#ts-storytime 2018 submissions

[ironwoman359]

A Sanders Carol Chapter Nine

A Sanders Carol Masterlist

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.7, Ch.8, Ch.9, Epilogue

Summary: Dr. Logan Sanders is perfectly satisfied with his life, thank you very much. He has his work, he has his position. His bills are paid, and his lifestyle is primed for optimum health. And he is far too busy maintaining his perfectly balanced lifestyle to worry about things like Christmas, much to the dismay of his few remaining friends. Hardened by years of working to get ahead in his field, nothing is capable of swaying his cold heart, not even the dire straits of his graduate assistant or the pleas of his closest friends.He also does not believe in ghosts.So when he suddenly finds the ghost of his old mentor in his apartment warning him of three more spirits to come, what will he choose to believe? Will Logan take the spirits’ words to heart in time to change his ways, or will the fate of his future be sealed forever?

Pairings: Platonic LAMP/T, Platonic Logicality (could be read as pre-romantic)

Warnings (for the whole fic): Death mention, illness, hospitals, allusions of child abuse/neglect, ghosts, lying/deception, Deceit character, crying, angst, please let me know if I need to add anything!

Chapter Word Count: 2,331

Logan lifted his head just in time to see the ghost’s cloak wrap around him, obscuring what little vision he had in the spirit’s void. He closed his eyes on instinct, and when he opened them again, he was on his hands and knees in his living room, with sunlight streaming through his window.

Logan froze for a moment, then clambered to his feet, rushing forward to the window and flinging it open. A blast of cold air hit his face, and he squinted against the brilliant glare of sunlight reflecting off of freshly fallen snow.

Logan breathed in deep and relished in the cold that stung his skin and the light that stung his eyes. A horrible thought struck him, and he scrambled to find his phone, but as he pulled it from his pocket and lifted it up, relief swept over him. It was eight in the morning, on precisely the day it should be. A notification caught his eye, and he opened his messenger app to see the slew of texts from Virgil that he had ignored so foolishly.

patton told me what happened today

c’mon man, i just wanna talk to you  

you can’t ignore me forever, logan

Logan quickly typed out a reply, not bothering to review it before sending like he usually did.

Virge...Oh my god, Virge, I am so sorry. God, I’ve been so stupid. I can’t...I don’t even know how to...GOD Virgil, I’m SO sorry.

Logan hit send, then dropped his phone on his couch, his head spinning.

"The party," he whispered to himself, then his eyes widened. "The party! The party is today!"

Logan turned and rushed into his bedroom to put on fresh clothes. He was about to put on one of his usual dress shirts when he saw the lumpy package from Thomas he had discarded earlier that week in the back of the closet. He pulled it out and tore the paper off, revealing a sweater with a carefully knit test tube wearing a scarf and (somehow) holding a songbook on the front. Beneath the cartoonish figure were the words “Oh Chemistree, Oh Chemistree” bookended by music notes.

Logan rolled his eyes at the pun, but he couldn’t stop the fond smile that grew on his face as he slid the sweater over his head. He grabbed his comb from the nightstand and ran it through his hair before hurrying back out into the living room. He picked up his phone, and grinned when he saw Virgil had replied.

omg...logan?

woah, ok, i wasn’t...wtf dude are you feeling ok?

Logan laughed as he sent his reply, grabbing his hat and coat as he did so and searching around the apartment for his shoes.

Yes Virgil, I am quite well. Better than I have been in a long time, in fact. I can see why you might think otherwise, but that is all the more reason I have to be sorry.

Logan found his shoes and quickly pulled them on, then all but ran out the door. He hurried down the stairs of his building, not bothering to wait on the elevator, and only slowed when he reached the snow covered steps outside.

As quickly as he could manage in the snow, Logan got into his car and drove through the streets he had hovered over the night before. Everything looked so different in the daylight, so much clearer and sharper, and Logan relished every second of it.

Soon, he found himself at his destination, and he all but tripped hurrying up the steps of the modest house that Logan hadn’t been to in so long...at least, not physically. He knocked on the door, and only after he did so did a hint of apprehension crawl its way into his chest.

What if he was being foolish? What if it was too late, and he had already had enough of him? He wouldn’t blame him, he deserved whatever rejection he was liable to get, but he had to see him at least one more time, had to apologize.

Any remaining doubt evaporated the moment Patton opened the door, his auburn curls a mess and a holiday apron tied around his waist.

“Logan!” he exclaimed, his voice full of shock, confusion, but most of all delight.

Logan threw caution to the wind and surged forward, wrapping the surprised man in hug, burying his face in the slightly shorter man’s shoulder. Patton only stood frozen for a moment before he returned the hug, his grip almost as desperate as Logan's own.

Logan let out a shuddering gasp as he realized just how long it had been since he’d had a real hug from anyone, let alone from Patton. Patton’s hugs were warm and safe and all-encompassing, practically impossible not to feel at home in.

“Logan?” Patton asked, pulling back slightly and staring up into Logan’s eyes. “Lo honey, what’s wrong?”

Only then did Logan realize he was crying, and he shook his head, unable to speak. He pulled Patton close again, and would have liked to stay there in that moment for the rest of time, if Patton hadn’t pulled him away from the front door.

“Lo, honey, you’re shaking. Let’s get you inside and get this door closed, okay?”

Logan laughed wetly and nodded, allowing Patton to drag him indoors and help him take off his snow covered shoes. Patton gasped when Logan removed his coat, revealing the handmade sweater underneath.

“Lo?”

Logan turned and faced Patton, and he wanted to say the perfect thing to express just how sorry he truly was, how much he regretted everything he’d said, everything he’d done, but when he saw Patton’s blue eyes wide and full of awe and hope and maybe a few tears of their own, he found he couldn’t properly form sentences.

“Patton...Patton, God I’m so sorry,” he gasped, then the words were tumbling out faster than he could even process. “You were right, oh my God Patton, you were right about everything; you were right about Marley, you were right about me, you were right about Christmas, and oh God I messed everything up Patton, I nearly ruined everything and I understand if you hate me I really do I just needed to tell you, needed you to know how sorry I am, I’m so sorry, I was stupid, I—”

“Shhh…” Patton soothed as he pulled Logan into another hug. “Hush now, Lo-Lo, it’s alright...everything’s alright now.” He kept murmuring gentle, careful words as he guided Logan to the couch.

Patton sat beside him, and once Logan could bring himself to meet his eyes, he saw they were shining...with tears, yes, but something else too. Something that Logan sometimes had trouble putting words to or understanding, but something that he knew nonetheless was very real.

“I mean it,” he whispered, his voice raw. “I’m really, really sorry.”

Patton smiled at him, and nodded.

“I know Lo...I’m s-sorry too, I—”

“No,” Logan interrupted, reaching for Patton’s hand and squeezing it. “You have nothing to apologize for, none of this was your fault. I know you’ve heard that before, and I know you don’t believe it, but it’s true. It was all me, Pat, and I know I can never make up for it, but—”

“You don’t have to,” Patton whispered, cutting him off. He reached and took Logan’s other hand. “You’re here now. That’s enough.”

"I...I came for the party," Logan muttered, wiping his eyes. "I didn't want...I've missed too many of them, I couldn't miss another."

Patton raised an eyebrow, and his smile took on a teasing nature.

"Well...I'm happy to hear that Lo, but...it's not even nine am yet. The party isn't until two."

Logan laughed, his heart lighter than it had been in ages.

"Well, I didn't want to be late."

Patton giggled, but his attention was stolen by his phone ringing on the side table next to them.

"Oh! It's Thomas, hang on," Patton said as he answered it, and Logan suddenly felt nervous. "Hi Thomas! You won't believe who's here with—what? Oh, yeah! Yeah, that's what I was trying to say...he's here right now! Yeah! He came over like, ten minutes ago." Patton looked over at Logan and grinned. "He seems just perfect to me. Okay, sure, see you soon. Bye!" He hung up, and smiled again at Logan.

"Thomas is on his way! He'll be here any minute. Hey...hey, what is it, Logan?" he asked as Logan put his head in his hands.

"I just...I hope he can forgive me," he muttered.

"Aww, Lo," Patton crooned, pulling Logan into another hug. "It'll be okay, I promise."

The two of them stayed like that until another knock sounded at the door. Patton gave Logan a reassuring smile, then got up to answer it. Logan shuffled uncomfortably, then stood and took a deep breath. Whatever happened, at least he'd be able to apologize.

"Hi Thomas!" Patton said cheerfully, stepping aside to let a bewildered looking Thomas enter the living room.

The two cousins found themselves face to face, and Logan did his best to keep his voice steady and maintain eye contact.

“Hello, Thomas...Merry Christmas. I believe that an explanation is in order for my—OOF!” The wind was knocked out of Logan as Thomas crushed him in an unexpected hug.

“Virgil called and told me what you said, but I didn’t think...I didn’t realize you'd come here!” Thomas cried.

“I’m...I’m sorry, Thomas, I understand if you’re upset, but I simply wanted to—”

“Upset?” Thomas interrupted, pulling out of the hug with a stupid grin on his face. “Logan, I...I’m thrilled you’re here!”

Logan smiled back shyly.

“So am I,” he whispered, and Thomas pulled him close again.

Logan lost himself in the embrace, never wanting it to end.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to worry much on that front, as later when Roman and Virgil arrived, they were equally willing to reciprocate when he hesitantly offered them a hug and an apology. Roman’s arms were as strong as Virgil’s were gentle, and again Logan marveled at the fact that it had been so long since he’d allowed himself feel this warm.

"I don't get it," Roman said as the five of them worked together to prepare for the rest of Patton's guests. "Why this sudden change of heart? Just yesterday you were slamming emotional (and physical) doors—Ow! Virgil, don't kick me—and today you're down for the holiday spirit? Ow! Virgil!" Roman swatted at Virgil who was shooting him a death glare.

Logan laughed at their antics, which seemed to surprise both of them, then he paused. How much should he say? How to deliver the truth without making them think he'd lost his mind...

"Logan?" Virgil asked, and Logan smiled up at them.

"Last night...I did a lot of thinking," he said. "I honestly don't know how it happened, but I started thinking about everything that happened...about us in general, and about Christmas, and...I don't know." He shrugged. "I just realized that...that I've been wrong. This whole time. Horribly wrong, and it nearly destroyed everything that I care about, I..." Logan took a deep breath, feeling tears beginning to pool again in his eyes. "I just...saw how close I'd come to losing all of you, and I couldn't bear that. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He screwed his eyes shut, feeling a hot wave of shame come over him, but before he could even properly register it a strong pair of arms was wrapping around him, then another and another, and then all five of them ended up on the ground as the attempt at a massive group hug ended up causing them all to lose their balance.

Logan laughed, and buried his face in the crook of someone's elbow.

They would be okay.

Later, the rest of Patton’s guests arrived, and Logan found himself smiling and laughing, making conversation with people he once had called friends but had pushed away years ago.

“I didn’t know you were coming this year!” Larry Fezziwig had cried after warmly shaking Logan’s hand, and Logan had to laugh.

“Honestly Mr. Fezzi—Larry, neither did I.”

It was a little bit awkward, but Logan found he didn’t mind so much when he was surrounded by people that he cared about so much...and that he knew cared about him. The living room was light and warm and full of the same joy that had been present in his visions, but the visions paled in comparison to how real this was, how tangible the feeling was inside him. When it came time for the white elephant gift exchange and Logan sheepishly admitted that he hadn’t brought any gift, Patton pulled him to his feet and engulfed him in another hug.

“You’re my best friend, Lo-Lo,” Patton whispered as warmth spread throughout Logan’s whole being. “That’s all the present I need.”

A chorus of awww’s rang out through the room, and Roman and Virgil started an argument about whether or not that meant Logan could have a bow placed on his head and sent home with somebody. Logan laughed along with the others, and even allowed Roman to stick a gold bow in his hair, though he opted to just sit out and watch the rest of the guests participate in the gift exchange.

By the time the last of the goodbyes were said and it was the original five friends alone in the house again, Logan felt fuller than he could ever remember feeling...but there was still one thing he wanted to do.

“Hey, Virge?” he called to the emo, who was in the kitchen with Patton washing empty cocoa mugs. “Can you call Ari and have her make sure there are a dozen screamers ready for me?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

“Sure, I guess I can do that. Why though?”

Logan took a deep breath, then looked around at his friends.

“There’s someone I’d like you all to meet.” 

[Previous Chapter] [Epilogue] 

[vincent-frankenstein]

Bloodbond - Chapter One

Part one of my entry for @ts-storytime!!

Chapter Summary: A half-translated spell, an accidental injury, a furious demon and a strange force holding them together spells complete and utter disaster for prince Roman.

Pairings: pre-established logicality and eventual prinxiety

Warnings: Swearing, blood/injuries, self-deprecation and feelings of despair (tell me if you need anything else tagged!)

Read on A03

{ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 }

art by @pattykrabbies {here} and @vdkstar {here}!!!

(cover is by @vdkstar <3)

“In tenebris illis, qui vivimus vigemusque in dolore!”

This was it.

“Qui habitaturi essent in velo inter mundos.”

Anticipation filled his every word with confidence; his chest swelled and his voice rumbled with overzealous excitement, his fingers tingling with powerful magic. The spell was foreign and unsure in his mouth, but even if he stumbled he refused to fall, refused to give up on what he’d been working so hard to achieve.

“Latus meum et vocavi te, hoc mundus non grata quo nunc es.”

He was glowing — illuminated in the light from the runes he’d painted in purple and red across his floor, in the lambent magic swirling around his outstretched hands. Power whirled around him, tousling his hair and his clothes and the pages of the spellbook on the podium before him, and he faltered but did not stop, too close to give up now.

This was it.

“Veniunt ad me: daemonium et ore exíbit gládius… a-acútus vota!” He’d stuttered, he’d hesitated, but he couldn’t stop now even if he wanted to. The magic swirled before him; a tornado of purple and black, of magic light and dark, of suffocating smoke, growing bigger and bigger with each word he spoke. The light from the symbols was blinding.

But it was working. He may have stumbled but he hadn’t fallen, and now… “I’m going to make you proud,” he whispered, the spell nearly enacted, the magic around his outstretched palms flaring deep violet and vivid scarlet.

He drew his hands close to his chest and breathed the final part of the spell, his body aching with the overuse of his magic, his eyes glowing with power and ambition alike.

This was it.

“Ego conjuro te!”

The magic burst forth from his palms as he thrust his hands forward, colliding with the tornado in the middle of his room with a noise like metal scraping against metal — and the force threw him backwards, his body slamming heavily against the wall, the tornado swelling and exploding and knocking him back down as he desperately scrambled to his feet.

Magic seeped into the room, throughout the air; suddenly he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, trapped beneath the weight of a failed spell…

And then everything went dark.

“Hey!”

Pain. Horrendous, unbearable pain. It bloomed throughout every limb and seeped through every muscle, red-hot and ice-cold and hideously agonizing.

“Wake up and send me back!”

He groaned, consciousness returning to him in uncomfortable waves. He tasted blood. Slowly, he moved, merely an inch — and pain exploded within him, a thousand flares of agony, and he stopped, moaning into the wooden floor.

“Send. Me. Back.”

He didn’t recognize the voice. In his hazy, half-conscious state, his brain fogged with pain, it almost sounded… inhuman. The accent was strange, unplaceable; the tone double-layered and crackling with fury, angry and deep and almost… demonic…

Suddenly, with a great jolt of fear, he recognized the sting of a magic that wasn’t his in the air, the soft crackle of power that only one type of being could hold. Breathtakingly cold fear pierced his stomach and sent him shooting to his feet, and he drew his sword and held it aloft towards the demon, his face contorting with pain and anger alike.

He was tall, incredibly so, looming over him like a predator looms over its prey. His face was pale, his eyes deepest black, purple irises glowering down at him from behind a veil of ebony hair. He shifted beneath his tattered dark cloak, the hood drawn up over his head; and beneath it, two leathery black-red wings furled angrily. There was no mistaking it: this was a demon, and it was not welcome.

“Back!” Roman cried, jabbing his sword towards the demon’s throat. “What are you doing here, foul villain? You weren’t summoned!”

“Are you serious?” the demon growled, glaring down at him. “You summoned me, idiot. Now send me back.”

“What? No, I —” A pause, suddenly, as realization spread paralyzingly into his bone. He glanced at the ancient spell-book he’d been following, tossed across the room in the explosion, and his eyes shifted over the mostly-but-not-entirely translated spell on the singed page. His blood ran cold, his face flickering between disappointment and anger. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was supposed to prove his worth. It was supposed to make him proud.

“Fine, then. Go back to whatever hellhole you crawled out of, demon.”

The demon didn’t budge, his eyes narrowing to furious slits. “I can’t,” he ground out, clawed hands tightening into fists by his sides. “You need to release me first, asshole.”

Roman scoffed angrily as the childish insult, raising an eyebrow. His sword never wavered by the demon’s neck, though Roman’s arm throbbed with pain. The shining, magical blade pressed sharply into the deathly pale skin, nearly drawing blood. “Fine. You’re released. Now return home and never grace me with your presence again.”

“With pleasure,” the demon snarled, his eyes slipping shut as he concentrated. A moment passed, silent, but still the demon remained, looking rather foolish as he stood silently in the middle of the room.

“Why are you not leaving?” Roman asked, confusion joining the cocktail of anger and disappointment on his face. The demon shook his head.

“I don’t — I don’t know,” he answered. “I can’t.”

Roman lifted his sword higher, glaring. “You’d better figure it out, demon. As the Royal Prince of Gaepried, I order you to leave.” He went to take a step forward and nearly crumpled from the pain, his leg wobbling beneath him. He looked down and found his pant-leg torn and bloodied, a deep wound visible from between the tears. He clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword as his leg threatened to give out beneath him.

“No offense, princey, but I don’t think you can do much of anything to me.” The demon didn’t sound confident so much as resigned; his voice dark and brooding as his eyes slipped shut again, his hands twitching by his sides. But still, he remained trapped — unable to teleport back to his own hellish realm. “Why the hell can’t I leave?”

He shifted, and Roman jabbed his sword as a warning, his face contorted in a hateful snarl — but the demon merely raised an eyebrow and turned, his fingers worrying the hem of his cloak as he began to pace, limping on every other step.

“Stop,” Roman ordered, injecting every ounce of confidence that he didn’t feel into his voice. The demon was right, of course — in this state, he truly wouldn’t be able to do anything. He was too injured to fight physically, and his magic was much too drained to perform even the simplest of charms, let alone fight off a demon. “I order you to —”

Suddenly he was yanked forward, as though some unseen force had tied a rope around his middle and tugged, hard. He stumbled and fell, crying out involuntarily in pain, and the demon froze in his pacing, watching him with confusion written all over his face. “What did you do?” Roman snarled as he pulled himself back to his feet, feeling woozy with pain.

“I didn’t do anything!” the demon protested. He began to pace again, almost seeming nervous, and as he stepped farther away Roman was dragged off his feet again, back towards the demon.

Roman cried out in frustration, yanking himself back to his feet with a grunt and ignoring how his leg throbbed beneath him, ignoring the drops of scarlet scattered across the floor beneath him. “Stop pacing!” he commanded, and the demon paused, turning to glare at Roman.

Roman had a vague idea of what was going on — a memory that lingered in the back of his mind, a story heard as a mere child — though his blood chilled to think of it as a possibility.

Slowly, carefully, he inched backward, sucking air sharply through his teeth as his leg screamed in protest. His was nearly to the wall, ten feet away from the demon, when it happened: the demon was yanked forward, towards Roman, knocked right off his feet. Thus, Roman’s suspicions were confirmed, and he’d never hated being right more.

No, he thought, as the demon grumbled confusedly and got back to his feet. This isn’t enough proof. He needed something more, something to tell him what he thinks isn’t right — and there was only one person in the entire kingdom who’d dare tell the prince he was wrong.

He took a deep breath and gathered his energy, collecting the last vestiges of magic held deep within his bones, and set both hands atop the wound on his leg. There was no way he’d be able to heal it fully in his condition, but… at least he could lessen the pain. When the glow of his healing charm faded, he strode towards the demon, limping only slightly.

“You’re coming with me,” he said, glaring as though this was the demon’s fault — even as his mind reminded him that it was his fault, all his fault, now he’ll never be proud of him — and the demon glared right back, drawing himself up to his full height.

“No,” he said. “Forgive me, your highness, but I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I don’t believe you have a choice.” Cruel and regal, the threat hung in the air between them for a moment; and their silent standoff came to a halting end when Roman turned and strode out the door. The demon was dragged along, digging his heels into the ground and swearing furiously in some old, demonic language as the unseen force made itself useful and pulled him along behind Roman.

Roman ignored the demon as he swore on some ancient god to curse Roman to hell and back, too caught up in his own thoughts to even give a moment’s attention to the childish monster behind him. How could he have let this happen? How could he have been so stupid? His face grew dark, his hands tightening into fists by his sides.

He’d known the spell was dangerous, of course — but he’d been too caught up in the moment, in the maddening swirl of confidence (and the desperation to prove himself, to impress him) to care about the consequences. And god, were there consequences.

He stole a glance at the consequences begrudgingly stomping along behind him, one eyebrow raised as he studied the beast. In the darkness of the night, with his eyes averted and nervousness written across his face, he seemed almost… human.

Shaking his head, he turned forward again, trepidation dogging his every step as they approached the inn. It was quiet, each window dark save for the warm glow of candlelight in the one upstairs.

Silently, he prepared himself for a lecture. There was no avoiding one, not after the mess he’d gotten into, not after finding himself in such desperate need of his friend’s help. He turned to the demon once they’d made it to the door.

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” he growled quietly, drawing himself up to his full height and doing his best to look at threateningly regal as possible. The demon rolled his eyes.

“Too late, princey, I already regret answering your stupid summons in the first place.”

Roman scoffed, rapping twice on the wooden door. Immediately, he was met by the muffled sound of a wolfhound’s barking on the other side, and a soft, comforting chuckle that eased his worries, if only a little bit. “Hello?” Patton asked as he answered the door, Agatha bounding happily around his feet, her loud, excited barking reverberating around the village. “Oh! Roman! What can I do for ya, kiddo?”

“I… require your husband’s assistance.” Roman glanced at the demon behind him, and Patton finally took notice of their darker guest. His eyes widened behind his glasses, a flicker of fear passing through the chocolate brown of his eyes, though he was sure to wash it away with a bright smile quickly afterward.

“S-Sure thing, Ro! Hang on.” He turned and yelled up the stairs, and then leaned down and scratched Agatha behind the ears, leading her back inside. “Well, come on in!”

He waved them into the house, reaching down to hold Agatha’s collar so she wouldn’t slip back through the door, and led them up the stairs and into the sitting room. Agatha bounced behind him energetically, her barking growing happy and excited as they sat, a world of comfortable laps opening up to her.

Roman smiled fondly as he reached down and stroked her soft white head, letting out a sigh as he eyed first Patton and then the demon uncomfortably. He opened his mouth to begin to try to explain, though he had no idea how he’d do so.

It was then that Logan entered the room, carrying a book in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. He glanced up, his eyes widened, and he tucked his book beneath one arm to reach up and pinch the bridge of his nose, letting out a small noise of frustration that Roman knew as the precursor to a massive lecture. Roman shrank beneath his disbelieving gaze as Logan seemed to struggle with his words, taking a breath as he eyed the demon up and down. Finally, he raised an eyebrow.

“I told you so.”

[l-b-art]

I’m so excited to finally be sharing the art (one day late sorry!) for @virgilsjourney‘s story for @ts-storytime‘s Big Bang! It was a pleasure getting to work with such a sweet person and an amazing writer! I’ll link her story here so you can go read it. 

[aliferous-ly]

For When There’s Nothing Left To Do: Chapter One

Chapter Summary: Roman meets a mysterious stranger who only introduces himself as “Anxiety”. They decide to travel together. Strength in numbers, after all. 

Pairings: eventual LAMP, chapter contains prinxiety

Warnings: swearing, fear, anxietyyy, wyrm?, self deprication, wounds

Read on AO3

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine

Art by @anxious-but-whatever (i cri) [here!!]

Roman vaguely regretted parts of his actions. Of course, he lived life looking forwards, not backwards, but perhaps he’d been a bit rash. A bit. His place back home, as impersonal, lonely, and pathetic as it was, seemed palace-like now.

And, of course, there was food. And warmth. Warmth was a big part of that. “That” being his desire to go home.

Teeth chattering, Roman wondered if extreme chill caused one’s very thoughts to stutter.

Being cold... well, Roman didn’t do “cold”. He never got cold. Usually he retained enough energy to remain under respectable body temperatures. Usually he went to bed in his feather-stuffed comforter, too, but usually wasn’t his life anymore, was it?

Roman allowed his eyes to stray to the only being within miles, probably. They shivered, almost imperceptibly, curled into their body and face trained towards the quickly freezing earth.

Roman gazed at the sputtering fire, fingers twitching underneath his cloak.

“You’d think the stars would show up away from the city,” Roman heard himself say. His companion glanced at him in something akin to surprise, perhaps irritation.

“It’s not like we’re in the plains,” his companion said, voice blank. “There’s trees. Surprise, stars can be blocked by foliage.”

Irritated, then. Roman could work with this.

“There are still places where you can see the sky,” Roman countered, tensing his arms and rubbing them against his sides.

“Apparently not enough for your entitled ass,” they muttered, slowly but surely bending into a ball.

“Ex-cuse me for wanting to see the stars,” Roman said, infusing his voice with as much sarcasm as he could muster. “I should’ve known you’d want to be in pitch dark.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” they said sharply, dark eyes glaring at Roman, their pupils flickering in the firelight.

“Twas a dark and stormy night, and the emo prince of Darkness decided to creep out of their cave of the damned,” Roman said in a stage whisper, wiggling his fingers for effect before tucking his hands back against his body.

They flinched a little too violently to be justified, eyes staring daggers into the ground. “When I creep out of the depths of hell, you mean. And, he/him, but I didn’t think you’d be considerate.”

Roman didn’t mention the way the man’s voice warbled, saying instead, “of course, cave of the damned being the entrance to the depths of hell. And who am I to assign such labels?”

A soft noise came from his figure which Roman decided to interpret as a laugh, or in the least, a soft snort. In the dead of the night, Roman felt as if anything could happen.

“How did you end up here?” Roman asked, voice soft. Before he could respond he continued with, “I think I’m young enough to restart, but I don’t know if I want to. Sometimes I feel forced into... life.”

An audible silence stretched between the two and Roman maintained his gaze, his companion’s figure seeming to fade into the dusty background as the quiet continued.

“I left,” he said, and Roman nearly started at his voice. It was... gentle, and scratchy, full of more emotion than the dry sarcasm from before. “I left because I am tired of being forced into life.”

“You’re more admirable than I,” Roman said, pushing sincerity into his tone, because he knew that more often than not he leaned towards superfluous and gaudy tones, inaccurate to his true feelings. He needed him to, well, to know that he was more than his (amazing) dramatic exterior, than his (beautiful) loud voice, than his (...) irritating personality.

“Doubtful,” he said, voice like a steel trap. Something clogged in Roman’s throat and he found himself unable to respond.

Icy fingers of wind pushed past Roman’s clothes, scratching goosebumps onto his skin and trailing a deep chill against his bones. Roman ignited his inner flame, his personal furnace, and nearly missed the way the man across the (dying, flickering, shrinking) fire shuddered violently.

“We should get some rest,” Roman said pointedly, rising with legs like logs and crusted joints.

He glanced at him without moving his head. “Alright.”

When he didn’t move from their seat, Roman frowned. “Well, are you coming?”

“I don’t have a tent,” he pointed out, jerking his arms to his body and tensing.

“I am aware,” Roman said slowly. “You’re using my tent.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, sarcasm and dry tone returning full force. “Where would you sleep?”

“My tent,” Roman said, amusement shining through.

Willing to bet he had no response forthcoming, Roman started towards his tent, pausing to look over his shoulder. “It’s either my tent or the embers.”

“I could just die,” he said instantly. Roman couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, and he didn’t particularly want to challenge that notion.

“I can’t have your death on my conscious,” Roman said instead. “C’mon.”

When he still hesitated (Roman couldn’t imagine why; he’d shared sleeping quarters with other men multiple times. Not necessarily wonderful times, more like packed together during training, but it was experience nonetheless), Roman held his arms out. “Have I lead you wrong yet?”

“Jury’s still out,” he said, words jumping out of his mouth. Roman shrugged helplessly and he stood, finally, stretching only slightly (the wind chilled anything that it touched).

Smirking to himself, Roman turned on his heel and started towards his tent, trusting he would follow. He’d set up the tent not too far from the fire on purpose, and Roman opened the flap, waving his arm through with a dramatic, “after you.”

He glared at him, understandably so, and ducked under the entrance.

“What should I call you?” Roman said, realizing that while they had traveled all day together, he’d never received his name.

“My name is–” he cut themselves off, then said, “You can call me... Anxiety.”

“Anxiety?” Roman thought out loud. “I’m assuming that is not your name, then?”

“No,” he said, notably lacking regret. “Names hold power.”

A series of images flashed through Roman’s mind’s eye. “Very true.”

His scabbard, holding his run-of-the-mill iron training sword, felt hollow.

After preparing for sleeping, exchanging a few more quips with Anxiety, and settling underneath the cloth, the brunt of the day hit Roman full force.

Oh hell, was he really out in the Perilous Forest?

Originally he considered the name a joke, because who named, or called, a forest “Perilous?” It didn’t seem serious at all. Of course, he’d never entered the forest before. No matter how funny Roman thought the name was, Perilous Forest was not to be taken lightly.

Having traveled before in less than desirable conditions, Roman assumed himself up to the task, but the moment he set foot in the Perilous Forest, he just... knew.

It was only describable to those who’d entered before. Simply knowing that the area you walked through was... less than average. Weird. “Strange things happen here, unexplainable things” kind-of weird.

That, and he saw a blood-red fox within fifteen minutes. They had blinked at him with amethyst eyes (purple, Jesus Christ, foxes don’t have purple eyes) before disappearing. The brush didn’t move.

And yet, Roman knew – knew, this instinctual, explainable force that lead his life, really, this knowing – that he must travel through. When he ran into Anxiety within the first two hours, well, he knew they must travel together.

Plus Anxiety had a small rock which, when he threw it at a large dyre-raccoon, turned the creature into solid rock. When he saw Roman he threw another rock at him, but when it hit his shoulder (yes, it did hit him – rocks turning animals into solid rock could be distracting) it merely sparkled in gold light and fell into his palm.

They decided to travel together. Strength in numbers, after all.

Anxiety didn’t talk much. Roman didn’t mind. Talking, at that moment, had felt exhausting.

“Words should be spared,” Anxiety had said at one point. Roman let the phrase tumble through his brain, tinkering with meanings and purposes. Anxiety had sounded rehearsed, the phrase repeated.

An old mentor? A sibling? Parents?

Roman forced himself to stop thinking about Anxiety. Anxiety was only a travelling partner, nothing more. Especially since Anxiety obviously wanted nothing to do with Roman. Especially since Roman needed to find–

Anxiety hadn’t deigned to tell him his name. Roman felt that relatively self-explanatory: I don’t trust you. We aren’t friends.

Which he shouldn’t, and they weren’t. Roman, daft, loud, exuberant Roman, should not be trusted. And Anxiety had met him that day, really, Roman couldn’t blame him.

He really needed to stop thinking about Anxiety.

Roman turned his mind to duller thoughts, an attempt at sleep. Rest made everything better.

Well, he hoped. And hope continued to remain one of his few solaces.

—

Virgil, used to being cold, felt incredibly, wonderfully warm.

He snuggled deeper into the soft blankets beneath his hands, exhaling softly to feel the warm air flutter against his fingers. His old room retained cold incredibly well, the hard floors and unforgiving walls far from his bed making him feel vulnerable and weak, unable to protect–

But, right now, warmth settled to his bones, relaxing his muscles and making his entire body pliable. Safe.

The thought sent warning bells, ringing between his ears, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to jerk to his feet or do anything else drastic and likely unneeded.

Still. His instincts had never failed him before, and safety usually meant something or someone – no, no, no, someone someone only one person had made him feel that way – just, awful. Safety gave a false sense of security and Virgil was tired of falling victim to its wiles.

Slowly, slowly, Virgil edged away from the heater to his right. Roman. Roman, the talkative, nice, prince-like (prince-like) man who’d decided they were to be traveling partners.

Virgil didn’t mind. He rather... no, he appreciated it. The Perilous Forest (who really named these things?) held many dangers beyond his imagination. Of course, he could always take off his gloves.

Virgil hated taking off his gloves.

When he was a reasonable distance from Roman’s sleeping figure, he sat up, and was struck with a mortifying realization.

The tent, despite his former thoughts, claimed quite a bit of space. Roman and Virgil had plenty of room for both of them to sleep comfortably and distanced from one another, as strangers should. Despite, well, despite the extra room, Virgil had gradually shifted closer to Roman – to Roman’s heat, of course.

Virgil paused. Why was Roman so warm? Virgil wasn’t commonly around other people, not enough to know the average heat one should exude, but Roman almost certainly ran higher than “most people”.

Virgil pushed down his personal space warning bells and hesitantly reached forward, brushing the backs of his fingers against Roman’s cheek and drawing away almost immediately. Eyes blown wide, Virgil glanced between his fingers and Roman’s cheek. Yes, Roman was most definitely burning up.

Did that mean Roman was sick? Did Virgil have to take care of him? Virgil had no idea how to care for a sick person, especially in the middle of the Perilous Forest, of all places. A small seed of resentment planted in Virgil’s head. Really, could Roman have picked a worse time to come down with some virus?

“Ah...” Roman let out a small noise, blinking his eyes open and staring at Virgil’s wide-eyed expression. “...uh.”

“You’re awake,” Virgil said dumbly, flexing his fingers subconsciously. Realizing that he was on his knees, kneeling towards Roman, he jumped back.

“I am,” Roman said, a smidgen of uncertainty edging its way into his voice.

How? He was on fire a moment ago...

“How are you alive?” Virgil demanded in his tactful way. “Your face is at melting temperature.”

“Melting temp–” Roman blanched and reached up to touch his face absentmindedly. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Don’t get sick in the middle of a forest,” Virgil snapped, knowing his irritation was irrational and he was likely ruining all future positive interactions with him. Yet he couldn’t stop the words from running out of his mouth. Roman couldn’t die on his hands! He could tell Roman was a good person, someone who might make a difference in the world, as opposed to him, who would probably die and sink into the dirt before he turned thirty, if he was being optimistic.

“I’m not sick,” Roman said, his sigh interlaced with relief, exasperation, and something else Virgil couldn’t identify (he prided himself on being able to read expressions and moods, came in handy when figuring out if one despised him or was simply putting on a front).

“There’s no other explanation,” Virgil said shortly, crossing his arms.

Roman stared at his hands wordlessly, moving his fingers as if trying for the first time. “I run hot.”

“That wasn’t just hot, don’t give me that shit,” Virgil said, words sharpened into points.

“Alright,” Roman said slowly. Holding his fist in front of him he said a simple, “don’t freak out,” (at which his anxiety instantly spiked, because one does not start anything ever with that phrase) before his fist lit on fire.

After an admittedly embarrassing squeak left his mouth and his body went into half-fetal-position-we’re-in-danger mode, Virgil realized the flame was glowing a soft orange as opposed to the changing reds and oranges of a campfire. “Oh what the hell.”

“Yeah,” Roman said eloquently, relaxing his hands and letting the orange flames dance around his fingers. “Orange is only one setting, but that’s why I’m so hot when sleeping. Of course, I’m hot all the time,” he said, voice cheeky enough that Virgil could tell Roman was no longer talking about temperature.

“One setting?” Virgil said. “How much... magic do you have?”

“More than the average person,” Roman deflected, extinguishing the flame swiftly. “But, I told you. Don’t go... yelling it to the winds, or anything.”

“You assume I care that much,” Virgil said, barely meaning the words. Perhaps he cared a little too much – after all, he related on a scarily similar level. Having high levels of magic in this world... that could be dangerous.

“You have more magic than normal,” Roman pointed out, harshly reminding Virgil how alarmingly perceptive he could be.

“You’re not wrong,” Virgil evaded, looking at the exit to the tent. “We should get ready. We’re losing daylight.”

“Okay,” Roman said easily. He pushed the blankets off his body and started preparing for the day, Virgil gradually following his movements. Virgil still wasn’t entirely sure how to... survive on his own. Used to being catered to, Virgil carefully copied Roman’s movements and noting them for when they split and he was... alone again.

“If we keep going east we’ll hit the edge of the forest by tomorrow, most likely,” Roman said.

Virgil made an affirming hum, fiddling with his pack and double checking if he had everything.

“But if we stop a little earlier tonight, I can reserve some energy for the fire and keep us a bit warmer than last night,” Roman said.

Virgil blinked at the casual reference to his magic. Normally people muted their magic, used it for small tasks, didn’t mention it in daily life. “Okay.” Roman had no such qualms, and it was... refreshing, in a way.

When they started out, little was spoken between the two. Virgil despised talking while walking, and no late night heart-to-heart would change that. Roman made a few benign comments and small talk throughout the day.

At around noon, the hair on the back of Virgil’s neck stood up. The wind picked up, only slightly, but noticeable enough that Virgil felt instantly on edge.

“You alright?” Roman asked, chewing on some dried meat from his pack. Virgil noted how at ease Roman appeared, how obviously Roman could not tell something was off.

“Yeah,” Virgil had said, lying through his teeth. Roman nodded without a second thought, and they continued, Virgil keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.

Clouds covered the sky, and they trekked onward.

—

Roman sprinted, slipping and sliding on the leaf-covered ground. Shit, Anxiety, where – a tree seemed to materialize out of nowhere and he darted to the left to avoid it, tripping over his feet and slamming into the ground. He instantly jumped to his feet, the smallest sting pricking at his arm.

Tears burned in his eyes and Roman forced himself to keep going, keep running, keep –

The ground disappeared from underneath his feet and he screamed, tucking his arms against his head and seeing harsh, jagged rock, the bright stars, and rain-slick cliffs before crashing into the ground. He felt his body snapping, shock injecting into his system, and the world flashing bright white before cutting to black.

—

Virgil glanced at Roman, the sky darkening far quicker than it logically should. He could taste rain in the air, but Roman seemed to have no indication of stopping. When the first drop fell, Virgil paused mid-step, but Roman continued.

“Are we walking in the rain?” Virgil finally asked, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice (and likely failing).

“Of– oh,” Roman stopped then as if seeing Virgil for the first time. “Oh, yeah, we probably should, shouldn’t we?”

“Uh...” Virgil squinted at him in a half-hearted attempt to interpret his actions.

“In training,” Roman clarified. “We rarely stopped for anything. Sometimes I forget I’m not... there anymore.”

“Training for what?” Virgil asked.

“To be a knight,” Roman said, the phrase a strange mixture of dejected and pompous, as if he was so used to saying it with extreme dramatics and pride that he didn’t know how to say it naturally.

“Noble,” Virgil said, not knowing what else to say.

“I guess.” Roman pursed his lips. “Seems like it should be.”

Virgil would say how being a knight was supposedly the epitome of being noble, but he knew personally how un-noble the knights – real, full-fledged knights – could occasionally be.

Roman, Virgil decided, would be one of the best knights he’d ever met.

“You’ll continue your training when you return, then?” Virgil said carefully.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know,” Roman said, rubbing at his face in frustration. “I don’t think I’m cut out for it.”

“Shut up,” Virgil said. “You’d be a fine knight. I would know.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Roman said. He paused, then added, “How?”

A flash of fear jolted through Virgil’s body. “How what?”

“How would you know I’d make a good knight?” Roman clarified, despite Virgil knowing exactly what he was asking.

“I just do,” Virgil said vaguely.

“Mmkay,” Roman said, blatantly not believing him. “Tell me whenever, or never. I don’t mind.”

Virgil’s memory flashed to the night before, to Roman holding his fist in front of him and lighting it on fire, to “But, I told you. Don’t go yelling it to the winds, or anything.”

“I’m the prince,” Virgil blurted, slapping a hand over his mouth a split second later.

Roman stilled. “What?”

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter,” Virgil said, rushing through his sentences and stumbling over words. “Let’s just keep going or set up camp or something.”

“No, you just said–” Roman stopped in front of him and caught his forearms with his hands. “Anxiety–”

“That’s not even my name, you don’t know me,” Virgil spat, wrenching his arms away from Roman, away from the knight-in-training, away from the fire-wielding stranger he just spilled a close-kept secret with, someone who would send him back to the palace back to his old life back to being constrained by everyone and everything –

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Roman said softly, soothingly, holding his palms forwards and backing away, giving Virgil space to breathe. “I’m not going to tell anyone, I promise. I just... need confirmation. The prince?”

Virgil nodded, unable to speak for the moment. He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands against his upper arms, feeling the soft fabric of his gloves rub against his skin comfortingly.

“Alright. Okay. Wow. I, uh... Wow, I don’t really...” Roman stuttered more than said. “Should I... bow? Or kneel? Oh man, I slept right next to you, that’s probably breaking all sorts of laws–”

“Stop, oh god,” Virgil waved his hands in front of his face. “I ran away for a reason. Please do none of that.”

“Call you your highness–” Roman continued, a teasing edge to his voice.

“I swear I’ll arrest you if you do,” Virgil said gravely.

Blatantly ignoring the dark tone in Virgil’s voice, Roman laughed. “Alright, dark and stormy, whatever you say.”

A crack tore across the sky and the light sprinkles transformed to a downpour within seconds. Virgil found refuge under a tree without checking for Roman, who ended up following him anyway.

“Damn,” Roman said. He flicked some wet hair out of his face and peered through the drops. “That was fast.”

“Really,” Virgil said, hugging his arms to his body. “When I ran I didn’t realize how cold I’d be all the time.”

“Ah.” Roman’s figure lit up in soft orange light, small flames flickering above his skin. Virgil instinctively leaned closer to him, closer to the warmth suddenly radiating from Roman.

“The fire won’t burn you,” Roman promised, his arm hovering uncertainly above Virgil’s shoulders. “Orange never gets hot enough to wound.”

“How many colors do you have?” Virgil asked. Eyeing Roman’s arm and falling on his common philosophy of fuck it he leaned into Roman’s side, the man’s arm falling naturally onto Virgil’s shoulder and enveloping him in warmth.

“Orange is warmth, Yellow is mostly pure light,” Roman said, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb on Virgil’s shoulder. “Uh, green helps ward away sickness, I think. Light green, I mean. Dark green gives me more protection. Dark blue helps plants, which was weird to find out. I don’t have all the colors, yet, like red, purple, pink, other things.”

“Can you make normal fire?”

“Yeah, of course.” Roman flicked out the thumb not against Virgil’s shoulder and lit the tip of it, reddish-yellow flames flickering on the tip.

“That looks pretty red,” Virgil said.

“I mean, yeah, but I don’t think it’s my red fire.” Roman doused the flame and tucked his hand against his chest, the orange glow turning a little brighter. “The colors show up as time goes on. My first color was dark green.”

“Dark green,” Virgil repeated. “For protection?”

Roman’s form stiffened, telling Virgil more than his words ever would. “I guess. Didn’t have much – I mean, it was a totally random color, y’know? Never figured out why, I mean...”

“When I was younger,” Virgil said without thinking. A small part of him screamed at him to shut up shut up shut UP but another part couldn’t handle the orange flame starting to dull, and not because it would mean less warmth. “Objects started responding to me in ways that didn’t make sense.”

Roman’s arms squeezed his shoulders, prompting him to continue.

“It was little things at first. A snake toy would start moving, or a marble would always go to the right spot, or my blanket would always reappear near me. My parents thought it was little magic I’d find, there’s lots of magic pockets at the palace,” Virgil said quietly, swallowing down apprehension at sharing his life. A lightning bolt crashed across the sky, igniting it and splitting it in two for half of a second.

“I, uh, it ended up just being me,” Virgil said. He put his hands in front of him. “That’s why I wear gloves. Then I don’t affect things.”

“Those rocks you were throwing?” Roman said, realization dawning in his voice. “You touched them and they turned the animal into rock. But they didn’t do anything to me.”

Virgil shrugged. “It’s a fickle magic.”

“I think it’s fate,” Roman said.

Virgil stared at him with a deadpan expression, rolling his eyes when he saw the teasing grin Roman wore. “Of course.”

“How else would a dashing knight-in-training meet the brooding, rugged prince?” Roman said, dramatics oozing from his pores. “It’s a fairy-tale waiting to happen.”

“Make the knight in training female and the prince ridiculously handsome and you have the plots of at least a dozen books I can think of off the top of my head,” Virgil said.

Roman looked like he was fighting to say something, shoulders twitching, when he blurted out, “One of those is already true.”

Virgil backtracked, rerunning over his statement. “Oh, shit, are you a woman? Have I been misgendering you this whole time? Shit, Roman, I’m sorry–”

“No!” Roman said loudly. “I’m not a woman.”

“Oh,” Virgil said, sighing in relief. Realization hit him like a brick. “Oh.”

Roman thought he was handsome? Roman? If he were to quote himself, then “ridiculously handsome”, oh, oh.

Heat traveled to his face and Virgil said a quiet, “oh” that came out as more of a squeak than anything else.

(How could Roman believe that Virgil was handsome? Roman, with his beautiful face, Roman, with his strong stance, Roman, thought Virgil–)

A loud growl interrupted their mutually rapid thoughts and they stiffened simultaneously. The rain seemed to slow, the number of drops just as numerous yet falling at a slower rate.

“Oh no,” Virgil said softly. He knew that growl. He knew exactly what that growl meant.

“What? What is it?” Roman asked him, just as softly and staring into the slow drops of rain, trying to see.

“On the count of three, run,” Virgil muttered, slowly edging his way backwards.

“What? Anxiety, you’re not making any–”

“One.”

“I can’t just run away, that’s–”

“Two.”

“Anxiety–”

“Three!” Virgil grabbed Roman’s wrist and sprinted in the opposite direction of the growl, running, running, running because there was nothing else one could do when–

The wyrm howled and crashed through the trees, unholy screeches and the cracking of trunks filling Virgil’s every sense, his rain-slicked palm sliding against Roman’s wrist until suddenly he couldn’t feel it anymore, and Roman was gone, he wasn’t behind him anymore, and–

“ROMAN!” Virgil screamed, throat raw and panting and scared. “NO! ROMAN!”

The wyrm rapidly approached him and Virgil hoped, hoped to any god or being above that Roman’s remains weren’t mangled in the wyrm’s stomach. If the wyrm focused on Virgil, then it couldn’t focus on Roman, and Virgil felt his glove fall off and his fingers wrap around a stone before he could think.

Virgil threw the rock behind him and heard an explosion shake the trees followed by an ear-splitting screech.

He didn’t look, he didn’t stop, because he knew the moment hesitation snuck in he would be a goner. Rain pelted his face and arms, branches cutting streaks into his skin and leaves blocking his vision. The dull roar of the storm and the pitched shrieks of the wyrm pounded against his ears and Virgil sobbed, tripping on roots and twisting his ankle, he was sure, but he couldn’t stop –

Or, he could. Death by a wyrm sounded brutal but truthfully, in the grand scheme of ways to die, there were worse. Well, a wyrm sounded like a noble death regardless, right? Wyrms were large terrifying creatures, nobody would question if Virgil was too slow or too clumsy to outrun one.

He could die here.

Wasn’t that what he wanted?

An echo of the cacophonous sound rang through his head and the world was quiet for one clear moment. Limbs moving in slow motion, the rain glinting off of light, trees deep brown and green, long, ridged scales swirling with a gaping maw lined with teeth...

Virgil read the anger in its eyes, the almost defensive stance of its head, the blades of shining, clean silver, sharpened...

A clean, clear voice cut through the chaos.

“Stop!”

Virgil saw pale, weathered wood as the world rushed back into focus. Run, run, run, don’t get eaten–

A lone figure stood in front of a door and wow, that sucks was all Virgil could think before he ran headfirst into the wall, the world flashing to black.

[digitally-analog]

so i participated in @ts-storytime and i got paired with the super cool @lotusthatexists to make a playlist. but when they started sending me the fic, i thought i’d do something more and make a song instead!

it was really fun working with the lyrics they gave me, and for my first lyrical song, i think it turned out really well!

you can listen to it here. hope you guys like it!

read the fic here !

[randomslasher]

My submission for the Big Bang! Pokemon Sides for @not-so-innocent-bi-sander‘s pokemon AU! 

Logan: Eevee Patton: Lilipup Virgil: Mimikyu Roman: Litleo

Fic Masterpost

[finiteframe3]

My TS Big Bang art based on the AMAZING story Crescent by @i-will-physically-fight-you 

I wish i was able to draw more than i could so i probably will ;D

but for now, here’s the main designs i had for the characters~

Taglist: @firefox2215 @lucifer-in-my-head @wingless-siren@acrobaticcatfeline@scarletnoiryt @allthemetalsoftherainbow@sanderssidesstuff@bbcanimefangirl @bottabangbottaboom@confinesofpersonalknowledge @indigoimpulse @randomslasher  @unnipanda623 @narniasfinestavengingsociopath@ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @allycat31415 @pandapopgalaxy@narniasfinestavengingsociopath  @xxladystarlightxx @angiezstuff @dani-jeanso @missmashmain @thatonepersonwhoshippeople

@ts-storytime

[chamomilebears]

This is my art for the sander sides Big Bang thing. Please check out @stuckonswan my amazing I n c r e d i b l e author she’s just???? The best?????? Her story is amazing and she’s been such a great partner to work with. The fic is called The Inn of Senrof and its so?? Good?????? Pls check it out it tears at me heart. My poor heart. ((SHES LIKE THE BEST THO OK????))

@ts-storytime thank you for putting this little thing together, it was such a fun project

[egg-ies]

Oh boy oh boy oh boy it's August 10th!!!

This is my art for @k9cat 's fan fiction "Into the Mind", made for the Thomas Sanders Big Bang ( @ts-storytime )! Check out the works of what other's made for this cool event on that blog :O

[whatwashernameagain]

I’m dying to be with you - Masterpost

Summary: Patton likes to playfully claim his heart skips a beat and he feels weak whenever the strict doctor with the awkward kindness and the gentle hands touches him. In reality, his heart has been damaged from the day he was born. He had never been able to run or climb with the other children. But it was fine. It was a good heart, a kind heart. It was just a little different from the others, he still likes it though. He likes to imagine it is trying to make up for the little time it can give him by letting him feel so many wonderful feelings! He had just drawn and read and baked instead of going outside and even made a wonderful, dramatic friend during his many, long hospital stays. Roman really made it worth all that trouble his messy little heart puts him through when he picks him up and twirls him around.

However, lately, it would not beat quite right, even when the handsome doctor smiles at him awkwardly.

Roman does his best to keep up the good mood of his beloved little friend, as they begin the agonizing wait for a heart-transplant. He vows to be brave for Patton, even though he is battling his own demons. All of those pathogens are out to get him, he is sure of it! And what about that rattling in his chest? And that itch he cannot seem to get rid of? Why won’t anybody take him seriously around here?! At least the exasperated nurse that always scowls at him is a delight – at least in terms of looks, his bedside manners certainly are quite lacking! Though he prides imself in being charming and eloquent, an odd shiness makes him annoy the fierce nurse at every turn. Why can’t he manage to find the right words around him?

Notes: So this was a rush, mainly due to the fact that my time management is less than ideal. Logan is scolding me. This might not be the work I am most confident in, but it is sweet and much deeper, emotional and intricate than even I expected and I enjoyed writing it very much. I love the boys. Hopefully it’ll bring you pleasure reading it!

The heart defect Patton suffers from is not specified, since I am not too confident in my medical knowledge not to mess anything up.

Warnings are places at the beginning of each chapter (among them hospitals, hypochondria and explicit sexual content). If you need more specific information about possible triggers, feel free to drop me an ask.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

Ao3 link

Artwork

I would like to thank @angelvirgil​ for creating such lovely art and putting up with my disorganized state, and especially thank @bangthekobrakid​ for correcting the last chapters so quickly and attentively despite them being sent so late. Life was stressful, I’m terribly sorry and very grateful! My beta is the best beta! @ts-storytime​ thanks for all the work you put in!

[ironwoman359]

A Sanders Carol Chapter Three

A Sanders Carol Masterlist 

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.7, Ch.8, Ch.9, Epilogue

Summary: Dr. Logan Sanders is perfectly satisfied with his life, thank you very much. He has his work, he has his position. His bills are paid, and his lifestyle is primed for optimum health. And he is far too busy maintaining his perfectly balanced lifestyle to worry about things like Christmas, much to the dismay of his few remaining friends. Hardened by years of working to get ahead in his field, nothing is capable of swaying his cold heart, not even the dire straits of his graduate assistant or the pleas of his closest friends.

He also does not believe in ghosts.

So when he suddenly finds the ghost of his old mentor in his apartment warning him of three more spirits to come, what will he choose to believe? Will Logan take the spirits’ words to heart in time to change his ways, or will the fate of his future be sealed forever?

Pairings: Platonic LAMP/T, Platonic Logicality (could be read as pre-romantic)

Warnings (for the whole fic): Death mention, illness, hospitals, allusions of child abuse/neglect, ghosts, lying/deception, Deceit character,  crying, angst, please let me know if I need to add anything!

Chapter Word Count: 2,959 

It was the light that woke him, shining against the back of his eyelids and warming his face. He thought at first that it must be the sun, and that his alarm had failed to wake him at the proper time.

Then, Logan opened his eyes.

It was still nighttime, and the source of the brilliant white light was certainly not the sun.

An indistinguishable figure stood at the foot of his bed, bathed in a glow that could only be described as heavenly. Logan lifted a hand to shield his eyes, blinking heavily.

“Wha—?” he gasped, trying to process what he was seeing.

“Logan Sanders?” a voice that was oddly familiar called to him, and Logan found himself nodding as he squinted against the light.

“S-sorry, could you...could you put that light out?” he mumbled, still trying to adjust to his newfound awakened state.

The voice laughed, and God it sounded so familiar…

“My light cannot be put out, Logan Sanders, though many throughout time have tried to darken its glow. All without success.”

“I...I don’t mean to offend.” Logan felt compelled to apologize for even suggesting the notion, but he still could barely see in his now overly lit bedroom. “It’s just...my eyes…”

The voice laughed again, a light airy sound that illogically filled Logan’s heart with…something, he wasn’t sure what. Something warm and pure and good, something that made him feel safe.

As the laugh faded, so did the light, dimming so that it was less like looking at the brilliance of the sun and more like looking at a particularly bright lamp. The figure now merely glowed pleasantly, with the bulk of the light that still shone out centered around their head.

When Logan’s eyes found the figure’s face, he gasped aloud.

“Patton?”

The figure at the foot of his bed was the spitting image of his friend, from his curly auburn hair, to the freckles that were splashed across his cheeks, to the glasses that were always sliding down his nose. It was dressed in a long, sleeveless white robe, and Logan honestly couldn’t tell if the robe was glowing or if it was reflecting light from Patton’s face. A strand of holly was wrapped around its shoulders, and a calm smile sat on its face as it regarded Logan.

“Patton, how—what—” Logan stammered. “I don’t understand…”

The figure’s smile widened as it spoke, and its voice—though identical to Patton’s in timbre—reverberated with an otherworldly air.

“No, not quite. I am not Patton Foster; I have simply chosen to present as a figure from your life in order to make you more comfortable. This form was chosen based on his connections to you, and on his similarities to me.”

As it made its declaration, Logan could see that it was right. While the figure was strikingly like Patton, there was something that was definitely off about it...something ethereal that Logan couldn’t explain.

“Who—who are you then?” Logan asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the figure’s serene face.

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past,” not-Patton said. “Though, if it makes you more comfortable, I suppose you may call me Patton.”

“Christmas...Past?” Logan wondered aloud. “What does that mean? Long past?”

“No,” the ghost replied with a smile. “Your past. Are you ready?”

“Ready? Wait, ready for what?”

“Your journey,” the ghost said simply.

“Uh…” Logan looked out his window, where a few stars could be seen poking through the blackness of the world outside. “It’s the middle of the night.”

The ghost laughed again—Logan got the feeling that it laughed as easily as the real Patton did—and held out his hand to Logan, who was still in bed.

“Don’t worry,” he said, and surprisingly, Logan wasn’t worried. Confused, bewildered, still partly sure that this was all a dream...but not worried. This spirit was nothing like the unsettling form of Dr. Marley; it was warm and inviting, and Logan inexplicably felt safe in its presence.

“It’s not night where we’re going,” the ghost continued, and Logan frowned as he took its hand.

“Where are we gooOOAAGGH!!” Logan’s question faded away into a scream as he took the outstretched hand and he found himself floating up into the air. His heart jumped into his mouth and he clutched at the spirit’s arm in a panic. “A little warning would have been nice!” he muttered as he tried to adjust to the new sensation.

The Ghost of Christmas Past just smiled at him gleefully as they drifted towards Logan’s window. Logan began to panic again when he saw what the ghost was doing.

“Wait, don’t!” He cried, trying and failing to scramble backwards away from the window...and the three story drop that lay just outside of it.

“Don’t worry,” the ghost said again. “As long as you hold onto me, you will not fall.” He giggled as Logan clutched him tighter as they passed through the glass as if it wasn’t even there and floated out over the street.

Logan stared in wonder as the ghost continued to float upwards, pulling him along. A gentle, steady snow had begun to fall, and the light that shone outward from the ghost reflected off the flakes in a soft glow that made the very air around them seem to shimmer. Below them, traffic lights and street lamps cast the street into a hazy winter wonderland as the ground was slowly covered in a blanket of white.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Logan looked up to see the spirit smiling at him. He blushed, embarrassed to be caught staring, but nodded.

“I never get tired of the view from up here…” The ghost smiled wistfully for a moment, then squeezed Logan’s hand. “But it’s not what we’re here to see,” he added, and suddenly their ascent quickened.

Logan barely even had time to be embarrassed about the yelp of surprise that left his lips before the wind whipped it away as they climbed higher and higher into the sky. He clung desperately to the spirit’s robes as they soared into the clouds, then above the clouds, then Logan was squeezing his eyes shut, too afraid to keep them open any longer. He lost track of everything around him—there was only the whistling of air in his ears and the warm, reassuring realness of the ghost’s arm that he held on to for dear life.

Logan refused to open his eyes, even as he felt solid ground beneath his feet and warm sunlight on the back of his eyelids. Only when the Ghost Of Christmas Past gave soft chuckle and whispered “we’re here” did he release his vice-like grip on the spirit’s arm and take a look at their surroundings.

When he saw where they were, he gasped out loud.

“You know this place?” the ghost asked with a smile.

“Know it?” cried Logan. “Of course I know it! I was a boy here!”

The two stood on a snow covered lawn under the shade of a large oak tree. Beside them was a large brick building with the words Foley Public Elementary School printed in large letters on the side. The sun shone bright overhead, glinting off the snow with a blinding glare, but Logan barely noticed the discomfort.

He was too busy watching the spectacle in front of him.

Scores of children wrapped up in coats and scarves were scampering around them, shrieking and laughing with the elation that could only come at the end of the school day. Mittened hands scooped up snowballs and little boots stamped out tracks as they chased each other in circles around the lawn. Parents and teachers were calling names out, and every time a child left the crowd, a chorus of Merry Christmases and See you next years rang out as their friends waved goodbye to them.

Logan tried to dodge a flying snowball, but it sailed harmlessly through him, as though he wasn’t even there.

“We are merely visitors in this time,” the ghost explained, seeing the look of confusion on Logan’s face. “We may see and hear them, but they are not aware of us.”

“These were my classmates,” Logan said in wonder, staring at the bustling crowd of kids. “Look, there’s Taylor Shrum,” he said, pointing to a little boy in a red scarf. “And there’s Valerie Torres-Rosario,” he added as a pair of dark pigtails darted past. He named several more children as their parents came to collect them, shocked by how clearly he remembered them all.

“It’s the last day of school before Christmas,” the ghost said. “They’re all going home for the holidays.” He looked over at Logan, and raised an eyebrow. “The school should be empty.”

Logan looked down at his feet.

“Is it?” the ghost continued, and Logan shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“Come,” his guide said kindly. “Let us see what we may find inside.”

He took Logan’s hand again and led him forwards, walking straight through the walls and into the school hallway. Logan would have known the route to take even if the ghost was not guiding him along; he knew exactly where they were going.

Soon, they found themselves passing through the doors of the school library where a little boy with thick rimmed glasses and dark hair sat alone at a table in the corner, a book in his hands. A gleeful shout was heard through the window, and the boy lifted his head at the sound before giving a tiny frown and focused on his book again. He stared intently at the page, as though if he concentrated hard enough, it would drown out any distractions. A stray tear slipped out of the child’s eye and he sniffed, frowning even harder down at his lap.

“There are many reasons why a child might choose to be alone at Christmas,” the spirit commented, the usual smile on his face replaced with a look of pity. “None of them are particularly happy ones.”

“I wasn’t alone,” Logan whispered. “I had books, I had knowledge. Most of the other children were not engaging to me, and I did not care for playing outdoors.”

“But that’s not why you stayed indoors on this day.” The spirit’s tone did not leave any room for debate, and Logan could only shake his head.

“No,” he admitted, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of his younger self huddled in the corner.

The ghost looked at him expectantly, but sighed when Logan said nothing more.

“Well, you were right about one thing,” he said, causing Logan to look up.

“Hm?”

“You were not alone.”

As if on cue, the doors to the library burst open, and both versions of Logan jumped in surprise at the sudden sound.

“Logan!” cried a curly haired little boy running into the room. His freckled cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, and there were bits of snow sticking to his matching gray cat paw gloves and cat ear hat; evidence of involvement in a snowball fight of no small scale.

“Patton,” breathed the adult Logan, just as his past self exclaimed, “Patton!”

“What are you doing here?” The past version of Logan continued, quickly wiping any stray tears from his cheeks.

“Looking for you, silly,” Patton answered. “My mommy’s here to pick me up, but I wanted to see you, and I couldn’t find you outside anywhere.”

“Well, that’s because I’m not outside,” little Logan said, which made Patton laugh.

“Well yeah, I see that now, Lo-Lo!” Patton grinned, then his grin turned into a look of concern. “Why are you back here all alone, anyway?”

“I...it’s cold outside and I forgot my hat today,” Logan mumbled, looking away from Patton. The lie was obvious to Logan as an adult, but Patton seemed to take his friend’s word at face value.

“Oh, why didn’t you say so!” The boy pulled his own hat off, his auburn curls sticking out in all directions with static. “Here, you can use mine!”

A shy smile graced Logan’s face, but he shook his head no.

“You need it Patton. And besides, aren’t you about to leave?”

“Well yeah, but since I’m going home I won’t need my hat, so you can use it instead!” Patton shoved the wool knit hat into Logan’s hands before he could protest. Logan took it carefully, fingering the cat ears knit on top of the head.

“I’ll give it back as soon as school starts again, I promise,” he said, meeting Patton’s eyes.

“Oh, you can keep it, silly!” Patton said cheerfully, but Logan shook his head.

“Patton, the cat ears are your favorite!” he insisted, trying to give it back, but Patton wasn’t hearing it.

“My mommy knits these for people all the time, so she can make me a new one.” He smiled and added, a little shyly, “Besides, I wanted to get you something for Christmas but wasn’t sure what...so this is perfect!”

Logan stared at him, trying to form words. Eventually, the child settled on, “But, I didn’t get you anything.”

Patton responded by surging forward.

“You’re my best friend, Lo-Lo,” Patton whispered as he engulfed Logan in a tight hug. “That’s all the present I need.”

Logan stiffened at first, but then he slowly reached up and hugged back, which made Patton only hug him tighter.

“Pat,” Logan choked out eventually, “air.”

“Oh, sorry!” Patton cried, releasing him. Logan sucked in a loud, deep breath, then met Patton’s eyes and the two of them burst out laughing.

“I’m...I’m sorry if I’m not a very good best friend,” Logan said once the last of the giggles had faded. “I’ve never had a best friend before, so—“

“It’s okay,” Patton interrupted, smiling. “I haven’t either, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re the best best friend ever!”

He snatched Logan’s hand and started pulling him towards the door.

“Come on, let’s go!” he said, but stopped when Logan pulled back, tilting his head in confusion. “What’s wrong? You have a hat now.”

“I…it’s not just the hat, Patton, I—”

Before the child could come up with the words to say, a new voice called into the library that caused both the children and Logan, along with the ghost, to turn towards the door.

“Logan? Are you in here buddy?”

“Thomas?” Logan asked in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“My dad and I came to pick you up,” the older boy explained, “but you weren’t outside. A Mrs. Foster said that her son went inside to find you?”

“That was my mom!” Patton said excitedly. “Are you Thomas, as in, Logan’s older cousin, Thomas? The one who’s in middle school?”

Thomas smiled fondly.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Wow, that’s so cool!” Patton said excitedly, but Logan cut in before Patton could barrage Thomas with questions.

“Why...why are you and Uncle Remy picking me up?” He asked.

“You’re staying with us for Christmas break.” Thomas frowned slightly. “Your dad and my dad had a fight about it, but my dad won it, and now you’re gonna stay with us!” He grinned at Logan. “I’d say you have a choice, but you know how my dad is when he sets his mind on something.”

“Yeah,” Logan said, and then gave a small smile. “And I would have said yes anyways.”

“Cool.” Thomas smiled back. “You ready to go?”

Logan grabbed his backpack from his chair and nodded.

“Alright then, come on fellas.”

Patton grabbed Logan’s hand and after a moment, Logan smiled and allowed himself to be pulled along.

When they reached the entrance to the school, most of the other children were gone, leaving one of the teachers, Patton’s mother, and Logan’s Uncle, Remy, alone by the doors.

“Patton! There you are,” his mother said, and the boy gleefully dove into her hug.

“You all set, Logan?” Remy asked, peering over the rim of his sunglasses with a grin.

Logan nodded, and cracked a small smile.

“Okay then, say bye to your friend and we’ll head out,” he said, patting Logan on the shoulder.

Logan barely had time to turn before Patton had enveloped him in another hug.

“Merry Christmas, Logan!” he squealed. “Oh!” Patton turned to his mother, excitement shining in his eyes. “Can Logan come over for a playdate during break?” he asked her eagerly.

“If that’s alright with Mr. Sanders here, then of course he may,” Mrs. Foster said.

Logan hung his head sadly, but then Remy spoke, and the child’s eyes snapped up in amazement.

“Something like that could be arranged, I’m sure.” Remy said, ruffling Logan’s hair.

“Yay!” Patton cheered while the adults exchanged phone numbers.

The soft chuckle of the Ghost of Christmas Past caught Logan’s attention, and he tore his eyes away from the scene playing out before him.

“What?” the ghost asked when he caught Logan’s eyes on him. “You two were cute.” He smiled fondly. “That playdate was your first Christmas party with Patton, wasn’t it?”

Logan narrowed his eyes, but nodded.

“And those parties became a yearly tradition for you and your other friends?”

“Look,” Logan said, folding his arms. “If this whole thing is just about my refusal to attend Patton’s party this year—”

“Or last year, or the year before, or—”

“THEN you showing me something I already know isn’t going to do much to sway me.” Logan raised an eyebrow at the ghost. “I haven’t somehow forgotten how long I’ve been friends with Patton.”

The spirit smiled at Logan, the way a parent might smile at a child who had insisted on carrying the heaviest grocery bags into the house all by themselves.

“Let’s see another Christmas,” was all he said, before taking Logan’s arm and waving his hand.

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

[not-so-innocent-bi-sander]

The Power That’s In(Side)

Alright! Here we go! I finally did my Pokemon AU!

There is also some amazingly adorable art for this story that was done by the one and only @randomslasher which I will be linking Right Here in just a moment :D

Familial Lamp, platonic lamp, moderate small sides (older child/young teen), Familial Lampt actually

Book 1

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

[l-b-art]

Here is the art for the second TS Big Bang story I got! You can find this amazing story by @sanderssides-deathangel here! 

@ts-storytime

[aliferous-ly]

For When There’s Nothing Left To Do: Chapter Two

Chapter Summary: Patton tries to contain the emotions trying to burst out of his skin, while Roman tries to survive a fall into a ravine. 

Pairings: eventual LAMP, chapter contains royality

Warnings: swearing, graphic (ish) descriptions of wounds, desperation, so much emotional suppression, DECEIT, manipulation, “possessed” character

Read on AO3

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine

Standing before the pulpit, forcing a smile onto his face, feeling the short line of wounded behind him, Patton prayed. Not for religion or sacrament. In fact, Patton was praying to himself.

There’s only three today. You can feel their pain. You can handle three more, you’re doing just fine today, and they need your help, they have nowhere else to turn.

A full minute passed and Patton itched to get it over with get it over with even though he should be grateful, after all, he received visitors!

Sure, they were only here because they needed his magic, but, visitors!

“Welcome!” Patton said, turning around and clasping his hands together. Eight people were before him, three of them carrying ailments. Two flinched at his greeting and turned their heads while five gave him uneasy smiles.

The other one stepped forward. “My sister, she’s sick, we’re afraid for her health. Please help us, sir.”

“Oh, none of that, call me Patton!” he said cheerfully. That knot of despair and sadness pulsed in his chest, but he pushed it down. He took three steps down to their level and approached the girl, who shivered under her hand-knit blanket.

“Hello,” Patton murmured, nearing her and gently reaching out to brush his fingers on her cheek. A few of the others stumbled away from him, nothing out of the ordinary. “What’s your name?”

“Dessa,” she said, sniffling and staring at him with big brown eyes. Her corkscrew hair seemed to be wilting under the strain of sickness. “They say you’re like a god.”

“I’m not,” Patton said softly. It hadn’t been the first time he’d heard that; Patton, the god of the town. He could heal any wound, any disease, but never at night. No, night is when he turned to the malevolent side, after all, gods are both good and evil –

Patton smiled at her and moved his hands to her shoulders. Closing his eyes, he lightly prodded for her sickness, seeking it out and covering it with his magic. Like tendrils of ivy he pulled at it, the negative seed of disease, gently untangling its clutches on her. The sickness fell from her body like water off rocks, and Patton allowed it to disperse into the air. Parts of the negative energy, her despondence at being sick, seeped into Patton.

He covered the negative energy with his magic and forced it to the back with all the rest.

Eyes a bright golden color, glinting in the light of Patton’s magic, she gazed at him in wonder as the magic worked through her body. A soft smile settled on Patton’s lips and he patted her shoulder. “There ya go, kiddo! Good as new.”

Her lips parted, her face pure wonder, and she breathed a soft, “thank you. I’ll never forget you.”

Patton simply laughed, standing. You will. You will.

“D-Dessa, time to go home,” the man standing next to her said. Her brother? Father? Uncle?

She gave him one last look before disappearing out of the doors of the church. They closed with a foreboding clang, and Patton turned, unconcerned, to the next person.

“I’ve been having, these, attacks, on my brain,” the teenager stuttered, hands fluttering around their neck. “Like wasps. Clawing at my thoughts–”

“Oh, kiddo,” Patton said, nearing them. “May I hug you?” He held his arms out.

They tightened their grip on their arms and squeezed their eyes shut, shaking their head violently.

“Alright,” Patton said, voice soft. Slowly, with audible footsteps, Patton approached them. “My magic requires physical contact. Would you like to hold my hand, or would you like me to touch your shoulder?”

They lifted their head just enough to squint, and they shuddered, a flinch travelling through their body. A good ten seconds passed with no reaction, but Patton made no motion.

The ten seconds stretched into thirty, and an annoyed “tch” sounded behind them. The teenager instantly stiffened and Patton tilted his head, eyes landing on the noise-maker. Patton smiled at them, eyes hardened, and they blanched.

“Wherever you’re the most comfortable,” Patton murmured. “I’m sorry my magic requires contact. Whenever you’re ready.”

Patton considered it a small miracle when the teenager shakily held their left hand out, his smile was so wide. Lightly, with exaggerated movements, Patton lightly held the tips of their fingers with his own, focusing on his magic once more.

A brier of anxiety had bred in the teenager’s mind, their motor functions and verbal cues overtaken by the illness.

Patton grabbed the anxiety with his magic, surrounding it and squeezing as hard as he could, the tendrils seeping into his magic and trailing back to him. He dispersed what he could, the briers shrinking to the size of a seed.

A shudder ran up Patton’s arms and oh no oh no they’ll find out they’ll learn that you’re awful and dangerous and –

Patton took deep breaths, covering the leftover anxiety and shoving it to the back.

“You should have better control of it, now,” Patton said. “I can’t destroy it completely, but I can help you control it.”

The teenager looked at him, tears in their eyes and hand over their mouth. Small hiccups shuddered through their body. “Thank you. Thank you. I’ll never forget you, thank you so much.”

You’ll forget. Please, don’t make promises you can’t keep. Patton smiled at them and squeezed their hand lightly before releasing it, leaning away from their personal space. “It’s my pleasure.”

“I won’t,” they insisted, fingers twitching as they reached out and drew back from him, as if they wanted to console him but despised physical contact and knew no other way. “You’re the kindest being in my life.”

“Aw shucks! You’re gonna make me blush,” Patton said, gesturing and grinning. “And, it’s my job! I love ya, kiddo. I can’t just leave those I love in pain!”

The teenager sniffed, their eyes becoming watery. “They were wrong."

They turned and stalked out the door, leaving Patton to wonder what they meant. Wrong? About what? Who?

“Alright! Who needs some help over here?” Patton said to the small crowd of five. They exchanged glances and an old woman hobbled from behind.

“My legs give me trouble,” she said in a croaky voice, leaning on a handmade cane.

“Make her walk like she’s young again,” one of the others said.

She whacked them with her cane. “Be polite, for god’s sake. Do you insult your gift-giver or thank them?”

They grumbled and kept quiet, while Patton wrung his hands uncertainly.

“Ma’am, I’m not sure how much I can help you,” he said, crestfallen. “Age is different for me. I heal ailments and diseases, but not time.”

“I understand,” she said. “I may still need my cane, but perhaps I won’t be in pain.”

“Alright!” Patton touched her on the shoulder and removed as much pain and wounds as he could, enveloping the pain with his magic and pushing it to the back.

She sighed, then, and a soft smile settled. “Thank you, dear boy. This town doesn’t know what it has.”

Does it? Does it not know? “Well, I’m here to help!”

Her eyes searched his for long seconds and Patton stood there, smiling and chanting you don’t know you don’t know you have no idea until she and her entourage left out the large, smooth, loud church doors.

Patton’s smile dropped and he worked his jaw with his hand, massaging it out and letting his face settle into his neutral, still-happy-looking natural alignment.

they know they know they they they they they –

“It’s only noon,” Patton said to the empty, cavernous, church. “You’ll have to wait for nighttime.”

they’ll forget they’ll forget you you you you once you once show them your real self dangerous you’re dangerous and you they know

“Yeah, I know,” Patton said, void of irritation or frustration. “Remember, you get night time.”

no

“Yup!” Patton said, his voice warping for a split second. He shook himself, unnerved, and walked to a back room. The size of the pulpit, the main church room, made him feel small and insignificant. And Patton knew that every being was important, every being had a purpose!

His was just... to heal others. To be the therapist, the doctor, the

demon

Patton pursed his lips. He would kill for a moodstone to rid himself of the excess feelings from healing. Well, not kill. Patton didn’t desire to kill anyone.

Yeah, that thought didn’t dampen his need for a moodstone.

Just one. One would help him release some of the feeling. Just a bit.

Patton slowly opened the door and sat down, picking up some knitting. Had to keep himself busy, after all. In a few hours, he’d eat dinner and see if anyone else came for help. After that, he went through his evening routine, watering some plants, cleaning, anything else Patton could busy himself with until dark.

Once it was dark, well... Patton seldom remembered what happened after that.

—

Honestly, Roman should have expected this. What was he thinking, travelling all on his own? They always told him to ‘travel in packs’ and ‘strength in numbers’ and ‘power of three’ (if one got hurt, another would run for help while the third stayed with the wounded). In hindsight (always 20/20, dammit), he should have seen this coming. He was alone–

But, really, he hadn’t been alone, had he? His travelling partner, impromptu travelling partner, Anxiety, walked with him, talked with him, ran for his life with him–

Until they weren’t together, not anymore. Roman remembered feeling his wrist slip from Anxiety’s grip, remembered the raw yell wrench itself from his throat, remembered the cracked voice screaming, “Roman! ROMAN!”

Echoes of the night before rang in his ears as his body recorded damage, sending information to his brain in the form of thrumming, sore, unending pain.

Opening his eyes and wincing at the glare from the sun, Roman glanced around to find his bearings. Okay. One step at a time, right? Training, training, one step at a time.

He was in a ravine. Cliffs rose around him, but it wasn’t too deep, and Roman could see the possibility of a trail out. Okay. He knew where he was.

(Never, he never knew where he was, what the hell was he doing out here–)

Next step. Assess for damage. Okay. His leg hurt like hellfire, and his arms – no, his left arm, he couldn’t move it. His right arm seemed alright, if bloody, raw, torn excuses of skin on bones counted as alright.

Roman looked at his left arm. He didn’t think it was supposed to bend that way, and when he tentatively poked at it with his right hand he hissed at the shock of pain. Ah, shit.

His leg, then – he should try, to find, try –

His leg wasn’t broken. Neither were his ribs, or fingers, or skull. In fact... Roman knew what a concussion felt like, and he didn’t believe – what luck, really, no concussion.

(Luck)

His leg wasn’t broken. But there was a long cut running down the edge of it, gouging muscle and tissue from his thigh.

The sun glared down at him. Power of three. Strength in numbers. Running.

Ah, maybe he did have a concussion? After all, Roman wasn’t a doctor, he couldn’t know –

How was he going to move? Get out, to get out of the ravine he was going to need to move, and while he could maybe limp out his arm was in so much pain he wasn’t sure how he would leave he was probably going to be stuck here forever until he died of dehydration and all the trainees back home would find his body and laugh and laugh and laugh –

One step at a time. He was in a ravine. His arm was broken. His leg felt like fire and the sun was not helping – oh. Fire. Okay.

Dark green for protection. “Dark green,” Anxiety said. “For protection?”

Yes, yes, Roman thought, mind swirling. He concentrated on his store of magic, on his skin, on protect me please I’m in so much pain –

Hot pink fire exploded from his chest and spread over his body like ignited paper. The flames blocked his vision, blocked his hearing, blocked his senses and instead of feeling numb and trapped he felt... calm.

Pleasant warmth tingled over his wounds and Roman took a deep breath, his first deep breath since he’d woken, the air smooth in his throat instead of scratching and raw. The fire started tapering off, slowly sliding off his skin, flakes of pale pink ash surrounding his figure.

Roman blinked at it. Usually his flames left no residue. Then he looked at his body, and oh.

The wound on his leg was completely cauterized, alone with the scratches and scrapes on his arms, chest, back... everywhere else. His arm – his arm was set, and although he would need to put it into a sling soon, a numbed sensation covered the pain. He would be able to walk. He could leave.

Hot pink fire. Protection, sure, not quite healing, either. Roman thought back to his emotions during the moment; the need, the instinct, the knowing, for survival.

Perhaps... perhaps his pink fire, the hot pink fire, showed when he needed survival the most. Needed help the most. But, of course, survival had a much nicer ring to it.

“Dark green, for protection?”

Worry shot through his body like an arrow. Anxiety was still out there. Roman should get to a town, sling his arm, find his bearings, and find Anxiety. The prince.

Prince Anxiety? No...

Roman furrowed his eyebrows. What kingdoms were nearby? Was Anxiety his prince, or the prince of a nearby kingdom? No, the prince at his kingdom was only ten. Roman groaned out loud; he didn’t know the other prince’s names.

Fine. That was fine. He’d learn once he found Anxiety again. Roman forced himself to his feet, swaying a bit, and started for the trail.

Body both hot and cold, a strange numb flowing in his veins, Roman staggered down the path, sun shining down on him. Was this the effects of hot pink fire? His mind felt fuzzy, thoughts running together and stumbling, as if surrounded by foam and static.

He noticed his limp a mile in.

His arm started burning at mile two.

Thirst suddenly attacked his throat and Roman kept placing one foot in front of the other, one step, then the next, because he knew if he stopped he wouldn’t be starting again. His eyes burned and he couldn’t cry to relieve the sting, his skin dry and chapped.

If Anxiety saw me now, he thought ruefully, walking heavily, wondering when he would see a building. If Anxiety saw me now, he’d laugh. “Pathetic,” he’d say, “You can’t last a day on your own? What kind of knight are you?”

Roman almost tripped, then thanked the gods he hadn’t. Hitting the ground... well, Roman didn’t know if he’d get up.

Why are you here?

You know why. You know why you left. You know why you’re travelling solo.

Roman gritted his teeth and took one more step before freezing in place. A town. He saw a town!

Determination igniting under his feet, Roman staggered his way to the town, holding his broken arm and leaning on his good leg. Mouth open and panting, head spinning, feet burning, Roman knew that he looked anything but a hero.

You’re not a hero. You’re just trying to find the most important item in your life.

Roman collapsed onto a cobblestone road. Get it together. Get up. GET UP!

“Oh my god!” a voice yelped, and Roman heard the pattering of shoes on stone. “Oh my god! Someone, get the healer! Quickly!”

Roman groaned and lifted his head, peering at a concerned face hovering above him. They hesitantly touched his shoulder, their face shifting.

Vision swimming, Roman heard a vague, “don’t worry, we can help you.”

The next so many minutes blurred together, snapshots of voices and scenes. Roman swore he felt his bones working back together, his cuts smoothing over – the pain pulsing through his body slowed and Roman became painfully aware of his thirst.

At some point he’d been moved from the middle of the street to the steps of... a church, perhaps. A wooden cup full of liquid settled in his hands and he drank greedily, not questioning the contents.

As he became more aware of his surroundings, he noticed the soft hand on his shoulder. He turned, blinking at the kind face of a man with a light blue shirt and fabric tied around his shoulders.

“Hey kiddo,” he said cheerfully. “I’m glad you’re feeling better! Man, you gave everyone quite the scare, stumbling in all bloody like that!”

Roman opened his mouth, then reassessed his situation and closed it again. At the man’s sparkling gaze he said, “thanks.”

“Oh, it’s no problem!” he replied, beaming. Roman winced slightly. Something about the smile was... off, in a way, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. “I’m always prepared to help!”

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Roman said slowly, nursing whatever water was left in his cup.

“I’m Patton! I’m the village healer. Or, town healer, I suppose, but village healer sounds much more fun, dontcha think?” Patton said.

“How did you heal me so quickly?” Roman answered instead.

“I have magic,” Patton said simply, wiggling his fingers. “It’s a little stronger than average, which helps me heal big wounds like yours!”

“Oh,” Roman said. He stared at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly.

“I’m glad you came, though, this place was getting a little dry,” Patton said, laughing. Roman smiled weakly, inwardly frowning. Something was... off, in a way, something Roman couldn’t pinpoint, something about Patton’s general ambiance.

“I’ve never met such a powerful healer before,” Roman said in the growing silence.

“Me neither! Well, I’ve never left this town, so there’s not much chance for me to have met one, but you look like a traveler, so if you say I’m rare, then I suppose I’m rare!” Patton said in one breath. Roman admitted he was impressed.

“Usually a healer utilizes the body’s immune system to quicken the process of healing, but this brings in the danger of healing wrong with bones,” Roman mused out loud. “And infection. How did you overcome these?”

“I don’t have to worry about that!” Patton said, a bit of confusion creeping into his tone. “I just take the pain away and heal the wounds.”

Patton sounded serious for the last phrase and Roman sat stick straight, Patton’s voice reverberating throughout his body. Suddenly, it clicked. Roman knew what was off with Patton.

He wasn’t genuine. And Roman understood putting on a front all too well.

“Take the pain away...?” Roman repeated. “Where does it go?”

Patton opened his mouth, eyes and lips smiling, but stopped as if someone had pressed the pause button on his life.

Roman narrowed his eyes, analyzing Patton’s body language.

Patton restarted again and said, “Everywhere and nowhere! It just disperses into the air.” Waving his hands for extra effect, Patton seemed to be looking intentionally not at Roman.

Roman didn’t study to become a knight for nothing, however.

“That sounds like the power of a moodstone,” Roman said offhandedly, noting Patton’s flinch at the word, “plus the ability of healing. You’re either lying, or the most powerful wizard in the lands.”

Of all the ways Roman had expected Patton to respond, bursting into tears was not one of them. Instantly Roman shook off his pretentious student persona. Compassion and regret swirled through his veins. “Shoot, Patton, I’m so sorry.”

“I... I...” Patton babbled, hands rubbing at his arms, shoulders, his eyes and cheeks.

“Can I touch you?” Roman questioned, hand hovering over Patton’s shoulder. At Patton’s frantic nod Roman placed a hand on his shoulder. When Patton leaned into the touch Roman put his arm around Patton’s upper back, leaning close and giving him an awkward sideways hug.

“I don’t lie,” Patton said, staring intently at Roman through watery eyes. “Lying is bad!”

Uncertainty twinged in Roman’s chest but he ignored it. “I’m sorry, shh, shh, we’re okay...”

“Yeah, I just...” Patton sniffled and leaned into Roman’s chest. “People don’t listen to me all that much.”

Roman held Patton tighter at that, frowning into his hair. How could people not talk to Patton? A bundle of brilliant energy, Patton seemed to exude fluff and sunshine. Not talking to such a beautiful individual seemed... cruel.

“I’m sorry,” Roman murmured. “I really am. Everyone needs someone.”

“Who’s your someone?” Patton asked quietly, clutching at Roman’s sleeves.

Roman didn’t say anything. Everyone needs someone, huh Roman? Huh? How hypocritical, you runaway, you traitor of the crown.

“Roman?” Patton said, voice verging on desperate.

Anxiety would kill you, Roman’s inner voice warned.

What Anxiety doesn’t know won’t kill him, he argued back.

“A prince,” Roman said softly, hugging Patton as close as he could on the uncomfortable steps. “I traveled with him through the forest.”

“A prince...” Patton repeated, sounding faraway and fanciful. “You’re incredible. You’re the most incredible person I know and I don’t even know your name.”

A thorn stabbed straight into Roman’s heart. “Roman.”

“Even your name sounds regal,” Patton sniffled, sounding as if he were about to start sobbing. “You’re like an angel.”

“I’m no angel,” Roman said quickly. “I’m just a man.”

“Just a man with a prince,” Patton said. Roman startled, and Patton continued. “Tell me about him.”

“He’s, well...” Roman thought carefully. “He’s passionate, and clever, he can make any phrase sound sarcastic. He cares more than he likes to show...” Roman’s mind flashed back to when he woke to Anxiety’s frantic expression, “How are you alive?”, a pang clutching at his chest. “And he’s loyal.”

“Roman! ROMAN!”

“He sounds amazing,” Patton said wistfully.

“Mmhmm.” Roman nuzzled Patton’s hair. How could anything be so soft? Roman would play with Patton’s hair all day if he could.

A blissful, quiet few minutes passed, Roman’s gaze lazily tracing the sun gradually disappearing behind some housetops. An entire day had passed since he’d woken in the ravine, and Roman could only guess how long he’d been comatose down there.

Roman closed his eyes and sighed, Patton’s warmth and the exhaustion of a long day dripping sleep through his system despite the uncomfortable setting.

He hoped Anxiety was still alive. He could be in the town, but Roman doubted the prince would risk being recognized – but then again, Roman hadn’t recognized him. Regardless, the action seemed far out of Anxiety’s realm of comfort.

After recovering, then, he’d have to find Anxiety somewhere – after all, Roman’s duty as a knight-in-training included keeping citizens, especially princes, safe. Therefore he would be a dismal trainee if he did anything but search for Anxiety, and he could attempt to find his... lost item in the process.

“Hmm...” Patton hummed beneath him and Roman’s thoughts turned to the little puffball in his arms. Patton seemed too pure to be shunned but too homely to be displaced. Roman hated leaving him to a town who ignored him unless he was needed, but Roman could not figure out a solution to his plight.

Not three seconds later Patton yelped in fear, jolting to his feet and accidentally pushing Roman rather forcefully onto the steps. Backing away slowly, Patton’s sharp gaze flicked from the sunset to Roman’s bewildered expression.

“Go to the inn,” Patton said, sounding flatter and more serious than he’d ever heard him sound. “Now.”

“Patton–” Roman reached for the man, gradually getting to his feet. “Something’s–”

“Please?” Patton asked, voice cracking with emotion.

Roman wavered, then relented. “Okay.” He turned around and started down the steps, feet hesitant. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“If you want to,” Patton said vaguely, smiling the strained smile from before at him.

Roman stared for five fateful seconds before turning and starting towards the inn. Every step he took he wanted to turn around, but he would never deny Patton’s wishes.

He’d figure Patton out somehow. Roman still had a few days before he could safely travel. Patton’s fast-pass version of healing helped much of his physical ailments but would not help him recover from minute malnutrition and dehydration.

Roman entered the inn without his usual fanfare, deciding to eat before sleeping. Sitting down, Roman waited a only a few seconds before someone whipped by to take his order.

Roman leaned back in the chair, a sudden sort of exhaustion sweeping through his body.

“Hey, you’re not from around here.”

Roman looked up, taking in a cloaked man with sparkling eyes and a hood.

Roman cracked a smile. “Is it that obvious?”

“That, and you caused quite the commotion, collapsing on our streets like that.” The man gestured to the chair opposite Roman. “May I sit?”

“Go ahead,” Roman nodded, scrutinizing him.

“I’m Damian,” he said after settling. “I’m just passing through, but I was born here, so I know everyone.”

“I’m Roman,” Roman replied, smiling easily. “I’m looking for something.”

“Oh?” Damian’s eyes glinted. “What is it? Perhaps I could help you find it.”

“It’s... a personal item,” Roman said, a sliver of unease poking at his lungs. “Thanks, though.”

It’s not here, anyway.

“How’d you get all beat up, anyhow?” Damian asked, smoothly switching the topic of conversation.

“I was travelling through the forest when a... wyrm attacked me and my partner.”

“A wrym?” Damian said. “Those are rather rare.”

“And dangerous,” Roman added wryly. “I almost became its dinner.”

“And your partner?” Damian asked.

“We got separated,” Roman said. Inward irritation sparking, Roman shifted uncomfortably on the wooden chair.

“Unlucky,” Damian said, sounding anything but sorry. Roman made a noncommittal noise from the back of this throat but didn’t say anything.

“How long are you sticking around?” Damian said.

“Until I’ve recovered enough to travel again,” Roman replied, fidgeting with his fingers. His foot tapped like a metronome on the wooden floor.

“Smart.” Damian shrugged carelessly.

A piercing scream cut through the air and Roman jolted, slamming his knee on the underside of the table. Wildly, his eyes spun around the room, the other inhabitants forcefully going about their menial tasks, consciously ignoring the pitch.

“What the hell was that?” Roman stage-whispered. The scream had tapered off but varying cries still filtered in the inn. Someone shut the windows and the sound instantly muffled to the point of almost being inaudible. Roman felt sick to his stomach.

Damian, on the other hand, smirked and leaned forwards, eyes glowing. “Oh? Haven’t you heard?”

“What?” Roman leaned forwards despite himself, desperate for some explanation for why someone was screaming and why everyone else was intentionally ignoring it.

“Our little healer,” Damian said, inflicting the word as if it were a piece of particularly horrible trash, “is possessed.”

Roman’s mouth went dry. “Possessed?”

“Every night he loses himself. It started, hm... five or ten years ago. First night he almost clawed his own eyes out,” Damian said, tapping next to his own eye for extra effect. His expression twisted with a sadistic glee and Roman sank into his seat.

“Nobody can help him?” Roman asked, voice small.

“You wanna help that thing?” Damian said in disgust. “Patton isn’t even human anymore. He’s lost himself. The only reason we haven’t offed him is because we need his healing.”

Nausea curled in Roman’s stomach, pushing at his throat. He stood up abruptly, pushing away from the table and chair.

“Where are you going?” Damian said, voice deceptively saccharine. “You haven’t even eaten yet.”

Roman avoided his gaze and started towards the rooms. “I’m not hungry.”

“Shame,” Damian said. His eyes followed Roman all the way to the door, lips curled and eyebrows low.

[snekky-boi]

My art for @justanotherpurplebutterfly‘s story for the @ts-storytime Big Bang. I’ll link their work to this when it comes out, so keep an eye out for that!

[scarsartblog]

Finished this for the Sanders sides art thing that i can’t remember the name of