#fic: Yorktown 1781 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

khadij-al-kubra · 4 years

Text

Worst Impressions are the First (ch 7)

Main Characters: Logan, Patton, Roman, Virgil (Human AU)

Pairings: Romantic LAMP

Word Count: 5036

AO3

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Author’s (longer than usual but it’s for good reason) Note: *The Apocalypse—2020. Zoom in on a plague rat turned writer. She has survived thesis projects, getting a Master’s degree, burnout, writing and illustrating a children’s book, being a slave for the U.S. census bureau, months of overthinking anxiety spirals, and one or two incidents involving an asshole skunk. But now, battle weary yet unwavering in her love of art and love for her loyal readers, this onesie-clad tea slurping book dragon....has finally arisen from the ashes*

I LIVE BITCHES!!!!!!! And I am SO SORRY for taking so long!!! I’ve been hard at work, been editing like a mad woman, and I even have a beta now! The gorgeous and talented @humbletortoise So I am OFFICIALLY off hiatus!!! *cue confetti canon*

Also, one of the biggest reasons I’ve taken so long to update is because I’ve spent the past month or so essentially retconning the fuck outta this fic. I realized looking back at earlier chapters in this story that, although I was proud of them at the time and greatly appreciate the positive reactions, they were...not my best work. (shitty first drafts if I’m being honest) That’s because, at the time, I was trying to split my attention between writing this fic and working on grad school stuff, which resulted in my writing for this not being as best of quality as it could have been upon first posting. This story deserves my best, and so do all of you. So now I hope to give you that.

I encourage you to go back and re-read the previous chapters up till now (trust me, they’re near unrecognizable to the first drafts, but in the best way). Or if you don’t feel like doing that, you can just continue on from here. totally cool. For the sake of convenience and my own sanity, I’ll attach the AO3 Link to this fic from the start. I may also start just posting chapter updates on tumblr but only have the link to the chapter and add my reader tags. Again, for the sake of my sanity because Tumblr is a bastard when it comes to posting fics. (Also PLEASE let me know if there are any tagging issues if anyone’s on my tags list; yet another reason i’m considering just linking my fics in the future)

Anywho, without further ado, at LOOOOOONG last, here is the next chapter!

Chapter 7 - (POV Roman)

When Roman had offered to walk with Logan to class, it was only partly out of an innate sense of chivalry; a side of himself that he rarely got to show on account of being a socially awkward gay disaster. Though mainly, he saw it as a chance to get to know his second soulmate better.

He certainly hadn’t expected two long minutes of civil but silent walking. Well, as silent as a stroll through their school could be with its usual racket buzzing around them. With a vocabulary as big as the continents of Africa and Eurasia combined, you’d think Logan would be more of a conversationalist. Alas. He merely walked in step with Roman. They glanced over at each other every so often, but Logan stayed tight lipped and seemingly impassive; fiddling with his bumblebee hair pin every now and again. Damn. Looked like he was going to have to make the first move.

Roman was bad at this. How did people usually…Oh yeah, common interest. That’s a thing. He wracked his brain for some sort of ice breaker. One that’d make him look cool and calm or, something, in front of Logan. He was a fairly decent student though not quite mathletes level. He could compliment his outfit maybe? Was that too forward? Too shallow? Maybe he could find common ground? That was as good a place to start as any.

“So! So uhh…What kind of music do you like?” Roman asked. Yeah, that’s good. Everybody likes music.

Logan glanced at him. “Can you be more specific?”

Roman’s brow furrowed. “I mean, like, your favorite genre of music to listen to?”

“Classical,” said Logan in a clipped tone.

“That’s cool. I don’t really listen to classical myself.”

Logan only hummed, his face neutral. Roman was really hoping for more than that. A few awkward seconds passed, then Logan spoke up.

“Are you perhaps a fan of the classic Sherlock Holmes novels?” He inquired.

“Um, I haven’t gotten around to the books yet, actually,” Roman said, scratching his earlobe. “I mean, I’ve heard great things about them. And I’m a big fan of the Robert Downey Jr. movies.”

“Ah. I see.” Logan said, giving him the judgiest side eye.

Come on, Roman thought. Give me something to work with. “Oh! What about theater?”

“What a frustratingly vague inquiry.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to get to know my soulmate a little better.” Ay come jode, work with me here, man!

Logan sighed. “While I understand and appreciate your intention, I believe ‘getting to know someone’ as you put it, requires a certain level of specificity. Anything less indicates a somewhat shallow level of sincere interest, and I greatly despise shallow conversation. That said, if you’re inquiring as to whether or not I enjoy theater, no. I don’t understand the concept of professional make believe, though I appreciate it as an art form. I assume you’re a fan?”

Is he seriously implying I’m shallow? Roman groused, pushing his red frames up the bridge of his nose. Ugh, forget it Roman. He’s throwing you a bone here. Take it.

“Obviously,” said Roman, gesturing dramatically. “I mean I’m no actor—Eesh. No. Yikes—but everything about the artform enthralls me. And I like all kinds of genres and eras of plays, from Shakespear to Ruhl, but musicals are by far my favorite, because like, there’s so much you can do with them design wise. I mean just look at how groundbreaking Hamilton was.”

For a second, Logan’s face actually softened, his eyes lighting up. But just as Roman thought they were finally about to make some progress, his stony companion was back to wearing that platinum puss.

“Ah. How… original.”

Roman blinked. “Are you saying my tastes are basic?”

“Well, yes.”

Augh! Okay. Yep. I don’t like him. Patton was going to be so disappointed, and Roman was too. He’d wanted so badly to get along with all his soulmates, but Logan was a snob! Way less intimidating than Virgil and his ilk, but still a jerk. I wonder if soulmarks can make typos or something? Thank the stars they’d already arrived.

Roman and Logan filed in with the rest of the class for seventh period. Somebody had the liberty of opening a window– the AC was still busted in this classroom– so for once there was actually a decent breeze cutting through the usual mucky Florida humidity. Still smelled like it would probably rain later. Good thing Roman had packed an umbrella just in case, Mom’s orders. His hair looked too good today to be wrecked by frizz.

Roman took a seat at his desk, running distracted fingers over the carved letters in the wood while he mulled over his predicament. Just look at him over there, thought Roman as he glared at Logan, not two rows away from him. Sitting with his hands clasped on the desk all smug—of course he’d be near the front—and with such disturbingly good posture. What is he, a robot? Who is he to call my interests basic, the NERVE! And okay, sure, like Hamilton, sometimes I get over excited and shoot off at the mouth. But great Zeus, does that guy show passion for ANYTHING besides academics? Roman blew a raspberry, plopping his head in his hands.

He always thought soulmates were supposed to get along, even as just friends for life. Balancing each other out, bringing out the best in you and forming a deep connection—that was the whole point. He sighed to himself. Cymbals clashed less than he and Logan did.

He was stirred from his brooding by the bell. Apparently Mr. ‘Call-me-Terrence’ Williams had materialized without him noticing. Okay fine, he should probably pay more attention, but he was having a crisis here.

“Afternoon everyone,” Terrence greeted in that measured, upbeat tone of his.

He draped his navy blue blazer over the back of his desk chair and rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbows. Roman pitied the poor guy; he had to teach sauna of a classroom all day. He could see the glisten of sweat on his teacher's smooth forehead as he wrote things on the board. Yet he still kept a pleasant attitude towards his students.

“Alright class!” Terrence started, “Today we’re covering the next section on the American Revolution. Specifically, the Battle of Yorktown...”

Roman mentally punched the air. My time has come. He opened his textbook to the right page but didn’t bother looking at it. He already knew most everything about Yorktown. Not just because he’d listened to the Hamilton soundtrack fifteen and a half million times, but also because he’d done actual research on the event and time period that the musical took place; There was always the off chance he’d get to stage crew or, heck, even dramaturg the show. He liked to be prepared.

“So the battle of Yorktown took place in 1781, but a great deal of its success was thanks to the French Allies. Many especially aided in fighting the British Troops surrounding New York. Now who can tell me where the French Soldiers first landed?”

Roman half raised his hand. He was pretty sure he knew the answer.

“Logan.” Terrence called.

Roman turned to Logan desk, where his hand was held high and mighty.

“The French Ally ships first landed in Rhode Island, then made their way to Chesapeake Bay,” said Logan, adjusting his glasses. Not even a hint of second guessing in his voice.

“That’s right!”

He almost missed the quick smirk on Logan’s frustratingly pretty face. Look at that smug—thinks he’s so smart...Okay yes, he is smart, but he doesn’t have to be a show off about it. Terrence continued through the passages, calling on a student every now and again to review. Of course, Logan got called on most and he got every answer right. Roman didn’t feel like raising his hand anymore.

“Of course there were many turning points in the revolution, but Hamilton’s return to the field for Yorktown was a key point.” Terrence continued on. “And keep in mind- this was a man who up till now had never been in a position of command before. Not to mention the mental strains he must’ve been under, especially having had to miss the birth of his son Philip, the first of three children he had.”

Wait a sec. “Well, that’s not right.”

Even though he’d muttered, apparently Mr. Terrence still heard him. “Come again, Roman?”

Shoot. “Um, I said,” Stop sounding timid, you know you’re right. “I said that was, um, wrong.”

The whole class turned to him. Oh great, history class has its eyes on me. Roman cleared his throat and tried to look taller.

“What I mean is: Hamilton had eight kids, not three. And on top of that, Phillip was born a few months after they won the Revolution, not during, so Hamilton didn’t miss the birth of his son. I mean sure, it’s a small thing, but the devil’s in the details as they say. Heh.”

Terrence gave the most insultingly bemused look. And Roman definitely heard a few kids snickering behind him. He glanced quickly at the culprits and felt his ears go hot. This is what he got for putting himself in the spotlight.

“Roman, I applaud you for participating in the class discussion,” Their teacher started gently, “but I’m afraid you’re wrong on this one. If you read your textbook close you’d see in the fifth paragraph where it mentions from one of his later letters—“

“Actually Mr. Williams, if I may, Roman is correct.”

Roman saw Logan at his desk, one hand raised while the other adjusted his neck scarf. Was the teacher’s pet actually… backing him up?

“It is a common misconception that Alexander Hamilton only had two children, even more so modernly, what with the musical having only named two of them. However Roman has clearly done his research on the plays historical accuracies, which is more than I can say for some.”

Logan shot a cool but scathing look at their recently snickering classmates and they withered. Roman fought the urge to point and laugh aloud. He did however stick his tongue out real quick. What? He could be shy and petty at the same time.

“My guess,” Logan continued, “is that this textbook edition is also either misprinted or outdated, judging by the publication date in the copyright section.”

Brows furrowed, Terrence looked at the textbook laid open on his desk. He flipped back to the front, before pulling out his cellphone—“I’m the teacher, I’m allowed to do this. You guys aren’t.”—and after what Roman guessed was a quick Google search, their teacher looked up. His eyebrows drawn in a ‘hm, well damn’ expression.

“Looks like you’re right, Roman. And thank you Logan for bringing to my attention about the textbooks. I’ll have to talk to the principal about hopefully getting some updated materials. But we’ll see how that goes,” Terrence, muttered the last part, though Roman was close enough to catch it. Terrence cleared his throat and moved back to the board. “Maybe if we call on assistance from the inside. Much like how the Sons of Liberty sent in Hercules Mulligan to spy on the British...”

“Perhaps if we knew of an immigrant who was unafraid to step in,” Logan said just under his breath.

No one else seemed to notice the reference, but when Roman did, he felt like a mini volcano about to burst rainbow lava. Apparently there was a lot more to his soulmate than first meets the eye; and now that he knew, Roman was determined to see more of it. The rest of class passed quickly and everyone filed out to the halls as the first bell for the last class period of the day rang. Roman made sure to catch up to Logan on the way out and staccato tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, Logan?” He said.

When Logan turned, he swore time slowed down for a moment. The brilliant boy’s skirt flared around his waist, and somehow his skin glowed even under the dull, inconsistent school lights. His posture was erect yet natural, he could have been raised among nobility. Amidst the stench and clamor of loud sweaty students, Logan was as poised and striking as the goddess Athena. Oh...

“Yes, Roman?” Logan asked.

Roman gulped. “I uh, just wanted to thank you for backing me up in there.”

“Thanks are unnecessary,” Logan said. “I detest when someone is shamed by other students for speaking up in class, regardless of whether or not they have the correct information.”

“Well regardless, thanks for coming to my aid in the face of academic danger.”

“Dramatic, but my pleas—oof!”

A hurried passerby bumped into Logan from behind, rushing off with a half-assed ‘sorry’. Logan, caught off guard, stumbled right into Roman’s arms. The two looked at each other, cheeks filling with heat. Roman caught a whiff of something faintly floral on Logan, something natural– a lavender and honeysuckle perfume, perhaps. It was heavenly. They were still in the middle of foot traffic though, so he maneuvered them to the side. Which was tricky since Logan was still so close to him and also a good two inches taller with the heels.

“Well,” Roman flashed his pearly whites. “Seems you’ve fallen for me.”

Logan pulled away, but his lips quirked upwards in a teasing smirk. “Oh please, I merely stumbled into you.”

“Ah, but stumbling is the first step towards being swept off your feet.”

“Bold words from an abashedly charming homunculus in such an… eye catching ensemble.”

Did he call me charming!? He composed himself, “Hey, don’t let the sweater vest fool you. I may be short but I’ve got guns.”

“Aaah. But mind over muscle, as they say. Do you find yourself up to the task?”

“Only if it’s you, my brainy blossom.”

Roman’s class was in the other direction, but Logan didn’t need to know that. They walked through the halls, conversing. class was still in the next ten or so minutes, but Roman was having fun. Banter with Logan felt surprisingly easy. Natural like they’d been at it all their lives.

“By the way, was that a ‘Guns n’ Ships’ reference I overheard, pastel poindexter?” Roman asked.

Logan cleared his throat. “It… may have been, yes. I found myself unable to resist toppling the figurative dominos.”

“In other words, you seized the opportunity you saw,” Roman said, matching his own reference to the source’s cadence, which got a chuckle out of Logan.

“Precisely. Under more casual circumstances, I may have even recited Lafayette’s part.”

“You can rap? You can rap Guns n’ Ships? Like, the whole thing, no tongue twists?”

Logan stopped for a moment, turned to Roman. The taller boy cleared his throat, and after a moment wherein he seemed to mentally restrain himself, he simply adjusted his glasses. “I have an appreciation for poetry.”

Roman blinked rapidly. Holy shit, he’s an even bigger nerd than I am. He definitely needed to see that at some point.

They turned a corner, stopping just outside of the science room. Some students were going in to take their seats, and the teacher was already making notes on the board. Logan pulled an AP Physics book from his backpack, but made no move to leave, much to Roman’s delight.

“So then,” Roman leaned against the eggshell wall, “How come you acted so indifferent earlier and called my tastes basic? Oh, and I think I remember you also implied I was shallow?”

Okay, yeah, he was still kind of salty about that. But then he saw the shamed look on the nerd’s face, and Roman wished he could have taken it back. Logan looked at his shoes then back at him.

“To be candid I was… hesitant to show the full extent of my enthusiasm. In case you thought I’d be—I believe ‘being the most’ is the term— it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve caused someone to lose interest in conversing with me due to informational overload. I nearly bored my Aunt Patricia to sleep once talking about a fascinating article on jellyfish. And considering how I blundered our initial meeting—“

“Pfft, ya think?” He mentally slapped himself again when Logan went tight-lipped and turned to go. “No, no, wait. I—I’m sorry. Truly. ...Truth is, I was no gentleman either. I’m not always great at thinking before I speak. It’s why I’m so awkward around people. Takes a while for my true charming nature to shine through.”

“Clearly. Still, you show a level of interpersonal aptitude that I, well, lack.” Logan fiddled with his hair pin again and a stray hair came loose. “Reading people and expressing emotions has never really been—It’s something I struggle with.”

Much as Logan tried to maintain his cool composed posturing, Roman could tell that this was something that really bothered him. He tried so hard to seem put together and confident and serious, but really he was just as awkward and insecure as anyone. Roman smiled softly and stepped closer to Logan, reaching up to tuck the loose ebony strand behind his ear.

“Hey, everyone’s got things about themselves they can work on. Including me,” Roman smiled. “And believe me when I say that I will never judge you for being passionate about something you like. So if you ever want someone to ramble about jellyfish or Sweeney Todd to or—I dunno, calculators or something?—I’m all ears.”

Logan’s cheeks went pink and he gave a hesitant yet sincere smile. “That’s...very kind of you, Roman. And coincidentally, I also greatly enjoy Sweeney Todd. The use of iambic pentameter and alliteration to give a succinct synopsis to the story in just the first sentence alone is pure brilliance.”

“Right!? I mean the man’s a mad genius. I’m dying to design sets for one of his musicals someday. Like last year? I came up with the concept of having the Sweeney Todd sets done in a way that highlights the class differences with the characters.” Roman went into a small three minute ramble regarding the specifics before he cut himself off abruptly. Logan was blinking rapidly, a look of mild shock crossing his feature. Roman nearly started sweating; Had he messed this up again?

“That… that’s ingenious”

Roman’s ears were burning. Ohmygosh!Ohmygosh!Ohmygosh!

“Hey, Logan!” They both startled and turned to an impatient cheerleader with a ginger undercut and they/them pronoun pin shaped like a coffin. “What’re you doing just standing out in the hall, ya dork? Oh, hey Roman.”

“Uh. Hey, October,” Roman said, waving awkwardly to them.

“I told ya, Red, you only get to call me that when we’re working on a show.”

“Wait, October? Red? You two know each other?” Logan asked, brow arching.

“Kind of. They sometimes help out with costumes for the drama club,” said Roman. And they have terrible timing. I mean seriously Tobes, we were having a moment.

“Come on Lo, class is about to start, and you promised to go over my homework with me real quick beforehand. See ya ‘round, Ro.” Toby grabbed Logan’s hand and pulled him into the classroom. “You can fill me in on what you were doing with Red later.”

Logan followed his—apparently—friend into their classroom, but he shot Roman an apologetic look over his shoulder. Roman bounced a bit on the balls of his feet before following halfway into the room. Logan was in his seat with Toby showing him an open notebook. A teacher in a tight grey hair bun was writing on the board. Students at their seats were chatting, and some looked up at the short dork in red who burst in. For once Roman ignored them, his mind set on one last attempt at wooing his green skirted genius while he still had the nerve.

“Hey, Logan,” he said. “I’ve also got some great layout designs for an Into the Woods set. If you’re interested, maybe we can meet up after school and I can show them to you? Maybe we talk a bit more over iced lattes or something?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Prince, seventh period starts in five minutes,” said the teacher. “Unless you’ve suddenly transferred to my class, I suggest you stop distracting my favorite student and get going.”

“I’ll be gone in just a second,” he said. “Well?”

Logan smoothed the silky fabric of his pink scarf and said, “That sounds optimal, Roman. I’ll meet with you. By the first floor water fountain perhaps?”

Roman grinned. “I shall be counting the minutes.”

“Mr. Prince,” said the teacher with a warning glare.

Roman blew a kiss at Logan and then ducked out of the doorway. Was he embarrassed of himself? Oh definitely. Did he regret it? Absolutely not. He felt ten inches tall.

Now to complete the quest of making it to class in time. He slid off a shoulder strap to unzip his classic Mickey backpack, getting out the notebook and the relevant homework. He found them amidst the mess of spiral notebooks, granola bar wrappers, two textbooks and rainbow sticky notes. But something was missing from his folder.

“Where are those– it should be here.” He could’ve sworn he had his stapled the blocking notes in his folder. No, wait, the last place he saw them was— “Ah shoot! I left them in the tech closet again.”

Under normal circumstances, Roman would’ve grabbed them after school, but the auditorium was locked on weekends. He’d have to wait till Monday to get them and that just wouldn't do! he wanted to show Logan his notes today! I’ll bet David Korins never has these kinds of problems. Okay, okay. Still got four minutes. He could rush to the auditorium, grab the notes, and then head straight to class. I should have enough time, right? Right. Besides it was only Spanish Class, he was already pretty fluent after all those summers visiting his grandparent in Nicaragua. He spent most of class time dreaming up blocking notes anyway.

Despite not being totally convinced by his own argument, Roman immediately turned on his heel and started running in the opposite direction. After a teacher told him no running in the halls, Roman power walked through the halls with a skip in his step and a song in his heart, feeling absolutely gay in both senses of the word. Logan had actually called his idea ingenious! And the way those sharp eyes softened just for him- he would squeal if not for the fact that it would draw too many eyes to him. The halls were still filled with a few stragglers rushing to the last class of the day, and he was already trying not to get caught being late for class.

Now he knew how Maria felt in West Side Story. Y’know, before Act 2. Oh sure, they’d gotten off to a shaky start, but as the Bard’s adage on the course of true love said; and Roman felt it in his gut that this was certainly the start of true love. Not just with brilliant Logan but also with soulful Patton as well. He didn’t know how an awkward geek like him ever got so lucky in the soulmate department…Then again, there was still the matter of Virgil. So maybe not so lucky.

Roman touched his arm, remembered flustered yet flattering purple words. I know they both said Virgil is secretly sweet and I can sympathize with the terrors of closet town, but COME ON! Virgil? Really? That gloomy gladiator? There had to be a mistake in that. After all, Patton liked to see the good in everyone. Logan was much more of a skeptic, but he does seem to have a blind spot with sarcasm. Maybe Virgil was messing with them somehow. Even if he’s not a jerk jock, the guy’s still kind of a creepazoid; with his dark eyes and cheeta-esq gait and those probably huge muscles hidden under that bulky jacket and big hands...

His gay disaster train of thought came to a merciful halt as he reached the auditorium. Roman pushed open the doors, took a pause to breathe in the quiet comfort of this chapel of the arts. Okay yeah, chapel was maybe a little kind for the school’s auditorium which doubled as the drama Club’s rehearsal space/prop closet backstage/Mx Joan’s unofficial office because the school didn’t fund the arts programs enough. Even so this space was Roman’s sanctuary. The place where he could help create magic from the shadows, bring stories of those gone and living to life. Here, Roman found something of a community with his fellow backstagers, glee club losers, and budding thespians (the nice ones). So he loved every squeaky stage plank, every duck taped seat cushion and every speck of dust that floated in the spot lit air like fairies.

Mx. Joan wasn’t around for once, thankfully. Probably in the teacher’s lounge or rendezvousing with the school nurse or something. They were pretty chill and Roman knew he was their favorite student, but the choir director/drama club moderator/music teacher (this school really needs to fix its funding habits) wouldn’t have been too keen on Roman being deliberately late for class.

Roman walked down the aisle and to the side room by the stage. It was originally a janitor’s closet, but their club moderator transformed it into a ‘Crew Only’ Storage Unit… Okay it was still a closet, but with less bleach and more coils. This was where they kept important equipment for semester shows, like the lighting and sound boards, along with other supplies. Roman made a quick mental note to get more gaffer tape later, seeing their supply was low.

He looked through the small pile of scribbled and highlighted sheets with the lighting cues for the spring show. I’ve really gotta get a binder for these…Ah-Ha! Here you are! Roman pulled out the stapled sheets titled ‘Into the Woods Dream Set’ and carefully shoved them into his bag. Perfect timing too. He might just be able to make it to class after—

RIIIIIIIIIIING

“GAH!”

What the heck? He could’ve sworn he was alone in there, but that yelp just now said otherwise. Up close, Roman saw that the curtains were rustling, accompanied by sounds of heavy breathing and moaning, yet not a footstep to be seen or heard.

Holy SHIT, this place IS haunted! I KNEW that backdrop fiasco last semester wasn’t caused by cheap slit plywood. My supplies are the best quality allowance money can buy. Great Macbeth’s bloody knife, I TOLD Kai we should've sprung for a ghost light! Remus always teased him for being superstitious but look who’s laughing now.

He dashed back into the crew closet and grabbed the heavy push broom leaning in the corner. Roman Prince was NOT about to be caught unawares and possessed by the ghost of a disgruntled student without a fight. He would defend his domain of imagination!

Roman slowly climbed the stage steps, wielding his broom like a bow staff, turned the curtain corner where the noises were coming from and was about to release a war cry on the—

“Virgil?”

Roman nearly dropped his weapon at the sight of Virgil Alighieri—star athlete, object of his fears and supposed soulmate—curled in on himself trembling and crying.

His jacket was pulled over his head like a hood, yet Roman could see the tear stained face peeking out from underneath. Virgil’s eyes were squeezed tight, making the dark circles he’d never noticed before more prominent. There was no denying the athlete had muscle but he was more lithe—thin enough for Roman to wonder if the guy ate enough. Virgil’s trembling could rival a chihuahua, shaky hands clutching his knees, and he was clearly in the midst of a bad panic attack.

Roman had built Virgil up in his mind as being like some odd combination of Hades and Ares. The strong silent wolf within his pack of jocks, a surging thunderstorm just waiting for the right nerd to come along and piss him off enough to strike down like the bolt of Zeus.

Someone to be afraid of.

But now? Seeing him in this state, all alone and whimpering like a wounded animal...it broke Roman’s heart.

He set the broom down gently and carefully crouched down in front of Virgil. “Virgil,” he said softly. “Virgil, can you hear me?”

Virgil let out a breathy sob but otherwise didn’t seem to register him. Just how long had he been sitting here like this?

Roman was at a loss for what to do. Sure he knew plenty of people with anxiety but never saw someone having an actual panic attack before. He did know that if he didn’t help the other calm down soon, Virgil was liable to pass out. He’d never wanted to hug someone so badly in his life. Roman tentatively reached out a hand but stopped. What if touching him makes it worse? What if I startle him so badly he actually has a heart attack!? Maybe I should get the nurse. But I can’t just leave him like this.

He caught sight of the colorful soulmarks written on Virgil’s arm. Saw his own harsh thoughts: ’Dios mio, he’s staring right at me—like he wants to punch my face!’

Roman took his shame and forged it into steel. I won’t abandon you...my soulmate.

Virgirl’s let out a hiccuped cry, and this gave Roman an idea. Something from back when he was a child. It was probably stupid and a long stretch, but it was all he could think of. He readjusted himself so that he was now sitting right next to Virgil, making sure not to startle him. Roman cleared his throat, then as softly as he could, he began to sing.

“Come stop your crying, it’ll be alright.

Just take my hand, hold it tight.”

Roman one and carefully gentled his hand over Virgil’s. After a moment, he felt a light squeeze, and that encouraged him to keep going.

“I will protect you from all around you.

I will be here, don’t you cry…”

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shakespeareanwannabe · 4 years

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Engineering the Future

Hi everyone! So this is my second Supernatural fic, the first one I cross-posted here on Tumblr, though I have written a couple of other things on this wonderful series. So here’s the thing: this is a bit of a project that I’ve been working on to keep myself writing even when I feel like I have nothing to say.

So here’s the deal: I’m going to write one one-shot per episode. Multiple friends say that I’m driving myself to drink, but so far it’s been fairly smooth sailing. If you guys have any ideas about certain episodes, I’d be happy to hear them, but know that I’ve got a list of prompts for three quarters of the episodes, so I may not write your prompt. But I’d love to hear your ideas. Just, no Wincest or Destiel because I honestly don’t ship either of them (no hate please, it’s just the way I feel. And no, I don’t hate anyone who does ship them). Just brotherly love here!

This chapter is tagged to episode 1x01, Pilot. Hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. This is a work of fiction based on characters from The CW’s Supernatural, created by Eric Kripke.

To completely plagiarize someone else, “Being his real brother I could feel I lived in his shadows, but I never have and I do not now. I live in his glow.” Who said that? Why was his relationship with his brother so important? Doesn’t matter. This isn’t about him. This is about them, and the moments we don’t get to see.

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

Dean had imagined this day since that balmy July evening when a rickety tin door had slammed shut and seemingly separated his family forever.

Depending on his mood, there were several different scenarios that would play out. When he was at the bottom of his third bottle, he would imagine showing up at his front door, having him open the door, stare at him, then shut it again without a word. The second bottle was kinder, allowing them to pass on the streets, perhaps nodding at each other before the one went on with his normal life, leaving the other to thank a God that he didn’t believe in that he had at least seen him one last time. The first bottle didn’t give him enough hope to even attempt to dream up a reunion with his little brother.

The fourth bottle was Dean’s favourite. He would get an excited phone call and drive all the way to Stanford just so that Sam could tell him he was getting married face to face. They would settle into a table at some hoity-toity bar or into a booth at some frou-frou café and would talk as though no time had passed. The natural lighting would fade to black and neither of them would move. Topics of conversation would wax and wane until they found themselves in the same companionable silence that graced the majority of their childhood together.

Sam would eventually sigh sadly and mutter something about having to be in court early the next morning, to which Dean would make a crude joke that would have Sam blushing behind the ears as he laughed. Dean would walk him to his car and deal with the chick-flicky hug bestowed upon him by a drunk and/or over-caffeinated Little Brother. As they pull apart, Sam would get all shy and red again as he stammered through saying that he hoped Dean would be his Best Man (because screw this Brady kid that introduced the happy couple). Dean would laugh, hug his brother, completely deny the tears in his eyes, and say “Who else could fill those shoes, bitch?”

Dean would hang around in California for a couple of months and relish in being stationary for the first time since he was four. He would meet Jessica, automatically start calling her Jessie, and plan a small bachelor party for Sammy and his college pals before taking his kid brother on a kick ass, blow out ‘Brochelor’ party in Vegas to make up for every birthday, Christmas, and any other calendar holiday that they had missed out on. On the day of the wedding he would straighten out his brother’s tie, all the while denying that he had asked the guy at the store how to do so. He would give the kid the picture of Mom that he carried around in his wallet with the explanation that she needed to be there with him on this day. He would stand up next to his little brother during the ceremony, give the most awesome speech ever written during the reception, and dance with his new sister-in-law when the time came.

While he and the other, less important guests waved the happy couple off (he had even given them the Impala to borrow for their honeymoon road trip up the Pacific Coast Highway) he would get a phone call from Dad, saying that he had finally pinned down the son of a bitch who had killed Mom, and that he needed his son there with him. Dean would hotwire a car and go. He’d stand side-by-side with his father as they ganked the sucker, turn, and shake his father’s hand before walking away from the life.

He’d stand hat in hand on Sam’s doorstep when they returned from their honeymoon, praying that his baby brother still had room for his older, less intelligent but far more handsome brother in his new married life. Sam would laugh and pull him into a hug, ensuring him that of course he would always need his big brother. After all, he and Jessie apparently hadn’t come home from their month-long vacation on their own, and this kid was gonna need a really cool uncle to bitch at when his/her parents were giving them a hard time. Any nephew of his was gonna be educated in the ways of the Impala, rock music, and the Dean Winchester Scale of Burger Perfection. Any niece of his would also be educated in these things, but he would need to be there more for Sam when the boys came snooping around, because what was more intimidating than two guys over 6-feet tall who had marksmen’s abilities?

Dean would maybe become a cop, or a mechanic, or maybe even a firefighter, but one thing he would do for sure is protect his family. He’d gank any evil bastard that came within a thousand miles of that two story, white picket fenced house on Normal Boulevard.

Maybe he’d settle down, maybe not. All that was important to him was that his Sammy was happy.

That was all that would ever matter to him.

So, when it came down to it, Dean would have traded everything he had for it to have not happened like this. Never like this.

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

Sam had imagined this day since that first night alone at Stanford.

At first, he’d dreamed that Dean would show up, kick his roommate out, and curl up in the twin bed approximately six feet away from him. Dean would go to the registrar and apply to the school and get in, obviously, because his big brother was a genius. He’d probably take engineering, because Dean could do things with machinery that Sam could never have dreamed about. They’d watch each other’s backs on and off campus, and when one of the dorm rooms ended up being haunted, they’d take care of it, as though they had never been off the job. Dean would go on to open his own body shop, while working side projects like helping to rebuild homes for people who lost them in fires or natural (and supernatural) disasters. Sam would become a kick ass lawyer and help the law protect people. He’d help Dean on the weekends at the shop or with the houses, because they were brothers and why wouldn’t he? They’d still go out and watch the stars when they could, and they’d make sure to go to the first game of every season for the Jayhawks. They’d make a weekend of it. Just Sam, Dean, and the Impala. Of course, Jess would be fine with it. She’d love Dean as much as he did, because what wasn’t there to love? Eventually, he and Jess would get married and Dean would be his Best Man (even though Brady would throw a fit about it, but Dean was right, he was better off without douchebags like Brady in his life), then go on to be the best uncle to the kids they would have. Dean would meet a nice girl and they’d settle down too, and soon it would be Winchester Weekends, filled with barbeques and Little League games and dance recitals and tinkering with the Impala while drinking a cold one together and hiding from their wives and kids.

A few months in, the dream changed. One of the kids in Sam’s classes had a brother in the military, who surprised her by showing up during lecture wearing his fatigues and announcing that he had been honorably discharged and was staying home for good. She’d broken down into tears and hugged him until the professor had just wiped his eyes and dismissed the class, claiming that he didn’t want to bring the room down by talking about the Battle of Yorktown in 1781.

Sam started imagining that something similar would happen to him. Dean and Dad would kill the thing that had killed Mom, then Dean would stroll right into his Economics class wearing his torn jeans, steel toed boots, band shirt and leather jacket (the uniform of one of the longest living hunters out there, and the youngest to boot), acting as though he owned the joint. Sam would launch himself into his brother’s arms, not even minding that that cute girl Jessica sat only a few rows behind him, and bury his face in his brother’s shoulder to hide his tears. Dean would clasp him around the back of his neck and whisper that he and Dad had gotten the damned thing, and that he was quitting the life. Dad would keep hunting with Uncle Bobby, Pastor Jim, and Caleb as back up when needed, but he was out.

Dean would help him hook up with Jessica, because he had seen the way they looked at each other, and Dean couldn’t stand the lovesick puppy dog eyes anymore, then the rest of the daydream would stay the same. Engineering, lawyering, cars, court cases, house building, Jayhawks, star gazing, the Impala, wives, kids, all culminating in the two of them sitting side by side at some Old Folks Home, the lines between what they knew and what the world knew blurred by old age and one too many hard knocks to the head courtesy of any one of monsters of the week that they used to hunt. They’d sit on the front porch, drinking whatever alcohol they could get their hands on, loudly debating the proper way to kill a wendigo (Sam would say iron because he knows his big brother’s mind is fading and he needs him to stick around a while longer because Jess was already gone and he wasn’t quite ready to go and he doesn’t want to be left alone, not again).

No matter which scenario he dreamt up (defending Dean in court, forcing him into retirement when a werewolf gets the better of him and his left leg is basically useless so Sam brings him home with him, or even something as simple as Sam just picking up the phone and asking him to visit (because it’s DEAN, and there’s nothing he won’t do for his little brother, and Sam knows it), there was one common thread that remained the same, and that was that the time they had spent apart held no consequences. They would just fall back into being brothers, knowing that if they were back to back or side by side they would be fine.

That’s why, when Dean bursts through the bedroom door and drags him out of the burning brownstone, Sam couldn’t bring himself to fight at full strength. Dean was there. As much as Sam wished it had been any other scenario he had dreamt up (and not the nightmare that had been plaguing him for weeks), he knew that his big brother was there. And since when had there been any problem that Dean couldn’t solve? He could’ve been an engineer, after all.

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

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #crosspost #in his glow

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hamiltimebinches · 7 years

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Hercules Mulligan x Reader: Night guard

A/n: I have no idea how being a night guard works so I’m just doing whatever the hell I want to with it. So, it’s probably going to be very inaccurate. This is my first story for Herc so if he’s ooc just know that I’m still trying to get ahold of his character.

Timeline: Modern

Warnings: Swearing (should I really put that there anymore, it’s there for almost every single one of my fics.) A very crappy ending. I also got too lazy to edit the whole thing, I only edited the first few paragraphs. That’s it.

Words: 1,602

Being a night guard at a museum isn’t very fun. It’s probably not anyone’s first choice, but as a girl trying to pay her way through college I’m not going to be really picking and choosing. But hey, I can’t really complain. I don’t have to deal with people and the pay is nice.

Because it’s such a boring job I don’t really stay in my office. It’s so cramped and stuffy in there and all I can really do is monitor the place through cameras. Therefore, most nights I normally just stop by my office to get rid of my stuff and then just wander around the building. That’s exactly what I’m going to be doing tonight.

I set my bag down on the office chair and my ice coffee on the desk. I powered on the monitors, sitting down on the very edge of the chair. Swaying back and forth in the chair I stared blankly at the black screens of the monitors, it always takes awhile for them to start up. I don’t understand why the day guard can’t just keep them on, it would only be a few hours until my shift started. But then again these monitors must eat up power and cost a hell of a lot.

Looking at the clock on the wall, I saw that the little hand was pointing at the twelve and the longer one was pointing at the one. That means it’s 12:05, five minutes past midnight. I have another eight hours to go, seeing that my shift ends at seven am.

I turned back to the monitors when a familiar blue light shone from them. They were finally on. Now the only thing left to do is log in with the password I’ve been given and turn on the camera viewers. Logging in with the standard all letters and numbers password I opened up the system that would show me what was on the cameras.

With that being done I stood up from my chair and started fishing through my bag. Finally finding what I was looking for, my flashlight, I grabbed my ice coffee and left the small office. I took a sip from my ice coffee as I made it to the end of the long hallway that shuts the guards off from the main museum.

I contemplated which way I wanted to go first. Did I want to go through the ancient exhibits and make my way up or did I want to go through the modern exhibits and make my way down to the stone age? It didn’t really matter, either way it was going to be a long night. With another sip of my drink I decided to go through the ancient stuff first, it had more interesting artifacts to look at anyway. Honestly, I just chose the ancient way hoping it would take me to my favorite exhibit fastest, even though it is an equal amount away from both paths. My favorite exhibit? Obviously the American Revolution.

About an hour later due to my leisurely pace I walked into the American Revolution exhibit. As I walked by I admired every display in the room. My very favorite display had to be of the Battle at Yorktown though and it was at the end of the exhibit.

I admired the display as I walked by getting ready to continue on with the night. Yet as I went to leave something caught my eye that caused me to do a double take. There was a man sleeping in the Battle of Yorktown display. It definitely was a strange sight but even stranger was what he was wearing. The man was fully dressed in Revolutionary military uniform.

Unintentionally I let out a scream, my flashlight falling out of my grip and onto the floor. The man was wakened by my scream and he jumped to his feet. Although he started out with a startled look on his face it slowly changed to wonder and confusion. He looked around, observing the room, without even acknowledging me.

“Um, excuse me, Sir but what do you think you’re doing here? Especially why were you sleeping in the Battle of Yorktown display?” I asked loudly, picking up my flashlight and holding it at my side. The man jumped slightly, turning to look at me before letting out a particularly loud gasp.

“What are you wearing?” He asked, looking me up and down. I looked down at myself, I was wearing my uniform shirt and a pair of jeans. “What do you mean what am I wearing? What are you wearing?” I asked in offense, there was absolutely nothing wrong or out of the ordinary with what I was wearing. What he was wearing was out of the ordinary.

“I’m wearing my uniform, but you’re wearing pants. If you can call those pants, what on earth are they made of?” He asked, gesturing to my pants. “Yeah, I’m wearing pants, they’re jeans.” I said slowly, this guy is starting to get on my nerves. What the hell was he even doing here? “You’re a woman, and you’re wearing pants. Women wear dresses not pants, if you can even call those ‘jeans’ pants.” The man said as though it were the most common knowledge out there.

Okay, it is official this guy has thoroughly pissed me off. “Um, excuse me! This is not the seventeenth or even eighteenth century, it is 2018! It is the very normal for women wear pants or whatever the hell they want, you ass!” I snapped, glaring at the male. No matter how cute he may be he can’t get away with saying shit like that. Wait. Did I seriously just think that?

The look of confusion that crossed his face certainly confirmed my previous thoughts. “2018? What do you mean? It’s 1781, isn’t it?” He asked. This guy was either being serious or just a very good actor. “Um, no, it is 2018. What? Have you been living under a rock your whole life?” I said, a nervous chuckle escaping past my lips. This guy hasn’t posed himself as a threat, but if he did he could definitely do some damage to me. “Lived under a rock- what?”

“Um, not important. If you really are from 1781, which I highly doubt, why don’t you tell me something no one else other than a history nerd would know about the Battle of Yorktown? C’mon, you can tell me as I finish my rounds.” I said, waving him over and starting to exit the room. He followed me out of the room silently before starting up.

Arriving back at my cramped office with my newfound companion I realized that this guy may actually be from the seventeen hundreds. Every time I tried to throw the guy out of his amazing act by showing him something from my time or talking about recent events he genuinely seemed confused or didn’t understand.

“Holy shit, you really are from the seventeen hundreds aren’t you?” I asked quietly, sitting down on the desk. I placed my empty cup down beside me as the guy inspected the office chair before deciding to sit down on the floor beside it. He eyed the chair warily before answering my question. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to convince you of this whole time.”

“Um, sorry for yelling at you earlier about the pants and for calling you an ass. I wouldn’t have said those things if I had known you came from a time where women only ever wore dresses and literally had no rights, unlike now.” I apologized, rubbing the back of my neck.

“It’s okay Miss- Miss- I’m sorry I never got your name.” The man said a bit awkwardly. “Oh! I suppose you’re right. I’m (Y/n), (Y/n) (L/n).” I introduced myself, sliding from my spot on the desk to on the floor in front of him. I held out my hand for him to shake, but he did differently. He grabbed my hand and placed a soft kiss on my knuckles. My cheeks flushed, and even though I realized that was normal back from when he came I couldn’t help but feel my heart skip a beat or two. “Hercules Mulligan, Miss (Y/n). It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“U-Um, yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you too.” I stuttered, gently taking my hand out of his grasp. I looked up at the clock on the wall. It was 2:30 am, I still four and a half hours left of my shift. “Until we find a way to get you back to your time you’re going to have to live with me. Thank goodness I don’t stay at my college dorms and have my own apartment I live in. It’s also quite lucky that I have a spare room and bed you can use, although I might have to clean it up a bit.” I said, bringing my attention back to Hercules.

“That’s fine with me, but are you okay with me staying with you?” He asked, placing a hand on my knee. Even though it was just a slight touch that didn’t mean anything I still felt butterflies erupt in my stomach. “Of course I’m fine with it, I wouldn’t have said that if I wasn’t.” I said with a smile. He smiled back at me, and I swear my heart is trying to kill me with how many beats it just skipped. I know it’s selfish but I found myself hoping we never found a way to get him back home.

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