#Logan: ‘…’ (refuses to admit this is hitting a nerve)

[plum-pitt]

Thinking about Wade intently watching some deceptively mature serialized kids cartoon, Logan walking in on him and making a derogatory comment about how invested he is in something made for children, and then 3 episodes later Logan sitting next to him just as invested but trying to hide it💀💀💀

[burning-omen]

Mutations and pleasure headcanons

Characters: Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Warren Worthington III, Peter Maximoff

Warning ⚠️: N*fw

Kurt Wagner:

It’s not part of his mutation but it’s worth mentioning, he’s flexible. To the point that it might be unreasonable.

He can fold himself into so many goddamn position and he’s strong enough to hold them for however long he needs to

Anyways, he has 100% just disappeared durning sex.

One moment your railing him into the mattress the next the entire room is covered in blue smoke and Kurt is nowhere to be seen.

About 10 seconds later he’s back with an extremely flustered look in his face.

Before you could question him about where he went he told you he was going to bed. He climbed in next to you and faced the wall for the rest of the night

The next morning he practically begged you to forget that it happened but to also say away from Logan for a few days.

And that’s how you figured out where he landed.

Your avoidance didn’t last long because at some point the next day you ran into Logan, who just let out a long sigh before patting you on the shoulder and walking away.

A few days later Kurt’s over it, just a freak accident, right?

Nope, happened again the next time you had sex with him.

After this kept happening he, begrudgingly, went and asked for help from no other than Logan!

The conversation was basically “hey Logan you fuck a lot right? Can you help me with my sex-teleporting problem?”

And he did, pretty much told him he just needed to be more in the moment mentally so his body wouldn’t take him out of it physically. (whatever that fuck that mean)

After he re-figured out how to stop teleporting spontaneously he decided to use this to his advantage.

I would like to introduce you all to a concept that I like to call “teleportation as a form a teasing”

Intentional teasing wasn’t one of Kurt’s strong suits so he figured that it might help

The first time it happened you were not prepared at all.

You were watching tv, as one does, your mind wandering off as some show played.

Then BOOM

There’s Kurt, looking determined but you could see he was nervous.

Carefully he climbed into your lap, staring down at you for a moment then leaning down, pressing a quick kiss on your lips, he kept going, kissing you over and over again.

He grinds himself against your thigh, groaning softly as sped up. The fabric of his underwear somehow hits every nerve just right.

You watched him as you gently kissing his neck and the bit of exposed chest just above the collar of his shirt.

“You’re bold today, sweetheart.”

“I-i know.”

And just like that, he was gone. A cloud of blue smoke left behind.

You knew this was different from the other times he’d disappeared, then he’d been so absorbed in pleasure that he just POOFED away. This was different, you barely even started, you hardly even touched him and he was gone. And even if it was an accident, he told you he had that under control now.

You just hoped that he hadn’t lied to you.

A few minutes later you wandered into Kurt's room, watching him from the doorway as he frantically arranged and rearranged the things on his desk. A nervous habit of his.

He tries his hardest not to look over at you, focusing incredibly hard on all the stuff on his desk.

He refused to look up even when he heard you close and lock the door, or when you walked up behind him, pressing your body against his as you wrapped your arms around him.

“Kurt..”

“...”

“I know you can hear me sweetheart, you wanna tell me what happened earlier?”

“Nothing..”

“Really? Nothing? Didn’t feel like nothing..”

Feel a little bad for him, he doesn’t know how to tease correctly.

You’re going to have to make him admit to attempting to tease you through the ultimate means of fucking him into the mattress until he’s seeing stars.

Scott Summers:

And now, a list of things you couldn’t do with Scott before he got some semi-permanent glasses:

Roughly fuck his face, because if you did and you knocked his glasses off you’d, at the very, very least, have your entire dick cut off.

Fucking him too hard. Period. It sounds fun but who’s going to pay for the holes in the ceiling or continuously replace your mattress when giant holes are inevitably burned into him?

So if he doesn’t have some semi-permanent glasses by the time you two start having sex everything’s going to be extremely soft and gentle

But the moment he shows you the new glasses it’s over for him.

He’s getting railed on/in/against everything you could think of, because you can do that now without bodily harm or thousands of dollars worth of property damage.

Have y’all been caught having sex in a place y’all shouldn’t be? Yes.

Do you give a flying fuck? No!

No Scott can’t do anything on his own the next day because moving hurts but hey, he had fun.

Warren Worthington III:

Hey Siri, define wing kink

For y’all’s that don’t know “Wing Kink is a related trope which often appears in wingfic (or in fanworks where a canonical character has wings), in which the character's wings are an erogenous zone and caressing them produces pleasurable feelings.” - the fanlore wiki

His wings, when you first started having sex with him, were completely off limits.

He made that undeniably clear to you.

Not because he didn’t like having them touched, but more because he didn’t think you’d like touching them.

All of that went straight out the window a few months later.

He was drunk, which had recently stopped being a normal occurrence for him. He tries to break out of his alcoholism, but it’s a slow and painful process. Instead of just outright stopping all at once he decided it would be better for him to just slow down. It works, he’s not drunk every minute of every day anymore so that’s better. He’ll drink on the weekends, and maybe take a shot before bed but other than that he won’t drink too much. But tonight he was drinking with Logan and in his attempts to keep up with him he’d ended up drunk out of his mind.

He cut himself off, he knew that if he drank more he’d blackout and he didn’t know what he’d do if he did.

So he stumbled all the way back to your room and tripped on literal air.

The sound of him hitting the floor woke you up.

Sitting up you saw Warren laying face down on the floor, giggling like a fool as he made multiple attempts to get up only to end up right back on the floor.

“Warren, it’s 3 in the morning, come lay down.”

You wanted to go over and pick him up. But you knew how he was about his wings and being touched in general.

After a few minutes of coaxing and encouraging him to get into bed he finally did.

Basically plopping down on top of you with a tired grin spread across his face

Burying his face in your chest, he closed his eyes.

After a few minutes you thought he was asleep, but you were proven wrong when he let out a long sigh and looked up at you.

“Fucking hold me..”

No, he doesn’t know how to ask for things nicely he’s a little bastard

You try and avoid his wings at first, gently draping your arms around his shoulders.

But that very quickly frustrated Warren, causing him to grab your arms and forces them around him and his wings.

Before you could try and say anything about it you could hear him snoring.

You sighed, deciding to deal with the breakage of limits could be talked about in the morning.

When you woke up Warren was already awake, still laying on your chest, just staring at you. His cheeks turned a light pinkish color when you looked down at him.

He wouldn’t say anything. He just stared at you for a solid 10 minutes before rolling over onto the other side of the bed.

He’s afraid that in his drunken state he’d made you uncomfortable, which led him to the never ending spiral of anxiety that made him say his wings were off limits in the first place.

Asking him what was wrong just led to him apologizing without actually saying what for.

Throughout the rest of the day he avoided the subject which made him ultimately avoid you.

You see? This is why you should talk to your partners, guys.

It took him awhile but he eventually said what he needed to say.

NOW ONTO THE SEXY BITS

Lightly running your finger through his lower feathers can be a way to get him in The Mood or to calm him down after a particularly rough sex (it helps with his sub drop)

This ones a bit more romantic but kiss his wings, especially the little part where they connect to his back.

He’ll melt, just straight up die on the spot because it’s just so nice and soft and feels so good.

Try not to be to rough with them, it hurts a fuck ton.

His wings are still off limits in certain aspects.

No using them to overstimulate him, he doesn’t like it. No pulling on his feathers, it hurts in the Not Good way.

But do kiss, massage, pet, and run your fingers through them.

He was very nervous when he first let you touch them, unintentionally flinching away when you reached for them.

Run your hands through his feathers while he rides you, he won’t last very long if you do.

praise him and call them beautiful, it took him a long time for him to learn to love himself and his mutation and he needs to be reassured sometimes

STILL BE CAREFUL

HIS WINGS ARE PRECIOUS AND MORE PRONE TO BAD PAIN THAN ANY OTHER PART OF HIS BODY

Just be careful with him stg I love him so much

Peter Maximoff:

Zoom zoom bitch

He fast

He has the nicest ass because of how much he runs

He can and will grab you and take you back to his room if he’s feeling especially needy.

And then he’ll act extremely bratty despite the fact that he brought you there.

He vibrates.

Most of the time unintentionally.

It’s his version of shaking, so he definitely does it when he cums

“Peter, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Just...give me a moment..”

He’s gotten too eager before and fallen off the bed while trying to change position.

When I say this man gives the best blowjobs in the history of blowjobs I mean it

His tongue vibrates too. That added with the fact that he has no gag reflex AND no shame? Rip

Quickies, anywhere anytime.

Cameras can be covered in less than a second and he can have both of you looking relatively decent before anyone comes in.

You have to guide him while he rides/fucks himself onto you because he might hurt you or himself by going too fast.

He’s not aloud to use his speed when given sexual orders

Usually after being punished he’s much more shy and nervous.

Making him do things slowly only adds to that.

Make him get on his knees in front of you? Gone, he’s so blushy and embarrassed at just being in that position.

Make him strip and prep himself while you watch? Ceases to exist

Will beg and cry for you to let him speed up, but he’s just putting on a show.

Grinding against pillows or folded blankets with some kind of plug up his ass is his preferred method of masturbation because he can go as fast as he wants without worry.

He’s ripped holes in a few blankets and pillows and has very unsuccessfully hidden.

“So are we not going to talk about the hole in my brand new blank?”

“No we are not.”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

You Don’t Need To Be Cured

Prompt: Logan trying to cure either his epilepsy or chronic pain becsuse he thinks the other sides pity him for it. It backfires, making his condition worse.

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: descriptions on epilepsy and seizures

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 2965

 Logan takes a deep breath and looks at the table once more. The solution looks so innocuous, barely darker than the water he has next to it. The flask is cool to the touch in his hand.

He’s not been blind. He knows how the others look at him behind his back. He can hear the mutterings of conversations that cease the moment he walks through the door. They pity him.

 They pity the way he asks to have a moment to note down the time and type in his seizure journal. They pity the way he has to leave during certain movie nights when the light sequences get too rough. They pity the way he can’t remember things that happen during his seizures.

 They pity him. That’s too close to being a joke for his comfort.

 They don’t take him seriously, he realized one night when they wouldn’t let him even try to watch Venom with them. They don’t trust him to know his own limits, to make his own choices, or to speak up when he’s being adversely affected.

 He overheard Virgil saying they should just wrap him in bubble wrap and leave him be once. It didn’t help that he had a seizure barely an hour later.

 Logan looks back at the whiteboard. His thoughts are scribbled neatly in rows, drawn next to the equations and names for the varied AEDs he’s researched. Those work for humans, however, not Sides. He takes another deep breath, slow and controlled. Then he reaches for the recorder on the desk and hits the button.

 “Epileptic seizures,” he begins, doing his best to keep his voice even, “are caused by abnormal electrical impulses that act on other neurons, glands, and muscles to produce thoughts, emotions, and actions.”

 He rolls his shoulders back to ensure he still has some degree of motility.

 “The abnormalities can cause muscle spasms, an inability to tell what is happening around you, and occasionally, a loss of consciousness.”

 As he speaks, the residual nerves from finishing his project slowly begin to diminish. His hands don’t shake as he holds the flask up to the light. The solution inside refracts it across his glasses.

 “During a seizure, neurons may fire up to 500 times a second, a 625% increase from the normal 80 times a second.”

 His arm trembles slightly from the exertion of holding it still. He takes another breath and lowers the flask.

 “One of the most studied neurotransmitters involved in epileptic seizures is gamma-aminobutyric acid.” Logan glances over to his notes. “Otherwise known as GABA. It is an inhibitory neurotransmitter that counteracts the effects of other neurotransmitters that cause excitation, or overstimulation.”

 No one else listens to him when he’s like this, he realizes suddenly as he starts to explain the side effects of low GABA, they don’t care. They never ask what they can do to help him with his epilepsy, only that they performed some cursory Google search and decided they knew best.

 They didn’t want to know about him, they had just decided to pity him.

 Well. Lucky for them, Logan knows how to fix it.

 “Considering the complicated nature of human brain chemistry,” he says, finalizing the preparations, “it follows that any solution and/or treatment for epilepsy would be similarly complicated. However, as I am a Side, and am susceptible to Thomas’s perception of me, my treatment may be simpler.”

 Research into the balance of GABA in stereotypical treatments, regulatory patterns to establish a proper treatment method, far too many late nights performing differential diagnostic testing on himself, on different case studies. Haphazardly assembling tables upon tables of results for comparison. A few too many favors asked Remus to hide the failed solutions.

 “And here we are,” he murmurs, more to himself than to the recording, “this should be it.”

 He can’t help the slight smile that comes to his face as he raises the flask in a mock toast.

 “To my health.”

 The solution isn’t quite bitter, not really, but that’s the closest word he can derive for it. He sets the flask aside, now empty, and reaches for the glass of water. The smile doesn’t leave his face.

 He did it. He did it. It…it worked.

 The experiment worked.

 He looks down at his hands, opening and closing them a few times. He turns them over. He can feel them. There are none of the residual tinglings that normally accompanies his movements. No stiffness.

 With a rising feeling in his stomach—a good one, not the warning one—Logan moves to the window to look outside. The sun sets over the garden that Roman created in the Imagination for him, the golden light catching and winking off of the damp leaves. It looks beautiful.

 He should go for a walk, he realizes excitedly, he should go ask Roman to come on a walk with him. He starts for his door only to pause.

 Will they be happy? That Logan’s figured out a way to fix himself?

 They’ll be happy, certainly, that they won’t have to pay as much attention to him anymore.

 They’ll be happy they don’t have to worry about his needs when they pick what to watch.

 They’ll…they’ll probably be happy they don’t have to listen to him out of some obligation anymore.

 Logan reaches for the doorknob only to freeze.

 Will they…will they listen to him at all now?

 The others, despite their flaws, are caring people. Leaving someone in distress is not in their nature, any of them. And they have made it no secret that they…they would rather not have to worry about him.

 But if they don’t have to worry about him, they don’t need to pay attention to him. Which means they may not listen to him at all.

 Without pity, he may…he may just become the joke.

 He blinks.

 “—gan! Logan!”

 “Oh my goodness, Logan, can you hear us?”

 “Back off guys, don’t crowd him.”

 “Logan? Sweetie, can you hear me?”

 His head feels so heavy. It throbs. What happened? He tries to lift it, even just to turn and see what’s happening, only for it to explode.

 Figuratively, but it takes a moment to confirm that.

 “Shh, shh,” Janus murmurs as he lets out a pained groan, “don’t move too much, sweetie, take it easy.”

 “What—“ why is his throat so dry?— “why are you here?”

 Janus’s face twists. “What do you remember, sweetie?”

 “I...” He swallows and peers up at Janus. Why is he so blurry?

 “Here,” comes Patton’s voice, before his glasses are fixed by two careful hands, “there.”

 “I don’t remember when you came in,” he says after a moment, “in fact, I was just going to come and find you.”

 “Well, we’re here now, L,” comes Virgil’s voice—where is he?— “and you’ve got some explaining to do.”

 “Oh, way to go, Peter Deadpan, that’s a great way to reassure him.”

 “Kiddos,” Patton says sternly, before leaning into Logan’s line of sight, “Logan? Do you remember anything else?”

 “No, why—why am I on the floor? Why does my head hurt?”

 “What time did you try and come get us?”

 “A few minutes ago.”

 “What time, L?”

 Logan frowns, blinking long and slow. “Around 2:30. Why are you asking me this?”

 “Because it’s almost three, Logan,” comes Roman’s soft voice from behind him, “and we got here at 2:45.”

 Oh.

 Oh.

 Oh, no.

 “Shh, shh, easy, sweetie,” Janus soothes immediately, reaching out to move a book out of the way so Logan doesn’t hit his head, “just look at me, okay?”

 “It worked, I thought it worked—“

 “You gotta calm down, L,” Virgil says evenly, “come on. You know we’re here to help, it’s gonna be okay.”

 He lets Virgil walk him through his grounding techniques but it hurts. This was supposed to work. They weren’t supposed to pity him anymore.

 “Oh, Specs,” Roman murmurs, passing Patton a tissue box when Logan sniffles.

 Moving is agony, he realizes as soon as he reaches for a tissue. Everything tingles, everything hurts it’s awful, he wants it to stop, it was supposed to stop—

 “There…” Patton finishes cleaning his face off and cups his face to fix the ends of his glasses. “What do you need?”

 Logan blinks. “What?”

 “What do you need,” he repeats, “what can we do? What would you like us to do?”

 “D-do?”

 “We want to help,” Roman fills in, still a little out of sight, “if…if you’ll let us.”

 Pity.

 Anger flares up and he pulls away. “Nothing. You can go.”

 Janus raises an eyebrow and hisses lightly.

 “We don’t mind, kiddo, we can—“

 “I said,” Logan mumbles, as dignified as he can, “you can go.”

 “But—“

 “Pat,” Roman says softly, “if he wants us to go, we should go.”

 Patton looks back down at him. Logan refuses to meet his gaze. He doesn’t want their pity. He doesn’t need their charity. He can figure this out by himself.

 “L? Do you really want us to go?”

 He swallows the lump in his throat. “Leave.”

 He ignores Patton’s noise of disappointment and does his best to bury his face into the carpet. He hears the soft swish of a Side sinking out. As soon as it fades, his chest shudders with a shaking sob, his glasses fogging up and pressing uncomfortably into his cheek.

 He’s ruined everything.

 Not only was his experiment an utter failure, but he also seems to have made things worse. His seizures are more uncontrollable, he’s suffering more drastic memory losses, and now…now the others definitely pity him. Perhaps more than they ever did.

 He sniffles.

 “…Logan?”

 Logan freezes.

 “I thought I told you,” he chokes out furiously, “to leave.”

 “You did,” comes Roman’s soft voice, “but…well, I’ve never exactly been good at listening to you, have I?”

 Logan’s fist clenches against his—he’s in the recovery position, they put him in the recovery position— “get. Out.”

 “I can’t do that, Logan.”

 “Why not?”

 “Because you just had a seizure that lasted almost half an hour, and we can’t exactly take you to the hospital.”

 Roman’s words twist deep into his chest and hurt. He’s right. Leaving him entirely alone would be irresponsible, not to mention dangerous. But his anger won’t let him admit that out loud, so instead, he bares his teeth in a snarl that Roman can’t see.

 “Why,” he spits, “did it have to be you?”

 That’s not fair, some part of him whispers.

 “Because you’re angry,” Roman replies easily, “and I’m the only one who’s used to that.”

 He’s right.

 “Then you’d think you’d know better,” Logan says even as he desperately wants to stop talking, “then to do something I don’t tell you to.”

 “You can be mad at me, Logan, I don’t care. I’m not leaving.”

 “I could just make you leave.”

 “You still can’t move,” Roman points out gently, “and I wouldn’t recommend it.”

 “I wouldn’t need to.”

 “Oh, I know you could,” comes the sigh from over his shoulder, “you’ve got more insults and jabs prepared for me than I could anticipate. You could tear me down with barely any effort. Make me argue with you, cry, scream, storm off in a huff, all of it.”

 There’s a pause, then a soft rustle of fabric.

 “But you won’t.”

 “And how can you be so sure?”

 “Because you’re you, Logan,” Roman says, “and you won’t.”

 Logan’s face twitches up into a grimace as more tears leak out of his eyes. “You’re not allowed to be right this much,” he tries as a last resort.

 “I’m not allowed to do a lot of things, Logan.” He hears Roman lean against the wall. “That includes leaving you.”

 The anger in his chest melts into just plain hurt, leaving him sprawling awkwardly out of the recovery position. Distantly, he hears Roman get up and come around to kneel in front of him.

 “‘M fine,” he manages, “I can breathe and everything.”

 “I’m just making sure.” A hand hovers near him. “And to make sure you don’t accidentally roll onto your tie.”

 “My tie?”

 “Virgil undid it when you were still having the seizure. We had to make sure you could still breathe.”

 Oh.

 “May I?” Logan lifts his arm enough to let Roman reach in and carefully pull his tie free. The slight susurrus makes his head tingle.

 “Bad.”

 Roman pauses. “Bad?”

 “Bad noise.”

 Roman nods. “Thank you for telling me. I’m just going to set this on your desk, alright?”

 Logan moves his head enough to watch Roman lean up and set the tie up there. From the angle, he can just see the very rim of the flask.

 “Hey, hey,” Roman calls when Logan lets out a whine, “what’s wrong?”

 “It was supposed to work,” he manages, “it was supposed to fix this, or at least make it b-better. Not worse.”

 “What was supposed to work?”

 “My experiment. I—I tried to balance out my GABA levels, stabilize the inhibition of the excitatory neurotransmitters, so this would stop, but it just made it worse.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 Logan sniffles. “It wasn’t your fault.”

 “No, but that doesn’t mean I’m not sorry that it didn’t work.” Roman’s hand hovers in front of his face again. “That can’t be comfortable, Specs, lying on your—well, specs like that.”

 “It’s fine.”

 “Okay.” Roman retracts his hand and sits back. “What’s GABA?”

 “What?”

 “Your experiment, you said you were trying to balance out your GABA levels, what’s GABA?”

 “It’s short for gamma-aminobutyric acid. It’s the primary inhibitory neurotransmitter.”

 “And its levels affect epilepsy?”

 “Lack of it is one of the main studied causes of epilepsy.”

 “So treatments revolving around increasing levels of GABA are effective?”

 Logan squints up at him. “What are you doing? Why are you asking me these questions, why do you care?”

 Roman meets his gaze easily, stretching out to sit in front of him. “You like talking about your experiments, Logan. You enjoy teaching us things. I enjoy being taught by you.”

 Roman what?

 “And I’m supposed to be helping you calm down,” he continues, lightly knocking Logan’s outstretched hand with his foot. “Talking about your work often calms you down.”

 He smiles and tilts his head.

 “And I really hope you don’t need an answer as to why I care.”

 Logan freezes.

 “W-what?”

 Roman’s smile fades as he looks at Logan’s disbelief. Concern writes itself plainly across his features and he reaches out.

 “Sorry—“ he catches himself— “can I—may I touch you?”

 Bemused, Logan nods, only to close his eyes as the tenderness with which Roman takes his head in his hands. His breath leaves him in a rush and he sags into the grip.

 “Stay with me,” comes Roman’s faint reminder. He opens his eyes to look up at him, only to see his face break out into a smile. “Hey, Specs, keep those pretty eyes open for me?”

 “You—you think my eyes are pretty?”

 “Yeah, I do.” He quirks an eyebrow. “But don’t distract me. Do you—why did you look so shocked when I said I cared?”

 “Because you pity me,” Logan argues, “that’s not the same thing.”

 Roman’s face truly falls. “No, no, Specs, I don’t pity you. I’m sorry if it ever came off that way. None of us pity you, none of us.”

 “B-but you—you won’t let me make my own choices,” he stammers, “you end conversations when I walk in the room, you—you look at me like I’m something you—you—“

 “We what, Logan?”

 “Like you have to care about me,” he whispers.

 “Oh, Logan,” Roman whispers, “no, no, we’ve done this so wrong.”

 He comes closer, lying down with his hand still resting on Logan’s shoulder.

 “We don’t pity you, Logan. And we certainly aren’t being forced into caring about you. We’ve messed this up good and proper, but I swear to you we don’t pity you.”

 Logan’s brain stutters to a glorious pause.

 “You…you don’t pity me?”

 “No, Logan, I could never pity you.” The corner of his mouth tugs up. “Sometimes I think you’re the strongest out of all of us.”

 “…only sometimes?”

 “Well, sometimes Virgil decides he’s going to throw Remus over his shoulder like he’s a ping-pong ball.”

 Logan snorts at the image. Roman’s smile grows as he watches, rubbing Logan’s shoulder fondly.

 “We’ll be better about this,” he promises on a more serious note, “but…please, I know I don’t have a right to ask anything from you, but we’ve never pitied you, Specs.”

 “…yeah?”

 “Yeah.” Roman gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’re our Logan. We could never.”

 “Y-your Logan?”

 “Yeah, Specs, you’re not going anywhere. No one else gets to have you. We called dibs.”

 “…I do not believe it is possible to call ‘dibs’ on a person.”

 “Doesn’t change the fact that we did.”

 “I’ve never heard you call dibs on me.”

 “Well, we did. And I’ll do it again right now.” Roman raises his voice a little, looking around as if at an imaginary audience. “Dibs! Our Logan! Keep your greedy little paws off him.”

 “Roman!”

 Roman chuckles. “You’re not getting away from us, Specs. You’re stuck with us.”

 “Hmm. I can see how this might be considered a tragedy.”

 “Truly,” Roman sighs dramatically, “stuck with a family who loves and cares for you, how will you ever survive?”

 Logan’s quiet for a moment, before he nervously lifts his hand to lay it over Roman’s. At Roman’s encouraging nod, he squeezes gently.

 “…with their help, hopefully?”

 “Always.”

General taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @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  @aularei @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

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

[jinxedpanda4life]

Criminal Investigator AU HC

I would first like to start off by saying thank you to everyone. 

I honestly did not expect the response I got to my Damirae Hospital AU HC list. 

When I first woke up and checked tumblr ~13 hours after posting I had a holy shit moment. 

I felt powerful, should I? Probably not. 

But! Since I am noticing a lack of AUs in the fandom, whether on Tumblr, AO3 or FanFiction.net, whatever AU comes to my mind I shall jot down some hcs for! 

Thank you all once again!

(Also trying format changes for easy reading)

(Also Also, I am thinking the story is less fluid but more episodic)

Let’s get started:

- So I’m thinking this is some FBI, SVU, and FBI BAU mixture or whatever. Basically all the great shows we know in love shoved together. From Bones to Criminal Minds and everything in between.

- Special Agent (Dr.) Raven Roth is a lead interrogator and is the resident psych consult. 

She’s been educated in interrogation, behavioral science, psychology, forensic pathology, and criminology. 

She has combat training (hand to hand), she carries (for her job) a gun and at all times has a knife/dagger on her person (people have stopped trying to figure out where she keeps them). 

Her father was/is crime boss T. Trigon who is currently imprisoned. 

Was born in the states but fled with her mother to Romania when she was a newborn.

When Trigon found them he killed Arella and took Raven, she was abut 9 - 10 years old.

She took her mother’s last name when she turned 18. 

Knows two languages besides English; French, Romanian, Romani (various dialects but knows multiple), Greek and Latin

On more than one occasion some goon of her father’s tries to recruit her, every time she kicks their ass. (Damian was there for the most recent (he was still green though))

Lives by herself in a decent sized apartment, has a gun safe (gun safety is important!), a cat (Nevermore), and is a regular at a 24/7 bookstore &/ cafe

Can usually be found wearing some kind of jacket, sweater, cardigan

She once helped save some kids (Melvin, Tommy & Teether) and is now their surrogate aunt, she has photos of them at her desk @ work. (Damian assumes/ed that they were her kids)

She also, when she can, hangs out and babysits them on occasion.

Raven is part of a team consisting of Dick Grayson (unit leader), Kori Anders, Garfield Logan, Jaime Reyes, and very recently Damian Wayne 

- Special Agent Damian Wayne is a lead investigator (he is still a bit fresh to the unit), translator, sniper and combat coordinator

He’s been educated in martial arts, explosives, hand to hand combat, close range combat, and combat (basically he knows how to kill you 9 ways to Sunday), also, behavioral science, computer science, criminology, linguistics and language. 

He can easily translate (into English): Arabic, Mandarin Chinese, Russian, Hindi, Bengali, French, Polish, German, Spanish, Portuguese, he can also learn any language you put in front of him and know the basics within a day

(Having lived in many places around the world he needed to be able to speak and understand in order to survive) (wow dramatic much?)

His father is currently the director (or deputy director, whatever floats ya boat) of the FBI.

His mother was essentially a secret agent who worked for various agencies around the globe. (deceased)

His grandfather was the leader of a, um, well to be honest, terrorist agency. (deceased)

Was sent to live with his father when he was 15 (when his mother died) and has been in the states ever since

Lives alone, he has an upscale apartment that he truthfully spends little time in, has multiple locations in the home where various weapons are stored, his place has a very cold atmosphere

Is either in proper work attire or in work out clothing, there is no in between

Tries and fails not to take work home with him

He sees a therapist (who says he should probably try investing in relationships with the people at his job)

His only “friend” (he hates calling him that, more like close acquaintance) is Jonathan Kent who was in his class at the FBI Academy, Jon works in a white collar crime department in Metropolis

The only person he actually kind of sort of doesn’t dislike is in fact Raven Roth, she’s a no bull shit person, he likes that

He may know Grayson because of how he’s Bruce’s kind of son but it does not mean he likes him

He finds Logan annoying as all hell, even if he is somewhat useful

He picked a fight with Reyes first day and regretted it (he will never admit that), he respects him

Anders is overly friendly in his opinion, kind of acts like a secretary with all that positivity and grates his nerves, he tolerates her

(Unlike last time I am not going in detail about the rest of the team, this will be brief)

- Supervisory Special Agent Dick Grayson (Unit Chief) is basically Dick Grayson with a big fancy title but all the same skills

He is also obsessed with Slade Wilson and Red X (who is Jason in this)

- Supervisory Special Agent Kori Anders is a lead investigator and is also a go to for undercover work

- Special Agent Garfield Logan is a lead interrogator, is head of the unit’s K-9 unit and kind of has a thing for Roth (which she does not reciprocate) 

- Special Agent Jaime Reyes is a tactical analyst, tech analyst and is head of the unit’s SWAT team, he does not do well with talking with people, or change

The Scarab is a computing program that Jaime created himself

STORY START:

- When Damian first joins the team there is another member, Special Agent Terra Markov, she is revealed as a sleeper agent but she aligns herself with the team and sadly is shot and killed in a fire fight

- A couple weeks after Agent Markov’s death everyone is talking about what they are doing for an upcoming holiday, Damian says probably nothing, Raven invites him to spend it with her and her “niece” and “nephews,” he declines

- About a day after the holiday Damian is home looking through case files when someone knocks on his door

-- It is Raven. He asks how she knew where he lived, she says she asked Dick, she also says that she knows how it feels to be alone and that he may be insufferable but it doesn’t mean he can’t have a friend

-- His response is saying he isn’t the kind to make friends with co workers

-- “I’m not asking to be your friend Damian, I am asking you to be his,” She reveals a small black great dane puppy “I know that other people aren’t really your thing, but having someone in your corner and waiting for you is always nice, even if it isn’t human.”

-- Damian invites her in, names the dog Titus and thanks her

-- “Just make sure no one tries to kidnap and kill you, we don’t need you to go full blown John Wick.” Damian has no idea who that is. Raven tells him it is an action movie series that he should watch. She leaves. He does watch them that night with Titus on his lap. (after having gone to the local pet supply store to get everything he needs) The action is inaccurate but he enjoyed the movies none the less, and decides that he probably would go into John Wick mode if someone hurt Titus.

- SA Roth and SA Wayne are sent to a high security federal prison to interrogate a prisoner, who refuses to speak

-- When they get into the interview room the prisoner does start to speak, but not in English and not in a language Damian is fluent in

-- Raven on the other hand immediately responds to the prisoner (shocking the prisoner and Damian) “He is speaking Romani though not the dialect of those overseas, he learned it here.” 

-- Damian is fascinated by it and they are essentially switching roles the entire time

-- They leave having successfully interviewing the prisoner, and Raven leaves behind a written list of common words in Romani so that they can possibly communicate with the prisoner better

-- As soon as they are on the plane back Damian asks her a myriad of questions from “How many languages do you know?” to “When did you learn that?” and even “Are you a spy? Sleeper agent? Part of a terrorist cell?”

-- “Not as many as you, when I was a child, if I was part of any of that you wouldn’t be asking.” The rest of the trip is spent with her teaching him Romani and even some Romanian

- Dick & Kori eventually get together and after a while they break up. Kori takes some vacation time. At the same Dick has been temporarily reassigned to another unit.

-- Chaos ensues

-- Garfield thinks he should be the interim unit chief, Jaime thinks the same, as does, you guessed it, Damian (Raven doesn’t want to she is comfortable with her role on the team)

-- In the end they are assigned an interim unit chief, SSA Jason Todd, who usually works overseas on covert op missions (not gonna lie this could easily flow into a Jayrae thing)

-- Everyone kind of falls into line, except Damian, Damian doesn’t like him for two reasons

1) He doesn’t act serious about the job 24/7

2) He has been flirting and hitting on Raven the moment he stepped into their sector 

-- Damian hates the names he gives her; “Little Bird,” “Sunshine,” “Princess,” “Rae,” (no one calls her Rae, not even Garfield, at least not after the incident) etc.

-- (Little does Damian know, Jason and Raven have worked together before and are actually friends)

-- This all comes to a head when Damian and Jason are the only ones still in the office after a tiring case.

          “You shouldn’t do that you know.”

           “Do what? All I am doing right now is contemplating where Grayson                    keeps the liquor.”

           “Call Raven all those names, she doesn’t like it.”

           “Really? Because if you haven’t noticed she hasn’t exactly asked me to                stop.”

           “She gets uncomfortable, maybe not to the extent of asking you to stop,              but she tenses up and her body language becomes slightly more                        agitated.”

          “You seem to pay a lot of attention in how she reacts to thinks baby brat.             Seems to me that you like her.”

           “Of course I like her, she is a good friend and reliable teammate.”

           “No, you like like her.”

           “That presumption is juvenile.”

           “But you don’t deny it.”

           “Tch.”

-- If anything after that conversation Jason seems to doubled his advances. Which confuses both Damian and Raven. Damian because it is inappropriate and HR will be hearing about this. Raven because she was under the assumption that she and Jason were just friends. (Jason actually does have genuine intentions but is like 60% just egging Damian on)

-- Eventually (far too long for Damian’s tastes), both Dick and Kori return. At first it is sooooooo awkward. Like mom and dad divorced have shared custody but don’t hate each other but also cannot look each other in the eye. ((Was that a mouthful? Good)) No one can really look at each other the same? Though they do have a meeting to sort it out, get everything out in the open.

- Raven’s annual kidnapping/attempt to convert her/torture comes almost exactly one year after Damian joined the team (this is his 2nd time dealing with this)

-- This time Damian is prepared. By prepared I mean Raven doesn’t even leave her apartment before she is taken to safety. 

    “Damian what is going on?”

    “Christmas came early this year that’s what.”

    “Christmas? What in gods name are you talking about.”

    “God has no dealings in this matter.”

    “You do realize you are sounding like a bad action movie? It is not even 6 am and I am in your car going somewhere, I have had little to no sleep and I am barely dressed. What is going on?” Damian hadn’t payed attention to what clothing Raven was wearing. His mind was on one goal. Find Raven, keep Raven safe. His eyes glanced off the road enough to realize she was indeed not properly dressed. Her body was merely adorned with an oversized tee-shirt, tiny barely there shorts and a pair of fluffy socks.

    “I apologize, it appears in my haste I did not leave you time to properly clothe yourself. As to why you are here, it seems your father and his people have shortened their waiting time this year from one year to a little more than ten months.” Ravens hands fisted her shirt. “This time I was prepared,” last time he was still new to everything, last time he made mistakes, this time there will be no mistakes. “Since our last encounter with your demon, so to speak, I have been setting in place precautions and safety measures to ensure Nevermore and yours’ safety. I have also been tracking the movements of his big players. If any came close I would mark it down. Multiple are entering the city at this moment. Seeing as you we taken last time I have made plans to ensure that will not happen again.” The car made a snap turn down an unfamiliar street pulling Raven from her clouded gaze.

    “So I am going to be okay this time?” Her voice was faint and restraining against hope.

    “You’re going to be okay.” His hand lightly held hers. Only to stop the shaking, they told themselves, only to make everything better. “Nevermore is with Titus at my place being watched by a friend of mine. I have already walked Grayson through everything we will not be expected at work this week, but we can work remotely.”

     “We?”

     “I’m not going to leave you. Ever.”

-- ((Sorry for the blocks of text))

-- As Raven finds out they are at one of Damian’s safe houses. The one least likely to be tied to her. It is fully stocked with food, has security cameras and if needed weapons. The only problem is that the only clothes there are Damians.

    “Thought of everything huh?”

     “I was following their pattern, I expected to have more time to acquire clothing for you.” (he was looking away and blushing, you cannot tell me he wasn’t)

-- Raven just resigns herself to wearing Damian’s clothes, yes his brain does stop working for a hot second when he sees her in only his clothes.

-- All attempts to try and retrieve codename: Gem of Scath are foiled (like some good math)

-- So many bonding moments happen. Cuddling (pure accident *rolls eyes*), eating together, inside jokes, etc. At one point Damian answers her phone (he disabled and disconnected the tracer) to one of the mob guys after them.

    “Hello?”

     “You can hide the gem but we will find her.”

     “I’m sorry, is there a jewel you are looking for? I don’t think I have and any jewels that I am coveting.”

     “We know you are with her! It is but a matter of time until we collect her.”

     “I hope you do eventually find whatever you are looking for sir, but I haven’t the slightest idea the gem you speak of. If you could give me a physical description? Is it a ruby, diamond, onyx? Is it round or more of a pear shape?”

    “...”

    “Well, I will look for it here, but I do not believe I possess what you speak of. Will you give me your number so I can call you back?” (The line cuts dead, and Raven can be seen laughing in the background, the phone was on speaker)

-- Once the team tracks down, arrests and interrogates all of the parties working for Trigon; Raven and Nevermore can go home. Though both are reluctant in their own way. Nevermore has grown attached to Titus, and Raven well Raven has feelings. Sadly, as Raven knows, feelings are dangerous to have in their line of work. 

-- Look at Dick and Kori they were together and then they fell apart and the team almost imploded.

-- What about Trigon if he finds out about Damian and how she feels towards him? What kind of danger will he be in then?

-- Like all of her feelings Raven puts them in a box and locks the box away. Not just figuratively, in her safe there is a box with: post its, torn papers, journals, etc. That box has a lock on it. Whenever she has a new feeling that she cannot ignore, like her feelings towards Special Agent Wayne, she takes out the box and writes her feelings down. They can range from a single sentence to pages worth. (Her feelings towards Damian fill a small notebook she has on hand). Once she has written all of her feelings out she places them in the box, locks said box and then places the locked box in her safe, which she then locks.

-- Is this a healthy way to cope with her feelings? Maybe not. But, it is way better than how Damian deals with his. Violence. Also art but violence comes first.

- At this point both Damian and Raven have caught the feelings (highly contagious I hear), which makes this a little awkward and a little not awkward. For one everyone but Raven knows how Damian feels towards her. He does things for her and with her that no one else gets the privilege to.

-- To list a few:

--- He brings her tea whenever he gets himself coffee or tea

--- He talks to her about what he does outside of work, even about his kind of friend definitely not enemy, Jon.

--- They socialize outside of work. Watching bad movies (some of them are not that bad), going to the park with Titus (they once got Nevermore in a leash and walked her), meeting each other before and after work to get breakfast or dinner.

--- He doesn’t glare at her

--- He allows physical contact between the two

--- He worries about her (hello he created an entire plan so that she wouldn’t get kidnapped, with contingencies and everything, garfield would be lucky to get a plan)

--- His eyes light up when she talks, or enters a room, or you know exists in his vicinity

--- He actually smiles around her (Dick caught him smiling once at Raven and he though Damian was having a stroke)

-- Even though everyone knows Damian likes Raven, very few know that Raven likes Damian back. (this only includes; Kori, Dick, Jason, Titus, Nevermore, and Melvin) She does do certain things that give herself away just like Damian.

--The list:

--- When Damian gets frustrated or angry she puts a hand on his arm, or holds his hand

--- She laughs at things he does (light chuckles, or little giggles)

--- She will talk to him about his interests and actively tries to have conversations with him about things unrelated to work.

--- She blushes when he does something unexpected (like a compliment)((Mostly she tries to hide it until he isn’t looking at her))(((Kori has caught the blush before)))

-- Luckily for them it does not take some cliche ‘One suddenly becomes in danger and the other one saves them only to be close to death and then they admit their love for one another and promise to go on a date when the other is healed’ situation. 

-- Damian actually asks Raven out after being tipped of by Jason and Dick that she may like him back. Damian finds out when they have days off at the same time and asks her while leaving work.

   “Raven, you have this weekend off correct?”

   “Yeah I do. I wasn’t planning on doing anything though. Did you have something in mind?”

    “Um, yeah, heh, I was wondering if you would do me the pleasure of going to dinner with me tomorrow.” *Awkwardly rubs back of neck*

    “Like a date or two friends going to dinner?” *Thinks she sounds harsh* “I am honestly fine with either since we are friends.” *nervous smile*

     “Like a date if that is okay with you of course.”

     “Yeah, yeah totally that is totally okay with me.” *Starts sounding like a teenage girl who only knows about 10 words, because she’s nervous*

      “Good, I’ll be by your place around 1830, if that is okay?” *nerve central, the central nervous system could never*

       “Yup that is totally fine with me.”

       “Great.”

       “Good.” The elevator opens in the knick of time.

       “See you tomorrow evening Agent Roth. Have a good night.”

        “You too, Agent Wayne, you too.”

-- When Damian does pick her up he feels like his brain is going to explode. She looks absolutely breathtaking. This is just like all the other times they’ve gone to dinner, except this restaurant is slightly fancier and they are on a date.

-- Raven feels as though all her emotions are leaking out at once, she has no idea what she is doing.

-- In the end they have a good time and decide to do it again. Damian does bring up that all of the breakfasts and dinners they regularly do could now be considered dates. Raven does not oppose that switch at all.

- Fast forward a handful of years (like 3?), Damian and Raven are moved in together (Nevermore and Titus are happy about this, they even allow the humans to adopt another pet, a cat named Alfred). Damian is now Supervisory Special Agent Wayne and is in charge of their unit. Raven has retired from field work and now works at the FBI academy and at Virginia State University. In about 6 months Damian is going to propose and Raven will say yes. Their wedding will be small but happy and full of life.

Once again I would like to thank everyone and all the support the previous post got.

Like last time if anything is disjointed, out of place or seems wrong, please go ahead and tell me. I have been working on this since the last one, but have finally had the time to finish it.

I hope the new year will bring us all some good. Possibly more head canons to come.

[whenisitenoughtrees]

the point in just drowning another day

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Janus murmurs, voice entirely too knowing, entirely too understanding, and Patton doesn't know that he can handle the depth of this empathy. “You deserve to have the support that you’ve been trying so hard to provide.”

Patton is struggling far more than he wants to admit, both with his loneliness and the crushing weight of the mistakes he's made, and it's sending him spiraling. It doesn't help that apparently, his amphibian traits are here to stay.

Content Warnings: depression, mild body horror

Word Count: 6,900

Pairing: Moceit

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

It is a grey day today.

He hasn’t had one in a while, but he’s sensed it approaching for the past few days, so he supposes it’s his own fault that it hits this bad; he willfully ignored all the warning signs, pushed aside his fatigue and his slowly souring mood, telling himself that he was alright, that he was being silly, that the feelings would pass. And now, the world is grey, the colors leeched from it like a black-and-white film, and a weight sits heavily on his chest, making every breath a struggle.

He needs to get up. He knows this. Knows he should have been up hours ago, that he should be making breakfast, eggs and sausage and pancakes, should be smiling and happy and ready to greet the world. The others are probably waiting for him, wondering where he is, why he’s not there.

Only, they’re not. And he knows that too. For the past month, family breakfasts have dwindled to a rarity; Roman spends all his time in the Imagination, Virgil almost never leaves his room for anything, and whenever Logan makes an appearance, it’s only to grab food and leave, heading back to his work and his planning with barely a backwards glance. Too often, he prepares meals alone and eats them alone, at an empty dining table, the room silent except for the fridge humming in the background. The house is empty and still, and he sits alone with his thoughts and the knowledge that he has failed all of them. That he has no one to blame for this but himself.

If he had been less strict, could this have been avoided? If he had been more open to others’ opinions, open to change? If he had been better at understanding Virgil, less eager to shut out Logan, more perceptive of the issues that Roman tried so hard to hide?

He’s losing his family, has already lost them, inch by creeping inch. And it’s all his fault, and the morning dawns grey and cold, and no matter what he tells himself, he cannot persuade his body to leave his bed.

It’s not that he’s comfortable. He’s not. His mattress feels too lumpy, his blankets too hot, too stifling, and his pillow too soft and yielding. His skin itches, too, itches like it is trying to crawl off his bones, but he can barely make himself move at all, cannot stir from his curled up position. One hand lays near his head, in his line of sight, and one by one, he twitches his fingers, raising them off the mattress before letting them drop again. He tracks the motion, almost fascinated by the way his muscles shift, as much as he is capable of being fascinated by anything right now.

Something about the hand looks odd. It feels odd, too, large and clumsy, almost disconnected from the rest of him. He thinks he should probably be alarmed by this, but he can’t work up the energy.

He needs to get up. He knows this. The hours are slipping away. Soon, it will be too late for breakfast at all.

He lies there and thinks instead. Thinks of all the harm he’s done lately, to Thomas and to the rest of them. Thinks about how Virgil has pulled away from him, how he skipped over Logan’s contributions, somehow convincing him that he doesn’t care about him. How he’s been fighting so hard against the idea that Deceit and Remus could help Thomas at all, how he labelled them as the things that make Thomas bad, only to find out that Janus, at least, has been advocating for Thomas the whole time, and if that is the case, perhaps Remus, too, is not nearly as terrible as he’s always believed.

He thinks about the bitterness on Roman’s face as he sunk out. The disbelief in his voice, the betrayal, the pain. He thinks about the fact that he hasn’t seen Roman since, that Roman has locked the door and refuses to answer, no matter how much he pleads and apologizes.

He lies there, carried by the grey day haze, and thinks that apologies don’t really amount to much, in the end, because apologies don’t fix anything. They don’t reverse time, don’t repair shattered trust or heal deep wounds. At best, they are a bandage, helpful when the injury is small but utterly ineffective otherwise, and these wounds are like vast chasms rending them all apart.

Patton thinks that he might be the bad one. Bad for Thomas. Bad for his family.

So maybe, he should just stay here. Should stay in bed, away from everyone, at least until he figures out what to do, how not to hurt them anymore, but really, wouldn’t they be better off without him as a whole? Without him there to impose his rules, his black-and-white mentality that has done so much damage? He has tried so hard, these past few weeks, to adjust his worldview, to make room for change, but how much does it really matter when he has already broken so much?

Not that he has much of a choice right now. He can’t get up.

So he lies there. Minutes blend into hours blend into seconds, and he has no idea how much time passes. Surely it is afternoon by now. He hopes everyone found something to eat.

His skin itches.

He’ll be fine, eventually. He is well aware of this, well aware that grey days pass, like melting snow revealing blooming spring flowers. Except, not like that, not exactly, because these days, the melting snow seems to reveal nothing but cold, hard ground, frozen through. But it is easier to walk on ground than through snow, easier to smile and laugh and pretend that everything is alright, to tell yourself that everything is alright, when you don’t have to fight just to walk, to keep your balance.

It’s repression. He is well aware of that, well aware of the consequences, of the toll this takes on him. He does listen when he is told about these things, even if it might take longer for the message to sink in, for the rest of him to catch up to what his brain already knows. But he can’t deal with his own problems right now, not until everyone else is alright again, and really, most of the time he thinks he’s got a lot of nerve to have problems at all. He’s the one who hurt them, so what right does he have to be acting this way, like he’s the one with a broken heart?

The grey thickens. Tears blur his vision. He feels like he’s inhaling thick fog, like every breath comes in hard and labored.

He could stop breathing, if he wanted. He’s not human. He doesn’t need to breathe to exist.

It’s tempting. Tempting to just… stop. To discorporate his human form, to spend a few days as an automatic function, to spend a few days without remembering, without worrying, without the guilt that is a constant weight on his shoulders. But it would be a reprieve he’s done nothing to deserve.

His skin itches.

He doesn’t expect the knock at the door. Under any other circumstance, he might jerk in surprise, but his body is held fast as if by molasses. So he lies there, looking at the door through half-lidded eyes, and wonders if he’s supposed to answer. He doesn’t think he can, doesn’t think his mouth will cooperate long enough to form words, and his tongue lies thick and unwieldy behind his teeth. If he doesn’t say anything, will they leave? Assume he’s sleeping, perhaps? Or will they come in and see him like this, miserable and drowning and unable to do something so simple as sit up in bed?

He doesn’t know which option he likes less.

It doesn’t matter, though, because the door cracks open, bright light spilling in from the hallway, and he has to squint at the figure silhouetted there.

“Patton?” someone asks. Janus’ voice.

He doesn’t reply. Can’t. Maybe if he says nothing, he’ll leave it be. He’s not up for a debate, or for wading his way through another moral quandary. Janus seems to like both of those things, and lately, Patton has been more than happy to engage with him, to draw out sharp words and sharper smiles and occasionally, genuine laughs that do something to his stomach. Janus has been the only one willing to spend any time with him at all, these days, and he cherishes those moments, gathering them up like fallen leaves and clutching them to his chest as a reminder that he still has a purpose, that he can still make this right.

But not today. He can’t do this today.

Janus steps into the room, closing the door behind him, and the vague hope he’d mustered deflates, like a sad, punctured balloon. That’s what he feels like right now. A sad, punctured balloon. A sad, itchy, punctured balloon. And Janus is going to see that he feels like a sad, itchy, punctured balloon, and he doesn’t know why, but the idea sends an ache radiating through his chest.

“I could sense you lying to yourself,” Janus says, but his voice is far softer than his words would imply. “Are you alright?”

He blinks, slowly. He supposes that it’s fairly obvious how he feels, fairly obvious that he’s not alright. And even if it weren’t, Janus sniffs out lies like a bloodhound on a trail.

“Feel not great,” he manages. It takes a monumental effort to force the words through his lips, and they hang heavily in the air, thick and distorted. “Sorry.”

Janus crosses the room and kneels on the floor next to the bed, holding steady eye contact. His eyes are mesmerizing, one brown and one gold, both staring with an intensity that Patton wishes he could find it in himself to return. His expression is cool and blank, but a small divot presses between his eyebrows, and if Patton had the willpower, he might try to smooth it away.

He doesn’t, though, so it’s a moot point.

“You don’t need to apologize for the way you feel,” Janus says. “It’s alright to be sad.”

He understands that. He does. They did a whole video about it, once, back when things were so much simpler, the stakes so much lower. Back when he still felt secure in his ability to guide Thomas well, to help him be the good person that he knows he is.

But how can he explain that he doesn’t feel sad? That he feels nothing but grey and empty, disconnected from himself and his body and his emotions, left with nothing but constant ruminations on the past and all the ways he’s messed up. Even his guilt feels distant, like it’s surrounding him but unable to touch, kept at bay by the grey cloud swarming his thoughts and dulling his vision. He wishes he felt sad, wishes he felt guilt, that steady companion, wishes he could feel anything at all. But he is an empty container, filled by nothing but swirling grey smoke, no substance there at all.

And he can’t get up.

Janus lets out a slow breath, brow furrowing even further when he doesn’t respond. He reaches forward and takes his hand where it is lying on the mattress, rubbing his thumb across his knuckles in a soothing, repetitive pattern. It would feel nicer if he took off his gloves, if he allowed skin to skin contact, but Patton won’t push for that, wouldn’t even if he had the strength to make the words leave his mouth.

He’s not sure what he did to deserve any comfort at all. Especially not from Janus, who perhaps has the most right out of anybody to hate him, after all the years he spent pushing him to the side and calling him evil, who he still hasn’t properly apologized to, not really.

Perhaps he’s here to see if he can get him out of bed. Breakfast has long since passed, but perhaps there’s still time for a late lunch, if he could muster up the motivation to prepare it. And Janus does represent Thomas’ self-preservation, so it would make sense for him to want to make sure that all of the sides are doing their jobs.

But for a long time, Janus says nothing at all. Just holds his hand, lightly traces patterns into his skin.

“Is there anything that I could do to help?” he asks eventually, voice low and earnest. It is almost enough to banish the grey, if only for a moment, because it has been so long since any of the others trusted him enough for this question, trusted him enough to help him or to ask him for help, and he wants to say yes, wants to ask him to spend time with him, to watch a movie, maybe, or cat videos on the internet, because nobody’s done that with him in weeks, and he’s so, so lonely.

But then he remembers why he’s lonely, why they’re avoiding him, and the grey filters back in. Because it’s his fault, and if he cannot face the consequences of his actions, then what good is he as Morality?

So he makes a noise, one that comes out halfway between a grunt and a whine, and hopes that’s good enough to appease Janus’ question, to make him feel that he’s done his duty.

Janus frowns at him, and his hand stills. Patton expects him to pull away, but instead, his grip tightens slightly, and he tugs Patton’s hand toward him, inspecting it. Patton watches, vaguely confused, as his frown deepens, and he pushes back the sleeve of his pajama shirt to look at his forearm.

“Patton,” he starts slowly, “are you aware of…” He trails off, gesturing, and Patton stares at him, trying to read his meaning in the lines of his face. It’s something he’s concerned about, clearly, which makes Patton think he should be concerned too; maybe even alarmed, seeing as the point of contention seems to have something to do with his arm. He can’t work up anything more than a mild curiosity, but that is enough to get him to angle his head to look at what Janus is referring to.

At first, he doesn’t notice anything wrong. He feels an odd dissociation from the entire limb, as if what he’s seeing isn’t attached to his body, much less something that should concern him. And the more he stares, the more unreal it appears. But eventually, his gaze drifts to what Janus likely believes to be the issue: his skin is covered in mottled patches of green, each blemish appearing stretched and dry and flaky. They itch, too, itch just like his entire body has been itching, and if these blotches are the cause, his entire body must be covered in them. As if in response to his consideration, the itching, scratching sensation increases, almost enough to motivate him into movement.

His body is so heavy, though, and his mind so sluggish. This seems like something he should care about, something that should scare him, and the fear is there, he thinks. But it’s lurking beyond the grey fog, and it can’t touch him.

“What is it?” he murmurs, or at least tries. It comes out sounding more like, “Whazzit?” but it’s intelligible, at least.

Janus runs a finger down his arm, a feather-light touch that sends shivers down his spine.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he asks.

Patton stares. What is he supposed to say to that? He doesn’t much care to know about anything right now; all he wants in this moment is to bury himself in the covers until this horrible emptiness goes away.

Maybe it will be gone by dinner. Maybe he could make dinner. Make dinner for people who aren’t going to eat it. Stick it in tupperware in the fridge and let it go bad because nobody but him is eating it.

“Itches,” he says, his eyes slipping closed. “Don’t feel good.”

As he says it, the grey slides away a bit, as if it were waiting for such an admission, and the overwhelming influx of sensation catches him off guard. It’s more than just an itchiness; it’s a tightness, too, like his skin is a bit too small for him, and he is struck by a need to squirm and scratch. Something is wrong, he realizes, and the fear that is creeping into the corners of his mind is worse than the grey emptiness, because even though his brain has begun to process the world again, his limbs still feel too heavy to move, his chest too constricted to bring in enough air.

He whimpers. Janus sucks in a breath, and he opens his eyes again to see that he’s changed position, has shifted to sitting on the edge of the bed rather than kneeling on the floor, and is leaning over him, arms hovering above his body but not touching.

“I’m going to help you sit up,” Janus says, “unless you have any objections.”

Patton does not, in fact, have any objections. The grey is receding far faster than it came on, leaving him at the mercy of all the fear and sadness and guilt that he’s been contemplating, and with each passing second, his panic grows, because his body is not cooperating with him in the slightest and something is wrong.

Janus gently pulls him upright, and he slumps forward, all of his weight crashing onto Janus’ chest. Janus appears to take this in stride, wrapping his arms around him in a hug that Patton would very much enjoy if he could return it, but his arms refuse to listen to him, hanging by his sides like limp, bloated noodles.

“You don’t currently feel like you have an outlet for your emotional distress,” Janus says starkly, bluntly. “You’ve been repressing it in an effort to focus on fixing your relationships with the others, but the fact that that is going nowhere only worsens your state of mind.” He pauses. “The last time you experienced an instance of  severe emotional distress, you turned into a giant frog. It is… possible that after that display, Thomas now associates you with… amphibian-like traits, shall we say, to a degree, just as he associates me with snakes.”

His breath catches, and the memory comes flooding back in full force. The terror, the awful sensation as his body transformed, as his mind worked at a fever-pitch, desperate and confused until he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, until he resorted to such terrible tactics to try to work everything out, until he lashed out in anger and pain and hurt Thomas--

He can’t hurt Thomas. He can’t. He can’t do this again. He won’t let himself do this again.

The itching increases, like millions of tiny needles being jammed into his skin over and over again. He needs to calm down, he knows, because if he’s going to stop this he has to be calm, but the grey has abandoned him to his emotional turmoil, and he tries desperately to press it all down, because he knows that repression is bad but it has to be better than this, better than turning into a monster again--

“I think some healthy, open-ended discussion would do you some good,” Janus continues. “So, not that I care at all, but if you wanted, we could-- Patton? Patton, you need to calm down.”

He’s trying. He’s trying, but he can’t, and it’s too late, because he can already feel it happening, can feel his body begin to twist and warp and change no matter how hard he tries to stop it, no matter how hard he tries to ground himself, to keep himself human. And Janus is saying something, something loud and urgent, but his voice rings and echoes and Patton can’t understand a word of it.

So he closes his eyes and stops fighting it. There is a single, gut-wrenching lurch, and his hands hit the bedspread as he fumbles for balance, and then everything is silent. He should open his eyes, should face the music, but he doesn’t want to see Janus’ expression, whether it be anger or fear or disgust or scorn. And he doesn’t want to see the mess he’s surely made of his room, the destruction, like last time, doesn’t want to open his eyes and find that he’s looming over everything else, that he’s cracked his ceiling and crushed his bed.

“Oh,” Janus says. His voice is still oddly echoey, and Patton can’t interpret his tone at all. “Oh. Well. Ah, I totally expected this. Definitely. Um. Oh, gosh.”

Is he flustered? Surely, that can’t be right. He’s pretty sure that Janus doesn’t do flustered. But he has to know, now, has to look, so he opens his eyes.

He expects to be looking down. Instead, he finds himself looking up. It is Janus that towers over him, rather than the other way around, Janus that towers over him with unmitigated shock written on his face. Patton blinks, just to be sure that he isn’t seeing things, and as he does, his brain helpfully provides him with a million other things that are wrong with this picture; the ceiling, for instance, is miles above him, and his bed is as vast as an ocean.

He tries to speak, tries to ask what’s going on, but all that emerges from his mouth is a shrill squeak. He attempts to stand, then, or at least sit up, but every effort sends him sprawling on all fours, his limbs clunky and uncoordinated and unfamiliar. His panic mounts as he finds himself unable to do much of anything at all, and he flails, trying to attain some amount of control.

“Oh gosh, okay,” Janus says, and leans down. “I know this is scary, but you’re fine, I swear. Actually, honestly swear. You’re going to be absolutely fine.”

Everything clicks then, and Patton goes still, staring at his own limb stretched out in front of him, long and thin and green and four-toed. He’s a frog, he realizes. A tiny frog. His whole body feels so odd, so different, out of place and completely foreign, and it’s because he’s a frog. Not a weird, giant, humanoid frog monster, but an actual frog.

He focuses back on Janus and squeaks again. For some reason, Janus’ right cheek reddens.

“Fuck,” he mutters, glancing away, and Patton would chide his use of language, but he’s pretty sure by now that he can’t talk. “Okay, um, you’re not cute at all, so don’t even ask. But this is definitely not normal, and it will definitely last for a very long time. Accidental transformations always do.” He frowns, tilting his head slightly before shaking it. “You know what I mean. Which is to say that I myself am occasionally a snake, so I know what I’m talking about.”

He blinks. He didn’t know that Janus could actually transform into a snake, though now that he reflects on it, he supposes that there’s no reason why not. It makes him wonder just how much more he doesn’t know about him. How much he never bothered to learn.

Okay, so. He’s a frog now. A small, squeaky frog. So, this is a lot better than he thought it would be. And Janus is implying that this will wear off eventually, so he can just… stay here, right? Stay in bed, not bother anybody else with this? Wait until he changes back? Bit by bit, the fear drains out of him, leaving him exhausted. And with the fear gone, the adrenaline dissipating, the grey creeps back in. Not as bad as it was before. But enough so that remaining in bed for at least the next few hours sounds very, very appealing.

He looks up at Janus, his eyelids drooping, and tries to convey that he can leave now, that he’ll be fine with just… sitting here for a bit, on his covers, until everything goes back to normal. However long that takes. However that’s supposed to happen. He should probably be more worried about how to reverse this, but now that the terror of the moment is over, he finds himself willing enough to allow things to happen as they happen. He’s not sure he could marshal the energy to force himself to change back even if he knew exactly how.

“Wait here a moment,” Janus says suddenly. “I’ll be right back.” He stands and sinks out directly, and Patton watches him go, vague disappointment filtering though his mind. Sure, he didn’t want Janus to think that he is obligated to stay with him, to deal with the mess that he is, but some part of him had hoped that he would stick around anyway. The grey seems to lift, a little bit, with someone else by his side, seems to shy away from the warm presence of another person’s voice.

Minutes pass. Or perhaps it’s hours. He has long since given up keeping track of time, and in the middle of a bed that is far, far too large, in a body that is entirely familiar to him, Patton feels himself begin to drift.

But then, Janus comes back, rising up in the middle of his room, a laptop tucked under his arm, several blankets thrown over it. Patton rouses himself with some effort, staring as Janus approaches, gently placing the laptop and blankets on the bed.

“I thought we could watch a movie, if that’s alright,” Janus says, and pulls a DVD case apparently out of nowhere, holding it up for inspection. It’s The Aristocats, the title written in swirling golden letters, and Patton can’t help but let out a croak in surprise. Janus shrugs, glancing away.

“I figured you would like this one,” he says. “I mean. Disney and cats. So.”

The right side of his face once again flushes a bright, cherry red, and even like this, even in this fugue-like state, Patton is absolutely touched. Not only that Janus cares enough to remember what he likes, but also that he wants to spend time with him? That he would drop any other plan he might have had to watch a movie with him, presumably to help him feel better?

He didn’t know that frogs could cry. But tears well up in his eyes, and he blinks them away.

“Just an idea,” Janus says, his eyes going wide. “We don’t have to. We could pick another movie! It would be such a problem to pick something else!”

No!

Patton wants to scream, wants to shout, because he’s misinterpreting his tears, because in this moment, Patton barely has the strength to want anything at all, and yet there is nothing more that he wants than to watch this movie with Janus. But he can’t speak, can’t make his vocal cords produce anything more than squeaks and croaks, so he pushes past the grey to do the only thing he can think might work.

These limbs are unfamiliar to him. But he knows a few things about frogs, knows how far they can jump. So jump he does, surprising himself with the power in his own back legs, and launches himself at Janus, who flinches, stumbling back, but too late to prevent Patton from sticking his landing, right on his cheek.

“Oh,” he says, stammering. Patton is certain that he has heard Janus stutter more today than in all the years he’s known him. “Um. What?”

Patton takes a moment to breathe, and to comprehend the fact that his feet are literally sticking to Janus’ skin. He adjusts himself, settles in more firmly, and then lets out a loud, intentional croak.

It’s all he can do. He just has to hope that Janus understands, understands that he doesn’t want him to leave, that he doesn’t want him to change a single thing.

“Oh,” Janus says again. He takes great care not to move his mouth much, takes great care not to dislodge Patton, and it would be enough to coax a smile out of him, if frogs could smile. “Are you… is this alright, then?”

He croaks again, and the muscles in Janus’ cheek twitch as he resists a smile.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll get it set up, then, shall I?”

And he does, popping the movie into the laptop’s disc tray and wrapping himself in soft blankets as he settles against the headboard. He arranges the blanket in an odd way, creating a series of folds on his shoulder, and it is not until he gestures at it that Patton realizes that it is meant for him, that Janus purposefully made a place for him to sit. He jumps down, almost falling before he steadies himself, barely preventing his limbs from tangling with each other, and snuggles into the soft fabric, reveling in the way it brushes against his skin.

The grey is still present, still pervasive, filling him with an emptiness, with a void. But the void itself has filled a bit, filled with warmth, with the knowledge that Janus is doing this for him, even if he doesn’t quite understand why.

The movie begins to play. He turns his attention to the screen, and even though his mind wanders, slips away at some points, he does feel a little bit better, a little more present, a little less like he wants to stagnate in his room forever.

Janus is quiet throughout the first stretch of the movie, though Patton can sense him shooting him glances every now and again. But as Duchess meets O’Malley for the first time, he speaks up, face forward, eyes fixed on the screen.

“The first time I transformed was confusing,” he murmurs, as if to himself, though surely, he hasn’t forgotten that Patton is there, that Patton can hear him. “Thomas was so young, and I didn’t know what was happening. The scales had been appearing for a while, but I never thought that I could change so completely. It was a moment of emotion, frustration at not being heard, when Thomas got in trouble that a white lie easily could have prevented. One minute I was having a meltdown in my room, and the next I was a snake.” He chuckles a bit, as though the memory is fond, though it doesn’t sound that way.

How much distress was he in, Patton wonders? How confused was he, how scared, his body warping and changing and no one at all there to help him?

“This is all to say that I’ve since learned to control it. I’d demonstrate, but I hardly think that turning into a snake while you are a very small frog would put your mind at ease.” Janus sighs, fiddling with the bottom of his capelet. “But you can learn to control it, too, provided that these traits stick.”

Patton wishes he could say something, anything at all. But his voice is gone, twisted so that small sounds are the only thing he can produce, so he stays quiet, listening to Janus talk. In a way, it’s a blessing, the inability to respond. None of the impetus of the conversation is put on him, so he feels no pressure to muster up replies that would surely be lackluster, given his emotional state, or lack thereof.

“But that’s not really the point right now, is it?” Janus says softly. “The more pressing concern is why you transformed this time. You must have been on the verge of it for hours, subconsciously holding yourself back from it.”

He shifts. He’d woken up itchy and uncomfortable, his mind buried in the grey and unable to do anything about it, unable to move at all, much less rouse himself into action. He hopes that this won’t happen every time he has a grey day. He can’t afford to lose time like this. There’s too much to do, and though grey days are bad enough on their own, he can force himself to work through them, sometimes, when the haze isn’t too strong. He can’t do that if he’s always turning into a frog when he gets overwhelmed.

“I do hope you know that your feelings are just as valid as anyone else’s,” Janus says, and Patton stiffens. “To be sure, you messed up, and the others have every right to be upset, but I challenge you to find any one of us that hasn’t accidentally screwed everyone else over at some point.” He pauses. “Or even on purpose. Which you are assuredly not guilty of.”

The words buzz in his head, vibrating in the fog, and Patton’s not entirely sure that he understands what Janus is saying, not entirely sure that he has the energy to try. What do intentions matter? Messing up is messing up, and even if he didn’t mean to, he’s hurt everyone in the mindscape. If it wasn’t anything to be upset about, he wouldn’t be upset, would he?

“And of course, it’s not like they’re to blame for this at all,” Janus continues. “It’s not like they’re being immature, hiding away in their rooms and refusing to confront their problems.” He shakes his head. “Patton, you have to understand that it is not your job to ensure their emotional competence. All you can do is try your best, and if they refuse to meet you halfway, that’s on them, not you. You shouldn’t blame yourself when you’re obviously doing everything you can to own up to and fix your mistakes.”

Patton croaks, the denial ripped from his throat. He’s never seen it that way, didn’t think that he could see it that way, but Janus’ voice is streaking the grey through with yellow and gold, forcing him to confront the root of the problem in a way that he never has before.

“There is no such thing as a perfect person,” Janus says. “You’ve learned that by now, learned that Thomas himself is nowhere near flawless. But that applies to you as well. You’re allowed to make mistakes, to learn and grow from them. No one should expect you to be right one hundred percent of the time, and that includes both yourself and them.”

Once again, his eyes well up with tears, and this time, they drip down, splattering onto the blankets.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Janus murmurs, voice entirely too knowing, entirely too understanding, and Patton doesn't know that he can handle the depth of this empathy. “You deserve to have the support that you’ve been trying so hard to provide.”

He falls silent, then, the movie still playing but long since forgotten, and Patton has to take a moment to absorb what has just been said.

He’s not too hard on himself. He can’t be. Everything he’s said and thought these past few weeks has been true, completely and utterly; it was his mistakes that drove the others away from him, and it is his responsibility to correct those mistakes. And if the others don’t want to see him, don’t want to talk to him, then that’s fine. It’s their right, and he doesn’t blame them at all, can’t possibly blame them when most of him believes that they’re right to do so, right to avoid him, because after everything, he can’t possibly deserve--

Oh.

But Janus says he does deserve it. That he deserves help, that he deserves support. Who, then, is right?

“Think about it this way,” Janus says, as if sensing his struggle. “If your positions were reversed, if, say, Virgil had messed up and everyone was avoiding him, would you think that’s what he deserved?”

Well, of course not. Everyone deserves love and support, even when they make mistakes, because--

Oh.

The realization comes crashing down with the force of the loudest thunderclap, and something deep within him twists, wrenches at his heart and at his stomach, and all the breath is knocked out of him as he suddenly finds himself falling forward, landing hard on Janus’ lap, arms and legs achy and all too human. Janus yanks his arms out from under the blankets to catch him, his lips parted in surprise.

“But I hurt them,” Patton says, the words ripped from him as if by force, desperate, like the world might just crumble into pieces if he doesn’t get an answer. “I hurt all of them, so much.”

“And their hurt is valid,” Janus says. “Each one of them is entitled to their anger and their pain. But Patton, so are you.”

He bursts into tears at that, the dam breaking at last, and he lurches forward, flinging his arms around Janus’ neck and burying his face into his shoulder where the blankets have slipped away. Janus makes a startled noise, and then brings his arms up to embrace him, holding him tight and close as he runs the gamut of all the emotions he has been pushing back.

“You’re loved,” Janus says. “They all love you, even though it may seem otherwise right now. They love you, and they’ll be ready to show it again, in time.” He pauses, and his next sentence carries a strange weight, a slightly different tone, a reticence and a rushed eagerness all at once. “And I love you, Patton. Please don’t forget that.”

He sniffles. “Even though I’m getting snot all over you?” he asks into his shirt, and Janus laughs, startled.

“Even so,” he answers. “It’s snot an issue.”

Patton gasps, thrilled despite himself. He still can’t bring himself to display the reaction he would normally have, but he manages a weak smile. “Pun,” he says, voice still muffled by fabric.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Janus says. “I would never in my life crack a pun. Lies and slander.”

Patton pulls back a bit, enough to see his face, and is shocked to find that he is crying too, though he looks much more dignified than Patton is certain he does. For a moment, his heart fills with an overflowing, overpowering love, and before he can think better of it, he leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. Janus’ breath hitches, but Patton doesn’t back down, staring him straight in the eyes.

“I love you too,” he says, and in the moment, doesn’t know exactly how he means it. Just that it’s true, and right now, that is enough. “Thank you.”

He pours all of the sincerity, all of the emotion that he is capable of right now into the words. He needs Janus to understand how much it means that he is here, with him, willing to help him and to hold him.

Janus stares at him with something like affection and something like awe.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he says. “Not for this. Never for this.”

And Patton sighs, shifting position until he is leaning against Janus’ chest, tucking his head under his chin and turning his head so that he can see the movie. It’s almost over by now, Edgar receiving his just desserts.

“I still don’t feel great,” he murmurs, because he doesn’t. Better, now that he’s let his emotions out, now that he is human, now that he has someone with him, holding him, caring about him, loving him, but the grey still hovers around him, still lands heavily on his chest and in his head. If human contact were enough to solve it all completely, that would be a wonderful thing, but the greyness isn’t so simple, isn’t so easily banished. He doubts he’ll be able to gather the energy to make dinner tonight. He may not even feel better by tomorrow morning.

But Janus is with him, supporting without judgement, and that makes all the difference.

“That’s alright,” Janus says, kissing the top of his head. “You don’t need to be. Would you like to watch another movie? And by that I mean actually watch, not leave it on in the background as we discuss deep, abiding emotional issues.”

He manages a shaky laugh at that. “I’d like that,” he whispers. His voice emerges hoarse and thick, and it takes too much effort to get the words out. “Could we do Tangled?”

“A terrible choice,” Janus says, and summons the DVD with a wave of his hand, reaching around Patton to place the disc in the laptop. The title screen begins to play, and he adjusts the blankets so that they are both fully covered, and Patton curls into his side as the narration starts.

He still feels bad, and he knows he has so much more to work through. But the deep, aching loneliness has abated somewhat, and he knows that the greyness will fade away too, eventually. Until then, he has Janus here, with him, wrapped up in soft blankets, a comfort movie playing for both of them, and confessions dancing in the air between them, spoken but not quite elaborated on, not yet. And that’s alright, because there’s time, because the sun always shines brightest after the rain has passed.

He sighs, snuggles in closer, and allows himself to simply be.

Writing Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer

[lovelivingmydreams]

Paper Flowers: Assumptions

People make snap judgements all the time. About fictional characters as well as the people in their lives. It gets dangerous however when you assume your perception is the truth.

“Hello all you Fanders out there!” the voice over of DarkStarlight sounds through your speaker as the screen shows the title card of their series Fanders illustrated. The concept is simple enough. They talk about things from Thomas’ content or the fan community they liked while showing speeddraws based on it. It’s really fun to see.

“So a while ago I made this drawing based on the names we picked for the Prince’s nemesis.”

The image changes to a drawing of two versions of the character standing back to back. The dark, mischievious Marcus against a dark red background, and the awkward blushy Kevin against a lighter blue, the collors mixing to purple in the center.

“And the comments have been wild!” A blank canvas is shown as they start sketching.

“There were several theories about how these two boys could be one and the same.

The theory I want to draw today is a cute one. So CatPrincess suggested Marcus is an act Kevin puts up to help the prince. Kevin, according to her, is a staff member of the palace. And when the Prince got old enough to start looking for a princess, he needed an excuse, since he’s gay or just not really interested in romance. He never really was invested in any princesses in the vines after all. He’s had the most chemistry with males. Prince is gay confirmed.”

You chuckle. And shake your head. This fandom is wild. You just hope the characters can make a transition to youtube. It seems like Vine’s time is really coming to an end.

“Anyway, so whether the prince knows it or not CatPrincesss didn’t say, but Kevin ends up disguising himself as a villain so Prince can say he’s busy defending the realm and that he can’t pursue any Princesses until the villain is defeated. I really like the idea of Prince and Kevin having little inside jokes and grinning at each other secretly while Kevin tends to the family during dinner as they hear the king and queen complain about the villain. So. What do you think?”

And just like that the drawing is done. It’s Prince and a formally dressed Kevin glancing at each other with subtle smirks while behind them their silhouettes are crossing swords.

You like and share the video before checking in on tumblr, you still have some time to kill before dinner.

 “I don’t see why we even bother still making vines every day. We’re finished, it’s over,” Virgil muttered as he paced the floor of the common area. He really hated being the barer of bad news, but no one was coming to terms with this simple fact.

“We have sworn to entertain the fanders, and it is not over until the fat lady sings,” Roman explained calmly from his spot, draped over the couch, pretending to be more interested in his notes for the ultimate storytime tour.

The announcement had taken the internet by storm and even Virgil was excited, though he never showed that to the others. He couldn’t leave his room for five days because he couldn’t stop ‘sparkling’ as Roman had come to call his excited look. Just in his head though, he was fairly sure Virgil wouldn’t appreciate it.

“What are we going to do after!?” Virgil insisted.

“We could look for a real job?” Logan suggested though he wasn’t very hopeful.

Virgil was nodding to himself, that was an option he supposed.

“We could make more scripted youtube video’s? People have been commenting they wished they could see more of our characters than six second skits?” Patton suggested.

“Brilliant idea Padre!” Roman exclaimed as he sat up and started skribling.

“We could make a series about the dad and teacher! Liam, Fiona and Gavin might like participating… Oh, and we could make marvelous stories about the prince… Idea!!!!”

He jumped up and made a gesture towards all of them. “We could make a series about us!” he declared proudly. “The fanders want to know more about Thomas, what better way to talk about that than by showing them who we are!?”

Patton was clapping excitedly while Logan and Virgil seemed apprehensive.

“Oh, that sounds so fun!!!” the fatherly side cheered.

“I don’t know,” Virgil objected. “It feels too exposed.”

“Indeed, we are a very personal part of Thomas. We should not be shown to the world so carelessly,” Logan agreed, mostly opposed to being displayed as a source of entertainment for others.

“We don’t have to go all in right away. Thomas can start with acting like our vine counterparts and see how the fanders react and if they like the idea we slowly but surely let our real selves shine through. Little steps,” Roman suggested.

Logan cocked his head. “That was, a very well thought out solution…” he admitted. It was odd. When had this started? Roman usually just spat out ideas and took any criticism as a personal offence. When did he start taking feedback into consideration?

Roman gasped and brought a hand to his heart in offence. “Don’t sound so surprised!” he huffed.

“I don’t know…” Virgil said slowly. The fanders liked his character… But that guy wasn’t literal anxiety.

Roman sighed dramatically. “Tell you what. I draft up some ideas. And after the tour we can revisit the subject. Vine won’t disappear overnight,” he reasoned.

Logan and Patton nodded in agreement. “Fine,” Virgil relented before pulling his hoodie over his head and stalking off.

Patton frowned. “He’s never happy is he?” he muttered sadly. Roman bit back his reaction. Patton was both wrong and right. This part of Virgil couldn’t be happy. But Roman knew of other parts that could be the happiest out of all of them. Happier than even Patton could ever hope being.

“Well who’s fault is that?” A voice drawled from the door opening. Roman automatically drew his sword while Patton and Logan reflexively moved to stand a little more behind him.

“Such a warm reception, I’m so touched,” Deceit said, hand on his heart, a sarcastic sting to his voice and a roll of his eyes.

"Well," Roman huffed as he put away his sword. "Maybe if you didn't apparate in dark corners for no good reason we wouldn't assume an attack was imminent. You are lucky you just missed anxiety, he might not have been able yo hold himself back." Realy what was that snake thinking?

"Thanks for the concern Roman, but other than you three, I know how to handle him."

Roman once more bit his tongue. Keeping his promise not to reveal their bond has never been so hard. This particular side was much more likely to catch him evading and omitting.

He rolled his eyes dramatically and crossed his arms in front of him. "Is there anything you needed Deceit?" Patton asked as he stepped forward laying a soothing hand on Roman's arm.

"Just checking in. And I must say I am not impressed. Morality I had hoped you'd put in a little more effort to make Anxiety comfortable up here. At this rate I might have to take him back with me." Roman could feel Patton cringe at that. That's it. Virgil's friend or not, Roman would not let him upset his family.

“Oh drop it scaleface. Empty threats will only go so far,” he said with a hand on his hip and a roll of his eye.

“Who says they’re empty?” Deceit drawled, studying his nails. “The whole reason Anxiety came up here was to reduce his stress, but if you all just keep making him unhappy, what is the point?” Deceit wondered calmly, though Roman could see there was a vague annoyed pull at his eyes. He clearly did not like being questioned.

“If he really was as unhappy as you imply, then why hasn’t he gone back to you and Remus who supposedly know how to ‘handle him’ so much better?” There was a mild flinch in Deceit’s posture, making Roman wondered if he accidently hit a nerve somehow.

“Just say what you came here for, Deceit. We all have other things to do.” Because deceit was rarely straightforward. Virgil hadn’t told him much about living down there, but that much he’d learned.

Janus just huffed and left.

“Charming as always!” Roman huffed as he combed his fingers through his hair.. He let out a sigh and dropped his hand before looking down at Patton.

“Are you alright Padre?” he wondered.

“I… Yes actually. Thank you Roman…” Roman wanted to bid the two bespectacled sides a good day and start writing on the new series and finish of his ideas for the tour, but the he noticed Patton was biting his lip nervously and so he waited.

“Do you really think… he’s not going to take Anxiety back is he?”

Roman smiled warmly down at Patton before turning to Logan. “Logan, could Thomas ‘forget about anxiety’ at this point?” he asked.

Logan cocked his head confused. “No, denying Anxiety is a part of Thomas, the way Thomas refused to acknowledge his presence in the past, is not possible. Deceit does not have the power to force such a change. Only if the three of us were to agree to it, could something like that be accomplished. And I do not intent to participate in such endeavor,” Logan stated. Patton relaxed at that.

“And I suppose I have gotten used to our war of wits. I shan’t permit him to leave until I reign victorious! Speaking of victory! I’m off writing a script so brilliant the fanders will demand more!”

And with that he finally did make his exit.

He returned to his room and immediately started on his projects. He was not sure what Deceit was trying to accomplish, but it would not deter him from his mission.

In the commons Logan has left as well and Patton his tidying up. Trying not to let Deceit’s words get to him… Who’s fault was it? His? Roman’s? Was there another thing he was missing?

At the border of the conscious mind Janus was beyond annoyed. It didn’t really matter. The idea of failure was planted, and if he knew the lights at all it’s that they would try harder to make Virgil feel comfortable, if only to prove him wrong. Virgil would not like that Janus had gotten involved, but he was worried. How couldn’t he be? Over the past few month’s Virgil had been acting off. Sure he was being more sociable, but after every interaction he was so rained he more or less disappeared. That was the only explanation Janus had for the times he’d visited to make sure he was alright and find the room empty. He hadn’t brought it up with Virgil, since doing so would most likely end up being more about him entering Virgil’s room without permission rather than an actual explanation.

And it didn’t really matter. Janus knew one thing with unwavering certainty.

If the lights didn’t get their act together, they might lose him.

Next: momceit

[imma-potatoo]

Quest For A Smile

A Christmas Oneshot for my Blond Janus AU!

Summery: Janus has never gotton a chance to celebrate Christmas before. The others fully intend to change this fact as well as making the side smile.

Huge special thanks to @superwholockandpfl and @mother-snake for making my year amazing and pushing me to improve my writing! You two are absolutely amazing and I can't express enough gratitude 💛💙💚

Words: 5,196

Janus sighed heavily as he walked in the front door. Blond curls a complete and total mess, coated with sweat and a slight tinge of blood. As the door shut behind him he leaned against it with a groan and an unpleasant look on his face. Wrath was angry again, he managed to escape before any real harm could be inflicted but Janus still breathed in deep and held it for multiple seconds to calm his nerves. Soon his lungs cleared and he could breathe easy once more. Something smelled off this time though, the lightsides home typically smelled of fresh chocolate and golden brown cookies, of the forest and the thick mist of lakes, of crofters and handbound books. But this time it was different…

 The air was filled with the smell of gingerbread, a hint of fresh pine and peppermint. Glitter seemed to be permanently soaked into the carpet. The air was warm and filled with the scent of sugar with sweetened honey and nutmeg. Soft sounds of cheerful music filled the house as laughs filed in from the living room.

Janus pushed himself away from the door, locking it securely, before walking into the living room. He was swaying back and forth a bit, but that was nothing compared to the pure dose of pure confusion when he saw the other sides. 

Absolutely hideous sweaters, fur-trimmed red hats with a cotton ball on the end, an ear-to-ear smile, and slightly thicker pants, it was on every side. Janus wasn’t used to this. He was used to the normal wear of the others, even the twins dressed down. But Janus had definitely seen weirder things that day and just collapsed onto the couch with a heavy sigh. Attempting to avoid staining the couch with blood, but it was a fruitless effort as the wound hit the cushion directly.

The others stopped their laughter and exchanged a look of confusion with one another. Janus was very rarely happy when he came in the door, often sporting multitudes of injuries and grumbling swears under his breath as he raided the medical cabinet for the fifth time that week. The sides felt horrible after seeing every bandage and cut. Virgil walked up to the smaller side.

“Jannie?” muffled grumbles and obscurities came from the side on the couch, “come on baby snake. I gotta see your injuries” more mild swears escaped the younger's lips as he sat up with a scowl.

His scales were patchy, a few torn-out leaving empty, gaping, bloody holes in their stead. The blood was dried on his cheek; smelling so much like iron the others had to hold in their retching. A huge black eye was already forming on his right and his cheeks were soaked in painful tears. His outfit was a mess, his black dress shirt was torn in multiple places, revealing more oozing blood from underneath. Yellow suspenders hanging limply from his shoulders. On his left temple was a large gash, heavily and steadily leaking more of the bright crimson liquid. Janus looked sad and broken, his eyes were dull as he stared into Virgil's warm gray ones.

Virgil stared at his child in horror, every time that Janus had returned to the light side, he had this spark. This look in his eyes that compelled him to fight. That forced him to stand back up after every hit and strike. It was almost like a pull that required him to keep fighting. But even the strongest fighters can’t get back up occasionally. And Virgil could tell that Janus was falling, because of that spark that powered Janus’ every move.

It was gone.

The one thing that Virgil refused to do was let his baby fall. He had broken too many promises to break his entire purpose of being a father.

Virgil smiled, it was fake and too hard to pull off, but he gazed into Janus’ blue and yellow eyes anyway. “Come on, let's get you cleaned up,” Virgil held out his hand for Janus to take, watching as the smaller side extended his hand slowly and rested it in his palm. Virgil helped the yellow side stand shakily as he led him to the kitchen, extending the sides a look as he walked away.

When the duo got to the kitchen, Virgil picked up Janus like he weighed nothing -it wasn’t far off- and plopped him on the counter. “Stay right here, I’m going to go grab the medkit from the bathroom. Ok?” Virgil watched as Janus held himself tightly; watching as the side nodded slightly as his eyes were trained to the floor. Virgil felt his stomach churn as he walked away from the side and back to the group, the plastic smile melting away faster with every step only to be replaced with a heart of lead and eyes doused in concern.

Logan stopped Virgil on his mission for the medkit, “Is Janus adequate?” his lips twisting into a frown while Virgil shook his head as Patton interrupted, “what's wrong with our kiddo?” you could hear the heaviness in his voice. It was shaking as if it was afraid to know the answer. 

Virgil drew a deep breath as he looked at the sides, their eyes crawling with concern and nervousness. “The last time that he acted like this… it- it wasn’t good.” Virgil looked down at the ground, “When he was fifteen, Wrath and Depression did a number on him. And…. and he was bleeding out. Completely collapsed in the main hallway, and when-” Virgil’s voice had gone rough, closing up to prevent any noise from escaping. But he pushed through and continued speaking anyway, “When I found him I took him back to my room and started to patch him up. But- but he just stopped me and told me to let him go.” Virgil could feel the tears leaking down his cheeks as he continued the story, “I patched him up regardless but the week after-” he drew another breath slow and steady, calming down his nerves. “The week after, I found him lying in a pool of his own blood next to a note.” his own voice sounded choked, “I don’t know what's happening with Jan… but I’m not going to lose him because of a mistake I made years ago.” Virgil wiped away his tears as he started to walk away to get the medical kit.

“Virgil?”

Virgil turned to face Logan, “Do the darks celebrate Christmas?”

 Virgil shook his head, “no, holidays were seen as weakness. Especially Christmas…. I always tried to get him a gift though”

Logan nodded with a sour look on his face, expression bitter as he played with the trim of his Christmas sweater. Brows furrowed in thought as Virgil walked away. Logan's mind was whirring. Twisting and turning like the gears on a machine. Granted, Logan was always thinking. That was his sole function. To think and to problem solve. Logan has never been one to admit that he had emotions, he actively denied having any such thing, but he wouldn’t lie and say that he was unhappy. He had a loving family, a table with food that wasn’t green with mold, a safe warm bed where he could fall asleep without having to risk making it to morning. His life was far from perfect, but it was nowhere near Janus’. And ever since Virgil had told them where Janus was meant to be, a huge pit of guilt was starting to gnaw at his stomach. And that wouldn’t stand, it didn’t matter if Logan had to personally dispose of the dark sides himself. He was going to make Janus smile.

By the time that Virgil returned with the medkit and started to patch up Janus, Logan had discussed his plan with the rest of the family. The twins got to work crafting an early gift for the yellow side. Janus was way smaller than the rest of them, maybe 5’3” while Patton -who was the second shortest of the bunch- was 5’8”. The sides tried to make it fit the best as possible; without showing Janus of course. And eventually, the gift was all wrapped up in a neat bow and ribbon, waiting for the recipient.

When Virgil finished fixing up the smaller side, he took Janus’ hand and led him back to the living room where all the sides were waiting, all excitedly bouncing up and down. Virgil could feel Janus tense up as they sat on the couch, the younger side attempting to keep his thoughts in line and his breathing calm, repeating over and over that he was safe and that they wouldn’t hurt him.

 They would never hurt him, this is the light sides, they’re good people, hitting someone makes you a bad person; right? But, there are always exceptions to the rules, if someone is hurting a bad person to protect a good person does that mean that the abuser is good? Janus’ leg was bouncing repeatedly, his eyes growing hazy. Breathing grew faster and faster as the thoughts turned even more toxic, repeating a horrible mantra of hate and disgust for the side’s own skin. After all, if everything’s supposed to happen for a reason, why did he hurt every day? Good people get rewarded, bad people are punished. So if he’s getting punished every day, wouldn’t that make him bad? What did he ever, ever do to get this kind of treatment? This isn’t fair, why couldn’t it be fair? What did he do? How many bruises could make up for whatever heinous crime he’d committed? He’s tired, he’s just so tired, is it so much for him to ask for him to just sleep fore-

“-Seven, eight. Come on buddy! You here?” Janus was broken from the toxic mantra with the lights grabbing his hand. Bringing him back to reality. He nodded, sucking in a large breath. He didn’t even notice that he was spacing out, blocking out all of his surroundings. Drawing one more breath he looked back up at the light sides. Finding faces full of concern and worry. Doubtful glances at one another when Janus said that he was fine.

Janus looked up at the others, “what did you guys need?” his voice was slightly shaky as he touched his bandaged temple, flinching back his hand after it stung horribly.

“Um, hi kiddo!” Patton could barely meet his eyes, “how ya feeling?” Janus shrugged, his eyes training back to the ground, “We um, got you a present!”

Janus’ eyes snapped back up, “What?”

The others exchanged a look, “Yeah, Jannie, it's a Christmas Gift.” Janus looked confused as he blinked repeatedly in complete wonderment “you….. have gotten a gift before right?”

Janus nodded, “well, I have. But the others always got rid of them.” and that was the exact second that the mood died.

Roman  was confused, “What do you mean they ‘got rid of them’ snakes n ladders?”

Janus looked a little puzzled, “Well, Vee would get me a gift, I would get to play with it for a while and then they would find out and burn it.” Janus hesitantly turned his gaze to the others, finding looks of horror, anger, and tears leaking down their faces, “I take it that it's not supposed to be like that?”

Patton has his hand clasped over his mouth as thick globs of tears leaked down his cheeks. Shaking his head repeatedly, “No- no, kiddo! The presents you get are supposed to stay with you! And you’re supposed to keep them! And love them! And they’re supposed to be precious memories, not ashes in the fireplace!”

Janus looked back to the floor, his eyebrows furrowed in thought and confusion, “oh”  

Roman patted the father figment on the back as he wiped his tears. He grabbed a large yellow package from the coffee table and placed it lightly in the younger sides lap.

Janus reached out his hand tentatively, lightly stroking the black glittery ribbon that wrapped the yellow paper. The paper was covered in small snakes winding up various Christmassy items like trees and ornaments. Janus felt a stinging sensation come to his eyes as his voice felt stuck in his throat. “F-for me?” questioning eyes met the others. He looked back down to the gift once he got confirmation through various modes of agreement.

With the security of the smiles and encouragement of the lightsides, Janus grabbed the ribbon and pulled. It fell away as Janus ripped the yellow paper carefully. His fingers shook slightly as he opened the box, his eyes widened as he completely lost his ability to speak.

Inside of the box was a sweater. It was plush and a vibrant yellow. The wool was as soft as a cloud with ornaments, candy canes, and swirls and dots filled in the gaps as the pattern. It was a standard Christmas sweater,  but it was clear by the hiccuping tears streaming down the side’s face, that it meant a lot to him.

Bringing his hand to his mouth to muffle the sobs, he pulled the sweater out of the box and pulled it close to his chest. A small note falling to his lap.

The others watched as Janus shakily picked up the note and as the tears leaked down faster as he read on.

‘Janus, we know that this gift cannot make up for all the missed Christmases. But, you deserve to have a happy day. Will you spend the day with us? ~Logan, Roman, Patton, Virgil, and Remus’

Janus looked up at the others with a shocked face, his mouth gaped open in shock, eyes wide as hope filled his irises once more. The sweater was pulled close to his chest, doubtful -but hopeful- eyes flicked back and forth between the five of them, “y-you mean it?”

Virgil rushed to his child, sitting quickly but not too roughly as to startle him. “Janus, look at me.” The yellow side raised his eyes to meet his, the grip tightening on the sweater, “I’m not going to take your gift, my hatchling.” Virgil breathed deep as the side lightened his grip ever so slightly, “you shouldn’t have to worry about anything that you currently do. And, my adorable hatchling, we would never do anything that could make your life even harder.” Virgil slowly reached for Janus’ hands, “now, do you want to have a real Christmas?”

The others held their breath as seemingly millions of different emotions flashed on the smaller side’s face, their eyes flickering nervously before Janus pulled his hands away from Virgil and they felt their hearts sink like a ball of lead.

The others watched with tear-filled eyes while Janus pulled the sweater over his head. The side looked up at them with wide hopeful eyes, “please?”

--------

Sooner than Janus could blink, he was bundled like he was going to Antarctica, and they were trudging outside towards an evergreen forest.

Janus walked beside Virgil, a beanie covering his blond locks while Virgil let his jet black hair blow freely in the crisp winter wind. The snow crunched beneath their feet as they followed the twins. Virgil humming a small tune that Janus thought was a Christmas carol. Oversized mittens covered the half-snakes hands, keeping them very warm and content; as well as a matching yellow scarf. but truth be told, Janus had absolutely no clue about Christmas.

The sides stopped at the forest; Janus, Logan, and Virgil watched the other three run wild in the evergreens. Janus stood there puzzled as Remus climbed one of the trees to get a better view of the land, Janus turned to Virgil, “Hey dad?” Virgil looked down at the side, Janus’ eyes were wide like a doe’s, his face was questioning.

“Yeah, Jan?”

Janus played with the ends of his mittens, “Why are we here?” his eyes stayed calm for a second before dissolving into pure panic, “not that I’m not happy to be here! I just don’t get why we went to an evergreen forest to celebrate Christmas……”

Virgil blanked out for a second, then it clicked. Janus didn’t understand Christmas… and Virgil was determined to change that fact.

Virgil let out a small smile, “Come sit down, I’ll tell you,” Virgil led the smaller side to a fallen log, sitting down and waiting for Janus to do the same. Virgil went to open his mouth when Janus sat next to him with curious eyes, only to pause and take a deep breath, “LOGAN!!!”

Logan raised an eyebrow at Virgil, before sighing and walking to the pair -shoving a bookmark in his book while he was at it. He stopped before the purple side, “Yes Virgil?”

Virgil rubbed his eyes with his hand, “L, can you tell Jan why we put a pine tree inside for Christmas? I don’t know how to explain this…”

Logan perked up slightly, “Of course! I’ll be happy to explain!” he sat down on the other side of Janus. “Christmas trees were originally from Germany. Specifically, it was developed in medieval Livonia -present-day Estonia and Latvia- and early modern Germany where German protestant christens brought decorated evergreens into their homes. However, in ancient Egypt, during the winter solace, the Egyptians would fill their homes with palm leaves. And, the early Romans celebrated Saturnalia, in honor of Saturn; god of agriculture and they decorated their homes and temples with evergreen boughs. But that's not even mentioning the celts!” Logan beamed as Janus listening intently, the yellow side seemed to be absorbing every once of information that Logan provided. Logan relaxed comfortably on the fallen tree, telling Janus the reason they put ornaments on the tree as the side stared at him with sparkling eyes.

The two left-brain sides talked all the way back to the house, the tree in hand, Janus occasionally prompting more questions from the blue side and the said side happily answering them. Virgil let loose a small grin as he saw Janus happily talking and asking questions about evergreens

The sides got back to the house and the twins started to trim and set up the tree.

Janus and Logan sat on the couch to continue their discussion on why all of Santa’s Reindeer were actually female when Patton called for Janus from the kitchen. Janus looked at Logan with a fond expression, but no smile…

Janus stood up and walked past Virgil and Remus arguing over a gingerbread cookie, apparently, it was different from the other cookies…. Janus didn’t get it, he walked carefully into the kitchen where Patton was leaning over the counter with a small hum under his breath.

“You called Patton?” Janus played with the end of his Christmas sweater, he kept the black beanie too. Patton turned around with a bright grin

“Hiya kiddo!” Patton was wearing a blue apron reading ‘give the cook a puppy!’ with a spatula and a smear of frosting on his cheek. “Wanna help me decorate a gingerbread house?!” Patton watched as different emotions flickered over the younger's face, he looked at the father figment with a look of pure confusion.

“But, can’t you just eat the candies how they are? I thought that no one ate the gingerbread anyway, so isn’t that kinda a waste?” Janus’ looked at the candy by the undecorated house, the house was already assembled to prevent any anger and frustration, Janus turned back to Patton when he heard the side giggle.

Patton rocked back and forth on his heels, hands covered in flour and sugar which were tied up in the strings of his apron, a small grin on his lips as he made eye contact with Janus. “I mean… I guess you could just eat the candy…. But decorating it is half the fun! Besides! Remus and Logan love gingerbread! Plus I made it from scratch, so it’ll taste good!” Patton turned back to the counter and started rustling in the baking ingredients before grabbing something with a squeal and turning back to Janus. He held out his hand to the smaller side, offering the cookie.

Janus looked at the cyan side and hesitantly raised his own hand shakily to take the sweet. Patton was patient as his brain screamed danger and he has to fight to keep himself calm, keeping the cookie exactly where it was with a calm smile and relaxed eyes. Though Janus could tell that there was some underlying nervousness, maybe it was because his grip on the cookie was a little too tight, or because he could sense how afraid the others were of upsetting him, or maybe it was because the tension in the air was never gone when he was around. They didn’t want to make him upset. Janus didn’t know how to feel about that information.

Janus grabbed the cookie and brought it to his lips, trying to ignore the urge to not eat anything that another person gave him, and he took a bite. Nutmeg and ginger filled his senses, the cookie was sweet but slightly dry as it crumbled in his mouth as he continued to chew. The next bite, he bit into some chocolate which brought his senses over the moon. It was soft as his teeth repeatedly sank into the brown shape. He looked up at the father figment with wide sparkling eyes, “what kind of cookie was that?!”

Patton chuckled as Janus continuously went back for more bites of the cookie, “That was a gingerbread man kiddio! Homemade too!” Janus seemed to be zoned out as Patton laughed slightly under his breath. “I’ll take it that you’re helping me decorate?” the same happy grin only grew as Janus nodded his head vigorously.

Janus and Patton decorated the gingerbread house with every single candy they could fit on to the tiny baked good. Frosting smothered every inch and candy was thrown around like snow in a storm. Patton giggled as he saw Janus occasionally sneak  a few candies, “come on kiddo! Don’t eat all the candy! We gotta use some on the house!” Patton could pinpoint the exact second that Janus’ expression fell, he was so close to getting him to smile only for him to ruin it with a silly comment. “Oh! No! No no no no! Kiddo, it's ok! Here, I can get you your own bowl of candy!” Patton walked away from the counter with a heavy heart.

He had been so close to getting Janus to smile! It was right there! He could see Janus’ lips start to turn into a weavering smile and he just had to make that comment, Patton walked over to Virgil under the guise of grabbing some candy from the bowl in the living room.

He started filling the small bowl with candy, “hey, Kiddo?” Virgil hummed in response, scrolling through his phone, “has Janus ever had any sweets before?” that stopped Virgil in his tracks, he turned off his phone and looked Patton directly in the eyes.

“Patton, you do know what you’re asking me right?” Virgil kept his eyes trained on the cyan side as he nodded. Virgil rubbed his temple and sighed, “the others… are big on control. Wrath will force you to do something you regret and hold it over your head for years…. Anyway, one of the ways that Wrath,” Virgil felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine, “controls you, is by having complete power over the food supply. And sweets were not something that was handed out. Oftentimes we got stuck with some rotten excuse for food while the other three ate like kings” Virgil leaned to the back of the couch, his phone by his side, “Janus only got sweets when I managed to sneak them in.” Patton saw Virgil take large slow calming breaths, even and slow. “Now, popstar, what did you say to my kid?”

Patton took a deep breath, his chest was shaking, Virgil was known to be quite protective of the smaller side, “I didn’t mean to kiddo! He kept sneaking little pieces of candy and I told him to save some for the gingerbread house. I didn’t mean to make him upset!” Virgil sighed audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“Take some of the charamals, I think he’ll like them.” Virgil’s voice was low, clearly quite tired. He analyzed the light blue side carefully. “Patton, I’m not angry. Just try to be a little more careful with how you phrase things.” Patton nodded, pulling the candy bowl close to his chest. His glum expression disappears in the matter of seconds. The brilliant grin back on his lips with full force.

“Thanks kiddo! Your dear old dad-” “Patton, I’m older than you.” “your dear old dad needed some pointers!” Patton walked away with a pit of lead in his stomach, his dark kiddos had suffered for so long and they could barely do anything for Janus due to the rules of the mind.

In order for a side to switch their part of the mind, they need “permission” from a side from their current place of residence and everyone in their future residence. Janus had everyone’s acceptance from the lightside, but the darks refusing to let him go. Janus was the side to give Remus and Virgil permission and now the poor side is stuck because there is no way the darks are going to give up their leverage. Everyone on the lightside feels absolutely horrible.

It feels like a vicious cycle. Janus goes to the darkside, he gets hurt, he goes to the lightside to heal up and get some food, he stays for maybe a day (if he’s luckily) before he has to return to his room in the dark, only for the cycle to repeat over and over and over. Everyone knew Janus was falling, they just didn’t have the guts to say it.

Patton walked back into the kitchen with the bowl of candy. He hid the bowl behind his back, walking slowly to not startle the smaller side. Janus was barely up to his ear, wild blond curls stuck out every way they could manage, Janus turned and Patton got a better look at the shiny eyes that belonged to the younger side. His right eye was a light baby blue with speckles of green and gold. It reminded Patton of the glimmering galaxies that Logan often showed him, or of the rising and falling tides that were deadly but so serene. The other eye was a bright contrasting gold, it was rich in colour and metallic like a coin in a sunken chest. The pupil of the golden eye was slim like a snake, it was constantly flickering around the room -although Patton didn’t know if that was his snake instincts or a habit formed from years of planning desperate escapes.

“Hey kiddo! I got you something!” Janus looked a little confused, he normally didn’t get a single gift, more than one was almost unheard of, but he raised an eyebrow in a questioning manner nonetheless. “Hold your hands!” Janus followed his instructions slowly. Validity Deceit isn’t one to trust people blindly. Janus watched Patton closely as he pulled something from behind his back and set it in his hands. Janus felt his eyes widen

In his hands sat a bowl overflowing with sweets. Janus couldn’t form words as he kept staring at the bowl, chocolates to charamals to hard candy. Janus couldn’t get any words to form as he just kept staring at the bowl. He felt small pinpricks of tears spring to his eyes but managed to hold them in. Janus looked back up at Patton with joyful eyes.

“Thank you” his voice breathless

----

The freshly decorated gingerbread house sat on the coffee table, hot chocolate was pressed into the hands of the sides as they prepared to watch a christmas movie. The air was warm with the fireplace glowing burning flames. Janus stared into the dancing embers, entranced by the red blaze. It was so warm and comforting, it felt almost like a warm hug. But the flames also reminded him of Apathy and his lighter. That thought alone sent a shiver down his spine as the others argued over the movie

“The Muppets Christmas Carol!”

“The Grinch!”

“Noelle is an empowering movie for women.”

“Home Alone!”

“The Nightmare before Christmas!”

Janus hummed along to the radio that was playing in the meantime, the warm chocolatey drink was sweet. He didn’t know the words for the songs but he still enjoyed the songs regardless.

“Remus, we are not making Janus’ first christmas movie a horror film!” Roman was starting to get a little irritated with his twin. His quips were starting to get a little more bite than bark, the tension was starting to raise like it always did on their movie nights

“Well why not?! Come on Abel! Tell dear old Cain why we can’t watch a perfectly fine movie! Or is that stick up your butt shoved too far!?” Remus was just as mocking as the others stood on the sidelines. This was typical of the twins, they would settle down eventually and they could pick a movie.

Janus sitting in between Virgil and Logan, his head lolled to the side; resting on Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil in turn, had his arm resting over his shoulder in a comforting manner.

Logan leaned against the back cushions, coffee in one hand, “actually, Cain was the older sibling so Remus comparing himself to Cain would be incorrect because he’s youn-”

“SHUT UP NERD!!!!” the twins both screamed at the same time, the house shaking at the pure volume for the yell. The very second the yell sounded, Janus flinched and Virgil pulled the yellow side onto his lap, wrapping both arms around him in a protective grip. 

The purple side growled lowly, “you two are going to calm down NOW. I’m not going to tolerate this today.” The red and green sides squeaked slightly at Virgil’s tempest tone, it wasn’t brought out often but when it was, it definitely got the others to listen. Virgil took a breath, calming his voice. “We’re watching Logan’s pick.” Janus had accepted his fate as a snuggle buddy, besides, he felt safe anyway.

The group was quiet, each side having their own questions in their mind. “Why Logans? Noelle isn’t normally on the watch list?” Roman huffed as he threw himself on the newly constructed pillow throne, he was just as dramatic as Juliet when she stabbed her own heart.

Virgil shrugged as he slightly loosened his grip on Janus, “Happy ending, good message, it's funny, and it has a great message of female empowerment.” The sides all snuggled into their chairs as Remus brought up the movie.

The fire was warm. Snow was falling gracefully out the window. The hot chocolate was steaming as marshmallows floated like little islands. The sides were calm, no injuries to tend or having to hide, only the calm steady breathing of the six as Santa walked on screen.

And Janus let out a small smile.

-------

Taglist:

@writerstrashbin , @psychedelicships , @cryptidwriterdotcom (ask to be removed or added)

@girl-with-many-fandoms @fortunatelyimperfect @idkanameatall

Merry Christmas my friends. I hope you enjoy this late Christmas present. ❤️💛💚💙💜💖

Blond Janus AU masterpost

[allthingsfangirl101]

Wish I Were Heather–Zac Efron

Inspired by the song, Heather by Conan Gray

Dating a famous actor is tough. Now, dating him in secret is just sheer torture. Everyone, literally everyone, has an opinion about who he should be with and who would look great on his arm. And I am not even close to them. They are all beautiful, famous, rich, dropped-dead gorgeous women. I'm just average.

The recent girl that fans want Zac to start dating is his costar, Heather Manning. She's a rising star who started off as a model. She had a few cameos in tv shows at first, but her career shot off from there.

Anything anyone can talk about is Zac Efron and Heather Manning. People are obsessed with the leaked set photos that have been released. They love how the two look together.

Zac's fans think I am just his friend who is always around. They actually hate me. They think it's annoying that I follow him around, not doing anything. When asked, he tells people that I am his lifelong best friend who moved to LA with him.

They don't know that we've actually been dating since before his career. It all started junior year of high school. I had been studying so much for my AP test, ACT, and SAT that I got sick and ended up fainting in the middle of class.

Zac rode with me to the hospital and sat next to me every day I was there. When I was released, he was at my house 24/7, constantly around me to make sure I was taking care of myself. About a week after it happened, I asked why he refused to leave my side. That's when he admitted his feelings for me and I confessed mine for him.

In the first few months of his career, we had a long-distance relationship. The second I graduated high school, I went to LA to live with him. We talked about it and agreed to keep our relationship a secret from all of Zac's fans.

It was actually Zac's idea. He hadn't wanted his fans to try and get in the way of us or try and influence us. He wanted our relationship to be just that; us. Even though I agreed to keep our relationship a secret, it was hard. Everywhere I turned, someone was hitting on Zac, asking him out, or trying to get him to ask them out.

I tried to act like it didn't bother me, but of course it did. After a while, it started to get to me. It's exhausting trying to act like it didn't bother me. Zac is a famous actor and I'm just me.

I got a degree online in marketing, but I don't do anything with it. All I do is sit at home and do random chores around the apartment while I wait for Zac to come home.

I still remember, Third of December, Me in your sweater. You said it looked better on me than it did you, Only if you knew, How much I liked you.

"Hey, babe." I looked away from my book to see Zac walking in the door.

"Hi," I said softly. I put my book down and pulled my legs under myself as he walked over and sat next to me.

"How was your day?" He asked, reaching over and putting his hand on my knee.

"It was fine," I said under my breath as I looked away.

"Hey," he said gently. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," I said, not even convincing myself. I sighed as I looked back up at him. "What?" I asked when I saw the way he was smirking at me.

"You're wearing my favorite sweater," he chuckled as he scooted closer to me and put my feet on his lap. I smiled as he rubbed my calves.

"I was cold," I shrugged. He laughed as he leaned over and pressed his lips to mine in a short, gentle kiss.

"Well," he said when he broke the kiss. "It looks better on you anyway."

                       * * * * *

But I watch your eyes as she walks by. What a sight for sore eyes, Brighter than a blue sky. She's got you mesmerized. While I die

"They just sent me the trailer for my new movie. Wanna watch it?" Zac asked as he laid his head down on my lap and propped up his phone. I sighed as he pressed play.

I tried to be supportive and watch it, but it was too painful. Instead of watching the trailer, my eyes never strayed from Zac. It was hard to watch the smile on his face.

"So," he laughed as he sat up when the trailer ended. "What did you think?"

"I love it," I smiled through the pain. "It's going to be an amazing movie."

Zac turned towards me and grabbed my hands, intertwining our fingers. "Babe, you know that this is just for show, right? I mean. . . It's just for the movie."

"I know," I laughed it off. "We already talked about it before you started filming. I know that every cute moment, every kiss is just for the movie. I trust you, Zac."

"Damn, I love you," he laughed as he leaned over and pressed his lips to mine.

Why would you ever kiss me? I'm not even half as pretty. You gave her your sweater. It's just polyester, but you like her better Wish I were Heather

I broke the kiss when the image of Heather kissing Zac was stuck in my head. I smiled as I leaned back and grabbed my book. He watched me for a second before turning his attention back to his phone.

I have been supportive of Zac and his career through every moment, but it's getting harder. Watching the love of my life on screen with a beautiful actress was torture. It just reminded me that I wasn't anywhere near to being part of his league.

                       * * * * *

Watch as she stands with Her holding your hand. Put your arm 'round her shoulder, Now I'm getting colder.

I smoothed out my dress, trying to wipe away the nerves. Zac walked into the front room and smiled. "Wow," he chuckled. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks," I blushed as I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. I smoothed out my dress again, looking down at my feet.

"Nervous?" He smirked as he walked over and grabbed my hands.

"Always," I chuckled. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my lips.

"It's going to be okay," he smirked when he broke the kiss. "Besides, I'm the one who should be nervous. I bring you along with me so you can keep me calm."

The whole drive to his premiere, my stomach was in knots. The idea of constantly being around my secret boyfriend and the girl I've been secretly comparing myself to made me sick.

We pulled into the theater and everything happened as if someone was fast-forwarding through the night. We walked the red carpet, but when we got to the paparazzi, he was taken away from me. They didn't want pictures of us. They wanted pictures of Zac and Heather.

I stood to the side, my arms wrapped around myself as I watched them take pictures. The more poses they went through and the closer they seemed to get together, the lower my stomach dropped. When it got too much, I turned on my heel and walked inside.

                       * * * * *

But how could I hate her? She's such an angel But then again, kinda wish she were dead. As she walks by, What a sight for sore eyes, Brighter than a blue sky. She's got you mesmerized, While I die.

The entire time we watched his movie, my heart was in my stomach. I found it incredibly hard to watch Zac on-screen fall in love with a girl ten times prettier than me.

I know how much my boyfriend loves me. I know he would never cheat on me or hurt me. I know I was being insecure, but I couldn't stop. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was the off-brand version of Heather Manning.

Zac's new movie, The Lucky One, is based on the book written by Nicholas Sparks. Zac plays Logan Thibault, a US Marine who finds a photograph of a young woman while serving in Iraq. He carries it around as a good luck charm, and later tracks down the woman, Heather's character, Beth.

Watching Heather act was almost bewitching. I say almost because it's as painful as is it bewitching. I fought the tears as long as I could, but the longer I watched the man I'm in love with fall in love with another woman, the harder it got.

The tears finally started streaming down my cheeks as the movie came to an end. As Zac's and Heather's characters lived "happily ever after", I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed my bag and ignored Zac's questioning look as I ran out of the theatre.

                       * * * * *

Why would you ever kiss me? I'm not even half as pretty. You gave her your sweater. It's just polyester, but you like her better. I wish I were Heather

"Y/N?!" Zac called out as he ran out of the theater following me. "Stop. Please!"

I froze but didn't turn around. I wrapped my arms around myself as I waited for Zac to speak up.

"Babe," he said, his voice barely audible. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," I stuttered.

"Y/N, come on," he sighed. "You've been acting kind of weird the past couple of weeks. Months, really. Talk to me, Y/N. Please? What's going on?"

"I can't do this," I whispered, more to myself than to him.

"What?" Zac asked, the annoyance building in his voice. "Just talk to me, Y/N. What's going on?"

"I can't do this anymore, Zac!" I yelled as I turned around. He froze when he saw the tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Y/N," he said softly, my name getting caught in his throat. "What are you. . ."

"All I hear about every day is which beautiful actress your fans want you to be with, what girls are worth your time, and what kind of girl should make you happy. And guess what! I'm not even close to any of them."

"Y/N," he tried to interrupt, but I didn't let him.

"And the worst part is that I agreed to this!" I laughed sarcastically. "We talked about it and both agreed to keep us a secret. But I wasn't. . ."

"Y/N," he tried again.

"I didn't know how hard this would be, Zac," I said, not skipping a beat. "Because it's incredibly hard. Keeping us a secret is emotionally draining and exhausting. I love you, Zac but. . . I don't know how much longer I can do this."

"Y/N, please," he said desperately. "We don't have. . ."

I shook my head, the tears no longer streaming down my cheeks as I slowly walked away from him. "You should be with Heather or someone like her. . . Not me."

"Y/N, what are you talking about?" Zac asked, running his hands through his hair. "Just. . . Slow down, okay? Can we sit down and talk about this?"

"No," I said, taking another step back. "This has been going on too long, Zac. And you know it. I can't. . . I'm not good enough for you. You deserve a beautiful actress or a model. And I'm not like that. I'm average. I don't even have a job."

"So?" He scoffed. "I don't care about that! We've known each other all of our lives, Y/N. And you aren't average. You're my best friend, the love of my life. Besides, I don't want some girl who's looking for her next big career move. I want someone who really knows me. I want you."

"Zac, please just stop," I said, my voice getting caught in my throat. "Why would you ever want me?"

"Why wouldn't I want you?" Zac laughed awkwardly but stopped when he saw the look on my face. "Y/N, baby, please. . ."

I shook my head as I took a few steps back. Before he could say anything or do anything, I turned on my heel and left.

                       * * * * *

I was laying down on our couch, my knees up to my chest. There were dried tears on my cheeks as I numbly watched the tv. I wasn't sure what I was watching or what was happening, but I didn't care.

I sucked in a breath when I heard the lock click and the door open. I resisted the urge to look at Zac as he walked in.

"Hey," he whispered. "I'm kind of surprised you're still up."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him take off his suit jacket and drape it over the Lazyboy. I bit my lip as he sat on the couch by my feet. I heard Zac sigh before laying down and pulling me into his chest. He spooned me, wrapping his arm around my waist.

"Can we please talk?" He whispered. I shrugged, knowing my voice would fail me. Besides, I said everything I had to say back at the theater.

"I had no idea that this was so hard on you," he sighed. "If I had known. . . I'm so sorry, babe. I should've known that keeping us a secret would be hard on you. But I. . . Damn, I've been really selfish, haven't I? I've been a horrible boyfriend," he whispered, rubbing his hands up and down his face. "I've been selfish and. . . I haven't. . ."

I finally looked at him when he sat up, but he didn't look towards me. Instead, he stared straight ahead, probably overthinking all of this. And that made me feel guilty.

"I am so sorry, Y/N." He shifted more towards me and grabbed my hands. "Things are going to be different. I promise. I am going to announce that we are dating, living together, everything. I am going to set up an interview to only talk about you. I'm going to take some time off so we can spend more time together. I'm so sorry I've been horrible to you."

"Zac," I said gently, interrupting him.

He stopped talking and waited for me to continue. I smiled as I reached up and cupped his cheek in my hand. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. He deepened the kiss by wrapping his arms around me, pulling me closer to him.

He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against mine. "I'm so sorry," he repeated. "So so sorry, babe. I should've. . . And I. . . I'm sorry."

"Hey," I said, leaning back so I could look at him. "I love you."

He smiled, looking as if he was relieved. "I love you too, Y/N. I'm so sorry."

"So you've said," I teased him. "Besides, I agreed to keep us a secret. I should've talked to you sooner instead of running out of your premiere. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he said instantly. There was a brief moment of silence before Zac asked, "So. . . We're okay? I mean. . ."

I laughed as I cupped his cheek in my hand. "Of course we're okay. I love you, Zac. Always have, always will."

"I love you too," Zac whispered as he leaned in and pressed a short, gentle kiss to my lips. "Besides, why would I want Heather when I have you?"

Heather tried to kiss me. She's not even half as pretty. Yes, I gave her my sweater, But it's just polyester. And I like you better. I don't care for Heather.

[visceraah]

Unsinkable

My other fic for the @sanderssidesgiftxchange! An analogical titanic fic for @strugglingispointless. And a huge thankyou to @missfay49 for betaing this!!

Rating- teen again! content warnings are in the notes of each chapter

WC- 10873 (I got... very carried away lmao. hope you enjoy!)

Ships- Romantic analogical, backgroundish moceit, and all the sides are in it and interact at one point or another.

AO3

Logan has been the perfect child all of his life. Perfect manners, perfect poise, perfect brain. All that's left is being the perfect husband- marry someone with good status for the family. And he didn't even have to secure his own match, his parents had found one for him.

By all accounts, this should be easy.

Logan learns very, very quickly how wrong that is.

-

There’s no way in hell I’m posting the whole thing here, but the first chapter is under the cut!

Logan didn’t believe anything was ‘perfect’- there was always space for improvement, no matter how miniscule, and settling for anything less with the claim it was already as good as it could be just seemed, as far as he was concerned, lazy.

He pointed this out every time he heard the word, yet it didn’t stop his parents from using it to describe him. The perfect son. Booksmart, eloquent, impeccable manners. But there was always more to learn, and though ‘perfection’ was in itself subjective his social skills could certainly use some work. He, like everything else, wasn’t perfect. His parents didn’t especially appreciate the observation.

The frustrating thing about being ‘perfect’ was you didn’t make mistakes. You couldn’t. Expectations were high and, for the people who put a roof over his head and clothes on his back, Logan refused to disappoint them. So he spent his days studying, learning as much as he could to live up to an expectation he, realistically, knew was unachievable.

It was only natural he spent most of his time in their library, surrounded by dead peoples words. He didn’t mind that much- people were difficult to understand, but books told you exactly what they meant. They weren’t perfect, either, but they were ideal for learning, curling up in an armchair and forgetting about everything and everyone until you’re torn back to reality.

“Logan!” A shrill voice cried, doing just that. He gently shut his book and set it aside.

“Yes, father?”

“Oh, there you are- so small, that’s hardly a gentlemanly way to sit’ now, is it? I could barely see you. Sit up’ now, sit up- there’s my boy!” He doted, Logan’s back instinctively straightening at the command. “Now… Your mother and I have something to talk to you about.”

Logan scanned over his shoulder, a small frown setting onto his face. “I don’t see her.”

“Oh, darling- That’s because I’m doing the talking!” His father exclaimed with a chuckle, seeming to have thought that was a joke. The laugh felt a little patronising, if you asked Logan, and he had no idea why he’d say it’d be a conversation involving someone who wasn’t present, but he nodded like he understood anyway. Experience showed that was easiest. “Well, we’ve got you a match!”

Logan blinked. His father looked at him expectantly. His frown returned. “What would I do with a match...? I’ve told you tobacco makes my lungs feel constricted, and it’s generally Amy's job to light the fireplaces-”

“Oh, Logan!” He laughed again like he’d said something ridiculous. “A romantic match, silly. A fiancé!”

“Ah.” Logan’s eyes flicked back to his book. He’d been reading about constellations before, and though learning of their origins was somewhat less academic than his other studies, it was a passion of his. “Will that be all?”

“You… don’t want to know about him?” His father prodded in that way that signalled he had been meant to ask for details. Logan shook his head anyway.

“I know I’m around that age, and I trust you to choose an adequate match- so long as I live with a library, I cannot foresee any issues.”

There was a beat of silence, for a minute, before his father seemed to come to terms with his answer. He let out a delayed squeal, squishing Logan’s face uncomfortably between his hands and pressing a kiss he had to fight not to move back from to his forehead. “There’s our boy!”

Logan offered him a smile, hand already reaching back for his book.

-

Virgil groaned loudly, tearing a page from his sketchbook and crumpling it up in his fist. He threw the balled up paper at the bin... and watched it bounce off the lid, onto the floor with all his other attempts. He slumped and hit his head on the table. Nothing he drew was good enough. Seemed to be a pretty consistent theme in his life, actua--

“I’m home!” He heard his brother yell, almost like the self deprecation had summoned him. That happened a surprising amount, and Virgil was beginning to wonder if he had some kind of sixth sense for wallowing.

“What’re all these?”

Virgil peered up to see Patton scoop up some of his discarded paper and huffed. “Shit.”

“Hey, language!” Patton scolded, unfolding one. Virgil knew better than to protest because, either way, there was nothing he could do to stop the incoming onslaught of validation. Pretty rude of his brother, if you asked him, breaking in like this and ruining his lamenting. “Kiddo, this is amazing!”

“Kinda loses its meaning when you say that about everything, Patt.” Virgil grumbled, pulling his hood up. “It’s covered in mistakes- I kept having to rub them out but it happened so much the paper just looks messy and flaky, but I kept fu- screwing up and-”

“There’s no such thing as a mistake.” Patton scolded lightly, not wanting to let him fix onto something so negative. “Just-”

“If you say ‘happy accidents’ I’m setting the apartment on fire.” Virgil warned, hiding a small smile.

“You know me too well.” Patton replied with a deep sigh, slipping into the chair opposite him and not quite meeting his eyes. “In other news, though... I’ve got news. Oh! I said ‘news’ twice.” He giggled, and Virgil rolled his eyes- before he registered what ‘news’ meant. It meant something new, which meant change and, yeah, they didn’t exactly have the money to keep going as they were in this shitty expensive flat without any work but where else would they go? Were they homeless now? Was the news that they were being kicked out? He knew they were overdue but they had time, still, surely--

“Kiddo! Kiddo, I’m sorry, I should’ve been clearer.” Patton gently pulled him back to reality, the guilty look on his face enough to make Virgil feel terrible for spiralling. He didn’t admit that, though, because it’d make Patton feel worse, and then they’d just be in their own spiral of upsetting one by upsetting the other and he did not have the emotional stability to deal with that. “I have a job!”

Virgil was pretty much a master in nerves, and he could spot them a mile away- especially in his brother. The wringing of hands and avoidance of eye contact wasn’t exactly subtle. Why he’d be nervous about getting work when they needed it so desperately, though, didn’t seem right. Was he a criminal? Were they going to get arrested? “That’s… good?” He offered, before he could jump to any more awful conclusions.

“It is!” Patton nodded eagerly, latching onto it. “Just…”

“Just...?”

“It’s on a boat.”

Virgil's throat went dry. “We can’t swim.”

“I know, but most of the crew can’t, it’s really safe, and we’ll have our own room and it’ll be warm and-”

Virgil shook his head quickly. “We’ll be surrounded by miles and miles of sea and we can’t keep afloat by ourselves and if it sinks we’re fucked and-”

“We… don’t have much of a choice.” Patton reminded him softly, and they both involuntarily looked over at the red envelopes shoved under the door. Their eviction notices. “Anyway, cheer up kiddo- they say it’s unsinkable!”

[i-mybrunettelady]

----- 1334 AE

Liv offered to come. El remembers Liv’s whiskers trembling, as they often do when he’s annoyed, but doesn’t want to lash out; it’s always been one of the charr’s greatest mysteries, how he manages to keep his annoyance from fanning into rage.

“I can go there alone,” El said, pulling on his too big fur-lined coat.

“There are Elder Dragons,” Liv pointed out. It was cold in Lion’s Arch, but El dreaded how cold it’d be in far Shiverpeaks.

“I want to see Aurene. See what’s so special about her. See what’s made Caithe abandon all sense of normalcy and betray us for an Elder Dragon. Besides, Alysannyra wouldn’t risk Trahearne’s life. She can do few things right, but that she cannot allow herself to fuck up.”

“Alright,” Liv sighed. “Don’t get yourself in danger, though. I’ll worry.”

Liv offered to come, El turned him down and now he is heaving alone in the cold shithole that is Eye of the North, trying to chase away that special aftertaste of vomit that only an asuran gate can produce. But he has to see Aurene, has to see what drove Caithe to betrayal. Because it feels like betrayal, because every Elder Dragon comes to be big and green and scream in his mind, and willingly joining the oppressors of mortals on Tyria cannot feel like anything but.

He senses Trahearne before he sees him, deep in conversation with Aife. There’s a noticeable weight of worry in him, worry he keeps hidden and cannot shake off.

“El,” the Firstborn greets, brow shooting up in surprise. His glow isn’t as noticeable as it was before.  “What brings you here?”

“Aurene,” El says curtly.

“Hello, Elandrin,” Aife says with a smile. “How did your self-defense lecture with the saplings go?”

“Lecture with the saplings? Aife, my dear, you can’t have found a worse replacement.” Trahearne shakes his head in disbelief.

“I agree,” El adds. “Don’t think it was my idea. Oh no. Canach and I had a bet and how in the Pale Tree’s branches could I refuse a bet?”

Trahearne pins him with a fond, but serious stare. “How much money did he milk out of you?”

“Enough for two masterwork daggers,” El sighs sadly. “In my defense, nobody got burned. Badly. I don’t envy you Luminaries.”

“Good thing you’re not a luminary,” Aife laughs. “We’d all be ash by now if that were the case.”

“Aife, wait here a moment,” Trahearne suddenly says, going around the table to stand before El. He lowers his voice and asks, “Are you sure? There’s Jormag too-”

“They’re all evil things,” El says harshly, squinting. “But I can handle myself. Thorns, you’re like Liv. I’m not a defenseless little sapling, I survived Maguuma by myself!”

“Jormag whispers,” Trahearne frowns. It’s a strange expression. El feels anger with an equally strange undercurrent of guilt radiate from his friend.

“I should know how to defend myself from dragons whispering in my head,” El bites out angrily. He’s capable, strong-willed. What’s another Elder Dragon?

Trahearne purses his lips. El feels his annoyance beat against his own, and he’s ready to argue if need be. But ever the calmer man, the Firstborn doesn’t take the bait. “Just beware,” he says with resignation, turning to go back to Aife. “They don’t play fair and minds like minefields are at most risk.”

El bristles. “Your dearheart told you that?”

“Yes,” Trahearne says. “If only you two could get along, my life would be a lot simpler. You’re more similar than you’d like to admit.”

“Never let a wrong ripen into evil,” El says sardonically. There’s conversation all around him, sylvari projecting fear and excitement in equal measures, grunting of the charr, laughter of the asura. Blades clash and people who look important - a white-furred charr with tattoos beneath her eye and a big, darkhaired norn, a short-haired human and Logan Thackeray, a floating mass of energy that talks for fuck’s sake - all converse in words he doesn’t quite get.

They’re all here because Alysannyra gathered them. Maybe he even asks her where she got a floating magical being so he could get one for himself.

He turns on his heel and moves towards the corridor. There’s a curious sense of ancient magic lingering in that direction. That’s when he sees her. She’s translucent, white, on her throne of pale crystals, smaller than he expected her to be, but with a long neck and a soothing voice. El hates it, hates how kind it seems, how gentle, when all dragons do is destroy. There’s no kindness within a dragon.

She’s deeply engaged in a conversation - argument - with a charr who doesn’t sound like a charr. Alysannyra sits beside them, purple eyes attentively looking between them, as if waiting for an opportunity to interject. She looks on edge, there are dark bags beneath her eyes, and her legs keep bouncing, like she’s about to run and needs to be prepared at any moment.

Just as she’s about to open her mouth, the charr turns to El and speaks in that smooth voice, “Ah, a visitor!”

“Elandrin?” Alysannyra asks, standing up. “What are you doing here?”

“Sight-seeing,” he says deadpan.

“Please,” she shakes her head. “My day’s bad already, don’t-”

“If you think I’m here for you, you’re an idiot,” he says honestly. “I’m here to see your elder dragon. And Jormag, it would seem.”

“Hello, sylvari,” Jormag says sweetly, a sudden shift from their firm tone from earlier. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“As long as you don’t call me fodder,” he all but hisses, managing to rein himself in.

“No,” Jormag replies, “that’s my brother’s role, but my brother is dead. You’re marginally more defensive than that compatriot of yours who resides here. I do not see the reason, really.”

“I will not be swayed,” El bites out. “I won’t accept anything you offer, you frigid lizard.”

“Do not antagonise Jormag,” Aurene says and it’s as if crystals fall from her mouth when she speaks.

“Aurene, let me handle this,” Alysannyra says gently.

“But, mother, he-”

“I know what he said,” her champion replies. “And I know he stands by that still. But I ask you not to fight my battles for me. It’s...” She waves her hand.

“Hypocritical of you, Champion,” Jormag tsks. “She just wants to protect you. It’s her choice, after all.”

That seems to have hit a nerve. “Shut up,” Alysannyra hisses.

Mind like a minefield, El thinks. It burns to admit Trahearne was right.

“I’m Elandrin,” he says. “Elandrin Aien. I’d rather be that than sylvari.”

“Of course, Elandrin Aien,” Jormag replies. “I’ll call you whatever you wish to be called.”

“Do not listen,” Alysannyra says, “do not engage. Jormag wants that. They cannot be trusted.”

“You’re protective of me?” El frowns.

“No, I value my own life and mental health,” she bristles. It’s as big of a compliment as she’ll ever pay him and a nearby sylvari chokes on his drink and stares at him. “And besides, Trahearne will end me if anything happens to you. You’re very dear to him.”

“How lovely of you,” he says. “Aurene, you say you like mortals, no?”

“My mother and father are mortals,” the dragon says. “I love them. All of them.”

“You do not make minions? Little Aurene-imbibed underlings?”

“None.” Aurene sounds confused by that line of questioning.

“How do you know that won’t change? How can you be sure? What’s your goal in pretending to be kind?”

“Pretending? I’m not pretending. I do not wish mortals harm. Elandrin, what is the purpose of this?”

“He’s distrustful because of Mordremoth,” Alysannyra explains, crossing her arms. She taps her heel on the ground. “My advice would be giving up. He’s set in his ways. He won’t listen in the best of times.”

“There’s no good in Elder Dragons. Only things they’re capable of are evil. I wanted to see what turned Caithe to your side.” El shakes his head. “False promises.”

Aurene keeps quiet.

“Mind your words,” Alysannyra warns. “It’s my daughter you’re speaking to.”

“And you’re the greatest traitor of them all,” El continues, “if this creature is your daughter. It’s all you could ever do. I knew it would happen, but he didn’t listen.” She closes her eyes, reaches out for her magic, taps her foot against the floor harder and mumbles to herself.

“Mind your words,” she repeats, with more firmness.

“Elandrin!” Trahearne’s voice booms from the hallway. He’s angry. “Is that why you came here? To insult?”

“If need be,” El replies.

Jormag laughs. “What a lovely show you mortals make,” they comment.

“And you, Lyss? Threats?”

“I’m a mother,” she says. “I was just defending her honour.”

“You two are impossible,” Trahearne mutters. “I’ll discuss this with both of you if I have to, and I clearly do. You’re behaving like saplings.”

“Tell you what, Aurene,” El says, eyeing the dragon. “Save Tyria and I may yet believe you don’t plan out imminent destruction. If not...” He shivers at the thought of the Mists. “Save the world, Alysannyra, and I’ll think you a little less of traitor.”

“Of course,” she says, holding his gaze. “It’s what I do. With or without your thanks.”

"With or without my thanks," he mocks. There's an admission of fighting back that wasn't there when he called her a murderer two years ago.

He doesn't know how he feels about it, so he turns to leave. "I'm returning to Lion's Arch, Trahearne. Call for me when you want to talk to me. I'm sure I've heard it before but..."

He doesn't wait for any replies. There's someone who would actually be happy for him in Lion's Arch.

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die - Chapter 4

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 4)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Roman discovers that even the power of a king has its limits--but at least he has the power to help Logan in one critical fashion.

Logan is a needy wreck, and can't figure out which way is up, and as desperately as he needs someone--one man--to hold his hand through it all? It only makes things worse somehow.

Meanwhile, through all of this, another chess piece steps out of the shadows and onto the game board--and he's not going anywhere until he gets what, and who, he came for.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), future Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: Panic attack, but that’s it for this chapter. It’s mostly me having feelings, being TOTALLY UNABLE TO STOP WRITING WHAT THE HELL SOMEONE SAVE ME XD, and more self indulgent garbage that just felt good to write. So there. :P

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

“Lord Janus? I want this man dead.”

“Certainly, Your Majesty.”

“Please—mercy, Your Majesty!”

“Now hang on there just a gosh darn, berry pickin', mother lovin' moment, buster! Janny, if you know what's good for you, you will just stop with this nonsense and put the flippin' sword down!”

Roman would have burst out laughing if he wasn't fighting so hard to keep his composure. It could hardly be helped—Patton came up to Logan's shoulder, but only just, and was standing in his cell with his hands on his hips, glaring at the captain of the royal guard like he was a child being scolded for a broken dish.

Janus hardly looked intimidated—but the fact that he stilled after drawing his sword, leaving a terrified guard trembling against the bars of the cell next to Logan's was telling. Seven years, Lord Janus had served as the head of the assassins' corps before retiring to become the captain of the royal guard. Roman had heard stories, but never met the man until today, which was hardly unusual given that Janus was a drake—the son of a human and a dragon. They were notoriously gifted shapeshifters, even with a handicap like his.

Lord Janus was powerful, deadly, and highly skilled at remaining an enimga...but a hobbled child necromancer in a cell had the power to stay his hand.

Janus raised an eyebrow at Patton, but finally glanced at Roman.

Roman nodded. Janus refocused on the guard, pushing the tip of his sword against the hollow of his throat, hard enough to draw blood.

“Majesty, I beg you! I don't want to die!” the guard begged.

Roman let out a bemused little laugh.

“How strange,” he replied as calmly as he could manage, “I was under the impression you did, given the fact that you refused, a second time, to obey a direct order from your king.”

“The Necromata must be bound! It's the law!”

“I am the law!”

Storming up to the guard, Roman let his emotions fuel him—exhaustion, grief, anger, confusion, and the tearing, unspeakable ache that throbbed through him every time his gaze ventured too close to the open door of the cell where Logan still leaned.

The wail he'd let out when Roman pulled free of his grip to order the cell door opened was going to haunt his sleep. The way he stood now, so carefully still, features so meticulously schooled into calm, unfeeling lines, was going to rob him of that breath of life Logan had only just returned to him.

“I am the king now, and I am the ultimate authority.” Roman spat. “Now, I fully understand the need to shackle a prisoner being removed from his cell, but as far as I am concerned, this man is no longer a prisoner here.”

“You can't--”

“I think you'll find that I can.”

“Your Majesty.”

Roman turned at the sound of Logan's voice, cool and even but too quiet, hoarse and thick with the tears he'd finally managed to stop from streaming down his face.

“The law is such that the king cannot overrule it.” Logan declared with deceptive calm. “The Necromata, once imprisoned by the royal family, can only be pardoned for the crimes of their birth with the blessing of the people. A vote, if you will...and no such vote has ever been successfully passed.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have been here for ten years with little more to do than read. I have the entire legal code of the Kingdoms and the criminal rules of order memorized, along with the family tree of the royal family and all available star maps of the area.”

Roman wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something—for a terrible moment, he wanted to order Janus to proceed with the guard's execution for real, rather than just trying to make a point.

Then inspiration struck—bright, blinding, and blessed as it filled him with light.

“My order will still be obeyed.” Roman announced. “These two necromancers—they may not be pardoned, but they will be imprisoned at my pleasure...and it is my pleasure to have them confined to guest quarters upstairs. Have extra guards posted at all available palace entrances. They are not to leave the grounds until the vote has been passed. Successfully.”

He shot a look at the offending guard.

“And the first person to shackle either one of them without violent provocation will be hung at dawn.”

Janus lowered his sword and slid it back into its sheath—the cane he'd been carrying with him—before moving to Roman's side.

“Bit extreme, don't you think, Majesty?” he murmured once he was close enough to ensure that only Roman would hear him.

“My father is dead, Lord Janus.” Roman shot back bleakly. “I have yet to shed a single tear for him--'extreme' feels like an appropriate response right about now.”

“Touche. Of course—and it has nothing to do with the traumatized necromancer you're apparently well acquainted with?”

Roman didn't answer as he moved towards the open door of the cell. Standing before Logan, he extended his hand...

...then suddenly realized that was a bad idea as he put his hand back down again.

********** More.

Logan could hardly string a single coherent thought together around the constant chant in his mind, his marrow, his soul for the prince to touch him again. He couldn't let him, not when it was so agonizing, fire and pressure and somehow affecting every nerve in his body when it was focused on such a small area...

More. More. More.

He didn't understand why restraining himself was so hard. It hurt, it was clearly doing him some kind of physical and psychological harm...and yet he wanted. Needed.

He couldn't remember ever experiencing the sensation.

It very nearly caused another panic attack when the prince dropped his offered hand—and that was another problem entirely, standing before a cell door standing wide open, and the use of the word pardon being thrown around like it wasn't capable of changing the world as Logan knew it—but the pause that seemed to last for an eternity must have only been a few seconds long.

Because a moment later, the Green Man—the prince—was reaching into his pocket and producing a pair of pristine white gloves. A missing piece of the military uniform, how had Logan not noticed? He usually noticed things like that...

When he finished tugging them on, he offered his hand to Logan again. He said nothing...just waited.

Logan shook with the force of effort it took to reach, slowly, to accept the offered hand. The gloves blocked some of that heat from skin to skin contact—and when he gently folded his fingers around Logan's, barely any pressure, it was still intense...but better.

“All good, Berry?”

Logan looked into his eyes sharply, the name ricocheting around in his skull in a manner he hadn't experienced in literal years—not since he'd first discovered his power was awakening again, all concussive force and electricity crawling against the underside of his skin.

All at once, the years fell away, and he was asleep in his cell that first terrible night, dreaming of every monstrous shadow transforming into a protector as green eyes lit the dark.

He opened his mouth to answer yes, he was fine—then realized...

“I do not know which of the princes you are.” he admitted with a bemused huff.

That got a smile from the other man—too brief, far too brief before it fractured to pieces, a crystal goblet slammed to the floor, raining shards of razor sharp light.

“Roman.” he replied. “Pr—King Thomas Roman II, but you may address me by my name.”

“Hardly acceptable, is it, Majesty?” Janus mused.

“Given that my life is currently in this man's hands—and the future of my father—I'd say he's earned a few niceties, Lord Janus.” Roman announced, raising his voice to ensure everyone within earshot was aware of it. Logan had a strange feeling that Lord Janus spoke up for precisely that purpose, to make his situation known.

Logan's, not Roman's—Logan knew that anyone with a shred of loyalty to the king would probably kill him if given the chance. There was no question that someone would likely accuse a necromancer with ties to the crown prince of the murder. Fear for Roman's safety would keep him protected.

Janus was that kind of man, shrewd and shameless—Logan knew precious little about Prince Roman, but to discover that he was equally blessed with the gift of strategy was...intriguing.

“Lord Janus, see to it that Logan's cell mate is made comfortable, and shown around the north wing of the palace. That is where I would prefer they spend the bulk of their time.” Roman declared. “I will take custody of this prisoner myself. When you are done, I want you, the dungeon master, the head prison mage, and a heart healer in the war room, immediately. Send for my brother as well.”

“Yes, Your Majesty—but I cannot send you alone.” Janus replied. Surveying the guards in their presence, and grimacing with impatience, he finally took a few steps down the corridor and flagged down another guard.

“You! Fetch the cadet from the graveyard patrol, now! I want him on the king's detail.”

Roman nodded his thanks, finally turning his attention back on Logan. Between those green eyes and the warm pressure enfolding his hand, ravaging his nerves and making his chest throb with pure emotion, he wasn't sure he could stand it much longer without losing his composure.

“Are you all right?” Roman asked quietly, stepping closer and into Logan's personal space. Strangely, Logan realized he could feel that as well, radiant heat and buzzing static crawling across his skin, too close and not enough and everything.

More. More. More.

“I am not.” he admitted. “Hardly unusual, given that touch starvation is a common condition among the Necromata, to say nothing of the Claim.”

“The Claim? What's that?”

Logan's mouth snapped shut, very real panic rising in his chest again.

“Whoah—Logan? Logan, breathe. Look at me, you need to breathe.”

The Claim. He knew, knew what Logan had done, was holding his hand and Logan could feel it, but now he'd spoken about the Claim, about his power, and he was going to die this time...

...two...three...four...hold for one...two...three...four...five...

“That's it, Logan. There you go, can you do it again?”

...good job, now again: in for one...two...three...four...

Pressure. Pressure, pressure, pressure, everywhere, pressure pressure unrelenting pressure...

“Hey!”

Logan blinked, attention snapping to the young man suddenly standing in front of him. He was nearly Logan's height, with straight black hair that hung in dark eyes, flinty as stone.

“Name five things you can see.”

“I...what?”

“Do it. Five things.”

Logan shook his head, and almost immediately his gaze was drawn back to Roman.

“Green Man.” he managed to reply. Roman smiled, and Logan felt that mantra start tattooing itself against the inside of his skull, blotting out the fear and panic.

“Okay, keep going. Let's keep going.”

Logan only realized they were moving because Roman still held his hand, was tugging him with the barest of pressure—and Logan's traitorous body followed. Between the cadet, demanding Logan name more things he could see, along with touch, smell, hear, and taste, and Roman's silent encouragement, he found himself moving out of his cell and towards the stairs of the dungeon.

Moving up each stair. Moving through the gate, and into the palace...moving, traveling, with only Roman's hand to restrain him.

Then he was in the palace, above the dungeons...and if he never saw the outside world again, Logan still felt like he could call himself a free man.

********** “Thank you.”

The cadet flinched a little, looking towards the king. “What?”

“Thank you.” King Roman repeated, still crouched motionless by the chair the prisoner had all but collapsed into. He'd basically passed out when they reached the war room, but didn't seem to be in any distress—just exhausted and overstimulated.

“That trick, focusing on his surroundings—it's greatly appreciated.” he went on, his gaze never leaving the sleeping man's face. He still held his hand, like he might vanish if he let him go. “How did you know it would work?”

The cadet had to grit his teeth for a second, finding himself watching the sleeping prisoner despite his best efforts not to. He looked...well, he looked like shit, and it was hard. It was so hard to watch, but he had to do it.

He was finally here, and he had to make sure that he didn't screw up again.

“I have anxiety.” he finally replied, keeping his tone even. “Nightmares, panic attacks, the works. My brother used to help me through them with tricks like that. He'd have me focus on my surroundings, or make me pick out colors—he even made me a special blanket to help me sleep. It, uh—it might be good for him? The guard who got me mentioned that this necromancer can feel your touch? If he's not used to contact, it could...”

“You'd be willing to do that?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Go and fetch it, then.”

“Sir, I was ordered to stay with you.”

“I'm the king. I overrule your orders.” King Roman replied.

The cadet lifted his gaze to the king's face, his stomach sinking when he realized he was being stared at. Hard.

Ohhhhh, shit.

“You don't call me 'Majesty.' Why?”

The cadet tried to be discreet about taking a steadying breath as he shrugged. “You have a pet necromancer now. All due respect, but I don't think you'll have the job long.”

“What do you know about necromancers?”

“I know they're not evil. Only reason I'm still here is that you seem to know it, too.”

King Roman nodded, gaze flicking down before it returned to the sleeping necromancer.

“Cadet...do you know what a Claim is?”

The cadet swallowed thickly. No...oh no.

“It's a binding ritual.” the cadet replied. “The Necromata are capable of manipulating death, but when they can't? They take it.”

“Away?”

“No—into themselves. They take the victim's dying breath, infuse it with their blood, and return it to the person it belongs to. That way, when the victim's time comes, they survive it.”

The cadet looked to the necromancer again.

Gods, Loganberry—what did you do?

“And the necromancer dies in their place.”

To his credit, the king paled, his free hand lifting to touch Logan's hair like the cadet itched to—so close for the first time in ten years, but he couldn't even comfort him.

He had to stay put. By the door, protecting the king and his charge.

After a decade, Virgil was finally, finally within reach of Logan in every way that mattered, and he would die before he jeopardized his one chance to save him.

Virgil was the one who got his big brother caught and imprisoned in the first place—he was damn well going to make sure that he was the one to set things right.

[exhaustedfander]

Doom, Gloom and a Runaway Groom!

a03 link

word count: 3,669

Remus had seemed nervous. Roman has known his brother long enough to know when he’s a little too in his head, and the day of his wedding is certainly no exception. Roman had been expecting that; I mean, who isn’t nervous their wedding day? But this, this exceeds all of his expectations.

Remus is nowhere to be seen.

In all honesty, Roman was a little surprised when Remus had asked him to be his best man. I mean, yes, they’re brothers, but they’re also brothers who bicker nonstop and haven’t always had the best relationship. It’s gotten better in recent years, but still…

“You know me about as well as anyone,” Remus had said simply, “And I’m fairly certain you’re the only person who’ll be able to handle me when I turn into a total bridezilla!”

Remus wasn’t kidding, either. He gets worked up over the littlest things, sometimes to the point of tears, oddly enough. His patience is even more at its limit than usual and honestly, Roman doesn’t know how Logan is managing through it all. Roman loves his brother, despite all of their bickering and the fact that Remus once switched out his shampoo with mayonnaise, or all of the horrid names Remus has called him in the past, but he’s a hell of a lot to deal with sometimes.

Even so, Logan has seemed as resolute as ever to make the process of preparing for their wedding as seamless and on-track as possible. It’s still strange sometimes, seeing Logan so head-over-heels in love with Remus of all people. Listen, Roman doesn’t mean to sound harsh, but Logan can do better. He’d never in his wildest dreams imagined the two of them as a couple, and yet here they are, deliriously and obnoxiously happy. And really, Roman is thrilled for them. He remembers fondly when Remus had called him at nearly four in the morning, asking: “Roman how did you propose to Virgil? I need to know all of the things to avoid when I ask Logan to marry me.”

Okay, maybe Roman remembers the moment with more annoyance than anything else, but still with some fondness nonetheless.

Roman’s also happy that this whole wedding thing is about to be over. He’d foolishly offered Logan to help plan the wedding, knowing Remus in charge of such things was not the most intelligent idea. But it seems he’d forgotten all of the intricate details that go into pulling off such an affair, because yeesh, it’s a lot to wrap your head around. But finally, the whole thing is going to be over and everyone can get on with their lives.

Except Remus is missing!

Roman noticed that he’d seemed a little squeamish this morning, but he’d chalked it up to wedding-day-jitters. I mean, he’d been acting the very same way when he was going to marry Virgil. He listed all of the things that could go wrong and was afraid that Virgil might decide he didn’t want to get married in the end, or any other disastrous scenario. Though come to think of it, he’d said a lot less obstinacies. But still, surely Remus was just a little nervous and would get over it.

Well, apparently not!

“Remus? Remus, where the fuck are you?” Roman hissed as he combed through the rooms of the hotel, searching his and Virgil’s, Remus’s and Logan’s room, as well as Patton and Janus’s. “Come out come out wherever you are, you little shit! If you don’t show up to your own wedding I’m going to kill you – or worse, Logan’s going to kill you.”

“Why am I going to kill Remus?” Roman hit his head on the bottom of the bed he’d stuck himself under, foolishly hoping Remus might be underneath.

“Uh – no reason! No reason at all, everything’s fine! Don’t even worry about it!” Roman says far too quickly, about as suspicious as one could seem.

Logan crosses his arms over his chest, a stone-cold expression settling over his face.

“Roman.” Roman’s bound to crack under the slightest bit of pressure, and sure enough, he does.

“Okay – okay. Please don’t freak out!” “When have I ever been known to ‘freak out’?”

“I can’t find your fiancé anywhere. He’s kind of, uh, lost?” For someone who claims he’s not going to freak out, Logan looks about three seconds from losing it.

“You’re telling me that Remus, who I specifically told you to pay close attention to because he seemed a little off yesterday, is nowhere to be found?” Roman gulps.

“Uh…maybe?”

“Maybe?!” Logan motions to run a hand through his hair before remembering it’s already been styled, and he highly doubts there will be time to fix it, “Roman, the wedding is starting in an hour. God damn it, I told him that if he was feeling anxious he should talk to me! You said you would watch him!” “I – I was! I just lost sight of him for a minute and…” Roman trails off, seeing the look of growing terror etching itself into Logan’s face. “But don’t worry! We’re going to find him! I absolutely refuse to believe he wouldn’t go through with this after all of this planning and time –,” Logan looks like he’s going to be sick, “And also because he loves you! Loves you so, so much! Don’t you worry, Microsoft Nerd, I’m going to fix this!” Logan pinches his temple and sighs deeply before taking out his cell-phone.

“I’m going to call him. If he knows what’s good for him,” Roman fails to miss the snarl to his friend’s voice, “he’ll pick up.”

Evidently, Remus doesn’t know what’s good for him because there’s no answer. Logan throws his head back, letting out a dramatic: “FUCK!” that’s incredibly unlike him before his eyes meet Roman’s again, determined.

“Okay. This is fine. Not optimal, but manageable. Where was the last place that you saw him?”

“I was fixing his makeup in Virgil and I’s room about a half an hour ago or so.” Logan glowered at him.

“And tell me, how did you get distracted?” Roman opens his mouth. “And if you tell me it had anything to do with your husband, I am going to become very, very upset.” Roman closes his mouth.

“What’s most important is that we find Remus,” Roman says, hoping the changing of subject will distract Logan from his correct suspicions. Logan huffs out a sound of exasperation.

“Fine. Let’s spit up, we’ll cover more ground that way.” “Should I get Virgil to help? Or Pat and Jan?” “No,” Logan says a touch to quickly, earning a look of concern from Roman. He clears his throat. “I don’t need anyone else worrying about Remus’s warbots, it will only cause more trouble.” Roman shrugs.

“Fair enough. But, really, I’m sure Virgil would be happy to help.” Logan grits his teeth.

“I think Virgil has helped quite enough today,” Logan fails to miss the way Roman’s Adam’s apple bobs with a nervous swallow, “Of all of the times to become consumed with lust…”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! We just lost track of time – and time, is what’s important here, right? Let’s go find my shit-head brother. I’ll go this way,” Roman points vaguely left, “You go that way,” Roman points right.

“Fine,” Logan says through a sigh, “Call me immediately if you see him. And, for the love of god, please be patient with him. I can’t even imagine what he’s thinking presently …” Logan trails off, deciding not to continue nor allow Roman to respond before walking out of Roman’s hotel room and wandering down the hall.

He sincerely hopes he doesn’t run into anyone wondering why one of the grooms is wandering the hotel looking like he’s trying to find a lost, frightened animal. To some extent, he supposes he is.

Mentally, Logan’s cursing himself for not checking on Remus more diligently last night. He had seemed gnawed away by anxiety, but foolishly, Logan had chalked it up to mere nerves. After all, he was rather nervous himself. Declaring one’s undying love for another in front of friends and family is a decidedly nerve-racking affair.

Logan doesn’t doubt Remus’s love. In the four years they’ve been together, he almost never has. Remus has his moments – that is to say, many moments – of crudeness and distasteful behavior, but that doesn’t negate the fact that Logan couldn’t miss the fondness in Remus’s eyes every time he catches his gaze if he wanted to. Before Remus, Logan had highly doubted he would ever find a long-term romantic companion. He’d been thoroughly that perhaps he simply wasn’t meant for such things.

And then he’d met Remus, a horror novelist and immediately flirtatious man. He’d met him through Roman, who’d been more than a little apprehensive to introduce them. It was odd they hadn’t met prior, considering their being twins, but Remus quickly realized how different the two brothers were, and perhaps the assumption that Logan would want nothing to do with Remus. That couldn’t be the furthest from the truth.

Logan didn’t always like to admit it, but he was swept off his feet immediately. Remus’s charms, though unorthodox – he’d muttered facts about the best way to kill a man will maintaining a semblance of innocence between kisses – were incredibly affective. For the first time in so long, Remus had someone who could keep up with his conversations, switching effortlessly from topic to topic. Remus was endlessly fascinated with the macabre and strange, something that Logan, a scientist, could certainly appreciate. Remus loved to discover how things worked, more than happy to dissemble things in the process and he had a curiously for the world that Logan couldn’t help but admire. He still can’t help but admire most things about Remus.

Logan never expected to be wooed by a man like Remus, but yet here he is, set to marry him in less than an hour. He’d been the one to propose, the gesture much clumsier than he liked to think back on. He’d dropped the ring-box, twice, and yet Remus’s response was passionate and giddy as though he’d done a stellar job.

Logan loves Remus fiercely and he knows his fiancé loves him just the same…so why has he disappeared?

He rounds a corner, thankful that most of the guests are probably bustling around the seating area, otherwise he’d be dealing with an even bigger mess. Sure, a search-party might be of use, but the embarrassment that it would surely bring him, and his fiancé was a much less appealing option than finding him himself.

Logan finds himself combing the halls of the hotel, finding nothing, before walking out into the garden. It’s a lovely, sprawling green area – and he’s lucky that it’s on the opposite end of where the wedding is being held, in the front of the hotel. He’s going to find him, and they’ll be married, and then everything will be fine. That’s what Logan’s telling himself, but it can’t still the thunderous beating of his heart. He finds himself beginning to give into hopelessness before hearing a sound that makes him stiffen where he stands: a sniffle.

Logan treds lightly, mindful of the leaves crunching underfoot before finding Remus’s leaning against a bush, holding his knees to his chest and trembling some few feet away. Quickly, Logan sends a quick text, “Found him”, to Roman, before approaching cautiously.

“Remus?”

A shiver runs through Remus’s body as he scrambles to face Logan, his eyes blown-wide and bloodshot. His makeup is smudged against his cheeks, and he looks a few seconds from collapsing altogether. Oh dear.

“L-Logan,” Remus stutters out weakly. Logan kneels at his side, keen not to touch Remus right away. His mind is already scrambling for something to say, to soothe him.

“Remus, I’ve been terribly worried.” Perhaps it’s not the best start, but apparently, it’s all he’s got at the moment. “You don’t…you’re gonna…” Remus trails off, sniffling.

“I’m going to, what?” Remus hides his face in his hand.

“You’re not gonna want me. We’re – we’re gonna get up there, and you’re not gonna want to in the end. Or, or people are going to laugh, ‘n say I’m no good for you.” For someone who was sure for so long that he lacked a heart, Logan’s sure he can feel it breaking. Hesitantly, he reaches a hand out, his fingers brushing lightly against Remus’s shoulder. Logan expects him to push away, but he doesn’t. He just keeps crying.

Logan’s never so much as considered the fact that Remus would believe such a thing. It’s no secret that, much like his brother, Remus has his own issues with self-worth, but this is so much further than Logan’s allowed his mind to reach. He knows it’s the deadly cocktail of wedding jitters and insecurity that’s lead his fiancé to such a conclusion, but it fails to take away from the pain that his words illicit. Remus presently believes, with some level of sincerity, that Logan isn’t absolutely over-the-moon in love with him. That has to be a crime, right?

“Remus,” Logan’s voice is even and slow, trembling only slightly, “I owe you the sincerest apology if you believe I would ever leave you. Darling, I love you. I love you more than I was aware I was capable of loving another person. Of course, you’re good for me. And the people who are with us today are our friends and family. No one is going to laugh, I promise.” Remus’s breath stutters, wheezy and scared.

“But – but you can’t promise all that. What if they decide I don’t deserve you? What if – if you decide I don’t deserve you?” The last sentence cuts through Logan like a rusty blade, agonizing, slow torture. Logan tightens his pressure on Remus’s shoulder, only slightly.

“I will not make such a decision, because that’s entirely untrue. You are as deserving of me as I am of you, which is to say we deserve each other completely and wholly.”

“But – but I’m –.”

“Do you not wish for us to be married?”

Their eyes meet again, the look in Remus’s panic-stricken.

“Whu-what?”

“I said: do you not wish to be married?” Logan knows the answer. Not even a fraction of him doubts that he knows the answer; it’s Remus that concerns him.

“I…of course not!” Logan raises an eyebrow. “I mean – I want to marry you. Of course I want to marry you. I love you, with all of my f-fucking heart. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and…” Remus trails off, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

Remus’s suit is somehow only somewhat crumpled. His hair is a tad ruffled, but nothing too bad. The makeup is smudged, but Logan doesn’t believe that will take very long to reapply, if they hurry. More than anything, it’s sad to see him like this. It’s so unlike the man he’s fallen in love with. Remus is always so big and loud, larger than life and not taking shit from anyone. He’s flamboyant and crass and so much all the time, so much more than Logan ever thought he’d be able to handle, but even so he does. He does more than handle Remus, he trusts him, he revels in his company, he loves him.

Right now, though, Remus seems like none of those things. He’s a man crying in a garden, terrified out of his mind. Logan wants nothing more than to take that fear away from him, to see his love light up again.

“And I’m scared,” Remus finishes finally, “’M scared of all of those things I said. Fuck, Lo, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry…”

Logan finds himself engulfed in Remus’s embrace, warm and tight and trembling. Logan’s rubbing his back, slow circles he hopes are doing something to soothe Remus’s nerves. He’s crouched in the dirt, holding tight to his crying fiancé. Not exactly what he expected his wedding day to look like, but hey, Logan’s doing what he can to roll with the punches. He’s learned a lot of that from Remus, how to keep going when life throws you a fast one.

“It’s okay, love,” he says softly, “It’s perfectly alright that you’re afraid. But as I said, I promise, everything is going to be alright. I assure you, I want you by my side always.” “Even – even when I’m being an idiot?” Remus asks through a snuffle. Logan laughs lightly, feeling the tension beginning to disperse.

“Always, my dear.”

Remus pulls out of his grasp before cupping Logan’s cheeks and kissing him a little too hard, the embrace all teeth and tongue, but Logan can still feel the tremor of his hands. He’s shaken, but he’s going to be fine. He’s okay.

“Oh, shit!” Remus curses loudly, the entirety of the situation finally dawning, “We’re about to get fuckin’ married!” Remus whips out his cellphone, letting out another string of expiative. “I’m – oh my god, I didn’t even realize the time. Shit. I’m sorry, Logan, I’m sorry! I don’t know where my head is and I’m such a mess. I’m so –.”

“Hey,” Logan’s voice is grounding, snapping Remus out of whatever rant he was about to launch himself into, “It’s alright. They can’t exactly start the wedding without us, now can they?” Remus’s frantic, worried expression melts into something closer to relief.

“Shit, baby, I’m rubbing off on you too much, aren’t I?” Remus says through a watery laugh, referencing Logan’s usual insistence on being punctual.

“Perhaps,” Logan says, standing up and offering Remus a hand, “I feel I have to check: are you still interested on becoming my husband?”

Remus grips his hand tightly.

“Of course, yeah. I’m just…” Remus swallows the building lump in his throat, “…what if I fuck it up?” Logan helps him to his feet, watching as Remus brushes the dirt off his pants. “You aren’t going to “fuck” anything up, love. Fear is not equal to being inadequate in any sense. I’ll have you know…I’m afraid, myself.” Remus face shines with an incredulous look.

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s perfectly reasonable to be a little nervous on your wedding day. It’s quite the common thing, you know.” Remus’s grip on Logan’s hand tightens as he takes a deep breath.

“Okay. Okay, I’m good.” Logan gives him a careful look.

“Are you sure? If you need another minute…” Remus quirks an eyebrow.

“Do we have another minute to spare?” Logan steels a glance at the time. Shit.

“No…not really.” Remus’s face is graced with a smile so wide and bright Logan knows that his Remus, larger than life, bolder than anyone he’s ever met, is back.

“Then let’s get going!”

And they do. They run through the garden and back into the hotel room. Hastily, Remus’s smudgy makeup is wiped off and reapplied. His hair is combed to a passable degree. A few anxious, excited kisses that they really don’t have the time for are shared.

Guests look utterly baffled to find the grooms walking to their wedding hand in hand, after all, it goes against so much stupid tradition. Not to mention they're seven minutes late. Even so, Logan catches the relief on Roman’s face as well as Virgil mouthing a quick “sorry.” He fails to elaborate past that, doesn’t need to.

Remus is walked down the aisle by Roman. Logan watches as Remus walks to the sound of the wedding march, his eyes already misting. It’s preposterous, isn’t it? Logan’s already seen him today, he’d known what he looked like in his suite. But if Logan’s learned anything in his time with Remus, it’s that emotions rarely have much logic behind them.

He was just scrambling to find Remus, and now here they are, face to face and crying like children. Logan almost never sheds a tear, but this is different entirely. It feels like a facet has been twisted that he can’t manage to shut off. He was sure that he was going to be more composed than this, but he isn’t at all.

He worries, distantly, for Remus as things proceed and their vows are read. He worries he’s going to become consumed with fear again and crumple right in front of all of their friends and family. Logan wouldn’t fault him or be upset, just worried. It doesn’t happen, though. Remus simply trembles and cries through his vows, words Logan knows to be true with all his heart, and then Logan does the same.

And then those words are said: “I pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the groom.” Logan’s brain has been filled with so much Television static, standing here, Remus’s hands clasped in his as they promise their lives to one another. But then, abruptly, everything is clear. Remus’s lips are on his, hands tangled in his hair. Surely the kiss is far too amorous to be considered decent, but neither of them seem to care much.

“I love you Logan Knightly,” Remus breaths against his lips as he pulls away just slightly. The cheers and clapping of their friends and family are ringing in his ears, “I love you.”

It dawns on him. Yes, he’s Logan Knightly now. He took the name with pride. He has a husband – Remus is his husband.

“I love you too,” he manages to avoid kissing Remus again long enough to say, “Madly. I love you madly,” before their lips are connected again.

The anxiety of their moment together prior has not entirely dissipated. It’s lessoned considerably, though. Logan knows Remus is still worried, still wonders if someday Logan might decide he doesn’t want him anymore. Nothing like that will ever happen, and it’s still mixed with the jitters of the day, but it’s still a concern. One that Logan’s determined to convince Remus is ludicrous, for the rest of his life, if he has to.

They love one another and for Logan, that’s enough.

=+=

[karmicmayhem]

Past strength

Words: 9274

Summary:  Patton's uncle wants him to visit for some reason after all this time. Will Patton go? And what do his friends think of this?

Read on ao3 here

Part 1

----------

Virgil shot out of bed as he heard a crash come from the kitchen. He opened his door and heard the muffled swearing that accompanied it. It sounded like… Patton? What?

Turning to look at his clock, he was surprised to see that it was only a little after four in the morning. What was Patton doing up? He normally went to sleep before any of them. He liked to be up the earliest so he could make breakfast for the others before they got up.

Making his way down the hallway, he peered around the doorway leading to the kitchen. Virgil blinked in shock at the sight that greeted him.

Sitting on the counter was Patton, his legs waving back and forth carelessly over the edge as he sipped from a bottle of vodka. He was dressed in light blue pajamas with little hearts decorating them. Broken glass was scattered on the floor beneath him, and Virgil was willing to bet it was the origin of the sound that woke him up.

“Pat…?” he cautiously asked, finally getting the other’s attention.

Patton pulled the bottle away from his mouth in shock as he looked up at Virgil. “O-oh! Hey, Kiddo! Didn’t see you there.” he laughed nervously.

“Why are you drinking at four in the morning, Pat?” Virgil asked. “Also, why are you drinking straight from the bottle? That’s kinda gross.”

“Oh.” Patton said, looking down on the broken glass. “I grabbed one of Ro’s shot glasses, but I dropped it.” he shrugged. “So I climbed up here, cause I figured it was safer than trying to walk through the glass.”

Virgil tilted his head in thought at that. “Ah. Well, that explains the broken glass, then.” Virgil furrowed his eyebrows as he watched the other. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re drinking right now to begin with. Did something happen?”

Patton worried his lip between his teeth for a moment before sighing. “Oh no, I’m being an awful role model right now, aren’t I?”

Virgil huffed an amused laugh at that. “Pat, you’re only a few months older than me.”

“I know, but I’m still supposed to be setting a good example, Kiddo.” Patton thoughtlessly took another sip from the bottle, his face screwing up slightly at the taste.

“I’m still worried about you.” Virgil said while reaching for the dustpan to sweep the shattered glass up.

Patton frowned. “I hate when people worry about me.” he said absently. “I’m not used to it.”

Virgil’s head whipped back up to look at him in concern. He opened his mouth to say something, when he heard footsteps heading towards them. He turned and watched as Logan and Roman walked in, both obviously exhausted.

“What’s with all the noise?” Roman asked, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. He blinked a few times before eyeing the bottle in Patton’s grasp in confusion. “Is... that my vodka?” he asked, concerned.

“Patton, may I inquire as to why you’re drinking at this hour? And directly from the bottle, no less?” Logan asked as he did his best to stifle a yawn of his own. His oversized blue flannel pajamas were sagging almost completely off of one shoulder, effectively ruining the professional tone he had been attempting to take.

“Well I grabbed one of Ro’s shot glasses, but I dropped it.” Patton said sheepishly. “Sorry, Ro.”

Roman blinked in surprise. “Oh, it’s fine, Padre. They’re pretty cheap to replace.” He said as he carefully moved his foot back from almost stepping on a piece that Virgil was in the process of sweeping up.

“I believe you are avoiding the main question here, Patton.” Logan said, watching him carefully as he pushed his glasses up.

Patton only hummed thoughtfully as he watched Virgil empty the broken glass from the dustpan into the trash. He took another sip from the bottle before speaking casually, “You know, growing up I really related to Cinderella and Snow White. They had to clean a lot too, and both of them had guardians that didn’t treat them nicely. I saw a lot of myself in them, so I rewatched their movies as often as I could get away with.” There was a faintly nostalgic look in his eye as he spoke.

Virgil looked at the other two, sharing looks of confusion at the seeming non sequitur. “Pat, what…?” he asked after turning back to look at the other. He was getting growingly concerned at the far away look on Patton’s face.

“I really loved their animal companions too,” he carried on, not acknowledging their confusion, “especially the birds. I wanted one of my own, to just be there while I worked to keep me company while I did chores and stuff.” he laughed dryly, no real humor in his tone. “I wanted a pet, but I really just wanted to not be alone, honestly. Not that I realised it at the time.” His smile was bitter as he pulled his legs up onto the counter and crossed them. “One day, though, I heard a sound as something hit the window. When I went outside to check, I found a little bluebird.”

“The bird had damaged her wing when she hit the window, so I nursed her back to health. I bought a cage for her and took her to the vet and everything. When she was healed enough to fly away, she refused to leave.” He let out an unnerving high-pitched giggle into the bottle as he drank more. “No matter how long I left the cage open outside, she stayed where she was and tweeted happily back to me. You can imagine how happy it made me, to have a pet finally, right?” he set the bottle down and leaned back on his arms as he reminisced. “She was the sweetest little thing. I named her Lola and she sang for me when I was sad or exhausted. Sometimes I would let her out to fly around my room and she would perch on my shoulder and nuzzle into my neck. I had her for about a year.” His last sentence was spoken absently to the ceiling.

Virgil was almost terrified to ask, but it felt like he had to. “What... happened to her?”

Patton was silent for a moment before looking down at them. The normal light that shone in his eyes was completely gone. There was a smile on his face but it was wrong somehow. There wasn’t any emotion contained in it, positive or negative. No life.

“When I came home from school one day, she wasn’t in her cage anymore. When I started looking for her around the house, I found her in the trash can. Her neck was snapped.” Patton’s voice matched the emptiness of his expression as he spoke.

“My uncle killed her.”

Virgil felt like he was going to be sick. And from the shaky breathing he heard from the other two behind him, they weren’t faring much better. “What the fuck?” he asked, awful emotions he couldn’t identify were rising in his stomach. “Why?”

Patton blinked tiredly before speaking, “He claimed that her chirping was getting on his nerves. He was pretty drunk at the time, I think. I don’t know. I took her out of the trash can and gave her a proper burial in a shoebox I filled with nice and soft things I knitted. I wanted her to be comfortable, you know?” He paused to take a deep pull from the bottle. “I decided it was better not to have another pet after that. I think I was about eleven years old at the time.”

After a tense silence, Logan was the first to speak up. “Is the memory of that the reason you’re drinking currently, then?” he ventured cautiously.

“I’m trying to remember...” Patton said as he let his legs dangle over the edge again, “I’m trying to remember all of the reasons that it’s better that I never go back there.”

“You mean your uncle’s house?” Roman questioned incredulously. “Why the hell would you ever want to go back near that monster?”

Patton wordlessly gestured to his phone that sat on the counter near him. “He texted me a few hours ago. He wants me to stop by his house this weekend if I’m not ‘dead in a ditch’ like he thinks I might be. Apparently he has something to give me.”

“Is there anything he could give you that would be worth seeing him again?” Logan asked, eyeing him carefully.

Sighing, Patton shrugged. “The thing is, that it’s probably something that belonged to my parents. He wouldn’t give me something of his, that’s for sure.” he frowned as the bitter words left his tongue.

“Pat, maybe you should stop drinking for now? We can talk about everything more in the morning, but I think you need sleep.” Virgil said, slowly reaching to take the vodka from Patton, as though he thought the other would snatch it back if he moved too quickly.

Patton handed it to him without arguing. “Fine. honestly, it tastes like fingernail polish remover anyway. Actually, I take it back. Fingernail polish remover tastes better. I was only drinking it so that I didn’t have to be sober to deal with this.” he admitted tiredly.

“Why... do you know what fingernail polish remover tastes like?” Roman asked.

Patton hummed thoughtfully before looking down at him. “That day on the roof wasn’t exactly my first attempt at dying, Kiddo.” he said softly.

“Holy shit.” Virgil said, his eyes widening in horror. “You drank fingernail polish remover?”

Patton nodded. “Yeah. It didn’t kill me though. You know, obviously. I don’t think I drank enough for that. I did have awful stomach pains for days after, though.” Patton grimaced at the memory. “Wouldn’t recommend it.” With that, he hopped off the counter, still oddly graceful for having had as much vodka as he did.

“Can I hug you, Pat? Please?” Virgil asked, obviously overwhelmed with everything he just heard.

Patton smiled tiredly. “Of course, Kiddo.” he said. “Sorry for dumping all of this on you guys. I normally wouldn’t, but I guess I forgot how much I lose my filter when I drink.”

Virgil wrapped him up in a hug, still teary-eyed from his earlier story. “It’s okay, Pat. Really. I’m glad you told us. You don’t have to deal with everything alone, remember?”

“Yeah, Padre, we’re here for you!” Roman exclaimed before joining the hug. He ruffled Virgil and Patton’s hair as he did so, ignoring Virgil’s protests.

Logan softly cleared his throat to get their attention. “Precisely, Patton. Just as you help us with our…um, issues, we would also like to be there for you to assist you with yours.” He pushed his glasses up, trying not to blush at the warm looks he was receiving. Reluctantly caving when Virgil gestured him forward, he joined the hug, making sure Patton was in his arms. He would deny it if asked, but his story made him feel furiously protective towards Patton. And he knew Virgil and Roman felt the same.

“Thanks guys.” Patton sniffed, doing his best to hold back tears. “You don’t know how much it means to me that you guys are here for me like this. It’s… it’s really nice.” He made sure to hug everyone back tightly. “I love you all so much.” Tears finally began to spill down his cheeks as he tried to furiously scrub them away.

He shyly looked up at them after a few moments. “Can… can we do the thing where we all sleep on the floor together? Please? I think I need it tonight, if that’s okay.”

“Of course, Patton.” Logan responded kindly. “However, please drink a few cups of water before you go to sleep. Your body will need to to replenish the water inside of you, and it could save you an awful headache.”

Patton grinned at him. “Thanks Lo, I will. How about I grab some water while you guys set the blankets up?”

Logan nodded and walked to the living room while Roman gave Patton a thumbs up and followed Logan out.

“Here’s some water.”

Patton blinked in surprise and turned to look at Virgil, who was offering him a glass. He took the water from him gently. “Thanks, Kiddo.” he said before beginning to drink quickly, not realising how thirsty he had been.

“If you want,” Virgil offered, his voice soft, “we can talk about everything tomorrow while we bake cookies? I know that usually calms you down.”

Quickly finishing the last of his water, Patton set the cup down onto the counter and wordlessly approached Virgil, swiftly wrapping him up into a firm hug. “I’m so lucky to know you.” he whispered.

Virgil chuckled. “I think you have it backwards there, Pat.”

“No.” Patton said with a small smile. “I have it exactly right.” He pulled back from the hug and led the other by their joined hands, smiling as he noticed that Virgil wore his bracelet to sleep in. “C’mon, let’s join Lo and Ro. They’re probably waiting for us by now.”

With that, they joined their friends to get some much needed sleep.

Patton smiled as he stared up at the ceiling almost an hour later, as the others slept beside him

I’m so lucky, he thought, to have such wonderful friends.

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

Patton sighed. Today was the day he was going to his uncle’s house. They eventually agreed that, while Patton should go, he shouldn’t go alone. However, none of them wanted to stay home while he went.

In the end, they decided that all of them should go. Patton was happy to get the chance to show them around his old home town, but he was nervous about them meeting his uncle. He didn’t exactly have high hopes that this would go well, knowing his uncle, but they were adamant about going with him. He sighed lightly and nibbled at his toast.

“You okay, Pat?” Virgil asked, looking mildly concerned as he spooned some oatmeal into a bowl for himself.

Patton blinked out of his thoughts and smiled up at Virgil. “I’m fine, Kiddo. Just a little nervous about today is all.” He began to drum his fingers against the table absentmindedly.

“That’s rather understandable.” Logan commented, pouring himself some coffee before walking over to join them at the table. “It sounds as though your uncle is not someone that anyone would particularly enjoy visiting. I certainly wouldn’t blame you for being hesitant to see him again.”

“I wish I could say you were wrong, Lo.” Patton admitted tiredly. “Honestly I wish I could put this off. I’d almost rather never see him again, but…”

“If I have my way, the only thing that villain will be seeing is my fist!” Roman called from the couch.

“Now, Roman,” Patton scolded, turning to look at him with a stern frown, “I agreed to let you all come on the trip on the condition that no one tries to fight my uncle. That means verbally and physically.”

Virgil smirked mischievously. “What, not even one punch? I promise he’ll only be a little unconscious after.”

“I can make it look like he tripped and fell.” Logan threw in casually after taking a sip of coffee. “We certainly wouldn’t get in trouble for it.” He smiled across the table at Virgil who returned it with a small laugh.

“No one is going to be fighting my uncle.” Patton reiterated raising his hands up in a halting motion. “I know it might be tempting, but I really don’t want any conflict from this.”

“Okay, okay. No fighting your uncle, we got it, Pat.” Virgil soothed gently. “We won’t start anything, promise. I know this’ll be stressful enough as it is for you.”

Patton exhaled and relaxed into his seat. “You’re not exactly wrong there, Virge. I’ll be okay, though. We should stop by the shelter after to play with the puppies.” he grinned at the thought of getting to play with all the cute excitable puppies there.

“Sounds fun, Pat.” Virgil responded. “I think I’ll stay on the cat side though. Cats like me more and the dog area always smells bad.” he wrinkled his nose at the memory.

“I agree with Virgil in this instance.” Logan said. “I find cats to be much more pleasant than dogs. So I will be joining him in remaining in the cat section.” He stood to pour himself more coffee before coming back to the table slowly, obviously tired still.

Roman made his way over and sat directly onto Patton’s lap as he waved his arm dramatically. “It seems that I will have to be the one that keeps our lovely Patton company. Dogs are clearly superior. And Patton here is the only other one out of us that isn’t too blind to see it.”

“Actually,” Patton said, laughter in his voice at Roman’s antics, “I like cats and dogs equally. I think they’re both great!”

Roman gasped dramatically, putting a hand to his chest as he leaned away from Patton. “Betrayal!” he cried out, “I thought you were on my side on this, but instead I have been stabbed in the back by one of my most trusted-”

“Roman, it’s too early in the morning for your drama.” Virgil cut in dryly with a small smirk. “Save it for theater.”

Pausing his theatrics, Roman stuck his tongue out at Virgil, still hanging off of Patton. “Just because you don’t appreciate art when you see it-”

“I hardly think that you yelling about animals so early counts as any form of art, Roman.” Logan interrupted him this time, raising an eyebrow.

Roman grinned in response. “I was talking about me.” he preened at Logan’s subsequent groaning.

“Please, Princey.” Virgil teased, “If anything, you’re the art that a child makes and the parents put it on the fridge just to be nice.”

Roman’s gasp was far more offended this time. Patton laughed and wrapped his arms around Roman, tucking him closer to his chest. “Don’t worry, kiddo.” he said as he tried to get his giggles under control. “All art is good art. Even fridge art!”

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel much better, Padre.” Roman pouted. He still relaxed into Patton’s grip, despite his complaining.

Patton chuckled and patted the top of Roman’s head soothingly. “So is everyone about ready to go?” he asked.

Logan downed the rest of his coffee quickly before nodding. “I’m ready. I’ll be driving, correct?”

“Yeah.” Patton agreed. “As long as you don’t mind?” he tilted his head inquiringly.

“I’m fine with it. I much prefer being the one to drive than to let Roman drive again.” Logan spoke as he adjusted his glasses, a small mischievous smirk twitching at his lips.

Roman threw his hands up dramatically, “What?” he demanded. “Is it Insult Roman Day or something?”

“Well, sweetie, you do tend to drive a bit…” Patton trailed off uncertainty.

“You drive like the car is on fire and the only way to put it out is to drive as fast as possible without stopping.” Virgil supplied for him bluntly. “I’m surprised that you’ve never gotten pulled over for the way you drive. It’s baffling.”

Roman’s retort was cut off by the scrape of Logan’s chair as it was pushed back. “Are the rest of you ready to go as well?” the glasses clad male asked.

Standing gently from Patton’s lap, Roman nodded. “I’m ready!”

Virgil nodded. “Yeah, I’m good too.” he looked over at Patton and smiled slightly. “Thanks for breakfast by the way, Pat. It was good.”

“Patton’s cooking is always wonderful!” Roman declared loudly, throwing an arm around Patton’s shoulders.

“Agreed. Thank you for breakfast, Patton. It was appreciated.” Logan said.

Patton felt a grin begin to overtake his face. “Awww, thanks, guys! I’m just happy that you all liked it.” He began to gather up the dishes to put in the sink for when they got back, humming happily to himself.

After carefully setting the last plate down, he made his way over to the front door where the others were standing. Grabbing his cardigan from where it had been tossed over the chair to his left, he looked up at them with a nervous smile before finally speaking. “Okay, let’s go.”

With that, they made their way out of the apartment and towards Logan’s car. Patton climbed into the car and looked to his left to watch Logan getting in. He heard Virgil and Roman bickering about something already as they both got into the back. Patton clicked his seatbelt closed as Logan started the car up.

“Is everyone all buckled up?” Patton asked, loud enough to be heard over the bickering.

“Princey isn’t!” Virgil called back.

Roman made a face at him. “Are you really tattling on me right now?” he demanded.

“Now, Kiddo,” Patton began sternly, “ you know Virgil just wants you to be safe. And I do too. You need to wear your seatbelt for your own safety.”

“It wrinkles my clothes, though.” he pouted as he clicked it into place.

“It’s better for your clothes to get new wrinkles than your spine if there is some form of accident, Roman.” Logan said as he watched him from the rearview mirror with a raised eyebrow.  

Roman sighed dramatically. “Fine, but I get to pick the music we listen to.”

Virgil rolled his eyes as Logan started the car up and began driving. “You say that like you ever let any of the rest of us pick the music anyway.” he grumbled.

Patton did his best to stay awake to listen to what everyone was saying, but his recent lack of sleep was beginning to catch up to him. He felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy as he blearily watched buildings and trees blur by. Slowly but surely, he fell asleep, soothed by the soft movements of the car.

“-atton.”

“Patton.”

Patton’s eyes snapped open. He turned to look at Logan who had apparently been trying to get his attention. “Wha…?” he tried to ask through a yawn.

“I believe we have arrived. If the address you gave me last night was correct, that is.”

Patton looked up at the old brown house in front of him. The lawn was overgrown and the front screen door was close to falling off its hinges. The paint on the fence was cracked and chipped in most places and he couldn’t really say he was surprised. He opened the door and got out, watching the others do the same.

“Yeah, this is the right place.” Patton confirmed with a sigh before stretching. “Looks like this place fell apart without me here to do all of the maintenance.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Virgil look over in concern at his dark tone. He frowned slightly before shrugging at the other. “Sorry,” he said, “I think I’m still just a bit bitter.”

“Can’t say I blame you, Padre.” Roman said, walking around the side of the car to them.

“Agreed.” Logan said as he rested a gentle hand on Patton’s shoulder. “I suggest we keep this visit short so that we may visit the shelter with optimal time to visit the animals.”

Patton could hear clearly what he was really saying, though. Let’s hurry so we aren’t here at the place that upsets you for too long.

Grinning as he saw Roman and Virgil nod in agreement, Patton drew his shoulders back in preparation for what was about to happen. “I love you guys.” he said as he put his cardigan on and let the soft texture of it soothe him. After taking a deep breath, he led the way to the front door and pulled the screen door open, knocking loudly enough to be heard on the door behind it.

With practised ease he had forgotten he possessed, Patton jumped back from the door just in time as it swung open, narrowly dodging it.

“Who’s there?” a voice demanded from the doorway.

Patton smiled pleasantly up at his uncle. He hadn’t changed much from when he last saw him, still wearing old and worn out clothes and still wearing the same displeased expression on his face.

“Hey, Uncle!” Patton greeted him cheerfully.

The man peered down at him through squinted eyes. “Oh, it’s you, Kid. I guess you’re still alive then.”

Patton only smiled wider. “Yep! Still alive, here. So,” he paused and blinked up at the other, “what was it that you wanted to give me?”

His uncle frowned as he surveyed everyone else present. “And who are they?” he asked gruffly. “I don’t remember saying you could bring anyone.”

“Oh, they’re just my friends.” Patton laughed lightly. “I wanted to show them my old hometown, so I figured they might as well tag along for this so I can show them around after.” he lied smoothly, ignoring the obvious side eye he was getting from Virgil.

The man spent a few more seconds watching them through narrowed eyes. “Fine then.” he said as he stepped backwards into the house. “C’mon in, brat. I’ll go get ‘em.”

“Oh, Uncle?” Patton cut in before the man could walk away.

“What?” his uncle asked without bothering to turn around.  

Patton kept his tone light as he spoke, “Could I show my friends my old room while I’m still here? If it’s not too much trouble, that is.”

“Yeah, go ahead. I haven’t used the room for anything anyway. It’s been peaceful without your loud music blaring from there all the time. Just make sure your… friends don’t touch anything they shouldn’t.”

With a nod and a stiff smile, Patton wordlessly led his friends to his room. Climbing the stairs and opening the old creaky door to his room, he smiled sadly at the small space that was one of his few places to escape growing up. It was just about as barren and empty as is had always been. He walked in and let everyone file in before he shut the door quietly behind them.

“You grew up in the attic?” Roman asked quietly.

Finally dropping his painted on smile, Patton just nodded. “It’s not that bad, really. I kinda liked being up here.” he grimaced slightly. “Y’know… after I got over my fear of monsters and stuff.”

“What I want to know,” Virgil cut in with a growing mischievous smirk, “is what kind of music you used to blare?”

“Oh, please tell me you didn’t have an emo phase.” Roman mock-teased, a grin taking over his face slowly. “One Dark Knightmare is more than enough for this group.”

Patton felt his face slowly turning red. “It… was a long time ago.” he laughed haltingly before freezing, remembering something. Wordlessly, he crossed the room to stand beside the bed before quickly pushing it to the side.

“Um, Patton?” Logan asked. “What exactly are you doing?” he shifted in place uncertainty as he shared a look with the other two who seemed similarly confused.

Patton crouched down to the creaky floorboards and reached to the underside of the bed and pulled out a small screwdriver. “Well, you see…” he trailed off as he jammed the screwdriver into one of the loose floorboards and pried it open. “I never really trusted that my stuff was safe here, so I used this loose floorboard to store stuff.” With that, he pulled a light blue box out of the floor cavity before setting it aside and replacing the board.

He quickly pushed the bed back into its original place, grabbing the box and perching on the side of the bed. He smiled sadly up at them before speaking again, “I usually used it to store granola bars and stuff, so I’d have food if Uncle was feeling particularly… unpleasant.” he frowned as he watched them all tense up at his words. Quickly continuing on before any of them could decide to go against their promise not to fight his uncle, he spoke quietly, “The thing is, when I left I didn’t exactly have enough room to bring all my stuff to college with me. And I was pretty sure that my uncle would go through my room the second I left to see if I left anything valuable behind that he could sell. So I put the things that I wanted to keep safe in this box in case I was ever able to come back.”

The three of them wore similarly impressed expressions as they looked at Patton in near awe. They all knew Patton was more intelligent than he usually let on but this was…

“Brilliant.” Logan praised with a growing smile. “And that’s the real reason you asked for us to be let in here, isn’t it?” His smile grew as Patton nodded.

“I’m impressed, Pat.” Virgil said as he walked over and set his hand gently on Patton’s shoulder. “That took a lot of foreplanning. Soooo, what’s in it?”

Patton laughed with a slight tinge of fear, “Well, I’m really hoping the answer isn’t ‘spiders’, seeing as it’s been a while. But, other than that…” he gently removed the top from the box, peering at the contents. He quickly sighed in relief as no spiders were immediately seen.

Patton gently pulled out a medium sized stuffed bunny and placed it on the bed. Then he carefully tilted the box so that they could see inside. Sitting there was a delicate golden necklace with a heart shaped pendant and a picture frame with a picture of two parents and a small child inside, all smiling happily.

“I like your bunny.” Virgil said with a small smile. “It’s cute.”

Patton returned the smile. “Thanks, Kiddo. I’ve had it since I was really little.” he bit his cheek as he considered his next words. “The thing is, Uncle hated it. He said that ‘growing boys don’t need stuffed animals’ and that I needed to toughen up.” Hugging the bunny to his chest tightly, he continued, “He told me to get rid of it. So I learned how to hide things and I let him think I listened to him. I just couldn’t get rid of it, my parents got it for me.”    

Virgil felt his chest tighten at the quietly defeated tone in Patton’s voice. As he watched Patton hold the bunny close to himself, Virgil was struck with the mental image of Patton at a younger age, doing much the same. Patton likely had very few things to turn to for any sort of comfort growing up, and Virgil could see all too clearly how practiced the motion was for him, to hold the stuffed animal tightly to his chest as he curled up to make himself seem as small as possible. Unable (and unwilling) to stop himself, Virgil made his way forward and sat on the bed next to Patton, pulling him into a firm hug.

Patton blinked in surprise before leaning into the hug. “Thanks, Kiddo.” he said quietly. “You always seem to know when I need a hug.” He carefully blinked the water gathering in his eyes away, not wanting to cry while they were still here.

“If I may ask,” Logan began softly, “did the necklace in the box belong to your mother?”

“...Yeah.” Patton confirmed after a moment of silence with a small nod. “She wore it all the time. I think it was an anniversary present from my dad.” He closed his eyes tiredly, and just let his head rest against Virgil’s chest for the moment. “When I was younger, after the… accident, they let me go home to pack my stuff up. When I saw the people packing up my parents stuff and taking it away, I knew I couldn’t let them take it too. I grabbed the little photo of us all together from my dad’s desk and I grabbed my mom’s necklace from her jewelry box and packed them up with my stuff when no one was looking.” He hugged the bunny tighter to his chest, letting the softness of its fur soothe him.

Roman and Logan exchanged a look before making their way over to the pair. Logan sat on the bed on the other side of Patton and began gently running his hand through his hair, knowing that Patton always found the motion calming. Roman sat in front of Patton and planted a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

Patton giggled at the attention. He felt almost guilty to be the one on the receiving end of all the comfort for once, but he knew there was no point in arguing. None of them would let him get away with thinking he wasn’t worthy of it for very long.

“HEY, BRAT! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE, I FOUND IT!”

Everyone besides Patton jumped at the sudden yell from downstairs. Patton, already being used to it, just sighed. He carefully set the bunny back in the box and closed the lid before standing up and stretching slightly.

“Pat? Why does he keep calling you ‘kid’ and ‘brat’ instead of your name?” Virgil asked, confusion and irritation coloring his tone.

Patton blinked before tucking the box under one arm. “Oh, that’s how it’s always been. Neither of us has really ever bothered with each other’s names. I just call him ‘Uncle’, after all.” he shrugged casually.

“...Okay, then.” Virgil responded, unsure of what else to say to that.

Exhaling slowly, Patton looked around his old room once more before opening his door and stepping out. The others filed out behind him quietly, and followed him down the stairs and to the living where his uncle was waiting for him.

“Here.” The man said as he tossed a small object at Patton.

Deftly catching it, Patton looked at the object in interest. It was a small black jewelry box. He gently handed the shoebox under his arm to Logan to hold while he opened the small box in his grasp. His eyes widened at what he saw inside.

“Are these…” he trailed off, still slightly shocked.

“Your parent’s wedding rings, yeah.” his uncle confirmed gruffly.

Patton’s eyes were trained on the two simple gold bands in front of him. Engraved on the inside of the larger one was the words ‘A gift from my loving wife’ and in the smaller one was the words ‘A gift from my loving husband’. Patton smiled sadly. His parents had always been madly in love with each other and they loved sappy things like this. They were probably where he got it from, now that he thought about it.

“Legally I was supposed to give it to you when you turned eighteen, but... you know.” He shrugged uncaringly.

Patton felt his mouth twist bitterly. Of course. It had been years since he was supposed to have gotten it, and his uncle only thought to give it to him now. He quickly pasted his normal smile back on as he closed the box.

“And what the fuck is that look for?” his uncle snapped.

Patton’s gaze whipped up. Had he seen-? No, his uncle wasn’t looking at him, and was instead looking between Virgil and Roman.

“Who are either of you to be glaring at me in my own home?” he demanded.

Looking at his friends, Patton spoke softly, “Guys… it’s fine. He’s not worth getting angry over.”

“Oh, I’m not worth getting angry over?” The man mimicked with a sneer. “Don’t pretend to be all high and mighty, brat. I’m the one who raised you.”

Patton narrowed his eyes slightly and tried in vain to clamp down on his irritation before it grew. “I don’t think that’s true, Uncle.”

“What was that?” his uncle demanded, taking a step forward.

“If anything,” Patton said as he looked up to meet his uncle’s gaze head on, “I raised myself.”

“You think you can get away with talking to me like that, Kid? The hell’s gotten into you?” He glared down at Patton before turning his glare to his friends. “It’s these little shits, isn’t it? You never would have talked back to me before, so it must be their influence.”

Patton tightened his hand around the box in his grasp slightly. “The only thing they did was show me that I’m actually worth something.” He snapped, unable to stay as calm as he wanted. “They think I’m actually worthy of love, which is more than I’ve ever gotten from you.”

The man chuckled darkly. “Worthy? You?” he shook his head. “You’re exactly as worthless as you’ve always been, brat. Just because you seem to have grown a fucking spine for once doesn’t mean you aren’t just as weak as you’ve always been.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole.” Virgil’s voice cut in suddenly, hatred and anger coating his words.

The man’s hand shot out and grabbed the front of Virgil’s shirt, dragging him forward before anyone could react. “You think you can talk to me that way, punk?” he growled, tightening his grip.

Virgil’s eyes widened in fear before closing them tightly, expecting a punch. Suddenly, though, the hand on his shirt disappeared with what sounded like a loud grunt of pain. He opened his eyes in enough time to see Patton’s knee lowering from his uncle’s groin as the man doubled over in agony. Had he-? Virgil looked at the other two who had similarly shocked looks on their faces.

Before anyone else had time to move, Patton twisted around in place and elbowed the man hard in the face, a sickening crack coming from his nose as he fell backwards.

There was a shockingly cold look on Patton’s face as he looked down at his uncle, who was now clutching his bleeding nose on the ground.

“You aren’t allowed to touch my friends.” Patton stated with a deadly sort of calm.

“You fucking psycho.” the man spat out. “I should call the police and have them arrest you and your friends for assault.”

Patton only smiled grimly. “Go ahead. I’m sure they’d love to hear about how you treated the child in your care all of these years. How you used the money you got from the government to raise me on alcohol and prostitutes instead of ever actually using it to buy me things like food and clothing. How you used to leave me alone in this house for weeks on end before I was even twelve years old as you disappeared to who knows where.”

His uncle bared his teeth up at him. “I should have just let the orphanage have you, instead of taking you in myself.”

Staring down his nose at the man, Patton spoke quietly. “Sometimes I wish you would have.” With that, Patton looked at his friends who were all standing stock still in shock. “Let’s go.” he said tiredly.

Still in a state of disbelief, his friends only nodded before making their way to the door. Patton looked down at his uncle once more before speaking calmly, “Thank you for giving me their rings, Uncle. Please do not contact me again.” He turned and walked out of the front door, leaving his scowling uncle behind.

Patton was silent as they all got into the car. He pinched the bridge of his nose lightly. “I think I gave myself some sort of hate-headache from that.” he muttered. “Lo?” he asked after a moment.

“Yes, Patton?” Logan responded quickly.

“Did you see a park on your way here? It’s about two blocks from here.”

Logan blinked. “Yes, I saw it. Would you like to go there?”

Patton nodded. “Please. If it’s not too much trouble, that is.”

“Of course not, Patton.” Logan responded soothingly before starting the car up and beginning to drive. The drive was tense, no one really knowing what to say after everything that happened. Patton looked up as they pulled into the park, silently waiting until the car had stopped to get out.

The others followed him as he made his way up the grassy hill, walking until he got to a large oak tree. He sat down beneath it and watched his friends sit down in front of him. After a moment, he let out a long exhale, letting the tension that had been pent up inside him for most of the day leave him.

“When I was younger,” he began as he absently stared at a little white flower beside him, “I would come here when things got too stressful for me at home. I’ve honestly spent more than one night in this tree when Uncle was feeling particularly mean. So it just seemed kinda fitting to come back here after today, you know?”

Virgil shared a look with Logan and Roman before turning back to Patton. “Do you want to talk about it, Pat? It’s fine if you don’t want to, but…” he trailed off, unsure of what to say. “I’m… sorry that I called him an asshole even though you told us not to fight with him.” he muttered, embarrassed.

“Aw, it’s okay, Kiddo.” Patton replied, his gaze soft. “Honestly I can’t really say I blame you. If someone had been insulting one of you, I would have stepped in too.”

Roman seemed to be doing his best not to bounce in place as he spoke, “So, can we talk about how you vanquished the villain? Cause it was really cool. But I understand if you wish to wait.”

Patton smiled slightly at Roman. “What part do you want to talk about, Ro?” he asked, knowing it would make Roman happy.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” he asked, his grin growing. “I never would have thought that you could take a man down that quickly, but it seems I was sorely mistaken, Padre.”

“Oh, I used to take a lot of self defence classes growing up.” Patton said with a shrug. “I figured I’d need them, cause I had to walk back and forth from the jobs I worked, school, and the store all the time at random hours of the day. It just seemed like I should be prepared in case I was ever robbed while walking from place to place.”

Logan spoke up suddenly, “I will admit that seeing you break his nose like that was rather satisfying.” A small smirk grew on his face.

Patton gave an embarrassed shrug as his own mischievous smirk grew. “Honestly… I’ve wanted to do that for years now.”

“I liked that you started out by kneeing him in the crotch.” Virgil grinned. “I almost wish it was recorded. Also… thanks for doing that when he grabbed me, Pat. I was panicking too much to try and defend myself.” he rubbed the back of his neck shyly.

“Of course, Sweetie.” Patton said, as he softly let his hand rest on top of Virgil’s. “I’d never willingly let anything bad happen to you guys.”

Patton let the back of his head rest against the tree. Closing his eyes to enjoy the breeze and the shade, he just let the silence be for a few minutes.

“Are you still awake, Padre?” Roman asked softly.

Patton laughed softly and opened his eyes. “Yeah, Ro. I’m up.” He yawned suddenly, “Maybe not for long though.” He smiled at him as he pushed his glasses up.

“Did you want to stay here for longer?” Roman carefully asked, not wanting to rush him.

With a sigh, Patton shook his head. “No… no we’d better leave soon. I really might be tempted to doze off here if we stay too long.”

Beginning to stand up, Logan dusted off his knees before asking, “So, do you wish to go home now, then?”

Patton beamed at that. Home. He really did have a new home now, with people who actually cared about him.

I’m so lucky, he found himself giddily thinking once more.

After a moment, Patton furrowed his brows. “Actually,” he began, looking up at his friends, “there’s one other place I want to visit, if you don’t mind.”

Logan raised a curious eyebrow. “Oh?” he asked. “Which place?”

Patton smiled.

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

“Is this the correct building?” Logan asked as he pulled into the parking lot.

The building in question was old and light blue. The sign for the shop was printed in looping cursive and the sign in the window promised delicious pastries and cakes. There was an oddly charming aura around the place.

“Yep!” Patton chirped as he looked around, observing the now setting sun in the distance. “She usually keeps this place open pretty late, so she should be here right now.”

With that, Patton exited the car and quickly made his way to the entrance, too excited to wait for his friends to catch up before he made his way in. He looked around at the display of desserts and the decorations that still hung on the walls after all this time. A strong wave of nostalgia hit him as the smell of freshly baked pastries and coffee wafted over him.

“Miss Sylvia?” he called. He heard the front door open behind him as his friends walked in, curiously looking around the place in interest.

“Hold on a moment, I’m coming.” A voice called from behind the door that led to the kitchen.

The door opened and out stepped an older woman. Her hair was grey and tightly pulled back in a neat bun. Her eyes appeared to be strict and cold but softened considerably once they landed on Patton. Carefully setting the pan of cookies down on the counter, she made her way to the other side of it and silently accepted the hug Patton gave her when she was close enough.

“Ah, it’s you, child. So, you’ve come to visit me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as Patton took a few steps back.

Patton nodded. “I have! As long as you don’t mind my company, that is.” a cheeky grin graced his face.

“Certainly not.” she responded, shaking her head at the notion. “You are always welcome here. After all, you’re probably the best employee I’ve ever had, young man.”

“Does no one actually call Patton by his real name here?” Roman muttered to Virgil who just shrugged in response.

The woman’s sharp eyes darted to him. “And who are these gentlemen?” she asked.

“Oh!” Patton exclaimed. “Sorry I didn’t introduce you! These are my friends,” he gestured to each of them in turn as he spoke their names, “Virgil, Roman, and Logan.”

She peered at them all through narrowed eyes, taking in their expressions and postures. A small smile quirked her lips as her gaze landed on their shared bracelets. She looked back at Patton and nodded minutely.

Patton felt most of the nervous tension ease out of him at her silent acception of them. He was so relieved that she approved of them. He beamed back at her happily.

“So,” she began, “what brings you back here? I remember specifically when you left that you said you wouldn’t be returning again.”

“My uncle called me.” he said, his smile dropping a bit. “He gave me my parents wedding rings, though. So I guess it was worth it.”

The woman frowned. “Hmm, Patton, dear?”

“Yes, Miss Sylvia?”

“Do you remember where I keep the large bags of flour in the storage room?”

“Yes?” he said, tilting his head in confusion.

“Would you be a dear and move them to the main kitchen for me? I fear my old bones aren’t quite cut out for heavy lifting anymore.”

Patton blinked at her. “Um, I’d love to, but…” he glanced at his friends, obviously debating if it was okay to leave them alone with her.

She grinned. “It’s alright, dearie, I don’t bite. They’ll be unharmed when you get back.”

“Well… alright.” he said uncertainty before walking to the back to do as she asked.

“Did you wish to speak with us privately?” Logan asked, cutting through the silence.

The lady nods, her face serious. “I did. Tell me something. Do all of you care for Patton?”

Virgil exchanged looks with Roman and Logan before turning back to look at her. “Yeah, a lot. We all do.” he confirms resolutely.

“Then promise me something.” she spoke, making sure to look them all in the eyes. “Treat him well, but don’t treat him like glass. It might seem like you should handle him that way because of how sweet and selfless he is, but he can handle more than you’d think.”

Virgil blinked in surprise at her stern tone before nodding. “I know what you mean, honestly. We actually saw earlier that Pat can be pretty scary when he wants to be.”

“Oh?” she asked curiously. “How so?”

“He broke his awful uncle’s nose!” Roman grinned as he spoke, sitting down on one of the chairs near him.

The lady grinned back as she chuckled. “Good. The bastard deserved it.”

Logan tilted his head, “Before today, we were unaware that Patton was capable of fighting.”

She looked at him and smiled sadly. “Yes, the boy has always had a gentle soul. I remember there used to be a stray cat that lived outside my shop in the alleyway and he would always put money aside to buy food for it, even when he barely had enough money to feed himself.”

Virgil frowned at the thought Patton ever going hungry. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“But,” the older woman continued, “he’s also the same boy that saved my store from being robbed by taking the thief on himself. He might seem to be only sunshine and puppies, but he also has steel in his bones.”

Roman’s jaw dropped. “He what? Our Patton?”

The door to the kitchen reopened and Patton stepped out looking curious. “Our Patton what?” he asked. He looked around the room in bemusement at the shocked looks he was receiving from his friends.

“You fucking fought a robber? Patton, what the hell?” Virgil asked incredulously.

Patton’s face flushed as he turned to look at his old boss. “Miss Sylvia, please tell me you didn’t tell them about that.” he pleaded.

Her mouth quirked up into a smile. “I didn’t tell them about it, I’m telling them about it.” she teased lightly.

“Was the man armed?” Logan asked, concern coloring his tone.

“Only with a knife.” Patton tried to soothe.

“Only a knife?” Virgil demanded, his voice going up a few octaves as he looked Patton over as though checking him for knife wounds.

Patton blushed. “I didn’t get hurt, Virge, don’t worry. I didn’t even really fight him… exactly.” he laid a calming hand onto Virgil’s shoulder.

“How did you stop him then, Padre?” Roman asked.

Patton shifted his weight slightly. “Well, at one point I used to have to carry some weights around with me while I was taking self defence classes so I could workout at home to boost my strength up. I had them in my bookbag one day while I was working here. So when the robber tried to threaten Miss Sylvia, I just…” he trailed off slightly, “threw my bag at him? I don’t know, I kinda panicked. But I guess I threw it hard enough, cause it knocked him out long enough for the police to show up.”

“You have quite the arm on you, young man.” she praised with a small smile.

Patton grinned back fondly, “I think I got more fit from making bread all day like I used to than I ever did by working out.”

Virgil nudged Patton with his elbow teasingly. “Eesh, Pat. I thought you didn’t approve of violence?”

Shrugging shyly, Patton responded, “I only approve when it’s in self defence or the defence of someone else.”

Logan adjusted his glasses. “I believe that’s a fair assessment.”

Patton sighed, “I guess we should head back home now before it gets dark. You guys ready to go?” he asked. He watched as his friends nodded in response. Tilting his head at the older woman, he asked, “Can I hug you one more time before I go, Miss Sylvia?”

She nodded and opened her arms for him. He quickly accepted the invitation and darted forward, wrapping her up in a hug. She hugged back just as tightly. She would never admit it, but over the years of watching him grow up, she had started to think of Patton as her own son.

“You stay out of trouble, you hear?” she warned as she stepped back from the hug. After a moment, she smiled warmly up at him with a twinkle in her eye. “And you keep those new friends of yours close. This is the most honestly happy I’ve ever seen you, child.”

Patton flushed red once more, a smile still firmly planted on his face. “I’ll do that, Miss.” he stared at the ground for a moment before looking up once more with a determined expression. “And thanks for everything you’ve done for me. I’ll miss you.”

She chuckled. “I’ll miss you as well. Feel free to stop by anytime if you want to visit.”

“I will.” he agreed with a decisive nod of the head. With that, he and his friends waved goodbye as they left the shop, making their way to the car once more.

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

Patton opened the door of their apartment and set the shoebox, that now also contained the jewelry box, down on the counter before walking over to the couch and collapsing onto it face first.

“Tired, Patton?” Virgil asked, wry humor coloring his tone.

“Too much stuff happened today.” Patton groaned. “I feel like sleeping for a year now.”

“I have an idea!” Roman declared.

“And what’s that, Kiddo?” Patton asked without lifting his head.

“You need to sit up first.” Roman replied with his hands on his hips.

“Noooooo.” Patton whined, getting up despite his complaints.

Roman nodded. “Okay, now…” he sat down in the middle of the couch and motioned for Logan and Virgil to sit on either side of him.

After the other two sat down, Roman motioned to their laps. “Now you can lay across us and we can watch a movie. Plus, you’ll be able to nap peacefully like this.”

Patton smiled tiredly at him. “Aww, thanks sweetie.” he slowly situated himself across their laps.

Virgil grabbed one of the small couch pillows and set it on his lap. “Here, you can lay on this, and I can play with your hair? If you think it’ll help, that is.” he offered kindly.

Softly laying his head onto the pillow, Patton hummed in agreement. Virgil began soothingly running a hand through his hair while Roman picked up the remote to start a calm movie up. Logan gently removed Patton’s shoes and softly rubbed the tension out of his feet.

“Just relax, Pat.” Virgil cooed at him with a small smile. “Don’t even worry about getting up early tomorrow. We’ll make breakfast for you for a change. You need a few days off, anyway. We'll go to the shelter tomorrow too, since you were too tired to go today.”

Patton was too exhausted to argue. Maybe a few days off wouldn’t be the end of the world.

“Love you guys.” He mumbled.

“We love you as well, Patton.” Logan replied with a fond smile.  

Someone gently laid a blanket over him and he smiled. Their love made him feel more warmth than any blanket.

He peacefully drifted off to sleep soon after.

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

Taglist: @iris-sanders-athena, @ethospathoslogan, @221biotchplease, @logically-sided , @princelogical, @drawyoursword, @generalfandomfabulousness, @sander-sideblog, @alagaesiasdragonqueen, @disbemee, @sanders-trash-4ever

[ajax-b1ue]

Suspension of Disbelief: Ch 1

2018 Big Bang Fic Challenge Submission Amazing Artist, Big Bang Partner, and Header Creator: @ahoardofsides​ TW: Villainous Deceit, angst, manipulation, gaslighting, self-deprecation, self-harm, anxiety attack, violence, blood, attempted murder Pairings: Platonic LAMP WC: 1692

( Master | AO3 | Chapter 1: Much Ado About Nothing | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 )

The sound of metal scratching against parchment filled the room. It was steady, almost continuous, although every now and again it hesitated.

This time, it paused.

And continued to pause.

Until finally, it was replaced by a loud and frustrated sigh, and much faster, more vigorous scratching. 

Roman leaned away from his desk, stretching his stiff back and neck, and raking one hand through his fading purple hair. He let his pen fall from the other hand, not caring if it splattered ink across the paper— it wasn’t like it mattered, since he’d just scribbled out half of what was written on it.

The creative side twisted his head to the left, wincing as the vertebrae popped painfully into place. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been at it this time.

A glance down at his work had Roman grimacing; not long enough, clearly.

In reality, Roman had spent the better part of the last week planted at his desk, trying and failing to come up with a good idea for Thomas’s next creation, stubbornly refusing to come out for anything more than a hastily made cup of coffee. He told himself it was because he needed to keep focused, but the truth was, he was also avoiding the other sides after the argument they’d had a week ago over some of his recent ideas.

His current creative block was not helping him feel any less frustrated.

A long and bedraggled breath fell from Roman’s lips, and he tilted his face to cradle it in both hands, palms pressing against his eyes. There had to be a solution to this.

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

Roman flung himself upwards in a mess of flailing limbs, knocking his chair clean over and yet somehow managing to draw his blade in the same motion. He whirled, swinging his sword, only for his eyes to fall on a figure perched on the side of his bed.

Deceit had one elbow on his knee, his chin couched in his hand, and wore the most utterly unimpressed stare Roman had ever seen. “…That was graceful.”

“Deceit?”

The princely side found that Deceit had— somehow— appeared in his room without him realizing. Immediately, Roman’s neck and face grew flushed; he still felt the shame of having been played so neatly by Deceit when the serpentine side had impersonated Patton. Right now, he was in no mood to be tolerant.

“What are you doing in my room?? Get out!”

Deceit made a show of examining one gloved hand, then turning and yawning into the other one. Then he blinked, as though just noticing Roman. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

Well, if that was how Deceit was going to play it— Roman stalked forward, sword held out in front of him. Deceit watched him approach, making no attempt to move. Fine. “You are not welcome here. I’m giving you one chance,” Roman warned. “Either remove yourself from my room, or I will drive you from it.”

Deceit still made no move to get up, and, temper flaring, Roman punctuated his sentence by prodding at Deceit’s chest with the tip of his sword.

Deceit vanished completely.

Roman leapt back, shocked; when Deceit spoke again, he very nearly tripped over himself.

“Such conviction. You know, when you speak like that, I really believe you could accomplish anything.”

Roman whirled, searching for the deceitful side, only to find him in the chair Roman had just been sitting in, leaned back on two legs with his feet propped on the desk. When he saw that Roman had noticed him and was once more brandishing his sword at him, a grin spread across his face.

“You know, you look really regal right now. Very intimidating.” 

A mix of humiliation and anger burned inside of Roman, and he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. “So be it,” he grated— then charged towards Deceit with his blade held aloft, determined to chase the serpent from his room.

But every time his sword would connect, the image of Deceit blurred and disappeared, only to reappear somewhere else. This went on for a minute or so, with Deceit ‘cheering’ Roman on in a deadpan monotone.

“So close, Roman. Wow, you almost got me with that one. You’re so good at this.”

Tired, panting, and thoroughly annoyed, Roman let his sword dip towards the floor, and glared up at the dishonest side. “Why are you even pestering me in the first place?”

Deceit made a show of shrugging, now perched atop Roman’s wardrobe. “I don’t know, I just have so many interesting things going on right now, I could hardly pick one.”

Roman worked that over for a moment, before asking incredulously, “You’re bored?” Then irritated again: “Would you go haunt some place else??”

“Sure thing.” Deceit smiled widely, making no move to leave. “You’re the boss.” 

Roman gave a frustrated growl. “I don’t suppose you’d like to share why you insist on intruding on my space in particular?” The only response Roman received for his efforts was overly dramatic and exaggerated shrug, and the princely side let out a sound of disgust. “I suppose I should know better than to expect a straight answer out of you,” he muttered.

Deceit grinned and said, “I’m nothing but straight with you, Roman,” which just made Roman groan and roll his eyes. Still irritated, but unable to eject the dishonest side, Roman finally resigned himself to going back to what he was doing and just ignoring Deceit.

…Which worked for about a minute, before Deceit started offering colorful and ‘complimentary’ commentary. 

“I absolutely love that idea, Roman.”

Roman jerked up in his chair, caught off guard, and almost gave Deceit an incredulous look before he remembered that he was ignoring the other side. He pointedly refocused on his work in front of him, setting pen to paper.

“How did you come up with this? It’s so original.” “I can’t believe how clever your dialogue is.” “The humor in this is just inspired.”

Roman’s knuckles were white around his pen. He reread the line he’d just written, trying to reclaim his train of thought; Deceit leaned in over his right shoulder.

“This may just be some of your best work yet.”

“You know, I do realize that you are insulting me,” Roman snapped, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck at the thought that, he hadn’t before. 

“Insulting you? I’m praising you,” the other side insisted. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

That got Roman’s hackles up. “Every word you utter is a lie!”

“Mm,” Deceit hummed, rolling his eyes. “And you certainly don’t want to hear it. I suppose you could just go show the others,” he said, gesturing with one hand as though weighing the merits of the idea. “They’d be so delighted. Especially the part with the forklift; Logan’ll be just tickled.” Deceit’s words struck a nerve; Logan and Roman’s ongoing feud over the practicality of some of Roman’s ideas remained a sore spot.

Roman straightened his back, crossing his arms in front of him, and doing his best to not let on that Deceit’s comment had hit its mark. “If I were to call on the other sides for anything, it would be for their assistance in removing you.”

Deceit readily agreed. “You should do that. They’d love to hear about how you’re hanging around with me.”

Roman’s eyebrows furrowed together. “Not by choice!” 

“They’ll be incredibly impressed that you asked for help, too,” Deceit went on. “Even though you’re the heroic one. They won’t think less of you, I’m sure.” He made a show of examining his nails, despite the fact that he was still wearing gloves, then glanced upwards. “They’ve probably even forgiven you by now for that little spat.”

Roman visibly stiffened. “Our disagreement is a temporary thing.”

“Of course it is.”

“We’ve overcome all other obstacles we’ve faced in the past, we shall move past this as well.”

“You’d know better than me.” Deceit wore a flat, knowing smile that— despite Roman insisting mentally, of course he knew better, why wouldn’t he, they were his friends— still made Roman’s skin crawl.

The creative side tried once again to return to his work and pretend like Deceit’s presence wasn’t leaving him even more distracted than before. If nothing else, he tried to not give the snake-like side the satisfaction of getting any further reaction from him.

Instead, he attempted to focus on coming up with a good idea. One that would give Logan no reason to protest, that Virgil wouldn’t find every way in which it could go wrong, that Patton wouldn’t chide for being mean spirited. Yet again, Deceit managed to completely disrupt his efforts— this time by actually sitting on top of Roman’s desk as he tried to write.

It took Roman a moment to process what had just happened before he made an offended noise and protested, “Butt, off the creative space!”

Deceit ignored that and just asked Roman a question instead: “Do you want to know a secret?” 

“No.”

“I don’t have to lie,” Deceit offered. “It’s just my nature. …And I like it,” he admitted a moment later. “But, I do recognize when others are lying. And may I just say,” he went on, in his dry, deadpan manner, “how enthralling it is to watch you all. You four are just one big, happy, functional family. You’re so honest and open with each other, all the time.” The dishonest side picked at a speck of dust on his capelet, flicking it off. “And normally, I’d be just heartbroken, watching you lie to yourself— but at this point?” Deceit affected a wince. “It’s kind of just pathetic.”

It was all Roman could do to not react; to just stare at the page in front of him, clutching his pen, head down and shoulders held rigid.

This time, the silence stretched on. Eventually, Roman forced himself to take a few deep breaths, until he could make himself relax, and pretend like everything was fine.

When he finally looked up, Roman found that he was once again alone.

[ilovereadingandilovebreathing]

Let’s Play....!

Summary: Roman is tiny, and he wants Virgil to be his playmate. Virgil thinks he knows what’s to come, but Tiny!Roman has a different idea.

Word Count: 1,974

Characters/Pairings: Virgil and Tiny!Roman (platonic Prinxiety); little bit of Patton and very brief Logan

Genre: Fluff and hurt/comfort (kids are a wild ride, lemme tell you what)

Warnings: Yelling, crying, obnoxious breaking of the 4th wall, small mention of hitting (playful, really) (Let me know if I missed any!) 

Tags: (IDK who like Tiny!Sides stuff, so if you don’t, just ignore this lol)  @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch  @ssides @pantasticpanini @anxious-but-whatever

Author’s Note: Shoutout to @tinysidestrashcaptain for writing and reblogging amazing Tiny!Sides stuff that inspired me to write this. Also shoutout to @onthevirge for encouraging me to write this after I rambled about loving Roman way too much. Also, I don’t really like to write in “toddler speak” (just a personal preference), so when you read Roman’s lines, just read them in a high-pitched little kid voice. ANYWAY, I hope you enjoy!

“Viiiiirrrrrgiiiiiilllll,” a high-pitched voice called throughout the MindScape, causing the Anxious Side’s heart rate to pick up. Well, he should’ve figured it’d only be a matter of time. It seemed that Roman had woken up from his nap, and he was ready to play.

Obviously, Roman wasn’t exactly his normal self at this point. The Prince had come back from one of his DreamScape escapades-well, run back screaming and crying-as a 3-year-old because apparently the Dragon Witch couldn’t actually kill the one who created her. Logically speaking, she’d die, too. So, she’d gifted them a younger Roman, and so far Virgil wasn’t a fan. Normal Princey was loud and boisterous enough; a toddler Roman was no different, from what he could tell, just not able to project as loudly but at a higher tone that grated at his nerves.

Normally, Logan or Patton was in charge of Tiny Roman, but Thomas needed them today. Well, he’d really needed all of them, but seeing as Roman was a little out of commission, someone had to stay in the MindScape with the kid. Morality and Logic were the most reasonably qualified for the task at hand, so, after a little bribery and compromise, the others convinced Virgil to be Roman’s caretaker for the day. 

“Viiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrgiiiiiiiiiiiiiiilllll!!!!”

Running his hands through his hair, Virgil dragged himself out of bed and vanished from his room, appearing in Roman’s realm. However, upon initial and further inspection, he realized the Creative Side’s room was empty. Feeling his heart rate pick up and his stomach drop, he quickly left the room and materialized into the MindScape’s Common Room.

In their version of Thomas’s sitting room, Virgil sighed in relief when found 3-year-old Roman sitting on the floor, surrounded by art supplies. Normal-sized Roman could conjure up just about anything he wanted to make his daydreams come true, but regressed Roman wasn’t as knowledgeable in that department. So, the other three Sides had banded together to get the tyke some art supplies to satisfy his creative urges. 

Virgil took stock of the room, and what a surprise, Roman wanted to play kingdom-centric make-believe. A bag of plastic jewels was ripped open, it’s contents splayed all over the carpet; shiny silver and gold construction paper was haphazardly stacked on the carpet right next to the little one. A few bed sheets (likely snagged from Logan’s meticulously organized linen closet) were half folded on the floor next to the coffee table, and Roman’s sword (the one he used when he was normal-sized) was carefully laid on top of the table next to a finished golden paper crown, impressively decorated with the plastic precious stones. 

The tot-sized Roman, adorned in the little cape Patton had made him, was hunched over on the carpet, concentrating hard on something that Virgil couldn’t see. Not realizing the other Side was behind him, Roman took a deep breath and yelled at the top of his little lungs: “VIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRR-” 

“WHAT, Roman?” Virgil snapped. “I heard you, and what are you doing up from your nap? You’re supposed to wait until I come get you!” 

 The Tiny Prince jumped and turned in an instant; his lower lip trembled and his eyes were dangerously wet as he chewed on his lower lip and refused to make eye contact with the older Side. Sighing, the Anxious Side lowered to his knees and looked the other in the eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry I was mean to you, Ro. I’m just....sleepy.” And definitely haven’t been verging on an anxiety attack for the last hour, and that was before I thought I’d lost you, little escape artist. He thought grudgingly to himself.

“It’s okaaay...” Roman rubbed his eyes; he put his hands behind his back and swayed back and forth, obviously working up the courage to ask Virgil for something he knew the older Side wouldn’t like. “Hey, Viiiirge...”

“Yeah, Roman?” Virgil leaned against the front of the couch, bracing himself for whatever ridiculousness the little one would request. 

“Will you play with meee?”

“Well, since I left my room, I might as well.” He forced up a smile for good measure when Roman didn’t look impressed, just a bit charmed by the Prince’s antics (though he’d never admit it, of course). “Yeah, sure, what’d you have in mind?”

“Princes!” Roman eagerly turned back to whatever he was working on, missing the flash of annoyance on the other’s face.

Virgil sighed. “What will I be? A fiery, scary dragon?” Virgil mimicked blowing out fire.

“No!”

“A big, mean, hairy troll?” Virgil put his arms up, miming a menacing beast.

“NO! I just told you!” A now red-cheeked Roman pouted, turning back to Virgil with his secret project behind his back. “A prince! I’m Prince Roman, and you’re Prince Virgil!”

Virgil had nothing to say to that right away. It was the last request he would have expected of Roman, quite frankly, and he wasn’t sure if he trusted it. 

“R-Really?” Virgil eyed the other carefully. “Will I be an evil prince? Will we get into a big fight, and-”

“No!” Roman yelled, his eyes spilling over with tears this time. “You’re Prince Virgil! You’re big and strong and scary to the bad guys and you’ll take care of me and the castle and all the people like Thomas!!!” Roman collapsed onto the floor, melting into soft, hiccuping sobs; Virgil felt his heart clench as the little prince curled into a ball on the carpet.  

Crap crap crap crap crap you gotta fix this NOW, you idiot!

“Aw, Roman, I’m sorry.” Virgil mumbled, tentatively scooting himself closer to the Tiny Side. Roman side-eyed Virgil, equally distrustful of the other now. “Come on, Ro, please forgive me?” The Anxious Side made his voice as sickly sweet as possible, trying to ignore the fact that his tantrum obviously meant Roman had skipped most, if not all, of his midday nap. Getting onto him now would only make things worse, so Virgil opened his arms, remembering that Patton often bribed Tiny Roman with cuddles to get him to behave. 

Still whimpering, Roman uncurled himself and pushed up into a sitting position, staring at Virgil for a full five seconds before crawling into his lap; the emotional Side stuck his thumb in his mouth and laid against the other’s chest. 

“I guess that means you forgive me, huh?” Virgil murmured, chuckling a bit when Roman nodded his head; he rubbed his little charge’s back until his whimpers died down completely. “You okay now, buddy?” 

“Y-yeah.” Little Roman whispered.

“You still wanna play princes?” Virgil asked hesitantly. “I promise I’ll play by your rules this time, no questions asked. I’ll take care of you and the castle and all of our people...” He trailed off into a whisper, speaking more to himself than Roman. “Just like I do for Thomas.” 

“Yeah.” Roman nodded, but made no move to get out of Virgil’s lap. 

“Are you sure?” Virgil looked down, noting the droop of Roman’s eyes and head. Crap. If he slept now, he’d be up all night. “Roman, if you don’t get up, I’m gonna-” Virgil cut himself off and attacked Roman’s sides with his fingers, tickling the toddler until he shrieked with laughter.  

Through his own laughter, Virgil prompted, “So, I guess we gotta make me a crown, huh? Looks like you already got yours done; it looks really good.”

At this, Roman untangled himself and crawled over to where he’d been working just a few minutes earlier. Walking back on his knees, Roman came up in front of Virgil and grinned just before pulling a silver paper crown with black and purple jewels from behind his back. “This one’s your crown. I made you it. I put these ones on it,” he pointed at the gems.  

“Yeah.” Virgil smiled, a genuine smile this time. “It looks really good, Ro; I like it!”

“Let me put it!” Roman requested, the normal bounce returning to his voice; he gestured for Virgil to bend forward. The other complied, and the Tiny Prince giggled as he carefully placed his creation on his playmate’s head. “There! It’s peeeerfect!” The little one gave Virgil a big thumbs up, scampering over to the sheets piled on the floor, and Virgil noticed one of his black bedsheets folded beneath one of Logan’s dark blue ones.

“Here’s your cape!” Roman threw the sheet toward Virgil, giggling manically when the covering unfolded in the air and got caught on Virgil’s head. the Anxious Side couldn’t help but laugh at the little one’s glee. He pulled the blanket off his head and swung it around his back, tying a solid knot around his throat as Roman placed his own crown on his head. The small Side bent under the coffee table and brought out a little cardboard dagger, and he pointed to his own sword on the coffee table.

“That’s yours, Virge.” There was a twinge of sadness in the other’s words. “I’m too small to use it right now.” 

“It’s okay, Ro.” Virgil reassured him as he rose and crossed to receive the Prince’s most precious item. “I’ll take good care of it; I promise.”   

"Ok.” Roman still looked a bit sad, so Virgil hoisted him up into his arms, carefully holding Roman and the sword. 

“We can hold it together, and we’ll defeat whatever monsters try to take over our kingdom together!”

“Yay!!” Roman squealed, hugging Virgil’s neck. “You’re the best prince, EVER, Virgil!” 

“So are you, Roman. Now, let’s go!” Virgil cried, transporting them into Roman’s room so the Tiny Side could show him to his DreamScape.

-- 

After hours of fighting baby dragons and half-sized trolls, Virgil carried a yawning Roman back to the Commons and laid him on the couch. As he set to work cleaning up their crafting mess from before, Roman cried out, “No, I wanna help!” and inched his way off the sofa.The Little Prince and the Anxious Side worked well together, Roman picking up the little pieces and Virgil handling the big stuff. 

Just as they finished cleaning up, Patton and Logan strolled into the Commons, and Roman’s face lit up brighter than Virgil had seen all day.

“Daddy Pat Pat! Mama Lolo!” Roman screeched gleefully, running to the paternal and logical Sides. Logan shot Virgil a dirty look at the nickname as Patton hauled the squirming toddler into his arms and planted a loving kiss on the little one’s cheek; Virgil wiggled his eyebrows in return. 

“What’d you get up to today, kiddo? Did you play with Virgil?” Patton cooed, setting the toddler so he faced him in his arms.

“Yeah! We played Princes! And Virgil was the big good prince and I was the little good prince and we stopped the dragons and trolls from getting in our castle! Virgil’s the best big brother eeeever!” Roman declared with a yawn, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Sounds like a great time, Little Guy.” Patton grinned at the Anxious Side, mouthing “Thank You” as Roman laid his head against Patton’s shoulder. Rubbing his charge’s back, the father figure whispered, “And now it’s bed time.” He turned to start Roman’s nighttime routine, pulling up when the little one tugged on his sleeve. 

“Can Virgil read me my story?” He mumbled into Patton’s neck, his eyes already half closed.

“I can do that, bud.” Virgil replied, coming up beside Patton and patting Roman’s back. Tiny Roman sighed contentedly, and the bigger Sides transported them into Roman’s room.

It wouldn’t take long at all for the tuckered out little Side to nod off, but Virgil and Patton would stay in the Creative Side’s room long after he’d fallen asleep, whispering back and forth about the adventures of the day.

And Virgil had to swat Patton on multiple occasions to keep him from squealing and waking up Roman.

More Tiny!Sides: 3 Tiny!Sides and a Virgil

All of my Sanders Sides fanfics

[patricia-von-arundel]

The Campaign - Part 1

So, uh... some of you may remember me. I’m going to try to track down some old friends a little later on.

I have some stories I want to finish. This one, because people really enjoyed it. Some others will come later. I can get this one up because the amazing @no-escape-from-the-storm-inside kept some of my stuff and got it to me. I should have more up in the next few days, and then will work on new material.

So that being said... let’s return to the ‘80s with Elsa and Anna. I’m putting this up before I lose my nerve. 

The story is set in 1985.

Rated: T

The clouds were rolling in by mid-afternoon, and Anna let the other girls leave at four. She stayed until four-thirty, just in case someone came in wanting batteries or bottled water or a spare electric blanket, then taped the sign to the door: CLOSED DUE TO WEATHER. This was going to be a bad one, the news had said the night before. And her father - with her mother in Key West for the one vacation they took each year - had called her at lunchtime: “Use your judgement. If it looks bad, go ahead and close up.”

The sky was low and heavy and dark as she checked the locks, her hands clumsy in thick mittens, and the wind was already whipping up something fierce. She pulled her hat more snugly over her ears, tucked her scarf into her coat. It was going to be a long walk home.

She had no one to blame but herself - she’d been putting off getting a driver’s license for over two years - but that didn’t make the distance any shorter. There was nothing to it but to get going. She shoved the keys in her purse and her hands in her pockets, and started out.

The small, neat town of Arendelle was already battened down and silent, save for the wind lashing at bare branches and streetlights; schools had let out for Christmas break the week before. She saw one of Sheriff Weselton’s deputies cruise by as she reached the edge of Market Street, but otherwise, she might as well have been the only soul left on earth, like in those creepy magazines Elsa had liked when they were kids - Weird Tales, stuff like that.

The sky was spitting snow - thick, heavy flakes - by the time she left Applewood for CR1113 - the road that would take her home, but not for another mile and a half. Hunched and buffeted as she was, she didn’t hear the car until it was almost on top of her. She stepped to the side to let it pass - she’d been walking down this narrow country road all her life - but instead, it rolled to a smooth stop, and a moment later, the passenger door was pushed open from within.

“Looks like you could use a ride.”

The voice was vaguely familiar, but she didn’t recognize the car - nobody in a town like Arendelle drove a Mercedes; of that she was certain. She squinted at the dark exterior - and finally made out the face she had first seen only two days before. “Oh! Mr… Mr. Westerguard, right?”

He smiled - he had a friendly, open face. “Right, but Hans is fine. Can I give you a ride home?”

“Oh, uh, if… if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” He patted the smooth leather of the passenger seat. “Hop in.”

The inside of the car was deliciously warm, and it smelled of cologne and clean leather. She pulled her mittens off to hold her hands to a heater vent. “I didn’t know you were still in town. Mom and Dad are on vacation.”

He turned smoothly around a curve, then another. “I have a couple more meetings. They were postponed until after the storm. I’m stuck here a few more days.”

“Lucky for me,” Anna said, and he flashed her another smile. The Westerguards ran an enormous wholesale business - her father had been excited about a potential partnership, especially because of the new mall going up on the other side of town. She had been briefly introduced to young Hans Westerguard when he had come by the store for his appointment with her parents, but her only real impression had been whoa. “But… what are you doing out here?”

“Following you,” he said, but his tone was so guileless she laughed. “I was trying to find someplace to get some food - not a burger - before the storm hit. And I thought I recognized you.”

“It’s the hair, isnt’ it?”

He laughed. “It does stand out.”

She made a face. “Eddie Lang got everyone calling me “carrot-head” in first grade. Until I punched him in the nose.”

“I like it. And I promise not to even compare you to a carrot, Miss Agdarsson.”

She looked away quickly then, out the window, feeling the flush rising in her cheeks. “Anna,” she said softly. “You can, uh… you can call me Anna.”

“Anna,” he said - as if trying out the sound. His voice was very rich, she thought. “Your parents talked about you a lot - your dad says you have a good head for business.”

“He did?” Genuine surprise - she had always felt like the family afterthought; everything had always been Elsa-Elsa-Elsa: Elsa’s so smart. Elsa’s got to get ready for college. And since last spring, Elsa’s just having a tough time right now.

“He did!” Hans had such a warm, easy smile. And - she risked a glance; he was watching the road - really gorgeous green eyes. She liked his hair, too, the way it was just long enough in the back to touch his collar - a tiny hint of rebellion. “He said he can always count on you to keep everything straight, and all the customers love you.”

She waved a hand of dismissal, despite the warm pleasure settling all around her. “Oh, they’ve just known me for, like, forever. They just see this way cute little girl, not now-me.”

He looked over at her for a long, hushed moment - she felt her breath catch - his eyes making slow, intent way around her face. “Not little,” he finally said, turning back to the road. “But definitely way cute.”

It didn’t happen often, but it happened now - Anna was left speechless. She looked away again, because her face was likely the same color as her hair. Boys at school had seemed to like her well enough, and she’d liked some of them back - she’d broken up with Logan after eight months back in June, when he joined the Navy and left Arendelle - but it wasn’t anything like whatever was happening here. Hans was not only from outside Arendelle, he was also older than her. A real adult. Anna was 18, a high school graduate, but she usually still felt like still just a way-cute little girl.

She bit her lip, and watched the cold world pass by.

“Any turns I need to make?” he asked after a minute or two. He sounded casual and natural, not at all self-conscious at what he had just said.

“Oh, uh… no. No, just us at the end. My dad says he gets enough forced small talk at the store, he wants his privacy at home. My mom’s the social one - like me, I guess. I’ve thought about getting an apartment downtown, but there aren’t very many of them, and they’re pretty expensive.”

“Bet it seems worth it, on days like today, huh?”

She laughed. “Totally. Just around this bend, you’ll see the house.”

The house in question, even she had to admit after a lifetime of resenting its remote location, was beautiful - a baroque Victorian confection of pastel blues and whites, gingerbread molding and turrets and peaked roofs. She was, then, not surprised by Hans’ “Wow.”

“Home sweet home,” Anna said. “Will you come inside for a drink or something? Since you drove all the way out here just for me..”

“Sure.” He pulled the car in to park next to her parents’ Volvo. They had gotten a taxi to the airport, despite neither Anna nor Elsa driving.

“Do you have a large family?” he asked as they stood in the cold while she dug through her purse for her keys. Elsa might answer if she rang the bell - but she just as likely would not. “Your parents only mentioned you and a sister.”

“Yeah, it’s just the four of us - a-ha!” She twisted the key hard; the lock was always stiff in winter. “My parents, my sister Elsa, and me.” She held the door for him to step first into the warm foyer; he nodded thanks.

“I should admit, that makes me envious,” he said. “I would have loved a small, close family.”

“Yours is big?” He wore only a fine leather jacket, which he hung in the little closet as she peeled off hat, scarf, mittens, parka, and snow boots.

“Twelve older brothers,” he said, and paused as she let that sink in, her eyes widening and her mouth dropping open.

“No way.”

He grinned, unsurprised. “Way.”

“Seriously? That’s insane. The kitchen’s just through here. Coke? Coffee? We may have orange juice…”

“Water’s fine.” She got a Tab for herself - her mother refused to buy Diet Coke, so Anna had to make do - and joined him at the table. “Thanks.”

She put her weight on her elbows, learned closer to him. He had a spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks. “You’re kidding, right? Twelve brothers?”

“Totally serious. Caleb’s so old he hates rock-and-roll.”

“Get real!”

He was smiling, enjoying this. “Want all their names? Sometimes, I can remember them all.”

“That’s crazy. And you’re the youngest?”

“By almost three years. I was an… unplanned final surprise.”

Anna shook her head, trying to imagine a life with that many Elsas. Though honestly, she thought, it might not be all that different: twelve closed, locked doors instead of just one. “I’m youngest, too,” she said. “It kind of sucks.”

He laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Not close to your sister?”

“Not, uh… not anymore.” Smooth, Anna. She’d been too eager to keep the conversation going to stop and consider what dangerous waters she was treading into. “We kind of grew apart, I guess.”

His expression, now, was all sympathy - and, to her pleasant surprise, despite the niggle of discomfort in her midsection at talk of Elsa, his hands reached across the table to wrap around one of hers. “I’m sorry to hear that.” His fingers were cool and damp from the water glass.

Anna swallowed hard - something was happening fast, and she wasn’t even sure what it was. She shrugged. “Yeah, well, that’s… that’s life, I guess.”

“Is it just you here until your parents get back? This storm sounds like it could be a bad one.”

“Oh, Elsa’s here, too. She’s just holed up in her room upstairs.” Like she always is.

Anna knew Elsa had always been a little… different. Quiet and shy, Elsa struggled with making friends, with doing anything to make herself less conspicuous as a target of torment and bullying. It only got worse with the coming of adolescence - Anna suspected Elsa was oblivious, but no one else was: Elsa was beautiful. Blue eyes, all that white-blonde hair, a slender, graceful build - and she still kept her nose buried in physics textbooks and graph paper. 

Anna loved her more than anyone else in the world. What was harder to accept than any of Elsa’s quirks or strange obsessions was the stark reality that Elsa seemed determined to reject that love.

“Ah,” Hans said. “I hope I’m not intruding, then.”

“No, not at all! I appreciate the company.” She hoped it didn’t sound just pathetic and over-eager, but it was true. The house, even when her parents were home, often now felt very cold and lonely. “Really.”

“Well, in that case-”

“Anna?” The voice was hesitant, speaking from the darkness of the hallway. “I thought I heard - oh.”

Her hair was half-tamed in a loose braid, her eyes wide, a battered notebook clutched to her chest. Her sweater fell almost to her knees.

Anna pushed up from the table before she could bolt. “Elsa! Hi! This is Hans - Hans Westerguard. He was in town to meet with Mom and Dad, and offered me a ride home - the snow, you know? Hans, this is my sister Elsa.”

Elsa leaned against the doorframe as Hans approached and held out a hand. She stared at it for a long moment before shifting her notebook to shake. But her gaze never rose to meet his - it was fixed firmly on a point halfway up the cabinets on the other side of the kitchen.

“Pleased to meet you,” Hans said.

Elsa managed a ghost of a smile, pulling her hand away. Anna allowed herself an internal sigh.

“Want something to drink?” she asked. “We’re just talking - you’re welcome to join us. Or - dinner! How about dinner? I can make spaghetti.”

Hans had taken a step back from Elsa, which was probably a smart move. “Spaghetti sounds wonderful.”

“Elsa? Spaghetti?”

For no more than a second, Elsa’s eyes met hers. Then they risked a glance at Hans, raking up, down, and staying there. She shook her head. “No. Thanks. I’m… I’m working on something. I just came down to get a drink and… thought I heard voices.” She was clutching that notebook like it was the only thing keeping her anchored to solid ground.

“Just me,” Anna said - attempting a chipper tone. Elsa was being even cagier than usual. Because of Hans, or something else? “Well - us, I guess. Did you want Coke? I think there may be a couple of cans of Sprite left at the back.”

“No, uh… Coke. I wanted Coke.” But she made no move toward the refrigerator. She would have to pass by Hans to get there. She just stood there, one hand playing at the coiled binding of her notebook, staring at the floor. Her cheeks were flushed deep red.

“Elsa?”

Elsa hunched as if Anna had raised a hand to hit her. “Sorry. I’m… I’m sorry.” A moment of hesitation - and then she fled, and a few seconds later, Anna could hear her heavy footfalls, taking the stairs three at a time.

Anna sighed, rubbed a hand over her face. “Sorry - she’s going through some stuff. I better… I’ll be right back.”

“Sure, of course,” Hans said.

Anna grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge and made the age-old journey to Elsa’s closed door - right next to her own. She knocked firmly. “Elsa?”

Silence - but that was no more than she had expected.

She knocked again. “Elsa, I know you can hear me. What was that all about? Are you okay?”

A pause, then: “I’m fine.”

“I brought your Coke.”

“Just… just leave it outside the door.”

Was she for real? “C’mon, Elsa. It’s just me. Hans is downstairs. I want to see if you’re okay. Please?”

She imagined she could hear Elsa sigh with exasperation, but she didn’t care. A moment later, the latch clicked, and the door pulled inward. Elsa had put down her notebook, but was now clutching the edge of the door instead. This close, Anna could see the dark, swollen crescents under her eyes. “Okay?” she said.

“Thanks! Here’s your drink.”

She took the can with the hand not on the door - then made to close it. “Thank you.”

“You sure you don’t want spaghetti? Or something else?”

Elsa shook her head. All Anna could see was one eye, the curve of her cheek.

“You’ll tell me if you want something later?”

The eye looked away. “Yeah, but, I’m… I’m almost done. Maybe then.”

“What are you working on?”

“A… Just a project.”

“Can I see it when it’s done?”

For one final, brief second, Elsa’s eye met hers once more. Then it closed - and a moment later, the door did the same.

Elsa was gone. Anna just stood there, a hard weight in her chest. She was afraid, so often afraid, for her sister. Her parents had refused to speak of why she had come home; Elsa certainly hadn’t said anything - but Anna knew. Just a month or so ago, taking out the trash, a wad of papers had fallen as she tried to tie shut the overflowing bag.

She had at first only glanced at them - they were all addressed to Elsa, all on official-looking letterheads. Curiosity had gotten the better of her.

They were letters from graduate programs - for math of types Anna had never even heard of - and they were rejections. All of them. The anger had flared up in her that day, strong and fierce and bright, and it burned there still - but no one knew, and no one could know, Elsa especially.

But what Anna longed to tell her, could never tell her without giving herself away, was that every school that had turned Elsa down was staffed by idiots. Anna’s sister Elsa was smart and talented and creative and hard-working. She was a little weird, yeah, and pretty dorky - but she was better than any person those programs had admitted, and Anna would fight anyone who said otherwise.

But Elsa didn’t know any of that.

And all Anna could do was stare at her closed door. Again.

“Elsa?” Tentative and soft.

She didn’t expect a response. She was turning away when it came, as tentative as her own: “Maybe.”

Downstairs, she found Hans thumbing through a catalog left on the table, but he closed it and looked up when she came in, eyes concerned. “Is she all right?”

“Yeah.” Anna pushed one long braid back over her shoulder and sat down across from him once more. “Yeah, I think so.” She felt suddenly very tired.

“I hope so,” Hans said, and she managed a weary smile. “Did I scare her?”

Anna shook her head, though she was far from sure that was true. “She just takes awhile to warm up. She’s shy.”

Hans nodded, almost absently. He pushed back from the table, glancing towards the window, curtains still open, that looked out over the backyard. “Speaking of warming up, I’d better get going before I’m stuck.”

Anna looked out for the first time since she’d gotten home - and felt her eyes widen. “Oh, wow.” The news last night hadn’t been kidding - the air was a swirling, angry mass of pure white. “Wow,” she said again.

“Yeah,” Hans agreed - and there seemed little else to say.

“Stay here,” she said. “We have spare rooms. That’s crazy, the weather.”

“I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”

She turned back to him. “You wouldn’t be here if not for me.”

He smiled at that. “Fair point.”

“At least stay for something to eat. Since that’s what you were doing in the first place.”

“Master Chef Anna Agdarsson?”

“No way. All I can do is, like, pasta and sandwiches. Maybe scrambled eggs.”

“The right amount of scramble is an art.”

She’d made the mistake of taking a drink, and wound up laughing and choking trying not to spray Tab out her nose. The burn - and ridiculousness - of it all just made her laugh harder.

How long had it been since she’d laughed like this? Before graduation? It must have been - and maybe some part of her had believed she never would again, that it had gone the way of childhood. It overshadowed even Elsa.

And - shoving guilt to the back of her mind - she allowed it. It might never come again, the way her life was going lately. And Hans was patting her on the back, and laughing with her, and it all felt so good.

“Let’s do sandwiches,” he said, when Anna had finally been reduced to gasps and giggles. “I am a master - nay, a king! - of sandwiches.”

Their eyes met, and held, and Anna could feel the perfect, potential magic sparking between them. When she gave over to a goofy, lopsided grin, he gave one right back - and wrinkled his nose besides.

He was the good kind of adult. Maybe she could be, too.

They ate turkey and cheese and tomato on plain-old Wonder Bread, but somehow, with the storm raging outside and Hans keeping her company, it tasted like the finest gourmet meal from an awesome city far from Arendelle.

“Okay, so tell me,” she said, leaning over the table, “how’d you wind up in the family business? Or is it, like, something you and all your brothers do?”

Hans smiled and shook his head around a mouthful, swallowing before he answered. “No, definitely not - most of them had no interest beyond the money. It’s not exactly romantic work.”

A little frisson worked its way along her spine when he said romantic. She took a quick bite of sandwich to try to hide it showing on her face.

“My brother Caleb - I mentioned him, right? - pretty much runs the company now, and Lars cooks the books… or as he calls it, does the accounting.”

Anna laughed again, quickly covering her mouth to keep from spraying him with crumbs. “How’d you wind up there?”

His face sobered, his eyes wandering to the window, and the thought arrived unbidden: I’ve found his Elsa.

“Nobody expected much from me,” he said - then his expression cleared, and he mustered a smile, though she thought it looked forced. “But I’m competitive. This seemed the quickest way to prove them wrong.”

“Elsa was like that, too - she couldn’t just do something, she had to master it.”

“Admirable,” Hans said. “Though in my experience-”

He was cut off by a banging noise, loud enough it reverberated even over the sounds of whining wind and snow slapping at the windows. A moment later, it came again.

Hans’ gaze, wide-eyed, was locked on Anna. “Elsa?” he asked.

Anna shook her head. “No,” she said. “Someone’s at the front door.”

“The front door? In this? Anna, are you sure-”

Anna was already up and heading down the hall. “Of course I’m sure. Every person in Arendelle knows this house. Probably someone ran into a ditch in the storm, on one of the sideroads. It’s happened before.”

“You think it’s safe?”

She would bet her inheritance he lived in some big-city highrise - a yuppie; cute, mature, but yuppie nonetheless. She unlocked the door and opened it carefully - against the wind, not the axe murderer waiting on the other side.

She did take a step back against the sheer size of him, though. Hans caught her elbows, a loose hold - but one that felt almost possessive. She let her eyes take in enormous boots, the well-worn jeans tucked into the tops, the enormous overcoat and the scarf covering most of the visitor’s face, the shapeless hat atop shaggy hair, and all of it liberally coated with a thick layer of snow.

“Anna?” The voice was muffled by the scarf, but after a moment, she placed it:

“Kristoff?”

The only color in the world outside was the sudden, bright flush of his cheeks. “Uh, yeah.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Checking.”

“On what?”

He was rubbing the back of his neck now, and his eyes couldn’t quite meet hers. “Uh… on you. And your sister.”

“Does he want to come in?” Hans asked.

There was some kind of subtle change to his tone, but she was too flustered to try to figure it out; she pulled away from him, back to the door, gesturing wildly. “Oh my god, yeah, sorry, sorry, come in. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Kristoff said.

When Anna turned back from forcing the door shut, she thought she caught a glimpse of movement at the top of the stairs - but when she looked up, it was to a silent, empty hallway.

She looked back to Kristoff - likely an easier puzzle to solve. “You were checking on me and Elsa?”

He glanced at her. “Yes. But your parents pay me well, so if you want me to keep this particular job, I probably shouldn’t ruin their floors.” His tone was snide, but what she could see of his face was still bright red.

“Here,” she said, and reached around him for the door to the coat closet.

“I mean, if everything’s okay, I’ll just go.”

“No way - are you out of your mind? Just look out there!”

“I know. I just walked through it.”

“Walked?”

“Just from my car.”

She huffed. “Anyway. No. Neither one of you is going anywhere tonight. I won’t be responsible for, like, manslaughter.”

“Yeah, right,” Kristoff said - but he pulled his hat off and shook melting snow from his shaggy hair.

“I take it you know him?” Hans asked when Kristoff had disappeared into the closet. There was still something weird in his tone, and he had a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently but rhythmically.

“Yeah, of course - that’s Kristoff. He went to school with me and Elsa. He does some work for my parents now, around the yard and stuff. He’s cool.”

“Hmm.”

“He’s fine. Not an axe murderer. And if he is, Elsa’s probably secretly like a witch or something, she’ll take care of it.”

He made another noncommittal noise. He seemed a little less adult now, but she hoped that might actually be a good thing - she might feel a little less like a kid dressed up in her mother’s makeup and heels.

Kristoff reemerged swiping a hand through his damp hair. “Elsa’s here too, right?”

“Of course she is. She’s upstairs, working on some super-secret project.” Anna knew he remembered, just as she did - a pigtailed, shrimpy first grader, already notorious for beating up Eddie Lang earlier that year, marching up to the biggest kid in the fifth grade and tugging on his sleeve.

“Hey - what’s your name?”

“Er… Kristoff?”

“Do you know my sister Elsa?”

He had just stared at her for a long time, but she crossed her arms and stared back - stared far up. “Yeah,” he finally said, “I know Elsa.”

“Do you know kids are bugging her on the bus and making her cry?”

“Not me!”

“I know. I want you to protect her.”

“…Me?”

“I’ll pay you a quarter.”

He had refused the money - but had sat pointedly close to Elsa for the rest of the school year. And over a decade later, he still made sure she was okay. And Anna smiled at him.

“We’re having sandwiches,” she said. “Want one?”

“Nah, I already ate.” He nodded to Hans, who still had a hand on Anna’s shoulder. “Don’t think we’ve met. I’m Kristoff Bjorgman.”

“Hans Westerguard.” That was it - no “pleased to meet you” here. Anna forced herself to keep a straight face.

“Come sit with us anyway,” she said to Kristoff. “I feel like I haven’t had a real conversation in days, and Mom and Dad only left yesterday. Anyone else shows up, we’ll call it a party.”

“Is that likely?” Hans asked.

“Nope.”

What also proved unlikely was the conversation she had hoped for - Kristoff she knew was often monosyllabic, but Hans’ earlier ebullience and easy banter seemed to have drained away completely. Still, between bites of her sandwich, Anna tried.

She was so tired of endless, tense, heavy silence.

“Has there been plenty of work lately?” she asked Kristoff, then informed Hans, “Kristoff practically keeps Arendelle running smoothly. Seriously.”

But Kristoff just shrugged and said, “Enough, I guess. The Palmers paid me 20 bucks to put up Christmas lights.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“What do you think of Arendelle?” she asked Hans. He had finished his food, and was now tapping a desultory rhythm on the table with his index finger. “Pretty choice, huh? Midwest heaven?”

He managed a smile that reached nowhere near his eyes. “Bitchin’,” he said.

Anna risked a tease: “Does your mother know you talk like that?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Probably not.”

Eventually, she sighed and gave up. She gathered the plates and Hans’ empty water glass, dumping them in the sink, where her morning cereal bowl still sat, unwashed. “Oops,” she muttered, and made mental note to remember to clean it all up. There was nothing from Elsa, in the sink or drying on the rack. Another mental note, to take something up later, whether she wanted it or not. Elsa was skinny enough already. It wouldn’t kill her to stop her project for 10 minutes and eat a damn sandwich.

Hans and Kristoff were still engaged in some bizarre, manly silence game, so Anna said, “Bathroom break. I’ll be right back.” Don’t kill each other while I’m gone, she added silently. Apparently, instant mutual dislike was very real.

There was a half-bath off the living room, but she went upstairs. And she allowed herself a moment to pause outside Elsa’s door - resisting the childish temptation to try to look through the old keyhole - but from the other side came only silence. What was she doing in there?

A question Anna had been trying to answer for most of her life.

Similar silence greeted her back downstairs, and she had to bite back a sigh. This was ridiculous. “Are you guys going to do this weird alpha-male stuff all night, or do you want to play a game or something?”

Both at least had the decency to look abashed, though Hans hit it better than Kristoff, and the way he then said, “Games, huh?” made Anna flush in turn - and she suspected he had done it deliberately.

So she gave him, both of them, the most innocent smile she could muster. “Boardgames, sure - we have lots. Monopoly, Scrabble… I think we still have Risk, too. That was Elsa’s favorite. And stuff like chess and checkers. Oh, and Twister!”

Kristoff grimaced. “No way. No Twister.”

Anna grinned at him. “Not too flexible, Bjorgman?”

“I don’t hate myself that much.”

“Harsh,” Hans said.

Kristoff hardly glanced at him. “Wouldn’t want to split those flash seams.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Yeah, right.” Kristoff spoke under his breath, but clearly intended to be heard.

Anna was sorely tempted to renege on her insistence that they stay the night, and if they froze to death, so be it. “Chill out, both of you, jeez. You’ve only known each other for 20 minutes.”

Hans glanced at his watch. “Thirty.”

“Whatever. Less than a hour. So just… cool it. All right?”

“Who is this guy?” Kristoff asked. “Do your parents know he’s here?”

“My parents? I’m not in second grade, Kristoff.”

“You trust him just like that?” How long have you known him?”

“Like two days, but that’s none of-”

“Who are you?” Hans asked - speaking over her, but his tone still mild. “Coming to the home of two young girls in a blizzard, knowing their parents aren’t home?”

“Young girls?” Anna didn’t bother hiding her disdain.

“You know what I mean.”

“That’s not the point, and you-”

Again, she saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye - but this time, when she turned to look, there was-

“Elsa?”

Hans and Kristoff had fallen silent - could they feel it, as Anna felt it: like a charge had been added to the air, just by Elsa’s appearance?

Elsa was still in the oversized sweater, still with her hair barely contained, her feet bare despite the stone tile that Anna thought must be painfully cold.And she was still clutching that beat-up notebook to her chest. She was looking around the kitchen as if seeking possible hiding places, teeth worrying at her lower lip - but when her eyes met Anna’s, she managed a smile.

“I finished it,” she said softly. “Do you… still want to see?” Her eyes darted to Hans and Kristoff at the kitchen table, then quickly away again. “I mean.. if you aren’t in the middle of something.”

“Not a thing.” Anna jumped to the table, pulling out a chair before Elsa lost her nerve and fled again. “Here, sit! I want to hear all about it. What is it?”

Elsa took a step closer - then hesitated. “It’s a game.” Her voice was hardly a whisper - and somehow, tentatively hopeful. Whatever she had done, Anna realized, it might have been everything to her, since that long, rainy day last spring.

So Anna went to her, offered a smile. “That’s so cool! C’mon - come tell us about it. How do you play?”

Elsa allowed herself to be ushered to the table - Anna knew better than to risk touching her when she was this nervous, but just kind of gesturing beside her worked. She sat the very edge of the chair, laying the notebook across her knees but nonetheless keeping a tight grip on it. She was taking visible deep breaths.

Anna leaned as close as she dared. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Elsa’s eyes met hers as she took her own seat, and for only a second, an incredulous look was there, and Elsa’s lips twitched into what Anna would have sworn was a genuine smile.

Anna smiled back. She had no more control over it than Elsa.

A strange hush had settled over the kitchen, like even the storm was muffled. Anna had been kidding earlier, calling Elsa a witch, but sometimes it did seem as if she might truly have magic, kept under tight control but still surrounding her like a cloud - or a shield.

“Hey, Elsa,” Kristoff said, with none of his earlier snide tone. “Long time no see.”

She managed a smile for him, tremulous but true. “Hi, Kristoff.” She didn’t ask why he was there. Had she been listening at the top of the stairs? She must have heard him banging on the door.

She took another deep breath and dug into the pocket near the bottom of her long sweater. When she held out her hand, there were several small, bright objects in it. They reminded Anna of once, as a kid, going to a science museum on a trip to some long-forgotten city. The gift shop had sold a rainbow of smooth little stones. Each color - pink, red, blue, purple, green - had its own bin, and there were velvet drawstring bags, tiny ones, that could be filled with stones for 35 cents.

Anna took one of Elsa’s proffered stones - but it wasn’t a stone at all. It had the same vivid blue coloring, the same smooth, cool surface, but it was multifaceted, and each identical face was stamped with a number in gold.

“With these,” Elsa said. “You play with these.”

Hans leaned closer, close enough that Elsa pulled her hand back - only a fraction of an inch, but Anna saw it. “Are those dice?”

“Yes,” Elsa said. “It’s… Have you heard of Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Oh, yeah,” Kristoff said. “That’s the one they banned in high school, right, because Principal O’Malley thought it was about satanism.”

“Yeah.” There was a wistful note in Elsa’s voice. “Yeah, that was the one.” She looked up then, quickly glanced at each of the others, as if gauging their reaction to this confirmation. “It’s not, though. It’s… just a game. Roleplaying games, they’re called. There’s lots of them, D&D’s just the most popular.”

It was the most Anna had heard her say in months - maybe since her winter break a full year before, the last time she had been home before dropping out of school. “What do you do?” Anna asked. “To play the game, I mean?”

Elsa put the dice down at the center of the table, and Anna added her blue one. “It’s about… about chance. Kind of.” She was still very nervous, clearly. “I’ve never really taught anyone to play before…”

“I assume you roll dice,” Hans said. He had pushed his chair back on two legs, apparently attempting to show disinterest, but his eyes never left Elsa. I’m competitive, he had said earlier.

Elsa was like that too, Anna had said.

Well, she thought now - tonight could be about to get very interesting.

“Of course you do,” Elsa said- and to Anna’s abject surprise, she was looking right back at Hans, with something very like challenge in her eyes.

“Wait, back up,” Kristoff said. He was leaning across the table, fingering the dice with idle curiosity. “What’s the point of this game? The goal?”

Elsa’s smile was brief and somehow fierce. “Survival,” she said.

After a minute of silence, Anna said, “Rad.” And again from Elsa, she got wide eyes and a quirk of the lips.

“Okay, so…” Elsa finally let go of the notebook, placing it almost reverently on the table before her. It was a five-subject, the pages thickened and roughened with hard use, and the whole swollen further by additional sheets of looseleaf packed into all the pockets. And in permanent marker on the cover, Elsa’s neat capital letters: THE SNOW QUEEN.

“Whoa,” Anna breathed.”You did all that yourself?” It had to be hundreds of pages, and on the few that stuck out from the top of the notebook, she could see line after line of Elsa’s small, dense writing, or graph paper with what looked like layouts, multicolored ink marking details within boxes. “Elsa, that’s incredible!”

Elsa was looking at the notebook, biting hard on her lower lip, a flush rising her cheeks. “Thank you.” She paused - gathering courage? - and opened the notebook, flipping to the second set of pockets. Anna was still amazed at how packed it all seemed to be - the one page she could see was drenched with ink, most in black, but blue and red corrections, notes in the margins.

From the pocket, Elsa took several identical, blank charts, clutching them in both hands, staring down at them as she spoke. “I guess this is the best place to start - at the beginning.”

It was raining, chilly and damp, when her parents arrived to take her home. The dorms were silent and empty, everyone in class, the library, the cafeteria - everyone but Elsa, eternally the outcast, the one who couldn’t quite figure out all the unwritten societal rules, standing at the window, watching rain spatter and roll against the glass. She pressed a finger to it, tracing idle shapes with her fingers and wishing desperately her heart would stop pounding. There was nothing to be afraid of - she was just going home.

Failure, her mind whispered, sharp and insistent. Such a disappointment.

There was no argument to be made.

Her parents said little - though her mother wrapped her in a tight, warm hug - and Elsa almost nothing at all. She had packed the day before in a numb daze, after all her withdrawal paperwork was completed and filed. She didn’t have much anyway. A box of textbooks and notes, a duffel bag of clothes, and her backpack, with her D&D and Palladium manuals, her folder of character sheets, several paperback books - Ray Bradbury, Robert Heinlein, Harlan Ellison - and the calculator she had gotten for Christmas. The few things she thought might keep her going, when all else had burned away to ash.

The four-hour drive back to Arendelle was a gray, rainy blur, Elsa staring out at newly-turned farmland and wondering at the simplicity that must surely come from living such a life. Routines, satisfaction of a good crop, early to bed and early to rise. Those who lived in those neat little farmhouses, secure of their places in the world, small as it might be - she envied them.

Her mind would never allow her to live such a life. It never settled, never stopped buzzing, insistent and hungry. Perhaps worse, it also refused to forget.

We had such high hopes for you, Miss Agdarsson. Why are you giving up now?

The last thing stuffed into the backpack at her feet - the rejection letters. Thirteen of them. She had pulled several all-nighters to complete the applications before January deadlines - all for naught.

She should have known better.

“Need any help?” her father asked as they pulled into the driveway at home, and his voice was not unkind, but Elsa shook her head. She would bear this burden, as she did so many others, alone.

She stood in the downpour, fighting to get the trunk closed with the heavy box of textbooks in her arms, and when she finally lost the box, watched it land in the muddy grass, she felt too numb to care. A part of her wanted to cry. Another part wanted to kick the box until it tore, and then more still, four years of worthless paper and ink left to be reclaimed by nature. But neither desire proved stronger than numb resignation.

She left the box where it was, and hauled the duffel bag and backpack to her bedroom, dumping them unopened on the corner next to her desk. She said nothing about the abandoned textbooks, but when she next looked out the window, the box was gone.

She spent the afternoon, as she had most of the day, staring out that window at nothing in particular, trembling in her soaked clothes but without the strength to change them.

What have I done?

The words echoing through her brain like pinballs.

As the light faded from the sky, the high school bus made its lumbering way down CR1113, stopping at Norsk Lane, the only place on the narrow road where it could turn around. Despite the rain, Anna - her red hair and green jacket the only bright spots in a world gone grey - turned to wave and call goodbyes before running for the house. She was hardly through the door before she was calling Elsa’s name, and the thump of her backpack came a split second before the reverberating rhythm of her race up the stairs.

“Elsa!” Knocking hard at the door, clearly struggling not to pound with all her strength - she sounded breathless, excited. It made no sense.

Four years ago - suddenly, though Elsa had said nothing about it, not so much as a word, people had begun approaching her at school to offer congratulations on her college acceptance. Teachers, mostly, but some students too, and Elsa had been honestly baffled; she even checked the school newspaper, to make sure they hadn’t printed a list of everyone who had been accepted.

She mentioned it at home one night, just a comment in passing when asked about her day over dinner, and Anna had piped up and said, “Oh, yeah, I told some people. It’s so cool, Elsa!” She was in eighth grade, with braces on her teeth and her hair cut into an attempt at feathered layers.

“Why?” Elsa asked. She didn’t like being noticed; in her mind, attention at school reminded her too much of her tormentors in elementary school. Being invisible and ignored was always better.

“Because it’s awesome?”

“First in the family is pretty impressive, Elsa,” their father added.

“I guess…”

Anna had been so proud - so why was she back now, sounding so eager and happy? Elsa had failed her. She had failed everybody.

“Elsaaa, I know you can hear meee!”

She closed her eyes, curled her hands to fists.

“Elsa, c’mon, open up. Please? No tackle hugs, and my fingers are definitely not crossed.”

She tried to take deep breaths, but her lungs seemed to have ceased to function.

“Elsa?” Concern, for the first time, in Anna’s voice.

Don’t - !

But Elsa forced the words out, around resisting throat and teeth and tongue and lips: “Go away, Anna.”

Anna said nothing else, but it was a long time before Elsa heard her footsteps, slow and even now, walking away. Then, finally, Elsa cried - silent, heavy tears rolling down her cheeks, a mirror of the outside world.

When she was called down to dinner soon after, she went. She was dry-eyed - and she had long since learned how to hide her fear beneath a serene exterior. But she ate little, and said less, and resolutely refused to meet Anna’s gaze.

She heard Anna sigh, but ignored that, too.

Time passed in a hazy blur, schedules lost. Elsa kept to her room because nowhere else felt like a place she belonged anymore - she was supposed to be readying for college graduation, for a new life on her own. Instead, she had placed herself in some strange limbo, neither child nor adult, and even if her bedroom, too, felt alien, it was at least quiet and secure and safe.

She slept very little, at whatever hour exhaustion took her, without regard to the time. She picked at food when called down for meals, but sought out nothing else. She felt them watching her - her father, her mother, and most of all Anna - and knew they must talk about her after she disappeared, once more, to her room, but she couldn’t muster up the energy to care.

When she slept, the same nightmare came again and again: she was walking across the stage at graduation, and Dean Ferrera looked at her degree, then stopped cold - and so did she, heart already pounding.

“Elsa Agdarsson?” he proclaimed right into the microphone, his incredulity already clear. “Thinks she has earned a degree in mathematics? This girl right here? You?”

And she couldn’t move, or breathe, or blink, even as the laughter rippled out across the hundreds of people gathered: students, faculty, family. All of them - laughing and laughing and laughing at this absurd, silly girl who had believed she had earned a degree in math.

She woke from these dreams trembling and cold, still feeling eyes crawling all over her.

But it was another graduation that changed everything - again.

Anna’s.

“You’re coming right?” Anna asked one night, Elsa as usual called down for dinner and uncertain how to refuse to attend, stirring chicken and asparagus around on her plate. She knew there was excited talk of something, but she had missed the start of the conversation, arriving at the table as Anna contemplated seafood at Eric’s or the amazing chocolate brioche at La Lumiere - “I mean, yeah, mediocre steaks and stuff, but that caramel glaze on the brioche? Oh my god.”

Apparently, there had been more to the conversation than restaurants. “Huh? Coming where?”

Anna rolled her eyes, but was smiling when she said, “Earth to Elsa! Graduation. Saturday night. And your pick - amazing lobster or amazing dessert?”

“Graduation?”

“High school? Mine? Mortarboards and ‘Until We Meet Again’?”

“Oh.” She looked down at her plate - stirring, stirring, stirring. How long had it been since she’d felt hungry? “No.”

“No?”

In the long silence that followed, she finally forced herself to look up again. “I’m sorry.”

Anna’s face fell - just like that, the excitement was quenched and gone. “Oh,” she said. And nothing more.

And for the first time that Elsa could remember, nobody asked again. There was no “offering one last time!” or Anna asking for the third round, “Are you sure?” She heard her father demanding photographs, Anna laughing and protesting that she needed to finish her makeup. She watched them leave - Anna, despite her curled hair and smoky eyeshadow, was flapping her way across the twilit front yard like some overexcited, green-plumaged songbird.

The car was long gone, the sky fading from purple-blue to black, when Elsa finally left her watch. She collapsed at the end of her bed, clenching her trembling hands tightly together, letting her head fall forward, too much weight to hold, curtains of blonde hair enfolding her.

The numbness, whatever had shielded her from reality, from the emotional abyss as weeks became months, was cracking away, shed like old skin. She wasn’t ready.

And she was afraid.

It hurt. She didn’t move from the bed - likely her legs wouldn’t have carried her if she had tried. She rocked, and trembled, and finally, she broke.

She fell to her knees, clung to the deep carpet, and barked a sob - just one. But the voice was too loud: Failure. Weirdo. Creep. Disappointment. Overachiever. Loser.

“I know!” But the scream was only in her head, and had no strength behind it. “I know…” Aloud but weak, so weak. She hadn’t asked to be what she was. Did they think she wanted to be this way, alien and monstrous and broken, an embarrassment, a freak?

Elsa’s being weird again.

Ew, no, I don’t want to work with her.

Hey, Agdarsson, you see any other girls here? Get out.

Don’t be a show-off, Miss Agdarsson. No boys will ever like you.

She’s so ridiculous. What’s wrong with her? She could be so pretty if she tried.

Why can’t you be more like your sister?

“I don’t know.” She was whimpering now, a lifetime of fear and isolation finally breaking free. “I don’t know. Leave Anna alone…”

The words she had never been brave enough to say, even when Anna risked her own social standing - first with fists, then with words - at the slightest insult to Elsa. Anna should have had a sister she could look up to, someone as open and vivacious and clever as she was, someone with whom to trade clothes and secrets. That was what sisters were supposed to be.

Not freakish, sub-human, a Frankenstein’s monster of feminine appearance and traits the world reminded her again and again and again were masculine, incongruous.

She fell asleep there, on the floor of her room - the kind of dark, deep, dreamless sleep she had believed no longer possible. She did not hear her parents and Anna, now officially a high school graduate, return home. When she woke, to the misty-grey dawn of early summer, she was stiff and sore, and something was digging into her temple - her backpack. She had never unpacked it. And sometime in her unconscious night, she had used it as a makeshift pillow. There was the sharp corner of something, and when she unzipped her bag and pulled it out, she found herself staring at the closest thing she’d had to a secure sanctuary - the lurid red-and-black cover of the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Player’s Manual.

Senior year of high school Allan Hubert had invited her to play with him and Manny St. James and Lukas Irving. They were the type to embrace being outcasts, wearing corduroy and Star Wars t-shirts and ending conversations with “live long and prosper.” They had all accepted Elsa, taught her patiently how to play. “A party of three is a lot stronger,” Lukas said, and the others were quick to agree.

But a parent complained, several months later, that such games were “satanic” - and Principal O’Malley promptly banned them. Allan and Manny and Lukas remained friendly, but they had little in common with Elsa outside the game.

People who liked her had nothing in common with her, people who had something in common with her didn’t like her. That didn’t change in college. And she didn’t know how to change that - but she had kept her books.

A shred of hope.

She stared at it. Her lip trembled, but she fought back the tears. No more crying.

She waited until the house was empty before creeping out. The world was still and silent - waiting. She walked to town, to the grocery store, because they might not know her there.

A thick notebook. A cellophane packet of multicolored pens. Graph paper.

She set to work.