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edupunkn00b · 6 months

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Mise Out of Place

Edited photo. Original by Icons8 Team via Unsplash.

mise en place (ˌmē-ˌzäⁿ-ˈpläs) noun Borrowed from French. A culinary process in which ingredients are prepared and organized (as in a restaurant kitchen) before cooking Also : the set of ingredients prepared using this process

Written for @starlocked01 for the @sanderssidesgiftxchange. I hope you enjoy this mix of crack and fluff with some elements unexpectedly made canon by last week's video.

Many thanks to the developmental beta reader, "Some Guy," who provided invaluable assistance and cheerleading with this story. Fluff is hard, y'all.

WC: 2k (okay, almost 2K) - Rated: T for a bit of swearing - CW: fluff, crack, and a hint of Remus-y imagery - [ AO3 ] -

“And… we’re live!”

“Thanks, Freddie,” Roman muttered, just out of earshot of the lavaliere mics pinned to Patton's and Remus' aprons.

“Maybe after his glow up,” Janus murmured, equally quietly.

Patton grinned at the camera, the edge of Janus’ hat fuzzy and barely visible past the glare of the ring light. “Hey there, Kiddos—”

“I’m Remus!” Said Side jumped into the frame, one long arm draped over Patton’s shoulders. Instead of looking at the camera, he stared expectantly at Patton, his grin far, far too wide.

Patton nodded, his own smile still plastered on. “And I’m your Happy Pappy Patton!”

Remus leaned closer and they said in unison, “And welcome to Messers en Place!”

Janus’ hat bobbed on the other side of the camera and Patton’s smile brightened. They’d practiced and practiced—and practiced—their video intro, each time failing to be in sync. Even Patton had begun to fear they’d have to rewrite it. But this time, when it mattered, really mattered, they did it!

“And what are we making today, Pattycake?” Remus prompted him when he failed to say his next line.

“Oh, right! To-daay…” He drew out his words as he looked around the ingredients oh-so-carefully spread out over the countertop. Mise en place, Roman had called it. Logan had tried to hide his surprise behind a little fumble with his glasses, but Patton hadn’t missed the way Logan’s eyes had widened.

“Ahem, well, yes, Roman is correct,” he'd finally managed. Remus bounced on his toes next to Patton, picking up each tiny bowl and sniffing at its contents.

“Careful there, Ro Bro,” he'd cackled. “Nerdy Wolverine’s gonna bust a nut with you knowing things.”

“I am not—”

“Hey, Pattycake, what’s this one?” Winking, Remus pulled him back into the present moment and shoved a bowl of brown spices into his hands.

“Oh, um…” Patton sniffed carefully. “It’s cumin, Remus.”

“Well, if you insist…” he began, reaching for his belt.

“Remus!” Roman cried, bonking his brother's head with the boom mic.

“Muse, not now, boy,” Janus murmured from the other side of the room.

Virgil groaned from his perch at the top of the refrigerator, silently tapping the sides of the fire extinguisher in his lap. “Are we sure having these two do a cooking show was a good idea for the stream?”

“Of course it is!” Remus and Roman said together.

And it really was a good idea. The twins had blurted out the concept together during a brainstorming session and even Logan had agreed this would be first in their livestream series. He'd even suggested the name.

So here they were, the two of them, about to cook. Together.

They could do this. Patton could do this.

Remus’ smile had grown too wide again, eyebrows arched high.

Right, the cumin.

“We’re making spaghetti and meatballs,” Patton remembered his line and smiled at the camera.

“Balls,” Remus muttered under his breath, shoulders dancing.

Patton gasped and sneezed into the little bowl, spraying cumin up into the air and all over his face.

“Oh, I gotcha, Daddy—”

“Remus!” Roman lowered the boom mic with an offended huff only he could manage to sound princely.

“Aw, Kiddo!” His catigan sleeves were safely tucked beneath his apron, but he brushed them clean anyway. Remus whipped out a concerningly clean handkerchief from under his sash and dabbed at Patton’s face.

“It’s sweet,” Patton smiled at Roman just off camera.

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” Roman muttered.

“You don’t get paid at all, Princey!”

“Need I remind you all we’re still live?” Logan hissed from the hallway.

“It’s fine, Logan, dear,” Janus murmured, tapping the laptop just out of frame. Comments scrolled up the screen faster than they'd ever been. “The viewers are eating it up.”

Logan frowned at the screen for a long moment before shrugging. “He’s right. Okay, carry on."

Face now clean, Patton nodded and carried a big stock pot to the sink. “Right, first step is to start the water. Remus, will you—”

“One step ahead of you, Daddy!” Patton barely made out his words over the rush of the faucet.

And the crash just behind him.

Patton swung around, water sloshing out of the pot and onto the floor. “Remus!”

Remus had shoved all the measured ingredients to the far edge of the counter. Spices and oil spilled over the plate of ground meat and the long loaf of italian bread was broken in half. A wedge of parmesan had impaled the softening butter and the head of garlic had rolled onto the floor. At the center of the counter was a giant neon green air fryer into which Remus had jammed the entire—sealed—box of linguini and a jar of sauce. "Oh, and Merry Christmas, by the way. Thought you could use one of these babies!" he said, slapping the top of the device. "Hm… I wonder if I could fit one of those in here, too…"

“Wait, Remus, no—” Patton dropped the stock pot and reached out as Remus cranked the air fryer up to 500°F and slammed the start button.

“Well, it was nice having a kitchen,” Virgil muttered and pulled the pin from the extinguisher, nozzle aimed directly at the air fryer.

“No, it’s fine,” Patton said, voice cracking even as he grinned up at Virgil. “Don’t worry, Kiddo, everything will be—”

The air fryer beeped and the scent of burning paper filled his nose. He rushed toward the counter, hands outstretched to unplug the fryer, but his heel skidded on the wet floor and he slammed into Remus’ back instead.

“Hey, if you wanted to dance, Pattycake…” Remus spun around, catching him before he fell. “You could’ve just said so!”

“Remus!” Patton cried, clinging to his tunic as thick black smoke and the flicker of orange flames erupted out of the appliance. “Fire!”

With the grace of a cat and accompanied by a woosh of extinguisher foam, Virgil jumped down and doused the air fryer, the counter and most of Patton and Remus with the fire retardant.

A spark caught on the edge of Virgil’s hoodie sleeve and the mic squealed as Roman dropped the boom and rushed over to smother it.

“Princey, I’m fine! Let’s get the rest of this—”

“Shit!” Roman swore as he slipped on the spreading puddle of water and extinguisher foam in the center of the room. Virgil grabbed him by his sash, pulling him to his feet.

“Gotcha, your Highnessness.”

Off camera, Logan slid closer to Janus. “Are we still filming?”

“Mm-hm. Wine?” he asked, offering a large goblet he’d procured from… somewhere.

Eyebrow raised, Logan accepted the glass and took a slow sip. “Out of everything in the kitchen, this is what you chose to save?”

“Why, yes, of course," he murmured before finishing his own glass and refilling it.

“Acceptable.”

Long after the livestream ended and the kitchen was—mostly—put back into order, the Sides called it a night and, one-by-one sauntered off to bed.

All the Sides but Remus, at least. Well, and Patton.

Remus had waited until everyone else's room had grown quiet and the lights spilling out from under each Side’s door had clicked off. A flickery bluish glow remained under Virgil’s door, but he typically wouldn’t actually fall asleep for another few hours anyway.

Patton’s door, though… Patton’s door had remained closed tight, without even the usual fairy lights brightening the edges of the door frame. And without the happy little sounds of his bedtime playlist.

Patton hadn’t gone to bed.

Taking more care than usual, Remus slipped off his boots and crept downstairs, skipping the creaky third and fifth steps. The living room, kitchen, and hall were dark, the patio door closed and locked with the blinds drawn tight. The clock on the microwave cast long, faint shadows over the kitchen floor and Remus spotted a bit of movement followed by a tiny sound.

He held his breath and waited. There it was again, a soft sniffle.

Dropping to the floor, Remus peered under the kitchen table. Patton sat hunched in the far corner, sweater-clad arms hugging his knees to his chest.

“Oh, hi, Kiddo,” he mumbled, wiping his cheeks against his forearms. “Can’t sleep?” he asked as though Remus was the one hiding alone in the dark.

“Was gonna ask you the same thing, Pattycake.”

“Oh…” Patton didn’t explain what the fuck he was doing down there, cardigan pulled over his potassium bicarbonate and cumin—ha!—stained apron. He just sort of looked down at his hands and pulled his legs up closer to him. Almost like he was making room.

Remus clambered under the table next to him, not quite touching but close enough to smell the smoke in Patton’s hair and clothes. Remus' own clothes smelled like his experiment upstairs and he inhaled the plasticy, acrid scent of burnt dyes and the forever chemicals from the extinguisher. It was even better than the fires for making s’mores at Thomas’ summer camp as a kid.

Remus wiggled his toes, watching Patton from the corner of his eye. He’d tucked his face close to his knees but his cheeks glimmered with new, silent tears. Remus breathed in again. The kitchen would reek of smoke for a long time after this.

“C-A-M—”

“Maybe later?” Patton sniffled. “I’m just not in the mood to sing right now, Kiddo.”

“You sure about that?” Remus scooted a little closer and bumped their shoulders together. “It’ll help if you just sing along…” He waited, watching Patton tap his foot, toes squelching in his still-sopping shoes.

“C-A-M-P…” he began again, slower this time.

“F-I-R-E-S-O-N-G song,” Patton sang softly.

“C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E-S-O-N-G song…” Remus repeated.

A little smile cracked across the other Side’s face, softer and more real than it had been all day. “The C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E-S-O-N-G song.” Patton took a breath like he was about to jump into the next verse but he frowned, nose scrunched. “It still smells like burnt air fryer in here, huh?”

“Yeah,” Remus agreed, nodding his head with a grin. “We made our mark.”

“Yeah,” Patton said, curling over his knees again.

“Aw, Daddy-o,” Remus bumped his shoulder. “Is that why you’re hiding under here? ‘Cause of the fire?”

“Well, yeah,” Patton frowned, staring back at him. “I really wanted to make a great video. I wanted to… you know… make Thomas proud.”

“Fuck, Pattycake, we did! Have you seen the comments?”

Patton just shook his head so Remus sank them both down into his room where he’d left his laptop open to the video page. Views and comments continued to pour in, hours after the stream had ended. “Look!” he demanded, pushing Patton down into a mostly clean chair.

The Moral Side read quietly, eyes growing wider with each scroll. “They… they liked us?”

“Yeah they did!” Remus slapped his back. “So, whaddya say we make Elf Spaghetti next time? We can even add some Crofters to please the nerd.” Patton’s stomach grumbled and Remus’ grin grew. “You know… we never did eat dinner, Pattycake. How about we give it a trial run tonight?”

“Race you to the kitchen!” Patton laughed and sank down through the floor.

“Hey, that’s cheating!”

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tssidesfics · 1 year

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Credit to @wisecolorthing for helping me come up with this nightmare crack fic. I can't entirely remember how we started talking about it but the conversation wandered to Remus in a Spencer's and this was born. It is pure crack. Completely ludicrous and ridiculous while also being completely in-character because we're talking about Remus, here.

God should have skipped the flood and just unleashed Remus on the world a few thousand years early.

Then again, humanity might never have recovered at that point, so what do I know?

Welcome to my little circle of hell, everybody. Yes, you are all correct that my relationship with the others can be best surmised with the "this house is a fucking nightmare" vine, but you don't get any points for it because it's not hard to figure out. I subsist off coffee, spite, and sarcasm (but differently from Janus, who subsists off wine, spite, and sarcasm) and exist solely to, in Remus' words, "vibrate like an overripe chihuahua on meth and five espressos with a dildo turned on up its ass"--AKA I am an anxious mess when I'm not spiraling ever-deeper into the bowels of worst-case scenario-ism. I live in a very weird gay man's head with my roommates, some of which (Logan) feign sanity 80% of the time and the other 20% conduct deranged experiments on furniture, food, and sometimes people like he's the last mad scientist left and has to preserve his culture. Some of them are actually (mostly) sane, like Patton (although we have to affectionately--and in Rage's case, literally, but they have a complicated relationship--beat on him to make him start crying when he needs to, so all things are relative). Some are just plain weird, like Roman (seriously, he's not even a type of crazy I can qualify, he's just unhinged). Some delight in feigned psychopathy (Janus). Some really need anger management therapy (do I seriously need to clarify?...actually, yeah, Logan could use some too). And some, AKA the problem child of this fever dream, defy description, but a DSM-5 edition bursts into flames every time they get a very specific little lopsided smile on their face--the one that slowly dawns like panels of light until it's blinding and suddenly nauseating to look at. That feeling is always proceeded by destruction of property. Always.

And of course Janus and Rage are gleeful enablers. Is it any wonder why I yeeted myself off the first exit ramp out of that 24/7 Mardi Gras festival?

In case it was not made shockingly apparent by literally everything about me, hi, I'm Virgil. Kill me.

My Nightmare #347 began with Patton yanking himself out of Thomas' head into the passenger side car-seat with a giddy smile on his face. "Hi, Thomas!"

Thomas screamed and jumped so hard he swerved. I neglected to appear to him physically--given I didn't want to make matters worse--but I did start fluently cussing and climbed the wall.

"Patton!" Thomas righted to the car as a cacophony of honks chastised him. "Hi, buddy. Next time, not in the middle of traffic!"

"Oop. Sorry, Thomas." At least Patton was appropriately contrite. I didn't often consider him an asshole--"cinnamon roll" is so apt he literally turns into a cinnamon roll sometimes--but today, I could make an exception. "I was wondering if we could all hang out with you at the mall today."

"Pat, it's hard enough with you guys providing running commentary on my every social interaction in my head," Thomas pointed out. "I'd like to just enjoy seeing Joan again while they're in town and I will have to corral at least five of you if I let you out."

"But Thomas..." Patton whined, bouncing frustratingly in his seat. "The Mindscape is boring!"

"You can bake an endless amount of cookies and turn it into whatever you want. I literally don't see how it could ever become boring."

"Logan won't let us change it from your living room."

Thomas sighed. "What are the chances I can convince Logan to lighten up a little?"

I snorted so loud Thomas heard it.

"Thank you for your contribution, Virgil." Thomas rolled his eyes. "If I let the rest of them out, do you promise you won't let them get into any trouble?"

I squawked. "You're expecting Patton to control the others? Are you insane? Patton couldn't control a drowsy teddy bear!"

Patton popped back into the Mindscape to turn hurt eyes on me. I crossed my arms. "No," I said. "I stand by what I said. Your backbone is made of silly putty."

"All right, Virgil," Thomas interjected before Patton could crank up the Guilt Trip'O'Meter as high as it would go. "You raise a good point. Why don't I leave you in charge?"

"I would rather crawl into a hot and rot, thanks."

"C'mon, I can feel how stir-crazy you're all getting. It's making me more antsy than usual."

"I don't see why that's a problem, considering you have never sat still anywhere a single day in your life. Someone could hold Joan over a barrel of piranha telling you they'd drop them if you couldn't sit still for an entire five minutes and it would be all your fault that Joan died."

Too late, I realized my mistake. Remus cackled loudly and sank out somewhere I didn't want to know but had to follow lest he murder the literal only reason Thomas had ever gotten me remotely under control.

"Why would you do that?" Thomas asked dully.

"You see why it's a bad idea to expect me to control these lunatics?"

Logan sighed, adjusting his glasses and snapping his folder closed. God knew what went on in those things; we only got independent internet access when we manifested and he certainly couldn't raid a bookstore without manifesting, yet he always had one in his lap, diligently working. It was morbidly fascinated. "Honestly," he grumbled. "Thomas, I believe that yes, your mental health would benefit from letting us manifest as a group. I can control the others."

"Logan," I began. "Buddy. Pal. My guy."

"Call me three of those ever again and there will be scalpels plunged into locations you do not want to think about."

"You cannot control them," I told him. "History has demonstrated multiple times that the only person who can control us is Thomas, and he's going to be busy catching up. He's going to let go of Remus' leash. Do you really--and I mean think about this--do you really think the time you want Remus off Thomas' leash is in a mall?"

"Fine. Then we'll leave him behind. At least venting some of--"

"He'll just start shooting off intrusive thoughts like a machine gun. You let more than one out, you open the floodgates."

"You're being paranoid."

"Funny that. I can't imagine why I'd be paranoid. Sounds completely unlike me, I'm normally so laid-back."

"The sarcasm was unnecessary."

"You're finally learning when I'm sarcastic." I was impressed. "Nice, Lo. I was getting worried."

Logan clicked his pen menacingly.

I grinned. Logan was easily one of my greatest allies in the Mindscape--Roman was insufferable, Janus, Remus and Rage were out of the question, and Patton could be obnoxiously patronizing--but never let his capacity for violence be underestimated. I once saw him take Roman's katana to a bundle of sticky notes because one of them gave him a paper cut. Despite that capacity for violence, however, I delighted in pushing his buttons.

"Are we manifesting today?" Roman called down the stairs with barely-restrained delight.

"Unless you can guarantee Remus won't set the mall on fire, hell no!" I called back up.

There was a long moment of silence. "Remus, I'll let you have Mrs. Snuffykins for one night if you behave yourself if we manifest!"

I had absolutely no idea what that was--I wanted to think a stuffed animal, but with Roman and Remus, all bets were off--but Remus' ecstatic screech was enough to tell me I probably didn't want to find out.

Roman looked back down at me. "He'll behave."

I arched an eyebrow.

"Prince's honor."

"Historically meant shit, Princey."

"Yes, but not Disneyally."

"That is not...remotely a word," Logan said, somehow a mix between dumbfounded and awed.

"Look, I'm just not optimistic that letting Remus out when Thomas isn't keeping an eye on him would end in anything except Thomas going to prison for arson, murder, or public indecency. Or worse."

"I'll keep him in line," Roman vowed. "Please, Virgil? I'm going stir-crazy in here, we all are."

I crossed my arms.

Roman pouted.

I snorted.

Roman glared.

I arched an eyebrow.

Roman slumped.

I grinned. "Deal with it, everybody. No manifesting. Get comfy. Janus, think about pushing your luck and I am ripping out each individual one of your scales and burying them in places you don't want."

"How delightfully Remus of you. Except for the part where you'll actually follow through on the threat."

"From Remus it wouldn't be a threat, it would be a bonding activity."

"Speaking of," Patton said shyly. "Didn't Remus run off after you said something about Joan getting hurt, kiddo?"

My eyes bugged out of my head. I sighed and hung it. "Why is it always me?" I mumbled and sunk out to chase Remus through the Mindscape.

~*~

After fishing out Remus' limbs from a pond of piranha he'd dismembered himself into when he heard me chasing after him, I borrowed some super glue from Roman's room and stuck him back together. It should have fixed him up good as new but it was Remus and any attempts I made to change things around here were easily superseded by one half of Creativity. Which meant Remus was now walking around with his penis glued to his forehead, fully erect.

Not as much time had passed by the time we returned as I expected. Which would have been great if not for the fact that the Conscious Mind was conspicuously quiet. All the dishes were clean, there wasn't any crap on the floor, and there were no Sides milling about. I could have taken the time to check each of their rooms upstairs but why waste the time when I knew exactly where they all were?

"Roman, you are in your thirties. A store called Forever 21 is not for you," Logan was saying after I manifested in the general direction of the others. "Hello, Virgil."

I glared. "What did I say?"

"Aw, but Virge--"

"You're inviting a Remustrophe right now, you realize that, right?"

Janus grinned. My blood ran cold.

"I WANT EVERY DILDO YOU HAVE!" echoed across the mall, and with horror, I realized what I'd done.

I'd loosed Remus Sanders on the Spencer's department store.

~*~

The good news: nothing had caught fire yet. Potential loss of life was yet to be determined as Patton yelped and rushed over to the prone body of the clerk behind the counter. That also proved fine when I saw him slump in relief after probing her neck for a pulse.

The bad news: Remus had slipped the superglue I'd used to piece him back together out of my pocket and was now using it to attach dildos, ripped out of their packages with plastic and cardboard shredded across the floor, to his costume. He was also dripping with something viscous, disincentivizing me from touching him to stop him from unleashing more chaos.

By rights, seven dildos glued to his top should have torn the damn thing, but it was made of sturdier stuff than that. I studied him for a long moment, trying to work up the nerve to approach, while he just continued to wreak havoc. Janus, meanwhile, the only one not preoccupied with horror or despair at Remus' antics, meandered over to the bowl in which they kept their sarcastic pins, perusing them idly.

"You better be planning to pay for those," I warned, then looked around. "Wait. Where's Rage?"

Logan glanced around. "Likely inflicting property damage on a jewelry store. He rather dislikes those."

I pinched my sinuses. "Logan, could you rein in your alter ego, please?"

"I am too evolved for my alter ego to be that idiot," Logan told me with overblown indignity.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, you're the only one who can talk some sense into him. The cameras may not be able to recognize Thomas' face on all of us, but the less reason the cops have to potentially stuff him in a cell, the better."

It was true. Somehow, whatever bizarre magic allowed us to manifest in the real world also confused cameras and people so no one could trace the destruction of property likely to follow us back to Thomas. It was the only reason I wasn't already in the fetal position on the floor forgetting the basic components of breathing.

Logan rolled his eyes and broke off to track down Rage. I turned my attention to Roman.

"No," Roman said firmly.

"He's your brother," I told him.

"Yes, and it's your fault he's here. You were supposed to watch him."

"I wouldn't have had to take my eyes off him if you guys hadn't snuck out in the first place. I'm one Side. Do you really think I would have stood a snowball's chance in hell of keeping Remus from doing exactly this?"

"And I have any better chance?"

"No, but the alternative is explaining to Thomas what you guys did."

Roman glared at me.

I glared back.

Roman pouted.

I continued glaring.

Roman stomped his foot and whined.

I pointed at Remus, who was now smashing glasses on the ground and eating the shards. Blood was rushing from his mouth and gathering in puddles on the floor. He was still dripping.

"I hate you," Roman informed me bluntly.

"Oh, like you've ever made a secret of that?"

Roman adopted a punched puppy expression at that one.

I sighed. "Yeah, yeah, you've been doing better, now go wrestle your brother into a cage or something."

Roman dragged his feet over to Remus and summoned a hasmat suit he put on. Remus sliced into it with a rather sizable shard and sprinted away before Roman could catch him. Without thinking, I lunged after him, only succeeding in sliding down the length of his body like he was covered in lube.

Oh, wait, it was lube. It smelled like one of Remus' worst farts and tasted like it too. You would have thought the dildos would have either failed to stick with his clothes soaked in lubricant or at least they would have given me something to hang onto to stop him from escaping, but all they did was slap me repeatedly in the face with silicon penes of various sizes.

Remus left a slimy trail behind him as he cackled deeper into the store. I was positive he was headed somewhere with matches so he could set the building on fire.

I pressed my face into the floor, into a puddle of lube, and sighed. Miserably, I hauled myself to my feet and turned back to everyone else. "You are in so much trouble," I assured them without passion, dragging myself off to find Thomas and get him to suck Remus back into the Mindscape before additional damage could be done.

I found him in the food court, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding deeper into the store. Altogether the world seemed relatively unaware of the happenings, another magical defense mechanism. It wasn't that people never noticed what we were doing, it was just that they were less likely to find it alarming. Although once the fire alarms started going off, people would pay attention.

"Thomas," I greeted without etiquette, coming to pause next to his table.

"Holy shit," Joan summarized perfectly. People aware of our nonsense were usually pretty good at spotting us and processing our appearances.

Thomas looked dejected. "No."

"Remus escaped."

Thomas flopped forward like a fish on land and smacked his head full into the table. The pain reverberated through my skull. "Time to--"

The fire alarm blared. Rage ran past with a shotgun, screaming, "Adios, coppers!" as he went.

Thomas watched him run past. "We don't have to stop him, do we?"

I considered it for a moment. "Nah, he can stay. As long as everyone goes back in, we should be able to keep Remus there."

People ran past screaming. A panicked exodus spilled from the food court. Some people knocked into me and I stumbled. Thomas caught my hoodie sleeve, then gagged and pulled his hand back.

"Remus," I explained.

"Right." Thomas looked in the direction everyone was running from. "I guess I have to go toward the fire to stop him, huh?"

I nodded sadly.

"Sorry, Joan," Thomas explained. "Next time, my place."

"Deal. Want some help?"

"You don't need to see what I'm about to see."

With that, Thomas and I made our begrudging way toward the fire.

~*~

It resolved relatively easily once Thomas gave Remus a disapproving stare. We all didn't do well with Thomas' disappointment, even Remus, so he moped back inside the Mindscape without much complaint. Everyone else returned to the living room in my doghouse and I locked myself in my room, refusing to emerge. Rage stayed out for a while longer and later we found out three police stations had been set on fire with all prisoners escaped. No loss of life, which I didn't know how to feel about.

Later, through mystical means, the stolen dildos Remus had taken were discovered in Ron DeSantis' home. We laughed for a week.

I amend my earlier statement. Maybe we really do need to use Remus as the next great flood. He'll just focus his attention on the fascists and we'll all be better off.

Yo, God, you should get on that.

#sanders sides fic #character thomas sanders #virgil sanders #virgil pov #first person pov #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #rage sanders #anarchist sides #rage blows up police stations #and remus frames george santos for petty theft #antifascist #acab #crack taken seriously #funny talk of god and biblical stories

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