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art-dump-for-avery · 2 years

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If It Means A Lot To You

AU info/chapter index || Next

Chapter 1: Put your blood on ice

Warnings for this chapter: unintentional deadnaming and misgendering, let me know if I need to add more

Summary: After the final concert of his tour, Roman finds himself reflecting on his past and present, and makes the decision to do something about it.

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Roman could remember clear as day the dreams if his childhood. Years of watching Disney had told him he could be anything. At first, he wanted to be a prince - a hero who saved the day and was adored by all. He later realized that wasn't a very likely future, so he chose something he knew he had a shot at: stardom.

For as long as he could remember, he'd had a talent for the performing arts. Singing, dancing, acting, even songwriting - it all came as naturally to him as breathing.

Roman's heart had long ached for the spotlight, The adoring fans, the fame, the freedom. He fought tooth and nail for every chance to make himself known, even leaving behind everything he'd ever known, and now, after so many years, he had what he wanted.

Except...no. This wasn't what he wanted. Not at all.

When you're a kid, your view of fame is skewed. Rose-tinted glasses only let you see the money, praise, opportunity, and everything good that comes with being a celebrity.

But it isn't the truth. The truth is that once you become someone everyone knows, you have to make sure you're always known. Little by little, the things that make you who you are can end up being chipped away. The songs you write may mean nothing to you, the characters you play can feed into a loss of self, and each time you dance you may feel more and more like a puppet on strings.

Life among the stars is so deceptively beautiful that you can become oblivious to the fact that your own starlight is flickering out. Coldly, slowly, and lonely, the limelight kills the dreams of those who seek it. Roman had learned that the hard way.

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“Thank you all for coming, and have a wonderful night!” Roman waved to the crowd of screaming fans as he walked offstage, gratefully accepting the water bottle offered to him. Finally, the tour was over. Just a few public appearances and he could go home.

He cringed. He really wouldn't say the mansion he lived in was his home. It was really just his place of residence. He hadn't had a real home in years.

“Hey! Earth to Roman!” The singer was literally snapped out of his thoughts by his bodyguard, Remy, who looked equal parts annoyed and concerned. “Were you even listening?”

Roman huffed a nervous laugh. “Sorry. You know I space out after shows sometimes.”

“This is the seventh performance in a row that's happened.” Remy raised his sunglasses to the top of his head. “Are you sure you're not subconsciously starving or losing sleep?”

“I'm fine Rem,” Roman sighed. “This tour has just been..a lot. I just wanna curl up in my bed for a decade, that’s all.”

His friend’s only response was a muttered “Mood” before walking with Roman back to his dressing room. The tech crew backstage rushed past the two, offering quick words of praise before continuing on with their post-show responsibilities. Everyone seemed so much more eager to do their jobs this time. After all, the sooner everything was done, the sooner they could finally rest. Many had been hired to help with the entire tour and had been on the road for months. But now, they could finally go home and sleep in their own beds, and Roman could practically feel their relief.

Remy held open the dressing room door, the performer thanking him as he stepped inside. The moment he heard it click shut behind him, though, he let his shoulders drop. Finally, for the first time in months, he was able to stop for a breath.

Don’t get the wrong idea, he loved this. Loved being able to perform for thousands of people, loved getting to travel the world and sharing his creations. It was all he ever wanted when he was younger — and it still is! The letters he keeps stored safely at home, from fans who have found comfort and meaning in life and are still alive thanks to his older music, they make all of the mental and physical exhaustion worth it.

That doesn’t make it any easier to ignore the ache buried deep into his very soul. The pain of trying to pour his heart out into a song that has no room for his heart at all. The interviews that slowly feel more and more scripted. The clothes that scream “rich guy with more money than he knows what to do with” but never scream “Roman”.

God, he can’t even remember the last time he truly felt like himself.

He collapses into the chair in front of his vanity with a heavy sigh, and lets his head fall back to stare up at the ceiling. Whatever remaining tension is left in his body, he lets it melt away with a few deep breaths.

“Almost over,” he mutters to himself. He says it over and over, like a reassurance and almost like a prayer. Maybe once this was over, he’d try to go visit Janus. The last time he got to see her was very briefly at one of her concerts almost a year ago.

A quiet 'ping' rings out from his phone, drawing him from his musing. He looks at the notification and sees that it's from one of his private social media accounts, ones he uses to share his personal life without being bombarded by fans or corporations looking for exposure.

It's one of those time-line memory notifications, (you know the ones) with the memory dated back to when he first made the account in high school. With his curiosity piqued, he tapped on the screen to open the post.

A picture appeared on the screen. Three teenagers, two in the background dancing around in the rain, and one taking the picture in selfie mode, rolling his eyes with a fond smile. It made the ache in Roman’s chest grow painful one again.

The person taking the photo was him, he knew it was, but he still felt as though he were looking at a stranger. He had changed so much, a quick glance in the mirror in front of him was confirmation enough.

But it was the people in the background who hurt the most to see. His twin sister, Rebecca, and his ex, Virgil. They were the only two people in the world who had cared about him back then.

But that was ages ago. Roman lost their care when he decided to run away, his last words to Virgil being cruel accusations, and he didn't even leave a note for Rebecca, let alone say goodbye.

That was what he regretted most. Not that he left them behind (though sometimes he wished he hadn't), but how he had left. After all they'd done for him, they deserved better.

Rebecca was his first best friend. From the moment they were born, they were inseparable. As they grew, they fought more and more, as siblings do, but they were always there for each other. Even when their home and school lives were hell, they always knew that their twin would have their back. He should have brought her along, or at least said goodbye somehow. She probably hates him now, if she doesn't think he's dead in a ditch somewhere. He wouldn't blame her.

And Virgil — God, Virgil was the love of his life, had been nothing but supportive of Roman's dreams, and what did he get in return? An ungrateful (now ex-)boyfriend and a broken promise of forever among the stars. Worst of all, Roman never moved on. He had a few dates here and there, sure, but none of them stuck. Not like Virgil had. The guilt of it ate at him, because really, he had no right wanting to cross a bridge long burned when he was the one who lit the fire.

They both deserved better, or an apology at least. And an explanation for why he left in the first place.

The thought had him sitting up straight in his chair. That was it, wasn't it — part of the weight on his conscience. He needed — no, wanted to make amends with the people he hurt in his desperate climb to the top. Apologize to Virgil, for lashing out after all that Virgil had given him. And to Rebecca, for leaving during the years when it was most important for them to be at each other's sides.

And seeing as the tour was coming to an end with no plans for afterwards, he had all the time in the world.

He could finally say sorry.

With his mind made up, he stood and got ready to head back out for a few final fan meet-n-greets before turning in for the night. He'd make it through the interviews over the next week, then immediately hit the road. The sooner he was back home, the better.

He had much more important things to get to.

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(Hope I actually finish this one so it'll stop bouncing in my brain. Enjoy)

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #my fics #iimalty au

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art-dump-for-avery · 2 years

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If It Means A Lot To You (fic info and chapter index)

Genre: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort - its supposed to be a multichapter fic

Ships: past prinxiety, current analogical, eventual analogince, platonic intruality, background remile

Characters: Roman, Virgil, Logan, Janus (she/her), Remus (ftm, he/him), Patton (they/them), Remy, Emile

Warnings: faked sui/ide, implied and discussions of sui/ide, homophobia, unintentionally deadnaming and misgendering (Roman doesn't know Remus is trans for a while), I'll add more as the story goes on

Summary:

Roman ran away from home to achieve his dream of performing among the stars. Life in the spotlight isn’t everything he imagined, though, and he remembers the people he hurt and left behind to get there. He goes on a journey to find his ex-boyfriend, Virgil, in order to at least give him the apology he deserves; and to find his twin, to say sorry for leaving without a word, and to try to be a better brother from now on. But so much has changed. Will he be able to make amends, or is it far too late for apologies?

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Chapter 1: Put your blood on ice

Chapter 2: You wanna hear about the deal I'm making

#iimalty au #sanders sides #my fic #my fic masterpost #sanders sides fics

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art-dump-for-avery · 2 years

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The art gremlin woke up so ✨️Behold: Mark Heathcliff✨️

Fun Fact: ✨️I hand-wrote every word🥲✨️

Anyway after the recent episode I'm starting to think noboby came for Mark 🤔

#my art #digital art #the mandela catalogue #mark heathcliff #tw blood #high contrast #tw implied shot to the head #let me know if i need to add more #mandela catalouge fanart #mandela catalogue mark heathcliff

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art-dump-for-avery · 2 years

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Saw this post on reddit (please go upvote their art is so cool) and was inspired to try doing this myself (if for nothing else than to wake the art gremlin in my brain from its hibernation) so im ✨️drawing the ultimate custom night roster✨️

First up: Freddy

This is my usual digital art style, but I might try other art styles for some of them for practice or just for fun

#my art #fnaf #fnaf ucn #fnaf ultimate custom night #seriously go check out the inspiration on reddit #digital art

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art-dump-for-avery · 2 years

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Yo! Made a Google Photos picrew album for the MUtB AU! Feel free to add to it if anyone makes any

#sanders sides #monsters under the bed au #sanders sides monsters under the bed au #tw body horror #tw creepy #if you know my au then you know the other general tw #injury blood murder etc.

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art-dump-for-avery · 2 years

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MUtB AU Patton angst

Been wanting to draw one of the boys as they were just before they died. Patton was the second youngest of the six who were kidnapped, and, well...I'll write out all of their stories one day.

I think Patton is my favorite in this au because he's a sweetheart. Poor thing wouldn't hurt a fly. He isn't as angry as the others, just sad and confused and lost.

#sanders sides #my art #monsters under the bed au #sanders sides monsters under the bed au #ts patton #tw creepy #tw injury #tw blood #tw death #tw mentioned death #tw child murder

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art-dump-for-avery · 2 years

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Happy Easter Everyone! 🐰🌸🙃

#my art #digital art #easter bunny #tw body horror #i think???#tw horror #tw creepy #let me know if i need to add anything #sketch #holiday horror

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art-dump-for-avery · 2 years

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The Monsters Under the Bed

Genre: horror? Hurt/comfort? Idk but mostly creepy stuff

Characters: basically all Sanders Sides characters, but Thomas is a kid and is the only one who is human; also Janus and Vigil were/are siblings, but its only implied here

Warnings: detailed descriptions of creepy stuff (lack of eyes, many eyes, skeletal figures, sharp teeth, etc..), implied blood, handprints on skin, living doll, nightmares, not-quite strangling (Janus has his hand around Thomas' neck, but there's no intent to harm) — let me know if I need to add anyhing

Summary: Thomas is a young boy who starts to see some "people" in the middle of the night, but maybe they aren't as scary as they look.

(I wrote this over 3 months ago, but I didn't want to get accused of plagerism when I was publishing this in the school newspaper in parts (credit to the original Sanders Sides series was given, don't worry). Anyway, viewer discretion is advised — enjoy!)

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Thomas was a quiet child. He was always so happy and well behaved. Misfortune was something he had never experienced; he had a loving mother and father, and his world was peaceful and perfect.

He was seven years old when they first appeared.

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It was a dark night. Rain tapped on the windows softly; the wind was but a whisper, and Thomas lay curled up on his bed, struggling to sleep. He normally had no trouble drifting off to dreamland, often exhausted by his adventures of the day, but something about that night was keeping him wide awake.

It couldn’t have been the rain. He found the rhythmic tapping soothing, and there was no lightning or thunder to be afraid of. The wind did sound a bit unsettling, but it had never truly bothered him before. It could be the temperature, he’d thought. The room was colder than usual, despite it being nearly the middle of summer.

Thomas tugged his blanket to wrap it tighter around himself, but it hardly budged, seemingly caught on something. He gave another small tug, and still nothing. So he rolled over to see what was holding it.

There was something — no, someone on the bed next to him. At first, Thomas thought maybe it was one of his parents, but as a car drove by outside, the headlights illuminated the room, and to his horror, it wasn’t.

An eyeless face, streaked with dark red lines coming from the sockets and mouth, brown curly hair atop its head, and a pair of round glasses resting pointlessly on the pointed nose. The thing’s limbs, stiff and spindly, were the definition of nothing but skin and bone, the curves of its skeleton visible beneath the pale blue and cold flesh. It wore something akin to a tattered nightgown, a large hole torn diagonally in the front with splatters of red along the edges.

It lay on the bed, over the blanket, silent and still. Even without its eyes, Thomas knew it was staring at him, watching him. Fear gripped the poor boy in such a tight hold that he couldn’t even think to cry out, and he simply lay there, frozen in terror and staring right back into the thing’s empty sockets.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before it ever so slowly lifted one of its arms and began to reach towards him. His brain screamed at him to move back, get up, run away — to do something — but he could only watch with wide eyes as its hand came closer and closer and–

It settled on his cheek. The touch was shockingly gentle, the thing’s thumb moving to softly wipe the tears Thomas hadn’t realized were falling down his face. He blinked once at the realization, and when his eyes reopened, it was gone. There was no dent in the bedding, no marks of any kind, no sign of it having been there at all. The only evidence he had was the feeling of the smudged tears on his cheek.

That night, Thomas didn’t fall asleep until sunrise. And when he woke up and told his parents the next morning, they brushed it off as nothing but a bad dream.

———

That night was only the first of many in which Thomas would be faced with things lurking in the dark. The first one, whom he’d taken to calling “The Eyeless Man,” appeared frequently, doing nothing but staring at him in the dark. With each visit, Thomas grew less and less fearful, but he still asked for and received a nightlight, just in case.

The next was “The Many-Eyed Man.” Thomas was on the edge of falling asleep when he felt a presence in the room with him. He hesitantly peeked his eyes open and was met by the sight of multiple others looking at him and around the room.

A figure stood beside his bed, staring at the drawings he had taped to the wall. Eyes littered its body, each one in constant motion. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that the man’s eyes — the ones in the normal location — were rolled far back, only showing the whites and veins. He wore a dark navy, full-body suit with holes for each eye, rectangular glasses over the ones that were rolled back, and his hair was slicked back to a point. He wasn’t bone-thin and lanky like the Eyeless Man, and instead looked more like any other adult, if you ignore the pale indigo skin color and, of course, the eyes.

Thomas lay still, watching the Many-Eyed Man nervously. He wasn’t nearly as terrified as he was the night he met Eyeless, but he still remained cautious in case this one turned out to be dangerous. Distantly, he wondered if Many-Eyes and Eyeless knew each other.

After a long while, the man turned sharply, startling the poor boy. The eyes within his line of sight looked at him for a moment, before going back to looking around the room as the man made his way to the door and out of the room.

Thomas sat in silence for several minutes, wondering if Many-Eyes would return, or if Eyeless or someone else would show up, but nothing happened. So Thomas closed his eyes once more, and eventually managed to fall into an uneasy sleep.

———

There was something under his bed. He’d been getting ready for school one morning when he saw what looked to be long, thin, sharpened fingers just barely sticking out from under his bed. The moment he looked at them, the nails dug into the floor, and withdrew back into the darkness.

Scared, Thomas ran to get his father, who happily looked under the bed to ease his son’s fears. Seeing nothing, he gave the all clear before gently hurrying the boy to finish getting ready so that he wouldn’t be late. Thomas avoided the edges of his bed the rest of the day, leaping to it when he went to bed that night, and jumping off of it as far as he could when he woke the next morning.

Of course, when there was no sign of something under his bed for days, he slowly started to relax. Maybe he had been imagining it, he’d thought, and soon he’d nearly forgotten the whole thing.

Until one night, when he was getting ready to go to sleep and sat down on the edge of his bed. Before he could move to lay down, he felt long, stick-thin fingers wrap around both of his ankles, and like that very first night, he froze in fear.

There were no harsh tugs, nor was there a bone-crushing grip. The hands simply held him in a firm grasp. Heart racing in his chest, Thomas slowly tried to kick his legs up and out of the thing’s grasp. The hands released easily, and he watched as they slowly disappeared under the edge of the bed. He listened closely to the sound of movement beneath him before his attention was drawn to the board at the foot of the bed, creaking under the pressure of the fingers now holding it tightly.

He watched silently, struggling to stay calm as a head slowly rose up into view. Long, dark brown hair with a single gray streak framed its face. Its eyes were sunken and stark white; it had no nose, only two holes in its place; and a chill went down Thomas’ spine at the sight of its large, sharp-toothed grin.

The thing continued to rise still, and Thomas couldn’t help but shrink back as it grew to the height of the ceiling while still being hunched over. It wore a torn tank top and shorts, and it was skin and bone, just like the Eyeless Man, except worse. The skin seemed torn open down to the center in multiple places, showing muscle and bones, some of which were broken, and in place of any kind of neck, there was only the top of the spine holding up the head.

The two stared at each other for a short amount of time before the thing dropped, like a puppet cut from its strings, and shoved itself back under the bed, moving as though it were being dragged. Against his better judgment, Thomas peeked under the bed and looked cautiously at its still grinning face, lying sideways under the bed. How something that large managed to fit there, he didn’t know, but he decided to save that question for the next day. After a bit of tossing and turning (and a shock from Eyeless appearing), Thomas eventually drifted off.

———

He stopped trying to tell his parents. They wouldn’t believe him no matter what he said, so there was no point in talking to them about it. The Tall Man — the one who had grabbed his ankles — turned out to be peaceful, for the most part. He made his presence known in ways that startled or scared Thomas, but that was all he did, and so, just as he had with Eyeless and Many-Eyes, Thomas feared him less and less.

With no one to talk to about the things he was seeing in his room, he began to draw them instead. Being only seven, he only drew stick figures, but he used different colors for each of them. Light blue for Eyeless, dark blue for Many-Eyes, green for Tall, and pink for himself. He had just finished working on it when his mother called him for dinner.

When he came back to get ready for bed, there was new writing on the paper. Next to the green stick figure, in scratchy letters, was the word “REMUS,” above the light blue was “patton,” and “Logan” was spelled out above the dark blue. They were names, Thomas realized. Those were their names. It occurred to him then that they probably didn’t know his name, so he grabbed a crayon, wrote his own name next to the pink stick figure, and taped the drawing up with the others that Logan had been looking at when he first appeared. And with that, he got ready for bed.

———

Thomas woke from a nightmare a few nights later, crying quietly under his blanket. He couldn’t remember what it was about, but he remembered feeling absolutely terrified by it, more than he had ever been by any nightmare before. He wanted to call out for his parents, but the fear still coursing through him left him only able to mumble soft pleas.

That’s when he heard it, faint and distant, the sound of music and creaking floorboards. The unexpectedness of it helped Thomas calm down so that he could hear more clearly. It sounded like a music box, like the ones that you wind up over and over, and though it was an eerie sound to hear in the middle of the night, it was very beautiful.

Curiosity won out over his fear and he looked out from under the blanket. There wasn’t anything in his room, so he got up and walked over to his door, opening it slowly and peeking out. It would have been too dark to see, if not for the living room lamp that had been left on. It cast just enough light for Thomas to be able to see the silhouette at the end of the hall.

From what he could see, the figure was wearing a ruffled skirt, and its hair was tied back into a ponytail. It danced in time to the music, which seemed to be coming from the figure itself. The movements were fluid and graceful and left Thomas watching in wonder.

It slowed to a stop, and everything was quiet. Then it opened its eyes. Two circles of glowing green light pierced through the dark hallway, and they seemed to stare right through Thomas’ soul. The music started up again, off key and cutting in and out. There were loud thumps -- footsteps -- and Thomas realized it was coming closer. He took several steps back into his room just in time for it to stop outside his door.

The night-light made it a bit easier to see the thing’s features. It wore a long sleeved shirt, a sash made of red ribbon, ballet shoes, and, as he had noted before, a skirt. There were dark spots and stains all over its clothing and “skin,” which reflected the light as if it were glass. It likely was, if the cracks on its eyes were anything to go by. The most curious thing about it, Thomas thought, was its joints. Its knees, ankles, wrists, the joints in the fingers -- all were ball joints, like the ones you would see on a doll.

He was drawn from his observations by its swift movements as it walked into the room and over to the wall of drawings. He noticed where it was going and quickly retrieved a crayon and drew a new stick figure with a triangle for a skirt on the drawing with the others’ names written on it. He then hesitantly held out the crayon to the doll-like figure, who stared for a moment before slowly reaching out and taking it. Then, in shaky cursive, it wrote out “Roman.”

Roman looked at Thomas once he was done, handing the crayon back. With a stiff bow and the blink of an eye, he was gone, a last note of music resonating around the room. The boy stood in silence for a while, thinking about the whole interaction, before he finally put the crayon away and went back to bed, letting the memory of the music lull him back to sleep.

———

The next several weeks were fairly calm, all things considered. Thomas’ new friends would show up frequently, and he wasn’t sure when exactly he had started thinking of them as his friends, but he didn’t dwell on it too much.

Most nights one or two of them would appear, sometimes startling him, and every once in a while, he would catch a glimpse of one of them during the day whenever he was alone. They seemed to know each other, or at least be aware of each others’ presence, and Thomas didn’t know whether to feel comforted or unnerved by that fact.

And then one night there was a new one. Thomas had been lying in bed one night after a movie night with his parents, both of whom had gone to bed themselves after tucking him in. He once again found himself having a hard time going to sleep, and after a while, he sat up, content to wait until one of his friends showed up.

He’d been waiting for several minutes, looking around his room, when it appeared. It stood in a corner, one he had taken his eyes off of for just a second when there was nothing there, but now there it was.

Even with the night light, Thomas still couldn’t make out anything other than its eyes, which glowed just enough to pierce through the darkness that shrouded the figure. Other than that, it was simply a mass of nothing but shadow.

This was where Thomas’ memories of that night seemed to cut off, however. One second, he was staring into the eyes in the darkness; the next, there was nothing but black, soon followed by a horrible nightmare that, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t wake up from until the sun had just barely risen over the horizon. Like his previous nightmare, he didn’t remember much, and what he did remember didn’t make any sense to him. Whatever it was, though, left him in a state of terror — that feeling you get when you see the looks of horror on people’s faces as they stare at something behind you; you don’t know what it is, but you do know that it’s terrifying, and so you are terrified, by both the knowledge and the unknown.

It took nearly half an hour for Thomas to calm down, his fear keeping him still and silent throughout. When he finally did calm down, though, he looked around his room again and noticed that more was added to the stick-figure drawing of his new friends. It was simply an oval, as tall as Logan’s stick figure, messily drawn and filled in with purple crayon. Off to the side, in almost illegible writing, was “virgil.”

He supposed he had a new friend then.

Many nights in which Virgil appeared went like that. Thomas would look at him for several seconds before suddenly falling into a nightmare. This made it difficult for him to get a good look at Virgil’s features, especially since he didn’t show up on occasion during the day like the others did.

None of it made sense to Thomas until one night two weeks later. Patton was lying next to him at the time Virgil appeared, and as Thomas began to shift his gaze to those glowing eyes, a hand covered his own.

He didn’t move, more confused than anything by the action. He felt the bed shift, thin fingers gently grabbing his arm and rolling him over, and then the hand over his face was removed, allowing him to see once more. Patton was now on the other side of the bed, though he still stared at Thomas as he usually did.

After a moment of quiet, the young boy tried to roll back over, to look at Virgil again, but was stopped by the hand still holding his arm. He tried a few more times before finally giving up and staring back at Patton, all the while wondering why he wasn’t being allowed to look at the shadowy figure.

Several minutes later, his arm is finally released, and Thomas rolls over only to find that Virgil is now gone. None of it makes sense to him until the next morning, where he realizes that, for the first time since Virgil started appearing, he slept well. He’d had no nightmares of any sort and he could remember clearly when he’d fallen asleep.

So he stopped looking at his new friend. He would see those eyes in his peripheral vision and look away until they were gone. And just like that, the nights of blank memories and nightmares that followed were gone.

At first he worried that the shadowed figure would be mad, but a hand carding through his hair on a night where only Virgil was present eased his worries. It would seem that, yes, he did have a new friend.

———

In hindsight, it made sense that one of the scariest of his friends would appear last. Thomas had gotten used to the presence of not-so-human beings appearing in his home from time to time, and even though he had no one to talk to about his friends, he was content with being the only one to know about them. And while sometimes they startled him or even scared him, he liked to believe that they saw him as their friend too.

It would make sense, then, that he was a little excited when he saw a figure outside his window one night. It wore a black hat with a golden yellow ribbon wrapped around it and an attached black veil. The veil covered its face, but was just short enough to show a strange marking around its neck, one that Thomas couldn’t recognize in the dim light of the night light.

What shocked him most were the extra hands that were pressed to the window. Six arms were extended out from its body, three on each side, and they had similar markings to the one on its neck.

It was only there for about a minute before it stepped away from the window and disappeared into the darkness, but it was plenty long enough to make the boy curious. He was too tired to draw a stick figure for it at that moment, but he made sure to do so first thing the next morning in gold crayon.

It went like that for a whole week. It would show up for one minute, looking in from the window, and disappear again. Thomas had begun to think that this would be its routine, just as the others had their own patterns of behavior, but late one night, at the same time as always, the six-armed figure proved him wrong.

He had been sleeping peacefully that night, having been lulled to sleep by Roman’s music and Patton’s now-comforting presence. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but he didn’t think about that much when he woke to the feeling of a hand wrapped around his neck.

His eyes widened at the sight of the six-armed figure standing next to his bed, one hand swiftly writing on the drawing of stick figures and another very firmly holding Thomas by the throat. He struggled for only a second before stopping when he felt the grip tighten, and decided it may be best to stay still.

From where he lay on the bed, he could now partially see the thing’s face, and, for better or worse, he could also now see the marks on its arms, neck, and now its face more clearly.

They were hand prints, ones that would look like bruises if not for the way they seemed to form indents in its skin. The one on its face framed one of its eyes, one with a golden iris and slit pupil that glanced his way a moment later.

In turn, Thomas looked up at the drawing, “Janus” now written there in cursive that was just a bit neater than Roman’s. He looked back at Janus as calmly as he could. The hand had loosened back to its original state, but was still firm, and as Thomas looked at him, he wondered if Janus was even aware of what he was doing.

After exactly one minute, as usual, he vanished, leaving a phantom pressure on Thomas’ neck from where he had been holding him. The boy took deep breaths to calm down, not moving from his spot on the bed even when he felt Patton appear on the bed beside him. Only once he began to feel tired again did he shift to get more comfortable, and, not wanting to think about the event, went to sleep.

As the weeks passed, and as Janus appeared more often to hold him by the neck, it became clear that, no, he had no idea he was doing so. He never attempted to harm him, his grip only ever tightened whenever Thomas struggled, and he always left after one minute.

The lack of violence led Thomas to relax around him, as it had with the others, and when Janus appeared at his bedside one night with his veil lifted, the boy took it as a sign that maybe — just maybe — he wanted to be friends too.

———

Well over two months had passed, and Thomas was only a little disappointed when no new figures showed up, but he was happy with the friends he’d made. Nights alone were rare, at least one of his friends appearing every night, and he wasn’t afraid of them anymore. Sure, they still startled him and acted creepy sometimes, but there were other moments where they acted almost human.

They interacted more often, and in a way it made Thomas think that not only did they know of each other, they were familiar with each other too. Roman and Remus spoke to each other a lot, if “spoke” meant making static-like and weird noises at each other, and Patton and Logan seemed to find great interest in the others whenever they were around. Once, Thomas even saw Janus hugging Virgil, but he was half asleep at the time, so it could have been a dream.

His parents asked about the stick figure drawings that began to flood his room as he drew his friends more often. He always told them the truth, but they also always brushed it off as imaginary friends, so it didn’t really matter. He didn’t really trust his classmates or teachers, so they didn’t know about his friends either. He was happy nonetheless, though.

He lay in bed on the night after his eighth birthday now, Patton lying beside him, Remus holding one of his ankles gently, and Roman dancing around in the hallway to some nursery rhyme melody. Despite all of that, which some might find unnerving, Thomas felt safe. Surrounded by beings he considered to be his friends, he closed his eyes, and he fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

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(This is probably the longest fic I've ever written, but I'm actually super proud of it. Glad to finally have written something for one of my many AUs)

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art-dump-for-avery · 2 years

Text

There's A First Draft For Everything

Genre: fluff

Ships: Queer-Platonic Demus (Remus has romantic feelings for Janus, but not in an angst-y unrequited way)

Characters: Remus (genderfluid he/she/they, but using she/her for now); Janus (they/them)

Warnings: talks about trading eyes, let me know if i need more

Summary: Remus is usually very impulsive, unfiltered, upfront, and honest, especially with Janus, her platonic partner. Except, just this once, she thinks before speaking, and ya know what? That's probably the most ridiculous idea she's ever had.

(this is basically the fluff equivalent to a vent fic, so Remus may be a bit ooc.)

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Of all the things Remus was known for, thinking before acting was not one of them.

You'd think that having an ever flowing river of anxiety in her veins would have kept her from doing things that could get her in trouble or made fun of, but that anxiety was often overruled by a little thing she liked to call the "YOLO" instinct. ("Me here for good time, not long time." - said by some guy on TikTok). This was especially true with Janus, her platonic partner, who seemed to be unaffected by her weirdness (- and boy did that take some getting use to.)

Janus. Their name alone could make Remus crack a smile, even at her worst. Janus, who was sugar, spice, and everything nice. Who was confident and smart and oh so clever and witty, who liked Star Trek, Hershey's, and space, and who was so independent compared to nearly every friend Remus had ever had that it left her feeling like blankets and hot cocoa on a cold day.

They had met officially in the high school's advanced chorus class, but it was the school newspaper class that got them talking, seeing as Remus felt too much like an outsider to talk to anyone else in the class and she was the only one there who Janus was actually familiar with. They quickly found common interests, though, and went from acquaintances to friends in less than an hour.

It was the little things, really - the way Janus would listen to Remus' ideas and ramblings, how they seemed to carry themself with pride, how they smiled, how they spoke, how they didn't sugar coat anything - and soon Remus had a crush on them. Which was fine, Remus developed crushes on all of her friends at least for a little while (a side effect of neglect and bullying probably), it would pass and be no big deal. Besides, they were aro-ace so there wasn't really a chance anyway. She was cool with that too.

Except the feelings didn't fade, and each day it grew harder and harder for her to contain those feelings. No matter though, she'd just have to bump up the weirdness. That usually did the trick, people never hesitated to avoid the weird kid who wrote fanfiction, referenced obscure Tumblr memes, and talked about very morbid and gruesome imagery. Janus would drift away and it would hurt but it would be better than pointlessly pining.

So when Janus showed no signs of leaving or being even the slightest bit perturbed, they threw all expectations out the window. Remus was now both jarred by the realization that someone might actually enjoy her company and falling so fucking hard that it was like trying to escape the pull of a black hole. (At this stage she was often grateful that hanahaki disease was fictional because otherwise she would probably have been on her death bed. Would've been pretty interesting though.)

With all her usual tricks exhausted, she decided to at least tell Janus the truth and hope she wouldn't make them uncomfortable. She so eloquently told them "I am so gay for you," and shockingly, they didn't mind.

"If it were anyone else," Janus had said, "I'd be uncomfortable. But it's you, and for some reason, I'm totally ok with that." (Remus had never felt more blessed in her whole life than she had in that moment.)

After several days of careful thinking and consideration, she approached them again with the offer of possibly having a queer platonic relationship. They both could give and receive affection without all the romance, and so, after some discussion, they decided to give it a shot.

And here it was, four months later, as they sat at their side-by-side desks, talking and being affectionate as they always did, that the real point of this story takes place. (Everything else before this point is context, but still important.)

Janus had taken to holding Remus' hands to the sides of their face, and the little gremlin was more than happy to oblige, no matter how tired her arms might get. She had originally been trying to tell them about an AU that she'd been thinking about, but looking at them, so content to just be and to listen, all thoughts were lost to the wind.

So here's the thing: in Remus' head, everything she says has a first draft. It's the first version of whatever she says, and most of the time, they are the only versions, because it's not exactly that she doesn't have a filter, it's just that it only catches the most risky phrases, and those first drafts stay behind. And, at this particular moment, a first draft has gotten caught in the filter.

'Do you wanna go to prom with me?'

It's a good question, and not an unreasonable thing to think about. And she almost says it, but that filter reminds her that Janus doesn't like the idea of prom. She thinks on it for a minute, hesitant, before filing away that first draft. She wouldn't want to make them uncomfortable. So instead, she settles for something less intense.

"I wish I could trade an eyeball with you."

Janus only looked a little confused, but their expression was full of amusement. "What?"

"I mean, doesn't that just scream devotion - you get one of my eyes and I get one of yours," Remus smiled. "Pretty neat if you ask me."

Janus quirked an eyebrow at her. "Sweetie, we both wear glasses with vastly different prescriptions."

She shrugged and said, "They can't be that different."

"Mmmmmhmm." They rolled their eyes fondly, and the conversation shifted. It was fine. No need to bring it up again now, if ever.

Then Janus was showing off a word search with the words highlighted so neatly, and Remus did appreciate at least some straight things.

There was an image of a woman in the corner. Janus pointed to it and stated, "This woman wishes she was as pretty as you." And really, how does someone respond to that??

Apparently by saying, "You know what? I wasn't gonna tell you what crossed my mind earlier but now I am."

And now that she'd started, she wasn't about to stop. "I was just looking at you and my brain just decided 'hey look, here's this' and so i thought about asking if you would go to prom with me-"

"Yes, absolutely."

They say it, without missing a beat, but Remus is still going and it doesn't process.

"Yeah, cause you said you didn't like prom and so I just kinda tucked it away."

"I have a prom dress already."

"Nice." Remus pauses then, and finally, it clicks. "...wait, rewind and run that by me again."

Janus looks at her, confused. "What, that I already have a dress?-"

"No no no, before that."

"Yes, I would like to go to prom with you."

"...Really?" She asks, so quietly, but Janus doesn't seem to realize that they've flipped her entire world upsidedown yet again.

"Yeah, of course. Hun, I've kissed you on the lips, you really think I wouldn't go to prom with you?" They continue talking, but Remus is still reeling because they said yes - they actually said yes - and they say it as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and good lord it's such a good thing -

"Oh you're crying!" Surprise is evident in Janus' voice. "Oh dear you're crying-"

"They're happy tears, I promise," Remus reassures them as she wipes them away. "Just overwhelmed, but in a good way."

Janus takes her hands again, and Remus holds theirs right back.

So maybe Remus a little impulsive, but it's outcomes like this make her think that, maybe, it isn't such a bad thing after all.

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(so yeah that's the story of how i accidentally asked my platonic partner to prom)

#sanders sides #sanders sides fics #remus sanders #janus sanders #vent fic #but make it fluff #hope its not too ooc #non-binary remus and janus my beloveds #fluff #prom #qpr #my fics

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