#yeehaw hours are NOW oys here it IS S S

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (17)

A/N: WELCOME TO SHIP Y’ALL !!!!

WARNINGS: disassociation/descriptions of zoning out — i think that's it, but! as always, let me know!

Words: 4203

AO3 link!

MASTERPOST! <– look here!! for the longterm warnings!! including sympathetic Deceit and cursing/swearing! i dont think i’m gonna be adding remus to the masterpost tags though because like. in full honesty? hes not actually a character. he’ll just be alluded to from time to time :^)

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil​​​ @forrestwyrm​​​ @daflangstlairde​​​ @marshmallow-the-panda​​​ @askthesnake​​​ @k9cat​​​ @patromlogil​​​ @theobsessor1​​​ @ninja-wizard101​​ @fandomsofrandom

general tag: @jemthebookworm​​​

enjoy !!! ilu !

“So it’s clearly a trap.”

They were all sitting in the other room, the Thief’s head resting on the Bard’s leg as he laid across the couch, Patton lounging in the Artist’s lap on the ground, Deceit on the coffee table. Logan was the only one sitting in a chair, reading over the invitation with his legs crossed on the seat.

It was finally time to broach the topic of a rescue mission and everyone was fairly apprehensive. Patton was starring at the ceiling, glasses sitting on the Artist’s head, who in turn was gently running his hand through Patton’s hair.

Deceit was flipping a coin around in his hand absentmindedly, watching Patton. He had been quieter as of late. If Logan had a headache, he hazarded a guess that Patton was similarly affected, even if he wasn’t disclosing those afflictions. 

“Definitely. Dragon knows we, uh, well,” the Thief’s eyes flicked over to the Artist, who shook his head. 

“We can’t let the Child get hurt,” the Bard said, “He was….well, not to be rude, the kiddo’s an idiot, but he’s the Prince’s favorite.”

There was a pause as Logan crunched the numbers. Child, Damsel, Dragon, Artist, Thief, Bard, Playwright — they were originally told that there were only seven Romans, right? 

It didn’t add up. He wasn’t going to voice THAT pun in front of Patton, though.

“The Prince? Is there another Roman? Or are you talking about the previous rendering of Roman as Prince Roman,” Logan handed the invitation to Deceit, who nodded and looked it over again. 

“I think he’s another figment, right?” the Bard looked down at the Thief with a raised eyebrow, “He was there on the first day?”

The Thief nodded. “He brought Child to me. Said he couldn’t take care of him, then he disappeared. Probably died, if we’re being honest.”

“Sounds like him. Flaking on responsibilities,” the Artist rolled his eyes.

Patton shifted, turning over so he could look at the Artist’s face. His hand reached up and patted his cheek.

Roman was so pretty. A pretty pretty prince. 

Wasn’t that the whole point, that he wasn’t a prince? Wait, why he wearing Patton’s glasses? Ah, goodness. He needed a Pat-nap, he couldn’t believe he forgot the Artist. 

He didn’t notice the Artist’s slight blush as he ran his hand through Patton’s hair again. “You’re okay, Patt,” he mumbled. 

Deceit raised an eyebrow at them, then looked back at Logan.

“I….don’t think that the Roman we are most familiar with would be so careless, though he has been heedless in the past,” Logan said, “We can hold discussions about the Prince for a different time, though. As for a plan, do any of you know what the castles interior looks like?”

“Why should we? We can figure it out once we’re there!” the Bard said. 

“No, we cannot,” Deceit shook his head in agreement with Logan. “If we are to create an infallible plan, we cannot be lackadaisical.”

The Bard laughed, wagging his finger at Logan. “I can assure you that I lack no daisies, thank you very much.” 

He snapped his fingers and a flower crown appeared on his head. The Thief made a face and Deceit sighed, both already exasperated. Logan, however, ignored his shenanigans and leaned forward to explain.

“Lackadaisical. We cannot be too,” he thought for a suitable synonym, “Laid back.”

The Bard blinked, then grinned in understanding. “Okay, Captain Cogitation, whatever you say.”

“I agree with Logan,” Deceit nodded to Logan, “If we want to pull this off, we’ve got to know everything.”

“Isn’t that your specialty, mister pants on fire,” the Artist asked, still running his hand through Patton’s hair. “You always seem to know more about everything than anyone else.”

Deceit turned to him, eyes quickly flicking to Patton before he raised an eyebrow at the Artist. The Artist stiffened. 

Slowly, he retracted his hand from Patton’s hair. It didn’t feel very welcome anymore.

“Sneaking and knowing are two of my talents, yes, but this is your world. I’ve never been inside that castle. I have to admit ignorance,” Deceit tilted his head to the side, toward the window, ignoring the Artist’s hurt expression, “You’ve been inside though, right?”

“The Prince has,” the Thief corrected, “I’ve been in and out in a few places. Know where Dragon’s hoard room is. I don’t think any of us actually know how to navigate it.”

The Bard not nodded in agreement, lips pursed in disappointment. Truth be told, he really wanted to see the inside of the castle. Interesting to note, in Logan’s mind, that they didn’t share the Prince’s source of knowledge.

“Surely if Roman has been inside the castle, then all of you would qualify as having been inside?”

“Well, yeah. But as the Prince. We,” the Thief pointed around at himself, then the Bard, then the Artist, “Don’t all have his memories in that detail.”

So the Prince had a different connection to Roman, the concept. That was Logan’s understanding. 

Then again, did Logan understand ANY of what was going on in here?

Now, now, don’t be too hasty. He rubbed his forehead, trying to ignore the increased throbbing in the back of his skull. Maybe the optimal strategy would have been to assume that anything goes in the Imagination, but you couldn’t fault him for trying to apply logic to the nonsensical. Perhaps there was some logic to it, with a rationale he didn’t anticipate.

All of the Romans bore some similarities and abilities to the original Prince Roman, but because the Prince was missing in action, dissolved, what have you, then those characteristics were divided amongst the remaining seven Romans. 

He had to understand the range of abilities. “Deceit, can you take notes?” Logan asked, and Deceit wordlessly conjured his notepad as Logan turned back to the Thief. “So, if you do not have exact likenesses to Roman, then what do you all have in common? We must understand the skillset we are working with.”

The three Roman parts all shared a look — apprehension, perhaps? — and the Thief broke off first. “A few of Roman’s strongest feelings and convictions, and some of his mannerisms,” he said, looking back at Logan, “That’s all that carries over to all seven.”

“And who decided that?”

“Who decided what we would take from Roman?” the Thief rubbed the back of his head and looked at the Artist, who shrugged, then the Bard, who….also shrugged. He sighed and continued speaking, though he didn’t exactly want to be the sole voice. “Well, us, I think? Or him. It kinda just happened when we were one.”

“The him that doesn’t exist?” Deceit raised an eyebrow at the Thief, who rolled his eyes and looked pointedly away. 

Yeah, he was done speaking. 

The tensions were heating up again. Patton sighed, scooting closer to the Artist’s chest and snuggling his head into his hoodie. It was soft. And it smelt like Roman.

Smelt like home. Patton closed his eyes. Had it really only been one day? He missed the common room so much, missed sitting on the couch and gluing photos and stickers into the scrap book he was working on. Missed listening to Roman rehearse lines and the flipping of Logan’s pages and the faint music wafting from Virgil’s headphones.

He was excited to see what Deceit’s routine would be when they got back. Maybe he’d want to join breakfasts?

Focus, Patton. He rubbed his face with the butt of his palm. Focusing was difficult, like trying to stand steady on a boat. Earlier, he’d been easy sailing, but right now it felt like they’d hit the currents.

“This is all confusing,” Patton mumbled.

He had to pull himself together! 

The Artist hummed sympathetically, hand reaching up and patting his hair, stopping short of running through. He tutted, then shook his head. “Look, usually there isn’t a rhyme or reason to what we do, we just…” he gestured vaguely into the air, “Do!”

There was a beat of silence as Logan, Deceit, and the Thief all squinted at him, for slightly differing reasons.

The Bard, however, just leaned in and said “A-scoodly-boo! Oop, maybe there is a rhyme?”

Logan and Deceit were surprised, watching the Bard. The Bard missed it, however, and winked at the Thief. Who smiled a tiny bit back. Even the Artist was smiling, clearly pleased.

Were they….was Roman that unaware?

No matter. Logan cleared his throat and the Thief opened an eye. “Can you please elaborate on the differences between each of you, then. There is a clear thematic or, rather, trope distinction between you all, but what are the Roman-esque traits that each of you individually have?”

That was a pretty clear place to start, Logan thought. He, Patton, and Deceit had been forming their own opinions and had their own hypothesis, but it’d be worthwhile to confirm their theories before jumping to conclusions. 

The Thief shifted, pushing himself up and out of the Bard’s lap. He sat upright and pulled his legs up to sit criss-cross. “In terms of what abilities we have, it’s been determined mostly by what we value. I….can fight. I can think calmly for the most part. I’m a lot of what Roman is when he’s alone,” the Thief waved his hand, then drummed his fingers against his thumb in thought, “I guess that’s why I’m so, uh….not-Roman?”

“Same with me,” the Artist said, raising his hand and tapping Patton’s back, signalling to him to sit up himself, “Bard and I, we create. Playwright, too. But because we all have different work ethics, different ideas on what should and-uh, on what to create, because of that we’re split. And our attitudes.”

Logan nodded. “Understandable.” 

Patton sat up and leaned against Logan’s knee. So they were talking about the different Romans. Alright. He was caught up, yeah! They were all different, different in their own ways, but they also clearly came together to be….Roman.

What ever they discussed here, because in truth he knew very little about what they were talking about, he knew they’d have to talk to the Damsel and the Dragon. Were they considering that? 

Deceit shut his notebook and looked up, remembrance written across his face. “That reminds me. Regarding your ability to create,” he pointed his pen at the Artist, “Are you aware of how….dense your creations have gotten?”

They were absolutely not considering that, apparently. Patton winced, turning toward the Artist. The tension returned as his expression flatted, becoming more guarded. The concept of creation seemed to be a touchy subject indeed, if the incident with the palette knife and threats were anything to go off of.

Behind him, Patton was gesturing to Deceit to cut out whatever line of questioning he was entering, waving his hands frantically. He had an icky feeling. The kind that was usually accompanied with nervousness, when he and Virgil would both be worried about something or another, but Virgil wasn’t here right now and this was more of the ball dropping into his stomach than the hair standing on the back of his neck.

It was awkward. That’s what it was, that’s the word. An incredibly awkward situation. Did Deceit know how the Artist was sensitive about his art? Oh, golly, they should have told him.

On the other side, Logan was simply watching Deceit with a raised eyebrow. Surely Deceit could have deduced that the Roman figment named ‘The Artist’ would be, well, unreceptive to critiques?

“Dense?” the Artist asked.

The Bard winced, and the Thief whistled lowly. “Don’t tread on me,” he murmured, looking up at Deceit. 

Deceit looked at him for only the briefest second, lip quirking up into a sly smile. 

He knew what he was doing. Logan had realized earlier and they had to make sure at least SOME of the Romans understood the toll that the Imagination was taking. 

“Dense, yes. Layered. Very well crafted,” his eyes trailed back up to the Artist, whose hand slowly unclenched from his pants fabric.

Ah. Yes, well. He preened a little, straightening his shoulders.

Ah, but this was Deceit. Who knew how honest he was being? The Artist froze, and then leaned down  over on one of his hands, gesturing for him to continue. He should see it out.

Deceit inhaled slowly. Logan glanced at him again, noting how he tensed so much. He couldn’t have been the only one physically affected by their circumstances. 

He reached a hand out and rested it on Deceit’s clenched fist, giving him a soft squeeze. 

Deceit’s eyes flew open. For a second, it seemed like he was going to combust, eyes flicking between Logan’s hand and face. 

Then, he exhaled, features relaxing. It was okay. It was okay!

No tricks. 

“Have you considered,” Deceit turned back to the Artist, who was still watching expectantly, “That the Imagination is too intricate for us?”

The Artist leaned back just an inch. He reached his hands up and ran them through his hair. “Care to explain?” 

Deceit nodded. The most obvious way he could explain it was thusly. “You all mentioned earlier that the passage of time was illogical earlier.”

And that was all he had to say. The Thief swore, smacking himself in the head. The Bard groaned, burying his face in his hands as he leaned forward. The Artist blanched, expression dropping as his eyes widened at Deceit. 

See? Explaining that wasn’t so hard. 

Deceit bit his lip and took off his hat, running his hand through his hair and shaking his head. At this point, his words were burning the back of his throat like bile. 

No more tricks. He didn’t need to hide.

Patton reached over and rubbed Deceit’s knee. “Good job,” he said, a smile playing on his lips

“Ah, fuck,” the Thief turned to Logan, “You.”

The Bard pointed at Logan.

Logan slowly put his hands up. “This seems more accusatory than was intended.”

“No, no, no,” the Thief slapped the Bard’s hand and then pointed his own finger at Logan, “Are you okay? You must be tired. Fuck.”

“Wait, wait, that’d apply to ALL of you,” the Bard snapped in front of the Thief’s face and gestured to Patton, who was watching everything with a confused expression (why were they all so snappish with this?) , “Wow. We knew this would happen! We knew!”

“I’m a fucking moron,” the Artist snapped, taking off his glasses.

“Why?” Patton asked, now turning to him. 

The Artist clicked his tongue and waved his hand in front of the Bard’s face, cutting him off with his mouth open. “By being in the Imagination, especially for so long, you’re subconsciously affecting the world. We built everything in here without your input, so it’s illogical, without morals, without honest emotion or depth. It’s a bunch of drafts that’ve never interacted with another Side. You all being in here means you’re fixing it without knowing.”

Deceit smiled. Sweet, sweet victory.

“But I’ve been in the Imagination before,” Patton asked, brow furrowing, was that what Deceit was talking about earlier, “There wasn’t a problem then.”

“Yes,” all of them looked up at Logan, who took up the helm of explanation, “But that was because there was a unified Roman who could control what we experienced in the Imagination, correct?”

“Mhm, right on the money,” the Thief said, “The city you saw yesterday, Deceit? That sort of stuff would usually be hidden. That’s also why you’ve never seen this town, Padre, nor the characters.”

“It’s like subconscious editing, and you’re all trying to edit everything that’s ever been created,” the Bard covered his mouth, brows pinching in mortification, “Oh, goodness, my darling stars, are you sure you are alright?”

Deceit loved being right. He looked at Logan, who nodded. “A mild headache,” he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, “But beyond that, nothing.”

“Are you sure?” the Artist asked. 

He looked at Patton, who was swaying slightly beside him, eyes fixated on the wall directly ahead. That couldn’t be good.

Carefully, the Artist picked up his glasses and slid them onto his face, turned him towards himself. Patton blinked, stare now focusing in on the Artist’s tired but relieved smile. “You’re stretching yourself thin, Patt,” he murmured. 

Patton smiled back, forcing the excited and positively positive expression back out. He was so tired; it was difficult to understand what was happening, as always, but the Romans had verbalized it so well. He was feeling everything. Intensifying every feeling, and then extrapolating the moral repercussions onto every action that every character was making.

No wonder he had been so exhausted. The Artist ran a hand through his hair and Patton’s smile immediately fell again. He let his head lean into the Artist’s hand, eyes closed. 

On the other hand, the Bard stood up and took one stride to stand directly in front of Logan. He gently cupped Logan’s cheek, feeling his head with the back of his hand. “You don’t have a fever. There’s a lot in here — we have a superhero world, that’s been expanded upon after the cartoon episode, but we have a lot of medieval worlds and quite a few fantasy rules that simply don’t abide by laws. Not to mention—”

He continued talking about the worlds they’d made and checking on Logan’s well being, seemingly unaware of how the logical side was frozen stiff in his hands. 

Deceit thought it was hilarious. Logan seemed so flustered with the Bard rushing around him, smoothing out his tense shoulder muscles without any real understanding of why they were tense. 

At least, he thought it was hilarious until the Bard hurried over to him. He immediately took off Deceit’s hat and ran his hands through his hair, tilting his head up. “You, too, Loki, you’ve got to be tired from helping with our storylines. Here,” he moved to go around Deceit, also not noticing how bright red he was, but the Thief finally stopped him.

“Look, let’s….let’s be up front,” the Thief clapped, drawing attention wearily back to himself, “We told Deceit this, but we need to tell the two of you as well.”

“....Wait, what did you say?” the Artist asked.

The Bard grinned at him, then looked down at Patton. Of course! They had to tell everyone. They wanted to share this!

“I love you.”

Patton blinked, then grinned. 

Warmth.

Butterflies. 

The Artist opened his mouth, but only a choked “oh” escaped. The Bard didn’t wait for his approval, though, turning to Logan as well and saying, “And I love you, too! And I love Deceit! And I love Virgil! I love all of you! So, so much!”

Logan nodded slowly. 

That was

Quite a bit to process. He only just accepted that he loved Patton last night, please give Logan up to 5 business days to acknowledge his emotions. He nodded curtly, though his bright red visage betrayed how flustered he was. 

It was Deceit’s turn to hold his hand. Not too much, but just enough of a firm grip to let Logan know that they were okay. That it was okay.

The Bard didn’t seem to mind the lack of immediate validation, as he continued to bounce in place, positively buzzing with happiness. With LOVE! With ROMANCE! 

He was so GOSH DARN ENDEARING. Patton looked back at the Artist, who was still a blushed statue. 

Patton loved them, too. He loved them!

“I love you, too,” he said, turning to look at the Bard, a honest smile splitting his face.

The Bard’s hands shot up as he patted his own face. “Patton! I love you, too, too!”

“I love you, too, too, too!” Patton laughed, reaching up a hand.

The Bard took his hand and pulled him up in one fluid spin, and they hugged, arms wrapped around each other’s waists. 

This made sense, to the other two Romans. Leave it to the Bard to be able to channel Roman’s romance; he housed most of it, after all. 

They watched the Bard and Patton laugh and sway, chirping about love together. 

And then Patton leaned forward and kissed him. 

Roman froze. 

Slowly, he reached a hand up and ran it through Patton’s hair, cupping his head and pulling him closer. 

I love you, my dearheart.

The Thief and the Artist were frozen, from what Logan and Deceit could see, and it even looked like the Bard was frozen. Their forms shimmered of the deepest red and the brightest gold, for a moment.

DONTTOUCHMEDONT

The Bard pulled back. 

The Artist fell backwards, then scrambled up to his feet. He looked around at the Thief, who was sitting on the couch, eyes wide at the ceiling, then at Logan and Deceit, who were watching him with expressions of intrigue and horror. 

“I’m — I — Kitchen,” the Artist bolted out immediately.

Logan watched the Bard untangle himself from Patton, only to immediately lean forward and hug him again. That was certainly a surprise to witness. It served as more evidence that the figments of Roman were less tangible as Sides than any of them were, made from the Imagination rather than as new Sides. 

His thought process couldn’t ignore the tight fear that he’d felt when all of them disappeared, however. It was….that was terror. This was what terror felt like.

“I guess his theory was right.”

Deceit was watching the Thief, still frozen, with a frown. Logan wasn’t sure what he was referring to, as they hadn’t theorized that thus far. “Whose?” 

Deceit nodded to the Bard, whose hands were tenderly wrapped around Patton’s waist, kiss broken and face buried into his chest. “True love’s kiss. The Bard thought that that may be the answer to bringing Roman back.”

Ah, of course. Logan let out a suffering sigh. He wasn’t opposed to the idea, but they had all been going so fast. It was already a large realization that he loved the others, compounded with their surprising and enthusiastic reciprocation. Plus, the notion of expecting such a romantic and fantastical gesture was certainly far enough up Roman’s figurative alley that he would include that as a failsafe.

Then, there was a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” Patton called, hands still gently drumming against the Bard’s back. He still felt giddy. Roman loved him, Logan loved him, Deceit loved him — he just needed to tell Virgil! 

The Playwright opened the door, a thick stack of papers in one hand, hair mussed and tousled, glasses slightly askew. He didn’t seem to mind, though, as he fixed them carefully and let out one quick laugh. “That felt amazing,” he was breathlessly pleased.

“What did?”

“The kiss,” the Playwright said, a soft smile landing on his lips as he set the papers down beside Deceit on the table.

Deceit nodded and looked at the top one. It was a sketch, from multiple angles, of a suit and mask. Octopus?

The Artist peeked his head in through the open door and slowly shuffled in again. He looked at the Playwright, who slung an arm around his shoulders and hugged him tight quickly before letting go fast. 

“You felt it?” Logan asked, rubbing his chin in thought.

More fodder to the figurative Roman figment fire.

The Playwright grinned, but the Artist just let out a humored breath. Even he was feeling warm and fuzzy, despite the shock of being….touched. It felt weird still, and it felt weird for it to feel weird. “We’re all Roman, dearest, we all felt it,” the Artist exhaled, letting the nickname simmer. 

They slowly looked up at the Bard, nestled into Patton’s chest, who had the most serene expression. His hands were intertwined behind Patton’s back, swaying on his feet slowly as though dancing to music none of them could hear. Ecstatic.

The Thief finally relaxed, blinking up at the Playwright and the Artist. Best to….not acknowledge what had just happened. “Playwright? You brought some outfits?” he asked.

The Bard did not leave Patton’s hold, but for some reason, the hold was stabilizing Patton’s mentality enough that he turned to the Playwright with everyone else. 

The Playwright nodded, professional tension returning to his demeanor. He gestured to the stack of papers. “I’ve got some outfits,” some was an understatement, as the stack was almost as large as Logan’s 300 page Christmas gift. “If you aren’t opposed, I’ll conjure them up.”

A small bead of silence. 

They were going to reassemble Roman. It was going to work. And they were going to do it with love and determination. 

“....Thank you, Playwright,” said figment turned to the Artist, who was giving him a kind smile. “Thank you for your work. Always appreciated.

The Playwright blinked in confusion. “I…Thank you, Artist,” he slowly smiled back, feeling self-respect well in his chest. “That’s good to hear.”

He looked around to everyone else and pushed up his glasses. He could do this. He was Roman! He was. They were all Roman, and they were going to reassemble themselves. 

They could do this. The Playwright motioned for the first design. “Let’s get down to business.”