rolls his eyes. "We won't get anywhere if you start derailing us at this point, Remus, I—Janus, what are you staring at?"

"Oh, just the wall."

"I see that. May I ask why you're staring at that particular wall?"

"No reason."

Sure, Janus, sure.

His mouth tugs up into a smirk and he turns back to the conversation. "Logan, you should know better than anyone that we rarely stay on the rails at the best of times. That's not why people watch these."

Logan frowns. "Watch what, Thomas's videos?"

"Those too."

"He's being cryptic again," Virgil stage-whispers, "just let him do it."

Logan just shakes his head and moves on—smart. "I've taken the liberty of looking up the content warnings, yes, and…well, I've seen this one already and—Remus, I think you'll be more alright with it than you think."

Remus narrows his eyes. "Go on?"

"Oh, hey, wait," Virgil says, scrolling through something on his phone, "is this the one where the dude is basically in love with an octopus for like, two hours?"

"Sold!" Remus scrambles onto the couch and crouches there like a little hellion. "We're watching this."

Roman, the only other proponent for the Disney movie, is too busy laughing his head off to make any sort of convincing argument.

"Well, then," Logan says, looking entirely too pleased with himself, "I'd say we're in agreement."

"If Remus starts trying to recreate parts of this at two in the morning, L, I swear to god I'll never forgive you."

But the threat is empty and Logan knows it, chuckling and reaching out to ruffle Virgil's hair. Virgil lets out an indignant squawk and flails out, making Logan laugh more.

See? Everything worked out fine. If this had happened before, it would have boiled down to a screaming match with insults being thrown left and right and eventually, everyone settling down to watch whatever it was while quietly stewing in resentment that someone made it so hard to just get along.

But they're here now. They made it.

Janus scoffs. "Yeah, for how long?"

Of course, the problem with holding a hammer is that everything looks like a nail.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

If a reflex becomes too ingrained, it runs the risk of being applied to situations where it has no business being applied. The brain is like a muscle, after all—

"It's an organ, not a muscle."

—like a muscle, like one, where habits can form just as easily as your body instinctively turning to walk down one path as it's where you always go.

"That's a stupid metaphor."

Metaphors, unlike similes, are when you directly state that something is something else, unlike a simile, where you compare something to another thing using 'like' or 'as.'

"Oh, aren't we smug."

"Janus?" He turns, raising an eyebrow at a very confused Roman. "Who are you talking to?"

"Oh, no one important."

"That's the second time you've done that," Patton says, frowning a little, "are you sure you're okay? You can talk to us, you know."

It occurs to him in this moment that often believing that something will happen can slide very quickly into behaving in a way that makes it happen.

"Oh, fine," Janus mutters under his breath before raising his voice, "I'm…worried."

"About what, the documentary?" Logan shifts his weight to face him properly on the couch. "It's got plenty of perfectly sound science and the cinematography is beautiful—"

"No, not about that. I, um…" This is much harder out loud. "Shush, you, I'm—I'm worried about…us."

"Us?" Virgil nudges him. "Say more?"

"We're…we're all getting along," he mumbles, hiding his face, "and it's—it's good. We're not fighting, we're talking, we're…it's good."

"I think so too," Patton says gently, "what about it is worrying you?"

"…what are we going to do when it isn't good anymore?"

The room is quiet for a moment. Then Logan lets out a slow breath.

"Janus," he says quietly, "can you look at me, please?"

Janus looks up.

"Thank you." There's a soft smile on Logan's face. "It's not going to be easy. We're imperfect, as everyone is, but we're trying. Do you…you do want things to keep being good, don't you?"

Does he?

"Yes, of course I do."

"That's good. So do we."

"Logan's right," Roman adds, smiling a little at Janus's look of surprise, "it's going to be work, I'm not saying it's not, but…we can do it. Right?"

"Come on, J," Virgil teases, nudging him again, "don't be all doom and gloom. We get to watch Remus laugh at stupid people, that's always fun, right?"

"That is fun."

"It's gonna be okay, J," he continues, "we're okay right now, and that's what matters, yeah?"

"Just because something's impermanent doesn't mean it's not important!" Patton adds.

"…I suppose you're right."

"Of course we are." Remus claps his hands. "Now come on, I want to watch this thing."

"Right, right, here, let me help—"

"Patton, let's go to the kitchen, I think the snek needs his snacks."

"On it!"

"Hey," Roman mumbles as he comes to sit next to him, "it's gonna be okay, yeah? I get it, I—I'm not the best at this either."

"Yeah."

Roman pats his leg. "We'll figure it out, okay?"

"Okay."

If it seems too good to be true, it probably is. Then again, the distance between 'probably' and 'certainly' is enough to make a little home.

"Proud of yourself for that one, aren't you?"

"Okay, who are you talking to?"

"Don't worry about it."

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @ultrageekygirl  

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

[unclefungusthegoat]

Illumine

Part 1 - L'obscurité

The Chevalier de Lorraine lies in his sickbed, keeping the first of two promises made. His lover is away at war. Fever wracks his body. Delirium brings dreams of the desperate and drowned. And the allure of laudanum promises to lead him sweetly to his grave.

Yet even after the darkest night, comes the dawn.

And with it rises an unlikely angel.

My take on the Chevalier’s opium withdrawal, and the birth of his friendship with Liselotte. Post S2/Pre S3.

Read at A03 link above or down below! 💙

(2,890 words)

Part One: L'obscurité

He felt as if he had been poisoned.

You have been, Philippe, make no mistake. 

Poisoned by your own damned vices.

The light in the Palace of the Sun King was as merciless and unconquerable as its master. Through the window panes, through the breaks in the curtains. Blinding. Unyielding. Unbearable . The Chevalier de Lorraine writhed feverishly beneath its gaze, beneath Louis’s withering disdain, as he had done for so many years. Though it had never wrung him out so pitifully before… not even as he had begged upon the floor of the Bastille. And yet now, sweat soaked the sheet, leaking from between his fingers and the lines upon his palms. His golden curls, a source of brazen pride, lay matted against the pillow. His nightshirt, stained with things he’d rather not dwell upon, clinging to his breast.

Which prison is this?

Whose bed is this?

Our bed. 

This is our bed.

Mignonette?

Mignonette , make it go away.

It had started with a sweet, motherly hand. An understanding apothecary in a Roman market. Only a sip or two, to relieve his dreams of the roar of the roiling sea, of the mad whisperings of the men crowded into the cells below. The dark belly of the Chateau d’If still digested him, eroded him away every second he was alone to catch himself in memory of the place. A drop of the nectar, and he could sleep. A second, and he could write affirmations to Philippe. Assurances of his health and his 'fidelity'. Of his surely inevitable return to Saint-Cloud.

Another drop and he could bask in the embrace of the Italian summer, in the perfume of citrus trees, and delectable, sun-kissed Stefano… or Antonio… or whatever his name had been.

Now it burned, deep in his stomach. His gut, cramping into the early hours. His heart pounded and his head followed suit, and in the ringing between the thunder, he could hear Thomas’s wheedling voice. Beguiling, nonsensical verses with ugly rhymes, underscored with a gargling from his lead punctured lung. In his dreams, (at least when he thought he’d slept), he’d seen the man’s beady eyes and toothy smirk risen from the grave. 

But of all the torturous sensations overwhelming the Chevalier, guilt was not one of them. No, he was not haunted. He would have killed the bastard a thousandfold for laying a hand on that exquisite face.

No, the poet had come, quill in hand, to chronicle another humiliation for the ledgers of the Devil:

A prince of Lorraine,

Not content on his knees,

And for the love of Monsieur,

Took to tinctures with ease;

A self-induced sickness,

On a poppy flower moor;

No better than a drunkard 

Or a drugged up whore.

It wasn’t like he cared much what the world thought of him (so long as the King’s grace and Philippe’s love secured his position). But wasn’t that all he was in society’s eyes? A superfluous leech? A parasite, dropping his breeches for all the wine and powders the prince’s fortune could get him? The spectre of Thomas would no doubt find a thousand metaphors by which to elucidate upon such a self-fulfilling prophecy. And perhaps brother dear’s words would comprise the prologue to the poet’s new work:

“You bring disgrace upon our family, Philippe. You invite contempt upon the House of Guise. Your salacious talk, your perversions , your favour for excess… it will be the death of you. And I pray every day God will show you mercy.”

The room span. The light, crushing him.

And oh God, the pain.

Though sympathy for her had always eluded him, somehow he knew this was how Henriette had felt at the end. Her insides in agony, tearing themselves apart, as her sins paraded themselves before her. As she wondered what the angels would say about mothering her brother in law’s child. 

If she had found her way to hell for it, no doubt Louis would blame him for that too. After all, he was the demon who had seduced the duc d’Orleans. Finally driven Henriette into Louis’s arms. He had corrupted the devout image of the royal family. Never mind that that honour had gone to the Duke of Nevers, never mind Mazarin and the Queen Mother’s… encouragement. No, it was Philippe de Lorraine who was vicious, and without moral or merit. So wicked, it had crossed every mind in court that he had borne the poison upon poor, saintly, doe-eyed Minette.

At least Philippe had been there to hold her hand. The Chevalier’s hand was clammy. Cold and empty. He didn’t want to die without him at his side, because oh God, surely he would die from this pain, or the thirst that kissed his lips. But Philippe was in Holland. Far away. Muddy, blood stained, and soaked in sweat and glory. Philippe had left with nothing but a kiss and a promise. Gone to crush the Dutch, grip tight upon a blade.

Or on some pretty young soldier’s cock.

Turning to the side, the Chevalier vomited with a violent shudder.

He half expected to have soiled the sheets, or the floor which felt so very far away, and so very fragile beneath him. Another mark of his fall from grace. But a steel basin was waiting, held firmly in place by soft hands. In the silver reflection, he could see ringlets, fit for Raphael’s cherubs.

The very same colour as his.

For a moment, he thought Armande had fled her convent.

“Sister?” His voice was thin, with none of its usual smile beneath.

He had not seen Armande in so long. Would he know her, if he saw her? Surely it would not be so - an abbess, abandoning the needy and worthy and devout, to attend to her renegade, opium-riddled, sodomite younger brother? Surely it was not so?

“Sister?” He wheezed again.

Only the face that met him was rounder. Fuller in the cheeks and warmer in complexion, rosy apples of blush pink that carried none of the haughty Guise arrogance. She was no stranger, though he had never really looked at her before. Not properly. Her portrait had perhaps been unflattering . Unfair. Perhaps, as have I , he begrudgingly conceded. She may not have had the vulpine beauty of Montespan, or been a waifish English rose like Henriette, but as he lay under her sympathetic touch, he found himself thankful that she was nothing like either of them.

She opened her mouth, as if wanting to correct him, but thought better of it, and instead, smoothed a stray curl away from his brow.

“If you need me to be.” She murmured with a kind smile.

Of all the things he probably deserved, kindness was not one of them.

The bile tasted sour in his mouth, but beneath it, the bitter laudanum was as sumptuous as if he had scraped honey straight from the comb.

"Water-" he commanded hoarsely, as if he were not speaking to Madame. He needed to wash the memory of the drug away. A reflexive surge of satisfaction rushed through him when she obliged, turning to a nearby porcelain jug. Henriette would never. Not unless others were there, to witness her generosity. Though his victory was short lived, for his gag reflex spasmed again, and he found himself clinging to the basin for dear life.

He allowed Liselotte to wet his lips, and tip a little water into his throat.

“How long…?” Gasping between words, he tried to ignore the storm raging throughout his innards, the shake of his hands against the cool metal.

“Three days. You’re doing remarkably well.”

He couldn’t fathom what she was imagining by comparison. The smell of the contents of his already empty stomach was proving unbearable, but he didn’t trust his body to take the basin away just yet. But somehow she seemed to have far more faith. There she sat, in a plain gown more suited to the palace’s washerwomen (though still of silk, he noted - a pretty silver shade, yet it did not quite capture the moonlight as when Philippe wore such a colour.) Her sleeves were pinned back to the elbow, but he could see stains upon the seams. For Christ’s sake, there even sat an apron upon her lap.

With a gentle, but firm tug, she removed the bowl from his arms, and helped him to lie back into the pillows again.

Here in Louis’s Palace of Dreams, we all play our roles, he mused aimlessly. I, the dashing scoundrel, the unabashed vulgarian. She, apron adorned, plays at the lowly ‘bonne’. A guardian angel, tending to the ones God has forsaken.

Thoughts of Mademoiselle Masson, with her laughably transparent disguise, came and went.

Whatever had happened to her ?

The Chevalier let his weight sink into the plush bedding, trying to ignore the disgusting damp patch where his sweat had chilled in the night air. He’d had easier times speaking in the confession box. Now, his tongue felt swollen in his mouth, and his mind struggled to find the words, as if he hadn’t spoken French every single day of his life.

“You’ve been here ? …For three days… ?” 

“Yes.”

He couldn’t help but feel slightly alarmed. Scandal and rumour over gambling and sodomy were one thing… allegations of impropriety with an improperly dressed duchesse d’Orleans were quite another. And Louis, his court, and certainly his fanatical chief of police, had quite the imagination between them.

“ Alone ?”

“Heavens, no. Monsieur Fortin is a godsend.” Liselotte’s hands tucked the blankets loosely around him, “Though I had to command him not to bleed you. He was rather overeager to pull out his lancet. Apparently it’ll even cure a broken heart.” She paused, “I'm not certain how much you remember?"

"Philippe. Gone."

"And after?"

It was all a haze. The sight of Philippe's back, flanked by two guards. An awkward afternoon spent playing cards with her , to ease their shared grief. Waiting in vain for Louis to change his mind, and summon his brother home. A silent walk in the gardens. Behind his eyes, there’d been a throbbing; in his throat, a longing , a thirst . His laudanum phial… would the flowers in the garden feel the ecstasy he had, as the residue soaked the soil? And then… then…

Seeing him frown in thought, she took his silence as her answer.

"You were mostly lucid at the beginning, complaining for all of France and the Holy Roman Empire, I daresay, about a headache. But you developed a fever during the first night, and so I sent for more practised hands. Don’t worry - Monsieur Fortin says the sickness will last a week, at most.” She smiled, “Then you'll be free to debauch and scandalise to your heart's content.”

The sheets and blankets in place, she withdrew her hands to re-arrange his hair, and he realised that at some point, she’d tied it neatly out of his way with a ribbon.

What a wonderful mother she would make.

Will make, he reminded himself with another twist in his gut. Soon her belly would start to obviously swell. The marriage would be officially legitimised across Europe as a successful, fruitful union. And where would he be? All the promises in the world from Philippe… it wouldn’t change the fact that he could never solidify his position with the one indispensable offering Liselotte could make.

"Let's try and ease this fever, shall we?"

He watched her collect a clean, wet rag from across the room. The light through the windows was no longer the fresh glow of early morning, but a far more potent, blinding midday beam. Surely the ladies of court would be strolling under parasols, or wielding their croquet mallets by now. The gentlemen, pursuing dull conversation by the fountain side. Lovers would meet within the orangery. All so far away, in the radiance at the centre of the world.

It was too much to bear, and he could not help but screw his eyes shut against it. An audible groan slipped from his throat.

The rag was cool against his skin.

He squirmed beneath it, like a child, but the soothing pressure soon stilled him. Across his brow. His cheekbones. Down the sides of his neck. He’d never been a sickly child, and couldn’t remember anyone doing this for him before. It was odd. Tender. Intimate.

Which begged a question.

He met her gaze, so full of empathy and care, with his own - too weary to be suspicious, too weak to be infused with his usual, biting wit.

“... Why?”

Her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly at the question, as if the very reason for her being there were obvious.

“Why not?”

“I have been… I was…” To apologise was not in his nature. It was not unheard of. But to find such scarce humility, and to voice it with anything approaching articulation, with the heat of a hellfire searing beneath his skin? An impossibility . He swallowed heavily. 

"Boorish? Callow? Rude?” She supplied, with a smirk.

Oh, how he had come to notice, to almost enjoy , her sharp tongue. Henriette could rarely keep up, but now, it seemed he was doomed to be outpaced at his own game.

“... I was going to say… unwelcoming… ” He felt his face relax under the cool water, though every muscle still ached.

“Oh, yes?”

“Hmm.” The ceiling was fascinating as he searched through the fog for the words, the wallpaper as red as his flushing cheeks, “One could say… unkind . If one has a… a predilection for… making… assumptions.”

He couldn’t quite tell if he’d managed to make his point.

“Assumptions on?”

Evidently not.

 “…On how a man should welcome his… his friend’s new wife… so soon after finally being rid of the last.”

To use the word lover had always felt wrong . Lover implied nothing more than sex.

And Philippe was so much more.

"Is that so?"

"Hmmm," He said again, pressing his lips together, aware of the saliva gathering at the back of his throat.

She arched an eyebrow, amused.

"Is this an apology?"

Ah, the crux of it. He mustered all the dignity he could find within himself - lifted his chin and, through the pale pallor, sunken eyes and the plum bruise that had not yet faded, pantomimed his usual nonchalant façade. But as he spoke, it came out as nothing more than a sickly, broken whisper:

"... Perhaps."

She couldn’t quite return his gaze now, but her voice held true, her smile remained soft, and her hand kept steadily pressing the rag to his brow.

"Well, you've nothing to apologise for."

Such an obvious falsity took the wind from him twofold - a scoff, followed by a dry cough that hurt every inch of his throat. He required the use of the basin once more, then obediently took another sip of water from her.

"I mean it.” She repeated, “Nothing I haven’t already forgiven."

"But-" 

"And certainly nothing that needs confessing to now. I can see you’re still not quite yourself, and you might say something silly, or, Heaven forbid, sentimental. Something you’ll come to regret."

No. No. He was determined not to let her make a coward of him, to give him a way out, an excuse to never broach the subject again, not when he had so gallantly set upon it. He had rejected the offer of truce once before… and yet here she sat. It seemed only fitting that he, in turn, should extend the hand of tolerance.

Especially if this…

… if this was it .

“Your…” He coughed again, “Your Highness, I- I must-”

“Hush.”

“But-”

She caught him with a gentle shush.

“ Rest , Philippe. There’s a long road ahead of you yet.”

The use of his Christian name startled him. No one, no one , called him Philippe… no one except those who had the misfortune of being related to him, and, of course, mignonette in moments of passion. For years, he'd been 'Armagnac's brother', or 'the troublesome one', eventually making his mark as 'The Chevalier', as if there weren't a thousand of those at court. And that title was an insult in itself, as if he were so lowly, and not a prince etranger in his own right. He'd been a 'dearest friend' and 'His Highness' companion '. He'd been 'bastard' and 'bugger' and 'whore' and 'cad'. Hell, he’d been a ‘conspirator’ and ‘traitor’ and lived to tell the tale. 

But never, never Philippe.

Tears collected upon his lashes, much to his chagrin. He had wept in front of Philippe before. It was a symbol of their trust, to lay himself bare, to strip back the peacock feathers and be vulnerable . To cry in front of her ? Bathed in the light of her charity ? How utterly humiliating . How exhausting it all felt. 

The shame writhing within him brought forth a new wave of agony. The grief he held for the confident scoundrel he had so carefully crafted added more lead to his lungs… and a painful sob wracked through his feeble frame. And those tears … he wept for how frail he felt, for the cold hand of death that reached for him, in despair and in hopelessness and in fear.

But Liselotte wiped them away without any trace of mockery or derision.

She sat back, to hold his hand, as he fitfully cried himself back into a feverish sleep.

#versailles #chevalier de lorraine #liselotte #monchevy #versailles fanfic #part one of three of my very self indulgent versailles fic #link to A03 at the top #or you can read below #hope the character voices are ok #I sometimes struggle lmao

[some-one56]

A Dream is Not A Wish

Prologue

Thomas sighed as he walked up the long staircase, up to his bedroom. He did this song and dance every night, knowing that as soon as he would lie down he'd just stare up at the ceiling, unable to close his eyes and drift off. The eyebags under his eyes looked like black eyeshadow at this point.

Ignoring the facts, he crawled into bed and snuggled up under the warm blankets. Thomas reached over to his nightstand, shutting off his lamp. He was in complete darkness, other than the nightlight in the corner of his room. It was the Genie from Aladdin.

Here we go again. Going to bed at 1AM and you can't even sleep. Then again, maybe it's because you ate dinner at midnight. Or the fact you chugged a Redbull with your dinner.

"Stop it Logan," Thomas says out loud with a sigh as the thoughts in his head continue to speak to him. "I know what I did."

A figure appeared next to Thomas's bed, dressed to perfection with a black polo shirt and a blue striped tie. The black glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose. Logan is his name. Thomas's logical and tactful side. Logan raised an eyebrow much like a scolding mother would to her child.

"Thomas, you can't keep doing this to yourself. No wonder you can't sleep at night," Logan says, crossing his arms.

Thomas groans, sitting up. "I genuinely don't care about my health anymore. I don't care about anything anymore, Logan."

Logan stares at Thomas for a moment, then sighs softly. He sits on the bed next to Thomas, staring at the wall. "Thomas, I... I know this is still very...hard for you. I'm not exactly sure how you or the others are really feeling about the breakup, but..." He paused. "Perhaps this was for the best?" He asked gently.

Thomas grabbed one of his pillows, hugging it close to his chest. Taking a shaky sigh, he held the pillow tighter. "It hurts... It hurts even more, knowing that you did something wrong to cause him to break up with me.."

Logan hesitantly puts a hand on Thomas's shoulder, clearing his throat. "People make mistakes, Thomas. Instead of focusing on those mistakes, the best thing to do is to accept the mistake you made and move on. That way, you don't make the same mistake again."

Thomas hesitantly nods, quickly blinking back tears.

Logan gives Thomas a slight smile, standing back up. "Now, how about I get you some water, and you try to sleep. Alright?"

Thomas gives Logan a matching smile, laying back down. "Yeah.. Thanks, Logan."

"I'm here to help," Logan says quietly, walking to the door. However, Thomas stopped him.

"Logan?"

Logan turned back, glancing at Thomas. "Yes?"

Thomas smiled a bit wider. "You really are a lifesaver.. What you said really helps.  Honestly, You're my hero.."

Logan paused slightly, his smile fading slightly. "...Go on and sleep. I'll be back with some water." He quickly left the room.

Downstairs, Logan had grabbed a cup from the top cabinet. After he poured some water for Thomas, he decided to get himself a snack as well. He grabbed some bread and put two slices in the toaster. Reaching up to the top cabinet, he grabbed a jar of Strawberry Crofters Jam.

Once his toast was done, he began to smear some of the jam onto each slice. While his back was turned, he heard someone sit on the counter.

"You're his hero, huh?" A quiet voice asked behind Logan.

Logan sighs sadly, turning around. "I'm sorry, Roman. He's just...still a bit out of sorts from this breakup..."

Roman looks at the floor, lightly kicking his legs while he sits atop the counter. "He's not the only heartbroken one, Lo."

Logan silently hands Roman one of the Crofters slices of bread. Roman silently takes it, beginning to eat. He leans on the counter next to Roman.

"I know. Love is...very complicated from my understanding. I don't even pretend to understand it," Logan mutters, taking a bite out of his own piece of toast.

"I just... I don't know what to do anymore, Lo... I.." Roman takes a shuddery breath, looking up so he doesn't shed any tears. "He was Thomas's prince.. His- His Knight in Shining Armor! I.. I thought he was the one..." He hangs his head. "But I was wrong."

Logan was silent for a long moment. Then he took another bite. "You weren't wrong. But there are, as you'd say, many other fish in the sea. Thomas just needs to, uh.. Keep going fishing?"

Roman snorts quietly, cracking a small smile. "Okay, definitely don't try anymore metaphors. But..I know what you mean."

Logan chuckles quietly as well. "Get some sleep. We can talk more tomorrow, okay?"

Roman nods, hopping off of the counter. He looks at Logan, smiling softly. "Y'know, you're pretty alright for a nerd," he says in a joking tone.

Logan laughs, smiling a bit wider. "And I suppose you're decent for a hero," he says, slightly more genuine.

Roman's eyes light up. Finishing his toast, he gives a nod, sinking out back to the mind palace.

Logan chuckles softly, smiling to himself. After he finishes his snack, he takes the cup of water, heading back up to Thomas's room.

Logan quietly sits the cup on Thomas's nightstand, being careful to not make any noise.

He glances at Thomas, seeing he is fast asleep. Logan smiles softly. At least he was able to go to sleep at last.

Logan turned to leave the room, but he paused in his tracks, groaning. I meant to ask him what his plan was for tomorrow's YouTube video.

Logan knew he wouldn't get a clear answer out of Thomas tomorrow, so he had to go ahead and ask.

Going over to the bed, Logan gently shook Thomas. "Psst, Thomas, wake up for a moment. I need to ask you something."

Logan frowned when Thomas didn't budge. Normally, he was a very light sleeper. This usually woke him up. "Thomas?" He asked in a normal volume level, shaking Thomas a but harder. However, Thomas still neglected to wake up.

"Thomas!" Logan said louder, gently slapping Thomas's cheek to try and open his eyes. Why the hell isn't he waking up?

Narrowing his eyes, Logan slapped Thomas across the face rather hard. Still nothing. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. He couldn't help bit feel the anxiety kicking in.

Virgil instantly appeared at Logan's side. "The fuck is going on??? You freaking out is freaking me out!"

"Thomas isn't waking up," Logan said, slightly rushed. He checked Thomas's pulse. "He's still breathing. But nothing is waking him up."

Virgil eyed Thomas warily, silent for a moment. Then he, too, slapped Thomas across the face. All it did was turn Thomas's head to the side. "Shit! What do we do?!?!?"

"Virgil! Breathe," Logan quickly said. "Summon the others."

Virgil quickly nodded, summoning the other four sides.

"What-" Janus started, suddenly realizing he wasn't in his room anymore. He was currently in a yellow bedazzled bathrobe with slippers shaped like snakes. He also had on a black sleep cap and a lavender face mask. "Can I help you??? I was busy giving myself a spa night!"

"At 1:30 in the morning?" Patton asked, tilting his head in confusion. He was wearing a matching pajama set with dogs all over them.

"Yes! I never sleep at night, just during the day. When I feel like it," Janus says, summoning a bottle of wine and a glass. He stares at the glass for a moment, throwing it away. He pops the cork on the bottle, chugging from it.

"Ooh!~ What if I replaced that wine with my own piss, and you'd have my bodily fluids inside of you!!" Remus suddenly barks out, grinning crazily at Janus.

Janus stops drinking the wine, dropping the bottle. He inhales deeply. "Well, I'm done with that now."

Roman grimaced at his brothers' choice of words, but then looked back at Virgil and Logan. "What's going on??"

"Thomas isn't waking up. At all," Logan says to the group, watching Virgil pace around the room.

"What the fuck are we supposed to do?!?" Virgil asked, glancing back at the sleeping Thomas.

"I might have the answer~" An unfamiliar voice said, chuckling deeply.

The group all froze in their tracks, frantically looking around the room to find the source of this voice.

Roman quickly summons his sword, gripping it tightly. "Whoever you are, show yourself!!"

The chuckling continued for a few moments, until the voice came back. "Or...How about we do something a bit more...fun?"

Patton suddenly screamed in fear when Remus dropped to the floor, unconscious. "YOU KILLED HIM!"

"No- he's just unconscious, Patton," Logan says, trying to calm down the fatherly figure.

Roman narrowed his eyes in anger at this, gripping his sword tighter. "What have you done?!"

However, Janus dropped next. He fell unconscious, falling on top of Remus.

"Holy shit- what is happening?!?!" Virgil asked, going over to both Dark Sides. He crouched down, trying to wake them up.

Roman's eyes widened when he saw a dark, blurry figure appear in the doorway. The figure was at least seven feet tall with blazing orange eyes. This creature wore a terrifying smile.

Gripping his sword tightly, Roman lunged at the Creature. However, the creature simply waved their hand, and Roman, too, fell unconscious to the floor. His sword made a clang once it hit the floor. The creature gently brushed their fingers along the blade, and it turned to dust within seconds.

Virgil, Patton and Logan turned toward the commotion, frozen in fear.

"R-Roman!" Patton squeaked out in terror. "And- And Janus and Remus-"

Logan stands a bit taller, staring at the Creature. "Who are you, and what are you doing to them?"

"I'm simply helping you all out a bit~" The creature laughs, stepping into the room. Their hand waved again, and Patton dropped to the floor as well, in a deep sleep.

Virgil quickly goes to Patton, trying to wake him up while Logan stands in front of him, narrowing his eyes. "Wake them up. And then tell us who or what you are."

The creature laughs cruelly, taking a step closer to Logan. They grinned even wider. "I'm taking you all somewhere special~ I think you might have fun~"

Another flick of their wrist. Virgil fell next to Patton, his eyes fluttered closed. Logan knew he was next, but he had to at least try to stop this.

"At least tell me your name," Logan says stubbornly, staring into the creature's orange.

Another deep chuckle echoed throughout Thomas's room. The creature gently cupped Logan's cheek, their long, cold fingers feeling like death against Logan's face. He didn't budge.

"You'll find out soon enough, Logic~"

And then, Thomas's room suddenly became blurry and dark to Logan. He felt his eyes grow heavy. And soon, he, too, fell to the floor, unconscious.

                               ~¤~

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

#sanderssides #thomassanders #romansanders #virgilsanders #pattonsanders #logansanders #janussanders #remussanders #disney #disney princess

[johnhardinsawyer]

In a Certain Place

John Sawyer

Bedford Presbyterian Church

7 / 23 / 23 – Eighth Sunday after Pentecost / Proper 11

Genesis 28:10-22

Romans 8:12-25

“In a Certain Place”

(There Are So Many Ladders)

When my cousins and I were growing up, we would sometimes go visit our Granny and Papa in Glasgow, Kentucky for a week in the summer.  One of the highlights of those summer visits was the almost yearly pilgrimage to nearby Mammoth Cave,[1] which is the largest known cave system in the world.  I’ll never forget the time we went down into the dark cave with Granny as part of a large group and the park ranger told us about the difference between stalactites and stalagmites – those pointy stone formations in caves which are formed, over many years, by dripping water and mineral deposits.  Stalactites hang from the ceiling of a cave.  Stalagmites grow up (like little mountains) from the floor of the cave.  And sometimes, in certain places, over a long time, with a lot of dripping water and minerals, a stalactite and stalagmite will grow together from floor to ceiling to meet in the middle and form a stone pillar.  Of course,” the park ranger said in his best Kentucky accent, “here in Kentucky, a pillar can be a thing that holds up a ceiling or a pillar can be what you lay your head on at night.”  Suddenly, a collective groan was heard in the cave from just about everyone in the tour group.  The joke was just that bad.  

Every time I hear the story of Jacob and the stone that he uses for a pillow out in the wilderness, I remember that park ranger and his corny, groan-worthy “Dad Joke” about the pillow that became a pillar.  Now, Jacob was out in the open – not down in a cave – but he did find himself in the dark, in need of a pillow.  

You might remember from last week that Jacob was kind of a sneaky fellow – especially when it came to trying to better himself within his own family.  Not only has Jacob finagled his twin brother, Esau, into selling his own “eldest son birthright” for a bowl of lentil stew, but right before today’s passage, Jacob – posing as Esau – has gone to visit his father Isaac in disguise.  Isaac, who has poor eyesight, is fooled by the disguise and gives Jacob the blessing, by mistake.  According to tradition, the blessing that Isaac gives Jacob was the kind of thing that was only given once – no take-backs – and it was given only by someone who was close to death.  In the chapter right before today’s reading, Isaac says to Esau, “Go and hunt some wild game for me and come back and cook it and bring it to me, so that I may bless you before I die.”[2]  Isaac’s wife, Rebekah, hears him say this to Esau, and so she cooks up the plan with Jacob to steal the birthright blessing.  

Oh, if there were such a thing as marriage and family therapy back in those days, can you imagine what those sessions would be like with this crazy family?  Anyway, when Esau finds out what Jacob has done, it is clear that Jacob is going to need more than therapy if Esau gets a hold of him.  Esau sets out to kill his own brother and Jacob makes a run for it.  So, this is where we find Jacob in today’s story – we see a young man who is beloved by his mother, but hated by his brother and thought of with frustration by his dying father.  And now Jacob is on the run, far from home, in a desolate place, all alone. . . or so he thinks.  

But, as today’s story goes, when Jacob arrives at a certain place, he stops to spend the night and finds that stone to use for a pillow.  Somehow, he is able to get comfortable enough to fall asleep.  Maybe he’s just so tired that he could have fallen asleep anywhere.  Either way, in the night he has a dream.

Now, the Bible is filled with stories of people who have dreams – from Jacob’s son, Joseph, in the Old Testament, who dreams of his older brothers bowing down to him[3] to a different person named Joseph in the New Testament, who dreams of an angel that tells him to keep Mary as his wife because the child in her womb is the Messiah.[4]  We see dreams in the Book of Acts, too, and all the way through to the dream/vision of John of Patmos in the Book of Revelation.  But, way back in Genesis, Jacob is the first major character in the Bible to have a significant, life-changing dream.[5]  

Out in the wilderness, all by himself, Jacob dreams of a ladder that stretches all the way from heaven to the earth.  In the original language, this ladder is really a stairway or a ramp, built up along a hill or mound.  The root word, here, is also part of the word for “highway,” as in, “a raised [road]way or public road.”[6]  In the dream, Jacob sees the angels of God ascending and descending on this holy highway.  One commentator writes that when Jacob sees this in his dream, he is certain that he is “precisely at the entrance into the heavenly world.”[7]  You see, in the ancient world, there was this idea that there was – or is – “a narrow place where. . . all [interaction] between earth and the upper divine world took place.”[8]  Other people throughout the centuries have called this “narrow place” a “thin place” – where the line between the heavenly and the earthly is blurred.  Some of you might remember that we have talked about thin places before – places where heaven and earth seem so close together that they might as well be touching.  These thin places could be as different as a holy site in the Holy Land, or the island of Iona in Scotland, or the sanctuary of the church you attended as a child, or the camp where you had a spiritual awakening as a teenager, or the room where a child was born, or the grave where a loved one is buried.  A thin place could also be the sound of a certain song, the taste of certain food, or the touch of a certain person.  

In other words, so many places can be thin places.  As the nineteenth century artist and intellectual, John Ruskin, once wrote,

This PLACE, observe; not this church; not this city; not this stone, even, which [Jacob]  puts up for a memorial — the piece of flint on which his head has lain. But this place; this windy slope . . . ; this moorland hollow, torrent-bitten, snow-blighted; this any place where God lets down the ladder. And how are you to know where that will be? Or how are you to determine where it may be, but by being ready for it always?[9]

Ruskin asks something profound, here: “How are you to know where that [certain narrow, or thin place] will be – [where God will let down the ladder and where you will experience the divine]?”  To which Ruskin answers his own question (which I’m paraphrasing here):  “No one knows, exactly, where God will let down the ladder, so you’ve got to pay attention, you’ve got to be ready, you’ve got to (as Jesus tells us), ‘stay awake.’[10]”  So many places can be thin places because God can let down the ladder – maybe so many ladders – anywhere and anytime.  It would be good for us to be ready, Because, if we are paying attention, God’s ladder – God’s ramp, God’s holy highway, the thin place where God meets us and stands beside us – will catch us unaware.  

Jacob – on the run, a veritable orphan from his own family – finds himself somewhere. . . a certain place. . . any place. . . and God lets down the ladder.  It’s clear that Jacob isn’t quite prepared for this.  When he wakes up from the dream, he says, “Surely the Lord is in this place – and I did not know it!” (28:16).  To which the Lord says, “I am in this place, and don’t call me ‘Shirley.’”  Just kidding – God doesn’t really say that.  In truth, what the Lord says to Jacob, here, is far more important.  Eugene Peterson translates it in this way:  

I am God, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac.  I am giving the ground on which you are sleeping to you and to your descendants.  Your descendants will be as the dust of the Earth; they’ll stretch from west to east and from north to south.  All the families of the Earth will bless themselves in you and your descendants.  Yes.  I’ll stay with you, I’ll protect you wherever you go, and I’ll bring you back to this very ground.  I’ll stick with you until I’ve done everything I promised.[11]  

Here is Jacob – feeling all alone – and God tells Jacob that he is not all alone.  God is with him.  Somehow, Jacob – this finagling supplanter; who, through trickery, causes his own estrangement from his own father and brother – this orphan of his own making, on the run from his own earthly household – has been chosen by God as God’s own.  “Yes, I’ll stay with you,” God says.  “I’ll protect you wherever you go. . . I’ll stick with you. . .”  

This is the message that the Apostle Paul offers to us in today’s first reading from the Letter to the Romans.  Somehow – even though we human beings always fall short of God’s high and holy expectations:  we are tricky, and sinful, and usually on the run from one thing or another.  And yet, God still seeks us out, finds us, and chooses us.  The phrase that Paul uses, here, is that “we have received a spirit of adoption.”  (Romans 8:15). In the original language, there is this sense of being adopted by God as becoming a “secure child”[12] of God.  There is no orphanage or foster care system and the uncertainty that can come with those things.  There is only the sure and gracious choice and secure love of God.  “I choose you,” God tells Jacob – God tells us.  “You belong to me and I will take care of you.  I have a new and different future prepared for you.  All will be well.”  

Of course, as Paul writes, all of creation is groaning for this new and different future – because we have not necessarily seen it yet.  The world is still filled with troubles and the future can be tinged with so much worry and fear – with wars and rumors of wars, the climate crisis, and so many other things.  All of creation groans, not because of some bad joke – but groans real groans, because we are longing for something different – a different life, a different path, a different future from what we can see with our own eyes.  And yet, as Paul writes – even though we may be groaning inwardly while we wait to know the fullness of what God’s adoption means, we still have hope.  At least that’s the idea of what faith is all about.  

I’m willing to guess that most of us have not had the benefit of a dream like Jacob’s or a Paul on the Damascus Road moment, but this doesn’t mean that we haven’t encountered a few of God’s ladders – thin places – where heaven is glimpsed, however briefly, on earth. . . When this happens, we might just find ourselves saying with wonder, “I had no idea that God could be here, in this place. . . with me!”  Sometimes, a brief and precious glimpse of heaven here on earth – inspired by the Holy Spirit – is the only thing that gives us hope.  And sometimes – with enough glimpses coming in fits and starts and so many drops of grace over time, the Holy Spirit forms  something permanent in our hearts and souls – a pillar of memory and hope and faith.  

Whether we know it or not, we live in a world full of places that have been certain holy places for so many people.  Jacob catches a glimpse of heaven and he takes his pillow and sets it up as a pillar, so that people will know that God was – and is – in that certain place.  Whether we know it or not, we live – surrounded by many such pillars. . . so many certain places where God has let down so many ladders.  Who knows where and when the next one will be?  

May God find us ready to see and know the Holy in our midst.  May the knowledge of God’s great love and Holy adoption fill us with hope and faith, granting us confidence for whatever the future holds.  We have a God who sticks with us, no matter what.  We are never alone.  

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  

----------

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mammoth_Cave_National_Park.

[2] Genesis 27:2-4 – Paraphrased, JHS.

[3] See Genesis 37.

[4] See Matthew 1:20.

[5] Aside from a fellow named King Abimelech in Genesis 20, who is warned in a dream not to take Sarah as a wife (because Sarah was already married to Abraham).

[6] F. Brown, S. Driver, C. Briggs, The Brown-Driver-Briggs Hebrew and English Lexicon (Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, Inc., 1997) 700.

[7] Gerhard Von Rad, Genesis: A Commentary (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1961) 284.

[8] Gerhard Von Rad, 284.

[9] https://victorianweb.org/authors/ruskin/trujillo11.html.

[10] See Mark 13:33-37 and Matthew 26:41-42.

[11] Eugene Peterson, The Message: Numbered Edition (Colorado Springs: NAV Press, 2002) 50. Genesis 28:13-15.

[12] Walter Bauer, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1979) 833 and 359.  υἱοθεσία as a combination of υἱοσ (son/child, 833) and θεσία (secure, 359).

[sidespromptblog]

What to Do?: Chapter 8

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Nine, Ten

Warnings: Patton Angst, and food mention. 

Summary: Logan realizing that his first mistake was seeing the other sides as anything other than coworkers. They weren't a family. They didn't even like each other. How had he not realized sooner?

Word Count: 1,657

Patton sat hunched on the floor in front of the oven, watching as the cookies he was baking slowly rose as they were cooked right before his eyes. Behind him another bowl of cookie batter sat, waiting for the very same thing. And in the fridge there were already cookies cooling down, and still his fingers itched to do something.. anything really that would help keep his mind away from what had made it most sad to begin with.  He didn’t want to think about this, any of it really. He just wanted to stay focused on the things that made him happy, and the things that made the others happy too. 

If Logan saw him like this he’s-

No. 

Patton stubbornly shook his head, as his heart plummeted at the thought of Logan and just what Logan would think if he saw him like this… if he saw him pushing down his negative emotions in favor of the good ones. They had already talked about this, they had already come to the conclusion that Patton still didn’t want to face even right now. It was better this way, he had told himself. Someone had to be happy around here, even if he was just pretending. He’d cried enough for all of them, and now it was time to get over that and move onto being happy again. It was better than seeing Roman slowly sink into self-despair like he had been when he had accepted Janus, and it was better than seeing Virgil slowly grow more and more anxious over time with no way to stop it. He had to do this, for all of them. 

Even if Logan…

Patton felt his eyes mist over in a second, before he stubbornly rubbed his sleeve over his eyes. 

“I’m fine,” He listlessly muttered to himself, keeping his eyes firmly fixed onto the cookies. “I’m fine…” 

“Tsk.” 

Patton flinched with his whole body, as his head snapped around in an instant to look at the side who was standing there at the entrance of the kitchen. His mouth twisted into a tiny half smile, that he honestly didn’t even feel like giving. But be that as it may, it still felt just the slightest bit nice to see the side in front of him, like he wasn’t totally alone and surrounded by sad people who had no idea what to do.

Janus smiled down at Patton, the kind of smile that made the scales on the side of his face shimmer in the warm lighting of the kitchen. “I thought lying was my thing,” The dishonest side began, as he crouched down to Patton’s level, so that he could look at him just a little bit closer. “Right?” He asked, reaching forward slowly to dust a chunk of flower from Patton’s cheek. 

The soft scrap of the glove against his cheek made Patton sigh for a short second, it had been too long since he’d had any kind of bodily contact. There had been no hugs, no hand holding, and no… late night movie sessions where they all piled on top of one another. So just this tiny hint of contact made him want to melt into Janus, and never let the other side leave.

“Yeah.. yeah it usually is.” He finally whispered, sadness clinging to every pore of his body. “But right now I think it’s necessary…” 

I need it… 

The words were left unspoken, and yet Janus heard it all the same as he seated himself more comfortably on the cold floor. The oven let off a wave of warmth that he was secretly very thankful for, and with little opposition Janus lifted the edge of his caplet letting it drape over Patton’s shoulders as well. For a moment he could only watch as the moral side sank gratefully into it, his eyes closing as his cheek squished against Janus’ shoulder. Janus didn’t say it, but… 

Patton looked exhausted. 

To the point where he was sure that the other side would all too easily fall asleep right here if Janus didn’t move or say anything, and god knew he was not the most comfortable person to fall asleep on. But despite how the words he wanted to say were on the tip of his tongue, Janus didn’t say a word, instead choosing to wrap his arm around Patton letting the other side use his lap as a pillow as he sprawled himself out on the floor. Shrugging off his caplet, and with the warmth of the oven on his back it was all too easy for him to cover the moral side with it, letting him have this one solitary comfort.  

If only for a little while, at least. 

“Janus?” Patton asked softly, startling the other side from his almost nap that he had been nodding off into. “Do you think Logan is lying to himself? When.. when he’s acting this way?” 

For a moment Janus was stumped on just how to answer the moral side, he knew that perhaps it would make Patton feel better if he lied to him, but for how long? If he thought that this whole thing was temporary then.. then all he would be doing was giving him empty hope that perhaps things would end up changing. That would be more hurtful in the long run, and… and Patton would eventually find out that he had lied, and would be hurt even more by Janus’ own actions. He wouldn’t trust him if he lied about this, because he cared about Logan, even if Logan was trying to act like he didn’t care about them. 

He sighed, and felt Patton’s head twitch on his lap. “I think…” He slowly began, trying to phrase it right, “That Logan truly believes that this is the best path for him, so he’s determined to see it through. But… he’s also certain that should it come down to it, none of you would listen to him if he stopped. He thinks in a certain way that..  that you all hate him.”

Patton moved to jerk his entire body up, a denial on his lips. Just to stop as soon as Janus gently guided him back down. 

“I’m not done,” The dishonest side said firmly but gently, “He still cares about all of you I think, but he’s not going to give himself the chance to ever come back. He’s burning down as many bridges as he can, and as quickly as he can before he changes his mind and wants to repair things with all of you.” Janus can feel another sigh building up inside of him. “But I also think that all of you are in denial as well…” At Patton’s curious and worried look Janus slowly went on, trying to be as gentle as possible about it. “About how you’ve all treated him, and I think that you’re all lying to yourselves about the part that you’ve played in this coming to be.” 

Patton is quick to open his mouth to disagree, he wants to disagree with almost everything that Janus has said about them doing anything to bring this on. As far as he was aware he had always treated Logan the best that he possibly could, and while it was true that he had floundered sometimes and gotten lost in himself… he’d done his best. 

Hadn’t he? 

Looking at the family pictures he could see hanging on the walls from where he was sitting, his stomach plummeted in an instant as guilt quickly replaced the sadness he had been feeling mere moments ago. Logan was there in each and everyone of the photos, but he was in the back, where Roman, Virgil, and even Patton had taken up most of the frame. It had left Logan looking almost out of place in the pictures, as if.. As if he didn’t belong there with any of them. Looking at those pictures now, where he had once felt nothing but happiness and pride towards his family, he now felt as if he had failed Logan in every single one of them in every single kind of way that a friend shouldn’t have. 

After everything that had happened… 

They had been anything but a family to Logan, and Logan deserved to distance himself from that kind of “love”. 

Because he deserves better than that. 

“Janus?” Patton asked for a moment, looking over to the side in question to see that he was fully paying attention to Patton. “What should we do?” 

That was the kicker wasn’t it? 

What should they do? 

It was clear that Logan was going to be resilient against any of their advances to fix things, as the logical side was determined to think that things would go back to the way they were before if he slipped up even once. And he was only going to double down too, if they did get him to slip up and treat them as they had been in the past, which would only draw things out for longer and make things harder on themselves. So there was very little that they actually could do to actually fix things, surprisingly Logan had made it so that the entire ball game was in his court and they couldn't make a single move to change the tides.   

He would make an excellent chess player, Janus fondly thought to himself. 

“Slowly,” He finally summarized, as the plan mapped itself out in his head. “So slowly that it feels like nothing is changing, you have to play Logan’s game if you want him to even entertain yours. If you want things to go back to normal, this has to be the new normal for a while. Let him slip up, and let him try to come back, and when that happens…” Janus smiled a little, as he looped his arm around Patton. 

“You’ll have Logan, and not Logic.”

#patton sanders #ts patton #ts patton sanders #janus sanders #ts janus #ts janus sanders #sanders sides #ts sides #ts sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #ts sanders sides fanfiction #ts sides fanfiction

[kanene-yaaay]

Tickle me, princey

Kanene’s note: This fic is basically: Virgil is a bratty Lee, Roman is a competitive Ler and none of them are going down without a fight xDD.

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* Lee!Virgil and Ler!Roman (Kind of. Because there is almost no tickles here, just teasing). Human AU.

* Hmmm… This is a Tickle-Fanfic! If you don’t like this kind of stuff, please look for another blog, there are plenty of amazing art in this site!! ‘u’).

* This have about 2.500 words of Roman and Virgil just being teasy beans.  ‘w’)b.

* PLEASE CHECK THIS AMAZING ART! IT’S INCREDIBLEE! <33

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! I didn’t proofread that one very well, so I will probably be correcting a few things later. Any advice is always very, very welcome!

* A versão em português brasileiro irá ser escrita, ainda. Eu espero! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Do something crazy today, take a good rest, be kind (especially with yourself) and drink water! Byeioo!~

                              [~*~]

Roman cleaned his hands on his jeans before stretching his back and sighing in relief when a small ‘pop’ came from it. The pal from the nearby library was a cool person – not that he would ever allow the other to hear this, because, damn, people who called Roman cocky definitely haven’t met them yet – but equally precise in get on his nerves with as few words as possible, even though the florist didn’t care that much as his dramatics discourses tried to convince everyone he did. 

Besides that, they was Patton’s friend and even more important, they made an accord with the Flower Shop’s owner and Roman was the one in charge to deliver their biweekly floral arrangement to the library’s decór. However, today Roman managed to win their discussion and therefore a couple of podcast episodes read by them (What? Their voice was quite nice!!).

Roman ignored the small ring of the door’s bell as he entered the Flower Shop, looking around to be sure there was no clients before taking his position behind the balcony, internally thanking how chill Patton was with his employees using phone during the shift as long there wasn’t no one near, especially as he unlocked his screen and a new notification popped in front of him.

Butterflies went immediately crazy on his stomach.

[Message from Panic! At Everywhere]

[P: Hey. So, are you still ok?]

Virgil kicked his blanket out of his bed, already feeling a tad of giddiness spread across his body, a small smirk finding its way to his face without him even realizing. Today was the day. Since when he and Roman talked on the last week about boundaries to be sure nothing had changed and decided Saturday as a good day for their session the one with purple hair couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander, picturing and re-picturing what would happen, even though Roman always insisted to never tell him his plans, wanting to keep everything as a surprise, which definitely didn’t help at all the excitement running on his veins.

Their session.

Their tickle session. It was only eleven in the morning and Virgil could already feel his skin tingle just by imagine Roman’s fingers grazing, dancing on it, carefully looking for all his weak spots both knew so well before coming with an entire new technique that would make the other (almost, barely, hardly) want to jump out of his skin so he could escape from the maddening tickly sensation.

He was going to love it. 

Also, it didn’t help that he spent the previous night and its following morning consuming all his favorite tickle content, dying on the spot (and on the reblogs) and skyrocketing his lee mood to the mountains.

Nevertheless, he tried to play nonchalant as answered the other’s new message.

[Message from Dumb(o)]

[D: Yes.]

[P: Cool.]

[D: You?]

[P: Yep.]

[D: Glad to know, Blushy Bug. Try to not alarm all of our neighborhood with your squeals and giggles before I get there, okay? ~

D: And yeah, plu-e-ase, continue with your so delightful tags on your reblogs, okay, Tickle me Emo? I’m learning so much new information with that. If only I would have an opportunity to use all of them today…]

Virgil snorted, one hand trying to hide his face as he attempted with all his might to ignore the flames taking over his cheeks as the teases sank and the memories from the day he conquered this nickname emerged from the deeps of his mind. So, Princey was already so over his head with being the ler this time? Thinking Virgil would be hiding his face on the pillow, squeaking and tittering helpless? Well, he would have a big storm coming, then.

Virgil got up, his footsteps leading him to the clean desk in the room, moving some of the objects so carefully chosen in order to get the perfect picture. Every single makeup  brush lined, gleaming under the lens of his camera, away enough so the viewer would be able to realize all their individualities but close enough to create an impact. 

Two can play this game.

[Panic! At Everywhere sent an image]

Roman clicked on it, eyes going immediately wide as he quickly slammed the cellphone’s screen on his red apron, his gaze running from a place to another to be sure no one was near or had seen the conversation or noticed the way his smile went from an ear to another.

[P: Nah. I’m too occupied choosing the perfect tools for today… I mean, there are just so many options, ya know? I especially prefer the smallest ones, their bristles softly running on my ribs, tracing their way across my tummy to get to the other side… yeah. That is the good stuff. Or maybe we could be experimenting the biggest ones today, letting them tease that spot right under my chin, the softness engulfing all the nerves… ]

Roman took a deep breath, realizing the other still typing.

[P: Anyway, don’t make a big deal of this, ‘kay? I know your imagination can be very fertile but try to not alert Patton with all your blush and twitching. You know he is a curious guy and will want to know why you’re so smiley. ;)]

    “Pai amado, (Dear God) he is going to kill me.” Roman crossed his arms, using all his will to no start wiggling them to nothing, a sudden urge to sing some nursery rhymes making him begin to humming quietly as attempted to gather enough concentration to type a proper, cool reply.

[D: Is that so? So, the big, badass Virgil Storm is excited to get all his tickly-tickle-tickles today? Is he excited to become a so helpless, so adorable mess of giggles and squeaks? To be teased and tickled until he can do nothing but give me those lovely snorts and wiggly-wiggles? ~

Awww. So cute. ~]

[P: Yeah, I am. So what? Wanna do something about that, Sir Sing a Lot? 

Ops, I forgot you’re at work rn. Tsc. Such a pity. Well, guess I will have to kill some time by looking at your precious collection of feathers, see if I find something interesting there.]

[D: You just wait for when I get home.]

[P: :)]

Virgil laid his phone at his side, hiding his face on the mattress, kicking just like he was some teenager in love from those generic movies. The squeals bubbled out from his lips, smiles blooming. He knew he probably was just digging his own grave, but, ha, as if he would fall without a fight. Plus, imagining Roman trying at every cost to keep a straight expression while reading his texts and then struggling to continue his work just as if nothing had happened, with that cute, excited smile planted on his face made a proud wave of power – and joy - hit him and that was a bonus which was worth it. 

Then his phone vibrated, indicating a new notification and a new flood of shivers as he unlocked his screen, freezing for a couple of heartbeats with the length of the message.  

[D: A poem for my dear Knightmare. ~

Once upon a time

There was a wiggley-wiggly lee

That just a few pokes

Made him giggle with glee

Some scribbles here

Some scratches there

You can tickle-tickle

He is ticklish everywhere!

What, you don’t believe me?

‘That much cute he can’t be!’

Well, then allow me to demonstrate

All the beautiful sounds he can create!

Give a few prodding on his ribs

And a quick digging on his hips

Some brushes on his toesies and feet

And don’t forget about these helpless pits!

(And hey, psst, if you squeeze his sides

The cutie, squeaky, wiggly lee,

Will be squealing in a happy delight)

This neck is also asking for tickly-kisses 

He always denies, always desire

Add to that some teasy whispers

And watch his cheeks be set on fire!

Once upon a time

There was a bratty, smug lee

That just a few tickle teases

Can make him a blushy mess

Just like now, you see!]

[…]

“Have a nice day. Thank you for coming!”

Roman waved to the client who got out from the Flower Shop, taming the smugness which threatened to take over his features as he realized that even though an hour had passed, no answer to his last text had arrived yet. He was perfectly aware of how weak Virgil was for any sort of rhymed tease and a whole poem – not his best, he had to admit – dedicated to him? He could almost see the other shrieking, hiding his red face on the pillow, lost in a mess of quiet peals of laughter and curses. His smile got even bigger, swelled in pride. And, well, if he couldn’t help it but push his luck a few inches further, his fingers already halfway to typing a small, itsy bitsy, new tease to his favorite emo lee, how could someone really blame him?

[D: Oh, sorry. Did I make the scary Virgil too much flustered to talk? Awww, I will miss your sassy remarks deeply and sing a ballad in your honor at the funeral. ~] 

He snorted at the amount of time the symbol of ‘typing’ appeared and disappeared on the conversation, using the ten minutes he took to be answered to organize a few sales signs on the glass in front of the store, gaining a dance on his step as the one-worded sentence shone on his phone.

[P: Bitch.]

[D: I have no idea of what you’re talking about. Is that something I said? I feel wounded.]

But a new thing popped up.

[Panic! At Everywhere sent a video]

[P: :)]

It seemed like hours passed, even if he knew the downloading probably didn’t really take more than a few pieces of minute for him to hit the play.

The focus of the camera took a few seconds to adjust, the image trembling and shaking before going still, the crystal clear form of a small light brown, slightly spiked feather twirling between Virgil’s index and thumb locking his eyes on the screen. A quick, quiet sigh could be heard before the tickle tool descended to the palm extended on a desk, stopping by Virgil’s pulse.

The bristles grazed the skin there as the feather began to move on slow strokes, going from the left to the right, left and right, left and right… calmly making its way up, changing to small swirls as it contorted the form of the hand, giving to each finger a light tracing before concentrating on the palm, drawing a spiral which approximated inch by inch to the center. If Roman wasn’t so quiet, - even holding his breath, - maybe he wouldn’t be able to listen the incredibly low, contained huffs of laughter on the background, a soft snort escaping and making both hands tremble as the bristles hit the center of his hand, dancing around the spot for a bit. 

When it stopped, the tool was placed on the desk and then the camera started to move, stopping on Roman’s so very well-known golden with silver details box. Its lid laid next to it, letting its entire content to be proudly shown. The explosion of colors from the most diverse large, small, pointy, fluffy feathers took over the frame, however, a tiny piece of paper placed on the exact center of them was what captured his attention. The lens zoomed and focused, making him able to read the quick message written there.

“:)”

And then the screen went black. The video was over. 

Roman could feel his face being almost split in half by his grin, his fingers hitting the table top in complete frenzy since they hadn’t to hold the device anymore, curling and uncurling as the one who couldn’t just stay still started to bounce his right leg, ignoring the redness he felt crippling down his neck.

“Roman?”

He fully shrieked. Both him and Patton startled and jumped a few centimeters in the air with the sudden sound. The florist slapping his own hand on his mouth, trying with all his inner strength to stop the bubbly giggles which flooded non stop from his lips

“Sorry for the scare, kiddo,” the shine on his eyes free of any guilt as Patton bit his own knuckles proved the contrary, especially when the rest of an awed squeal escaped from his lips, only making the other to giggle harder, eyes closed, blush deepening and nose scrunched. “Aww, your giggles are so cute!” 

“Shuhuhush!!” The Flower Shop owner just smiled fondly, withholding his comments and patiently waiting for the other to recompose himself. When Roman looked at least a tad calmer he decided to make his decision to talk to him clear.

“I’m glad you’re in a good mood, Ro! I just wanted to remember today’s shift is already over. I need a bit of time to organize everything before the painter comes so we can discuss the new design of the Flower Shop. Thank you so much for the ideas, by the way! I can’t wait for you all to see the result! It will be so pretty!!” Roman’s wide eyes were enough of an explanation of why he wasn’t ready to go yet, probably having forgotten about their last month conversation. Although, the surprised look was away in an instant, a shine taking over his glare before he softened, locking his eyes with Patton.

“Of course, it will be, Patty-cake! With my magnificent ideas and your good taste, I really don’t think any other result besides wonderful and perfection will be possible!” He squeezed Patton’s cheeks and his friend stuck out his tongue at him, winning a quick poke on his ribs that made him squirms and yelp, quickly tittering and waving the other with his hands.

“Now shoo-shoo, go enjoy your afternoon!”

A devious smirk gleamed on Roman’s expression for a second. “You can count on it, Padre.” But then it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Thank you, my mighty hero in a shiny armor! May the universe let our destiny align again in the future.”

“See ya, kiddo!” He replied, his tune also full of joy, watching the one with red hair going away, a happy bounce on his steps.

[…]

Virgil picked the phone in the first ring. “Roman, something happened?”

“Nope,” the purple lover sighed in relief, all the tension getting out of his body and being replaced by confusion, “nothing happened except that a handsome, incredible someone got out from his work earlier than expected and might be heading his home by now.”

That made Virgil shot up, biting his lower lip, butterflies freaking out. “No.” It was his whisper.

“Oh, yes. ~” Roman practically purred on the speaker. “any last words, my dear, defenseless Giggly Storm?”

Virgil just giggled and Roman had almost forgotten how that sound only was enough to spread an explosion of a warm, good feeling on his chest. “Aw, and here I was thinking I would have at least some challenge today. ~” He continued to tease.

Silence. 

“Go check your messages, Princeypie.”

And then he hung up. Roman fondly rolled his eyes, running to check the new notification on their conversation.

[Panic! At Everywhere sent a photo]

It was Virgil, sitting on his bed criss crossed, one elbow resting on his thigh as he took the picture on the body mirror on the other side of the room, a strong blush very visible on his face half hidden by the device, wearing a short and Roman’s red crop top. A new message popped right under the photo.

[P: Get your butt here and tickle me, Sir Sing a Lot.’]

This emo was going to be the death of him.

[D: Aww, I don’t even get a smile?]

[P: You gotta work for those, Princey.]

Virgil definitely did not jump nor yelp as he heard the low, dangerous tune of an “evil” laughter echoes in the house coming from the living room, the sound of the front door being closed making his flight instincts kick in.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Virgil was already halfway to the most far away room where he could escape, trying to keep his reputation as he heard another set of footsteps quickly getting ground and following right behind him. Laughter and squeaks mixed in the air.

“Because I will.” Roman answered.

#Very teasy #Teases #Lee!Virgil #Ler!Roman #Virgil is a brat and Roman is one as well #Ticklish!Virgil #Sanders Sides tickles #Sanders Sides tickling #Kanene's Fanfic #Kanene's Art #Kanene's fic #Brief self tickles #Feathers #blushy bois #Writing this kind of fic is very fun and sdfghertcvgbhn kind of silly as well #Virgil: Tickle me// Roman: Okay// Virgil: *NYOOOM* #I still don't know how to tag this dfghjsdfghdcf #I feel like my writing is a bit weird nowdays but yeah I'm still proud of this!

[notveryglittery]

mice on venus (1.1)

summary: gee, those forest ravines really pop out at you, huh? wc: 2k / ships: romantic royality, qpr prinxiety, romantic analogical. warnings: falling off a cliff, injuries, janus is a lil rough around the edges but sometimes u gotta be when living in a dangerous blocky world... author’s note: i couldn’t sleep last night... bc brain was making this... and also @thoriffix​ makes nice minecraft art... so yeah, minecraft sanders sides au? i have no clue what i’m doing besides having fun :) not too much knowledge of the game is needed; you can look at it as a basic adventure au. enjoy!

mice on venus (1.1) (you are here) | far (1.2) title inspo: (spotify link) (youtube link) idk if this will go on ao3 but here’s a spot for editing 

— — —

Patton’s voice tears from his throat in a raw and terrified shout. "Roman!" He screams, hands outstretched uselessly, as Roman tips backwards over the edge of a ravine, and disappears.

Logan is there, barely a second later. He rifles through his bag, finds what he needs, and throws it with all the force he can muster. Gravity won't let it hit the ground before Roman does, but it will help when it arrives nonetheless. He hurries to stand, turn, and face —

"What happened?!" Virgil asks breathlessly, daggers drawn and at the ready.

"Roman fell into a ravine," Logan answers with so little tact that Patton would scold him for it if he were paying enough attention to overhear. The color in Virgil's face drains. "I threw a Splash Potion of Healing after him," Logan reassures without pausing, "but we need to get down there."

"I knew I should've stayed home," drawls their final party member, sounding awfully bored despite the situation.

Patron does hear this and he rounds on Janus with fire in his eyes. "How could you be so cruel?! Roman might be dead!"

Janus raises an eyebrow. "Were you not listening just now? Our local brewer lobbed a potion. Roman's seen worse. He'll be fine."

Patton's lower lip trembles but it's hard to tell whether he wants to cry or to berate. Maybe both. He looks for Virgil, only to find him at the ravine's edge with a bucket. Water is flowing from where it's been poured, creating a safe passage for them to traverse down in once safe.

Roman, meanwhile, is falling.

His only warning had been the horror dawning on Patton's face and even then, it came after his foot met air instead of solid ground like he expected. For some inane reason, his first thought as he went plummeting was "who put this ravine in the middle of a forest?" Next, it was panic and "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH—"

With the wind stinging his face and his blood roaring in his ears, Roman knows he has mere seconds to figure out how to make this suck less. He struggles to right himself until he's facing the ground that is rushing up to meet him. He pulls his shield from where it is strapped to his back and thanks Jeb that he'd had the foresight, as their fighter, to give himself something sturdier. The rickety thing the others use wouldn't have done much for him here but the curved, solid iron plate he tucks himself into should absorb most of the impact.

That doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt like hell. He can barely cry out with how his breath is knocked out of him. Pain shoots up his ankles and legs, lighting every nerve along the way. He tilts over, gritting his teeth and trying to see beyond the stars that swim through his vision. He isn't safe… There could… Mobs…

Glass shatters next to him and he flinches from it. Please not a witch, please not a witch, please not a witch —

As opposed to the nauseous kick of poison or the heavy weight of slowness, however, warmth of healing washes over him. In his shock, he'd forgotten anyone had been with him but of course, Logan would have been right behind Patton, with his emergency potions. Relief floods over everything else. He isn't alone. He has help.

"— an idiot!" is the first thing Roman hears when he comes to. He opens his eyes to see Virgil pacing beside him, flailing his arms, and apparently mid-rant. It's probably Logan at his feet, wrapping his ankle in a splint. Ah… the pain from it being jostled must've woken him… He's glad he doesn't remember it.

"Honey," Patton's voice whimpers, close to him, choked and scared and none of that will do —

"C'mere," Roman croaks, reaching for his beloved. Patton catches Roman's hand and holds it almost too tightly. Roman isn't sure which one of them is shaking. He brings Patton's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. "I'm okay, sweetness. Don't cry. Please. You know a smile will help me recover better than anything."

"That's not true," Logan pipes up, deadpan.

Patton gives him a tremulous smile anyway.

"Learn to watch—" Virgil stops. Freezes. Looks up. "Oh. Great." He's rifling through his supplies before the others even have time to ask him what's wrong.

The sudden realization of dimming light answers them well enough, though. Janus wastes no time in beginning to help Virgil, moving with him to the ravine's wall to back their makeshift base against. Sunset brings with it monsters and they certainly aren’t in the best place to handle that.

"You need to sleep before you get back on your feet," Logan tells Roman as he packs away his med kit. "No adventures for at least three days."

Roman gasps, as if Logan has just told him his birthday is canceled.

"Logan's right, dear," Patton intervenes, pulling one of Roman's arms over and around his shoulder. He helps him stand slowly, making sure Roman favors weight on his less injured ankle. "It's okay, I'm gonna stay with you! It'll go by so quick, you won't even know it happened."

Roman wants to complain further but he’s lightheaded from his now-vertical position. With practiced ease, Virgil and Janus have a lean-to set up to keep them safe from the nights terrors. Unfortunately, there’s only enough materials for two beds. Fortunately, they sleep in shifts anyway. It takes some coaxing to convince Roman that he doesn’t need to stay awake for one but once his head is on the pillow and Patton is combing a hand through his hair, he’s out.

Logan sits up for the first two hours. Forty minutes in, Janus leaves to explore the ravine. The others know better than to even try stopping him. He returns, laden with coal and iron ore.

“Roman’s shield is gonna need repairing,” Janus says matter-of-factly as he takes over for the next watch.

Logan groans. “I suppose, at least, the painting will keep him busy while he’s grounded.”

“He’ll last…” Janus pauses, considering. “I give him no more than a day and a half.”

“If he wants to sustain his injuries, sure.”

“Bet you he’ll try stealing an Instant Health potion.”

“Not if he knows what’s best for him,” Logan snaps.

Janus smiles with too many teeth which isn’t to say he has too many teeth, just that normally his smiles are close-lipped. Logan scowls before ducking into their small shelter to try and get some rest.

The next two hours pass without trouble. Virgil takes his turn. The howling screech of an enderman startles Logan awake but just as quick, Virgil is peeking in on the party and waving the concern away with an ender pearl clutched in his fist.

“Didn’t wanna pass up the opportunity,” he whispers, before returning to his post.

Patton sets up for the last watch. Virgil makes Logan take the free bed, which doesn’t take much convincing seeing as he’s half-asleep already. Roman begins to toss and turn so Virgil sits on the ground beside him, reaches up, and holds his hand.

“Sap,” Janus says from the corner where he’s been making torches.

“Have you slept at all?” Virgil asks instead of taking the bait.

When Janus doesn’t answer, Virgil frowns. “How long has it been?”

Another round of silence.

“J, what the fuck? We don’t need phantoms on top of everything else!” Virgil raises his voice without meaning to. Logan stirs at the sound of it; he’s always been a light sleeper.

“Hush,” Janus hisses. They wait a few moments more until Logan has settled. “I will when we get back home. I’ve got at least one more safe night.”

Virgil’s glare sharpens but he doesn’t push any further. Janus goes back to his crafting but Virgil notices now how slowly he works. Instead of staring and letting his concern build, Virgil leans back and shuts his eyes, focusing on Roman’s warm hand in his.

Sunrise means a quick breakfast of bread and crisp apples. They share amongst themselves before Logan and Patton take down the lean-to. Janus returns to the top of the ravine, making sure to dispatch any mobs lurking in the shade of the trees. Virgil remembers the leads Patton had brought with him, for if they had come across any horses, and suggests tying Roman to one of them, just in case things go wrong on the swim up the waterfall.

Roman, ever full of bravado, insists he would be just fine on his own. Looks of concern and frustration come from his boyfriend and queerplatonic partner, respectively, and he quickly gives in without much fuss. Janus joins them again and offers to build a ladder back up, especially since there’s no short supply of wood; Logan disagrees, worried that it would take too long and they’d be caught out once more at nighttime.

Eventually, they do all get up and out of the ravine. Roman’s splint needs redoing now that it’s wet and heavy but afterwards, they are on their way home. He relies heavily on Patton and Virgil to help him, careful to not put too much weight on his injured foot; he hates needing so much help, but he supposes it’s mostly alright, what with Patton keeping him entertained with stories and Virgil teasing him about dumb little mistakes made in the past.

Slow going as as they are, they make it just as the sun is beginning to set. The lanterns are lit at the village they had set up nearby roughly a year ago and their neighbors are gathered at the bell for gossip and trade. Patton wants to swing by to say hello and offer some cake but Roman is really struggling beside him now.

“Oh, sweetpea, you must be so tired,” Patton murmurs, shifting so that he can take more pressure off of Roman. “I’m gonna get you the best dinner… And hot cocoa, too, how’s that sound?”

“We haven’t got a steady supply of cocoa beans yet,” Roman says without much conviction.

“I’ll cocoa bean anyone that tries to stop me,” Patton insists.

Virgil stifles a laugh behind his hand and pretends he didn’t hear the thinly veiled threat disguised as a pun. He makes a note to kick their search for a jungle into first gear and wonders if Janus would be up for a trip to the west. It is the least explored direction and their terribly empty maps remind them every day. In the meantime, he’ll help Patton to get Roman comfortable and settled. He makes sure Janus goes to bed that night, keeping him company until he’s well and truly deep in sleep.

After one last sweep of the perimeter, Virgil retires to his and Logan’s room. Logan is waiting up for him, reading by candlelight. Virgil changes into his night clothes and slides in under the covers. Logan is warm and, with a fond eye roll, compliant as Virgil tugs at his sleeve until he eventually puts his book away. Logan lays on his back with Virgil splayed half-across his chest; the sensation has always put Logan at ease, having his partner’s presence so physical and grounding and there.

“Will Roman be okay?” Virgil asks in a voice so small that Logan almost doesn’t hear him.

“Like Janus said, Roman has been through worse.” Logan hesitates but not long enough for either of them to actually start thinking about it. “As long as he is careful, which I’m sure Patton will help him be, he’ll recover in no time.”

The tension flows out of Virgil in one slow exhale. “Thanks, L.” He shuffles deeper into the blankets and Logan’s embrace. “Love you.”

“And I you,” Logan responds with a hum, pressing a kiss to the top of Virgil’s head.

#sanders sides fan fiction #royality #prinxiety #analogical #ts deceit #dani writes #minecraft au #sanders sides #romantic royality #qpr prinxiety #romantic analogical

[iceshard1011]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders Characters: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Additional Tags: Post-Episode: Putting Others First - Selfishness v. Selflessness Redux | Sanders Sides, Post-Episode: Flirting with Social Anxiety, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, mentions of manipulation, mentions of breakdowns, ANGST TIME, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Protective Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, no plot head empty, forgiving and moving on, the dark sides as they crush on the light sides: okay so chose your emotionally damaged bf, the babies are sad, but they're getting better, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Angst, Deceit | Janus Sanders Angst, everyone's sad okay Summary:

Roman wants to cuddle. Virgil doesn’t want to move. Sharing the couch doesn’t seem so harmless.

Until it kind of does.

(And then it doesn't again.)

3k story below the cut, too :)

Virgil had thought he was the only one still awake. Really, it wasn’t an unreasonable thought to have, at one o’clock in the morning with a family full of individuals who seemed to follow the unspoken rule of Highly Energetic During The Day Yet Dead To The World At Night.

So when movement caught his eye by the staircase and he fumbled with his phone so vigorously that he dropped it to the carpet with a mute thump, he was glad there was only one witness of his undignified actions.

Regardless, that one witness, aside from his sleepy expression and slumped posture, seemed pretty amused.

“Tell anyone about that, and I’ll—”

“Relax,” said Roman around a yawn, “I won’t.”

“Don’t tell me to relax.” Virgil scowled.

Roman grinned, clearly entertained, and shuffled across the living room to the couch. “Why aren’t you in bed?” he asked and picked up Virgil’s phone. Virgil took it when it was offered and fiddled with the case between his fingers.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Roman nodded. “Me neither.” Virgil tilted his head in a silent question, but Roman then shook his head. “Just one of those nights, I suppose.”

Virgil shuffled further up the couch and curled his legs, allowing space on the far side of the seat for the prince. Roman decided to bypass that spare space completely and flopped down along the couch.

A breathy oof huffed from Virgil, but he didn’t shove Roman off him. “I thought it was a well-known fact that I don’t like cuddling.”

Roman jolted, the first emotion aside from 'tiredly amused' crossing his face, and looked up in panic. “I— I just thought— I can go—”

Virgil shut him up by reaching up to cup the back of Roman’s head and pull the creative side back to his chest. “I’m teasing.”

Roman struggled against Virgil’s hands. He didn’t look convinced. “But... if you don’t feel comfortable—”

“You know that I’m okay with this,” Virgil interjected quietly. He was already scrolling his phone again.

“Yes, but— even with Patton, you don’t—”

“Good thing it’s not Patton stretching himself across me like an overgrown cat, then, isn’t it?” Virgil said.

Roman huffed with a chuckle, and Virgil felt him relax again. Virgil found himself absentmindedly carding his fingers through Roman’s hair as he kept his eyes on his phone.

Predictably, after recent events involving Thomas, the pair had gotten a great deal closer. Incidentally, they’d both drifted from the rest of the sides. Neither of them was fond of Janus, nor had Virgil found himself unwilling to be as affectionate with Patton as he was used to. The day Roman had staggered into his room, trembling, eyes brimming with tears, Virgil had decided he wasn’t too fond of anyone involved with causing the creative side pain.

(Himself, included. He’d been so relieved when Roman had ordered Thomas to attend the wedding. If he was feeling bold enough, some days he would consider the feeling breaching proud. But the aftermath of the wedding, the shouting, the lecturing, the— everything that had come with that redux... Virgil realised he hated himself just as much as he hated Janus.)

But then the creative side had chosen Virgil, over Patton, over Logan, over his own damn bedroom, to come to and trust and seek comfort, and Virgil privately decided to himself that he was never going to let anything hurt him again.

Roman had never questioned it, but he had never complained, either. In fact, he’d always seemed quite pleased whenever Virgil didn’t pull away from any affection Roman offered. And maybe it was guilt, the first few times Virgil plainly accepted a friendly nudge or cheeky hair-ruffle without a glare, but gradually he found he actually enjoyed being embraced, or poked in the ribs, or on occasions like the one currently, being used as a giant body pillow.

“It’s kind of unfair how comfortable you are,” Roman mumbled randomly into the silence.

Virgil moved his phone to raise an eyebrow down at the prince. “You’re lucky I haven’t booted your ass off, yet.”

“No,” Roman whined. “I am but humbly seeking your presence, a mere beggar searching for comfort—”

“Okay,” gently interrupted Virgil, “no poetry this early in the morning, Princey.”

“That wasn’t really poetry,” Roman mused. “It was kind of... fancy complaining.”

“You said it, not me,” Virgil said. He placed his phone down and entertained himself with playing with Roman’s unruly bed hair.

“I did,” Roman agreed sleepily. His eyes were already closed, his nose buried against Virgil’s chest. Against his wishes, Virgil’s own eyelids were beginning to droop.

Just a couple of hours, Virgil thought.

His last thought was figuring that it was the dead of night and he wouldn’t have to worry about any of the others seeing them until morning.

 Hours later, he startled awake to find a pair of dubious, mismatched eyes blinking down at him.

Virgil almost jolted so hard he feared he would’ve not only woken Roman up, but probably thrown him onto the floor, too.

“What the hell do you want,” he hissed. He would have been writhing and spitting like a furious cat if he wasn’t so conscious of waking up Roman, who was heavy across Virgil’s torso, inhaling breaths that were so deep they were almost snores.

Janus didn’t look impressed, nor even slightly intimidated. It was infuriating that he could guess Virgil wasn’t going to lunge at him if he said something Virgil didn’t like.

“I thought you didn’t like being cuddled,” Janus said, and he sounded far too damn amused.

“Maybe I just didn’t like you,” Virgil growled.

“Scathing as always, little spider,” Janus hummed.

Virgil bared his teeth. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Getting breakfast.”

“Ha-ha,” spat Virgil, “it’s not like it’s...” He looked around. Sunlight was trickling in through the window. The clock on the wall above him was reading... six o’clock?

Shit.

Roman was still snoring away, showing no sign of moving or waking. Virgil looked to the top of the staircase, wondering if he was going to see the rest of the sides traipsing down, ready to spot him and laugh.

“Relax.” Janus said it with a flippant flick of his wrist. Virgil felt another spike of irritation. He was surprised Roman hadn’t woken up from how tense Virgil had gotten beneath him. “I volunteered myself to make breakfast this morning. No one is going to be up for at least another hour or two.”

“Oh, good one,” Virgil said scathingly. “Enjoy telling 'helpful' lies, now?”

“Oh, goodness.” Janus ran a gloved hand down his face, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “It’s far too early.”

“What, to deal with me?” Virgil asked.

“Yes.” Janus said it so bluntly Virgil actually stopped, wondering what he was trying to achieve. “And to try and remind you, once again, that I don’t constantly speak in lies.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to trust everything you say,” Virgil snapped.

Janus sighed again, but he didn’t have a chance to say anything before a yawn interrupted both of them.

Virgil looked down, locking gazes guiltily with Roman.

“You guys argue awfully loud,” he rasped, voice scratchy with sleep. He yawned again, squinting, and stretched. He promptly buried his face back into Virgil’s shirt. “S’early.”

“It is,” Janus agreed. Virgil was almost ready to let it go and allow Janus to do what he wanted in the kitchen, but then he felt Roman go rigid at Janus’ voice. Virgil almost didn’t know why, but then remembered the way the creative side had sobbed, keeling in on himself in the middle of Virgil’s floor, wailing about the trial, and the wedding, and compliments and lies and smirks and mistakes—

And he remembered how Roman had escaped every room Janus had appeared in, and how he never looked Janus in the eyes, and Virgil’s arms tightened protectively around his prince. He glared up at Janus, who was watching Roman with round eyes. Virgil knew how perceptive he was. He wasn’t particularly sorry to see the stricken expression on the snake’s face.

But then Janus looked away and took a step back, and Virgil spotted his fingers tapping rapidly against his leg. It was a fidgeting habit that Virgil hardly ever saw; mostly because Janus was too proud to ever let anyone see him fidget.

Virgil didn’t know how he felt about that, but it must have been a show of something when he didn’t snipe at Janus again when he moved to the kitchen.

Instead, he focused on rubbing his hands up and down Roman’s back, feeling him slowly relax again, but from the way he gripped Virgil's shirt in tight fistfuls, he was far from calm.

Just Roman’s luck, that he was stuck with the side who was next to useless with affection.

Acting on instinct and impulse and the distant memory of Patton doing the same thing to Virgil himself in the aftermath of a particularly bad panic attack, Virgil moved to stroke Roman’s cheek with the back of his knuckles as gently as he could.

Roman startled and looked up at Virgil. He finally smiled, his eyes twinkling, and Virgil gave him a small smirk in return.

“Coffee, either of you?” Janus asked from the kitchen, followed by the sound of mugs clinking. His tone would have sounded pleasantly smooth to anyone else, but Virgil could hear the distant strain in his voice.

Virgil glanced down at Roman, who stretched (and he really did look like a cat, then) and shrugged. “We should probably get up for the day, anyway.”

Virgil wouldn't have considered getting anything from the snake, but if Roman was thinking about having a coffee...

“Two,” Virgil said to Janus, for Roman’s sake, because Virgil wasn’t about to ask Janus for anything if he could help it. “Cream and three sugars.”

Roman was busy sitting up and stretching his back, so he probably didn’t hear — or rather, feel — the sudden pause that came from the kitchen. Virgil didn’t look over his shoulder, but he did wait for Janus to say something, because he was obviously thinking something.

“I thought you liked your coffee straight black,” Janus said finally.

That was how Virgil liked his coffee, and although he was expecting Janus to remember, it was still a little startling to hear. He wasn’t about to do something stupid though, like say that out loud. “If you know how I like it, there shouldn’t be a problem, should there?” he said over his shoulder, instead, and felt vaguely like he was Logan instead of Virgil. That wasn't a very Virgil-like thing to say.

There was another pause before the sound of mugs moving water running resumed.

Virgil wondered about the exact moment when Janus realised that Virgil hadn’t ordered for himself and had assumed him to remember Virgil’s own preference as well.

The coffee was ready by the time the pair made it over to the dining table. Virgil eased himself into the seat carefully, rubbing the back of his neck. Falling asleep on the couch in that position, no matter how appealing in the moment, was not comfortable to wake up to.

Roman seemed to have no trouble with how he slept, looking content as ever to slouch in his chair (Virgil hoped he wasn’t passing on the habit) and sip at his drink.

Virgil hadn’t really believed Janus, but he was still startled when Logan walked down the stairs much before seven o'clock. He whirled to glare at Janus, who was still shuffling around in the kitchen.

“Thought you said no one else would be up,” he grumbled. Janus looked up and saw Logan. He looked startled.

“I... suppose I lied,” he said, but he sounded surprised. Virgil almost scowled, but he saw a hint of a smile at the corners of Roman’s mouth, and he was stunned into forgetting to be angry.

“Good morning,” Logan said. He looked a little weary at Janus’ presence, but then Roman grinned sunnily at him, and Virgil watched as his shoulders loosened slightly.

“Morning, Specs.”

Logan didn’t wait for Janus to offer him anything and instead went about making himself his own coffee. Virgil hid a smile. He wasn’t sure if he was oblivious to Janus trying to help, or making a point by ignoring him, but regardless it was still one of the things he loved about the logical side.

“Oh!”

Virgil winced at Patton’s voice from the landing of the staircase.

“I see everyone got up before me, for once!”

Virgil watched Roman out of the corner of his eye, and something twisted in his stomach when Roman’s smile dropped, and he went tense.

“Anyone have any preference for breakfast?” Patton asked as he crossed the living room.

“I was planning on making pancakes,” Janus said cautiously, and wasn’t that just a ridiculous image. “It seems to be the... family favourite.”

Patton practically beamed. “Good thinking!” He paused at the dinner table and grinned at Virgil and Roman. “Mornin’, kiddos.”

Virgil grunted in reply. Normally he’d make more of an effort for Patton, but something still didn’t sit right with him about the moral side. He sensed Patton’s crestfallen look but forced himself not to react. He kept his gaze on the dark surface of his coffee.

“Good morning, Patton,” Roman said quietly. Virgil looked up and thought he and Patton must have had matching astonished expressions.

Roman wasn’t rude (most of the time) — on purpose, at least — but Virgil couldn’t blame him for being hurt after... everything. He certainly hadn’t had an issue with the creative side being unusually quiet around Patton. Usually, he’d only smile — brittle and forced and so painfully fake — whenever Patton greeted him, and politely decline if Patton ever offered something.

This had to be the first time in... at least a few weeks where he greeted back. Objectively, Virgil figured this wasn’t and maybe shouldn’t be a big deal, but his damn heart seemed to think otherwise, swelling with... either pride or affection, or maybe both, because Roman did that to him.

Patton recovered quicker than Virgil and smiled gently down at the prince. “Can I get you guys anything?” he asked. Virgil shook his head slowly, but Roman hesitated.

“Um...” he said, and Patton tilted his head attentively. That seemed to be encouragement enough, because Roman said, “Chocolate chips in the pancakes?”

Logan sighed from the kitchen, but Patton clapped his hands together. “Oh, me too. I think it’s a chocolate day, today.”

“Patton,” said Logan, borderline petulantly, “you know how unhealthy that is for—”

“Hush.” Virgil’s eyebrows skyrocketed up his forehead when Janus waved Logan away with a smirk. “One day of chocolate chip pancakes is not going to be detrimental to our health.”

Patton clapped again, delighted. Logan rolled his eyes, grumbling something like, “taking Patton’s side, as usual.”

“Oh, you know you like chocolate chip,” Patton said as he bounced over to nudge the logical side unapologetically and throw his arms around Janus' shoulders. Virgil huffed in amusement and turned back to his coffee, but Roman caught his eye.

The prince was looking between the group in the kitchen and Virgil, gaze impossibly soft and warm. Meeting Virgil’s gaze, something akin to mischief flickered in his eyes. With a subtle twitch of his fingers, a pair of black-rimmed glasses, identical to Logan’s and Patton’s, appeared on his face, and he made a sulky expression.

Virgil, who had gone to take a sip and was only now realising Roman was imitating a grumpy Logan, snorted coffee from his nose.

Roman eyes almost popped out of their skull as he choked on his own laughter. There was snickering coming from the kitchen, but it was overridden by Patton’s scolding and Logan’s offended rebuttal.

“What’s all this?” Remus asked when he popped into existence atop the table. Virgil was too busy scrubbing at his nose and trying to wipe the coffee from the wood surface, so he didn’t bother with casting Remus any dark looks.

Roman, however, didn’t seem to have an issue with confronting his brother, as usual. He swatted at Remus, shoving him. “Get off the table, you hulking gremlin.”

“Are you guys snorting stuff without me?” Remus sounded genuinely offended as he tipped off the table and landed with a thump on his back, legs still cramped in the air like a dead cockroach.

“Not quite,” Virgil grumbled under his breath and he wiped the last of the coffee from his face.

“Shame,” Remus said, standing. He looked around, planting his hands on his hips. “You should live with a little excitement for once in your lives.”

“Remus,” Logan called from the kitchen, and Virgil waited for him to scold the dark creative side, but instead the next thing Logan said was, “Catch.”

Remus went rigid, his pupils blowing up as something was flung through the air. Remus lunged for it, caught it between his teeth like some kind of deranged dog, and landed in a crouch, sitting back on his haunches to gnaw at... was that raw meat?

Virgil looked at Logan in horror. The logical side looked merely bemused as he shrugged in response. “I’ve found he enjoys steak.”

“Raw?” Virgil uttered.

Logan peered curiously over at Virgil. “How else?”

Roman choked on his own laughter for a second time, and Virgil wouldn’t be able to hide his smile even if he tried.

So, Patton and Janus continued to maneuver around each other to make breakfast, Logan talked with Remus who had to speak awkwardly around the chunks of meat he tore into, and Roman and Virgil shot amused grins at each other.

And, as strange of a life as it was, life nonetheless in the mindscape continued.

#sanders sides #prinxiety #moceit #intrulogical #roman sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #long post #(kind of) #angst #fluff #cross-posted on ao3 #tw: mentions of manipulation #domestic fluff #cuddling

[omnivorousshipper]

Ah hello Omni! I have a request! Can we have the Shaw siblings and the subtle (or not so subtle) aftermaths and effects of their childhood trauma (and adulthood trauma). Thank you! 😘

I've been biting at the bit to write this one up friend!! I have so many ideas for it, just bear with me!

Warning: implied child abuse, flashbacks pertaining images of child abuse

~~~

Deckard kept his breath even and his eyes closed as he listened to his own heartbeat on the monitor next to him. He could feel his skin itching close to the needle stuck in the back of his hand, but knew better than to scratch at it

He purposely ignored the way his ribs screamed in pain every time he moved even slightly. Or how his foot was raised up on several pillows and a thick cast wrapped around his ankle

It had been a stupid mistake. He didn't see a grenade coming towards him in time and had been thrown off a small ledge. He was lucky to not be struck by any depris

But not lucky enough not to get hurt

With his eyes closed and mind elsewhere, Deckard didn't hear the heavy footsteps coming closer and closer to his room until the door banged open and made Deckard's eyes fly open

"What the fuck did you think you were doing?" Luke Hobbs growled at him. He barred his teeth in anger and stormed up to Deckard

Before the Brit had any time to respond, Luke continued

"I turn my back for one second and you can't even keep yourself from doing the most stupid shit I've ever seen!" Luke shouted, standing over Deckard. "The next time I yell 'grenade' you fucking listen to me, Shaw! Do you understand?"

Deckard stared up at him, face blank as he nodded his head the slightest amount

"See that you don't, princess." Luke barked at him before storming out of the room and slamming the door shut

Deckard could only stare after him

While Luke probably didn't notice the heart monitor going crazy, Deckard most certainly did and tried to calm himself down before any nurse could come rushing in

Blood rushed in Deckard's ears as he tried to take calming breathes but they came shaking and brought a small sob from his lips. His hands shook more than he remembered them doing so in a decade and didn't stop no matter what he did

While the nurses only heard Luke's shouted words, all Deckard heard was his father's words

Closing his eyes, Deckard could feel tears falling down his cheeks

---

Roman could sleep through almost anything. Including the loud thunderstorm that was rolling through Miami that night. He was firmly wrapped around Owen, his chest covering the Brit's back. Face shoved securely in Owen's hair, Roman slept like a baby

Before being violently woken up by Owen sitting up straight

Roman jerked harshly and flung his arms out as a loud crash of thunder shook the walls and made Owen jump even harder

As the rolling thunder trailed off, Roman could hear Owen's heavy breathing in the dark

"Oh? You ok?" Roman whispered and moved closer, but didn't dare put his hand on the other man, no matter how much he wanted to comfort him. He knew better than startle him

"Y-yeah." Came Owen's shaky reply

Frowning, Roman watching him, but couldn't see much in the darkness. Owen's breathing wasn't calming down as quickly as he'd like

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Owen..."

Owen shook his head

"Thunder reminds me when one of my units got bombed when I was in the military." He whispered

Roman felt his heart shatter

"I'm so sorry, Oh."

Owen nodded and took a shaky breath

"Can we sleep?"

"Yeah."

Settling back down, Roman lifted his arm as Owen snuggled into his chest and shoved his head beneath Roman's chin. Holding him close, Roman rubbed Owen's back in comfort

But Owen was stiff as he kept his eyes open, lost in thought

He didn't tell Roman that the thunder also sounded like the gun his father used to own and would point at him as a child

---

Closing the door, Hattie carefully juggled the boxes of pizza and breadsticks as she went back into her apartment

She smiled as she saw Ramsey cracking open two beers and placing them on the coffee table. The TV was ready to go with their choice of movie that night, Little Shop of Horrors

"You said this place was good?" Ramsey asked as Hattie started to place the boxes down

"Best place on this side of London." Hattie flashed her a smile, not looking where she put the boxes

Suddenly, there was a thud as one of the beer bottles went crashing to the floor and spilling everywhere

"Oh shit!" Ramsey yelped as beer splashed all over her feet. "Where are your paper towels?"

As she looked over at Hattie, she found her as pale as a ghost and frozen to the spot

"Hatts?" Ramsey called out gently, but she didn't move

Hattie's eyes were stuck on the fallen beer that was still gushing out the contents. Standing, Ramsey moved closer to Hattie and saw her hands shaking

"Hattie? What's wrong?"

"N-nothing!" Hattie blurted and jerked in place. "Let me clean this up."

"Ok, but-" before Ramsey could continue, Hattie had bolted off and towards the kitchen. Ramsey frowned after her

Hattie nearly collided with the kitchen counter as her breath came short and ragged. Frantically, she looked down at her hands and saw the small scarring on the back of them

She could clearly hear her father screaming at her and demanding she be punished. She could practically feel the latex gloves he would shove onto her hands and force her to wear for an hour or more. She could remember the burning and itching sensation that ran up her arms as she was forced to sit in the puddle of beer she had knocked over by accident

"Hattie?"

"Coming!" Hattie yelled back, hoping her voice wasn't shaking. Grabbing the paper towel, Hattie went back into the living room

---

Leaning against a wall, Deckard kept his eyes narrowed as he watched a nurse walk up to Owen and brandishing a needle

Deckard flexed his arm without thinking and could feel the soreness from where he had already been stuck by a needle

He and his siblings had been sent out by Mr. Nobody to track down an international criminal, but had ended up being ambushed. The guy had sent a canister at them, leaving them in a cloud of unidentified gas

Now, they needed to know if they had been poisoned

Meaning they needed to have their blood drawn

Which Deckard could see that both Owen and Hattie were about to refuse

Hattie was sitting next to Owen, his hand tightly squeezing hers as they both kept their eyes on the nurse

Deckard wanted to tell them that nothing was going to happen, but he knew they wouldn't believe him. Not when he had said the same thing years ago and had been wrong

He knew exactly what was going through their minds when they saw a needle

They were questioning whether they would be forced to sleep if the needed touched them

Deckard had been nine when their mother had first brought home her needles. She had shown them to her children, stating that if they misbehaved while she had an important meeting, she'd make sure they were quiet

Owen, the poor rowdy six year old, had found out the hard way

The needles were filled with strong sedatives that had left Owen unconscious for almost a day

Deckard was sure their mother had killed him

But he had woken up, shaking and sobbing

It wasn't the last time their mother would use tranquilizers on them when they misbehaved. The last time being only half a year ago when Hattie had accidentally screwed up a job their mother had been pulling

Pushing himself off the wall, Deckard dragged a chair up next to Owen and sat on his other side

"Just let 'em take your blood, and we'll get out of here." Deckard said quietly, looking between his siblings

Neither looked remotely comforted

~~~

I hope you enjoyed friend!

#deckard shaw #owen shaw #hattie shaw #luke hobbs #roman pearce #shobbs #rowen #dad shaw #magdelene shaw #asks #tw child abuse #omni writes #omni answers

[the-sympathetic-villain]

You Belong With Me - Chapter 23

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description:  Much to his surprise, after being released from prison for a crime he  didn’t commit, Logan has been appointed as a the prince’s new advisor.  

Word Count: 4340

Anxiety, Angst, Minor Injuries, Restraints, Imprisonment, Sleeping Medication, Flirting/Romance (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Author’s note: You guys can have one extra chapter today...as a treat <3

-

    Logan collapsed on Roman's bed and buried his face into the pillows, barely resisting the urge to scream until his voice stopped working. He could feel his breath quickening as he considered the situation, curling into the pile of pillows around him

    What was I thinking?

    He cringed, defeated.

    Well, that was the crux of the issue. Wasn’t it?

     I wasn't thinking.

    He'd let his careful guard down for one night and his world had been upturned. Roman had been kind to him. He'd carefully prepared a outing for Logan and had pulled all the stops to ensure that Logan had enjoyed himself. After Remus had made to feel worthless, Roman made him feel special and that was all it took to pull Logan into playing a dangerous game with the prince's heart.

    Roman had stared at him with those adoring, brown eyes and he'd made him feel like he was the center of the universe. Truly, there should have been no surprise that he'd given in so easily. Roman had confessed his interest in him and all rational thought had gone out the window. His skin had tingled pleasantly and he’d barely been able to register Roman's words past that point. Logically, he knew Roman's concerns were valid and it was essential for him to consider the situation more thoroughly before rushing into any decision. He should have considered the consequences before he'd kissed him, but in that moment, all he'd been able to focus on was Roman's soft-looking lips and the gentle smile face.

   Damn it.

   Logan’s heart raced as his thoughts spiraled. He was on the verge of a full-blown panic, but he forced himself to take deep breathes, counting like Virgil had taught him. The process was slow to stop his escalating his anxiety, but slowly, he managed to calm himself down and distract himself with less distressing thoughts. He lost himself, starting to think back to his first true meeting with the prince.

    He started to think about when Roman had come to release him from his cell.

-

    Logan was staring vacantly at the wall in front of him, forcing himself to stay awake until movement outside of his the metal doors of his cell pulled him from his thoughts. The heavy cuffs pulled at his sore wrists as he turned his head toward the sound. The sound sent a small jolt of adrenaline through his body. He was awake now, listening carefully for the sounds of someone approaching. To his dismay, a moment later, he heard metal brush against metal as the main doors opened and voices echoed in the hallway. He bit his lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood as he clenched his eyes shut.

    Please.

    Not again.

    Logan pleaded with whatever gods may be listening inside his own head to spare him from what was coming as he stood quietly and started to move. He lifted his chains and silently moved to the end of the old, lumpy cot on which he'd been sitting, staying as far out of sight of the cell door as possible.

    It's the middle of the day.

    Fucking leave me alone, you bastard.

    His heart stopped in his chest and he stifled a whimper at the sound of his cell door opening.

    Please, I’ll do anything.

    Turn around and go.

    He pulled his knees in closer, making himself appear smaller as footsteps continued to approach. He felt his breath stop as the figure came into view and he couldn't he but blink in shock. Relief briefly washed over Logan as he realized that at the very least, it wasn't Remus, but his moment of reprieve quickly soured as the figure stared down at him. Submissively, he hung his head, hoping to draw less attention to himself.

    Logan recognized the figure leading them as the prince, who was followed closely two guards at his shoulder. His skin prickled at the thought of being so greatly outnumbered. He dropped his head lower and avoided eye contact, hoping they would simply lose interest. To his relief, Logan vaguely registered the prince's voice as he quietly sent the guards away. But still, he didn't look up, clenching his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

    Please.

    Just leave me alone.

-

    Looking down at the man before him, Roman’s heart sank. His was covered in layers of grime and dirt and he was clearly distressed by Roman's presence in his cell with him. He exhaled slowly, trying to mellow his own indignation as he looked at condition of the stranger’s face. Despite the thick layers or grime, it was apparent that dark bruises lined the man's face and his face was swollen from lack of proper treatment. Roman sighed. His heart suddenly felt heavy with grief of how this man had suffered for him.

    Roman took a step away from him slowly and slid down to the ground against the wall opposite the man. He desperately hoped this made him seem less threatening. He saw the man's gaze follow him nervously as he sat down but he'd immediately looked back to the ground once he'd noticed Roman watching him.

    “Your name is Logan, right?” Roman spoke softly, trying not to startle him.

    There was no response from the man as he continued to stare at the ground. Roman's heart ached at the slight tremble in the man's frame.

    “Please, I won't hur—”

    “Yes, sir. My name is Logan.”

    Roman stared at him for a moment, taken aback. The response had come a little too quick and strained and it was clear the man feared repercussions for not complying. Roman bit the inside of his lip and continued to speak softly. “Right, well, I do believe I owe you my thanks. I hear that if it weren’t for your brave actions a few days ago, I quite likely would be dead.”

    Logan didn’t move, his body tensed as Roman spoke.

    He kept talking, hoping Logan might relax . “I'm apologize that you been as long as you have, Logan. It's not right that you were held even after you saved me. As soon as everything was explained to me, I tried to give the order for you to be released. Unfortunately, my decision was overruled and I was in no position to bargain on your behalf.”

    Roman almost continued but this time, Logan spoke up. His voice was hoarse and strained.

     “They wanted ensure there was no deception before they released me." Logan muttered flatly. He sounded numb to his own words. "The decision reached me eventually, sir. Fortunately, the news reached me before the executioner did.”

   Roman watched Logan shudder. He sighed. “I am sorry you had to endure any of that unnecessary stress. You should never have been treated like a criminal.”

    Logan glanced up at him for a moment and Roman could see surprise in his eyes. “Logan? May I ask you something?”

     Fear clouded Logan's vision once more and he hung his head. “Of course, your highness.”

    “There is no need for formalities. You may call me Roman.” Roman paused, cautious. “Your life has value, Logan, and I don't want to treat you as any lesser than myself.”

    Logan snorted.

    Roman watched as Logan seemed to realized his mistake. His eyes shot to the ground and he seemed to tense even more than before. Roman sighed, pressing forward. “Why did you do it, Logan?”

    “To what are you referring, sir?” Logan asked, pulling his legs closer. His voice was shaking.

    Roman sighed, speaking softly. “You escaped the dungeons, Logan. You could easily have fled the castle. Why did you save me?”

    “I wouldn’t have made it far.” He sounded defeated. The cuffs around his wrists jingled together as he pulled them to his chest.

    “You moved through the halls completely undetected for hours while the castle were on high alert to find the supplies you needed to craft the cure. To do so while evading capture of my entire guard is a near impossible feat.” Roman paused, watching as Logan sunk back into the wall behind him. “You weren't even caught because of your own mistakes. You were caught because you were out in the open inside my infirmary room. Which was heavily guarded, by the way. Even now, no one's figured out how you got in there without being spotted. It's hard for me to believe that you thought you couldn’t have made it out of the castle.”

    Logan shrugged again, looking down at his feet.

    “You must have wanted something out of this, Logan. What was it?”

    “Truly, I expected nothing in return.” Logan absentmindedly traced his finger in the dirt on the ground. “If anything, I expected to be killed on the spot.”

    “Why then?” Roman pressed. “If you only expected to die, what was the point?”

    Logan's body was shaking but he gave no response.

    “Logan—” Roman pushed.

    “Listen, in every scenario I crafted in my head, I was certain I was going to end up dead. I simply didn't see why you had to die too.” Logan cut him off loudly, his voice cracking. “I simply took the only chance I saw that resulted in one of us surviving.”

    Immediately, Logan seemed to regret his outburst. He retreated closer into himself, curling his arms tight around his legs. He almost seemed like he was bracing himself for Roman’s reaction, but Roman could only stared in stunned silence. After a long minute, he finally spoke softly. “You’re not going to die, Logan.”

    Defeated, Logan held up the shackles binding his hands. “As far as I’m concerned, it's still on the table.”

    Roman's heart sank as Logan's eyes glistened with unshed tears. He leaned forward slightly, smiling encouragingly at Logan. “Logan, I'm going to reach into my pocket and grab the key to your shackles. There's nothing to be afraid of as I do so. Okay?”

    Logan paused and nodded at him suspiciously.

    Roman smiled faintly and reached down to pull a small bronze key out of pocket. He held it up for Logan to see. “If you’re okay with me approaching, I will take those off.”

    Logan looked up at him cautiously, as if trying to gauge the truthfulness of Roman's words.

    “I can also slide the key to you, if that would make you more comfortable.” Roman paused, feeling guilty. “I swear I would have taken them off immediately, but—”

    “But you were afraid I might escape—” Logan swallowed, looking away despondently. “—or that I might hurt you.”

    Roman raised an eyebrow. “No, Logan. You’re clearly shaken and I didn’t want to frighten you by immediately stepping into your space.”

    Logan looked up at the prince, cautiously processing the words. His glance eventually fell on the key in Roman's hand.

    “There's no catch. I tried to have you released days ago.” Roman's smiled encouragingly. “The door's open, Logan. There's nothing keeping you here any longer.”

    Logan raised an eyebrow and leaned forward around the cot next to him to see the door hanging open. Surprised, Logan slowly turned to look back at Roman, suddenly not breaking eye contact.

    “Alright.” Logan held out his wrists. “Please, sir. Take them off.”

    Roman nodded and slowly made his way across the room, careful not to loom over Logan. He gently held underneath Logan's binds, holding them still as he slipped the key into the shackles’ locks. He frowned seeing the bruises around Logan's wrists. The skin looked like it had been rubbed raw the bruises gave way to irritated, red welts.

    “That doesn't look good.” Roman commented as he unlocked the binds on his other wrist.

    Logan pulled his arms back, crossing them and hiding his wrists. Logan looked away. “I suspect I had a mild allergic reaction to the metal. It should abate once they’re off.”

    “I'm so sorry.” Roman looked at him sympathetically. He paused briefly as he unlocked the other cuff, gently setting them off to the side. “Logan, I know you must be anxious to get out of here but—”

    Logan tensed, closing his eyes.

    “—I'd like to ask you to join me for a walk. There is more I would like to discuss with you, if you’ll have me.”

    Logan paused, looking up at him in shock. “That's all you want?”

    “Nothing more. You have my word,” Roman smiled encouragingly at him. “and you can say no, if you like. You’re not a prisoner anymore.” Roman offered Logan a hand up.

    Logan hesitantly took the prince's hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. He staggered slightly but the prince caught him.

    “Careful there. Are you okay?” Roman asked.

    “I'm fine. I simply got dizzy.” He pulled away from the prince’s grasp, leaning against the wall. He looked away, guiltily. “I haven't been sleeping well lately.”

    “No, I suppose not.” Roman said, glancing at the uncomfortable looking cot.

    “I'm fine. Can we go, sire?” Logan muttered, avoiding eye contact once again.

    “Of course, but please let me know if you need assistance.” Roman frowned at Logan's return to addressing him formally. With a sad smile, he stepped out of the way and gestured for Logan to lead the way.

-

    A few minutes later, Logan stepped out into the castle courtyard, nearly blinded by the sunlight. He paused, squinting.

    “I’m sorry, Logan. It's been raining for days. I didn’t think it would be so bright.” Roman offered, noticing his discomfort. "We can walk inside, if you would prefer."

    “Please,” Logan’s cheeks burned with shame. “If you'll allow me, I'd prefer the courtyard. I h-haven't felt the sun in days. I only needed a moment to adjust, sir.”

    Roman smiled and nodded and they walked down the path in silence for a while. Logan didn’t mind all that much at first. He hadn't had a chance to stretch his muscles like this in a long time and the warmth of the sun felt good on his skin. Eventually though, he started to notice that his appearance was attracting odd looks. He kept his head down, finding himself walking nearer to the prince in an attempt to avoid the malevolent gazes.

    He knew he shouldn't be surprised. He couldn't imagine how he looked walking next to the pristine and elegantly dressed prince.

    “People are staring.” He observed, trying to appear nonchalant as he glanced nervously up at the prince. He folded his arms over his chest, trying to hide the injuries on his arms.

    Roman didn’t even look up. “Let them stare. I couldn’t care less what they think.”

    Logan exhaled slowly, hesitating to speak. “So, is that what this is about, your highness?”

    “What?” Roman looked over at him, confused.

    “Are you parading me around to prove your not a judgmental ruler? Is this all some ploy for political favor?”

   “What?" Roman looked up from his daze, appearing genuinely confused. “Of course not. What made you think that?”

    "You asked me to accompany you on a walk and you haven’t made a point to say anything to me." Logan hung his head, rubbing at his sore wrists “From what information you've given me, I have to conclude that parading me around the castle was the point of this outing.”

    I’m sorry, Logan. I see what you mean now." Roman glanced around at the crowds passing them by. “But, no. That was not why I asked you here. I simply got lost in my own thoughts and forgot to speak."

    “About what are you thinking, my prince?” Logan prompted nervously. Internally, he cursed his own tongue, but he had to know. The suspense was killing him.

    “To be honest, I wasn't sure what would come of our conversation until I met you.” Roman paused. “But in light of our conversation, I'm certain this is the right decision.”

    “What decision?” Logan looked over at him anxiously. His heart rate picked up as anxiety built up in his chest. He glanced around at the thinning crowd around them. Only now that the prince had made such an ominous statement did it seem like few people were paying him any attention. He tensed, glancing around the courtyard for help.

    “I'd like to offer you a job.”

    “A what?” Logan stopped walking, staring at him incredulously.

    Roman smiled at him, amused. “You didn’t mishear me. I would like you to come work for me.”

    “Why?” Logan managed to spit out in shock.

    “You're clearly intelligent beyond your means. Despite extremely limited resources, you managed to do something no one else was capable of. Not to mention, your intentions seemed to be purely selfless.”

    Logan stared at him dumbfounded. “What if I was lying?”

    “I'd be able to tell. You are clearly not a practiced liar." Roman smirked knowingly at him, gesturing for him to continue following him. “Besides, if you were deviously plotting against me, I doubt you'd try so adamantly to convince me not to trust you.”

    Logan thought for a moment, absentmindedly rubbing his wrists as he continued to follow the prince. “What type of job?”

    “I would like to appoint you as my personal advisor.” Roman smiled.

    Logan was quiet, eyeing him nervously. “You’re not serious.”

    Roman stopped and turned to look at Logan. “Dead serious.”

    “Y-you just met me.” Logan stuttered, staring at him. “Less than a week ago, I was to be executed for your murder.”

    “I think we've established that you did not make an attempt on my life, Logan. If anything, I owe you a debt for choosing to save me, rather than yourself.” Roman shrugged. “What can I say? I have to trust my instincts on such matters.”

    “You're instincts put you in the infirmary for a week—” Logan paused biting his lip as he gauged Roman's reaction. When Roman merely smiled, tension released from his body. He suddenly felt tired. "I have no formal education or training."

    Roman tilted his head in confusion, slowing his own pace. “Honestly, I'm a little surprised you don't have a formal education. You’re impressively well-spoken for someone who's self-taught.” Roman shrugged and continued walking. “Either way, I have no doubt you'll learn quickly.”

    Logan scrambled to catch up. “But—”

    Roman interrupted him, holding a hand up. “You can turn this down, Logan. I want to be clear. If you don't want the job, you can simply say no.”

   “It's not that.” Logan paused, looking at him. “I…I want it, but I can’t help but feel you’re making a mistake.”

    “I think you'll find it to be a good fit, Logan, and if it’s a mistake, that's my problem, not yours.” Roman smiled slyly at him. “I'm not worried though.”

    “When do I start?” Logan asked numbly. This was very much not how he'd expected this conversation to go.

    “The title is effective immediately but you don't have to start right away. You can take a few weeks to recover and then we can gradually work you into the job. I’d start with you accompanying me to meetings and doing some basic planning and research and then we'll just add things as you get comfortable.”

    “Okay.” Shock was starting to settle over Logan. He felt numb.

    Roman continued unaware. “You'll be given quarters in the tower, access to the castle's resources and as for pay I'm thinking starting at about fifty gold pieces.”

    Logan’s jaw dropped. “A month?”

    Roman raised an eyebrow and laughed at him. “Every week, Logan.”

    “What?” Logan stopped, stunned. “Are you sure?”

    “I wouldn’t offer, if I wasn’t sure.” Roman smiled.

    “I can't possibly accept that.” Logan pleaded.

    “That's nearly the base for this position,  and I'm not paying you for less than you’re worth.”

    “I can't…I can't believe this is happening.”

    “It is happening. Trust me.” Roman stopped in front of the tower. “So, that is your final answer? You will accept my offer?”

    Logan considered for a moment and then nodded. “I accept your offer, Prince Roman.”

    “Just Roman, please.” Roman smiled patiently. “Truly, I can't stand the formalities.”

    Logan smiled weakly and nodded.

    “Good, Logan. I'm glad to have you on board, and if that's settled, I do need to get back to my work. I've arranged for a courier to take you around the castle. They’ll take you around to the bathhouse, ensure you get fed and get you fitted for your new work attire. They'll also show you to your new room later tonight.” Roman paused, looking up at him guiltily. “I’d normally show you myself but as you can imagine, everything is in chaos with me being out of commission for over a week. Not to mention the extra security measures that have to be taken as a result of what happened.”

    “After everything else, I believe I can handle this.” Logan paused, his cheeks burning. “I appreciate all your efforts…and this opportunity. Thank you.”

    “You’re very welcome, Logan.” Roman reached out and touched Logan's shoulder. “Let's get you settled, okay?”

    “Okay.” Logan smiled, appreciative of the prince's simple comforting touch.

-

    Laid down in Roman’s bed, Logan contemplated his newfound dilemma. Thoughts bounced around loudly in his head making sleep impossible. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Objectively, he knew he shouldn’t even consider getting involved with Roman.  He knew it was guaranteed heartbreak.

    But his lips tasted so—

     Logan shook his head, trying to clear his head. It made no sense. They could never be open about their relationship. Certainly, suitors would continue to court Roman. Eventually, he would have to marry someone else. There was no happy ending for down that path. He knew that.

    But the way he blushed—

    Logan shivered and rolled onto his side. He'd only known Roman for a few weeks. He hadn’t even decided if he trusted him fully. He'd seen Roman lie to Remus. His ability to hide his true feelings had unnerved him before.

    All of this could be an act.

    Logan sighed, rolling onto his back. Somehow, he knew that Roman wasn't lying to him. He wasn’t cruel.

    He wasn’t his brother.

    Logan clenched his fists.

    You don't deserve him.

    Logan's heart ached.  He took a deep breath, trying to keep his darker thoughts at bay. He knew he should take Patton’s poultice soon before he drifted off on his own. He just couldn’t get comfortable. His thoughts had started to pick away at him.

    It's never going to last.

    Logan sat up abruptly, sighing in frustration. He swung his head over the edge of the bed.

    He'll get bored with you.

    Jumping off and walked over to the door, he grabbed the door handle. He hesitated.

    Give up.

    He pulled back from the door, turning around. Anxiously, he paced back and forth across the room.

    This is insanity.

    Finally, he walked over and to the bedside table where Patton’s poultice sat. Opening the container, he slipped two spoons of the poultice in his mouth, recoiling at the taste. An eternity passed in the next minute, but finally, Logan swallowed and sighed nervously.

    Now if anything goes wrong, I'll just pass out.

    He went over to the door, pulling it open slowly. The main room was dark. Roman had closed the curtains and the fire had dimmed to glowing embers. He glanced around for a moment before quietly darting across the room, his bare feet cold on the stone floor.

    Logan found himself standing over Roman, watching quietly as the man slept below him. Logan's own eyes started to droop at the comfortable sight and he almost chuckled out loud. Roman had a beautiful smile even as he snored. He knelt down by the prince's head, yawning. He reached over and pushed the prince’s hair out of his eyes.  Roman's stirred for a second before abruptly pulling back, startled by Logan's dark silhouette.

    “Relax, Roman. It's only me.” Logan whispered, grabbing Roman's hand.

    Logan saw Roman relax slightly, laying his head back down on his pillow. Logan thought he could see Roman smirk at him in the dark. “Lo, what are you doing still awake?”

    Logan yawned and smiled down at him. He looked down to where his fingers interlaced with Roman's. “I was having trouble sleeping.”

    Roman leaned up on his elbow, looking at Logan with concern. “Oh Lo. I'm sorry. Is it what I said?”

    Logan yawned. His cheeks felt warm and Logan was suddenly glad it was dark. “It's related.”

    Roman sat up all the way this time, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch. He still held Logan's hand, resting it in his lap. “Can I do anything to help, Lo?”

    "I—" Logan smiled shyly in the dark. He could just make Roman's face out in the dim lighting. "I don't want to sleep alone, Roman.”

    Roman looked at him quietly for a moment. After a moment, he spoke softly. “Really, Lo?”

    Logan nodded nervously.

    “Okay, then.” Roman smiled faintly in surprise. “I don't think I have it in me to deny your request.”

    "I don't know what this means." Logan clarified nervously. "I haven't thought things through yet."

    "You don't have to." Roman smiled at him patiently. "If in the morning you change your mind, that's fine too."

    Logan smiled, squeezing Roman's hand as he pulled him up off the couch. He led the prince back to his own room, letting Roman's hand drop as he slid onto the bed. He turned around as Roman climbed up behind him.

    Logan reached over and grabbed the collar of Roman's silk pajamas pulling him close underneath the blankets. He could feel Roman’s breath in his hair.

     “You continue to surprise me, Lo.” Roman whispered in Logan's ears.

     “Good.” Logan yawned, cuddling close to Roman’s warm body. His mind was finally quiet as he started to drift off, breathing in rhythm with the rise and fall of Roman’s chest.

    “Good night, love.” Roman ran his fingers through Logan's hair, pushing it out of his eyes.

     Logan shivered, pleasantly.  “Night, Ro.”

-

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff

You Belong With Me Taglist:

@cas-is-a-hunter @insert-cool-blogname @ironwoman359 @i-know-im-smart @imbadatnames8d @croftersphoenix @optimistic-violinist @chronicallynervouschild @croftersjam15 @actitus-hypoleucos @unbefuckinglieveable @justthatamount @eeveeeclair246 @taxicabinmemphis @dwbh888

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #ts logan #ts roman #logince #You Belong With Me #villain writes

[hetacon]

Much Ado About Remus

Word Count: 1,614

Pairings: Platonic Dukexiety, Prinxiety, Creativitwins, Implied Demus

Warning: Swearing, sexual jokes, Remus-like ideas, mention of tearing one’s heart out of their chest, kissing, Roman is an oblivious dumbass, Virgil is a pining dumbass, and Remus is a dumbass dumbass who loves his dumbass brother

______________________________

Summary: Remus and Virgil may not get along but the one thing they have in common is that they love Roman. Both in different ways, mind you, and Remus tries to help Virgil deal with his own affections. It’s definitely interesting to say the least.

______________________________

Virgil sat on the back of the couch, watching movies with the rest of the sides and Thomas. Tonight had been Virgil’s pick and of course, The Nightmare Before Christmas was currently on, Sally’s Song playing. He couldn’t help it as he stared at Roman from his little pillow throne, the dork.

“Hey Virgil!” he heard whisper shouted next to his ear.

Virgil shrieked as he fell backwards, landing painfully on the ground behind the couch. He saw Remus looming over him with wide eyes and an excited smile.

“You alright kiddo?” Virgil heard Patton ask as the movie paused.

“Yeah yeah, keep watching, I’m fine!” he insisted quickly before glaring at Remus. “What the fuck do you need?”

“You want my brother to bone you?” Remus whispered excitedly, maybe a bit too much with the words he just spoke.

“What the fuck,” Virgil muttered. “What’s it to you?”

“You’re making goo-goo eyes at him, it’s disgusting. I want to help!”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “We’re not really friends you know. Why would you help me? Why would I accept it in any case?”

“Cause you have the hots for him and I can tell you’re a horny bitch about it too so why not!”

Virgil looked unamused and Remus pouted.

“He’s my brother,” Remus conceded. “Even if he’s sometimes kinda boring, I still want him to be happy and he’s a doofus who can’t see what’s two feet in front of him.”

With a sigh, Virgil looked up at him. “What would you know about romance?”

“I’ll have you know that I take two d’s every night like a good little boy!”

Virgil grimaced at that. “It’s a mystery why Deceit likes you.”

“Yes it is!”

“And again, why would I accept your help?”

“Because you maybe sorta actually still like me like the good old days?”

“No, I still despise you.”

“Eh, fair enough!”

_____

Somehow, Virgil found himself in Remus’ room, sitting on the one clutter-free part of the bed that Remus had cleared off for him. He watched as Remus sat across the room from him, smiling widely.

“Am I supposed to start? I wasn’t even going to tell him, you know,” Virgil said finally.

Remus snorted. “That’s why I’m helping! You’re just gonna fantasize about being his pretty little damsel in distress and boring romance shit like that if I don’t help. And then when I read your diary, it won’t be any fun-!”

Virgil’s head shot up. “You read my journal!?”

“So what better way to get you to stop being sappy and disgusting than by getting you laid?” Remus finished.

Virgil groaned, strongly tempted to hit his head against the wall. He managed to control himself enough to not do so, no easy feat for Remus’ room. “What do you suggest I do?”

“I was hoping you’d ask!” Remus said with a clap of his hands.

“That’s why I agreed to your help dumbass, it’s what you offered.”

“Shush, first idea! You go to his room, lie naked on his bed, and tell him to take you when he comes in!”

Virgil looked at Remus blankly.

“Scream at him to take you right where you stand!”

Still no good based on the look Virgil was sporting at it, even worse as another thought popped into his head.

“No? You could rip your heart out of your chest and give it to him as a symbol of your undying love!”

Remus only received an uncomfortable grimace. Closer but not quite.

“You’re so boring, mutilation and sex are fun!” Remus huffed out.

“I’m not tearing myself open or telling him to fuck me and you know it,” Virgil snapped. “Like, what does he like?”

“Lots of things! Adventure, saving damsels in distress from me, slaying dragon witches—that one’s my favorite, he makes it really gory—sour gummy worms, romance, swords, poetry, ceiling fans, sappy shit a lot of the time!”

“That was all just really random,” Virgil told him.

“Yep, that’s me!” Remus beamed. “But c’mon, it’s not that hard! Just tell him how horny and or sappy he makes you feel and then you can tell him to take you!”

“Alright, I’m leaving now,” Virgil said quickly, standing up.

“Suit yourself!”

“Er..” Virgil paused at the door, looking back to Remus. “Thanks.”

“For what?” Remus asked.

“Nothing, whatever.”

_____

Virgil held a piece of paper in his hand, looking at Remus with an unsure look. “Are you really sure I should do this? What if he doesn’t want to even talk to me anymore? What if he laughs at me!?” he shouted in Remus’ face, clinging to his shirt.

“If he doesn’t like you back, he’s clearly more stupid than I thought,” Remus told him.

Virgil looked at him for a second, blinking. “Wow.. That’s uh, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever-“

“Though to be fair, he’s just stupid in general so that’s not saying much!”

“You ruined it,” Virgil deadpanned, dropping him. He sighed as Remus only cackled on the floor.

“Enough enough,” Remus said, hitting Virgil’s ankle with his hand. “Go show him your disgustingly sappy poem!!”

Virgil took a deep breath and walked down the stairs to where Roman was on the couch, absentmindedly watching a Disney movie as he wrote ideas down on a notepad. Roman looked up to see Virgil holding a piece of lined paper in front of his face.

“What’s this?” Roman asked him, glancing up to see Virgil look away as he took it.

“Just read it before I pass out from embarrassment,” Virgil muttered to him.

Roman opened it up, reading it quietly to himself. He smiled. “It sounds nice, did you want my feedback on it, oh angsty one?” he asked.

Virgil never wanted to disappear more in his life and stupidly nodded, not willing to tell Roman the real reason for it. That was how he ended up sitting next to Roman on the couch, Roman telling him of things he liked about it, the meaning he gathered from it, ways to improve it should Virgil feel it needed to be.

_____

Virgil walked up the stairs in a daze and lied down on the floor in front of Remus. Remus snorted.

“I told ya, he’s dumb!” Remus sang out a little.

“I’m never going to do it, I’m never going to be able to confess to him, I’m going to be miserable for the rest of my life-“

“He’ll fuck you eventually!”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too~!”

_____

Attempt numbers 2 through 4 had failed miserably too and Virgil was close to giving up as Roman once again missed the point on attempt number 5. Heading towards his room, he grimaced to Remus again and Remus shrugged.

“He’s a dumbass you know, I didn’t think he was this stupid though! That’s usually my job if anything!”

Virgil thought about it for a moment before lighting up. “You’re right!” he shouted before hurrying to his room.

“Well geez, you didn’t have to agree with me,” Remus said but shrugged, sinking out.

_____

Virgil took a deep breath as he opened the front door, seeing Roman sitting on the porch. He held his guitar with a tense smile as Roman turned around and beamed at him.

“Hello my dark and stormy knight, how are you this fine evening?” Roman asked, stunning Virgil for a moment.

“Good, um, can I play something for you?” he asked, motioning to the acoustic guitar weakly.

Roman smiled more and scooted over on the doorstep, following Virgil’s gaze as he sat down.

Virgil gave a quick strum, tuning it a little to make sure it sounded ok. He strummed again, cursing as he dropped his pick.

He wasn’t even sure what he played as his nerves got to him. He knew he was playing, he knew he was singing, he knew that Roman was watching him.

He knew there was no turning back.

“I love you,” he heard himself say over the sound of blood rushing through his ears. It was a miracle it happened.

“Really? You mean that sincerely?” Roman asked.

Virgil only nodded before Roman was holding his chin up, asking his permission to kiss him. Virgil nodded once more and Roman’s lips were on his in seconds.

_____

“So, need another plan? I think I’ve got a good one this time!” Remus said as Virgil walked into his room.

Virgil sat on Remus’ bed, staring at the ground with probably the dumbest grin on his face. “I told him.”

“Without me? Ah, no fun!” Remus whined. “How’d you do it? Finally took my advice and ask for him to take you? Did he bang you?”

“I just- I just told him, just said I love him.”

“What? Boooooooring!”

Virgil laughed. “You said he couldn’t see what’s two feet in front of him so I just was upfront about it,” he said with a smile.

“Is it too late to go on the record and say this was a mistake? You’re sapping all over my bed!” Remus joked, only to be met with a pillow to the face as Virgil snorted.

“Shut up, God!!”

_____

“You’re welcome you know,” Remus grinned as he passed Roman in the hallway the next day.

______________________________

Taglist: @virgils-paranoia, @marshmallow-the-panda

#sanders sides #prinxiety #platonic dukexiety #creativitwins #virgil sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #implied dukeceit #stan writing

[theatresweetheart]

Dad Against the Darkness

Set in the same verse as this!

Summary: Being a father is a lot of responsibility, being a new father even more so. When Virgil wakes with a nightmare in the middle of the night, Roman is right there with him.

Warnings: Crying, nightmare mention, mention of an absent father, slight angst (like the tiniest bit).

Pairings: Parental/Familial Prinxiety, Mentioned Brotherly Creativitwins.

Word Count: 1968 words.

Taglist: @isle-of-gold

A/n: So, I’ve been having a lot of fun writing for this little verse and this has been an idea that’s been bouncing around my head for ages. So, I finally decided to sit down and right it out. It’s basically tooth-rotting fluff. It was a fun write! 

Enjoy!

                                         — — — — — —

Waking up in the middle of the night to a scream was enough to raise goosebumps on anyone’s arms. To scare the daylights out of anyone that was unfortunate enough to hear it.

Roman shot bolt upright in his bed, eyes blurred as he tried to blink the sleep from them.

If he still lived alone, then he would have been far more alarmed then he was, but he had just recently brought a young boy into his home. Relaxing slightly at the reminder that this wasn’t just some haunting nightmare, he allowed his eyes to flutter shut sleepily again.

Only to shoot wide open again as he pieced the puzzle together.

Oh god.

Virgil.

Throwing the comforter off of him, he tugged his night shirt down and fixed his sweatpants so they sat more comfortably around his waist before he pushed the door open.

The hallway was coated in a thick inky darkness and he blinked the white spots from his eyes as he had gotten up far too fast. He could hear the sobs more clearly now that there was nothing but a single door separating them as they echoed down the hall.

Heart twisting at the heartbreaking sound, Roman wasted no time at all to push Virgil’s door open and scan the room. He could still hear his blood rushing in his ears from the scare. However, he heard another cry at his entrance and Roman winced after realizing his mistake.

Opening the door without any warning in the middle of the night after having a nightmare would be frightening.

Yikes. Don’t just burst into his room unannounced. Remember that for next time.

His eyes then found Virgil’s form curled up in the middle of the bed, tangled in a dark purple comforter and shivering. The blanket itself seemed to be thrown around the bed in a what would-be escape attempt. Virgil’s hands were clasped against his mouth as wide teary eyes flashed in the slight light creeping in through the break in his heavy blinds.

Roman stood in the doorway for a moment, dumbstruck and his mind running through different ways of helping. He hadn’t had to help Virgil through something like this yet, so he was a bit clueless as to what would help and what would hurt.

“Virgil?” He tried, keeping his voice soft.

Virgil only shook his head, backing up and having his back hit the headboard of his bed. “M’sorry,”‌ he choked out, through heaving breaths and quivering sobs. “I did- didn’t mean to…”

“No, no, no, it’s okay,” Roman was quick to understand that the kid was about to apologize for waking him up, even if he didn’t mean to. Obviously. He wanted to stop that train of thought before it left the station. Though, judging by how terrified Virgil was, Roman was positive it was already long gone. “It’s okay, I’m not upset. Not in the slightest. Promise.”

Though, it seemed just verbal reassurances weren’t going to do anything, so the adult stepped a bit further into the bedroom and got close enough to sit on the edge of the bed. But he didn’t say anything just yet, almost unsure of what he should be saying. Did Virgil want verbal comfort? Physical comfort? To watch a movie downstairs, stay here?

He took a breath, chest aching as he listened to Virgil sniffle. Yearning to do nothing more than just reassure him that his dad was right there and that he wasn’t going anywhere. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Roman was answered with a hesitant but quick nod.

Taking that information, he bit his lower lip. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Virgil barely hesitated when it came to that. He shook his head.

“Okay, that’s okay,” Roman assured him, before cracking a tentative grin, “I usually don’t want to talk about my nightmares right after they happen either.” He ran a hand down his sweatpants before turning his attention back to Virgil. “Want to try and head back to bed?”

Virgil shook his head, his breathing seeming to pick up at the very idea of it.

“We can stay up for a bit.” Roman moved the slightest bit closer, not wanting to encroach on Virgil’s personal space but wanting to let him know that he was in reach if that’s what Virgil wanted. “Would you want to head down to the living room and watch something on the TV down there, or would you want to read a book in here?”

Virgil raised a hand, scrubbing at his eyes to try and clear the tears away, but they wouldn’t stop coming.

He looked so small and frail like that—curled up into himself and tucked as far against the headboard as he could get.

When Virgil blinked those big glassy heterochromia eyes back at him, he felt something stir in his abdomen.

It was like a parental instinct that was whispering to him.

It only took Roman a moment more to realize that Virgil didn’t want to talk anymore than he needed to. Which was completely fine!‌ Roman could definitely do most of the talking.

“Hm. Let’s do this instead. Watching a movie will be option one, and reading will be option two.” He paused for a moment, waiting to see if Virgil got it, before continuing. “You can just show me with your fingers which option you’d prefer.”

With a little hesitance, Virgil lifted two fingers.

“Option two it is.”

Roman moved to get up, when he was stopped. There was a hand latched onto his shirt and he turned slightly to see Virgil holding onto him. Eyes wide and watering and worried. 

“What’s up?” It was a bit odd, having the kid be so physical. Even if it wasn’t actual touching. Virgil kept his distance, stayed wrapped up in his hoodie and tried not to come in physical contact with him.

(Roman almost worried if it was something he had done to make Virgil worry about that sort of touch, when he had then recalled how the woman at the orphanage had mentioned how touch was a touchy (no pun intended) subject for Virgil.)

“…can we read in your room?”

The request was soft and Virgil’s voice was far from steady. Roman had an itching feeling they would probably go through another round or two of tears before everything was back to normal, but he would stay up to the break of dawn with Virgil if that’s what he needed.

It was what he had committed himself to do as his father.

To be a rock and a safe place when he needed comfort and a loving touch.

A picture of his own father flickered into his mind and Roman shook it off instantly, refusing to allow that thought to linger. Besides, Roman was already that much better a parent than his own had been.

“Of course we can,”‌ Roman’s expression softened further. “Did you have a book in mind?”

Virgil shook his head, releasing his hold on Roman’s shirt before fiddling with the end of his sleeve, hiccuping softly from time to time.

“That’s okay.” Roman pushed himself into a stand and looked back to the nine-year-old over his shoulder. He then tapped his chin in an exaggerated motion. “Besides, I think I‌ have an idea for one.”

“Re-really?”

“Really really,” he offered his hand out and he could see the hesitance on Virgil’s face clear as day.

Roman wanted to say something along the lines of ‘it’s okay, don’t worry’ but the words died in his throat when he felt his hand being grabbed. Virgil was shuffling over his bed to slip off the side and onto the floor. He let go quickly after he seemed to remember something and reached up onto the bed to grab for his spider plush.

“Charlotte,” Roman remarked, watching as Virgil’s teary eyes blinked up to meet his own, “a most valiant and brave companion.”

Virgil sniffled, grabbing Roman’s hand again after making sure Charlotte was close. The adult led the way out of the bedroom before closing Virgil’s door.

It was something his mother had done for him whenever he had had nightmares. Roman had always worried—when he was a child, of course—that if the door was left open, then the nightmare or the creatures from within the nightmare could come and get him. If the door was closed, the monsters were sealed inside while he was safe with his mama.

Remus had relentlessly teased him for that, but he wasn’t safe from that sort of ideal either. Whenever his twin had had nightmares, he actually ended up hiding under the bed as he felt more covered there. Mama usually had to coax Remus out of his hiding place.

Long story short, both twins had ample ammo to use against each other.

They got to his bedroom in no time and Virgil, after asking for explicit permission, clambered up onto his bed. Roman shut the door, keeping the spooks out there, before turning on his fairy lights. While, yes, it could be seen as childish, watching the wonder and awe flicker over Virgil’s face as the lights twinkled made every teasing remark from Remus worth it.

Virgil’s cheeks were flushed red and streaked with water, but his eyes weren’t as filled with fright anymore. He just seemed exhausted at this point.

Roman knelt over by his bookshelf, searching the titles for a specific book before finding it after a moment. He plucked it out and went back to bed. He crawled into it comfortably before settling against the headboard and setting up a few pillows behind his back to make the position more bearable for an extended period of time.

After he had found his place, he opened his arms to Virgil and he was far less hesitant to take him up on it.

Virgil snuggled up close to his side, Charlotte tucked protectively against himself as he rested his head on Roman’s chest.

Roman wrapped the boy closer to him, and just before he opened the book, he looked down to see Virgil’s eyes fluttering closed. Already the boy was so much more at peace and he relaxed a little further.

Opening the book to the first page, Roman cleared his throat quietly, and Virgil’s eyes tried to stay open long enough to actually see what they were about to read. Roman knew it would only take a few more minutes before the kid was out like a light.

“Ready, Virge?”

Virgil yawned, before snuggling closer and nodding his head sluggishly.

“Okay.”

Roman adjusted himself a little more, resting the book comfortably down and letting his free hand stroke through Virgil’s soft short locks. He ended up idly fiddling with some strands. Though, just before he read the first sentence, his eyes gazed down at the little boy curled up against him so trustingly. It made something warm light in his chest and he felt good.

Was this how his mother had felt, reading him and his brother to sleep?

It made pride swell somewhere deep within him; how Virgil felt safe enough to sleep beside him after waking with such a terrible nightmare.

Because right now, Roman felt nothing but an undying adoration for the child sleeping soundly against him.

Being a parent had to be the most rewarding feeling in the world.

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.” Roman started, keeping his voice soft, barely more than a resounding hum in his chest. He smiled softly, letting his hand continue to card through Virgil’s hair. “Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort…”

Goodnight, Virge. 

I’ll be right here.

Promise.

#Brook writes #Sanders Sides #TSSides #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Remus Sanders #ts Roman #ts Virgil #ts Remus #Platonic Prinxiety #Familial Prinxiety #Creativitwins #Child!Virgil #tw crying #tw nightmare mention #tw absent parent

[callboxkat]

Second Chances part 8: The Visit (2 of 2)

Author’s note: The second half is here! I hope you guys enjoy it! :)

Summary: Between some difficulty getting along with his coworkers and his quickly approaching visit with his parents, Roman has a lot on his mind. He can only hope that things will turn out well

Warnings: fear of being rejected, arguing, food mention, death mention, knife mention, injury mention, blood mention, Remus mention, accidental misgendering, some Spanish but not a lot

Word count: 7310

Second Chances Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

...

It was sunset by the time the bus pulled into its destination.

Roman stared out the window at the station as they approached, searching the small crowd for familiar faces. He wasn’t quite sure whether or not he wanted to find them.

As the bus came to a stop, Roman turned away from the window and slid Logan’s book back into the suitcase, zipped that shut, and picked it up. He waited for everyone ahead of him to file off of the bus, and then followed suit, clutching the flower pot to his chest.

His legs might have been shaking rather badly, but he did his best to ignore that fact.

His shoes hit the asphalt, and a cool wind ruffled his hair. He breathed in deeply and stepped up onto the curb, searching the crowd.

He thought he recognized a few people, people he’d perhaps gone to high school with or seen around town when he was younger; but it was entirely possible that he was simply feeling paranoid, like the earlier incident at the café.

He walked through the crowd, feeling very nervous and rather lost. As the seconds passed with no sign of his parents, he was beginning to think that maybe they had changed their minds, that maybe they had decided they didn’t want to see him after all, that maybe he’d made a mistake in thinking that he’d get to just see them again after lying to them and disappearing for so long.

And then he saw them.

They were about twenty feet away, watching what Roman realized was the wrong bus. Both of them had more gray hairs than Roman remembered, and his dad looked thinner, but it was them. It was really them. A rush of excitement went through his body… only to be instantly overwhelmed by fear.  

Roman stared at them, suddenly unable to move.

Just then, Roman’s mamá turned, and she saw him.

There was no anger on her face, only joy as she gasped, running for him.

Roman let out a laugh that may or may not have strongly resembled a sob, and jogged towards his parents before he could overthink things any more.

“Dad! Mamá!”

People were quick to get out of the way, even if they griped about it; and then she was hugging him; and she smelled just like the same combination of cinnamon and perfume that she always did; and Roman was crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” he said, needing to say it again, to their faces. His mamá shushed him, kissed him on either cheek, then just held his head between her hands, searching his face. Her eyes were filled with tears.

“Mijo,” she whispered. “Mijo, mijo, estás aquí.”

“I’m here,” he assured her, his voice breaking.

“Maybe we should go to the car,” Roman’s dad said, standing to the side. “We’re making a scene.”

Roman’s mamá sniffled, nodding. “Yes, yes, of course—you are right.” She pulled back from the hug slightly. “Oh, you are so thin….”

She reluctantly released him, but kept one of Roman’s hands in a firm grip as they made their way out of the crowd and away from the bus station.

“Oh—um, I got this for you.”

His mamá paused, apparently only then noticing the small, flowering plant that Roman had barely managed not to drop or allow to get squashed during their hug.

“For me?” she repeated.

Roman nodded.

“Thank you, mijo. Las flores son bonitas.”

“They’re forget-me-nots.”

“Oh, I would never forget you.”

Roman smiled, ducking his head slightly. “And Dad, I….” He fished a small box out of his pocket and handed it over. “This is for you.”

“I’ll open it in the car,” his dad promised, giving him a side-hug. They started walking again.

“We drove here together,” his mamá said. “We both wanted to ride back with you.”

Roman frowned, and he took only a few more steps before coming to a stop. “Why—why wouldn’t you have driven here together?”

His parents glanced at each other, and then back at him. His mamá reached up and rubbed his back.

“Roman,” his dad began, avoiding looking at either of them, “you have to understand, it’s been a long time since you left.”

Roman glanced between them. He realized he couldn’t feel the ring on his mamá’s finger where she gently rubbed his back. “Wait. No.” Please don’t let them say what I think they’re going to say.

His dad let out a long, weary sigh. “We got divorced two years ago.”

“We wanted to tell you in person, cariño,” his mamá added. “We decided it wasn’t a… phone conversation.”

Roman didn’t know what to say. Except, very softly… “Was it my fault?”

They glanced at each other again.

“No,” his mamá said. “No, Roman. It was… it was a lot of things.”

Roman wasn’t sure he quite believed her, but he just nodded and allowed himself to be led to the car. It was his mamá’s car, the same one he remembered. The tassel Roman had worn at his high school graduation no longer hung from the mirror. He forced himself not to read into that.

He got in the backseat, and they drove.

…

Being back in his home town was strange.

A lot had changed in the five years he’d been gone. Things looked older, there were new buildings where there had once been empty lots (or different buildings), and there were empty lots where other buildings had once been.

Most of it, though, looked just the same, which was somehow stranger than what had changed.

It took him a while to realize that the car wasn’t going the way he would have expected to get to his parents’ house. He didn’t mention it, though. The atmosphere in the car was rather awkward, and Roman was content to stare out the window rather than break the silence just yet. After their initial greetings, and the bombshell of breaking the news of the divorce to Roman, no one had seemed sure of what to say to each other.

There had been one brief respite, when Roman’s dad had opened his gift. He had been impressed when he saw the ancient coin that Val had helped Roman pick out. But that conversation had only lasted so long, and they fell back into quietness again.

What did you say to your parents after lying about going to college, disappearing for five years, becoming homeless, and then one day calling them out of the blue to tell them that you were not, in fact, dead?

Yeah, Roman didn’t know, either. “Sorry” probably didn’t cut it.

Sure, they’d been talking on the phone every night for over a week since then; but this was different. This was in person.

The changed route made sense when they reached their destination: It was not the house he and his parents had lived in when he was younger. Of course it wasn’t—he should have realized. Why would his parents still share a home, if they were divorced? And why would one of them pay to live alone in a home built for four? Neither case made sense.

He didn’t recognize the house they pulled up to. It was a small, modest home, painted a pastel yellow. Hostas lined the walkway up to the door, which was a pale gray. Flowerbeds decorated both sides of the house, filled with various flourishing plants. A small, frosted window was set into the door. It was a cute house, Roman had to admit.

“This is your mamá’s place,” his dad said, sounding unsure of how Roman would react. “We’ve set up the guest room for you.”

Roman stared at the house for a long moment before he unbuckled his seatbelt. His dad grabbed the little suitcase, and they all went inside.

Roman’s dad turned to his ex-wife as they entered the house. “Is it alright if I take him to his room?”

“Of course,” Roman’s mamá replied, locking the door behind them. “I will come with you.”

They walked upstairs. Roman’s mamá opened the second door, and Roman stepped through it, into….

His room.

It was his room.

Everything was arranged how it had been in the old house, down to the placement of the posters on the walls and the pillows on the bed. He bet that if he checked the dresser drawers, the clothes he hadn’t brought to “college” would be there. It was much cleaner than Roman had ever kept his room as a kid; and some of his knick-knacks and toys appeared to be missing; but he could see some boxes under the bed; and he guessed he could find them there. Small details like that aside, the similarity was striking.

“You kept my things,” he finally said, sounding rather shell-shocked.

“Of course we did,” his mamá said. “I… we always hoped… you might come back,” she admitted.

Roman rubbed at his eyes. “Oh,” he said, his voice cracking.

“We’ve missed you,” his dad said from the doorway.

“If there is anything you want to take, you can,” his mamá said. “It is all still yours, after all.”

Roman sat down on the bed. The sheets felt freshly washed.

“Took a while to get everything just right,” his dad was saying. “The room dimensions are a little different than the old one. I think we got it, though.”

“Yeah,” Roman said softly, looking around. “You did.”

It was strange.

“So, your mamá and I were thinking of making encebollado soup tonight,” his dad said, changing the subject. He set down Roman’s borrowed suitcase on the floor, beside the desk.

Roman looked over at him, daring to smile. “Since when do you know how to make encebollado?”

“Okay, your mamá was thinking of making it.”

“I would appreciate some help, if you want to give it,” his mamá tempted.

“I’d love to,” Roman said, and he meant it.

…

Roman and his mamá split the work of cutting everything up for the encebollado, including the fish, onions, tomatoes, and yuca.

Once that was done, Roman’s mamá took care of putting everything together into the soup, adding pickled onions and plenty of spices.

Meanwhile, Roman was put to work cutting up the avocado and limes, as well as the plantains for a side dish. He put the sliced avocado and quartered limes each into a bowl and set those at the table before returning to cook the slices of plantain.

“Not too long, mijo,” His mamá said, watching. “They could burn.”

“I like mine crispy,” he reminded her.

(That brief exchange felt so much like one they might have had years ago, before everything changed, that Roman froze for a second, and had to minutely shake himself to get back to what he was doing.)

“It smells amazing,” his dad chimed in. He was mainly serving as a cheerleader where he sat at the kitchen table, commenting on how great everything looked and smelled. He wasn’t a great cook, and Roman’s mamá didn’t trust him to operate a cutting board. Probably for good reason.

Roman glanced up to see him stealing an avocado slice.

“Hey, I saw that,” he said, his heart beating faster as he tried to take on a joking tone.

Thankfully, his dad just smirked. “Saw what?” he asked, taking another slice.

Roman pointed the spatula at him as if in warning, narrowing his eyes.

His dad stuck the avocado slice in his mouth and smiled. Roman gasped as if affronted by his audacity.

Roman’s mamá seemed amused (and possibly relieved) by their antics. “How was your trip, mijo?” she asked, stirring the soup. Roman’s dad was right. It did smell amazing.

“It was fine,” Roman said. “The bus driver was really nice, and I got a window seat.” He flipped over the plantains he was cooking. “Pat and Logan dropped me off,” he added, smiling a little. “They were waving goodbye even as we were pulling away.”

“They seem like good friends,” his mamá said approvingly.

“They are,” Roman agreed. He didn’t deserve them.

…

After dinner, which was only about a quarter of the way as awkward as Roman had feared it would be, Roman’s dad took his plate to the sink, squeezing his son’s shoulder on the way.

“I have to go, but I’ll be back in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Roman said. He watched his dad as he walked into the kitchen, rinsed off his bowl and set it in the sink, and went to grab his coat.

“Bye,” he said.

“Bye,” said Roman.

“Chau,” said his mamá.

The door closed, and Roman’s mamá, who was loading the dishwasher, paused, clearly thinking about something. Roman watched her, starting to grow worried. As he’d expected, she turned to him.

“May I show you something?”

Roman, still sitting down at the table, shifted uncertainly; but he wasn’t going to refuse. “Claro, Mamá.”

She nodded, and walked over to a different part of the kitchen counter. “Some months after you disappeared,” she said, retrieving something from a drawer, “we received a phone call.”

Roman frowned.

She hovered behind the counter, looking down at whatever it was she had taken out. “It was from the police department in a city called Clearwater. They said that they had received a 911 call from someone who reported anonymously that a group of men had attacked a man under a bridge.”

Roman forgot how to breathe.

He knew exactly what she was talking about.

Those men. Their laughter. Their accusations. A knife, gleaming in the night.

The thin scar just under his jaw felt like it had been outlined in ice. His ribs and his tongue ached in memory.

They’re gone. You got away, he reminded himself. If they were going to find you and kill you, or send the police after you, it would have happened a long time ago.

He squeezed his hands together, and he waited.

His mamá hadn’t seemed to notice his reaction, too distracted by her own thoughts. “They said that by the time they got the call, no one was there.” She took a shuddering breath. “That there was only garbage, and… blood.” There were tears in her eyes. “And this.”

She walked back to the table, holding a clear plastic bag. She sat down and slid the bag over to Roman. Inside was a broken phone, the corner of it bent, with cracks spread across the screen, and in a case broken in two. A few small pieces of glass that had come free sat at the bottom of the bag.

It was Roman’s old phone.

“They were able to get some of the data off of it, and find out it was yours.” She let out a shaky exhale. “The police returned it to us because it technically belonged to your dad.”

Roman stared down at the phone.

“This is all we had, for nearly five years,” she said. “We told the police to look for you, but they said that there was nothing they could do. We went to Clearwater ourselves, for a week, to try to find you… but we couldn’t.” She paused for a second, apparently decided against saying something, then continued, “We were afraid that… that they had” —she swore in Spanish—“that they had killed you, and… you were gone.”

“I left,” Roman murmured. “I couldn’t stay; I….” He shook his head. The why didn’t matter. “Mamá, I’m sorry.”

His mamá looked at him. “May I ask what happened?”

Roman subconsciously rubbed a hand across his jaw, over the scar there. “It’s not important,” he said. “Some jerks decided to mess with me, because I was there, and they could. But I’m okay. It was a long time ago.”

“Cariño… I did want to know that, but I meant….”

Roman looked away. She meant why he had disappeared in the first place, of course. How he had ended up homeless, and why he hadn’t tried to ask for help before it was well past too late.

He’d already told Logan and Patton most of the story, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to tell his family. Especially since he suspected that—assuming they believed him—they would think it was their fault, if they knew some of the details. He’d only told them the basics up until then—the fact that Saint Gabriel had retracted their offer of admission, that Roman hadn’t wanted to tell his parents, and that he’d run out of money after leaving home and ended up on the street. But they didn’t know much more than that about the reasons why that had happened in the first place. Or why he’d been so against telling them about being in trouble.

The seconds were ticking by, and Roman still hadn’t said anything.

She studied his face for a long moment, as if deciding whether to push the issue, or to let it go. Finally, she nodded to herself, and she took his hands in hers. “When I heard your voice on the phone, I was so sure it was a cruel joke. But it was really you. You are here.”

Roman’s eyes flicked back towards her, and he gave her a watery smile.

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to see you again.”

“I thought you’d be furious with me,” Roman said, his voice cracking.

“I was,” she admitted. “You know that I was.”

Roman recalled their first phone call with a wince. There had been… quite a bit of yelling, on that call, once she’d been convinced that it was really him on the phone. He didn’t blame her, though. Five years was a long time to go without any word, especially since he had disappeared without any warning.

“But I love you, and your brother,” she said. “And that will not change, whatever your mistakes.”

Roman swallowed hard. A second or two passed in silence.

“…Could we have hot chocolate?” he asked.

“With cinnamon?”

“Yes, please.”

…

Roman stood in front of his old over-the-door mirror, staring at the loose folds of fabric that draped over his thin frame.

After his conversation with his mamá, Roman had come upstairs to the guest room—to his room. Or to the room that eerily mimicked his room, anyway.

Simply to pass the time and definitely not as a way to nostalgically relive the past, and since all his old things were right there, he decided to try on a few of his old clothes and see if they still fit how they used to.

Unsurprisingly, they didn’t.

Well, it wasn’t that they didn’t fit, exactly. Technically, they still fit. But they were a lot looser than Roman remembered them being. The pants he had on might not have stayed up if it weren’t for the belt he wore.

Roman put his hands in the pockets, frowning.

He wondered how this outfit would have fit during the worst days of his homelessness. There had been some… rough times.

He’d never been very good at being homeless.

Roman shook his head, deciding not to dwell on that. He was supposed to be moving on with his life, wasn’t he? He wasn’t homeless anymore, and he wasn’t alone. He had Logan, and Patton, and Val, and his parents. He was fine. The past didn’t matter anymore.

He pulled the shirt back over his head and threw it on the bed with a bit more vehemence than was strictly required. Instead, he picked up the one he’d had on before, one that Logan and Patton had gotten him, and pulled it back on. He changed back into his better-fitted jeans, moved the discarded shirt, and sat down on the bed. He stared for a long moment at the still-open drawer of the dresser, and the neatly folded clothes within.

A thought came to him, and he got back up, looking in the closet. It probably wasn’t there, but just in case, Roman figured there was no harm in checking. He stood on his tip-toes, searching.

His old duffel bag sat on the shelf, just about where it would have been in Roman’s old room. Roman snatched it and pulled it down.

Maybe his old clothes were rather loose; and he didn’t particularly want some of the old t-shirts emblazoned with logos for bands he’d never been a fan of in the first place; but he could still wear most of the clothes. And his parents had said that he could take whatever he wanted from the room.

Roman unzipped the duffel bag and started stuffing clothes in. Even if they were too big now, they might fit better eventually. And for every shirt he could keep from his old things, that was one less shirt he would have to buy for himself later on (or worse, have bought for him).

The half-full duffel bag joined the small blue suitcase on the floor, and Roman went to bed. He would have expected to lie there, awake, for hours, overthinking the next day; but he fell asleep too fast.

…

It turned out that Roman’s parents had gone ahead and made plans for what they and Roman would do over the long weekend. It seemed that they really wanted to make up for lost time, judging by the packed days.

Saturday morning, they went to the local park, revisiting old haunts that Roman hadn’t seen in a long time. The duck pond, the reservoir, the fountain, the old trees and picnic tables where the family used to have picnics when Roman and his brother were kids.

Almost all of the meals Roman had that weekend were homemade—save for when they stopped for ice cream at the mall, or Saturday evening, when Roman’s dad insisted that they go to Olive Garden to celebrate. Apparently he’d gotten a gift card a while back and was looking forward to using it. In any case, all of the meals were rather large. Roman’s mamá made so much food, it was as if she were trying to get her son to gain back all the weight he’d lost over the years within just that one weekend.

…

On Sunday, they were planning to go to the zoo. Roman came downstairs to find that both of his parents were already there, presumably waiting for him. His dad must have come early, so that they could get out the door and have more time at the zoo. Except… something seemed off. They each had plates of breakfast set out in front of them, but the food appeared almost untouched. Roman paused, wondering what was going on. Clearly, he was missing something.

His mamá looked like she was trying not to cry. His dad looked like he was trying to decide whether to be horrified or enraged.

Roman considered just going back upstairs, and “sleeping in” until whatever was going on was over. He took a hesitant step back.

“Roman.”

Too late.

His dad had spotted him, and was beckoning him over. Roman very reluctantly shuffled nearer.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” his mamá said.

Roman glanced between them. “What’s going on?” he asked, hoping he wouldn’t regret the question too much.

His parents glanced at each other. His mamá looked slightly guilty.

His dad cleared his throat. “Your mamá, ah… told me some new information,” he said.

“He needed to know,” she added.

Why did Roman feel like he was about to get in trouble?

“She told me what you told her. About the phone, and Clearwater.”

“…But I didn’t tell her anything,” Roman said, frowning.

Unsurprisingly, they didn’t appear happy with that impulsive response.

“You told her enough,” his dad said.

Roman stared between them. All he had told them was that some jerks had been mean to him, and that he had left the city afterwards to get away from them. How was that any new information? They had already known that his phone had been left behind after some guys had attacked him, and….

Wait.

His mamá had said “a man”. She had said a group of men had attacked “a man”.

Roman gripped the back of the nearest chair.

No. They couldn’t have thought….

“You thought I was one of the guys who attacked someone?” he said, his voice like a dry desert breeze.

“No, mijo, no—”  

“Yes, you did!” Roman said, taking a step back. He stared at his dad with wide eyes. “You did, didn’t you?”

“We didn’t know what had happened,” his dad said. “We didn’t know anything, or what to think.”

Roman tried to speak, failed, and shook his head.

A long silence fell, and then his mamá said, “Perhaps… we had almost hoped you were. It was better than thinking you had been….”

His dad sighed. “We’d rather you had been a criminal than dead,” he reluctantly admitted.

“Well, I’m not dead,” Roman said bitterly.

“No, you’re not,” his mamá said. Roman noticed with a sinking heart that she was crying now.

His dad leaned forward. “Roman, what happened? Who were those people who attacked you? Why were you there in the first place?”

Roman squeezed his eyes shut.

“Please. Something happened. Why would those people attack you for no reason?”

Roman’s nails bit into his hands. Maybe it wasn’t on purpose, but his dad was making it sound like it was automatically his fault he was attacked. (Which, okay, maybe it was, but the assumption still hurt).

“Roman—”

“I messed up, okay?!” Roman cried, fisting his hands in his hair. “I messed up, and I was—I was just hungry, okay? And those guys found me, and they—they had a knife, what was I supposed to do? I just—I was just trying to—” Roman turned away, his breaths coming in heavy gasps. He kept stammering, hardly knowing what he was saying, just trying to say that it wasn’t his fault and that he was sorry and he’d just run away like a coward because he had no choice and why did they even care about something that happened so long ago and why would they ever think he’d been one of those thugs—

He was suddenly crushed in a hug.

Roman’s stammering broke off, and he buried his face in his mamá’s shoulder.

“Breathe, cariño, please,” she murmured. “Todo está bien, te prometo.”

She held him like that until he had mostly calmed down, and then she gently led him to the living room, where she sat him down on the couch and wrapped him in a blanket, taking her place beside him. She put a hand on his back, occasionally  murmuring reassurances.

But his dad kept staring at him.

“This isn’t really news, is it?” Roman said eventually, breaking the silence and steadfastly ignoring the way his voice threatened to give out. “I already told you I was homeless. I messed up. Why is it any big shock that I messed up again?” And again, and again, and again.

“You just said that you were attacked, with a knife,” his dad said. “You could have died!”

Roman shrank into his blanket. “I didn’t.”

“But you could have. And I’m sure there’s other things that happened that you’re not even telling us about—God, five years. It’s been five years. Roman, why didn’t you just talk to us? We could have helped you! You could have stopped all of this before it started.”

His mamá looked at her ex-husband. “James, stop."

Roman worked his jaw. “I did try to tell you, but….”

“But what?”

“But you didn’t believe me! I tried to tell you, I tried to tell you I didn’t plagiarize, but you didn’t believe me. So why would you believe me about anything else? You already think I’m just like Remus.”

“Roman….”

“You do! You do. I know it’s true. Mamá told me, but she didn’t have to.”

His dad’s eyes flicked to Roman’s mamá, who closed her eyes in resignation. “She told you what?”

“That you were angry with me, that you said it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. She said that—that—that I probably ran off to get away from you guys and join a gang or something.”

“I didn’t say you’d joined a gang.”

“But I know what you think of me, what you’ve always thought of me. But, Dad, I’m not him. Please. I’m not Remus.”

“Roman, if you’re trying to say I don’t love you, that’s not true. I love you a lot. If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t care.”

“No—no, I know you love me. You love him too. That’s not what this is about.” He looked away, swallowing painfully. “You love me, yeah, but you’ve never trusted me. Not really.” He took a shaky breath. “And I just couldn’t… I could see the looks on your faces when I told you I wasn’t going to Saint Gabriel. I couldn’t.”

A long silence fell.

“I’m going upstairs,” Roman croaked. He got up, ignoring his mamá’s protests, and walked past his dad, who just stared at him, clearly still trying to figure out what to say. Roman didn’t give him that chance. He kept going, hurried up the stairs, and fled into his room. He quietly closed and locked the door, and sat down on the bed, staring at the floor, the blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

Morning turned to early afternoon. Roman didn’t leave his room. He heard voices occasionally. It sounded like his parents had decided to give him some space.

Finally, around 1 pm, he heard someone coming up the steps, and there was a knock on the door. It was his dad.

“Roman?” he asked through the door. “Please open up.”

Roman swallowed, not moving.

“Roman, I’m sorry.”

The floorboards creaked.

“I believe you,” he continued. “If you say you didn’t plagiarize, I believe you. Your mamá does, too. We should have believed you before, and I’m sorry we didn’t. I’m sorry you thought you couldn’t come to us for help. And I’m sorry if we ever made you believe we didn’t think you were a good person. We’ve always known you were a good person.”

It was a little too late, but… it was something.

Roman unlocked the door and returned to the bed.

After a second, his dad hesitantly opened the door. He stepped inside, and silently sat down on the bed at Roman’s side.

Roman pulled the blanket more tightly around himself. His dad stared at one of Roman’s posters for a moment, clearly not actually taking it in, then turned to his son.

“…Were you hurt?” he asked softly.

Roman swallowed. “I’m okay now.”

His dad recognized that as a yes, of course. He sighed through his nose, working his jaw. “How badly?”

Roman hesitated, then tilted his head slightly and touched the inch-long scar just under his jaw. It was faded, but he knew his dad could see it.

“Is that from…?”

“Yeah.”

His dad swore. Roman wasn’t sure he’d ever heard him swear like that before.

“Who were they?”

“There’s no point.”

“We could—”

“There’s no point,” Roman insisted tiredly. Even if they had any proof of who it was, and even if Roman knew more than one of their names, and even if it hadn’t already been four and a half years since the attack, there would be no point. It wouldn’t change anything. Not to mention that the whole reason it had happened to begin with was that Roman was a thief, and he could very well end up as the only one in trouble. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

He could tell his dad wanted to argue further, but he let it go.

“Do you want to go back downstairs?” he asked instead. “We could just watch a movie. Have a lazy day. We can go to the zoo some other time.”

Roman bit his lip, then slowly nodded. “Okay.”

His dad got up, and Roman followed him downstairs.

…

Things were better after that. Maybe that conversation hadn’t gone exactly how any of them would have chosen for it to go, but it was clear that they had needed to confront the elephant in the room.

Roman’s mamá apologized, too, once he came downstairs, hugging him tightly and telling him that the only thing that mattered was that he was safe, now.

The rest of the day, they just watched old movies from their collection, and Roman’s mamá played with his hair like she had done when he was very small.

The next day, they still didn’t go to the zoo—maybe a future visit, they decided—and instead went to the mall, where they had fun playing with the puppies at one of the pet stores; and Roman’s dad bought him a couple of books. “For on the bus on Monday,” he claimed, even though there were already books in Roman’s room.

Finally, and yet all too soon, the last day of Roman’s stay had come and gone.

A couple of hours before they had to leave for the bus station, Roman’s mamá came to get him, and she led him downstairs, where his dad waited. His parents sat down at the table, gesturing for Roman to sit down across from them. Once he did, his mamá placed her warm, calloused hands over his own. She opened her mouth, had a false start, then spoke.

“It has been wonderful, having you here for the past few days. I know that not everything was perfect, but I know that it will get better in time.” She took a deep breath. “Mijo, I know that you are planning to go home tonight… and I know that this is a lot to ask, but we were hoping, maybe… you might stay? Here, with us?”

There was a long silence. Roman didn’t know how to respond.

“If you want a week or two, so that your job has some warning, that’s okay,” his dad said, before adding, “We both want you here.”

Roman looked between them.

“…You want me to stay because you think I’m gonna screw up and end up homeless again or something, right?”

“No,” his mamá said firmly. “We want you to stay because we love you. We have missed you, so, so much. We want a chance to try again.”

Roman fell silent again.

He thought of all that his parents had been trying to do these past few days. He thought of the cinnamon hot chocolate, the excursions and movie nights, the big family meals, the not-so-subtle attempts to spoil Roman, and the way his parents seemed to be pretending to still have the same relationship they had always had even though they had been divorced for years. He thought of the guest bedroom, carefully constructed to mirror his old one as exactly as possible. Like a snapshot into a former life. A former life that he couldn’t get back, whether he wanted to or not. And maybe that was okay. He had changed since then. Not necessarily all for the better, but not necessarily all for the worse, either. Going back, pretending he was the same Roman he had been in high school, wasn’t just wishful thinking. It wasn’t realistic; and even if he could do that, it would be a move backwards.

“I think it’s best if I move on with my life,” he said finally. “It won’t do me any good to just go back and pretend the last five years never happened, that nothing’s changed.” He squeezed her hand. “I… I have a job now, and I really like living with Logan and Patton and Val.” And they did want him to come back, he reminded himself. They did. He looked up at his dad. “I do still want to see you guys, though. I’d really like to keep calling you, and visit sometimes, if… if that’s okay.”

His mamá looked sad, but she nodded. “Of course. I understand.”

His dad didn’t look surprised. He laid his hand over his son’s and his ex-wife’s.

Roman smiled shyly. “Plus, we never got to go to the zoo.”

…

When Roman went home, with Patton’s suitcase and his own duffel bag of clothes, Patton and Val came to pick him up. Logan was unfortunately at work, and he couldn’t make it.

As the bus pulled up to the curb, and Roman struggled to blink away his drowsiness (it was a long drive) he saw the pair at the front on the sidewalk. Val looked pretty relaxed, but Patton looked like he was vibrating with apprehension. He was talking to Val, who looked like she was trying to reassure him that everything was fine.

Roman picked up his things, thanked the bus driver, and was one of the first people off the bus.

Patton wormed his way closer, while Roman made his way away from the crowds. As soon as they met, Patton latched onto Roman like a koala bear.

“How’d it go?” Val asked, while Patton was busy trying to crush Roman in a hug.

“It went okay,” Roman said, putting his arms around Patton. He took a deep breath and let it out, smiling. “It went okay.”

Val reached out, and her fingers just barely touched his sleeve before she let her arm fall. “I’m glad.”

Patton finally let go for them to head to the car, already pestering Roman with questions about how his visit had gone, and if he needed to fight anyone or not.

Roman smiled, and he told him about the good parts of his visit. He was sure Patton already knew that there had been hiccups—how could there not have been?—but Roman wanted to focus on what had gone right.

…

On Tuesday, Roman went back to work. He was early, as was becoming his custom, but he showed up only a few minutes before Thomas did. His manager looked perfectly fine, now, so it appeared that whatever had kept him at home for two days the week before had passed. He leaned on his car for a moment before he came in, as always, but he seemed okay.

“Hey, Roman,” he said as he came in, pinning his name tag in place.

“Hey,” Roman responded. He wasn’t sure whether it was bad manners or not to ask his manager if he was feeling better, especially since three days had passed. And he didn’t want Thomas to misinterpret anything. So he didn’t. “How was your weekend?” he asked instead.

“It was good,” Thomas said. “How was yours?”

Roman shrugged. “It was… interesting. But good.”

Just then, the door opened, and Roman glanced up to see Virgil standing there.

Virgil, who was wearing a skirt, and a name tag that said “Rose”.

Otherwise, the outfit under Virgil’s Sanders Café uniform consisted of the barista’s typically emo attire. Black leggings, combat boots, purple nail polish, a distressed long-sleeve shirt, and purple piercings. But instead of jeans, Virgil wore a knee-length, lacy black skirt.

The barista stalked forward, head held high, as if daring anyone to say anything. Thomas just smiled and called out a greeting.

Roman kept glancing at his coworker throughout their shift that day. Virgil was surely aware of it, and maybe it was rude, but Roman couldn’t really help himself. He—She? They?—never said anything about it, but did seem more stiff than usual. But at least Virgil wasn’t being openly hostile. That seemed to have stopped after Roman’s… embarrassing incident, on Friday. Virgil didn’t even comment when Roman bumped into an open, quarter-full milk carton and spilled it across the counter. Thomas noticed too, but he didn’t seem inclined to intervene, instead serving customers like normal while Roman cleaned it up.

Roman glanced at Virgil’s skirt, and remembered several days before, when he’d tried to break the ice with Virgil by making a joke about the “Mary Lee” nametag that the barista wore at the time.

…Roman might have really f*cked up.

He had to know if his guess was correct, but he wasn’t about to ask in front of so many customers, or in font of Thomas.

Finally, there was a break in the crowd; Thomas went in the back for a break; and Roman awkwardly walked over to his coworker.

Virgil tensed immediately, looking suspicious. “What?”

Roman flinched slightly at the tone. “Sorry, I just, um….” He glanced down at Virgil’s skirt. “I just wondered…” he trailed off, gesturing at Virgil, at the skirt and the name tag and the admittedly gorgeous purple lipstick. “Are you…?” God, he was awful at this. He knew exactly what he wanted to ask, but what if he was wrong? What if Virgil got offended at him for even asking? Virgil was already rather volatile to begin with. He didn’t want to break their fragile truce.

Virgil looked unimpressed at Roman’s garbled attempts at a question, arms crossed, an eyebrow cocked as if daring Roman to continue. That wasn’t helpful.

“Are you… Are you a he? Can I call you he? Or is something else… better?” Roman finally got out. He was pretty sure he was the color of a tomato.

Virgil stared at him, looking ready to chew him up and spit him out if he reacted the wrong way. “She,” Virgil finally said in a clipped voice. “It’s a ‘she’ day.”

“Oh,” Roman said. He let out a breath, relieved at not being screamed at. “Okay. Do you want to be called Rose, then, or….?”

Virgil glanced down at the name tag on her lapel, and she actually laughed. “No, no. Virgil will do. This is just one of my collection.”

“Okay. So… if today is a ‘she’ day, does that mean not every day is?”

Virgil pursed her lips. “If you’re asking if you can get away with calling me ‘he’ or ‘they’ every day, the answer’s no.”

“What if I’m not asking that?”

“…Then no, not every day is.” She looked back up then and seemed to be studying Roman’s face. There was a mixture of suspicion and something else in her eyes. Roman shifted uncomfortably. Before either of them could say anything more, the bell over the door rang, and they both snapped back to attention and went back to work.

Various times throughout the remainder of their shift, Roman could feel Virgil’s eyes on him.

Finally, two o’clock came and went, and Virgil and Roman were both in the back, getting ready to leave. Roman took the opportunity to approach his fellow barista. Virgil looked up from her phone as he approached, but didn’t do anything to discourage him from speaking. So Roman cleared his throat.

“Hey, um… about that joke I made a while back, about the “Mary Lee” name tag. I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t know you were… that you weren’t a guy. It was just my stupid attempt to talk with you. I was just fishing for something to say. I’m sorry.”

Virgil stuck her phone in her pocket. “It’s fine,” she said.

“Is it? Because that was pretty sucky of me, I’d say.”

She sighed. “You didn’t know. But I’d appreciate if you didn’t make jokes like that in the future.”

“I won’t. I promise. And if I ever do something stupid again, please tell me.” It would be a lot better than days of hostility without explanation, at any rate.

“Deal.”

Roman felt relief wash over him.

“So…” Virgil said, “how was your family thing?”

“It was good,” Roman said. “We didn’t watch Lord of the Rings or play any video games, though.”

“No? Dang. Weekend wasted.” Virgil shook her head. “Please tell me you at least slept in.”

Roman laughed.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #ts valerie #ts sides #ts roman #ts virgil #ts patton #ts logan #sanders sides fan fiction #ts fic #ts fanfic #fanfiction #ts #tss #second chances fic

[august-anon]

What if Roman tries to pull a tickle prank with some magical sentient feathers, but it ends up backfiring and he needs the others to come save him from his self-made ticklish doom

Coming right up! Thanks for the prompt!! (also I didn’t mean for this to get so long but also like,,,, it put me in a lee mood and i just kept going lol) (also also, hmm, the other sides didn’t really end up “saving” him, did they, whoops, lol)

Fluttery Feelings

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship(s): platonic LAMP

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Roman, does this count as Ler!Roman since he’s kinda getting himself lol?, Ler!Virgil, Ler!Patton, Ler!Logan (in the sense of teasing)

Word Count: 2227 words

Summary:  Roman had planned the perfect prank for movie night. He just really hadn’t anticipated it backfiring on him.

[ao3 link]

———————————

Roman had been looking for the perfect opportunity for this prank for weeks. He’d had the idea a while ago, and now with Patton placing him in charge of setting up movie night, he had the perfect chance to finally enact it. 

Granted, he hadn’t practiced much with the conjuring he wanted to do, but how hard could it be? He was the creative side! How hard could it be?

It worked out even better that they were using Roman’s realm instead of the common room. Here, he could easier conjure the perfect comfy setup. 

The comfiest pillow fort ever created? Hm, no, save that for next time, they might tear it apart with all their squirming. A warm, plush couch? No, that would make the cuddling that came after a little more awkward, trying to squish on the couch. Plus, it’s easier to fall off of.

Roman settled for a giant mattress in the middle of the room, covered in fuzzy blankets and fluffy pillows. There were fairy lights hung around the walls to give them dim lighting; a bright light would glare on the TV screen, but sitting in pitch black without being able to see each other wasn’t as much fun, either. Half the fun of movie night was making fun of each other’s reactions. The TV itself was massive, with surround sound built into the imaginary walls and ceiling, because he was actually planning to carry on with movie night after his little prank.

Now, time for what he was really excited about: the magic feathers. He figured it would be easier to make them somewhat sentient, enough to target the worst spots of their targets, and enough to stop when the lee wanted it to stop. Of course, this wouldn’t be a fun prank if not everyone involved was laughing and having fun. 

Roman squeezed his eyes shut and imagined really hard to bring the feather’s into existence. He heard a comical, almost cartoonish pop! and opened his eyes to see an army of various types of feathers floating around the room. He grinned at his success.

There were feathers short and tall, fluffy and sharper, thinner and wider. Stems that were flat, stems that were a little rounded, stems that were pointier. All perfect for targeting anyone’s ticklish spots. Roman shivered at the thought.

And then, Roman realized his mistake as all the feather’s, formerly stationary and static and nonthreatening, twisted to face him, suddenly hovering a lot more ominously than before. He really should’ve waited until the others were in the room to do this. Because now there was only one target for them to go after, and just the thought that they could sense that sent Roman straight from his teasing little ler mood straight into a nervous lee mood.

“Now, now,” Roman stupidly tried to reason with the feathers, his voice wobbly with the nervous laughter that he was swallowing. “Let’s–let’s not do anything we’d regret, yes? I mean, I can un-conjure you, after all.”

The feathers, of course, did not have ears, so they were unable to listen to his pitiful arguments to try and save his own skin. If they could hear him, though, they would probably be rather amused.

A number of feather’s broke off from the group, diving for Roman from all angles so he couldn’t even try to dodge them. No matter what direction he turned, there was a feather rushing at him. The rest of the feathers fell to the floor, making Roman’s nervous movements his own downfall.

He accidentally stepped backwards directly into a pile of the feathers, making his shriek at the tickly feeling and stumble backwards through piles, laughing and sputtering, until he collapsed back onto the mattress he’d conjured and the other feathers ceased their teasing dives and actually followed through.

Roman regretted his choice of short pajama shorts and a tank top for movie night. But who didn’t want maximum skin contact when the option of cuddling your loved ones came up? It was just better!

When it came to sentient tickle feathers? Not so much.

Knowing how weak he was to that sort of thing, because they were sentient and somewhat mind-readers, they started off slow and teasing to build everything up to a crescendo. 

His calves and kneecaps, his ribs (even over his shirt, their softness was able to tickle), his outer upper arms were all targeted with gentle touches that made him squeal and wiggle. But, no matter how much he squirmed, the feathers were able to follow his movements everywhere, considering they could fly and their only purpose was to make him wail in ticklish glee agony.

Roman giggled and covered his mouth as he snorted, embarrassed by the sound despite being alone in the room, still. He turned onto his stomach, hoping to protect some of his weak points, but he truly was just making yet another mistake.

The feathers switched positions. They targeted the woefully sensitive skin behind his knees, the bottoms of his feet, and wiggled their way up under his loose tank top to flutter across his back.

Frankly, Roman hadn’t even known his back was ticklish. The other sides had never tried to torment him there before, though he loved getting Logan there under the guise of a soothing massage.

And then Roman remembered: the feathers would stop when he wanted them to stop. When he was sated, or when he was too tired to continue, or any other similar reasons. Roman blushed fiercely in the emptiness of the room. Unless he could bury his lee mood while he was actively being tickled, he was doomed.

Not to mention, since the feathers could vaguely sense his thoughts and feelings to make the prank fun and enjoyable for it’s intended targets, he must’ve had a secret want for his back to be targeted. Which, based on how devastatingly ticklish it was, he didn’t know how no one had targeted him there before.

The feathers on his feet upped the ante, flipping around to scribble against his soles with the stems, to trace the wrinkles when his feet scrunched up, to scratch away at weak points they found. A few more joined the fray from the floor and darted up in between his toes. Roman cried out and pounded the bed, but it didn’t stop there.

The feathers behind his knees sneaked up the backs of his thighs, also calling more of their friends from the floor to join them, fluttering on his outer and inner thighs to make him gasp and wail and cackle. Roman was kicking out and bouncing around on the bed to try and dislodge them, but they followed him wherever he went. In fact, it almost just made things worse, as it gave the feathers the chance to sneak flicks and brushes against the tops of his thighs.

More feathers from the floor joined up his shirt, as well, adding rank to the two on his back, and more coming up to flutter along his sides and ribs once more. Roman already felt like he was losing his mind, but they weren’t stopping, and the bubbly, flustered feeling built in his chest even further, knowing that he was so tickle-hungry.

And then the worst possible thing happened: the door opened and Virgil, Logan, and Patton walked in. They carried snacks and movie choices and even more soft blankets, but none of that mattered in the face of the feathers that still weren’t stopping.

Patton was the first to recover, grinning and setting the snacks in his arms aside. “Aw, Ro, if you wanted tickles all you had to do was ask!”

“No!” Roman tried to yell, but he was laughing so hard that it just came out as a wail of laughter that started with an “n.”

Virgil and Logan set aside their burdens as well, approaching with twin smirks. The bubbly, flustered feeling grew inside of him, and butterflies took shelter inside his belly, tickling him from the inside now, as well.

“We would’ve been happy to help, Roman,” Logan said, not an ounce of tease in his voice, but Roman knew his intention. The ever-widening smirk on his face also didn’t help.

“Y’know,” Virgil said conversationally, “it looks like those feathers are having a little trouble reaching some places because of the bed.”

Logan cocked his head to the side. “It seems you’re right, Virge.”

Patton clapped his hands together, eyes glinting behind his glasses. “Oh, we should help them! Everyone grab a limb!”

Roman struggled and tried to fight back, but the tickling and feathers had weakened him to the point where it wasn’t even a challenge for them. They rolled him over, cooing teases that made Roman’s entire body tingle, and Patton and Virgil grabbed his arms while Logan grabbed both his ankles. They lifted him from the bed, and now there really was no protection.

The feathers circled all around every part of his leg, his feet were coated in their fluff, his back and stomach were now both easily targeted (and a few sneaky feathers kept slipping into his bellybutton, utterly evil). His neck and ears gained a few feathers, making him wish he could turtle up for protection, but the angle his arms were being held up at prevented it. And they finally managed to slip into his worst spot: his armpits.

Roman was hardly even laughing anymore, it was more of an endless, joy-filled scream. His abs ached and his lungs burned, but the teases the other’s kept calling at him over his noises just kept him in his mood and had him craving more.

“Not fair!” Roman tried to yell, but he wasn’t sure if it came out around his laughter.

“Aww, poor Ro-Ro can’t take it?” Virgil cooed.

“Oh, he’s so cute!” Patton squealed. “Tickle-tickle-tickle, laffy taffy!

“You could stop the feathers at any time, Roman, really, come now,” Logan said with a grin.

Roman shook his head at that one. Logan raised an eyebrow, sneaking a tweak to Roman’s ankles to made him jolt.

“Oh, really? I know better than that, Roman. You’ve put a failsafe in.”

He did put a failsafe in, he just hadn’t reached it yet. And now, when he finally did, they would make him tell them what it was. And gosh, there was that flustered bubble growing ever larger and making him all the more sensitive. He really had dug his own grave, this time.

The tickling went on for several more long minutes, before the feathers eventually fluttered away to the ground and left Roman panting and wheezing and still laughing from the phantom tingles he felt all over. The other three placed his gently back on the mattress and Roman curled up in a ball as he calmed down.

A hand appeared in his hair to scratch at his scalp comfortingly, and another on his back, rubbing firmly enough that it didn’t tickle. After a moment, another hand tilted his head up and his lips connected to a water bottle. He drank greedily for a minute before laying back down to giggle himself out. After a few minutes of recovery, Roman sat up and allowed the others to gather around him in a gentle cuddle.

“Finally get all tickled out?” Virgil teased, and Roman curled in with another giggle when the feathers coating the floor shifted slightly. Virgil grinned at him.

Roman took a moment to focus and un-conjure the feathers before speaking. “They, uh, they weren’t originally meant for me,” he admitted nervously.

“Roman,” Patton said, a warning tone in his voice that Roman knew was more teasing than angry. “Were you gonna send those feathers on us when we came in so we got tickled silly?”

“Maybe?” Roman squeaked.

Logan shook his head with a fond smile. “If I didn’t think you’d already had enough, I would tickle you as punishment.”

“What went wrong?” Virgil asked.

Roman rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous smile. “Uh, they were vaguely sentient. And vaguely mind-reading. So I didn’t really have control over them.”

Patton scrunched up his face. “Mind re–oh, you adorable little silly boy!”

“What?” Virgil asked.

Logan’s fond smile turned into a teasing grin. “Roman sent himself into a lee mood by just seeing the feathers, and they picked up on it and targeted him.”

Virgil chuckled and cuddled in closer. “Aww, and they just wouldn’t stop until you were sated, would they, giggle monster?”

Roman blushed. “Actually, yeah.”

Patton squealed. “That’s so cute! I know we all love every side of tickling, but you wanted it so much, you’re adorable Ro-Ro!”

“No!” Roman whined, drawing out the word.

“Tooth-rottingly sweet,” Virgil cooed in his ear, making him squirm.

“Cutest in all the land,” Logan hummed.

“You all suck,” Roman grumbled into his hands.

Patton giggled and kissed the top of his head. “Oh, alright, we’ll let up. Let’s put on a movie.”

After choosing randomly, the movie they put on was Tangled. the four of them made a nest on the mattress, moving around blankets and pillows to perfectly huddle down in as their little cuddle unit. Roman sighed and wiggled down further into the pile with a smile.

He drifted off before Rapunzel and Eugene even got to the Ugly Duckling.

#tickle fic #My writing #tickle tools #tickle tool: feathers #sanders sides tickling #lee!roman #ticklish!roman #ler is kinda hard to tag cuz lol #ler!roman #ler!virgil #ler!patton #ler!logan #sanders sides #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #Platonic LAMP/CALM #lamp/calm

[surohsopsisofclouds]

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of These Moments)

“I am a simple man,” Remus began in a slightly slurred tone, his arm coming up to wave dramatically, albeit sloppily, through the air.

“I see? I consume.” he finishes.

“Remus, go to sleep.” Logan sighed, turning the next page in his book as he heard Remus shuffling around on the other side of the screen.

“Noooooo, it is Late Night Reblog Time.” He ended his sentence with a drunken giggle, making Logan turn away from his book this time to face him.

“What- are you on your phone? It is 2 a.m. for you, go to sleep!”

“Actually~” Remus begins, flopping over onto his stomach. “It’s 1:05, but I love you.”

Logan flushed a bit in embarrassment for having messed up the time zones, but quickly moved on from his mistake to nag his best friend into actually taking care of himself.

“Whatever. It is still past midnight for you, and you need to go to sleep!”

“Ugh, but then I don’t get to listen to your pretty voice~ Lolo, do you know how much of a crime that is!?” Remus groaned.

Logan sighed, finally giving up on reading his book and setting it to the side, bookmark slipped in between the pages, before turning to look Remus as close to in the eyes as the screen would allow. “I would assume almost as much of a crime as not seeing your sweet smile?”

The effect was immediate and satisfactory. A dark rose color swallowed his face, a pretty flustered expression on full display for the moment prior to him stuffing his face into a pillow and screaming.

Logan gave a satisfied smile before turning towards his phone, pulling up an article on circadian rhythms and snuggling deeper into his pillows.

Several minutes passed before Remus felt that his face had returned to its normal hues. Poking his head out from the pillow, he turned towards his phone, only to notice the red battery in the corner of the screen, with a tiny 12% taking up the space directly beside it.

“My phone’s at 12%, I think that’s bad.”

“If your phone dies then you can’t stay up as easily so I do not think it is necessarily a bad thing in this situation.” Logan replied, not looking up from his phone.

10 more minutes passed in silence before a quiet voice interrupted it.

“11%.”

“Ah, it is a count-down to your slumber.”

“Logan!”

“What, it is, is it not? You have the attention span of, oh how did Roman put it earlier? Oh yes, a dog in a park full of squirrels. As soon as your phone is dead our call will end forcibly, and thus you will have no more entertainment.” He rolled his eyes fondly at him. “Your head will be hitting your pillow within the minute.”

“I- you- wha-” Remus spluttered.

Logan silently raised an eyebrow at him.

Remus finally settled on, “Look, just because it’s true doesn’t mean you need to say it!”

He chuckled at that.

Remus pouted. “Lolooo!”

“You might want to check your phone again, I think I can see the number going down again in your glasses.”

Remus jerked, his eyes jumping to the corner of his screen, only to let out an anguished groan as he saw the number pixelated there.

“10%...” He mumbled.

“Tick tock.” Logan commented absently.

Remus groaned again.

-----

They chatted for what felt like 10 minutes, but was actually 50, after that. Random little stuff, creepy stuff, unimportant stuff. Just talking for the sake of talking and listening for the sake of listening.

Remus had been calling out the numbers every time they went down, so he saw it when his phone had reached 1%.

“Lolo, time to say goodnight.” Remus said softly, a sleepy expression softening his features.

Logan smiled at him, his eyes lidded and heavy with sleep. “Al- “yawn” alright, dove. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, star.” Remus replied.

They both waved at each other a final time before ending the call.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #remus sanders #queue'd #sanders sides fic #my writing #suroh writes #intrulogical #yet another fic based loosely around a conversation I had #that seems to be a theme with me #comfort fics

[famished-fander-idiot]

I don't really love you! (I, just said that for a change in pace.)

Virgil wasn't stupid.

Sure, you might be saying in your head, 'what about all that self deprecating; I thought dumb was on the list?' Well, sure, he wasn't the smartest cookie on the block, Logan took the prize on that one, but in the least he knew his facts. And even then, you don't need facts to confirm whats right in feont of you.

And Virgil knew that he wasn't oblivious. He was hyper aware of every noise, person and sharp object in a mile radius, and his flight or fight reflex made him prepared for anything. (He still needed to apologize for nearly suffocating Roman with his fuzzy blanket and a pillow when he'd only come down for a quick snack.)

So, he understood them quickly, hiding there obvious family from him. Virgil knew they were close, knew they were happy and he had no hope in becoming a part of something so sweet. And he found there kindness...refreshing, in reference to the others he was so used to.

But when he nearly ducked out, waiting in the shadows for proof of their distance, they literally prooved him wrong. Showed up in Anxieties room, to help not hurt, and even thanked him for guiding them out. Not like the thanks were deserved, if Virgil didn't make such a brash decision, it wouldn't have happened. He hadn't thought about the affect, longterm behavior of Thomas.

Speaking of not thinking things through, he also done something else that was stupid: revealing his name, Virgil.

And that wasn't extraordinary, like, them knowing his name wasn't an incredible thing to know. But all of them grew so interested in him, and Virgil didn't even know why. Why would they want him in there little family, relationship, he'd never asked? But that didn't matter, cause he'd never know, and they'll stop caring, one way or another.

And they were always asking now, if he wanted a hug, to hold hands, even before. And while Virgil wanted to say yes, surprise, he was reakly anxious about it. He'd never been touched before, and he didn't want them wasting their time on Anxiety, of all people. So, they stopped asking. The final nail in the coffin (figurative one) for why they certainly didn't like him, wasting their indispensable kindness on who? Him.

So, he was back in session. But Virgil chose a different approach than his last attempts at staying away from the lights: cold shoulder. He avoided them like the plague, talked only when asked and refrained from leaving his room unless he absolutely had to.

They would get over it, eventually. Virgil wasn't particularly interesting, not enough to be a part of their relationship (he'd asked Patton, an exception to his rule, and Pat confirmed that yes, they were in a poly relationship.) And it was shockingly upseting being away. Hed gotten used to Roman singing at an ungodly hour, to Logans soft smiles at early morning, to Patton giving him a thumbs up when he did a good job. It was nice, being around them. Which was just that, he'd gotten used to their company, making this ten times harder.

Though, they were all very nice, and he was being very not nice, but they'd understand why. Maybe one day, they'll thank him. Tell him how glad that Virgil disposed himself so they could continue, to let Virgil rot, cause surely he deserved it. He deserved this twist in his chest at having to shut Roman down for watching a movie, watching the princes step have less of a spring at being denied. Had to let his cool stay present when seeing a slight shine of worry from Logan when Virgil insisted he already ate. Had to keep down the tears, the desire, the yearning of jumping into Pattons arms at the offer to hold him, and ignoring the desperation right after.

And he hated it. But, Virgil knew, now more than ever that it was for the best.

So, sitting by himself, and laying down across his bed sheets, he ran his thoughts. He'd run out of real excuses days ago, and was now considering leaving entirely.

Not ducking out, no, Virgil didn't want Thomas to be hurt because of him. But maybe, going back to the dark, would be helpful. Virgil knew the lights were busy, always doing something, and they would probably continue with themselves, with each other. Wouldn't even notice Virgils absence.

Virgil thought about it, twirling his pen in the air, the fan on for noise instead of dispersing the heat. No, he decided, not gonna damage Thomas fight or flight. He'll need it. Just because he wasn't worth it, didn't mean he'd hirt himself in response. He'd done it before, it never helped.

All he could do, was lay low.

After ten minutes of quite literally doing nothing, a knock could be heard. A soft one, but stern, someone who wouldn't be ignored. Virgil groaned. They didn't need him, they'd be fine, talking to them will make them feel worse.

But, he always answered now after a particular long conversation, a promise he'd always regret. Drawing out the progress of putting his dark jacket on, Virgil opened the door, guiding his eyes down to the floor, "Yes?"

A hand, maybe Pattons rested on his shoulder, as Logan, in a shockingly soft tone, "I believe speaking with you right now is the best course of action, but if you'd rather..." his voice trailed off.

Confused, and rather spellbound by the lasting contact on his shoulder, Virgil made the mistake of lifting his head. Roman and Pattons eyes widened and Logan actually flinched.

"Have-have you been crying, Dear stormcloud?" Virgil blinked, lifting his hand to his cheeks at Tomans question. Damp and cold, "Apparently. I didn't-I couldn't really notice, I haven't been-" He cut himself off.

"What?" Patton had asked softly, now rubbing light patterns. Virgil flinched at the change, Patton drawing his hand away immediately. Good, Virgil didn't like that at all, didn't find Pat comforting in the slightest, "I just haven't been sleepin much, no worries."

A pause. Reading his face, Virgil presumed. Looking to see what he knew already, so the lecture didn't waste all their time. "Do you-would you like to join us?" Virgil nodded, even though his stomache flipped at Romans proposition, "We were gonna watch a movie, but we don't have to."

Virgil shook his head, already walking out his doorway and down the hall, "Thats fine" I'm fine, went unsaid.

So no one spoke for the first half of Toy Story 2, sitting, tight knit on the sofa. Everyone accept Virgil, who sat deeply in the armchair, much too small and scared for the likings of the lights. But at some point, the silent conversation was too much for him, and Logan swiftly grabbed the remote, pausing the movie.

"Finally." Roman muttered as both Logan and Patton straightened, and Princey looked more attentive. Looks like he was caught, and That the coffin was being nailed shut, (still figurative, Logan.) That was fine, Virgil could handle it.

"Virgil." And Virgil couldn't help, but be nervous by the no nonsense tone of Logans voice, his mind running on autopilot as he lifted his head from being addressed so directly, "You have been avoiding us lately, care to have any explanation as to why you believe avoiding us will do you any good."

Now Virgil was really confused, "Wait, but, how do you, why do you think that." Roman raised an eyebrow, "You talk in your sleep, and let me tell you, I know you haven't been paying attention to Woody or his number one crewmates."

Virgil shifted in his chair, so he could easily run, before letting his gaze unto the carpet. "I know I can be hard to manage, and that me being around isn't always pleasent. But, more than that, I didn't want to, ruin your relationship." The wide eyed stares he got showed he needed to be more specific.

"Like, I ruin everything I touch, which is good thing I've never touched anyone other than holding Princeys hand. And that was a mistake." Virgil sighed. Get to the point, loser, they need to know, "I can ruin something as good as you, I know I can't do it. And your all so nice, and patient, and yet, I know it won't last. So, I decided to take a step back. You were fine, you weren't really upset, cause what good could I be to you all anyway, like-"

"Virgil"

Anxiety paused, looking up to see the upset eyes of the lights sides. Great, he'd made them all mad. Good job! "It's okay. Your not ruining anyone, especially not us."

Virgil opened his mouth to object, but was cut off, "We love you. Were sorry if we made that unclear, but we do. So very much." Roman gave him a real smile, and being the gay dick he was, blew him a kiss like he was a fucking princess. Who did he think he was, making Virgil feel so warm and tingly by a quick motion.

"We've been trying to spend time with you for awhile, and we know it'll take time to understand that yes, we want you around and yes, you may want us around, and may ask for us. But we'll get there." Patton nodded encouragingly at Logans sentiment. "Now, asking again here, you wanna just be held for awhile? We can talk about the harder stuff later."

Virgil knew, that that was his chance. To stop this stupid attempt at help, to stop the hope, the tingly feeling in his chest. To let it be the way it was before, and simply let them be. But the funeral was closed, and The casket was opening, and Virgil could stop the feeble nod at the mere idea of being held, being touched.

The others smiled, more out of relief than anything, and waved him over. Scared Virgil stood on shaky legs, letting himsf down squished between Patton and Logan.

The others assembled into a new posistion: Roman in Patton's lap, Patton leaning on Logans shoulder, and Virgil on Logans lap, holding him close, and intimate and Virgil certainly wasn't panicking, no thank you.

The night when on faster than any of them liked, and by the end credits of their third choice, two sides were snoring to Virgils right.

"Virgil." Logan sounded quiet, sweet. And very real. "I am aware that you are touch starved, so please, always tell me if you are overwelmed, want to stop, or would like to change posistions. Your wants are important." Virgil felt, Logan rest his head against his neck. He breathing fell apart. No ones ever touched him, especially not like this.

Logan was just above whispering now, a low voice right beside his ear, comforting and constant, and so, very real, "If you want affection, a hug, a shoulder to cry on, do not be afraid to ask. We are family, and we will always try our best to answer.

And Virgil still felt guilty. He decided later that hed always feel guilty, at least a little. And that was okay, because things were changing. And he was happy to report that he had returned the coffin, and the nails weren't jiggling in his pockets.

#logan sanders #virgil sanders #we don't do unsympathetic in this household #i dont imply it but Remus and Janys are not unsympathetic #miscommunication all around with tjose darks #i meant the nameless darks #patton sanders #roman sanders #lamp #kind of #like before virgil was part of it but still technically there #self concious #btw their super gay if you didn't notice