#sorry i havent posted in a bit shdh—!!

[teenytinystorage]

Time For Class

Summary: Logan has no idea about modern slang whatsoever. He can’t keep up with it, and it’s been this way long enough for Roman, Virgil, and Patton to decide to take this matter into their own hands in a way Logan would appreciate: traditional classroom teaching.

Genre: Is confusion a genre?? (Fluff + comedy)

Pairings: None

Warnings: None

Enjoy! :)

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Logan is the embodiment of logic. Always has been, doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

He’s always focused on the rational, quantifiable aspects of life. Anything that can be understood through chronological, complex thought, he’s there for. Analysis, pondering, critical thinking, finding the use of the irrational in the rationality of reality, and hey, he’s even tried his hand at literary analysis before (granted, he’s more of a sci-fi nerd than a fantasy type as Roman is and therefore has a very limited scope of book analysis, but he’s tried it nonetheless. Of course, he’s always been there for Thomas during school book reports).

So, considering that, it makes sense why Logan has no grasp of modern language, otherwise known to him as contemporary slang words, confusingly originated words that fall in and out of usage faster than he could ever imagine.

Yes, he tries to understand, and he copies down the meanings on his cards, but he doesn’t understand them, not to mention he’s very clearly not up-to-date (see: his reaction to Roman saying “sksksk” during last Wednesday’s game night. Yeah, not fun for anyone).

And the words don’t even make sense! How can a broken plant pot be a “mood”? A plant pot doesn’t have emotions, it can’t have emotions! It’s abiotic and incapable of even breathing for crying out loud! What is an “oof”? It sounds like the sound someone would make getting punched in the stomach. So does it express pain? If it does, then why is it thrown around aimlessly with no regard to physical pain, or any pain at all?!

All of this to say, Logan does not get slang words one bit.

Considering how trendily worded the other sides are, this confusion often leads to quite a bit of trouble.

Roman and Virgil would be quoting vines in the living room, goofing around and the such.

“You’re not coming to my tea party?” Virgil started.

“Bethany, I mADe bISCuiTS!” Roman yelled, causing him and Virgil to burst out with laughter.

And Logan would be staring from the kitchen. He’d be in utter perplexion, numbing confusion, unknowing of what kind of language the two were conversing in. (And yes, Logan doesn’t know iconic vine references even though Thomas was a Viner. Don’t ask, I don’t know how either.)

Was it some sort of secret language they had between both of them? Logan knew that twins often made up languages between each other like Roman and Remus had when they were younger. But Virgil and Roman weren’t twins (at least, not to Logan’s knowledge) and this didn’t seem like an unintelligible language. It’s in English, it’s complete sentences (for the most part), but it has no meaning. How does that make sense?

Then Patton would come downstairs, and Roman would yell out his name in excitement, and Patton would stumble because he’d be startled at the yelling. He’d turn to Roman and smile childishly, joking “Stopppp! I could’ve dropped my croissant!” and they’d all burst out into laughter. Virgil would add a “That’s a mood” and Roman would reply “Weird flex, but okay” and Patton would add an occasional “Oop, looked like I dropped the hydro flask on that one!” and they’d just say all of these silly little things that made no sense to the poor nerd.

He tried, he really tried to keep up. But the words, as the rising tidal wave of a tsunami would, didn’t follow his precisely planned schedule, and they often swarmed and overwhelmed him. And this, of course, led to him having a vast disconnect between him and the other sides, at least in this case in the language department.

At dinners, the three would talk and throw in their little modern mantras, and Logan would just be forced to stare down at his plate in confusion. He had tried asking about them before, and Patton did try to be helpful, but Roman and Virgil’s often “What? You haven’t heard of __?” steered him off that path.

So now, Logan would be forced to find these meanings for himself, unknowing of what they meant at the time and being forcibly outdated in all that was slang.

And you know what? Roman and Virgil were tired of it.

Not just of how Logan never knew any vines (Logan, Thomas was a Viner. How do you not know about Wednesday, my dudes?), but how confused he always looked. He clearly didn’t like being that way, and Virgil and Roman didn’t like seeing him that way either. All the sides already had enough conflicts on the daily, why does slang have to be another source of strife? Especially for Logan, who already has a lot on his plate, who doesn’t need to have another thing separating him from everyone else?

(And Patton cared for Logan on principle, so it’s no wonder he wanted to bridge that gap too.)

It was no surprise, then, that while Logan was walking through the living room, staring down at his shoes, thinking about nothing in particular, wandering to nowhere, Roman and Virgil appeared in front of him.

“Oh, salutations,” Logan raised his head and politely greeted them.

“What’s poppin’, buddy chum pal friend?” Virgil answered.

And there it is again. The wave of confusion, drenching him entirely. What is popping? Are they making popcorn? Why did Virgil have to repeat so many synonyms? Buddy, chum, pal, and friend all mean the same thing. That’s unnecessary to use those words so frequently--

Roman snapped right in front of Logan’s face as he started to space out.

Logan’s gaze gripped onto Roman’s determined expression.

“This is what I’m talking about! Logan.”

Logan watched.

“I see that every time we start to talk in some lavish lingo--”

“Nice,” Virgil interrupted.

“--Thanks. Every time we talk this way, you don’t understand a single bit of it. You’re more dated than a catfishing Tinder enthusiast.”

“And we’re here to fix that,” Virgil raised his head.

Logan’s lips grew into a slight pursed expression. “And how are you planning on achieving that? Language is so malleable, it changes each and every second we use it--”

Before he could finish his thought, Logan was summoned down into a classroom desk, complete with an immovable chair, colored pens, sharpened pencils, and index cards (all neatly organized too, how nice).

Roman and Virgil stood in front of him, now dressed in polos and ties. Roman wore a gold and red striped tie and a white polo shirt. Virgil was in a purple polo shirt and a black tie. Roman was on the left and Virgil was on the right. There was a chalkboard between them, and Roman held a long red glove hand pointer in his right hand. Virgil leaned against the side of the board.

Logan looked around, still perplexed, if not more than he was before. He stared down at the pens, pencils, cards, then back up at the board. “What? What is--”

“Greetings class! Today’s gonna be a one day lesson of a one-day session all about slang! Featuring me, Mr. Sanders, not to be confused with Mr. Sanders over there,” Roman pointed towards Virgil, who raised up a waving hand. “We’ll also have a few guest speakers too, so try not to fall asleep during the lecture!”

“I’m sorry, I still don’t get what’s going on here?” Logan interrupted.

Just then, Patton leapt up from behind the chalkboard, in his usual blue polo with an added cream-colored vest and a white tie. “We’re teaching you some slang since we want to make you feel included with us!”

“Paaaaatton! You were supposed to be a guest speaker!” Roman pouted.

“Oh— gosh, sorry!”

Logan’s face softened. Slang, an aspect of language he didn’t understand, bringing him closer to the other sides? How strange.. and sentimental.

“Oh, uhm, that’s very kind of you all,” is all that leapt out of his throat that was swelling with appreciation.

“Yeah yeah, save the questions for after we’re done talking,” Virgil waved his hand and stood up from his leaning. “We’ve got a lot to teach, so try not to fall behind. Or fall at all, really, but that’s just coordination for you.” Virgil grinned.

Roman’s face lit up with a smile that wrinkled the edges of his eyes.

Patton beamed, his face igniting like a stricken match.

And, for a brief moment, a look of wistful admiration graced itself upon Logan’s face.

Logan then grabbed a pen and uncapped it, swiping an index card from the stack and setting it in front of him. His face became stern with focus. “Alright, where do we start?”

Virgil smirked coyly. “First up: vine references.”

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