#god I love songs where I ascend the astral plane

[onedirecton]

TWO

[junktrait]

asa mercer for @infinityonsims ‘ bachelor challenge! bio & more pics of him under the cut

asa mercer grew up in a small town and moved to san myshuno right after he turned 18 to pursue a career in music. his apartment is grody and he makes minimum wage but he doesn’t have to drive 20 minutes to get to a starbucks anymore so he’s happy. he also moonlights as a dj when he’s not crafting albums to throw up on bandcamp for $5. he has a big social circle but only a couple of close friends, so he’s looking to get ~romantically involved~ with someone. also he’s ten seconds away from becoming a soundcloud rapper so he needs someone to talk him off that ledge

aspiration - musical genius

traits - art lover, lazy, creative

vine star in past life (not the good kind)

dog owner, dog is a pomeranian called stink

acts tough but is a softie and a mama’s boy. misses his family a lot

arachnophobe, ascends to the astral plane if he even glimpses a spider; he doesn’t hate the outdoors on principle but that’s where the spiders are so he’s indoors a lot

favorite song atm

serial napper

ex-fuckboy; ex bc one of his old flames tried to run him down on a sidewalk with a motorcycle and he’s over that life

scorpio sun and in denial about it

plays guitar (well), piano (decent), drums (subpar), & violin (horrible)

has given himself one of his two tattoos, the heart on his left wrist

living embodiment of “oh god he has airpods in he can’t hear us”

favorite foods n drinks include sweet sticky rice and energy drinks

bi icon to the stars

idealizes his apartment until someone comes over and he can’t pretend it’s decent anymore

i love him and i hope u do as well! private download if he gets picked!

here’s some more pics of him (stopped putting them just directly under the post bc tumblr murdered the quality thx tumblr)

[things-we-used-tc-share]

You look like a movie

(Oh god this reminds me of when we were young)

Warnings: Alcohol mention, past abuse mention, homophobic fathers, rocky relationships. 

Ship: Logince

Plot: Successful movie director Logan Sanders, runs into successful actor Roman Prince at an awards ceremony. This isn’t the first time they’ve met, and the night holds the possibility of igniting an old flame. (Based loosely off the song When We Were Young by Adele) 

--

Roman’s breath was nearly knocked straight from his lungs when he saw him, dressed in an elegant Prussian blue suit, complete with a white shirt and black tie. Too Roman, right now, he looked like heaven just walked onto the earth with a halo full of dark brown curls and a smile made of sunlight. “Shit,” He mutters to himself. 

Logan had aged well in the past fifteen years, he was no longer a skinny and scrawny boy, but tall with lean muscle and a firm jawline that almost had the younger man spinning (”If I slapped him, I would literally cut my hand on that jaw,”). He looks away, down at his hands, his glass of champagne, anything but those dazzling blue eyes and...dear God, he could hear his laughter from here. 

He grabs a handful of the tiny buffet sausage rolls and shoved them in his mouth miserably. He’s wallowing in his sadness before Virgil is collapsing in the seat next to him “You saw him didn’t you?” The ebony haired man mutters, seeing the other man nods through his sausage diversion. “Why don’t you try talking to him? You’re not kids anymore Ro,” Roman looks at his friend like he’d grown an extra head “Anything is better than you eating all the sausage rolls whilst pouting like a three-year-old,”

Roman tells Virgil to fuck off, Virgil confiscates the remaining sausage rolls. 

He paces around the room, talking to different people for a good hour, but his gaze always wanders over to the dark-haired, bright-eyed man. He smiles now, laughs even, when they were younger Logan frowned at almost everything, but he’d been dealing with a lot too. Roman always assumed that once Logan was better, he just didn’t need Roman anymore. 

“If you stare at him any harder, you’ll be shooting lasers into his head,” his current companion giggles, a bright young actor with bright blue hair and a wide smile. He’d worked with him before, his name was Patton, and 90% of the time he was a ray of sunshine. The other 10% he was tired. “He’s actually really sweet, I know he seems intimidating, but he’s actually a big softie,” Roman blinks, Logan? Soft? What exactly had changed? 

He blames it on curiosity in the end. 

“Hello-Oh,” Roman shoves a champagne glass in his hand by way of a conversation starter. Logan stares at him, taking the glass and trying to register who exactly was right in front of him.  Roman had changed a bit too, he’d filled out his muscles, grown a little and if you ask Logan, he’d have said that Roman’s skin looked like it was physically glowing. “Roman, hi, how...let’s take this on the balcony perhaps?” 

The younger nods as the two weave through the crowds of people outside to where a handful of guys were smoking a cigarette and sipping champagne. They lean against the railing in the fr corner, away from others prying eyes. “Hey Logan,” Roman says softly, his heart trying to make a grand escape out of his chest as he takes in the other up close. “How have you been?” 

“Good,” The director speaks with a slight shake in his voice, his cheeks flushed and his liquid confidence shaking in his hand. “I’ve been...better since we last saw each other that is, and you? You’re an actor now right?” 

“Yeah, I’ve been...Okay look, I’m not going to lie, I’ve got a lot of questions that I don’t know if I should ask but, you know me, there are aspects that even now haven’t changed,” 

“Still obnoxious and have no filter?” A chuckle escapes the two of them, the actor nods, looking down before meeting Logan’s light blue eyes with a wide smile (Logan thinks his heart stutters in his chest because dear lord, he doesn’t remember Roman’s smile being quite so beautiful). “I expect your questions are about our past, or perhaps me now?” No matter what, the darker haired man still talked like a textbook, a very pretty textbook, but his voice is softer now, there’s emotion there, happiness. 

Roman nods, sinking into Logan’s eyes, as he tries so hard to remember that night. 

--

15 years prior

“I’m leaving,” Roman starts with panic, eyes wide as he stares up at his boyfriend “I have to...go...I’m sorry Roman,” The younger tries to protest, tries to get more out of him, tries to understand why the love of his life had a suitcase in his eyes and why there was nothing in his voice that indicated he really was sorry. 

In truth, as the door closes, and the young man collapses to his knees, his heart falling right into his tears, Roman thinks that Logan never really loved him at all. Why would he just leave? With no explanation? 

--

Present

Roman blinks back into the present, swallowing dryly. The boy that had left that day was not the man who stood before him, who had laughter lines and sparkling eyes and stubble. That boy had been cold, tired, angry all the time. That boy would never have noticed his discomfort and offer that they perhaps say their goodbyes and go for a walk in the air. 

When Roman says goodnight to Virgil, he was munching on his second platter of tiny sausage rolls, the younger man winks and tells him to stay safe. Roman doesn’t really have the energy to crack a joke back, he just hugs his friend and tells him to text so he knew that the other got home safe.

Logan waits for him outside, outside the door, looking up at the night’s sky like there was a secret it needed to tell him. Perhaps he was talking to fate, asking her why this cruel trick needed to be played. 

They walk in silence for a little while, before sitting at a bench in the lukewarm air, watching the night turn. “I didn’t want to leave you,” Logan finally says tiredly, rubbing his eyes, for a moment Roman sees a little bit of that scared 18-year-old boy, and he wants to hug him. “I had too, for your safety, and for mine,” The younger swallowed, somehow he knew where this story was going. 

--

16 years prior

“Logan, you need to talk to me,” Logan’s eyes are a blaze of anger, there are tears in his eyes as he shakes his head, his hand flies at the wall, adding more bruises to the collection. 

“Fuck!” He shouts, gripping his hair, his cheeks are red, his lip is bleeding, there are tears pouring over his cheeks like a waterfall. Roman hugs him, as he tries to lash out at anything or anyone again, but stills and just sobs into Roman’s chest. “My fucking father,” He heaves through his tears “I hate him,” 

Roman had never met Logan’s dad, and he never wanted too, the man had a whiskey temper and an attitude towards gay people that no child should have to enjoy. But as anger coursed through his spine, realizing that Logan’s words were the answer to the bruises on his neck and arms, he has never wanted to meet the man so badly. 

So he could put him in hospital.

--

Present

Roman, out of instinct, an instinct that has been buried for fifteen years, takes Logan’s hand “Was it because of him?” The elder nods, swallowing his pride for a moment. His lack of vulnerability had lost him Roman in the first place really, always refusing his help. 

“I had to leave, until his trial was over, and by the time that came around I didn’t want to go back to a place that made me feel...like there were ghosts living in my chest, and I didn’t think after my abrupt exit you would want me to come back, in truth I didn’t feel like I deserved you, but I never forgot you once, I made myself into the man I wanted to be, and the man you would want me to be,” 

“I wish you could’ve told me, I wish you’d come back, I missed you, for years afterward you were an entire person that I felt like I’d lost,” His hands are cold, but they’re in Logan’s, trying to find a piece of what he’d left behind. “I tried so hard to move on, in the end, I just focused on my career because no one could ever, ever replace you, you were such a unique person, you still are, different, but there’s certainly no other Logan Sanders in the world,” 

Logan breathes like his lungs have only just found air again, he smiles with tears in his eyes, and Roman thinks, this is the man I could’ve loved. Fifteen years later, and nothing still stings like a first love. 

“If it helps I could never move on either,” 

It did help. 

Roman hugs him, he hugs him and even this is different, Logan melts into his arms like hot chocolate, his eyes fall closed and he hugs him back. 

--

16 Years Prior

Roman doubted many things about he and Logan’s relationship. The first is that Logan very rarely says he loves him, he always looks and sounds and acts like his emotions are switched off, like there’s nothing in him to love with. But Roman loves Logan, so he deals with it. When they hug, Logan looks tired, blank, when they kiss, the other man holds no passion or lead. 

He wonders if it’s him if he’s doing something wrong or if Logan doesn’t like it, but when he brings it up, Logan noncommittedly shakes his head and makes a noise that he supposes is “no,”. 

So Roman deals with the fact his boyfriend doesn’t, or perhaps can’t, show him affection. 

--

Present

“I missed you,” Logan says unabashedly, and the younger man feels his heart soar, or perhaps ascend into the astral plane. “I don’t know if you want too, or if we can try again, but you’ve been the only thing that drives me into getting better, years after you were no longer there, I guess somewhere, somehow, despite all science, I knew this day would come,” 

Roman kisses him. 

It seems like the only answer he can give because his heart is pounding and words are all getting mixed up in his head, whilst tears brim in his eyes. He kisses him with every missed year, and every cold night alone he kisses him with all the ‘i wish you hadn’t left’s he’d been shouting at empty walls. Logan kisses him with tired nights, with therapy sessions that he’d wished the other had been there to see, with the hospitals he’d been in for days and weeks that he’d never told the other about. He kisses him with the last fragment of a broken heart that needed to be fixed. 

The part where Roman belonged. 

Then Logan holds him. And Roman holds him, and they both try not to cry. “Don’t go, this time, please don’t go,” He can hear the tears in the younger man’s voice and it’s a thunderstorm straight to his heart. 

“Not this time,”

--

Logan didn’t leave. He never left again.

Taglist:

@analogical-mess //  @unikornavenger // @mycatshuman // @creativity-killed-thekitten //@theresneverenoughfandoms//@charmingprincey//@aclickonapostwillchangeyourlife//@heck-im-lost //@k9cat//@stilljittery//@romansleftshoulderpad //@sanderssideslibrary //@max-is-tired//@therealmoshar//@punsterterry//@trashypansexual //@miserykillme

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[ultraclops]

I Can't Think Of A Creative Title [Mao Mao Spoilers]

SUGAR BERRY FEVER

BULL MONSTER? YEEHAW GIDDY-UP

Oh the Hero's Code IS a real book! Made by Mao's family no less! Cool

I'm gonna say it now. The pirate aunt's kinda cute.

I don't know much about cobbler but I'm pretty sure you don't put it in a trough

*screaming interspaced by cobbler eating*

Why exactly is eating cobbler against the Hero's Code? Did the first person in the Mao clan really hate cobbler or something?

"If I could have that cobbler, I would do things to it that would make my ancestors cry in shame." JESUS CHRIST HOW'D THEY GET AWAY WITH THAT

"Buuut I can't!" Am I the only one who thinks he sounded like Thomas Sanders when he said that

"Has anyone told you that you have issues?"

(Mao ominously hovers into the kitchen with glowing eyes while creepy wails play in the background) Nothing to see here.

The thing Mao's eyes do when he goes 'Oooooo' like if you agree

Apparently Badgerclops' biggest fear is 'crushing self-doubt'. Oooooo.

Tbh I had the same reaction as Mao when the cobbler started talking

I don't like where this is going...

UNCLE JIM-JIM?!

OH NO IT'S THE SCRIBBLY EYES

Okay but if Mao passed out in the kitchen how'd he get in the living room? Badgerclops couldn't have moved him because then he would've known he ate the cobbler

And that's, what, the second table Badgerclops has destroyed?

Cool, HQ has security cam - oh nevermind.

If Badgerclops and Adorabat saw the cobbler on Mao's mouth why didn't they assume he ate it? It wouldn't be there otherwise

"Ah know ah wooould :)" Sassy Adora

"And you're going by yourself. That's okay, I'm emotional anyways."

NYAAAMN NYAAAMN NYAAAMN

So the Sugar Berry Fever is literal? Like, an actual condition caused by eating cobbler? Is that why it's against the Hero's Code? And why didn't Badgerclops and Adorabat get it?

DOUBLE JOINTED BABEY!!

BEARCLOPS HAS RETURNED for like 2 minutes.

I know we makes jokes about Mao going feral but he ABSOLUTELY went feral in this episode. CBS incarnate.

Ok that's really sad. Why would you make a child destroy the thing they love and force their siblings to watch?! At least one of the sisters looks a little hurt over it.

Aaand the Bull Monster's back of course. And it has the fever too? Suspicious.

I don't wanna say where my mind went here but you probably know what I mean

ADORABAT BARKING I'M

B!TCH WENT SUPER SAIYAN - I mean GOLDEN TRUTH

If only fighting your demons was as easy as shoving a cobbler down their throat.

Are we gonna see Golden Truth Mao in the future? I like the he

Mao probably crashed the moment they got home ngl

CAPTURED CLOPS

Those stealth boots look like weird cleats.

"Stealth boots aren't toys." "Then why are mine colored like toys?" "I found them at the toy store." Isn't that a contradiction-

He used to be a villain what did you expect

HE DIDN'T SAAAVE

If BC's chores are fixing the Aerocycle and grocery shopping, what do Mao and Adora do?

"I need to be away from you right now before I LOSE IT on you." Is that a callback to The Truth Stinks or Legend of Torbaclaun? Both?

Yay another BC song, with some casual boulder-chucking

Aww the Sky Pirates are swimming together. Fambly.

BADGERCLOPS GETTING ATTACKED BY A TITMOUSE IN THE BACKGROUND ASDFGHJK

Yes, follow the cute but suspicious puppet that totally isn't trying to murder you

What's with the glowy eyes and creepy autotune?

So running away and cry-singing into a lake is normal for Badgerclops? Damn why isn't HE in therapy

MOM-MOM

You heard it here folks, BC is canonically depressed

That was quick

HOUSE MUSIC ELECTRONICA! And can we get uhh Orangusnake in the 90s?

Dang they still don't have any food? What happened to Mama Ratarang's meatballs?

ORANGUSNAKE WHAT THE HECK

I know it's supposed to be kinda sad but the imaginary food is really shiny.

So he'll fix the Sky Pirate's ship but not the Aerocycle? Priorities, priorities...

Mao and Adora Have Become Ninjas

HOSS WATERBOARDING THE PUPPET I

*Jaws theme*

"I love house music!" Trust me, I know.

DON'T HURT YOUR CO-HERO AND KID BC LET'S TALK ABOUT THIS

They're gonna take the Pure Heart? Weren't they trying to destroy it a couple episodes ago? Oh god what if Badgerclops DID get the Ruby Pure Heart's powers... that'd be scary

I can see the Badgersnake fics now

Mao fixed the Aerocycle - oh nevermind.

VIVA LA REVOLUTION

"How'd you get over here so fast??" "Badgerclops, I walked over here. Casually." Reminds me of a girl I used to know.

Hmm. Should've known the Sky Pirates not eating anything would've had side-effects

So the Sky Pirates could've just. Bought groceries. But chose not to.

"Aren't you forgetting something BIG?!" "*sighs* Thank you for having me" I mean at least he's polite??

How'd he manage to plug the ship into Benny and Penny's house though? And how'd it WORK?!

"Those guys are a little too relaxed" -cuts to the Sky Pirates panicking-

FLYAWAY

Aww, family training exercises - OH NO ADORABAT

Nevermind she's okay she just chipped a tooth.

'Physics...recital?' Do 5-year-olds even study physics? Is Adorabat a child prodigy?

Adorabat can face giant monsters but can't stand the dentist? Is she secretly Goku?

Aww, Mao still has one of his old plushies and he kisses it

I like that book it looks like there's a gemstone on it

Meditating Melvin, because you can't have enough alliterative names.

STAHP IT >:(

(Insert ASCENDED meme here)

Adora: *masters a technique that should take years* ight i'mma head out

WHY WOULD YOU DROP HER FROM THAT HIGH? BAD PARENTING BC

OH GOD THEY'RE GONNA KILL HER. good thing her soul isn't in her body huh

Oh look it's the Meditating Melvin guy. And he gives me strong Wander over Yonder vibes.

Being in the Astral Plane causes you to lose your memories?? Dang Adora better get out fast

Time for a song that TOTALLY isn't a desperate cry for help!

Bugs, smoke bombs, and popping balloons with pikes. These are the things used to summon Adorabat.

Wait, how come Adorabat doesn't feel any of the pain she sustained when Mao and BC were trying to return her soul to her body?

Yaaay Adorabat got over her fear and is ready to go to the dentist - OH MY GOD THAT IS UNCALLED FOR

THAT ENDING I

Wait a minute. If Mao said the technique took years to master, but Adorabat and Badgerclops both achieved it in under a day...does that mean they're more spiritually inclined than him or there's something preventing him from ascending?

BAOST IN SHOW

If I'm honest, I misread the title as 'Boast in Show', which made more sense at the time.

Why is Snugglemagne playing discus by himself though? Where's Quinton?

OH $H!T IT'S BAO BAO

Snugglemagne: it's free dog (and royal pet show)

"You're my new best friend!" Ooh boy.

"If he leaves me a third time, who knows what could happen? I might explode, LITERALLY" Mood

Literally everyone in PHV knows Badgerclops, how does changing his ear shape and putting on a leash count as a disguise. The guards could tell who Penny and Benny were why not him

Adorabat has a pet fly asdgdgffkh

Hey Chet's back

I don't want to imagine all the weird fanart and fanfics that'll come from this scene. Actually from this episode in general.

Whoever wins keeps Bao AND BC?! WHAT THE F-

Aww bento - OH NO ADORA ATE THE FLY

THAT 'DON'T STOP ME NOW' PARODY

IT'S THE SUIT FROM THE CONCEPT ART!

"I'm not actually a pet." "I know." Then why didn't you say anything??

Yay, Mao and Bao are reunited - nevermind Bao just wanted BC's snacks.

HE ACTUALLY EXPLODED and took it shockingly well I'm surprised

Well Mao, you did it. You pissed off Snugglemagne again.

Those combo attacks are freaking GENIUS

I'm tempted to make a "Long live the king" joke when Bao Bao bites Snugglemagne's arm

"I TOLD YOU HE'S TRAITOROUS"

At last, Mao truly forgives Bao and is willing to let him go

"Until next time." Is Bao Bao gonna come back??

Snugglemagne tortures people by forcing them to listen to his harpsichord? Does that even count as torture? And is Mao gonna get them out?

[lovelylogans]

my true love gave to me

ships: platonic lamp, prinxiety, logicality

warnings: drinking, swearing, food mentions, jokes of the “it’s so cute i’m going to die” variety

words: 14,210

read on ao3

Twelve broken cookies, eleven homemade ornaments, ten crumpled solo cups, nine choreographed dance numbers, eight pissed-off mall elves, seven kept promises, six kinds of wrapping paper, five mismatched shoes, four doofus roommates, three different drinking games, two mugs of coffee, and the smell of smoke at 4 AM.

The original song might be catchier, but honestly, Virgil prefers his version. Even with all the hilarity and hysteria.

Something is burning. The smell's what wakes him, and it takes him about three seconds to identify the scent of smoke.

Fantastic. Virgil loves starting the day with a surge of adrenaline straight out of the gate.

Virgil stumbles out of bed, managing to avoid bouncing off the wall, and careens his way to the kitchen, feeling a little bit like his body is a bumper car being piloted by a sugar-high toddler. Distantly, he thinks he probably should have put a shirt on, in case he has to flee the building at the tail-end of December, but he can't really bring himself to care about that just now.

He comes to a stop in the doorway of the kitchen, and makes a sound that could only be compared to a particularly inquisitive squeaky hinge.

Two heads snap around from where they are focused on something on the kitchen table. Virgil leans a little to see what it is and nearly overbalances. He thinks he can hear his adrenal glands screeching to a halt in sheer confusion. Logan, wild-eyed, throws himself casually atop the kitchen table, and Roman is beaming at him at full wattage.

"Hello, friend-o!"

If the rest of Virgil's brain cells were awake, that would be the point where the Kill Bill sirens would start going off. Firstly, because Roman only calls people friend when he wants something from them. Secondly, the last time Roman and Logan teamed up in the shroud of darkness it resulted in what Patton politely terms as "a science experiment mishap" and Virgil terms "sweet fucking fuck, you idiots, we're going to lose our deposit, and my mind, and then our lives, in that order." Thirdly, there is still the scent of something burning.

As it is, he's too distracted by the brightness and eagerness of Roman's smile. His currently awake brain cells have folded up the list currently titled "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" and is beating him about the head with it. God, why does he have to live with his crush, it's the worst thing ever.

His brain finally seizes on a talking point, and he says, "Fire?" in a voice still gruff from sleep. Belatedly, he crosses his arms over his bare chest.

"No, no, nonononono, what?" Roman says, laughing the fakest laugh Virgil has ever heard while exchanging a frantic look with Logan, who is posing on the table in a way that wouldn't be out of character for Roman, but for Logan looks like the least natural pose possible. Logan is also currently gesturing to Roman to get Virgil to leave the room, as if Virgil can't see him.

"You look sleepy, Virgil," Roman says, voice sugary-sweet, arm wrapping tight around his shoulders and steering him away from the kitchen table of mystery. Roman's arm is very warm, and his body is a tense warm line against Virgil's side. The material of his sweater is very soft along his bare skin. Virgil is quietly dying, just a little. "Aren't you just so sleepy?"

Virgil's body traitorously leans into Roman, and he mumbles, "What are you two doing?"

"Shh, nothing, nothing, don't you worry your pretty little head about it," Roman says, and Virgil is aware he's being steered out of the kitchen and thereby away from whatever apocalypse-worthy thing Roman and Logan have deemed fit to create in the dead of night, but he's also very very tired. And also, Roman just called him pretty.

"But I smelled smoke," Virgil says, sleepy and confused and a little punch drunk off human contact, and before he knows it, Roman has shoved him unceremoniously onto his own bed. 

"Did you?" Roman asks, attempting to wrap Virgil in all the blankets like the world's most emo burrito. 

Virgil tries in vain to wriggle his arms loose, which results in a five minute detour of the conversation while Roman attempts to bundle him up and Virgil attempts to keep the ability to breathe without being smothered to death.

This ends with Roman laying mostly on behind and slightly on top of Virgil, pinning him to the bed, and Virgil making a few token wriggles of malcontent but really mostly kind of enjoying the weight and heat of Roman's chest to really try anything. He is very warm. He should probably be trying to get back up again but all his brain is capable of is a half-asleep stupor, stunned and lazy with it.

"I know what you're doing," Virgil mumbles from where his face is mostly squashed into the pillows. He now knows what it's like to be the little spoon with Roman, this is going to ruin his life, but also this is the best thing that has happened to him this week.

"That's nice, Virgil," Roman says distractedly, and Virgil feels the sensation of Roman's arm leaving his body. He supposes this might mean that Logan and Roman are having some kind of gesticular conversation behind his back, but as Virgil is pinned, he can't exactly eavesdrop. Eyes-drop? Since he'd be looking at it.

Virgil wants to laugh. Patton would like that one.

Patton. If Roman's snuggle-warfare is going to work—and it probably will, at this point of exhaustion Virgil's only requirements for sleep are "vaguely horizontal" and "warm" and Roman knows that—then Patton will be the only one making sure the apartment doesn't explode, and Patton sleeps with the kind of force that would make hibernating bears weep with envy.

He is the last line of defense. If it were just Roman or just Logan awake, Virgil would leave them to it. But Roman and Logan are a duo to be reckoned with. Logan and Roman are the type of people who are convinced whatever they'd create would be used to ascend to the astral plane with Africa by Toto blaring in the background. Roman and Logan are the type of people who think they could create something that would be used to unlock the final secrets of alchemy. Roman and Logan would merrily burn down the whole apartment complex if it furthered one of their brain children.

Virgil has a sudden and terrifying mental image of being tackled by dozens of tiny Roman-and-Logan look-a-likes, whilst they both cackle proudly in the background.

Right. Okay. Either he needs to caffeinate or sleep, and he can do neither of those could happen while they're in danger of Roman and Logan realizing An Idea.

Virgil pushes himself up onto an elbow, intent on going to see what Logan was blocking from sight, and very suddenly, Virgil is on his back, Roman laying on top of him with a wild light in his eyes.

"Um," Virgil says, because now he knows how Roman feels on top of him this is the best and worst EVER, "you, uh, realize this is just making me more curious. Right?"

Roman's weight on top of him is—nice, to say the least. There's an odd sense of comfort from being boxed in like this, which is saying something, because if it were anyone else Virgil would probably be halfway to freaking out. As it is—

Roman blinks down at him, elbows on either side of Virgil's head, close enough that Virgil can pick out all the little golden flecks in his eyes. "There's nothing to be curious about," he says, high-pitched. "I, um. What if I just really wanted to tuck you in?"

Virgil rolls his eyes. "Sure. And Logan wanted me to draw him like a French girl, and the smoke was just a scented candle, right?"

"I'm so glad you've understood the situation," Roman says brightly. The fact that he is currently on top of Virgil hasn't fazed him at all. "Now, don't you feel better? Relaxed enough to sleep? Preferably until noon?"

Virgil's eyes narrow. "I'll accept your terms," he says warningly, "if you promise me that whatever you and Logan are doing won't affect our security deposit."

"No, no, of course not," Roman says soothingly, and adds, more seriously, "Really, Virgil. I promise. You know how protective Logan gets over the deposit. The most danger we're in is a couple of burnt fingers, maybe." He pauses, and then leans in close enough that his lips are brushing Virgil's ear FUCK, "It's a matter of Logan's pride, really. I'm doing him a favor."

Virgil really hopes that Roman cannot feel his pulse from where their chests are pressed together. "Logan's pride?" He whispers, half to the air and half into Roman's shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.

"Mmm," Roman hums into his ear. "He required a bit of creative flair for a certain someone's present."

It clicks then. Patton. Of course. In the cover of night, when Patton would only be roused by the sound of sirens, and even that was a stretch. He supposes they just hadn't counted on Virgil's panic response. Logan and Patton's mutual crushes were the worst kept secret within the apartment, except, it seems, to Logan and Patton themselves, who were both equally convinced they would be resigned to pining away in misery forever.

"Ah," Virgil says. "I'll, uh. I'll just stay here, then. Where you've tucked me in so nicely."

He waits patiently, trying not to spontaneously combust, and adds, "You, um. You can get off of me now, Roman, you've got me convinced."

"Oh!" Roman says, and he draws back, clearing his throat as he awkwardly clambers off of Virgil. "Of course. Ah. Sleep well."

A little cold, very conscious of his bare chest, Virgil draws the blankets around himself tighter and turns back onto his side. Distantly, he sees Roman going to where Logan is standing in the doorway, and he can hear the low murmur of Logan's voice, too soft for him to catch, but he can definitely see the way Roman's shoving his shoulder as they walk away.

When he's certain that they're out of sight, Virgil turns his face into the pillow and screams a little.

2 DAYS TO CHRISTMAS

In the morning—actually the morning, it's a Christmas miracle—Virgil rolls out of bed and tugs on a shirt, this time, before slouching to the kitchen.

"Mornin', kiddo!"

A warm mug is pressed into his hands. Virgil doesn't even look to see what it is before immediately working on transferring the contents of the mug into his body, right now. Bless Patton, it's coffee, because Patton knows that Virgil would chug an entire pitcher of coffee if given the chance.

When he breaks to breathe, he makes a grunting noise of greeting at Patton, who smiles and asks if he wants eggs or cereal. 

"Whatever you're having," Virgil mumbles, and starts drinking more of his coffee. He glances around the kitchen surreptitiously—there are no obvious signs of damage, which means Roman kept his promise.

Patton goes about pouring them two bowls of artificially bright cereal, and Virgil pours himself another mug of coffee.

"Good morning!" Roman trills, swooping into the kitchen with all of his usual obnoxious morning-person-ness. Virgil, huddling over his cereal bowl, is suddenly very conscious of his unbrushed rat's nest of hair. He makes another sound of greeting that could be perceived as friendly.

Roman angles his smile at Virgil, and Virgil tries his best not to choke on his cereal. Roman probably knows exactly disarming he is, and he certainly isn't above flirting to get out of trouble, as shown by the last science experiment mishap/sweet fucking fuck, you idiots, we're going to lose our deposit, and my mind, and then our lives, in that order/time the landlord marched in to have a talk with Roman and staggered out looking like he'd seen the face of God. How does he not even look slightly disastrous in the mornings, life is unfair.

"What's the plan for today, Padre?" Roman's asking, making himself a mug of tea, or whatever, because Roman's a functional adult who's severed his ties to caffeine, whereas Virgil is stuck in a dark and captivating affair with it. 

But Patton's frowning at the doorway, fiddling with the sleeves of his cat hoodie, the one Logan had gotten him after a hard week that turned into a hard couple of months, and he has subsequently worn religiously. "That's odd," he says, in an undertone. "Usually Logan's up by now, I wonder if he's sick?" He turns his big, doe eyes onto Virgil. "Did he look sick yesterday?"

Virgil opens his mouth to suggest that maybe Logan's tired because he was up at 4 AM trying to clandestinely make something for Patton with Roman, but Roman's already winding his arm around Patton's shoulder, shooting Virgil a look as he does so. 

"Maybe our resident Einstein's just taking a bit more rest, hm? It is break, after all. I'm sure he'll love whatever idea you've got planned for us." Roman squeezes Patton's shoulder, shaking him a little bit, comfortingly. 

"You think so?" Patton says, a little breathless, looking like his eyes will start glimmering like some kind of anime protagonist any second now.

At that moment, Virgil manages to look out into the hallway, and leans hard enough to see Logan, who is straightening his necktie and staring at himself in the mirror. Virgil presses his lips together to keep from laughing. Primping? Roman's style, definitely. But not Logan's. Unless—

"Hey, Patton, he's coming down the hallway," Virgil says loudly.

Logan jumps in the hallway, glowers at Virgil as he weakly smooths his hair back, and then clears his throat, striding into the kitchen. He goes straight to the fridge, pulling out that niche organic jam that Patton bought once and is now a permanent staple on their shopping list because it was a jam that both Roman and Logan actually liked. He places two slices of bread into the toaster, and pours himself a mug of dark, bitter coffee.

"What were you saying, Patton?" Logan says, attention on the toaster so he can't see the aggressive heart eyes Patton is sending at his back. Virgil's phone buzzes, and he glances down at it.

sir sing-a-lot: can we shove them under some mistletoe today?

Virgil's lips twitch, and he smirks at Roman in agreement, rolling his eyes. 

dark and stormy knight: honestly if i have to endure another logan monologue about "feeLINGS????" i might actually go full rom-com and lock them in a closet together

Roman snorts, inelegantly. Virgil might die, it's one of the cutest sounds he's ever heard. The "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" has that sound on it like fifty times, but Virgil doesn't care, it's going on there again.

"Well," Patton says, straightening himself up, "There's this thing me and my friends used to do as kids, and I thought it could be fun, you know, to make sure we all get into the Christmas spirit!"

There might be someone who would deny Patton something when he's looking so excited, but that person absolutely did not live in this apartment building.

"Sounds fantastic!"

"Fine by me."

"Adequate."

Patton laughs, looking delighted and a little confused. "I haven't even told you all what it is yet!"

"Doesn't matter," Roman declares. "Logan decided what we did yesterday, Virgil decided the day before, and I've got dibs on tomorrow. Today is your day, Pat."

They did. Logan decided on going to see a rendition of A Christmas Carol, an option Roman had joyously agreed with, and then they'd had a group dinner after that. Virgil's day had been marathoning Christmas movies, munching on popcorn and candy canes and Patton's cookies. 

Logan nods from where he's smearing copious amounts of jam over his toast. Virgil is busy slurping the last of his coffee, but he manages to give a thumbs-up of agreement.

"Okay," Patton says, after everyone's finished their breakfasts, and holds out a Santa's hat. "Everyone, take a name! If you get your own, put it back."

The other three shuffle around, and Logan sticks his hand in first, then Roman, then Virgil, then Patton. Of course, Patton draws his own name, so they have to do it all again, and Virgil glances at the name scrawled in Patton's sloppy print. Logan.

"Everyone got it?" Patton says, and the other three nod. "Okay, who's got who?"

They all blink.

"I thought this was secret Santa," Virgil says.

"No, it's Not-So-Secret Santa, there's a twist," Patton says happily. "See, look, I got you, Virgil."

"I got Patton," Roman says.

"Logan," Virgil says.

"Roman," Logan says, holding up the scrap of paper as evidence.

"Ooh, that works out so well!" Patton squeaks happily. "Okay, so the rules of Not-So-Secret Santa are pretty easy to follow. Since you've got me, Roman, and Virgil's got Logan, you two are on a team!" 

A team. On a team with Roman. Virgil doesn't care if Patton tells them the rules to Not-So-Secret-Santa are to immediately punch your person in the face, he will break Logan's nose if it means he spends extended alone time with Roman. Logan's a bro, he'd understand, he'd probably do the same to Virgil to ensure alone time with Patton.

"So that means you and me are together, Logan," Patton says, and they take a moment to exchange Totally Platonic Longing Eye Contact Between Best Buddies, before Patton clears his throat and looks back down at his scrap of paper, then at Virgil and Roman. 

"Anyways," he says, "there's a dollar limit—five or ten, ideally—and a time limit, too, but we'll decide on that when we get to the mall and see how busy it is. We just get a gift—something small, or cheap, or funny, or something you think the person would like, that's all."

Oh God, the mall. Two days before Christmas. A Sunday. It's going to be a zoo.

"So get thinking, and get dressed!" Patton says happily. "We'll head out once everyone's ready."

Right. A cheap gift for Logan. What would Logan even want? Logan's one of the least materialistic person he's met. 

A vision blooms in his mind, rapidly, and Virgil feels himself grinning as he reaches for his usual hoodie. It's perfect. It's wonderful.

"Dear God, you look absolutely unholy," Roman comments as they both step into the living room, carefully fastening a bright red scarf around his neck. Virgil narrowly avoids stepping into the Christmas tree, as he has been since Patton put it up. The things is mostly decorated with a sparse collection of ornaments Patton and Roman made in their spare time, the chain of colored paper Virgil and Logan had spent a long, dull day making that loops around the tree three times, and truly obnoxious amounts of tinsel and fake snow. It's horrific. Virgil loves it. 

"I've just thought of the perfect gift for Logan," Virgil says brightly. "It's just a matter of making sure they've actually got it."

Roman grins at him, a little confused but happy nonetheless, but Logan and Patton are stepping into the living room, and they all bundle into Patton's car. Patton puts on some CD of instrumental Christmas music that Logan loves, because he's super gone and has probably listened to it sappily whilst drawing hearts and doodling Logan into all his notebooks. Logan smiles when he hears it, and Patton looks as if he is about to ascend through the roof of the car.

Virgil looks down at his phone when it buzzes.

sir sing-a-lot: ffs please don't tell me that he put this on because of logan sir sing-a-lot: wait, of course he did sir sing-a-lot: because they're in LOOOOOOOOOOOVE 

dark and stormy knight: how much you wanna bet that they're late meeting us because of all the breaks they have to take to stare into each other's eyes

He glances over as Roman's phone buzzes, and watches him grin at the screen. Virgil directs his own little smile towards his phone screen.

sir sing-a-lot: i think we have a Holiday Mission, Brendon Urie

If he wasn't in the same car as Roman, he would absolutely be pressing a hand to his chest in shocked awe and flattery. As it is, this is going on the "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list.

dark and stormy knight: first of all i am not worthy second of all ???

sir sing-a-lot: Operation Mistletoe sir sing-a-lot: i promise you that by the time school resumes the nerds will be making lovey-dovey eyes at each other with full knowledge that the other likes them back, and so hopefully they will contain their sap to their own rooms

dark and stormy knight: you have to do literally nothing to convince me

sir sing-a-lot: so clearly the first step is this shopping trip, but how much can we coordinate if we're shopping? 

Virgil angles a look at Roman, who's staring at him, eyebrows lifted.

dark and stormy knight: so what do you propose?

 If he's judging by the state of the parking lot, Virgil would say they're completely and totally fucked. He takes a couple seconds to draw some deep breaths before they all exit the car, because crowds aren't exactly his favorite thing, much less driven-mad-by-holidays crowds, but he isn't going to be the person to strike down all the fun. He can handle this.

Suddenly, someone's hand is around his wrist, and he hears Roman shout, "COME ON, VIRGIL!"

He angles a look back at Patton and Logan, but all they do is send him equally coordinated winks, because Virgil had freaked out in front of Logan about the "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list and Logan had called in Patton in a panic about emotions and also Virgil's anxiety, so there's no help at all there.

He doesn't have time to reflect on that before Roman's pulling him, half-running through the parking lot, and into the door, where Roman adjusts so he's holding Virgil's hand, everything is FINE—

"Okay," Roman says brightly, "if I recall correctly, your gift for Logan's over this way, come on, hurry, we have to lose them—"

"We don't have to lose them, they're walking across the parking lot like normal people," Virgil complains, but he follows along to where Roman's pulling him.

Down ten dollars and hiding his purchase in a shopping bag, Virgil trails after Roman as he trawls the various stands for the perfect gift for Patton. It doesn't take him very long to find one, and the various things needed to dress it up to Roman's standards, and Roman's leading him to a relatively quiet alcove. Passing suburban mothers give them the stink-eye, because clearly two college-aged boys in a small space could mean nothing good.

"Okay," Roman says, hands on his hips. "So, first things first, we need to find out where Patton and Logan are, and then sneak up on them."

"So how do we find Patton," Virgil muses.

Roman pauses, tilting his hip, and then snaps his fingers. "I've got a plan."

Five minutes later, Virgil is being glowered at by a woman who is juggling two babies, but he cannot bring himself to care, as Roman is pressed into his side.

"If this doesn't work we're going back to my plan," Virgil grumbles, which is going back to the car, locking themselves inside it, and leaving Logan and Patton to wander the mall for them for however long Roman and Virgil can stick it out.

"It'll work, trust me," Roman says confidently, glancing down at his phone and then scanning the food court, and then immediately whacking Virgil's shoulder in excitement. "See, what did I tell you!"

There, at the edges of a line for the cookie booth Roman Snapchatted to Patton, are Patton and Logan.

"Princey, I take back all my words of doubt," Virgil breathes. God, he really shouldn't have doubted it—cookies were Patton's ultimate vice.

"As you should," Roman preens, and then, "What do you think they're talking about?"

Virgil flattens his voice into his best Logan impression. "Cookies? Anything you desire, Patton."

"Oh, Logan," Roman catches on, sending the bounce factor in his voice to over nine thousand, "The only thing I could possibly love more in this world than these cookies is yo-ouu!" His voice goes into a ridiculously high-pitched Mariah Carey impression, and Virgil has to muffle his laughter against his hoodie sleeves. 

They cycle through a variety of topics that Logan and Patton may or may not have been discussing, including: how dashing, suave, and debonair Roman is, how cool and edgy Virgil is, the possibilities of eloping to Vegas, how they were going to give Virgil and Roman all of their winnings from Vegas, and the dog they were all going to adopt right after this.

Logan and Patton eventually get close enough that they can hear them, though, and Roman and Virgil duck down even lower, shushing each other, still giggling a little.

"—think Roman and Virgil are doing, anyways?"

Like that, the laughter's gone. Please don't say anything about my crush on Roman, please don't say anything about my crush on Roman, Virgil thinks, his latest attempts at telepathy. God, that would be the worst reveal ever, and already Virgil is starting to hold his breath.

"Well, it's not last year," Patton says, "They've come a long way, haven't they?"

They share a laugh. Virgil doesn't think Roman's breathing, either.

"They have," Logan agrees. "I thought that living in the same apartment would've aggregated their relationship, not softened it."

"It did at first, though," Patton says. "Remember that time they were yelling at each other, and I was kind of upset and you took me out for milkshakes?"

Roman and Virgil exchange a look of surprise. The fact that neither of them had heard about this—

"At one AM," Logan says, voice a little softer, the way it only ever softens around Patton. "And we got cookies from that late-night bakery and parked on the roof of one of the parking garages."

Roman's hand grips his upper arm, and Virgil looks at him. THAT SOUNDS LIKE A DATE, Roman mouths exaggeratedly, and Virgil nods in agreement.

"And we sat on the hood of your car, and you told me all about—"

"—the planet's rotation slowing down because of tidal forces. I remember."

They're staring into each other's eyes, and seriously, how the hell do they not understand that they're in love with each other, Virgil's going to knock their heads together if Operation Mistletoe doesn't work. But Roman's never broken a promise to him, and then the vendor's calling them forwards, and Logan's already digging out his wallet.

"Logan, you don't have to—"

"I want to," Logan says, stubborn, and that—hits Virgil in a way he didn't expect. Because Logan runs budgets five times over, goes down to argue with the admission's office on a monthly basis about his various scholarships and tuition costs, pinches pennies like his life depends on it. And Patton knows it. They all do.  

"Well," Patton says, soft. "Only if you let me buy you coffee later."

Logan doesn't respond, only hands Patton his cookie. Patton's smiling, happy and a little sad, and Logan clears his throat.

"So, do you have any ideas on what to get Virgil? I'm pretty sure I know what I'll get Roman."

Roman tugs at Virgil's arm, and they hustle as discreetly as they can after Logan and Patton. It takes a little while to shake off the sense of seriousness that settled over them before, but it only takes Patton innocently lifting up an electrically pink hoodie and asking Logan, "For Virgil?" to send Roman into hysteric laughter.

Virgil shoves him, and apparently it sends him into a grandma, and the grandma goes flying into the mall Santa display, bumping her against the sleigh and sending the presents in the sack on the sleigh flying. A swarm of mall elves descend upon them and immediately threaten escorting them from the premises if they insist on causing trouble. Being rounded up by eight people in curved shoes and belled hats just makes Roman laugh harder as Virgil desperately apologizes and hopes that neither Logan or Patton look to see what the disturbance is.

Virgil gets his revenge, though, when Logan dryly suggests to Patton that he could buy Roman some music that isn't Broadway or Disney in addition to his other gift, to expand his horizons, and Roman looks so offended that Virgil chokes on his own spit laughing at him, which makes Roman thump on the back, then rub his hand up and down his shoulders.

"You—your face," Virgil wheezes into his hoodie sleeves, and at last manages to compose himself, straightening to stand, Roman's hand still gentle between his shoulder blades, which stretches to his arm wrapped around his shoulder, tugging him in for a friendly little hug. 

Or at least, that's how he's sure Roman thinks of it. Virgil's heart is doing a happy little tap dance in his chest, complete with overenthusiastic jazz hands, and Virgil lets himself soak in it, just for a few seconds. 

Then he pulls away, looking around. "Did we lose them?"

Roman curses, stepping back and turning in a circle, before both of their phones buzz.

sunshine personified: hey there!! logan and i noticed that you're just behind us! want to stop and exchange gifts in starbucks?? we can walk around some more after if you both want!

"Caught in the act," Roman sighs, and sends a suitably cheery response back. He takes Virgil's hand, and says, "So, we'll walk around more, and maybe conveniently lose them?"

"Sounds good to me," Virgil says, mouth dry. Roman's hand is warm, and his fingers lace neatly between Virgil's. Right on the "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list, then.

Roman looks around, squinting around the crowd. "Starbucks can't be that far from here, can it? Which way is it again?"

They end up doubling back towards the food court, where Patton has somehow snagged them a table and is waving at them enthusiastically as Logan sips on a coffee Virgil's sure Patton bought for him, like he's not entirely sure Patton is real. 

Virgil picks up his order—peppermint mocha, because now his coffee is festive—as Roman beguiles Patton and Logan with the story of how Virgil knocked him into a little old lady, and ended with them being threatened by the elf cops. Virgil flushes and groans in all the right places, even going as far to hide his face in his hands again, and Patton reaches over to rub his shoulders bracingly, and—

It's nice. It's really, really nice. The day's been really nice. The tiny gremlin that lives inside Virgil's brain is just waiting to see what will go wrong, but he ignores it the best he can. The day has been good. He's having fun. He just has to, you know, ignore and repress all of his feelings to ensure that keeps happening. He shouldn't be feeling anxious or nervous or depressed or anything, it's—fine. He should be fine. He is surrounded by people he loves and who love him back and they are having a nice day out.

"Gifts time!" Patton sings, wriggling excitedly in his seat, and he claps his hands. "Should we exchange and open them all at once, or one at a time?"

"One at a time," Roman says, smiling brilliantly, and he holds out his shopping bag to Patton. "For the one who came up with the idea today, hm?"

"Aw, Roman," Patton says, blushingly, and accepts the bag as Roman doffs an imaginary cap. Virgil smiles, trying to make himself really feel it, and decides to narrow his focus on Patton.

Patton squeaks happily over the adorable stuffed kitten Roman bought him, with a sky-blue ribbon-collar ("for accessorizing," Roman declares) and Patton happily squeezes Roman into a little side-hug. 

"So, Virgil, here's yours," Patton says, passing across the plastic bag, and Virgil draws out... a thing? It looks like a tiny stuffed monster.

"It's a worry doll," Patton says, picking it up and opening its mouth. "See, you can write down whatever's stressing you out and put it in its mouth! So, um. So even if you aren't in a place where you can talk about it with us, there's still someone to hear about it, in a way."

Virgil is fully aware that his face is doing something, but he doesn't bother to hide it. God, Virgil doesn't deserve to even be on the same continent as this man. Because Patton knew all of it—the way he was raised by parents who seemed, at best, mostly confused by him, and stepped back from disciplinary action at a young age, because they thought he was a good kid, when in actuality Virgil was just scared to break the rules, overridden by irrational thoughts of getting kicked out and punished. Because Patton knows how Virgil's words get all tangled and and choked up, caught in his throat and in his chest, and how Virgil could barely manage to fumble out a request for help even on his worst days. And Virgil is working on it, he really is, but—

Virgil reaches blindly and grabs onto Patton's wrist, squeezing tight. He doesn't quite want to leap over the table to hug him, so this is going to have to do for now. A corner of his mouth is quirked up in a smile, and he's staring at the hideous little burlap monster that's landed between them—and then he looks up at Patton.

"Thank you," he says, and he's proud that his voice comes out sounding only a little croakier than normal. 

Patton's hand grabs his wrist back, and he squeezes tight, voice warm and gentle. "You are so very welcome, Virgil."

They both squeeze one more time, and Virgil draws back first, clearing his throat and gathering the little worry monster to his chest, avoiding everyone's eyes as he downs about half of his coffee. When he feels slightly more normal, and also like he's about to pass out from air shortage, he resurfaces, clears his throat, and shoves the shopping bag at Logan. He could really use a laugh just now, to break the tension.

Logan's brow creases as he looks into the bag, and creases further as he draws out his gift.

"What is this," he says flatly, staring at it.

"It's an emoji pillow," Virgil says, inordinately pleased with himself. 

Logan turns it around, as if to compare the done-ness of his face to the crying-laughing hysteria of the pillow.

"Thanks," Logan says. "I hate it."

And that's it, the deadpan needed to snap the tension—Virgil starts laughing first, shortly followed by Patton, and Roman's booming laughter does Logan in—his straight face cracks, and he starts to laugh, too, looking resignedly at the pillow and then back at Virgil and at the pillow again, but Virgil's gone on the certain type of laughter that only comes after someone has come very close to crying. 

As their laughter is dying down, Logan, smirking, hands over his bag to Roman, who unwraps it with glee, and blinks, confused, pulling out a gold-backed mirror, glancing into it and back at Logan.

"A mirror?" Roman says.

"Truly, you'd like nothing more than to receive yourself," Logan says, and Roman's free hand flies to his chest and there's a reappearance of his offended face, and Virgil's cackling at him again, arm wrapped tight around his stomach, cheeks hurting from smiling so wide.

"Look," Patton says, holding the emoji pillow next to Virgil's face, "it's you!"

That sets everyone off, then, and Virgil can't even bring himself to care that there are hordes of people turning to stare at the four college boys guffawing stupidly at an emoji pillow.

Yeah. It's a nice day out.

CHRISTMAS EVE

"Oh, what a beautiful mooooooorr-ning! Oh what a beautiful day! I got a beautiful feeeeeeeeeeeeeling! Everything's going my way!"

Virgil jerks awake, and it takes him a few moments to comprehend what is going on just then.

Roman, who is currently holding a travel cup of coffee directly under his nose, must have serenaded him awake, which, his voice, god fucking dammit, and also he must have been out already, because he looks all dashingly windswept and handsome, cheeks a little flushed from the cold, fuck Virgil's life.

Virgil accepts the coffee and goes about putting the majority of it into his body as fast as he can, and emerges, blinking at him and making a hand gesture that he hopes conveys explain.

"I've decided what I'm doing today, and it will graciously go towards Operation Mistletoe," Roman declares grandly. "Of course, if you're uncomfortable with it, we can always brainstorm, but I really think—"

Virgil grunts at him, gestures a go on, and starts drinking the rest of his coffee. Roman waits patiently until he surfaces again.

"A Christmas party," Roman blurts out, and Virgil blinks at him.

"A what," he says, voice a growl, roughened from sleep. 

"It won't be anything too crazy," Roman adds soothingly. "Just some theater people, maybe some of Logan's nerd friends, and some people Patton knows. Some mistletoe, a bit of a tipsy confession, and we've got a classic rom-com on our hands."

Virgil blinks. He's pretty sure there's dried drool on his face, and he's shirtless again. Why does Roman always see him at this time of day.

Roman leans in closer, and adds, soft and beseeching, "Virgil, I promise, if you aren't comfortable, I won't do it, we can make it something else—"

Promise. Roman has never, ever broken a promise for as long as Virgil has known him. Roman takes his word very seriously. It's on the "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list. It's one of the things Virgil really admires about him, crush aside.

Virgil takes a second, and says, "Promise me I won't be stuck with clean-up?"

"Promise!" He practically sings. "I'll handle all of it, Virgil, you're just in charge of making sure that they're in the same room as each other. They'll gravitate to each other anyways. Oh, this will be wonderful," he declares, and whirls his way out of Virgil's room, leaving Virgil to blink at his coffee and belatedly scrub a hand up and down his face.

When Virgil finally emerges from his room, Patton and Logan are sitting at the table as Roman pitches his party proposal, in full Dads mode.

"Virgil said he was okay with it, too, so it's just you two to agree," Roman adds, nodding to Virgil, and Patton and Logan both swivel to look at him.

"Are you?" Patton says.

"Yeah," Virgil says, pouring himself another mug. "Sounds fun. Roman said it wouldn't be too big."

He can practically hear their exchanged glances—the "Virgil Agreed to Socialization!" one—and Patton says slowly, "Well, as long as you know that since it's your party—"

"My cleanup, yes, I know, Virgil's already told me," Roman says brightly. "Invite anyone you want, it'll be just a lowkey little thing—"

Roman picks up his phone, looking like the world's busiest little social butterfly, and Virgil slurps down more coffee. They're in for an interesting day, and an interesting night. If Roman's plan goes as he thinks it will, then Operation Mistletoe will be done. Another promise kept.

For most of the day, Virgil barricades himself in his room. It's nothing personal against any of his roommates, and they all knew it. If there's going to be a big social event, then Virgil needs to charge for it. So he spends most of his day watching A Nightmare Before Christmas, scrolling through social media, and listening to his favorite albums. He gets a text from Roman to start expecting people at 9, which really meant 9:30, but regardless, he drags himself out of bed at 8 to start getting ready.

Eyeliner, eyeshadow, and because Virgil's leaning into the Jack Skellington today, he goes with a dark lip stain. The theater people Roman's invited will love it. He tugs on an outfit—dark ripped jeans, black t-shirt, Christmas sweater shockingly similar in design to his favorite hoodie, gutterstomping black boots—and slouches out of his room, into the living room.

He takes a couple seconds to stare, his brain currently blaring "YOU SHIT, YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH ROMAN AND NOW YOU'RE RESIGNED TO SUFFERING IN SILENCE HERE ARE ALL THE REASONS" as his eyes sweep up and down what he can see of Roman's outfit, from behind—he's wearing a tight red button-up with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a well-tailored pair of black slacks, the only ridiculous, incongruous thing with his outfit is his own pair of boots—more suited for adventuring than gutterstomping. 

Virgil clears his throat, tearing his eyes towards where Roman's eyes would be, and says, "Anything I can do to help?"

Roman spins, and his eyes do an up-down-up-down-up-down-up over Virgil's outfit, coming to rest on his makeup. Virgil shifts—he's second-guessing it already, maybe he just looks like an idiot, he can wipe it off, and change his whole outfit too, actually.

"Is it too—?" Virgil starts, and Roman practically shouts, "NO!" so loudly Virgil startles a little.

"I mean, ah, no," Roman says. "It's perfect. You look perfect."

Virgil scuffs the toe of his boot along the floor, clears his throat, and swallows, before he repeats to his feet, "Anything I can do to help?"

"Patton might need help," Roman says, "you should check."

Virgil nods, and heads to the kitchen, where Patton is surrounded by plates of cookies, and he's setting a tray of cookies onto the stove, presumably to cool.

"Anything I can do to help?" Virgil repeats, and Patton whirls around.

He's wearing a sweater that declares Bah Humpug, with a picture of a pug wearing a santa hat on it. It's bedazzled. Very adorable. 

"Look at you, kiddo, that makeup's so neat!" Patton exclaims. "We're just waiting on this last tray to cool, really, but maybe you could open up that pack of cups over there and set them on the table—?"

Virgil nods, and tears open the plastic surrounding the red solo cups. He places them carefully on the table that holds a modest selection of alcohol, including a bowl full of punch and supplies to make eggnog. Virgil straightens the bottles, cursory, and starts a conversation with Patton about dogs and Christmas. Patton's plating the cookies when Logan's voice comes floating down the halls.

"I look ridiculous," he complains.

"You look hot as hell, shut up, I wish I had your arms," Roman responds.

Virgil and Patton exchange looks, and Patton's toting the plate out into the living room, Virgil hot on his heels. 

Roman's saying, "Logan, really, cut loose, you deserve it," and suddenly they veer into sight from Logan's room. "Tell Logan he looks hot," Roman complains.

Logan's wearing...something that definitely came out of Roman's closet. It's a white shirt, short-sleeved, almost like the usual style of polo shirt that he usually wore, but then Virgil noticed the mesh. It's almost a classy amount of mesh, if such a thing exists, in a sort of floral pattern. Belatedly, he realizes that Logan's wearing makeup, too, something that makes him look even sharper and more angular, and a bit of glitter? It works for him. It works for him really, really well.

There's a clatter, and Virgil turns a little to see Patton, slack-jawed, the plate of cookies on the ground, the cookies hopelessly crushed. Patton is not even slightly moving to pick them up.

Logan's arms go to awkwardly cross over his chest, before he seems to remember something, and instead shoves his fists into his pockets, shoulders hunched.

"Uh," Patton says, "You, uh. You look. Uhm. Good!" He says, proud of himself for seizing on a word. "Really. Really good. Uh."

Logan straightens his posture, a little. "Really," he says, uncharacteristically timid.

Virgil says, "That style... really works on you."

"What, yeah, that," Patton agrees, and actually shakes himself, and looks down at the plate. "Oh no, the cookies!"

He crouches to pick them up, and Roman shoves Logan forwards.

"Logan, help Patton, I've just remembered I want Virgil's advice on the sound system," Roman says cheerfully, and suddenly Roman's grabbing Virgil's sleeve and yanking him into the living room.

"That's the closest I've ever seen Patton to giving bedroom eyes," Roman hisses into his ear.

"How did you convince Logan do a makeover sequence?" Virgil says.

Roman looks very innocent, and says, "Logan might be a couple shots ahead of us, and also I may have told him that Patton likes his arms. So."

"You're evil," Virgil snickers.

"I'm going to make Operation Mistletoe happen," Roman says. "It'll be a goddamn Christmas miracle."

"You didn't actually want my opinion on the sound system, did you?"

"Nope, sorry. We're leaving them alone together as much as we possibly can this evening, Gerard, that was the plan."

"What is it with you and these flattering nicknames lately," Virgil says.

Roman grins like a shark, all teeth, and doesn't say a word. 

It doesn't take all that long for people to show up—they make a beeline for the booze, which is unsurprising, and Roman presses a drink into his hands.

"I know you're not for mingling, so do what you want," he says. "But Mistletoe will happen. Discourage anyone flirting with either of them."

Virgil nods, mission received, and goes to give his scariest snarling face to anyone who tries to approach Logan.

He really only has to snarl at two people, considering Logan's locked up in a corner with Patton most of the time anyways, and so Virgil ends up drifting around the edges of the room, eyes narrowed.

The party's still filling up, people arriving every couple of minutes, and Roman's the life of the party, greeting people, directing them towards the drinks and snacks, laughing and cracking jokes. Virgil feels at peace, at least, as at peace as he ever does at parties—people are giving him space, he can see the people he came with, this is his home turf. 

The music is mostly in the background, no one dancing yet, people collected in clusters and filling themselves up on alcohol and Patton's snacks. Virgil figures he may as well follow their example. He goes to grab a cookie.

At some point between Virgil going to the kitchen and coming back out with a half-eaten snowman in his hands, the theater horde has taken over the sound system, and some song from La-La Land is playing as they're all sitting in a loose circle. Someone has brought some of the alcohol out from the kitchen, so it's more easily accessible. It's easy to see why.

"Who is most likely," muses a girl Virgil recognizes from a few of Roman's shows, "To shoplift?" 

Everyone points to someone, with a few people more common than others. The ones with more people curse a little before they start to drink. Roman's eyes catch on his and they brighten, and he waves Virgil over to sit next to him.

"What's this?" Virgil asks, tucking his legs in to criss-cross.

"Who's most likely," Roman says. "Basically, ask a question, and if two people point at you, you have to take two drinks. Or however many people, you have to take that many drinks."

Virgil nods. Self-explanatory enough.

"You good to play?" Roman asks.

"Yeah, sounds fun," Virgil says.

There are several things that he miscalculates, which he realizes as people are complaining about this game and demanding a new one.

One, it's hot in here, with the increasing amount of human body heat and the fact that he wore a sweater. Two, he's a lightweight regardless, but three, considering how rarely he drinks, his tolerance is pretty shit anyways.

Basically, he's one and a half mixed drinks in, and he's reached a point of tipsy where he's much more... smiley. His thoughts are a little looser, slipping away from him so much easier than they usually did, and things were just a bit funnier. Not drunk, not even close, but it's enough of a reality check that he decides to add more mixer and less alcohol to his next drink.

Patton and Logan sit next to them for the next game, and Virgil grins, bumping shoulders with Patton in camaraderie. 

The people have settled on sip sip shot, which is really just making Virgil realize how little he knows about drinking games. But Patton doesn't know either, so that makes him feel less alone. God, he loves Patton. Patton's the best human being on this earth.

"It's like duck duck goose," Roman explains. "Except the duck is sip, which means you sip at your drink. And goose is shot, so you have to chase the person around the circle. If you win, they take the shot. If you lose, you take the shot."

Virgil and Patton both nod in comprehension, and everyone squirms into a tighter circle configuration so there would be optimal running space. Virgil's smiling still. This reminds him of being a kid at recess, except he never had friends when he was that little, so this is just. Even better. 

Someone's hand taps his head. He takes a sip of his drink.

It's a pretty even routine, occasionally broken by yelling and clapping and heckling, but Virgil never gets chosen to be goose, which is just fine by him. However, Roman is, which is much less fine by him, because that means Roman's not sitting next to him anymore. Virgil tries his best not to pout. He's not entirely sure if he succeeds.

The game dissolves a lot like the one before it; people start getting distracted, and branch off on their own, which just causes the whole big group to concave on itself. Just as well; Virgil's finished his drink.

"Virgil!"

He turns, and grins as he sees Roman, who looks very suddenly knocked off-kilter—most people expect Virgil to be a sullen drunk, or maybe even a handsy one, not a giggly drunk. Roman knows he's a giggly drunk, though, so maybe he just—forgot? Or something.

"Roman!" Virgil says, matching his tone as best as he can, and Roman shakes himself, squeezing between a couple of people.

"I've had an idea, and Valerie's volunteered to help us along," Roman says, gesturing grandly to the girl next to him. "We need to beat Logan and Patton in beer pong."

Virgil blinks. "Um, why?" He's down to destroy Logan, at any time, but this seems like a random idea. But he will win. That much is guaranteed. Virgil is not above cheating to ensure it.

"Because," Valerie says, "the losers have to do body shots off each other."

Virgil is suddenly not so dedicated to winning.

"I'm in," Virgil says, wondering how many throws he can fumble without Roman noticing he's doing it on purpose. Probably a lot. Virgil isn't very athletic. Plus he's tipsy.

Roman turns to Valerie, squeezing her shoulder. "Find Patton and Logan for me? Virgil and I are going to set up the table."

His fingers lace with Virgil's again, and Virgil doesn't bother hiding his smile as Roman tugs them towards the kitchen, as they shuffle around plates to counters and Virgil grabs a stack of red solo cups.

"How many?" He asks.

"Ten each side," Roman says, carefully stacking plates and bowls of snacks on the counter, and Virgil obliges, placing them in careful pyramids. Roman's just filling the cups with punch as Logan and Patton both step through the door, Patton a little wild-eyed, Logan cool with focus.

"Prepare to lose," Patton declares joyously, nudging Virgil in a friendly way as he skips over to his side of the table. Virgil sticks his tongue out at him.

He stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Roman as Roman chivalrously accepts Valerie's offer of a ping-pong ball, before he turns to Virgil, holding it up in front of him.

"Blow on it?" Roman asks, voice low, lashes fluttering, just a little. Virgil notices he has something sparkly and golden on his eyes that he didn't have at the start of the party. "For luck."

Virgil smiles, and obligingly huffs out a warm breath over the ping-pong ball, over Roman's fingers.

"Suck it, losers," Roman declares, pompous, and then immediately sinks the shot. Virgil whoops in encouragement.

Logan rolls his shoulders, angles a glower at them, and then tosses; he misses, and Roman and Virgil both boo him.

The game continues, and as each cup vanishes, people gather round to watch them. There's more heckling and more cheering for each side, but oddly, Virgil doesn't mind the attention, even when he misses more shots than he makes. Logan is horrible enough that it evens out. But it turns out that Patton is actually a secret master at beer pong, so it's mostly Patton and Roman keeping pace with each other. 

They get down to three cups on each side. Roman arches his brows at Logan, before turning and bending over, wiggling his hips enticingly at Logan.

Logan scoffs, shoving his glasses up his nose. "That's not going to work," he says, and then immediately whiffs his shot. "Okay, that worked," he admitted, quiet, as Roman straightens up with a whoop.

"My secret weapon—my ass!" Roman declares proudly, and elbows Virgil, conspiratorial. "Do you know how many games of beer pong I've turned around because I decided to show off my ass?"

Virgil snorts, accepting the ping-pong ball. It is a fantastic ass, and it has its own little carefully detailed section on the "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list, but he's not about to inflate Roman's ego right now.

Patton's version of a distraction is screaming a curse word, which shocks Virgil so terribly he ends up accidentally throwing the ping-pong ball into a bystander's face.

"Patton, I am surprised at you!" Roman teases, and Patton, flushing, just shrugs, tossing him the ping-pong ball.

"We do what we need to do," Patton says. 

Logan starts rapping Blackalicious' Alphabet Aerobics, and although it is a fantastic sight, it doesn't faze Roman, who sinks his shot, and smacks his hand against Virgil in a celebratory high-five. It does, however, derail the game for a solid three minutes, as some theater kids start beatboxing for Logan, and cheer him on, dancing along as Logan finishes the rap with a smug little smirk, people clapping him on the back and whooping at him.

Which means it's time for Virgil to distract Patton. 

"WHEN I WAS, A YOUNG BOY," Virgil screams at the top of his lungs, at a pitch that makes him sound at best like a wailing cat, and Roman bends double, cackling, even as Virgil continues shouting the lyrics to "Welcome to the Black Parade," miming the instruments and headbanging as hard as he possibly can. A few of the gothier-looking theater kids join in, unable to resist the call of their people, and Virgil is lost in the truly unique sound of a horde of drunk college emos trying their best to imitate guitars with truly horrible screeches.

"Shake it off, Pat, shake it off!" Logan declares, clapping his hands on Patton's shoulders and shaking him a little, but it was shitty timing for them, because it was right at the apex of Virgil's killer air guitar solo.

"WE'LL CARRY ON! WE'LL CAAAARRYYY OOOON! AND THOUGH YOU'RE DEAD AND GONE, BELIEVE ME—"

Patton throws. Bounce. It hits the edge of a cup and clatters off, and the people roar. Two to three.

"That's okay, we'll get 'em next!" Logan declares, arm soundly around Patton's shoulders. Patton looks too delighted by this development to really be upset about missing his shot.

Roman sways a little on his feet, and Virgil reaches out, touching his hip to steady him, and leans in close.

"You got this," Virgil breathes into his ear.

Roman nods, looking the most serious he has ever looked, takes aim, and tosses the ball.

It sails in a beautiful rainbow arch, landing in the left cup.

The crowd around them screams. Three-one. Roman's pumping his fist in the air in victory as the crowd heckles Logan, telling him to drink, but Virgil doesn't care, because Roman's grinning at Virgil, who grins back and wraps a happy arm around his shoulders, pressing his nose into Roman's cheek in a moment of perfectly happy drunken camaraderie.

"It's on!" Logan declares, squashing the cup and dropping it at his feet, as he and Patton had for the previous eight. "It's on!" He bumps hips with Patton, and leans forwards exaggeratedly, squinting at the cups as people yell "send it back!" at him.

"Who even WAS Rosalind Franklin," Roman yells, but it doesn't deter Logan—he sinks it, and Virgil groans, taking the cup and shaking out the ping-pong ball before he starts to drink, Logan screaming, "She was a VISIONARY, that's who!" in the background.

Virgil has seen a drunk Logan get emotional over Rosalind Franklin, so maybe this wasn't the best path to start him down on, but Virgil crushes the cup and drops it, shaking out his hands and rolling his shoulders. Last cup. Two to one.

Roman's hands are bracing on his shoulders, squeezing, before he leans into Virgil's space, hand drifting down to his waist to squeeze, just a little, wow, this is not good for his focus.

"Shut your eyes," Roman says, and Virgil lets his eyes slide shut, blocking out the sight of the crowd, of Logan and Patton, of Roman in his space. All he can feel is the artificial warmth from the alcohol pooled in his belly, and Roman's hands on him, steadying and warm.

"Take a deep breath," Roman intones, and Virgil does as he says, taking a deep, even breath in and letting it out, squaring his shoulders. 

"Let it all fall away," Roman says into his ear. "The crowd's not even there. Logan and Patton aren't even there. It's just you, and the ball."

And you, Virgil wants to say. No matter what Virgil tries, he can't block out Roman. 

"Now," Roman says, "open your eyes, focus on that cup, and crush it. If you sink it, I promise I'll let you blast any emo song you want."

Virgil opens his eyes. He spins the ball in his fingers, and hesitates, before holding it up to Roman.

"For luck," Virgil says, looking at him through his lashes. Roman smiles, brings Virgil's hand to his mouth and kisses his fingers, before meeting eyes with Virgil as he blows out a cool breath, mouth a perfect o shape.

Virgil tries his best to smile like that hasn't affected him at all, and turns to face the table, narrowing his eyes.

"Just you, and the ball, and the cup," Roman says, hand drifting to the small of Virgil's back.

And you, and you, and you, Virgil thinks, and tosses the ball.

The resulting scream is deafening.

"VIRGIL!" Roman screams, and Virgil turns to face him, mouth open a little in astonishment. "VIRGIL, YOU BEAUTIFUL MAN, YOU DID IT!"

Virgil lets out an odd, aborted half-laugh of astonishment. "I did it?"

Rather than answer, Roman's arms close around him, and suddenly, the room is flying, Roman's arms tight around him as he's spun in the air, and Virgil's laughing, the world a technicolor bleed of colors and Roman's arms keeping him secure and safe and happy, and it's over too soon, but Virgil wraps his arms around Roman's shoulders, hugging him back, tight, trying to communicate all of his complicated feelings through this one hug.

"You're the best teammate ever, you know?" Virgil says into his ear, and draws back, but not enough to unwind his arms from Roman's neck.

Roman's about to say something, opening his mouth, one of his hands curling around Virgil's wrists as if to keep him there, when Valerie yells "BODY SHOTS!" and Roman and Virgil both turn away from each other with a start, looking over to where Patton's fidgeting a little and Logan's trying not to squirm as Valerie applies the salt to his neck.

"Your lime," Valerie says, and Logan sticks it in his mouth, trying his best not to move too much, as there's a shot glass tucked into his waistband.

"PAT-TON, PAT-TON, PAT-TON," people start to chant as Valerie steps back with an elaborate twirl of her wrist, as if to say the floor is yours, and Patton steps forwards, adjusting his glasses. Logan says something to him, too low for Virgil to hear over the chanting, and Patton shakes his head, before Patton leans forwards, licking a broad stripe up Logan's neck. He drops to his knees, knocking his face into Logan's thigh before managing to close his lips over the shot glass and tipping it back, surging to his feet and sucking the lime from Logan's mouth into his mouth.

"I feel like I just watched my innocence die," Virgil comments, at a loss for other words. Patton winces from the acidity of the lime, and Logan looks—well, he looks like Patton's just hit him with a train, a hand coming up to his neck where Patton licked it.

"What innocence," Roman snorts, and Virgil whacks him a little.

Patton's lying on the kitchen table, though, doing as Valerie directs, grimacing but placing the lime into his mouth, propped up on one elbow, the other hand tugging his sweater away from his neck. Virgil can see why, because now Valerie's pouring the tequila into the hollow of Patton's neck, and Logan still hasn't moved his hand from where Patton licked him, staring at where he's laid out on the table.

Logan screws his face up in determination, though, and licks the salt line on Patton's chest, bending his head to suck the tequila out of the hollow of his throat, and Patton seems like he's about to faint, head tilting back as Logan presses his mouth against his skin. Logan bites the lime from Patton's mouth, snatching it away.

"No, I see what you mean," Roman muses, and Virgil snorts back. Roman tugs on his hand, and says, "C'mon, let's blast your victory song."

Virgil grins, letting himself be led away, and says, "In for some danger tonight, then?"

"Oh, always with you, Virgil," Roman says, looking at him over his shoulder, before leading him to the sound system and grandly presenting Virgil with his phone.

Virgil's tongue pokes through his teeth as he scrolls through Roman's extensive music library, and then he says "Ah!" as he sees the song he wants, pressing play, and his body starts rocking to the beat, an absent-minded bobbing.

The same goths from before come flooding into the living room, and Virgil grins, tilting his head back as he joins their voices in song.

"AM I MOOORE THAN YOU BARGAINED FOR YET?!"

Suddenly, Virgil is twirling, and Roman grins when he stops, their hands twined together again, and Virgil laughs, head tilting forwards, before he tries his best to keep up.

Roman dances like it's a language that Virgil doesn't know, effortless and graceful and—okay, yes, sexy, he looks incredibly sexy when he dances—but Roman always looks like he's having the time of his life whenever he dances, sings, performs, and Virgil finds himself unable to focus on his feet when Roman's beaming like that. Besides, he and Roman are too busy singing along to Fall Out Boy to really pay attention to technique.

Roman's hands are getting sweaty in his, and Virgil's sure his are doing the same, but he can't bring himself to care all that much—watching the way Roman moved, hearing him sing, that was what was taking up his attention at the moment, and all too soon, it ends.

There's the plucking of notes, something Virgil thinks he's heard maybe once or twice before, but Roman's ears practically perk up, spine going straight, and he can see a similar response in all the theater kids.

"Roman!" Valerie's yelling, waving an arm, "I need my dancers for this one!"

Roman turns to look at Virgil, and Virgil waves him off, grinning.

"Go on," Virgil says, "be a big Broadway nerd. I'll be okay."

"Well," Roman says, and squeezes his hands. "If you insist."

"I do," Virgil says, and at last their hands drop, and Virgil wanders off in search of a drink.

When he comes back, canned margarita in hand, Valerie's finishing off "All That Jazz" with all the verve of performing it live in front of a crowd, and Roman is currently helping hoist her into a split, a hand bracing her thigh, the other clinging to her hand, like it's no trouble at all.He hopes no one tramples over their horrible-wonderful tree, or the presents underneath—Patton had tried to get them to wrap all the presents with one wrapping paper per person, to make it more organized, but somehow two other kinds had gotten in there, so it's just a mess of colors and tags. Virgil takes a moment to be thankful for their high ceilings, and settles into an armchair that's been shoved out of the way to enjoy the show. 

Virgil applauds enthusiastically when they finish out the song, along with the theater nerds who didn't know the choreography, the science nerds Logan invited along, and the nerds Patton knew were on campus over break. 

He really should have expected this when Roman said a ton of his theater friends were coming over, because it seems they've landed in Roman's Broadway playlist, people singing and dancing and pretending with imaginary props. They shout for who sings what, swap in and out depending on who knows choreography, and every time, Roman's in the thick of the scrum, belting his heart out, twisting along to choreography and improvising to some degrees of success.

West Side Story's prologue, Roman dancing along to the Jets', snapping and twirling and leaping to his heart's content. 

Pippin, Roman doing his best Fosse as someone Virgil doesn't recognize belts out Glory, his movements, Roman twirling an imaginary cane and doffing an imaginary cap, hips cycling and crooning along in the background.

Sound of Music, Roman charming and serenading Valerie, Valerie hopping along the couches as they duet Sixteen Going on Seventeen, theater people doing a variety of ballroom dances as a form of background dancing.

Grease, Greased Lighting, Roman smoothing his hair back and popping the top few buttons of his shirt, thrusting hips and funny faces and precise gesticulation, and he even sends a wink at Virgil, where he's sipping his drink. Virgil flushes, and smiles a little, hiding it behind the can.

This is the point where Patton and Logan stand on either side of his armchair, and Patton says teasingly, "Having fun, Virgil?"

Virgil tucks his knees up to his chest, and says, "Well, Roman is."

Patton grins, ruffles his hair, and passes him another unopened can of margarita, before grabbing Logan's hand and tugging him off to the kitchen.

Virgil meets eyes with Roman, and Roman's eyes are lit up excitedly as he takes a second to gesture in their direction, before he resumes his number at full enthusiasm.

Footloose, the titular number, and Roman's sweaty and bright and so full of life, glowing with it, and they mostly let the preprogrammed voice handle it, theater kids dancing, goofy and bright, Roman spinning and twirling between partners, trying to dance with everyone, laughing and chattering and bright.

Grease again, Born to Hand Jive, Roman on the periphery as two more people Virgil doesn't know take center stage, swinging and lifting their partners and throwing them, and Virgil would be much more worried if it wasn't for the alcohol. 

Heathers, Freeze Your Brain, and Virgil knows this one, so he stands and sings as everyone does their best dramatic JD, Roman surging over to Virgil as they sing together, trying their best to dance to such depressing lyrics. The song ends, and it leads into one Virgil doesn't know, blinking owlishly at the speakers, dropping his empty can belatedly.

"Rooo-MANNN," Virgil hears at least three people yell, and Roman laughs, messing his hair before he takes center stage, stomping and clapping along to the beat. 

"You guys are never going to let me live this down, are you?" Roman asks the crowd ruefully, and there's a loud cheer of NO, and Roman laughs, ducking his head, before he starts to sing along, poppish and exaggeratedly eager, hips shaking as he claps along.

"LOOK—AT—MY—ASS, LOOK AT MY THIGHS—"

Oh no. Virgil knows what song this is now. And Roman is going all out on the choreography.

"I'M CATNIP TO THE GUYS! THEY CHASE MY TAIL, THEY DROOL AND PANT—WANNA TOUCH THIS BUT THEY CAN'T!"

Virgil is going to have a stroke. 

"ALL THE BOYS WANNA COME AND PLAY," Roman belts, snaps and winks at Virgil, "SNAP MY FINGERS AND THEY OBEY, WHY DO THEY FOLLOW ME ROUND ALL DAY? WATCH ME WHILE I WALK AWAY—"

This is it. This is the day Virgil's soul vacates his body. It's been a good run.

"I BEEEEEEND AND SNAP! FEEL HOW HOT IT'S GETTING!"

Virgil does not need Roman to tell him how hot it's getting, thank you.

"BEEEEEEND AND SNAP! AND WHEN YOU'VE GOT 'EM SWEATING, SPRIIIING THE TRAP! THEY CHEER AND CLAP!"

Clap, clap. Roman's having a great time. Virgil distantly wonders why the theater kids associate the Bend and Snap with Roman, and if he survives this, he will certainly ask him later.

"NO TIGHT MEN, CAN DEFEND, 'GAINST THE BEEEEEEND AND SNAP!"

Distantly, Virgil recalls how Roman said his ass was his secret weapon. He cannot help but agree. He is watching Roman tackle some ass-centric choreography, and it is honestly a wonder as to how Virgil hasn't fainted yet from where he's standing on the fringe of the circle of theater kids surrounding Roman.

But more people are jumping in to fill in parts, but Virgil cannot stop staring at Roman. What the fuck is his life. 

The song both takes forever and is over too soon, and for the first time, Roman steps out from performing as the girls get ready for a rendition of the Cell Block Tango.

He's still grinning, fanning himself. His shirt is soaked with sweat, and he never rebuttoned his shirt, so Virgil can see the top of the expanse of his chest, his hair sweaty. Roman pushes it out of his face.

"Phew!" He declares, and Virgil is trying his hardest to untangle his tongue from the knot it's formed, so instead mutely gestures to the kitchen.

"Drinks, great idea, Virgil," he says, clapping him on the shoulder, and they both go out to the hallway, where Virgil stops dead and whacks Roman on the shoulder, shoving his hand over Roman's mouth when it looks like he's about to start screaming. 

Because Patton has Logan pressed back against the wall, kissing him hard. One of Logan's hands gripping Patton's shoulder to keep him from leaving, the other where Virgil can't see. And Patton's cupping Logan's face with one hand, the other tight on his hip. And they are not stopping.

Virgil yanks Roman into the kitchen before they get caught.

"Holy fucking shit," Roman scream-whispers as soon as they're safely out of sight. "Logan did it!"

"Operation Mistletoe!" Virgil cheers, and Roman cheers back, "Operation Mistletoe!" And they smack a high-five, then Virgil, laughing, surges forwards, hugging him tight.

Roman smells like sweat and cologne. Virgil can feel his still-quick pulse from where he's pushed his face into Roman's neck, and Roman laughs as he hugs Virgil back, a hand bracing the back of his head, an arm strong around his waist.

"You always get so giggly when you're drunk," Roman says, sounding fond. "It's like the natural order's been swapped."

Virgil hesitates, tangling his fingers into Roman's shirt. T hen they shift, so they're still in each other's arms, but staring at each other.

"Well," Virgil says, mouth dry as he fiddles with Roman's collar. "Lowered inhibitions, you know?"

"I know," Roman says.

"Is it weird?" Virgil says.

"You're always weird."

"I—I mean, do you... like it?"

"I always like you, Virgil." Roman says, voice soft, and his eyes are soft too, and this is it, Virgil can feel it, the air heavy with potential. 

Roman's so stupidly beautiful. His eyelids are coated in that glimmering gold that Virgil noticed before, and it brings out all the gold in his eyes, the gold that magnetizes Virgil, like some kind of magic. The sweat on his face glints in the low light, accentuating his cheekbones. He's still smiling. He looks like some kind of beautiful statue come to life.

It's Roman—a year ago, Virgil would have laughed at himself for this, thought someone would have been joking. But he knows Roman so much better now—Roman, who hides his insecurities so well it looks to so many outsiders that he doesn't have any. Roman, who works so hard to make sure that all of his work is perfect and up to his standards. Roman, who's trying to improve himself every day. Roman, with his ridiculous nicknames, and his fancy posing, and constant singing. Roman, who lights up so much whenever there is music, or dancing, or laughter. 

Just. Roman. The "You Shit, You're In Love With Roman And Now You're Resigned To Suffering In Silence Here Are All The Reasons" list is so long and so varied it could be turned into a book, and Virgil finds something new every single day to admire and love about him.

So why can't he say any of this to him? The old, constant frustration, trying to reach inside of himself only to choke on whatever he wants, needs, to say, like he's on the verge of tears the whole time. Like the words trip and stumble on the way to his tongue, and fall into a sixteen car pile-up complete with flames and screaming. And he doesn't want to mess this up.

He really, really doesn't want to mess this up.

"What?" Roman asks, edged in a laugh. "You're staring at me."

Virgil makes a frustrated noise, says, "Words," and then grabs Roman's collar, pulling him forwards, and pressing his lips against Roman's. 

Roman makes a noise of surprise, and Virgil presses closer, lips moving against his.

In all honestly, Virgil thinks tongues are kind of weird, but when his tongue first meets Roman's, that belief goes straight out of the window. The kiss is consuming, and slow; Virgil's in the lead, his tongue pressing against Roman's first, and he could feel Roman's body against his, muscles relaxing, and Virgil tangles his fingers into Roman's sweaty hair because he does not want him to leave. He knows he's inexperienced, but he hopes it's still good for him anyways, because this is amazing. Roman's arms are still around his waist, and he kisses him harder, Roman's mouth hot and insistent, and oh wow, okay, wow—

"Wait," Roman breathes, and then he pulls back. "Wait, wait."

Virgil freezes, and Roman pulls back, staring at him, mouth open. The sight of Virgil's lip stain smeared around his lips, his mouth, gives Virgil a surge of something to his stomach that he wasn't expecting, at all.

"What?" Virgil breathes, and Roman's eyes squeeze shut.

"You're drunk," he groans.

"I don't care," Virgil says, and Roman's hands land on Virgil's wrists, gently tugging his hands from his hair, and his eyes are still closed as he brings Virgil's hands to his shoulders, thumbs rubbing gently at his wrists. He looks—blissful.

"I do," Roman says, and he opens his eyes, meeting Virgil's. "It's—it's important, Virgil, you're—important." He presses a hard kiss against Virgil's left palm, then presses his cheek into Virgil's hand, holding Virgil's hand against his cheek.

You're important. Virgil swallows, slides his thumb along Roman's cheekbone. He loves this stupid noble idiot.

"I—I know how much you hate anyone saying this, but we'll talk later, all right? When you're sobered up. I promise."

Virgil's eyes squeeze shut. I promise. And Roman never breaks a promise.

"But you—I mean—" Virgil huffs out a breath, and says in a rush, "We're, like. On the same page. Right? This isn't—?"

Virgil doesn't get to say what this isn't, because Roman's cupping his face.

"Look at me, please, Virgil," Roman says, and Virgil opens his eyes reluctantly. 

"You're one of the most important people in my life," Roman says, eyes half-lidded. "I didn't—I didn't say anything, because I didn't know if you—and I wanted—I want—"

"What?" Virgil says, his voice hushed.

"You," Roman says, strangled. "I want you."

It doesn't sound sexual, not at all, despite the fact that Virgil had his tongue in Roman's mouth a minute ago. It sounds like Virgil is the beautiful princess that Roman's been questing for, like in some ridiculous Disney movie.

The door to the kitchen opens, and Virgil and Roman leap apart, as if it isn't obvious by looking at Roman's mouth what they've been doing, and someone shouts, "Roman, it's Rent time!"

Roman sighs, looking out at the party, and back at Virgil, eyes full of conflict.

"Go on," Virgil says, soft. "You're the life of the party."

Roman's fingers card through Virgil's hair, and Virgil leans into his touch. "Later," he says. "Later. I—I promise you're not alone in feeling this. It's just—" he smiles, sudden, huge and bright. "You just have the worst timing, Virgil."

Virgil laughs, and steps back. Roman runs a hand through his hair, and heads back out to the living room. 

Virgil's alone in the kitchen. Suddenly, he doesn't want to watch Roman singing. He doesn't really want to talk to anyone just now, actually.

He steps into the hallway—empty now, Logan and Patton must have relocated—head full of confusion, and stops in the bathroom to scrub off his makeup. He slouches quietly into his room, toeing off his boots, wiggling out of his jeans, tossing aside the sweater, and pulls on the ridiculous Peanuts-themed Christmas pajamas Patton got him.

He curls up in his too-big bed, and hugs a spare pillow close.

You're important, you're important, you're important.

CHRISTMAS DAY

Virgil wakes up to a distant headache, a dry mouth, and sweating like a fiend.

He opens his eyes, and the events of the night come rushing back.

Apparently, when Roman said sobered up, he meant first thing in the morning, and by that he meant as soon as you wake up, because Roman, shirtless, has replaced the pillow—a little spoon, and Virgil tries his best to keep his breathing even and calm.

Cool, so Roman decided to come cuddle last night? Awesome, tight, love it. Virgil's not quietly flipping his shit to himself at all.

But—wait—somehow, miracle of miracles, Virgil is awake before Roman. 

Virgil carefully props himself up on his elbow, and resigns himself to waiting to watch Roman wake up. 

He doesn't have to wait very long.

Roman stirs, face scrunching up, and he makes a groaning noise to himself, turning his face into the pillow, only to make another distant noise of complaint. A stretch works its way through his body, like a cat, and Roman blinks his eyes open at last.

"I knew it," Virgil says, sleep having ground down his voice. "There was no way a person was so inhumanely peppy in the mornings."

"Virgil!" Roman says, voice similarly scratchy, and he flips so that they're face to face. "How are you?"

"A little hungover, a lot nervous," Virgil admits, and Roman says, "Oh, I brought in some water, it's just—"

Virgil turns, and there's a little hangover pack on his table—a glass of water, advil, a couple mints. Virgil takes the medicine, downs the water, and sticks the mint into his mouth, offering the other one to Roman, who takes it, smiling, sitting up, too. Virgil notices belatedly that he's still in the slacks he was wearing last night. And also, Virgil is wearing Peanuts-themed pajamas.

"The apartment's all clean," Roman says. "I have no idea who, but five separate people have left behind a single shoe, I've no idea how or why. And Patton's got all the presents under the tree."

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Roman says, and clacks his mint against his teeth, shifting, and blurts out, "I lied."

Virgil stiffens, like ice is flowing into his veins.

Roman doesn't seem to notice. "Logan and I weren't making Patton a Christmas gift."

Virgil blinks. "I—what?"

"We weren't working on making Patton a Christmas gift," Roman repeats, leaning forwards. "Operation Mistletoe was, in fact, a two-pronged plan. Logan wanted to get together with Patton, and I—I wanted to get together with you—so we tried to make a plan."

Virgil blinks, and says again, "What?"

"Patton told Logan and I about Not-So-Secret Santa after you went to bed, so Logan and I decided to throw the selection."

Virgil blinks. "You cheated?"

"I know, Patton would be very disappointed in me," Roman says. "Logan didn't know that I was going to follow him, though, that was just a you and me thing. And Logan and I decided to make a plan for the party—the body shots were Valerie's idea, but I did come up with the Bend and Snap bit."

"It was a very good bit," Virgil says faintly.

"And if the party didn't work, then, well, there were a lot of plans, there would have been some actual mistletoe involved—"

Virgil snickers, and then he pauses. "Wait, then what was the smoke?"

Roman looks sheepish. "We, ah. We burned the lists of bad ideas."

Virgil snorts, and Roman smiles.

"So, ah," he says, and looks nervous. "I've, um, kind of been in love with you for a while now, so—"

"Oh," Virgil says, breathless, then, "Cool, same."

"Same," Roman snorts, and suddenly, he's slithering forwards, hands cupping Virgil's face. 

Warm. He's so warm, and his lips are so soft, and the way they move with Virgil's speaks of experience that Virgil doesn't have, but that's okay, that's more than okay, and he tastes like mint, and Roman's kissing him long and soft, and Virgil feels warm, too, lit up from inside, like some kind of magic that only Roman was privy to, like Roman's trying to give him something, and Virgil tries his best to receive it, give it back.

"Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown," Roman whispers, and Virgil groans, throwing an arm over his eyes before he starts to laugh.

"What, like yours aren't just as bad? It's the bunny suit from A Christmas Story."

"I obviously have the panache to pull it off," Roman sniffs, and grins at Virgil. "Look at you, Eeyore-rable."

Virgil boos even as Roman's situating himself on Virgil's lap, and Roman says, "Like adorable? Adorable Eeyore?"

"Crossing references, doesn't count," Virgil says, grinning even as he arches up to meet Roman's lips again.

"Which plan was it?" Logan's voice comes from the doorway, and Roman yelps, throwing himself over Virgil like Virgil was the one whose virtue needed protecting, as if Roman was the one wearing a shirt.

"Logan!"

"I mean, I'm assuming it was either Plan A or Plan C, but—"

"Shut up, it was Plan B!" Roman groans into Virgil's shoulder. "Would it kill you to knock?"

Logan angles a severely disapproving look at Virgil. "Plan B? Really?"

"I have no idea what that means," Virgil says.

"My hips are very seductive and my ass is entrancing, Logan, they made you miss that shot last night," Roman huffs, and it clicks.

"Oh, my God. B for Bend and Snap?" Virgil says, over Logan's spluttering.

"Are we having a party in here, or something?" Patton asks, materializing in the doorway, and Roman groans into Virgil's shoulder again, Virgil grinning and cupping the back of his head.

"It's Christmas!" Patton declares. "Get up, get up, there are presents! And cocoa! And mistletoe! Put on a shirt, Roman! I'm so happy for you two! Virgil, I love the jammies! Come on!"

Virgil, laughing still, gets pulled from bed.

It really is the most wonderful time of the year.

[kraavo]

vacation home

hhey this is me crying over how cute they are: the fic

words: 2,916

summary: Taako and Krav leave for the first day of vacation and they’re staying somewhere really rad.

pairing: Taakitz (natch)

fic is under the cut let’s a go!

Death had acquired some fresh faces in light of recent events; it wasn’t an issue really, because if you abided by the natural laws, you would only see a reaper once. The previously lone reaper is given time, a thing he hasn’t been granted in a good while.  Kravitz would normally not know what to do with this. Every affair, every meeting, every journey was for the sake of his bounty. Time for pleasure.Time for a well-earned vacation.

He looked so cute, he thought. Kravitz had been ready about an hour ago, which isn’t to say that Taako was late; Kravitz was just so early on account of not having anything else to occupy himself with during this unfamiliar amount of breathing room. He sits on Taako’s bed in one of the many pairs of finely tailored pants that he owns, a tasteful button up shirt and jacket on his back.

Awe is probably the proper word to describe the way that he’s staring. His boyfriend faces the beautifully crafted armoire that a friend gifted to him, (only the best for Taako) and his backside is to Kravitz. The travel bag is stuffed beyond its brim on the floor. Taako fervently looks through his wardrobe. Taako had the clothes that he’s supposed to be wearing right now laid out separately the night before, and he knew damn well and good where he put them, but for that moment he stood in only his boyshort underwear that said “CAAAKES” across the ass, pretending not to know where he put them so that Kravitz could look at his butt for just a little longer.

Taako bends down to open a drawer. “Oh!”

“Found them?”

“I did find my clothing, yes.” Taako holds a nice cold-shoulder silk shirt up at eye-level, letting the garment unfold in front of him. There is a warmth that envelops Taako from behind and puts its hands at his waist. Kravitz kisses Taako’s jawbone and sways slightly with his boyfriend in his arms. “Krav, don’t get me wrong, m’man, but if I don’t get dressed we’ll never leave.”

“Oh but I’m so comfortable right here.” Kravitz hums lowly.

Taako shoos Kravitz away at a hand playfully, and Kravitz flops back on the bed, unsatisfied but laughing. “Quit being gay.” Taako tells him.

Taako pulls on a pair of nice black pants, followed by heeled boots, and finally his shirt. He sits at his desk and brushes his hair, fixes his eyeliner a bit. “Hey, you’ve been super warm as of late.” Taako says, still focused on his mirror. “What’s that all about, stud?”

Kravitz sits up and looks at Taako via the mirror, suddenly exuberant. “I know, right? It’s nice, isn’t it?” He pauses. “It is nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I dig it!” Taako plucks a brow hair. “You just used to be so cold”

“I’ve made it a habit to sit on my hands more so that I don’t make you chilly.”

Taako turns around in his chair, stands up and kisses Kravitz. “So good to me.”

“Aw shucks.” Kravitz doesn’t notice that he blushes, but he certainly does. Taako sits on the floor and struggles to zip his bag up, but he does it somehow and stands up with it.

“Sweet fuck this is heavy.”

“You know that this is just a week, right? You didn’t need to bring the whole house?” Kravitz relieves Taako of the overstuffed bag, putting the straps over his shoulders.

“So strong!” Taako praises, meanwhile Kravitz is about to break a sweat holding this thing.

“Thanks. I am quite ripped.” Kravitz summons his scythe in hand and looks at his boyfriend. “Do you have everything?”

Taako looks around the room for a moment. “Uhhh..” He grabs his hat, and places it on his head. He looks out the window. “And before noon, too!”

Kravitz smiles. “Lup has your key?”

“Yes, yes, just do your thing and we can be out of this stink house!”

Kravitz laughs “Fine, fine.” He slashes the air with the scythe, and looks back at Taako to speak one last time before leaving. “Honey, do you know what the best part of being with me is?”

“What’s that?”

“Travel is very inexpensive.”

Kravitz takes Taako’s hand and guides him through the newly-cut rift. Taako steps over the boundary and realizes that Kravitz hasn’t taken him anywhere via scythe before. The experience is very new to say the least. One of Taako’s feet steps on black grass, and the other is still in his room. He forgets why he agreed to go to the Plane Of Death for his vacation for a second, but then he looks up and remembers.

They pass through and the rift is gone.

     Fiddling with his sleeve, Kravitz asks, “Is this… suitable?” he waits for Taako’s approval, and in front of them is a black, victorian styled estate. They stand on the grass, but whoever owns this place probably wouldn’t prefer that, since the lawn is finely manicured, and there is a long strip of pavement, fragmented by large gates.

“This is rad as all hell. How many stars’ this place got?”

Kravitz looks at Taako and hesitates, he’s a little confused, which makes Taako a little confused. With furrowed brows, Kravitz tells Taako, “Taako, this is my house.”

Taako laughs. “You are most definitely fucking with me right now.”

Kravitz laughs back. “I am surely not!”

“Krav.” Taako smiles incredulously.

“Taako, I promise I’m not kidding!” Kravitz observes the mansion. He hasn’t seen it in some time. “I’m never here because, well I don’t need to sleep and I’m always working.” Taako is staring pretty intently, now. This can’t be Kravitz’s house. If Taako owned something this impressive, he’d never shut up about it. “Being the grim reaper is sort of a big deal, Taako.” Kravitz smirks smugly at him. “And I’m quite good at my job.”

Taako takes in the glory of the mansion another time and puts the heel of his palm to his forehead, speechless and slack-jawed.

“Is this okay?”

“Why have you never told me about this?!”

“Oh I don’t like to brag.” Contrary to this, Kravitz is quite enjoying Taako’s astoundment. He enjoyed surprising.

“Shit! Does this mean Lup gets one of these bad boys?”

“To be fair Lup and Barry have decided to share one.”

“Oh we are definitely moving in when I’m dead.” Taako begins to walk towards the gates.

Kravitz chuckles. “Hopefully not too soon, then.”

They reach the gate, and Kravitz summons an archaic looking key in his fingers, and turns it in its lock.

“Gods, it’s just… so big.”

Kravitz conceals a little bit of laughter.

Taako sighs, somewhat in admiration. “Handsome and mature. Love it.”

Kravitz’s chest bounces a little with silent laughter. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just come in.” Kravitz opens the door like the gentleman he is and Taako takes in the interior.

Good lord, there’s even a spiral staircase. To his right he could see a fine linen sofa, next to it was a smaller chair looking to be of equal comfort, and in front of that a coffee table. Mirrors lined one of the walls, and on the wall opposite that one, there was a piano with two bottles of wine, bound together by a red ribbon. The ribbon was very bright contrasted with the rest of the desaturated world.

“I didn’t know you could play piano.” Taako sits at the bench and admires the pristine ivory keys.

“Oh I play lots of instruments.” Kravitz drops the travel bag and sits next to Taako, enjoying their closeness. He places his hands on the keys and asks, “Would you like to be my page turner?”

“Hell yeah I would! Play something romantic for me.”

Kravitz picks up the book of sheet music on the piano stand, flips a few pages, and stops. “Oh, this is a good one. You’ll enjoy this one.” He places the sheet music back on the stand and plays. Taako listens.

It’s beautiful. Slow and fluent, Kravitz plays the song artfully on the keys, not letting his fingers miss a beat. You would think he was a concert pianist, the way he was playing. Taako is moonstruck over the man next to him. He hadn’t even heard Johann play something so beautiful, but that is possibly because Johann isn’t what Kravitz is to Taako. Taako lays his head on Kravitz shoulder, and Kravitz’s heart jumps a little when he feels him there. He stops playing.

Taako raises his head. “Why’d you stop?”

Kravitz giggles and turns his head to Taako. “You need to turn the page, love.”

“Oh yeah!”

“Nonono it’s fine, darling.” Kravitz stands up, and Taako’s eyes follow him. “Big week of vacation ahead of us. We’d best unpack your things.”

“Oy.” Taako stands, then looks around again at the vast, criminally clean household. “I’m so glad we have this place all to ourselves, Krav.”

Kravitz hoists the bag up again. Strained, he says,“Why’s that?”

Taako pulls Kravitz in for a kiss and tells him lowly, “Because I can be as loud as I want.”

Being so easily flustered, Kravitz struggles to respond seductively. “I see.” Taako slowly ascends the spiral staircase, not looking back because he doesn’t need to see his boyfriend to know how hard he’s blushing. Kravitz struggles with Taako’s things up the stairs. Taako turns around and casts levitate on the bag, grabs it by the straps, and guides it up the steps.

“Why didn’t you do that while we were at your house?!”

Taako eyes Kravitz over his shoulder. “I like to make you feel special.”

“I feel a special kink in my back.”

“Good thing we have a spa day planned huh?”

“Good thing indeed.”

They place their things in Kravitz’s master bedroom. Taako is certainly going to love it here. “You know being dead isn’t as bad as everyone makes it out to be, huh?” Taako asks, leaving the bag to float at a safe distance overhead.

“Death is just monochrome life, I think.” Kravitz notes. “Everything is just constructed from memories of the departed, and there are quite a lot of those to go around.” Kravitz pulls the curtains apart and looks out the window. It’s a nice day in the astral plane. Taako falls back on Kravitz’s enormous bed.

“When was the last time you slept, Krav?” Taako asks from the comfort of his spot.

“Well that was um…” He thinks on it. “about two weeks ago. I fell asleep on the couch with you.”

“You fell asleep?” Taako is smitten, for some reason he’s so proud that he was able to get him to do something that didn’t come to him naturally anymore.

“I did. It was nice. I like sleeping with you.”

Taako smiles a very genuine smile. “Such a sweetie.”

Kravitz turns from the window, and joins Taako in the bed.

They face each other. Taako toys around with one of Kravitz’s dreads in his fingers. He eyes the piece of hair over. And over. And over. He is mesmerized by Kravitz’s hair for the moment, as he often was.

Kravitz watches the slight movement in Taako’s pupils with a smile. The vacant stare. The seemingly empty moments viewed from the outside. There was always so much in the smallest space where their chests weren’t touching. Not in between them, never separating them, but rather unifying them, sheltering them. Kravitz asks, “What was the agenda for today? What did we leave so early for?”

“I do believe the plan was for me to get a tour of the afterlife. I was gonna get the scoop on your whole operation today, cutie, but um, now that we’re here I kind of want to stay to be honest.” Taako laughs a nervous laugh, hoping that Kravitz won’t make them leave the house for the sake of the schedule.

Kravitz isn’t phased at all. By the look of it, Kravitz could die (again) and be a happy man right where he lays. With the same lovestruck look on his freshly shaven, clean face he says, “I was ready to go before you even woke just to do nothing all day with you?”

“Well we could still g-”

“We can stay, Taako.”

They kiss atop the comfortable fabric of the bedspread; it’s still as nice as it was the first time. It will be just as nice the next time. And it will still be just as nice in a century. Fully clothed and still madly in love.

They pull apart, but just barely. There’s still an inch between them, that is if you’re being generous. Kravitz hand is placed on Taako’s cheek, and Taako’s hand over that hand. The former grazes his thumb back and forth on the skin.

“I love you.”

Taako’s pupils shift a few times, searching the other man’s face for the right words, and settles. “I love you too, Krav.”

More smiling. A powerful storm of smooches attacks Taako’s face, and there’s more laughing. It is a beautiful day.

Kravitz eventually reasons that there’s no use in wearing this kind of clothing, so he leaves the bed and opens the walk-in closet, full of seamlessly and perfectly tailored items. He opens a dresser drawer to pull out a pair of grey sweatpants and a t-shirt that Taako got for him. The shirt had a cute little picture of a skeleton in a black robe skateboarding and smiling; in black writing above the little skeleton it reads, “grin reaper.” Kravitz undressed in the closet, putting his clothes into a hamper. He walks out in underwear, Taako immediately has to say something.

“Hachi machi! Should’ve at least told me that we were about to get it on before you stripped down.”

Kravitz’s face heats up. “I’m just getting dressed, you hornball.”

“Oh bother. Later tonight, then?”

“Of course.” He goes to pull on the sweatpants before he’s stopped.

“WAIT wait wait. Let me spank it once before you put on pants.”

Kravitz glares at Taako, then turns to face the wall. “Once.”

Taako practically flies out of the bed to stand behind Kravitz. He’s giggling, which is going to turn into howling laughter in a few seconds. Kravitz’s hands are on the wall supporting a good portion of his weight. He’s looking at the floor. Taako whispers, “I’ll count you down so you know when it’s coming, ok?”

“Fine.”

“Okay. One…” Taako smacks Kravitz’s ass fairly hard. He yelps and arches his spine. He covers his butt and looks at Taako feeling more flushed and betrayed than he’s ever felt in all his years. Taako is laughing so hard that he’s struggling to breathe. He is splitting at the sides over how utterly hilarious this is.

“You’re a terrible boyfriend!”

“I KNOW, I KNOW, JUST GIMME A SEC.” Taako somehow gets words out through the wheezing.

There’s a bathroom joined to the bedroom, and Kravitz sprints into it, snatching an embroidered washcloth while tears still stream down Taako’s cheeks. Simpering, Kravitz whips Taako with the cloth. Taako chases after Kravitz and they’re running now. Playing tag like children, giggling and jumping on furniture, this somehow leads them into the rest of the day of “nothing.”

Eventually Taako would abandon his clothing in favor of a big Kravitz shirt. Eventually, Kravitz has to tie his unruly hair up into a bun because he’s sweating now. Eventually, their sliding around on hardwood floor in their socks, which becomes slow dancing. The bottles of wine weren’t forgotten. So soon, there was drunken dancing, drunken kissing, drunken piano playing, drunken  giggles that don’t really ever find their end until it’s time to submit to the bed’s comfort. They would get to the promised sex that night, which lasts quite some time because neither of them wanted to sleep. Neither of them wanted the day to be over, but the sweat and exhaustion of it all left no other option. They lay, swaddled in each other’s clammy grasp but neither really minding. Chest heaving from just exerting the last of his energy into this one fuck, Taako asks, “We’ll do that again this week, right?”

“What, the sex or running around the house like idiots?”

“No, the sex.”

“Oh, wouldn’t be a vacation without it.” Kravitz lowers his head to wink at Taako.

Taako hum-laughs and scoots closer to him. They face each other, admiring small features in the comfortable silence.

“Are you gonna sleep tonight?”

“I don’t think I have a choice, love. If I have to wait for tomorrow while I’m still conscious I’ll lose my mind.”

Taako’s eyes are closed now, but he’s still half awake, focusing on the lazy conversation. “Why’s that?”

Kravitz murmurs “It’s because I can’t wait to wake up and see your pretty face.” Taako opens his eyes. He’s never been good at articulating emotions. Mushy lovey-dovey gunk was never Taako’s wheelhouse, but he says the words in the way he knows how to. He holds Kravitz’s jaw and kisses him gently. Kravitz kisses back, and it’s just so nice.

They pull away. The lights were switched off the second they slid under the sheets, so they looked at each other as best they could in the darkness. Kravitz admits into the lack of light, more to himself than Taako, “I’m in love.” He thinks to himself as they doze off that now, more than ever, he is so grateful for vacation days.

[topweeklyupdate]

TØP Weekly (er, Monthly) Mini-Update #47 (11/12/17)

Yoooooo, ya’ll still here?

Listen. There’s not a lot for us to discuss. Band news has been more dead than ever. Tyler and Josh have almost vanished off the face of the earth. They might very well be making an album in a secret bunker ascended to an astral plane fishing doing literally anything.

BUT.

The Twenty One Pilots Podcast came in clutch with another great interview with Chris Salih. I’ve already reblogged a pretty extensive recap of the hour-long convo, so I’ll save myself the effort give credit to other diehards and just link to those and, of course, the full conversation. 

I will, however, recap my favorite parts.

At one show, the band had been told they would be playing the A stage beforehand, but they got redirected to B. Tyler told a local high-school worker that they were supposed to be at the main stage, to which she looked now-internationally famous rock star Tyler Robert Joseph in the eyes and said, “Get better.” (After the show, she asked for his number.)

Chris gives a pretty great summation of why the band didn’t want to be labeled a “Christian” band, bringing it back to the core of the band’s roots: depending on the readily accessible funds of local church’s worship budgets would have been “sending out the parts”, a safe and secure means of providing a steady living and audience that would have limited the topics and audiences they could reach. He even says that, Biblically speaking, he’s not sure if marketing themselves as a Christian band for financial reasons would have been what Jesus would have done.

He also offers really detailed and passionate criticisms of the whole Christian music scene, at least on radio, for providing a disservice to the religion it claims to represent. As someone who has worked in churches, I really appreciated that he a) recognized that Christian worship music designed to facilitate conversation with God (generally very effective at creating an atmosphere for intense emotional catharsis) and Christian radio pop (cliche, outdated, and commercial) are two very different genres that people often conflate and b) spoke from the position of someone who is serious about his faith and had some theology and personal experience to back up his claim that the latter is not an accurate representation of most of Christianity.

Tyler loves to argue until he can get to an agreement, and hated that Josh wouldn’t argue with him. Because of course he did. He also wanted to use Wingdings font and put penguins on the shirts. What does it have to do with the band? “NOTHING! THAT’S THE GENIUS OF IT!” Chris: “His mind works differently from everyone else. He’s a genius.”

A few other points not fully covered elsewhere:

The band car was a Honda Pilot, because of course.

It’s awful to play at The Basement.

Chris’s favorite song was “Slowtown”, because he has great taste, though it’s interesting that he didn’t even know if the band had put it out. Are there other songs they played at some point floating around in unseen concert footage somewhere in the aether? Hm...

The host really makes a great point about how going to a modern TØP show is like going to church. Chris seems a little apprehensive of that, but also totally agrees with the truth of the assessment. They also agree that concerts, at their core, are places where people go to celebrate being alive.

Their success was tied tightly to having Mark around to do the video/promo/creative/helping out stuff (often for free), plus having everyone living together to grow close to each other and to collaborate at any time. “Up all night long was nothing out of the ordinary at our house.” 

According to Chris, the coolest thing about the old three-piece band that has since gone by the wayside was that all three of them sang and created harmonies together (oh, we know).

Chris still sticks to his claim to have really had nothing to do with Regional at Best, with the notable exception of having stepped in to do the really dope drum bit after the first chorus in “Holding On To You” when Tyler was stuck with what to do with that part.

That’s all for this month (probably). With any luck, I’ll be back to talk to you soon. Worse comes to worse, Nick Thomas is supposed to be on an upcoming podcast, that should be cool.

Power to the local dreamer.

|-/

[zodiacatsea]

Virgo guys really are... a trip.... (saw some virgo hate on my dash). I had a 4 year long on and off flirtationship with one all throughout high school. He tried to cheat on his gf with me and I said no way. I ended up dating (then dumping through tears) one of his good friends instead who I really really liked but I wasn't emotionally attached as any more than a friend, and was hung up on his friend so that couldn't continue. we only ever kissed and hung out once in college because I was too uncomfortable sharing a small dorm room with a stranger and so I just got lonely for people I knew. So we kissed a bunch and watched batman then I ended it when I got a more private room (it was awful of me) and started feeling more comfortable at school. I got involved with another Virgo and he got... extremely hung up on me because I think he got very infatuated very fast and confused it for love. We casually dated for like a month or two (he had a scar on his face... woo boy that I liked. He was like a petite Flynn rider, he really did, and I made him grow the same facial hair because I thought it was funny) but I was young and he was older than me and he wanted to get a little too physical with me before i was ready so I impulsively ended it. I got involved with another maybe a year or so ago (briefly but it was intense at least for me, I get the feeling it wasn't as intense for him) he's a couple years older than me (he recently graduated from college) and I remember my very first college party was his superhero-themed birthday party. They all kept yelling my name (which I said was Steve) every time they saw me at that party and they kept calling this leo girl "rachel" in the batman voice for a reason I don't know. But I waited a year after I left because I went to a party and we talked and at the end of the party when I was about to leave, he (a little drunk) yelled for me to come back jokingly but i don't think he was joking. So we started texting and I swear every time he messaged me I felt like I was flying it just made me SO inexplicably and intoxicatingly happy. We would talk for HOURS about nothing and everything (libra venus.) and our first date was going to be a camping trip (I wanted a cool losing-my-virginity story and I figured a first date impromptu camping trip would suffice. I planned to sing the Dora song "we did it" song immediately after, later sing Teen Idle by marina just for that one line "I want back my virginity" and stare pointedly, then later send a note with my coats tag which says "dickies work", and I'd glue it onto the paper and say "congratulations, your Dickies Work") but it fell through. So we hung out a bunch in his old creaky bed in his old creaky house. I was bored. But he wouldn't do anything else! But it was strange, as soon as I walked into his room I noticed he had just about every quirk I had about how I kept my room. Ordinary things like keeping a space heater on all the time constantly adjusting the temperature, but altogether proved to be uncanny. He claimed he was not smart but he was very witty and quick to pick up on my train of thought, so I doubt he's stupid. His favorite thing to say to me was "you don't know me" which was particularly funny considering I am literally psychic, focusing on reading people's souls and between the lines of what they say and what they mean. And for some reason I get the feeling he's at least psychically sensitive too, because he acted as a sort of battery pack for my abilities. I astral projected (I astral project for the first time and I sucked his dick in a dream. That's what I did. I wish I was making this up) and god astral projection is something wild it's a dream but far more REAL. You can just feel everything, all senses are open and not muted like in dreams. And i don't know exactly what happened but I think I ascended to some other plane one night? It was the strangest feeling. And I was just so blissfully HAPPY so easily, and I can get that way because I get infatuated easily but this was far more intense than anything I'd ever experienced. It was literally a high. I had a huge insight into what was in his head like I never have had before. Now, virgos have this "block" or "safe" in their head where they keep their real identity, you can just feel it. The size varies depending on the Virgo, and this particular Virgo had this safe that felt like it was almost as big as his skull. I cracked through it when I astral projected because I felt his soul? Almost. You know, before I sucked his dick. I can see substance abuse in one of his parents (who we literally never talked about I don't even know their names or what they look like), I can see he's going to have moderate but not flashy success in the business side of the music industry, I can see he's gonna lose his hair (lol), and I've NEVER had such quick insights like that into someone. But I feel like I experienced this relationship (if that) on a psychic plane only, because in reality I was bored. I think I got addicted to his "battery pack" for my abilities. Another Virgo I met was my friends ex. Bad and stupid idea. He chewed with his mouth open and was not that cute.

[dwestfieldblog]

THE BEAUTIFUL AND THE WEIRD

But which is witch? It gets so hard to tell...but Love does not switch off, it turns on. So, drown this world in astral fire and cling to the wreckage floating...Welcome again to How I Cheated Death for 2000 Years... 'Perhaps we should kiss and break the tension.' as Homer Simpson said...to Plato. Or Pluto in Hades tomorrow. (Most of this was completed on Friday 20th October, under the influence of night air and music on headphones.)

But all dimensions rejoice, my 3 cds are done...'These songs make me glad I am deaf, I only wish that I were blind also' said Beethoven yesterday, via the astral plane... But another critic writes; 'These songs are better looking than a multi-dimensional parallelogram woman'; said Picasso, three days before a sideways yesterday. Of course I have already done five songs for the next cd, still alive and I need to play and sing before my left eye shades over and my liver explodes. The devil does indeed make work for idol hands. Yes, that's a bad pun. Catch 23. There is no such thing as failure, there is only giving up. I do not give up. WILL not.

Some strange times recently like a time shift around me and a slip into a slightly different dimension which is running parallel to where I was. A disorientated balance which quickly re-adjusted itself (into an accepting understanding) but left the feeling of being on or in another channel. A curving parallel synchronicity like two dolphins in the ocean, tango dancers, eternal twists of D.N.A...or just bloody Laurel and Hardy. Time might kiss and tell...or just rape the flesh of its youth.

God is always watching (too scared to join in) and is said to move in mysterious ways...me too after half a bottle of whisky but that's no excuse for bad behaviour. Jehovah'sVoyeurs...The devil is always listening, so be interesting at least...'The gods and angels of magic are described by the science of the mind as archetypes, while demons have been converted into neuroses.' Or 'Symbols reveal by concealing and conceal by revealing'.  G.Gurvitch

Two weeks ago, I gave some of my students the homework 'Describe Beauty'...that which elevates you, connects your highest self and overthrows your lowest. They all mentioned Nature, babies. Imagine Love.And all it means and how it feels. How you perceive it to be. How it transforms you. Where it takes you. EVOLVES you. Try this at home on a daily basis, stay calm, don't be alarmed. Smiley face time.

Meanwhile once again, far, far away from love...Sock puppets on-line writing inflammatory comments dictated by master manipulators with vested interests in power and money, being read by the gullible looking for others to blame for their own lack of energy (transferring guilt) and projecting themselves onto leaders they believe speak for them. Thus wept Zarathrustra. And around and around we go in an increasingly vicious circle with an ever decreasingspiral of possibilities until something disintegrates beneath the pressure.The normal world, '2017'.

Zuckerberg claiming that Facebook had no Russian propaganda connections during the U.S election...now proved to be absolute bullshit lies. And this guy has designs on a future White House? Wonderful news for the world if we ever get there. President Z should have been Zappa. And Trump, dear Donald, still trying to 'drain the swamp', one tweet at at time...and wondering why he is up to his arse in alligators...

Twitter for twats has expanded the amount of possible characters from140 to a stunning 280. Let the bells (which toll for thee) resound in a deadly, mean, meaningless celebration. More poison freely available across the ethernet. Duck Fart has an extra...errr, (wait a moment for my cognitive processes to do the mathematics)...140 extra letters to use for utter stinking excrement with which to fertilize his realm of truly lost souls. Live like scum, die like scum you disgusting moronic reptile. Cursed for three generations. I woke up in a good mood this morning, yes I did.

Various elections and 'power' shifts taking place, but...'In Capitalism, man exploits man, in Socialism, its exactly the opposite'. Ben Tucker. HA.

I can remember the night before I turned ten years old, writing in a little book, 'For the rest of my life I will have two numbers' and feeling miserable about it, (poor little thing) now I look forward to having 3. Death/wisdom or both simultaneously. They can take my life but they'll never take my freedom. Etc. Drawing down the moon straight into the heart...and...away we go...you were born Ready.

All religion, magick and spiritual disciplines are attempts to bring together, (in Latin -religare -to bind) reconnect, re-establish a link, a bridge between hemispheres of the brain, man within the woman, the female enfolding the male, to become whole, the marriage of the opposites, god and the devil within, Yoga, from the Sanskrit root 'yuj'...meaning to join,  a Harmonic resonance causing phase transition if you will. Will, Go deeper... Self-remembering leads to self reprogramming, erasing learned imprints and replacing them with a new circuitry. 'All forms of purposive activity invoke a higher 'I'. That 'I' will take 'you' over when allowed...and there is the legendary guardian angel, another part of yourself.

EVOLUTION IS INEVITABLE..

Altogether now...Left brain...Active Yang for language and reason. ON. Aware of the passing of time. Right brain...Passive Yin for feeling and intuition. OFF. No sense of time. Anima is the female element in the male unconsciousness. Animus is the male in the female. Every ancient story and creation myth (like Plato's legend of the Gods cutting man in two) is an attempt to explain the polarisation of energies. Every mystic religion is a form of discipline to reconnect the one with the other and then combine with the whole. (Or so I choose to believe and I am just crazy enough to believe my own discoveries.) The horizon comes to you because it is already within. How to make new friends and influence yourself.

(Aha, just read today '....awareness that society is everywhere in conspiracy against intelligence'. Schroedinger's Cat, (R.A.W.) Always wonderful to find that someone vastly more clever and better humoured than I, agrees with me. Makes it all almost worth the while.) I think a lot, (way too much) and it is a pity that I am fairly stoopid because my thoughts could actually be useful occasionally. What serves better, is instinct. (When in doubt, blow the thinking OUT.) Logic is ridiculous in the face of eternity. That's why people on various drugs laugh so much

'Every great discovery had been the breaking of a taboo'.

'When you're ugly and somebody loves you, you know they love you for who you are. Beautiful people never know who to trust.'

The following sentence was in last month's blog, but it came from a useful dream of mine and I like it, whether or not it makes 'sense'...so here it is  again....Creation was caused by focused thought form radiations of ahigher oscillating force upon binary possibility waves...This is more or less, (or much more than) what magick seems to be. A discipline of focus, cause and effect...and everyone can do this in their own forms and fashion, every chord, stroke of the brush, every recipe, secret invention, improvisation on the spur of the moment, every executed plan. Every thought form directed, every cosmic joke, every intuition realised, every kiss which dissolves Ego, every spiked lightning and shiver of orgasm, every channelled catharsis creating reality around you, drawing circumstances towards you. But be Very aware of the power of the subconscious, it works both ways.

As someone evolved might have said; 'When you need to shit, shit.' Anal retentives have a hard time ascending their internal heaps. Process and release, do a finger painting in your own blood if you have to. When dealing with yourself , honesty is always the best policy. White people seem to have it quite bad and English folk all the worse. Once again, everyone has an Ego problem because they have an Ego. (Or something.) And remove the insecure mask of self delusional vanities, some folk were born mediocre but the 'average' can always become more...although that takes focus and the majority are always lazy. They have been trained to be.

Acquiring knowledge is also a matter of losing useless parts of your thinking in tandem with ingesting fascinating teachings. The teacher comes when ready. (HA.) And many, many times, the teacher becomes yourself. You, on another level, reorientating yourself, a helping hand further on. Much depends on trust and most humans learned to be natural manipulators as babies, adults merely refine the negatives. Lessons are everywhere and take thousands of forms, too much to know but One to Be.

I remember reading many years ago of someone asking Buddha if he was a saviour, to which he replied 'I am not'. 'Are you an angel?' No. 'What are you?' The realised man replied; 'I am awake'. And there it was and here it is. At the same time. Almost all of us including myself, are deeply asleep. Somnambulists on a treadmill of daily routine...too busy busy busy with basic survival (and being kept so by the powers that seem to be) to evolve and clamber amoeba like out of the ocean onto land) (F......g terrible mixed metaphor but you get the idea) and as that temporarily French programme from the Matrix said; 'If we do not make time, then 'ow can we take the time?'

Still love the part where he says how much he enjoys the French language because it is the best to curse in; 'It's like wiping your arse with silk'. Wonderful writing. HUMOUR. Ahhh, Sing Swan Song by Can....Melt. She is the mother of Everything and you are her egg...afterglowing...

Shelter, embrace, eat you, drink you consume you, renew you, over and over, higher and higher and OUT. A glorious and total sanity to the very sweetest end.

And as for the 'Here and Now'...This quote from The Tibetan Book of the Dead, could not be much clearer... 'This Truth is that there is no reality behind any of the phenomena of the Bardo plane, save the illusions stored up in one's own mind as accretions from sangsaric experiences. Recognition of this automatically gives Liberation'.

Saw some graffiti yesterday in large letters on the side of a block of grim flats in Prague, translates as; 'YOU CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT UTOPIA'. The definition of Utopia is? Drugs in concrete boxes? A fake temporary connection with an illusory higher self? All addictions weaken. He says, now slurping whisky, eating a chocolate biscuit and smoking a cigarette. (See, how a man can multi task with total focus, arf)  Never said I was perfect. Not even my mother would claim that.

The age of reason was the death of love. The Aeon of Chaos will see its rebirth. Where does all this nonsense come from? I just watch my fingers moving. Don't think. Switch off by choice and dive into the flowing rivers of trance and Blah. Very rarely I am I arrogant enough to believe that any of this waffle is being channelled. Only sometimes.

Harm none and do what you Will. HAPPY HALLOWEEN, jump on a broomstick and Know YourSelf, with Love, D.