#THE WAY IVE BEEN WRITING LOGANS LAST NAME WRONG…. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iwrestlenow · 3 years

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Many More To Die - Chapter 2

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 2)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Names are powerful things--and after ten years, Logan's has acquired quite a bit. The restoration of his power is something he has to fight viciously to keep secret...But he's not the only necromancer who's in hiding. Above his head, Roman is being introduced to the people of the Kingdom's as his father's successor--but someone in the shadows is coming for the royal house of Sanders, of which Roman is part.And Logan will not stand for someone laying figurative hands on anyone that belongs to him.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), future Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: lots of death because necromancy, slash, and more to come as I figure it out ‘cause it’s late and I’m tired. In this particular chapter, CW for angst--I’ll post what kind at the end if you want to avoid spoilers, but I’m warning because for me? It’s a triggery subject. Be safe, you’re all so sweet and ILU.

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.

1025, A.A.

“Berry?”

Logan was yanked from a sound sleep by the utterance of his name—not the sound, but the feeling of it. Crawling around inside his skull like ants, static electricity shocking his neural pathways and the core of his essence. It was red strings and his first meal after that one stretch in the dungeon's blackout cells after he punched the guard that dislocated his shoulder.

Logan Berry. Logan Berry. The gift from his guardian angel was two years old at this point...and Logan was starting to wonder if it was more than just a small reminder of his personhood, to keep the harsh world around him from breaking his spirit.

Sitting up, Logan rubbed his eyes and reached for his glasses where they sat on the floor beside his pallet. When they had finally given them back to him two weeks after his arrival, the right lens had been all but shattered. The guard who had returned them—the same one who injured him—smiled far too wide for Logan's liking, inciting the attack that had gotten him punished.

“I am awake.” he announced softly, sliding his glasses on and rising from his pallet to approach the bars of his cell. Squinting in the low torchlight, he searched...

A point of bright yellow sunlight, slit down the middle by a reptilian pupil gleamed in the shadows before the body it was attached to came into view. Swiftly, it was joined by another eye, very much human and dark as chocolate. A sweep of hair as black as Logan's own fell across his forehead, and the torchlight gleamed across the burnished surface of the scales that covered half of the young drake's face and neck.

“Of course.” the drake shot back dryly, not quite managing to hide the sibilant accent inherent to his species. “That's why you were snoring.”

“What do you want, Janus?”

The eighteen year old Janus narrowed his mismatched eyes at Logan—but quickly gave up on trying to look intimidating. He hardly needed it, being not only older, but the son of the captain of the guard.

“A favor.” he admitted, sparking enough of Logan's interest to banish the last of the cobwebs lingering in his head. Janus didn't like being indebted to anyone—and, to that end, usually came to Logan for favors, as Logan was always perfectly willing to trade his assistance for some commodity, be it books, food, or the repair of his glasses.

“What is the favor?” Logan asked.

Janus said nothing for a long moment, staring into Logan's face...no, not his face. Squinting, he realized Janus was quite deliberately avoiding direct eye contact by focusing on a point just above Logan's eyes, somewhere around his forehead.

“Janus?...”

Shutting his eyes, Janus ducked his head.

“I...need a name.”

“A...what?”

“A name, all right? Like the one you picked for yourself.”

Logan was startled by that request—he told no one about the boy who came to him, claimed he made up his own surname to replace the Name that was stripped away. Some of the guards disliked it, stirring fresh retellings of the legends of the Lazari: necromancers with the power not merely to raise the dead, but craft true, living souls from sheer force of will.

He even heard some new ones about the Animata: a theoretical balance to the Necromata, magic practitioners that could manipulate life the way necromancers manipulated death. From the stories Logan overheard while pretending to sleep with guards outside his cell, the Animata had been wiped out by the rise of the Animator, the First of the Necromata, leading to his rise and attempted enslavement of the Kingdoms. With the Animata gone and unable to keep the balance in check, the king had been forced to slay the Animator and had outlawed necromancy soon after.

All stories, of course...but over the last two years, as his name wormed through his brain the way the power of the prison mages had, it sometimes made him wonder. After all, mythology and legend served two functions in human history: explaining natural phenomenon that were not yet understood, or hyperbolic retellings of one or many actual events.

So the prison guards talked, wondered if Logan had designs on restoring his own Name through the adoption of a new one—but Janus, for all his trust issues and ilicit dealings, was an intelligent boy with a good head on his shoulders. He wasn't one for fanciful stories—only those that he could tell in the name of manipulating others.

Perhaps that was why he felt some measure of shame or embarrassment for asking Logan this favor? There was clearly some...unidentified emotion behind the request, and Logan wasn't particularly good at coping with emotional issues. He highly suspected that, when he still had a Name, he had been essentially the same.

“...I want to be allowed to keep books in my cell.” He hadn't meant to say anything indicating agreement—but the words fell out of his mouth without any conscious permission.

Janus's head snapped up sharply. This time, he met Logan's gaze with an intensity that was decidedly threatening.

“That's all?” he asked, squinting after a long moment. “No...commentary?”

Logan shrugged. “You know I do not care for sentiment. Your obvious flirtation with it, in this situation, does not interest me so much as what I can gain from the moment of weakness on your part.”

“Are you sure you're only fourteen? You sound way too much like my grandpa sometimes.”

Logan rolled his eyes, declining to rise to the bait. Instead, he gave the matter what he felt was a comically superficial amount of consideration.

“Hart.” he finally decided.

Janus raised an eyebrow at him, mismatched eyes losing focus for a moment before he nodded to himself.

“That...works surprisingly well.” he mumbled, seemingly more to himself than anything. Refocusing on Logan, Janus straightened and once again resumed his attempts at exuding as commanding a presence as he could manage.

“You'll get your books.” Janus assured him. “I always pay my debts.”

“Past performance indicates this is an accurate assessment. Hence my request.”

“Oh...go back to bed.”

“Gladly.”

********** 1033, A.A.

“Ladies, lords, non-binary royalty, and all of my valued subjects!”

By the gods, I'm going to throw up.

Roman stood behind the curtain on the balcony, his heart in his throat. Every part of him was screaming to run, to hide, to sink into the floor and vanish through sheer force of his desire to not be there—to push Remus out to take his place when the king made his proclamation. Already, he could feel the weight of his impending responsibilities threatening to crush him, the world narrowing and the walls closing in...

He couldn't do this. He wasn't ready. He wasn't smart like Remus or as patient as his father, he wasn't commanding enough—he couldn't be king.

But he would be. One day.

Peering through the curtain, he saw his father turn...and though the pride in his face only made the terror worse, at the same time...

He could do this. He had to.

Smiling, King Thomas Sanders IV extended a hand towards him in silent encouragement. It was the same hand he offered to those subjects that knelt before him at court to have their grievances heard, the same hand he offered to both Roman and Remus as children when they felt shy or had fallen down while playing...

...or leading him back into the house when he was out to hunt a Lazari...

“I give you your future king—Prince Roman Sanders!”

A hand fell to his shoulder, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

“Give 'em hell, Ro Bro!” Remus hissed gleefully in his ear.

It was strange, but some of the weight lifted itself off of Roman's shoulders, with his brother's hand there instead as he stepped out onto the balcony and into the sunlight.

For a moment, it was...magical. The ghost of Remus's fingers pressed into his shoulder, his father's hand curling warm around his nape—the people of the Kingdoms below, smiling and cheering in a symphony that filled his lungs as readily as it filled his ears, turning his heart into pure starlight.

For a moment, basking in his father's pride, his brother's confidence, and his people's love—he didn't just feel like he could do this, he knew that he could.

For a moment—that was all he got before his heart stopped beating.

It happened suddenly, but somehow it felt as natural as breathing. The tension of that missing engine powering the body and soul, the inability to draw breath. It was the peace of sleep, the flow of one step into the next while walking down an evenly paved road—he knew something was wrong, and yet he could not escape the manner in which it felt so normal.

Standing there, dying in front of the very kingdom he was meant to serve with no rhyme or reason for it.

Let it go...it felt so right, it felt proper.

As his vision began to dim, and the hand he'd raised to wave to the crowd started to fall by his side, he felt the urge to fight sliding out of him, eyes already slipping shut...

Easy as existing. Getting dark, time to sleep.

Until he heard a sigh next to him that was chilling.

The king.

Death no longer felt so inevitable, nor did it feel right. It was wrong, but...it was inside him, twisting and warping to form words that echoed inside his head. Something was slipping into the void left behind by the absence of a heartbeat, speaking to him in the Reaper's voice...

The necromancer.

**********

Logan was only aware of it in passing—however, Logan wasn't supposed to be capable of even that, and had to take such painstaking care to make sure that no trace of his magic could be felt anywhere. He had to keep the fact that he had power hidden, had to beat back every trace of it.

So he was aware of his magic, far more than he was aware of the distant stars that were the lives of every creature within the palace and beyond.

And the feel of his power waking, straining towards death? That hit him hard, made him focus on that awareness of what was happening.

“Lo? You okay?”

Logan spun in his seat and stood, stalking up to the bars of his cell. It was little more than a voice in another house, reaching him barely through thin walls and great distances...but it was growing closer, crossing that distance, too close too close too close...

“Logan? You're scaring me.”

Patton was at his side, watching him with wide, fearful eyes.

“Someone is killing the king.” Logan breathed.

“What? How can you possibly know that?” Patton hissed.

Logan opened his mouth...and nothing came.

Until that voice, hollow and honeyed, was suddenly in his house and in his veins and in his...in his.

For the first time, Logan understood why the Necromata were so feared—why he was locked below ground, why he had no Name of his own and why it was so desperately important to make sure no necromancer could ever practice their art.

The moment he sensed that foreign power encroaching on something that belonged to Logan alone, everything was chilling instinct and cold, calculating fury. The power swept up and took over, took action to reclaim what was being stolen.

The king was dying, but so was the Green Man.

Logan's last rational thought before an eerie blue light swallowed up his eyes and the power wiped his mind clean was that, if the Green Man was close enough to the king, he might actually be able to save them both.

********** The necromancer in the dungeons. Roman could feel it, he was certain of it...it felt cold and airy, thick morning fog swirling through his marrow yet rendering his mind strangely clear. It was familiar, not all that different from the way it felt when they touched in Roman's dreams.

The necromancer was there. He was...helping Roman.

You have to get to the king.

He didn't know, even after all these years didn't realize who Roman was, and that was the way it ought to be, and yet...he was warning Roman, he was--

The wrongness of it filled his chest in the space of a blink, filled his lungs, forced breath into his body. The fight squeezed every muscle, including his heart, in a steady rhythm that started his blood moving again. Roman tried to clutch at his chest, but he couldn't.

He felt cold all over, but his body was working, warring with some outside force, struggling to stay alive.

His body was no longer his to control, he realized with a rush of fear. The necromancer...chill fog, thick and light and clear, in his head and his veins and his heart...

Roman's body was turning, his head swiveling around, obeying an order he did not give.

The necromancer was animating him now, manipulating his every move—and all Roman could do was stand there and let it happen--

Go.

...Father!

This time, when he tried to move, his body obeyed him, his will and that of the necromancer uniting as one.

He rushed forward, reaching out...

In just enough time to catch the king as he fell, a corpse gone cold by the time the both of them reached the ground. ((CW: parental death--but this IS a necromancer AU. Just keep that in mind. XD))

#cw: angst #cw: death #sanders sides #ts logan #ts roman #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #ts morality #logince #necromancer au #thomas sanders #ts fanfic #this is all the artist's fault i'm just a hapless writer that stumbled across it #my name is liz and i swear to god i will fic again #no betas we die like men

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calumance · 4 years

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Omg could you write a little angst haha maybe Cal and reader’s third kid is a harder pregnancy but she doesn’t tell anyone bc cal is excited & they’re busy with the boys but one day it’s just chaos, the band is having a bad music sesh in the music room, the sons are fighting & the reader is in the most pain she’s been in so she goes to cal but faints when trying to tell cal she’s in pain and it scares everyone? but it ends in fluff like there’s bad problems with the baby and cal is so protective

I hope this is what you were looking for, I went in a tiny bit of a different direction. 🙈🙈

Although you were absolutely thrilled to be pregnant with your third child, only a few months in you were ready for it to be over. The amount of pain you were in each day was starting to take a toll on you, but as much as you wanted to tell Calum, you just couldn’t. He was more excited than ever that you were going to give him one more baby to love, and he was so wrapped up in the excitement that you couldn’t bring yourself to bring him down.

Today was particularly rough. The pain you felt in your lower abdomen was the worst it’s been this whole time. It felt like you were going to throw up, but nothing ever happened. All you wanted to do was lay in bed and try to sleep it off, but the guys were over trying to have a writing session, so you had to be the one to watch over the boys.

The house just seemed absolutely chaotic, the boys were yelling at each other over the video game, the guys were playing music in the back room, but it felt like they were standing right next to you. Your head was about to explode. Something in your belly twitched causing you to push yourself away from the counter and cup your belly. You closed your eyes trying to hold back the tears. You tried to ignore it but you could tell something was wrong.

After a few moments of contemplation, you pushed yourself away from the counter and headed down the hallway to grab Calum away from the guys for just a moment. The hallway started to spin and you leaned against the wall for support just long enough for the dizziness to go away. Once it went away, you made your way into the music room. The atmosphere in the music room was tense, they were obviously not having a good writing session. Not that bad writing sessions never happened, but it made it that much harder to tell Calum how horrible you were feeling.

Calum looked up from his note pad and looked at you. His eyebrows pulled together and he hastily stood up and made his way over to you. He cupped either side of your face, clearly seeing the pain and panic in your eyes. “Honey, what’s wrong?” He asked trying to look you in the eyes.

You shook your head and swallowed. “Something’s wrong.” You told him as you pointed towards your belly. He was trying to talk to you, but everything turned into muffles. You couldn’t understand a word he was saying. Although you were trying to concentrate on him, you felt the blood start to trickle down your leg.

The last thing you heard him say was “Someone call an ambulance.” Just as he finished saying that, everything went black.

When you finally came to, you were lying in a hospital bed, an IV sticking out of your right arm. Calum was sitting off to your left with Logan sitting on his lap. Calum was reading a book to him and Logan was smiling from ear to ear. Aiden was sitting to the right, by the window playing a game on his phone. The atmosphere felt light, it made you feel as if the situation wasn’t as bad as you thought. You leaned your head back and swallowed, your throat feeling like sand paper. “Hey, baby.” Calum put Logan on his feet as he stood up and reached stepped towards the hospital bed and grabbed your hand.

You squeezed his hand back and worked through the roughness in your throat. “What happened?” Your eyes hurt, but you looked down at your belly and your heart skipped a beat. “Did I lose the baby?” The tears started to well and you looked at Calum as he ran his hand through your hair.

“No, you didn’t lose the baby.” He said sternly, but then shrugged, “the doctor hasn’t told us much else. They only let us back here about an hour ago.” He lifted his hand from the back of your head and gently placed his hand on the side of your cheek.

Just as you reached up to touch his hand, the doctor walked through the door. “Ah, hello there, Mrs. Hood. My name is Doctor Ward, how are you feeling?” He had a smile on his face as he checked the IV level and some other machines that were scattered around the room.

“I’m feeling okay, can you tell me what happened?” You’re throat felt like sand paper again. The fear of knowing what actually happened caused your throat to go dry.

He flicked the IV tube and smiled, readjusting his clipboard. “You had some cervical bleeding, which is actually quite common in earlier pregnancies, due to the increased blood flow. What is not common was the amount you bled. You lost a lot of blood very quickly, which is why you fainted. We were able to get the bleeding to stop and once the bleeding stopped, you and your baby became stable.” He smiled again and crossed his arms. “We want to keep an eye on you for a day or so, but we think you’ll be able to go home tomorrow evening.” You thanked the doctor for his explanation and he nodded, “Not a problem, either I or one of my nurses will be back in a while to check up on you.”

The doctor left the room and you looked over at Calum, realizing that he was wearing a pair is really plain scrubs. You pulled your eyebrows together and reached out to grab the fabric. “Why are you wearing scrubs?”

Calum looked down at himself and chuckled, “He wasn’t kidding when he said you bled a lot.” Your eyes widened and you cheeks turned bright red. You covered you gave and laughed while apologizing profusely. Calum laughed and ran his hand through your hair, “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you two are okay.” He smiled softly as he placed his free hand on your belly and placed his lips against yours.

************

Tag list: @mantlereid @notinthesameguey @viiirg0 @wheniminouterspace @thinkofmehlgh @another-lonely-heart@limer-encia @itsmytimetoodream @babyoria

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choicesarehard · 5 years

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New Edit + Conclusion of Ride or Die Murder Mystery

Read the who-done-it in full under the cut!

I adore mysteries nearly as much as I adore finding anonymous drabbles in my inbox. So imagine my delight when I woke up to find three pieces of a mystery in my inbox and instructions to message other users for further clues! After combining our messages, we unravelled the delightful tale below. Thank you for writing this, and for thinking of me, Mystery Nonny! This was wickedly well done.

Trigger Warnings: Death, Murder, Bodies, Fire

Parts I, II & III (Sent to @brightpinkpeppercorn)

Something is wrong. She narrows her icy dark eyes (known as such not for their color, but the way she uses them, like she’s some snake-haired creature who took a step foul of some vengeful, benevolent god and is cursed, blessed?, to have only companions of stone) and brings her phone back towards her mouth.

"The bedroom door was locked from the inside." she says, to the microphone. "No windows, no sign of forced entry. Victim ID is on the dresser, says his name is Teppei Kaneko. Tat says he's Mercy Park Crew. Body is charred, but there is no evidence of fire on the bed."

III

She exhales, pausing on the recording and glancing at the wall opposite the bed. There's a red mark on it. It appears to be waxy looking. Like lipstick. "I've identified three possible suspects. All still in the building. Son. Discovered the locked door. Mechanic, claims to have been working the last eight hours and claims he didn't notice anything. And a woman in the garage won't speak without a lawyer."

Parts IV, V & VI (Sent to @client-327)

Colt Kaneko’s words seem to all arrive under his breath, his gaze shifted somewhere left of her. “Didn’t do it. He was my father. I’m not the killing type, anyway.” The detective’s jaw tightens: she has a good instinct for lies. “But I did see something. A few hours ago. Logan took a delivery.” He jerks his chin. “Something heavy. Not a car part, since he took it upstairs.” There’s something in a tube in his pocket. She can see its outline.

Logan takes the accusation leveled at him calmly: “It was paint,” he says, “Several gallons of it. Took it upstairs because I didn’t want to leave it out on the shop floor where anyone could dip into it. It was a special order for a customer.” There’s something red on the back of his hand his hand. It’s glossy-looking from her distance. A swatch of lipstick? VI

Mona wears no makeup, the only one who came to the station for questioning. Her mouth is set in a hard line, gaze unflinching. The detective is rarely inclined towards poetry, trained to think in real terms rather than metaphors, but it strikes her that this woman is a knife. Her lawyer looks so pitiful. Like a man swimming in a shark infested pool. “Yes, I own red lipstick. Many shades of it, in fact.” Her voice rises in pitch. “Like every other woman in this city. How is this relevant?"

Parts IV, V & VI (Sent to me!)

VII

Teppei Kaneko exhales in a way his son often mimics unintentionally, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “I need time,” he tells his team, “Red herrings. Guns that don’t go off.” From the back of the room, a smaller voice: the one his son, and his protégée, and he doesn’t know how the girl’s ensnared Mona too, but — “What about something that’s actually red?” VIII

She produces a tube of cheap red lipstick from her pocket. “Make a mark on the wall in the bedroom with this. Plant the lipstick on Colt, leave a swatch on Logan’s hand, and Mona’s a woman, so any detective is going to assume she’s owner of it. Leave your ID on the bedside table, and we’ll burn the cadaver somewhere else before we lay it on the bed. We can switch the doorknobs around, make it look like the room was locked from the inside.”

She’s clever. Cautiously, Teppei offers her a smile. “Too many mysteries for her to solve at once. By the time she figures out the body isn’t mine —“ She completes the sentence: “You’ll be long gone.”

#playchoices #ride or die #logan x mc #colt x mc #mona x mc #mystery nonny #my edits

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omgjasminesimone · 5 years

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Tequila Sunrise Epilogue

Previous Part: Part IV

Bonus Part: Soap Box Derby

Logan x MC

Author’s Note: Couldn’t stop myself from writing an epilogue. I just can’t let go of Ride or Die. And we all know Logan would do the most as a Dad. Like, just completely over the top.

Summary: Logan and Ellie have a baby.

Word Count: 1900

“Un pez” Logan turns the page, “dos peces…”, turns another, “pez rojo….pez azul…..”

Ellie rolls her eyes and tries to tune him out, grabbing the remote from the nightstand and turning up the volume on the Real Housewives of Orange County. She shifts a little, trying to find a comfortable position in bed. Logan continues to read the Spanish children’s book quietly to her full-term baby bump as she turns onto her side. He hopes this early exposure will make their son bilingual.

Logan has really taken to this whole fatherhood thing. He’s read every parenting book available from the LA library system, refusing to buy the books since he’s also really into saving money for the college fund he’s already started for their son. He cooks for her daily, making sure she gets all the nutrients necessary for the baby. He won’t let her have caffeine, since he read somewhere it’s bad for the baby. She thinks this is overkill, and drinks caffeine at her dad’s house while Logan is at work.

After taking the plea deal and arriving in Los Angeles three months ago. it had been difficult for Logan to get a job. Disclosing his felon status on job applications resulted in almost no calls for interviews. He settled for construction work at first so they wouldn’t be completely dependent on their savings, but Logan knew he needed something with health insurance benefits for his very pregnant wife. A month ago, he had finally landed a full-time position as a used car salesman. He works for commission, but the job comes with health insurance. And with his charm and knowledge about cars, he’s doing very well commission wise.

Now with more time on his hands without having to job search, he’s thrown himself even more so into the baby. And honestly, it’s starting to get on Ellie’s nerves. She especially hates when he reads to her stomach. Ellie loathes being pregnant. She constantly feels sick, she has to pee all the time, and she despises how every time she goes anywhere everyone wants to rub her belly. She feels like an incubator. Sometimes, Ellie just wants to be alone. But Logan is constantly all over her, well not her really, all over the baby which just so happens to be inside of her. She can’t help but think all the attention he lavishes on the baby is part of the reason he refuses to come out. She’s two weeks past her due date and she wants this baby out more than she’s ever wanted anything.

She’s hormonal and irritated, and that makes her want to snap at Logan when he’s being annoying, like right now. She takes a deep breath, reining in her irritation and reminding herself where all this is coming from with Logan. He had a really shitty childhood. Mom in jail, unknown father, bouncing from foster home to foster home before he ran away at twelve. Forced to turn to crime just to get by. His life was the opposite of the kind of perfect he’s trying to build for their child. No one would have even thought to read to him while he was in his mother’s belly. No one loved him, wanted him, like he loves and wants this child.

“…en cualquier lugar.” Logan finishes the story, kissing her bump after setting the book aside. His stubble tickles, but she stops herself from complaining. “Te quiero.” He promises, kissing her belly again. He reaches for the pregnancy belly headphones, one of his only financial splurges over the last couple of months, turning on classical music and placing them on.

“And you…” He scoots up to the bed until they are face to face. “Te quiero.” A kiss to her neck. “Te adoro.” A kiss to her forehead. “Te amo.” He captures her lips, deepening the kiss after a moment and tugging at her sleep shorts.

She pulls away, rolling onto her back. “I don’t understand how you could possibly want to have sex with me right now. I look like a beached whale.”

“I think you’re glowing. You’re so beautiful Ellie.” Logan insists.

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Liar.”

“Hey.” He grips her hand, gently tugging her back onto her side so they’re facing each other. “I told you in that underground casino, no more lies.”

Ellie smiles, kissing him softly before pulling away again. “Sorry, I know it’s been a while…but I’m just not in the mood. I’m so ready to not be pregnant.”

“No worries, I can wait. But sex can induce labor, you know.”

Ellie contemplates that. She’s tried basically everything else at this point. Spicy food, exercising, acupuncture, the list goes on. “Well, trying can’t hurt.” She admits. Logan grins, slipping a hand into her panties.

“You’re so wet babe.” Logan observes. His brow furrows. “Like….really wet.”

Ellie sits up, shifting over in bed. A dark puddle is revealed where she had been lying. “I think my water broke.” She sounds calmer than she feels.

Logan immediately springs into action, leaping from the bed and changing from his pajamas into jeans and a t-shirt. “Okay, time to follow our birth plan. Babe, where’s the birth plan? I gave you the binder, right?”

He had written up a 100-page document, even going as far as laminating the pages. Ellie had promised to read it, but had accidentally left it at Riya’s house 2 months ago and forgot to pick it back up. She had wanted to show Riya how out of control Logan was, but her best friend just thought it was cute.

“Oh that, I think I left that at Riya’s.” She confesses.

Logan frowns, “You read it though, right?” Her guilty look must answer his question, because he looks very disappointed. “That’s fine.” He mutters, going to the closet for the hospital bag he packed a month ago.

“Logan.” Ellie calls after him.

He returns with the bag. “What?”

She takes his face in her hands, stretching up on her tip toes to kiss him. “Calm down. Everything is going to be fine.” She assures when she pulls away.

Logan pulls her into a soft hug, kissing the top of her head. “Let’s go have a baby.”

…

“Logan, you’re driving so slow.” Ellie complains, sitting in the backseat with their newborn. She gently traces a finger over Gage’s soft cheek as the baby continues to slumber peacefully in his car seat. Logan had spent a full hour strapping him in before being convinced that the straps were comfortable, but tight enough.

“These maniacs are driving way too fast. I’m in the slow lane.” Logan counters, ignoring the car honking behind them.

“You’re going 30 miles per hour. On the freeway. I think it’s actually illegal to drive this slow. You’re disrupting the flow of traffic.” Ellie explains. This is quite the 180 degree change from how he drove her to the hospital, dangerously weaving through traffic at speeds averaging 90 miles per hour in his familiar Devore GT.

Logan speeds up to 50 miles per hour. “Happy?” He asks.

Ellie smiles at Gage as he gurgles. “Very.”

Eventually, they pull up to their apartment complex. Ellie spots her dad’s car in the parking lot. He had met them at the hospital, excited to witness his baby having a baby. Detective Wheeler insists on staying with them for the first week of Gage’s life, helping the helpless first-time parents. Logan isn’t thrilled about it. The relationship between the two is still awkward, with too much bad history. They tolerate each other for Ellie’s sake, and now for Gage’s sake too.

The Wheelers (Logan took Ellie’s last name when they eloped in Las Vegas three months ago. It’s untraditional, but his own last name didn’t mean much to him. This feels like a fresh start. Like a new family, a real family. Plus, Detective Wheeler seems to be happy that the baby will carry on the Wheeler name and Logan needs every point he can get with his father-in-law.) enter their apartment for the first time as a family of three.

“Dad?” Ellie calls out, knowing her dad knows where the spare key is hidden and likely let himself in. He appears from the kitchen, tossing an apron off as he immediately reaches for his grandson. Logan hands their son over, and Detective Wheeler beams as he coos at the small bundle of joy. Ellie smiles at the sight, her heart so full of joy. She turns to kiss her husband, but Logan turns his head, causing her kiss to land on his cheek. She frowns. He’s always super weird about being affectionate with her in front of her dad. Maybe it’s because the last time Detective Wheeler saw them kissing, he pulled a gun on Logan.

“I made the Ellie special honey. I figured you might be hungry for real food after all those hours of labor.”

Ellie’s mouth immediately begins watering, rushing into the kitchen for the waffles she craves. That leaves the Wheeler men, all three of them now, alone.

Logan shifts uncomfortably, itching to follow Ellie out of the room. “He looks like you.” Detective Wheeler comments, examining his grandson before looking at his son-in-law.

“Really? I see Ellie.” Logan replies, looking at Gage’s features.

“He’s got Ellie’s eyes, but the rest of him is all you.” Detective Wheeler insists. There’s a moment of silence before Detective Wheeler continues. “You know Logan, you’ve proven me wrong.”

“Huh?” Logan asks.

“When Ellie told me that she was pregnant, and that you were the father, I told her she’d be better off without you. That you couldn’t take care of her, or the baby. That a criminal can’t really go straight. That it would never work.” Detective Wheeler had been looking at Gage, but now he looks at Logan. “But you’ve got a good, legitimate job. You were so attentive during the pregnancy. I can tell how much you love my daughter, and now my grandson. You’re a good man Logan, and I’m proud to call you my son-in-law.”

Logan stands, stunned. Completely unused to any type of paternal praise. He clears his throat, and when he finally speaks it is full of emotion. “Thank you. I hope to never let you down, to never let Ellie or Gage down.”

Detective Wheeler smirks. “You won’t.” He pauses for a second before continuing, bouncing his grandson lightly in his arms. “But if you ever do, you’ll have a lot harder time hiding from me than you did from the FBI.”

…

Gage’s crying comes through the baby monitor, waking Ellie from the light slumber she has just managed to fall into. She groans. She feels like she has gotten maybe 5 hours of sleep in the two weeks since Gage was born. She nudges Logan roughly. “It’s your turn.” She informs him.

Logan groans, slowly forcing himself out of bed. He sleepily searches for his slippers, dragging his feet down the hall to the nursery.

The crying quiets, and Ellie can hear Logan speaking quietly to their son through the baby monitor.

“I didn’t know I could love somebody this much…this fatherly love is really something else. It makes Mommy’s dad pulling a gun on me make so much sense.” Ellie chuckles a little at that, starting to drift back to sleep. “Makes me wonder how any parent could let their kid go into the foster care system.” Logan pauses, as if composing his thoughts. “I wouldn’t give you up for anything Gage. I’ll always be here for you. And for your mother. I promise.”

…

Taglist: @choicesarehard @ifyouseekheart @brightpinkpeppercorn @powdesiree0816 @regina-and-happiness @choicelogansbitch @flyawayboo @fairydustandsarcasm @alesana45 @umiumichan @maxwellsquidsuit @professorortegasstudent @god-save-the-keen @mrsmckenziesworld @paisleylovergirl @iplaydrake @sinclaire-made-me-sin @sibella-plays-choices @hazah

#ride or die #logan x mc #playchoices #choices fanfiction #logan rod #choices

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the-sanders-sides · 5 years

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inidan american (desi) logan

a sequel to this post because people asked for more and i decided that they shall receive (and also i love writing these)

fair warning, logans a bitter kid, and this isnt as positive and happy as romans post. ive experienced two different ways of being desi, one where i lived in fully asian and indian community and didnt even think id ever feel alone, and another where i moved to a place where i havent met another desi in like 7 years of living here in a 3 hour driving radius. in romans post i played into my first experience and how at home i felt. in the second experience, the one im in right now, i am much more bitter about who i am and not really knowing anyone who gets it anymore. so i play into that A LOT in this. so keep that in mind. (and he will get happier in a future part. m planning on making this into a series)

ok so first off. his name is logan sanders. people (mostly other indians) dont believe him when he tells them. he tells them they dont know indian history. they say they do. he tells them that the british fucked around (quite literally) in india for four centuries so of course english names would stick with that precise wording

sometimes when he’s annoyed enough and doesnt want to explain this for the millionth he defends himself with this russel peters skit (watch it, it’s hilarious) because it describes his family. to a T.

he grew up in a community with not very many asians, and knew no indians outside his family so he felt a sort of disconnect to his culture

while his grandparents and parents would teach him about indian culture, he felt so distant from it since he knew no one outside his family who was indian, and since he didnt have any siblings or any nearby cousins to hang around with

he had visited india once but he was too young to remember it properly or too remember his cousins

the closest mandir was an hour away so that also limited the amount of indian kids/people he knew

he barely knew hindi because everyone in his family spoke english, especially in public

he felt guilty over the disconnect he felt and would always try to bridge it but would never accomplish this because it he kept losing passion since he rarely saw other people like him in the real world and in the media and he didnt see the point of trying

this all changed in eight grade when he moved next door to the Kumar family in a north indian street of some south asian blocks in an asian community

when his family first moved, the Kumar family invited the Sanders over to welcome them

it turns out the Kumar’s had a son who was the same age as logan

“hi logan! im rohan kumar! but i like going by roman instead of rohan!”

this introduction pissed logan off

he was seething because why would this kid who got to have an indian first AND last name change his name to an english one! why didnt he see the value of his name!

he knew right away that such a difference meant they could never be friends

“im logan sanders, but thats all youll get to know about me because i see no use associating myself with someone as... well, ignorant, as you”

roman decides to whip out one of the swears his cousins taught him and whisper shouts “who are you calling ignorant, bhenchod?”

it became clear to him that this was new turf, and people on this new turf must be speaking hindi. and that he was the ignorant one if he couldnt talk in hindi. he made a vow to learn it as fast as he could to make sure this roman kid wasnt better than him

but, logan grits his teeth and says “you, and i know it must be true because you were too dumb to understand me the first time”

this evidently struck a sore spot in roman because he didnt fight back but just stalked away. logan smiled slightly, happy to have won that argument

logan asks his grandpa to teach him hindi and his grandpa gets super excited

they start lessons immediately and despite barely hearing it growing up, it’s as if his brain was made for this because he picks the language up amazingly fast and in a months time, while not able to speak back yet, he can understand most casual conversation

his first diwali in basically little india is the most magical thing ever

diwali at his old home was very quiet because there wasnt anyone around to celebrate with

everyone is so happy in this new home however. everyone is dressed up and all the houses are lit up and there are diyas everywhere and he doesnt want to admit it but the kumar’s have the best rangoli on the street and it’s because of roman and he knows roman did it because sometimes he’d stare out of his bedroom window while doing homework and have a perfect view of roman delicately working on it for two weeks

(the kumar’s front porch had been covered with tarp waiting for diwali to make sure romans precious rangoli wasnt stepped on or ruined. when it’s finally let up, everywhere where there could be art, there is. it’s insane how good at colors roman is, logan thinks)

diwali morning:

he fights his parents because he doesnt want to miss school for diwali because americans dont have a day off for it. his parents set the clocks in the house ahead to make him think he overslept so he would skip school. (logan didnt know that his parents had submitted an excused absence form for religious reasons and that the school was very understanding. he thought it would be like his old school where he wouldnteven bother trying since he wasnt christain and the school was lkinda discriminatory)

they spend the morning in mandir and it’s nice. for once he doesnt feel different from his peers because he goes to mandir and not church or synagogue. he feels at home.

diwali afternoon:

the afternoon is spent with frantic cleaning and cooking and digging around for the diya’s that were still in boxes, packed away from when they moved

logan offered to find them all to continue with a diya science experiment he started two years prior. his theory was that the diya’s were multiplying and there were more each year despite no one buying anymore

this held true, because even though he could only find half of their diya collection, it was somehow more than the entire diya collection of two years prior.

diwali evening:

theres a big potluck and everyone in the neighborhood is out talking to each other, looking at the decorations at everyones houses, eating samosas, and playing with sparklers.

logan feels content

he makes a new resolve to learn more about hinduism. if this is what ti was supposed to be, then he never wanted to be away from hinduism.

he looked at the metaphors and symbolism in everything and finally understood what his dad meant he told logan that hinduism is just science written in poetry and that string theory is written in the ancient texts

middle school in this new town is so much better than middle school in his old home. why?

a. doesnt get bullied for being a nerd

b. doesnt get called gay slurs

c. the classes are harder

d. much less racism

e. all of the above

soon enough, logans asking his grandpa to teach him how to cook Indian food

Logan spends the day burning dosas and making lopsided rotis

(eventually he gets the hang of it, and a he'll be cooking food for an infuriating Indian boy ;) ;) psst it's roman)

Speaking of boys

Coming out isn't an option for logan

He knows that his parents arent really religious enough to really look into hinduism and see that no, gays are not bad

But they are traditional and conservative enough to be homophobic

not homophobic as in spewing hate with the westboro baptist church at a pride parade

But homophobic as in "the gays are fine as long as they don't do it in front of me" kinda thing

So Logan stays quiet

the closet kinda sucks but i mean what can he do

it’s safer inside, and he as illogical as wishing is, he wishes that people would use their brains and realize there’s nothing wrong with gay

anyway

in school logan makes his first desi friend, who was dubbed as anxiety years ago and cant seem to get rid of the nickname and now has a whole complex about his name so logan doesnt know his name

logan and anxiety meet in the school library: logan studying and anxiety hiding

people dont like anxiety

especially non-indian kids

surprise surprise it’s an old buddy called racism, but anxiety’s story is for another time

(but even though no one really likes anxiety, whenever racist shit goes down, it has to go through roman)

so logan and anxiety become fast friends

and they make fun of roman (a+ bonding)

logan claims that roman is a hypocrite for changing his name to an english one while being so immersed in indian culture

anxiety doesnt dispute this, but says he has a past with roman

a past that involved getting stuck with the name anxiety

again, another story for another time

one day, when logan and anxiety are eating lunch they see roman destroy some homophobes who throw around the word f*g and keep calling caitlyn jenner, bruce jenner

logans chest surges

he’s all like “what?? emotions?? pride at roman?? is he better than me for being so open and standing up for what he believes in??”

gay panic basically

but logan masked it well and pushed it away

the next day roman comes to school with a pride patch on his jean jacket

logan feels like he cant breathe

logan is supremely jealous of roman.

he can be gay in peace

he can pretend not to be indian in a way that benefits him

and he’s not affected by stereotypes in the same way?? like what does this kid not have

and by stereotypes i mean

roman is the complete opposite of all indian and desi stereotypes: loud, flamboyant, theatrical

logan’s personality is exactly how the stereotypes are. he’s nerdy and likes science and math and it seems like he cant escape the stereotypes. they follow him. and he feels guilty that he likes science and math and is nerdy.

as illogical as it is, he wishes he was different from how he is

but logan later learns that there are more than just his perspective on being desi and that every desi kid growing up faces challenges about it that are different than his, causing them to experience being desi differently

and logan will accept that, in another story at another time

for now, he’s just bitter. and as illogical as it is, he wishes the world was better

and now, i shall tag some people who asked to be tagged and some other desi’s who loved this because i feel like you guys might appreciate this too. also i love u. desi famders squad up.

@sssixeyedrunt @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @caterpiller-tea @xxxbladeangelxxx @snufflesthegrim227 @cloudchaser7 @thelowlysatsuma

#logan sanders #logince #virgil sanders #roman sanders #desi #desi headcanons #sanders sides #mine #please love this #r #l #v

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tickle-me-stoked · 6 years

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Sanders Sides - Happy Birthday, Roman

A/N: WHOOT what better way to start out on tumblr than with a bad fan fiction that’s probably my best, sad as it is. This is about Romans birthday, which was today, my sweet baby boi. Anyways, please enjoy if you can, I tried.

Word count: 2497

Summary: Roman feels alone on his big day; ‘cognitive distorntions’, or no. (wow I’m awful at summaries I’m so sorry)

Warnings: self-deprication, cognitive distortions, sadness, bad English and writing skillz.

If ive forgotten ANYTHING please lemme know!

I’ll definitely add a taglist if anyone wants to be in it! I love everyone, all of you are beautiful.

AAAHHHHH IM TERRIFIED PLS DONT KILL ME

——

Roman wiped his eye. Yes, he was crying. He could admit to that. But wouldn't you? He'd gone all day, sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting for whatever he had hoped the other sides had in store for him. He waited all day for anything, whether it be a celebration, a present, or something as simple as a hug.

He didn't. Nothing happened today. From the moment the clock struck midnight last night, to now, where midnight was right around the corner, he waited. He was silent about it. He hadn't wanted to speak up or ask in fear of ruining something. Maybe it was surprise, so if he asked about it, surely Patton would break or something else would give it away. He didn't want to take that risk. But now, he sees that maybe...

Maybe he had nothing to loose.

It was his birthday. And here he was; sitting alone, crying, lost in his thoughts of whether or not he was truly loved, whether he actually meant something.

He wiped his eyes again. Teeth clenched, he went and pulled on his hair. He couldn't sob. Crying... crying was fine... right? But a sob would disturb the others. He wouldn't mind if someone, preferably Patton, came down and found him. If it was out of pity... he'd take it. At least with pity, they still cared enough to acknowledge him. Whereas silence just said that they didn't care. At all.

A happy birthday. He'd gotten words, a simple 'happy birthday' from the other three sides. But after that, it was as if nothing was different. Was a birthday not a celebration? Was a birthday not important? Had this day not happened, Roman wouldn't be here. Everything would be different.

But instead, everything is exactly the same. Nothing changed. The only difference is the love he feels. The love that is slipping away, as if it was never there to begin with. He loved his friends, loved them, but they obviously didn't feel the same. Clearly, he didn't mean as much to them as they did to him.

But that was okay.... Or it should be. It is, but it hurts too much to feel right. He'll still take care of his friends, he'll always be there for him. But they won't be there for him. Is that fair? Is that right?

Roman ran his hands over his face. His hands came back drenched in tears. He stared at the water as it ran down his palms.

What now? Does he just act as if this never happened? Should he say something about all this? He wouldn't want to be a disturbance... but...

Who was he kidding? That's the exact reason they don't like him, isn't it? He can't just go ahead and make things worse. Then he'd truly be outcasted.

Whatever. If they don't care that-that's fine. He'll get over it. He has to.

Roman sniffed once, then rose to his feet. He hesitated, wondering if he had the strength to walk the stairs, then pushed forward anyways, knowing his bed was up there.

Before he could make it passed the coffee table, he heard his name.

“Roman!” He looked up and found Patton barreling down the stairs. He slammed into him, wrapping him up in a hug which, surprisingly, took Roman off the ground. “Oh, sweetheart!” Patton placed him down and backed up to look him in the eyes. “Oh, were you crying? What’s the matter, Ro? What’s wrong?” Roman quickly threw his arm up to wipe away the tears. Now that the moment struck, he was twice as sure he shouldn’t lay his problems out. But having Patton here, staring at him with those big, worry-filled eyes, it practically pulled the words out of him.

“I-I’m sorry, Patton. I didn’t want to be a burden, um-“

“No!” Patton yelled. Roman stared in shock. He’d barely gotten to say anything, now Patton was what, mad? Roman figures he’d have every right to be upset, but he hadn’t even said anything yet. “I will not have you insult yourself like that.” Hold on. What? Patton was mad because... Roman thought of himself as a burden. That was very Patton-like, but that was the reaction he often gave to Virgil. He never seemed so upset when he’d said it before. Now, he was practically fuming. The rage in his eyes — what was going on? “This is your day, dedicated completely and entirely to you! On this day is the day where you, Roman, our faithful prince and trustworthy hero, are the world. You’re the center if the universe today, Roman. Everyday actually, but especially today! You have no right to say that about yourself.” Roman couldn’t believe it.

He was crying again. Why was he crying? Because Patton hated him? No. Because Patton was mad at him? Yes. But the reason behind Patton’s anger was that he loved him. Patton was upset that Roman had thought so little of himself. Why should he feel that way? All of the amazing people in his life, people who hardly had the potential to hate to begin with. They loved him. Patton proved it.

Or at least... Patton loved him. The others, Logan and Virgil, did they? Or were they gonna yell at him later. Were they going to yell at him for crying about his birthday? Were they going to yell at him because he’d upset Patton.

Oh no, he upset Patton. What had he done? This was exactly why they shouldn’t care. He hurt their beloved Patton. Nothing can make up for that.

Except for this. A hug. Patton pulled him into another hug. He held him tight, but comfortably so. Slowly, Roman let himself fall into the security of Patton’s embrace. He rested his head on his shoulder and held on tight right back.

“Everything and anything you feel is valid. Never assume we won’t want to help you in any way we can. It’s the least we can do for everything you’ve done for us.” Romans eyes shot open, his muscles tensing. He threw himself back from Patton’s and stared into his eyes, searching for any signs of lies or miscommunication.

“What could I have possibly done?” He wonders in awe. Patton smiled softly. He slowly reinitiates the hug, holding gently to Romans frame.

“For one, you’re a great hugger.” He mumbled. Roman couldn’t help the scoff that escaped his lips as he returned the gesture contently. “But you always had this spark.” A spark? “Whenever you’re passion shines through, which is a lot more than you would think,” he said with a laugh. “It makes us smile. We can see how happy you truly are, the genuine emotion in your eyes as you speak. It makes us so happy!” Roman moves his eyes downward and smiled. Did they all think that? Did they actually think that his passion was endearing? “You always make sure we’ve got a smile in our face. Whenever one of us feels down, you work your absolute hardest to turn that frown upside down. And it always works!” Thinking about it, he doesn’t recall a moment where it had failed. Everyone has their bad days, but he was always able to get a smile from them, even at their worst. “You’re silly, rambunctious, energetic, and pure sunshine.” Roman, although his smile didn’t dissipate, sighed sadly.

“You’re talking about yourself, Pat...” Patton softly shook his head, his body swaying along.

“I don’t think I am. Ro, you wear the brightest of smiles, you have the strongest of hearts, (have I mentioned great hugs?) and the most love to give. Without you, Roman...” Roman could feel the smile drop from Patton’s lips, causing his own to fall. “I don’t know where we’d be...” Roman backed up. He looked calmly at Patton. He took note of every detail on his face. Physical, and the meaning behind them. How his small smile lit up his hoping eyes. How his cheeks had little dimples and a flooring of freckles beneath the pink tint of his precious face.

“Patton...” What can he say? Everything that Patton said hit him hard. He hadn’t believed any of that in what felt like years. Patton’s choice of words couldn’t have been more perfect. No set of words coming from any other mouth could’ve made him feel more alive than his beautiful Patton’s. Birthday forgotten, Roman spoke what the only words he was able to think of. “Thank you.” Patton’s little giggle warmed his heart.

“You don't need to thank me, Roman. Everyone knows the kind of star you are. And you are the brightest one in the sky.” Roman raised an eyebrow. Brightest in the sky?

“Are you sure you’re not talking about the moon?” Patton laughed wholeheartedly, earning his own from Roman. He returned into the hug, for yet another short moment.

“If that makes you feel better, then yes.”

“Anything from you is perfect, my dearest Patton.” Patton giggled again.

“There’s another one. All the cleverly thought out nicknames you give us.”

“Oh, come on, that one could’ve been better. It’d help if I wasn’t so tongue-tied thanks to you.”

“Are you complaining?”

“In a way, I suppose.“ Patton poked his pouted lip and the two shared a laugh again.

“Anyway, we should get to bed, huh?” Roman frowned slightly. After all this, finally beginning to feel better, they had to part.

“I uh,” However, he knew what Patton had said. And of course, he trusted him completely, but a small part of his mind warned him to not overstep his boundaries, in case he did become too much. “I guess. Yeah.” Patton could sense the unease in his voice. The little smile said it all. He took Romans hand and lead him calmly up the stairs.

Although, Roman raised an eyebrow as Patton reached for his door. Why was he going into his room? Why not his own? Does he want to tuck him in or something fatherly like that?

The moment Patton walked into the door, Roman right behind him, the lights flicked on.

Inside the room was the most miraculous sight his eyes had ever seen.

Balloons littered the floor and the ceiling. There were streamers perfectly parted at the ceiling light and attaching back by the walls. The light itself was tinted. Not a specific colour, but with glitter, making the room seem to sparkle. A large cake sat with candles — many candles — on top. The cake itself was huge. It was like a wedding cake, but for a birthday. Around it was an array of different beverages and candies. Of course, there was a palate of veggies too, seeing as how no one could resist those. Then there were the two large speakers on either side of his bed, tall enough to match the height of his bed posts. But the best part was Logan and Virgil.

The two of them had party hats on their heads. They stood in the center of the room, underneath a banner that was hand-painted to say ‘Happy Birthday, Roman’. He could tell by the print who wrote what and who drew what. Logan and Virgil both had genuine smiles on their faces after they had shouted ‘surprise’.

There was a surprise party. He hadn’t ruined anything? All this time, he thought he’d messed everything up, destroyed everything he thought he had. And why? Because he hadn’t gotten a party? These foolish, stupid ideas had invaded his mind so much that he couldn’t see the love in his friends eyes.

But these boys, these three beautiful men, had done the most wonderful thing and thrown him an entire surprise party. He could see the piling up if presents behind the left brained sides.

He hadn’t noticed his tears until he felt his legs give way. Patton had barely managed to catch him, but did as they settled softly on the ground. He blinked the tears down his cheeks and saw the other two racing over.

“Roman!” They cried. All of them had their hands on him, for reassurance and support and comfort. He wanted to hug them all, but his arms weren’t long enough. He settled on stealing himself and went to wipe his eyes, soaking his hands once again.

“Sorry! Sorry!” He spilled out with a small laugh. He sniffled, and smiled at the others.

“Ro, are you okay?” Virgil asked in a semi-panic. Roman nodded his head calmly and wiped some more tears.

“I’m great, Virge. It’s all thanks to you.” Virgil took a double take. Logan as well.

“So these were... ‘tears of joy’?” He wondered. He seemed almost afraid of assuming incorrectly. But Roman simply nodded again.

“Yes, I’m sorry for being such a mess, especially so consistently around you, Patton.” This time, Patton let him speak. Earlier he had stopped the bout of self-deprication and filled the blanks with compliments. He must’ve known that now it would lead into the source of the problems. “I guess I just got lost in the idea that... that it was selfish to want a birthday and that that was a reason toward why you’d hate me.” At the silence of the others, he conintued. “I know, it was stupid, but it all just made me realize how lucky I truly am. What was selfish was thinking so illy of you three... and I’m sorry for that.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Patton assured.

“It is completely understandable that lack of attention on such a special and momentous occasion would draw unpleasant thought processes to oneself. For that, we owe you an apology.”

“Yeah, we’re really sorry,” Virgil agreed. He and Logan had their heads ducked, looking guilty and depressed. “It was kind of our fault, to be honest. Lo and I just wanted things to be.. a little too perfect and... took longer than necessary.”

“Don’t bring yourselves down because of me.” Roman backfired. Honestly, with all the blaming, Roman found himself with an urge to laugh. “Because it was a surprise, I can see the kind of stress that would promote. That can be a lot resting on your shoulders. If anything, you two would be the most suitable for perfection.” This time he did laugh, mainly in hopes that they wouldn’t take offense, seeing as that was not his goal. They shared a glance at one another, and both shrugged, feeling awkward, yet knowing it was the truth. “But this... this is perfect. Thank you.” He pulled Patton into his left and Logan into his right, then dropped his head to rest against Virgil’s, whose hands held the formers mentioned.

“Don’t get tears on my pants, Princey.” The four laughed. Roman could barely recall any of the invasive thoughts he’d been having before. Just being in the mere presence of the ones he loves so much takes the pain away.

#roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #birthday #sanders sides #fanfic #fanfiction #angst #happy ending

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careycuprisin · 3 years

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Bear 100 🐻 Race Report: You Have to Run the Downhills

The past isn’t made of facts, not really, just stories people tell to make themselves feel better.

— Joe Abercrombie, The Wisdom of Crowds

Dear Reader: why are you reading this race report?

If you’re a runner looking to do this race and want info, read sections II, III, VI

If you’re wanting a narrative story about the day, read II, III

If you want to know whether my drop was righteous or wimpy, read III, IV, VII

If you want information about my kit and equipment, read VI

If you’re a geeked-out nerd person, or a strategy junkie whose idea of ‘fun’ is destroying Logic Men on Twitter, or an aspiring ‘life coach,’ read I

I. META-STUFF ABOUT RACE REPORTS: When you finish a race like the Bear 100 (by which I mean wrapping up the weekend, whether your efforts got you an official finish or a drop somewhere along the course), you are left with an enormous heap of impressions and recollections and thoughts and analyses and excuses and explanations. Most of these are true, but they are not all necessarily coherent when combined with all the rest, and (more importantly) they are not always helpful. The job of writing a race report like this involves sorting through all of these thoughts and selecting a coherent narrative that makes sense.

That’s the easy part. A lot of possible, true, narratives make sense. How to choose among them? If you plan to enter races like this one in the future (as I do), the narrative that you construct in your race report will be also be useful to you later, guiding you to make better decisions for future races based on your experiences in this one. This process will inevitably favor some impressions and analyses over others, and as the memories of the race fade, the race report will harden into the Narrative Story of My Race, which will be coherent, true, and (if I do it right) helpful to me in future races.

As an example of the difference between helpful and unhelpful stories, an unhelpful story might be, “I didn’t do as well in this race as I’d hoped because I have no natural talent” or “the aid stations stocked Heed and Heed is disgusting.” These might both be true, but if that’s your story, how do you fix it? You can’t, so it’s not helpful. Heed is ubiquitous at aid stations in races all over the country. A helpful story, in contrast, might be something like, “I didn’t eat enough” or “I started too fast” or “I wore the wrong shoes” or “I didn’t do enough weekly mileage to prepare for this race.” All of these things are something you can act upon to get better results at the next race.

II. THE UNFOLDING OF THE RACE: I got out of bed at 0350 and was full of coffee and on the start line by 0600. It was still dark. Chilly but not cold. I was unfortunately wearing the New Balance Minimus shoes that I’d driven to Logan in, because I’d forgotten to pack the actual Salomon S-Lab Sense 8s that I wanted to use for the first twenty mile section. Making do!

I was somewhere in the middle of the pack when we finished the three or four blocks of residential street and funneled into the single track trail headed up Logan Dry Canyon. The conga line wasn’t too annoying, except for the guy ahead of me who was one of those guys who like to play music on speakers during a race so everyone around him can share his obvious love for Rob Zombie. The view of Logan as we got higher and the sun rose was spectacular. (Most people are still pretty energetic during this section so you’ll find videos of this aplenty on YouTube if you search for “Bear 100.”)

I should mention the hornets. There were a lot of them along the course all day and they were stinging people left and right. I’m used to living a charmed life, so I was not too surprised when the hornets spared me. Thank you, hornets.

After the initial long climb there are some rollers and I ran them easily. My downhill pace was much faster than most of the crowd I’d been with on the way up. A Utah resident named Kalina ran with me for a while and kept me from doubting my judgment that I was going downhill at a reasonable pace. Alas! This was the last time I’d pass a significant number of people (this is called ‘foreshadowing’).

Near the end of the rolling section Kalina dropped me and everyone else around her like a sack of potatoes on some short uphills and I never saw her again. She ended up finishing in around 27 hours (maybe I should have doubted my judgment). We meandered over to the big downhill into Leatham Hollow and I am sad to report that halfway down this beautiful descent I was losing the ability to run downhill. Basically leg and knee and foot pain with everything tightening up. And so it had begun — people passing me. So it would continue.

I got out of the the Leatham Hollow aid station with 5:04 elapsed, which was pretty much on my best-case-scenario pace for the overall race. I had my first drop bag there with beefier shoes, so I put them on, ditched the long shirt I wore at the start in favor of a tank top, and moved on.

Next was a flat-ish dirt road over to the Richards Hollow aid station, about three miles away (23-ish race miles total). It was mid-day and it was now hot in the sun but still cool in the shade. I tried the trick of running the shady parts and hiking the sunny parts. After the aid station the course settles into the classic Bear 100 pattern: low aid station, then big climb and descent to the next aid station. This climb was sunny and hot and I got up ok, but the next downhill was a mess. I couldn’t PAY people to not pass me. That’s what happens when you’re not running the downhills! I came into Cowley Canyon aid station knowing that a 30-hour finish was unlikely but, hey, a finish of any kind is still fabulous. I took a little longer in the aid station then I’d like on a good day, but then was off.

The Bear 100 pattern of up-down continued through the Right Hand Fork and Temple Fork aid stations. The little creek going into Right Hand Fork had some of the most beautiful beaver ponds I’ve ever seen: clear water that let you see right to the bottom with bright green plants floating on top. Another thing about Right Hand Fork — there was a pickup truck in the parking lot with big white lettering on the windows: Search Dog, Do Not Disturb. I looked closely at the truck but couldn’t see the search dog. Needless to say I was mildly disappointed (this is another example of foreshadowing).

I had pretty much been suffering ever since Richards Hollow but I started to feel a little bit better coming into Temple Fork just before it got dark. This was probably just a function of it not being hot any more. I was off pace but dealing with it. Physically feeling generally weak and miserable but mentally very sharp, and emotionally pretty stable. I got my headlamp out of my drop bag, put on a long-sleeve shirt, a light hat, and a wind jacket for the chill that set in immediately when the sun went down, and headed uphill again.

III. THE DROP: Climbing up to the Twin Creek aid station at the about the 50-mile mark (the Tony Grove substitute aid station for 2021) it was predictably dark and, thanks to the dry air, quickly getting colder and colder. The good vibes quickly fell away. I wasn’t able to eat anything because of nausea, so progress was reasonably slow up the climb. Some runners about twenty feet ahead of me startled a beaver and I heard its tail slap against the water of its pond. (And, since I remember it clearly now, at least I must not have been completely delirious then.) So long as I was climbing I was warm enough, but the nausea was getting worse and worse, and if I tried to fight the nausea by taking my foot off the gas a bit, I quickly got too cold and started shivering. I was stuck between my GI tract requiring that I decrease my physical exertion so it could start to function again, and a dependence on continued exertion to generate enough heat. A catch-22 that most people who’ve run a 100-mile race will probably recognize.

When I got into the aid station at Twin Creek, I went into the warmed tent with the intention of relaxing for fifteen minutes to half an hour to give my stomach an opportunity to wake up. (Was that a mistake?) The plan was to eat and drink some things, put on some warmer clothes from my drop bag, and get out. Depending on who I talked to, it was somewhere between 12 and 14 miles to the next aid station at Franklin basin. This was the longest distance between any two aid stations in the race. I still had plenty of time before the cutoff.

Sadly, fifteen and then thirty minutes came and went and I was not recovering. The nausea wouldn’t go away and I was still shivering vigorously even in the warming tent after I’d put on warmer clothes and gotten under a reflective space blanket. The cutoff time got closer, and the decision became more and more about whether I should set off for another 12 (let’s be optimistic) miles without any food in the stomach, to try to get to the next aid station before I got hypothermic. It was unlikely that I’d get to Franklin Basin by 2 am, which is the time I figured I had to be there to have a reasonable chance of finishing the whole race in 36 hours. Ultimately I decided that the risks weren’t worth the increasingly unlikely reward. So I dropped. Nothing too unusual here, just weighing probabilities and applying my own risk tolerance to various decisions. This is probably what most people do when they DNF a race.

Grrr. Very mad. Many F-bombs.

IV. WHAT COULD I HAVE DONE DIFFERENTLY? I think this is a mandatory question after a DNF, because I HATE drops and it’s not worth protecting my ego if it means I overlook mistakes and fail to handle the next similar situation in a better way. With the caveat that this is all in retrospect, and that my current comfort might be obscuring an accurate recollection of how feeble I was at the time, here is what I would do:

I would still wait in the aid station to give the shivering and nausea a chance to go away, but when they did not stop, before I dropped, I’d get up, put some snacks into a little bag I could take with me, and continue out of the aid station with the intention of going a half-mile down the trail to see what happened. If things were still shitty the whole way, then I could turn around and head back and I’d only have a half-mile return trip to safety.

V. THE SEARCH DOG, or, AFTER THE DROP: After two or three hours of lying on the cot in the Twin Creek aid station with a few other people and their pacers who had dropped, a guy named Rob arrived in an ATV and four of us piled in. Rob drove us down to Franklin Basin with full-bright headlights lighting up the rough two-track and the cold wind blowing in our faces. It was my first ride in an ATV! After we’d arrived at Franklin, I made sure to compliment him on his driving (he was obviously, even to an ATV virgin like me, very good at it). I immediately went into the warming tent at Franklin and settled in until I could find a ride, ideally back to my car at the Logan start line, but willing to simply be shuttled along to further aid stations if that were necessary.

Most of the people arriving to Franklin were in bad shape, and either dropped there or struggled out just ahead of the generous (in my opinion) cutoff time of 4 am. Like I said before, I doubted there was much chance of making the overall race cutoff of 6pm if you weren’t out of Franklin by 2 am, absent a resurgence of speed later in the night or when the sun came up. (There is an objective way to check if I’m wrong or not, but I haven’t done it because at this point, I don’t want to look at the results!) Anyway, most of the people leaving Franklin were leaving with their crews on the way to Beaver Creek lodge. I kept waiting for someone who could give me a ride to Logan, and the odds looked slimmer and slimmer. Well after the 4 am cutoff time, a woman walked in with a four-month-old golden retriever puppy who I immediately made friends with because the puppy wanted to chew on my hand and I let him. He wasn’t biting hard! Turns out the puppy’s owner was crewing someone who came in with her pacer around 6 am after having taken about six hours to make the trip from Twin Creek. This runner’s dad was also crewing; he asked if I needed a ride and was happy to take me back to Logan. So I struggled out of the warming tent and whoa! Remember back at Right Hand Fork aid station where I’d seen that pickup truck with ‘Search Dog, Do Not Disturb’ on the window? That was his truck, and the golden retriever puppy was his Search Dog! Turns out, he had two full-grown trained search dogs and this puppy was going to follow along after them when he grew up. So, happily, I got to ride back to my car in Logan with a very nice family and a very nice little pup.

The Search Dog!

Inside the Search Dog truck

VI. THE KIT: The most notable thing about my gear was that I wore the new High Capacity Running Vest from Naked Sports Innovations. It’s an extremely tight running vest with a front zipper. I like to call it a Sports Bra for Men. I thought it worked pretty well and I will probably wear it again. The advantages are that it’s very lightweight, you can pack a lot of shit into it if you have to, and because it’s so tight, there is zero bouncing of your water bottles or other gear when you’re running. The disadvantages are also related to its being so tight. There were times when my chest felt kind of sore, and I wondered if the vest was compressing my ribs a little too much. The other problem is that zipping it up in front can be difficult if your vest is fully loaded because, again, it’s very tight. Also, when you add layers for the night section, you have to add them on top of the vest or risk it being even tighter if you bulk up your chest with extra layers under the vest. My solution will probably be to buy another vest one size bigger for long races or when I plan to be wearing layers. It costs a lot of money, but so do other vests, and at least I’m not a triathlete so all my gear compared to that sport is CHEAP.

In addition to the vest, I also wore a Naked running band. Both the vest and the belt have good mechanisms for stashing folded-up poles. I had poles, which were very useful after thirty miles for both climbs and descents. I wore the Salomon Ultra Glide shoes for everything after the 20-mile aid station, and they worked great. Because I forgot to pack the Salomon S-Lab Sense 8 shoes that I had planned to wear at the start, I was forced to wear my New Balance Minimus shoes from the start to 20 miles, which did cause some plantar irritation and ankle soreness on the long downhill into Leatham Hollow. I think these shoes are great but only for distances less than ten miles (and never for gravelly surfaces with inch-wide rocks that can dig into your feet).

I used SkratchLabs and Ultima electrolyte mix in order to avoid the aid-station Heed (which is disgusting), and carried Spring Energy gels. I had the cheapest salt tabs I could find at REI. Goodr sunglasses and wool socks which I changed a few times. I had no blisters, no sunburn, and no injuries!

The obligatory pre-race kit photo

VII. THE AFTERMATH AND THE ANALYSIS: It’s never fun or satisfying to have to drop from a race. The good news is that this DNF wasn’t entirely surprising in retrospect. It was exactly what I deserved! Looking back on this summer, I basically just fucked around and did way too little preparation for this race. I had only one training run of greater than 20 miles and hadn’t raced at all this summer. I never really got out into the mountains and didn’t go up any fourteeners this year. The covid withdrawal from the world was probably part of this; I was just waiting stuff out. I had signed up for the Bear a year ago and frankly, wasn’t excited about it until about a month before the race. There were two or three weeks where I went back and forth about starting, and by the time I’d firmly decided to do it, there wasn’t enough time to actually train for it.

Another bit of good news is that unlike the Bighorn 100 where I felt I *had* to keep coming back every year until I finished that race, I do not think that way at all about the Bear 100 (probably because I’ve already finished one 100M race and I’m comfortable with not being a super-fan of 100s.) I enjoy this race and will likely come back to try it again, but I don’t feel *obliged* to.

The third bit of somewhat good news is that this failure at the Bear rekindled a bit of enthusiasm for actually preparing myself to do well at a race. On the drive home from Utah I was thinking about how I’d structure my season in order to do well at the Bear, and I think that’s a pretty good sign!

VIII. SO, HOW WOULD YOU STRUCTURE YOUR SEASON? Whatever it takes to be able to run the downhills after twenty miles! More specifically I suspect the best preparation for me for a fall 100 would be one or two 50 milers earlier in the summer. For the Bear, I would do the Pikes Peak Ultra 50M in July and maybe an earlier-season 50 like Quad Rock or Behind the Rocks. I’d probably tune up with something like the Telluride Mountain Run in August. In addition, I’d do a few more longer runs during the summer like Gold Hills or a Doug Loops or Morrison Triples, and I would do some above-treeline tundra adventures. All of this just to build a bit of endurance and let me RUN THE DOWNHILLS at the Bear. 🐻

Links

Strava GPS record for my race

Bear 100 website

Bear 100 Facebook group

Bear 100 YouTube videos

#bear 100 #trailrunning #rockymountainrunners

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virmillion · 6 years

Text

Waves

alternatively, i dont know how to title this but hey @leesacrakon remember that nerd anon who said they wanted to write stuff after reading your story? i was the nerd oops // i dont love this one ive definitely done better and had a different angle at first but i think it turned out ok // its kind of angsty? definitely more so at the end just fyi

Words: 4.2k

Song: Waves by Dean Lewis

Pairings: platonic moxiety, morality (it might be romantic? idk i dont know how to write romance)

Warnings: smoking, let me know if there’s more

There is a swelling storm And I’m caught up in the middle of it all And it takes control Of the person that I thought I was The boy I used to know

The moon rises proudly in the sky, shining against the dark night and illuminating a pair of brown eyes. Patton grips the edge of his windowsill, gritting his teeth sharply as the sound of a pen pressed too hard pounds through his ears. Logan, scribbling away with his research. Again. What he wouldn’t give for Virgil’s headphones right now. Rather than mourn the loss of peace in his room, Patton slips across the hall to Logan’s room, knocking softly on the door.

“Enter,” Logan calls back, his writing not pausing for one second. The handle, cool to the touch, turns easily as the door swings open in silence, as if Logan oils it every day to avoid creaking. Frankly, Patton wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. The room beyond is jarring in its contrasts—a perfectly made bed beside a fully stocked wardrobe, out of which no rumpled clothes are hanging. Against this pristine organization is a scene of utter chaos, crushed papers strewn across the floor between dozens of pencils split down the middle, twins to the dismantled pens with their ink sprayed everywhere. Wading through the sea of trash, Patton arrives at the black desk chair in the corner, above which a tuft of purple hair peeks out. Scattered around the desk are more crumpled papers and broken pens, along with several burn marks on the wooden desk, as well as more than a few cigarette butts.

“I thought we talked about this,” Patton murmurs, picking one up and rubbing it between his fingers. Logan doesn’t seem to hear, one hand buried in his hair while the other is poised with a black pen over a piece of paper, which is covered in scratched-out words. Ink stains his skin everywhere, and creates splotchy patterns on the desk where it bled through the papers, intermingling with the burn marks. Some even reached his tie, staining the blue irreparably. With a nudge, Patton tries again for Logan’s attention.

Logan mutters a string of curse words before slamming the pen down on his desk, balling up the paper and chucking it across the room. More ink gets on his hands, and as he turns around to face Patton, his face turns out to have even more from running a hand over it in distress. “What? What is it? I’m busy.”

“Whatcha workin’ on?” Patton scrapes a few of the cigarette remnants into a garbage can, then sets about fixing up the rest of the room’s mess.

“Thomas has this big presentation in a week, and no idea how to do it,” Logan sighs, watching Patton putter about like a Roomba. “Virgil’s in overdrive, detailing every last thing that can go wrong, and Roman’s absolutely no help at all. He won’t stop insisting that I add some sort of dramatic flair, to make it seem more impressive.” Logan rubs his temples gently, smudging more ink across his face.

“Well, what’s it on?” Patton conjures up a paper towel to pick up all the pens, a practical foresight to avoid being covered in ink.

“Nothing you’d understand,” Logan says. He turns back to his work, pulling a fresh sheet of paper from a stack on the floor. Conversation over, apparently. The angle he grabs the paper at is too sharp, ripping it down the middle as it comes free of the pages above it. An infuriated Logan tears the remainder to shreds, feeding his anger even more. As the bits rain down like confetti, he snaps his head back to Patton, who’s still cleaning up after his research problems. “What are you still doing in here? Get out!” Quite unaccustomed to ever hearing Logan raise his voice unless a falsehood was uttered, Patton freezes, splintered pen in hand. “Are you waiting for a formal letter? I said get out!” Patton scurries out the door, tugging it shut behind him. He couldn’t have moved any faster if you had told him there was a puppy on the other side. The sound of viciously scrawling pens resumes in full force, even angrier.

Back in his own room, chased by the sounds of Logan’s furious writing, Patton sits on the edge of his bed with a box. A box of old memories, a box of what used to be, a box of before. He rifles through pictures, trinkets, collectible nothings that should have been thrown away years ago, before he grew an attachment to them. When he calls them memories, he isn’t kidding—each individual object is reminiscent of the moment it came from, cherished times for Patton to look back on and smile. A star sticker from when Logan helped Thomas get his first perfect score on a test. The certificate from when Thomas bought and named a star on Logan’s behalf. A conch shell from when Logan argued with Patton over whether the roaring was the ocean calling, or just the blood roaring in his ears. What happened to the Logan that argued in good fun, instead of yelling at Patton? This Logan, the angry one, he has no place in this box. Not until Patton adds in the cigarette butt, cementing the time that Logan yelled at Patton. Actually yelled, not just pretending for fun. A cold shiver, like icy fingers, skitters across Patton’s skin as the memory gets locked down in the box, and locked down in his mind. He can’t say he likes the bad times, but bad times are better than no times at all. Usually.

But there, is a light In the dark, and I feel its warmth In my hands, and my heart Why can’t I hold on?

A week comes and goes, Thomas survives his presentation, Virgil takes a much-needed break, and Logan cleans his room up. Everything should be fine now. Everything should be solved, just a little bump in the road. Nothing Patton can’t handle. Nothing at all. Not entirely nothing, but mostly. Just one thing. One little something that he can’t ignore. Those burn marks on Logan’s tie, the tie he refuses to change or replace, emitting a heavy smell of smoke that grows stronger by the day.

“Again?” Patton asks, grabbing Logan by the wrist after recording a long video. He plucks the small white cylinder from between Logan’s fingers before it can be hidden away. “I am bently jegging you, Logan, please drop this habit before it starts hurting Thomas.”

“Bently jegging?” Logan remarks, avoiding the question.

“Gently begging, same difference,” Patton says with a wave of his hand. “Just, can you try? For me?” Logan gnaws on the corner of his lip, considering for a moment. One look in Patton’s eyes, and he’s pretty much sold.

“I’ll try,” he relents, relaxing into a slouch. “I suppose it isn’t the best habit to indulge in. For Thomas’ sake.” The cigarette is passed between hands, after which Patton promptly tosses it in the garbage. Sure, he knows Logan has more, and can always conjure extras, but it’s a step forward.

“Maybe a hug?” Patton asks, opening his arms. Logan curls his lip slightly before embracing Patton loosely. The same can’t be said of the latter, who squeezes his arms together like a boa constrictor. Through the thick sweater, Patton feels something flicker, a little bit of warmth melting Logan’s cold shell. Progress.

They only break apart as Virgil passes, giving a weird look at the logical side willingly hugging someone. Logan pushes Patton away quickly, straightening his shirt and mumbling something about getting back to work. Patton gives a soft smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, where the hurt resides. With a matching smile at Virgil, Patton returns to his room.

Hours later, Patton will sneak out of his room to peek into Logan’s, to which the door is left open. He will peer inside at the clean space and feel relief, but only for a second. He will look closer and see the tiny plume of smoke over the desk and gasp. Logan will hear, and snap a finger to close the door in Patton’s face. Logan will not turn around to watch. Patton will sit in his room with a single light on, and he will wonder what happened to the nice, curious kid from when they were younger. And Patton will be alone.

It comes and goes in waves It always does, it always does We watch as our young hearts fade Into the flood, into the flood

The clinking of glass is what wakes Patton a few nights later. He hasn’t asked about the smoking, and Logan hasn’t offered anything. Maybe a good sign, since he at least isn’t doing it so openly now, but Patton isn’t so sure. At least a little suspicious, he eases open his door to glance across the hall—lights out in Logan’s room. The other two doors are dark as well, not unusual at—a check of the watch—three in the morning. Patton leaves the lights off and heads for the kitchen by the light of his phone screen, feet padding softly on the carpeted floor. The only bright spot in the house is the bare lightbulbs in the kitchen, made ever brighter as they bounce off of the coffee mugs on the table. Behind those mugs are Logan, Roman, and Virgil, all of whom look like little kids that got caught swiping candy before dinner.

“Are you kidding me?” Patton asks, his voice cracking.

“Hey, it’s not what it looks like,” Roman says. “We were just talking, and—”

“And what?” Patton whispers. “And you didn’t want me here to talk?” He tosses this out like a joke, as if there’s no way that could be the case, but his eyes fill with horror when none of the other three meet his imploring gaze. “Seriously?”

Logan opens his mouth, certainly about to offer some excuse or another, something completely empty and intended to mollify, not soothe, but Patton isn’t having any of it. He turns on his heel and walks out, leaving silence behind him as the door to his room slams shut. The sound of his memory box crashing to the ground is echoed by the soft noises of clinking coffee mugs down the hall.

In the dark of his room, Patton smiles to himself. At least they’re bonding, right? Even if it’s not with you, they’re having fun, and that’s the important part. He wipes his cheek, and his fingers come away wet. Funny, he didn’t remember turning on a humidifier.

That night, Patton does not dream.

The next morning, Roman does not apologize.

The next day, Virgil does not look at him.

The next week, Logan does not care.

Patton corners the logical side one morning, cutting him off before he can escape to his room for research or something.

“I just want you to explain one thing,” Patton pleads. “Why are you cutting me off?”

Logan is quiet for a moment, cleaning his glasses off on his shirt. “It’s not that I want to,” he sighs, pressing his glasses up his nose. “Thomas is just growing up, and we need to grow with him. I’ve moved past the whole childish thing, and it’s high time you do as well.” Leaving Patton stunned, Logan slips away to his room, locking the door behind him.

He never used to lock the door.

The freedom, of falling A feeling I thought was set in stone It slips through, my fingers I’m trying hard to let go It comes and goes in waves

It would be so easy to stop caring.

It would be so easy to let Logan’s friendship slip away.

It would be so easy to stop trying to hold everything together.

But that’s not what Patton is about.

Instead, Patton sticks to Logan’s side like glue, there for every possible memory he could make. Despite all of Logan’s protests, Patton can feel him wearing down, can feel at Logan’s core that the childlike curiosity that once blossomed in Thomas is still there somewhere, still fighting to reach the surface. That’s the Logan Patton remembers, and that’s the Logan Patton intends to bring out. Not this new one, acting as if nothing is important and he doesn’t have feelings. Patton was there for the late night talks, and he knows how Logan really feels about emotions, how the logical side actually gets hurt when people think of him as cold and unfeeling. Shutting down is the worst plan, but evidently it’s the one Logan is going with. Giving up on Logan is the second worst plan, and you can bet your bottom dollar that Patton will not go that direction if he can help it. Of course, that always leaves the lingering fear that he won’t be able to help it, and Logan will outgrow him without a second thought.

It comes and goes in waves And carries us away Through the wind Down to the place we used to lay when we were kids

“Come on, I wanna show you something,” Patton insists, tugging on Logan’s arm. Fast enough to make his tie flutter, the moral side pulls his friend into his room, not waiting for the door to close.

“What is it? I have very—” Logan begins, immediately cut off by Patton.

“Very important research, I know, I know.” Patton waves his free hand, sitting on the edge of his bed and leaning down to grab something from underneath it. As Logan carefully arranges himself for optimal comfort, Patton sits back up, memory box in hand. “I just really want you to see this.” He plucks out a yellow flower petal, smiling at Logan’s comments about attracting bugs and interrupting the flow of nature and all that stuff Patton doesn’t need to know but loves to hear. “I’ve never tried this before, but I took some liberties from Roman’s room, so just hold the petal and shut your eyes.” A bit dubious, Logan complies, nearly brushing Patton’s finger on the tiny petal.

When the pair open their eyes, they’re back in a big green meadow, dotted with daisies and sprawling under a softly clouded blue sky. “How did you—” Logan starts, running a hand over the grass.

“Like I said, liberties from Roman,” Patton replies. “Not as good, since I’m not exactly the creative one, so everything is gonna feel a little artificial. Still, do you remember it?” Logan glances around the memory carefully, taking in all of the fake sights.

“Yeah, I think I lectured you on cloud types while you just pointed out what shapes they looked like,” Logan says. “Why did you need to show me this?”

“Thomas was only twelve when we were here. Don’t you remember how fun it was, to sit and talk and share our thoughts without all the stress of being an adult with responsibilities?”

“Hm.” Logan shrugs noncommittally, rubbing the flower petal between his fingers.

“I just miss when we had fun. We didn’t have pressure or isolate ourselves in our rooms or yell at our friends instead of asking for their help.” Patton looks down at the same petal, the petal touching a hand connected to an arm attached to a shoulder growing off of Logan. “Can’t we go back to that?”

Logan looks up at Patton, something blossoming in his eyes. It fills Patton with hope, maybe they can really go back, maybe they don’t have to grow apart, maybe Patton doesn’t have to be alone anymore, but Logan speaks and the hope shatters. “No. We can’t.” He releases the petal, disappearing from the memory and leaving Patton by himself. The racing grass blades and vibrant flowers and dashing clouds seem more like taunts at what Patton once had than the peace they used to represent. He drops the flower petal on the fake dirt, opening his eyes back up to his room, Logan gone and the petal on the bed. It goes in the trash.

Memories, of a stolen place Caught in the silence An echo lost in space It comes and goes in waves

Patton only goes back to the flower field once, but the grass is all overgrown, interspersed with weeds, the flower petals all blown away with forceful wind gusts. Even the clouds are no longer a puffy white, instead turning into an overcast grey sky, angry and heavy. One of his happiest memories, with Logan of all people, and it’s been snatched away from him. This time, Patton throws the flower in the sink’s garbage disposal before heading to the far end of the bedroom hall that he normally leaves alone.

“Hey kiddo,” he calls with a knock on the door. The light is out on the other side, but the music playing is loud enough that the room shouldn’t be empty. The door creaks open a bit, enough for Patton to slip inside, pulling the door quietly shut behind him.

“Hey,” Virgil says from the floor beside his bed, headphones on and loud. His legs are bent at the knee, calves and feet resting on the mattress.

“What’re you doing on the floor?” As Virgil mutters something about falling off and being lazy and comfortable, Patton plops down on his rear to join him.

“Why are you in here?” Virgil asks. “You never really hang out in my room anymore. You’ve always been busy with Logan lately.”

“You’re not wrong,” Patton sighs. “But he’s kind of the problem, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Hate to break it to you, but I’m not the feelings department of this mindscape.”

“I know, and that’s not why I’m here. I just didn’t want to be alone.” The pair sits in silence, the only sound in the room coming from the heavy bass in Virgil’s headphones that he’s pulled down from his ears to his neck.

“I get it. I’m here for you.” Virgil’s hand trails along the carpet, finding and linking with Patton’s. He squeezes back, staring at the ceiling and enjoying the escape. His other hand finds a scrap of paper on the ground, stashing it in his pocket for the memory box. Patton shuts his eyes, thankful for the chance to let his mind wander, and not worry about what’s happening outside of the room.

I watched my wild youth Disappear in front of my eyes Moments of magic and wonder It seems so hard to find

When Patton later returns to his room to put the paper scrap in his box, it’s substantially lighter than it used to be. Peering inside, he finds several trinkets slowly vanishing before his eyes, just becoming less opaque until they aren’t there at all. As Patton rifles through the box in horror, he compartmentalizes each memory in his head—all of Virgil’s are still there, along with the new one, all of Roman’s are still there, and only Logan’s are going. Not even all of his, just the old ones, from when they could enjoy each other’s company without the strain of Thomas having an adult life looming over them. All the happy times of the pair in their youth, disappearing into the wind. He runs a hand across some of the keepsakes as they fade, recalling them with a weak smile. A pop bottle lid from the time they pulled an all-nighter simply because they could, going on a wiki walk to learn a bunch of nonsense about bees and flowers. A small books from when they decided they would take up bullet journaling, then promptly abandoned it for more exciting pastimes. The SD card from when Logan wanted to learn computer programming. So many good things, just dissipating to make space for new ones. The crumb that caught in his sock when he saw his three closest friends talking without him. A shard of a splintered pen from when Logan had to prepare for that presentation. A cigarette butt from when Patton caught him again.

Patton swivels in place, stretching for his mini trash can, and holds the box over it, ready to dump all of the contents and forget about them forever. Something stops him. Maybe a spark of hope that it can still work, maybe an inner recognition of the fact that he’ll regret it later in a moment of self-pity.

The box is returned to its place on a high shelf, and Patton falls back on his bed. That little voice that doesn’t want him to give up? It’s fading with the memories.

Is it ever coming back again? Is it ever coming back again? Take me back to the feeling when Everything was left to find It comes and goes in waves

“You’re being unreasonable!”

“And you’re being unsympathetic!”

“I’m being rational and giving Thomas the explanations and solutions he needs!”

“Well I’m the one considering how all of your plans are making him feel! Did you ever wonder if all of these schedules and decisions are overwhelming him? Have you even looked at Virgil lately?”

“Does it look like I have the time to check in on our resident whistleblower?”

“How. Dare. You.”

“Okay, wait, that wasn’t—”

“How dare you? You know how Roman’s jabs affect him, and now you’re adding your own in? Insult to injury, is that it?”

“It isn’t my fault he’s always overreacting to everything!”

“And it isn’t my fault that you’re being an inconsiderate jerk, yet here we are, me trying to fix your problems so this whole family doesn’t fall apart!”

A slamming door.

Angry footsteps.

Loud pen scribbling.

Cursing.

Patton turns and heads for Roman’s door, knocking a few times to get the fanciful side out of whatever fantasy his room might have concocted at the moment. Roman pulls the door open after a few seconds, only a few stray hairs out of place. He pulls them back up on top of his head and steps back, allowing Patton to come in.

“What can I help you with?” Roman asks, straightening his red sash.

“I need a memory.”

“Didn’t I teach you how to keep those? The whole keepsake thing?”

“You did, but that’s not it. The trinkets, well, not important. I need you to bring up a specific memory, and I don’t have a thing to commemorate it.”

“Alright, no problem. Just think of the memory, and I’ll be over here in the corner by myself, not intruding on your memory at all.” A blatant lie, but Patton doesn’t care if Roman sees this. He’d prefer it, actually, so he won’t be alone in remembering.

“Can you do it in the removed sense?” Patton asks. Roman flashes a thumbs up, and Patton closes his eyes, not wanting to ruin for himself the magic behind how Roman works. When he opens his eyes, he’s in Logan’s room, looking down at himself and Logan on the floor, leaning against the bed.

“You can tell me, it’s okay,” Patton says, taking Logan’s hand. He flinches, but doesn’t let go.

“It’s just the robot thing. I don’t get it. I don’t get you. Why do your feelings rule over everything?”

“That’s just what I came to represent, you know? I’m Morality, so I’m his sense of right and wrong, too. I’m more than just emotions, and you’re more than just an unfeeling robot.”

“How can you know that?” Logan sniffles, wiping a hand under his nose before it can start dripping.

“Because I know you. You’re important to me, and I know that on the inside, you care about all of us, and about Thomas. Even if you mock us for wearing our hearts on our sleeves, there’s still a part of you that wants to join in. If that ever happens, I swear that I’ll support you.”

Logan turns his head to look at Patton, an earnest look in his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

“No, really. Thank you.”

“Roman, I think I’d like to leave now, please.” Patton shuts his eyes, waiting until he’s absolutely certain the memory has vanished.

“You okay?” Roman asks, taking a step toward Patton.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, tearing out the door for his own room. He doesn’t stop to explain to Roman why he needed that memory, or why he left. Patton doesn’t want to tell Roman that the old Logan is gone. He’s not coming back.

I’m trying hard to let go It comes and goes in waves It comes and goes in waves And carries us away

Patton stands before the fireplace in the commons that night, watching the flames lick the iron frame. His memory box is in his hands, still emptying itself of the happy things. It’s easily late enough for everyone else to be asleep, or at least hanging out without Patton somewhere. He doesn’t really care.

Patton upends the box over the fire, its contents spilling out and curling in on themselves, melting and mixing and falling apart, their particles drifting up with the flames to the fake chimney and through the room, scattering across the commons for anyone to happen upon, an old memory that might make them smile.

The box emptied, Patton lets the heat warm his face, soaking in the past one last time, before it’s out of his reach.

Then he tosses in the box.

Tag list:

@sakurahayasaki @erlenmeyertrash @lemonpepperpizza @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @milomeepit

#sanders sides #labhwrites #mine #virgil #roman #logan #patton #waves #cigarette tw #smoking tw #songfic #hopefully this is alright? i wasnt planning on the whole memory box thing but i thought of it and put it in and kind of liked it #i definitely also have at least nine other songs i want to do fics with #and this one was nowhere near as angsty as i wanted it to be #but thats ok i guess its still pretty alright #what was missing and taxi cab were definitely better tho in my opinion #also i love this song seriously its so good please listen to it #i cut out some lyrics bc i figured no one cared to see the same verse four times #waves by dean lewis #anyway heres a story i guess #also [at]leesacrakon i loved yours let me say seriously 12/10 #sorry if this isnt too stellar #if you dont want me to tag you in the next ones let me know and i wont #yike okey doke here we go squad

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