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naminethewriter · 9 months

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How It All Began

Chapter Two: Living Legend

Masterpost | Previous | Next | Ao3

Story Summary: Remus, son of a simple fisherman, had worked hard to become the captain of his own pirate ship. And in his humble opinion, it was going great! His crew was small but reliable and they had just stolen something that could them some nice cash from a military vessel they happened to cross on the open sea. They just needed to hide it somewhere until it was safe to sell. How lucky for them that they come across a nice, uninhabited island.

Little did Remus know just who he would find on that little piece of land and how it would change his life entirely.

Content Warning: Innuendo, Reference to Past Trauma, Past Parental Death

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Remus set off to the island again early the next morning. He hadn’t slept much, the sound of bones breaking upon hitting rocks bouncing around in his head the entire night. Instead of fruitlessly fighting his insomnia much longer, he got up with the rising sun, stuffed the box containing the seal into a satchel, found Sloane already up and about and dragged him along to the rowboat.

As he had done yesterday with Patton and Elliot, Remus left Sloane at the beach to look for a hiding place by himself, this time choosing an entirely different direction from the day before. He was looking for a spot that was easy to remember but hard to get to – he didn’t want to bury the box, because one, that was totally cliché and two, he really didn’t want to do all that digging – so a cave or hollow tree would be perfect.

It took him a while before he found an opening between two cliffs that looked somewhat deep. It was small and dark though, squeezing in there might not be the smartest move. Before he could even try, he was startled by a voice.

“You will not fit in there.” In a very reminiscent way, Remus spun around to face… the guy from yesterday? They stared at each other until Remus found his voice again.

“Wha- How? I killed you!”

“Falsehood. The injuries from the fall killed me, not your… bullet I believe they are called?” Remus just continued to stare at him in disbelief.

“Who the fuck cares how, you still died!”

“Indeed.”

“So how are you here? Are you a ghost? Am I being haunted?!” That thought honestly excited Remus a bit. He tried to look closer, maybe he could see through the guy now but nope, same as yesterday. Not even his clothes had changed.

“I am not a ghost. I died and then came back. I do not see how you are not understanding the situation.”

“Dead people don’t just come back to life!”

“That is true.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I am immortal.”

“What?” The man cocked his head to the side.

“Do you not know of the legends of Immortals? When I was young they were quite commonly told.”

“Of course I know the legends!” Remus sputtered. “If the Elemental Spirits find one worthy, they can grant even a human the gift of immortality like the sirens. But they’re just that: legends! Like I expect some random guy I shot on a random island to just come back to life!”

The stranger nodded in understanding as if this was a typical discussion topic and he hadn’t just turned Remus’ entire world view on its head.

“I suppose that is true. Though considering you are a man of the sea, I had expected you to have some experience dealing with sirens, so I am surprised this comes as such a shock to you.” Remus was once again at a loss for words. Sure, as many others had, he had hoped that the stories were true, that humans could gain immortality the sirens had from birth, but there had never been any proof. All accounts of supposed Immortals were dubious at best. The Elemental Spirits were known to dislike humans, even before they took over the lands and destroyed many forests. It was the main reason the seas were dangerous to travel, the Spirits would not let humans take more control.

For an immortal to be in front of him now… it was a dream come true! A switch flipped in Remus’ brain and his wariness of the stranger simply evaporated. Instead, excitement shot through every fiber of his being at the realization that the one thing he had feared was impossible for him to achieve was directly in front of him. A real Immortal! He got to meet a true immortal human being! A grin broke across his face and with quick steps he made his way over to the man who was now the one to look startled.

“That means you met the Spirits? The real deal? And they approved of you? You really can’t die no matter what??” Their faces were now inches apart. The man blinked at him, the sudden change in his demeaner had probably thrown him off, before he took a step back and cleared his throat.

“Yes to all of those questions. Unless the Council deems me no longer useful and revokes their gift to me, I will revive no matter the injuries.” Remus’ grin grew impossibly wide and he let out a loud cackle. Then he grabbed the man’s hand and shook it wildly.

“Name’s Remus, Pirate Captain, and you’re going to tell me everything right now.” The man eyes him for a moment before pulling his hand back and rightening his glasses.

“Logan, biologist and botanist. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

~~~

“So how long have you been immortal?” Despite only just having properly met the man in front of him – Remus, if he remembered correctly – Logan could already tell from the expression on the man’s face that he would not rest until he had answers to all his questions. His green eyes were wide open and curious, a look Logan knew he had often worn himself as a young child and lost sometime on his way into adulthood.

Regardless, if Remus was going to question him for hours, they might as well be comfortable.

“Before you start your interrogation, would you like to accompany me to my camp? I can make us some tea and we could sit while talking.” The other blinked, obviously not having expected the invitation.

“Yeah, sure! Whatever gets you into the mood, four-eyes!” He wriggled his eyebrows in what Logan could only guess was supposed to be a suggestive manner. He decided to ignore the innuendo.

“Then please follow me, it is not far.” Logan turned around and headed deeper into the jungle. He’d been on this island for almost ten years now, he knew every nook and cranny, no need for a compass. Remus followed close behind him with loud steps.

“You can answer while we walk though, right?” The pirate captain apparently was not a patient person but that was unsurprising. Over the years, Logan had learned that few of his kind were.

“Very well. You asked about how many years it has been since I have gained my immortality, correct?”

“Not in those words but yeah.”

“I can’t say with absolute certainty, I spend a lot of time alone so keeping track of dates is not something I do diligently, but I can estimate that it was around 140 years ago.” His companion whistled.

“And you’ve been here the entire time?”

“No, I have relocated a few times once my research concluded.”

“And then you just go looking for another place to do the same thing again? Sounds pretty dull.”

“It is anything but dull,” Logan responded more sharply than he had intended. “I do this work because I enjoy it, it’s what I always wanted to do with my life.”

“And that’s why you sought out the spirits? To give you more time to do your research?”

“I didn’t seek them out which is probably why they chose to accept me.” They arrived at his camp just in time for him to dodge the follow-up questions Remus surely had in mind. His home was quite simple, and he liked it that way. It was a clearing, small enough to still be mostly covered by the canopy of the trees above to give shelter from the simpler rainfalls but big enough to give room to move around in. He had set up a fire pit in the middle of the space with an old but durable cauldron held up by some sturdy branches above it. It was currently empty; he would need to fetch water from the stream nearby.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Logan motioned for Remus to sit on his bed which was essentially just a collection of moss on a flat stone but being blessed by the Spirits meant more than just gaining immortality and said moss was as soft as the finest mattress money could buy. His bed, along with a large chest containing his few sets of clothes, notebooks, and other personal items, was located underneath a naturally formed stone awning that kept him completely protected from the occasional storms. He stored most of his food supply in a cave not far away where the temperature and humidity were much stabler than out here, thanks to his blessing.

“I will fetch some water, if you know how to use flint to start a fire, I would appreciate the assistance. More firewood is over there.” It was a small stack of logs and twigs inside a hollow tree nearby. Logan grabbed his bucket, also wooden, and headed towards the stream. With his free hand he made sure that the key to his chest was still on his person. He shouldn’t be gone long enough for the pirate to pick the lock.

The babbling of the water always had a soothing effect on Logan. The gentle sound calmed him and he took a deep breath. He hadn’t expected Remus to react the way he had. He didn’t get visitors often, he never had on any of the islands he inhabited after making his deal with the Spirits, and when he did, he tried not to engage. He talked to Remus the day before since he feared the other could get hurt in a moment of carelessness and he had similar motivations earlier as well. The few others he had talked to before also met him with suspicion, in rarer cases with curiosity but most of those encounters ended with Logan’s death. Pirates were ruthless after all, and soldiers often assumed the worst of him. Merchants didn’t come to places like this.

So to have Remus believe him and be excited about talking to him was something new to Logan. And he was entirely out of practice regarding his social skills. His only contacts were Janus and occasionally Virgil but neither sirens were super friendly with him. And then there was his patron, a spirit of the earth on the Council, but he spoke to her only every few years.

Having a human in his camp? Exciting and worrying at the same time. He shouldn’t leave him alone for too long.

Logan took another deep breath before kneeling by the water’s edge and dipping the bucket into the stream to fill it up before making his way back. To his surprise, he found Remus actually crouching by the now lit fire, watching the sparks with a delighted expression on his face.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Logan nodded to him as he carefully filled the water from the bucket into the cauldron to avoid killing the flames accidentally.

“No problem! I’ll never say no to a bit of arson!” the pirate grinned at him.

“I see. Is that a part of the reason as to why you chose your profession?”

“Not really but it definitely was a plus! I just wanted to be on the seas, and being a merchant’s errand boy seemed boring, as did becoming a fisherman – I mean my father was one, so I knew it wasn’t exciting most of the time – and I was going to off myself before even thinking of joining the naval forces. Becoming a pirate was just the most fun in my opinion.”

“You are quite odd,” Logan commented after pausing for a moment. He meant nothing bad by it and judging from the grin on Remus’ face, he hadn’t taken it as an insult.

“So I’ve been told!”

“I hope you don’t mind me asking some personal questions. I am quite curious about you.”

“Wow, you’re blunt! If you wanna take this to your moss bed, I would be down!” The pirate captain wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Logan couldn’t fight the blush that spread across his cheeks.

“That was not what I was referring to,” he clarified after clearing his throat. Remus cackled.

“Yeah, I know. I was just messing with you, though I do mean that I am totally open to tango with you, if you did want to.”

“Please, let us get back on topic,” Logan sighed and the pirate seemed to understand that he reached a limit.

“To answer your question: I don’t mind you asking some stuff in return. Though if I don’t wanna answer something, I won’t. Of course, that goes for you, too. I’m not gonna be too nosey.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! Now, tell me more about how you met the Council! They’re the big bosses of the Spirits, right?”

“They are a collective of spirits that act as a sort of government, yes. Most of them are older than we could possibly imagine. They keep the balance of the natural world.”

“That is so fucking cool! And how did you end up meeting them?” Remus was leaning very close to him, staring at his face with an intensity that made Logan a bit uncomfortable. Thankfully, the water in the cauldron was now boiling, so he could flee to fetch two cups and the tea leaves. He put the leaves in the cups, then carefully added the water before handing one of them off to Remus and moving to sit on his bed with his own. Remus followed but decided to sit on Logan’s chest instead, creating some much-needed distance between them – well, needed by Logan at least.

“I will not go into detail,” Logan started, staring at his cup while it brewed, trying not to dive too deep into painful memories, “but I was brought along by someone against my will. Why exactly they took me, I do not know, I was barely conscious, but I believe my captor thought having a sacrifice might be a good back-up plan if his meeting with the Council went sour. I don’t think he lived long enough to offer.” He chanced a quick glance up at Remus who was sitting eerily still as he listened.

“When I regained my bearings, I was alone with the Council. They asked me questions and I answered honestly. I was quite afraid. But they understood that I bore no ill intent and thus offered me a deal. A chance to do the research I always dreamed of doing, for as long as I wanted, as long as I shared my findings with the Council.”

“Why were they so interested in your research? You said you dabbled in biology and botany, right?” Logan nodded in confirmation, making Remus narrow his eyebrows. “Shouldn’t they already know everything you could find? They’re basically nature itself, right?”

“Yes, most of my findings are simply confirmation of what they already know. But nature is unpredictable and so there are some developments – mutations if you will – that even the Elemental Spirits aren’t aware of. Nature adapts and that can happen in many unexpected ways.”

“That’s so fucking cool,” Remus cheered, kicking his legs like a child. Logan smiled, glad to share his passion with another and receive a positive response. Even back during his studies he had rarely met like-minded people. He took a sip of his tea before asking the pirate a question he’d been wondering about.

“Do you have any background in academics? You said your father was a fisherman, did you receive any education? I’m afraid I am not knowledgeable of the current rate of literacy amongst the populace.”

“You talk funny,” Remus snorted. “But yeah, that’s fair, I guess. I did learn how to read and write as well as basic math but not much more than that.” Logan noticed one of Remus’ hands fiddling with his shirt at his chest but decided not to pry.

“Were you a special case or is that the standard education nowadays?”

“Standard, I think. I mean, I could have gone to school longer, but it wasn’t really my thing. Ro stuck around longer, but he was always the smarter of the two of us.”

“Who is ‘Ro’ if I might ask?”

“Roman, my twin brother.”

“Is he part of your crew?” Remus barked out a laugh.

“Fuck no. He’s too righteous for that. Nah, he’s a sailor, works for whoever will hire him last I heard. Well, not everyone. He stays away from any military vessels, we both learned young what shitheads they are.” By now, Remus was tightly gripping at his shirt and Logan couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer.

“What is under your shirt?” A poorly phrased question, he quickly realized. Remus looked shocked for a moment, seemingly not having noticed where his hand had wandered before a wide grin split his face and he leaned closer to Logan.

“If you wanna see me with my clothes off, you could’ve just asked,” he teased. Logan sputtered for a moment, face bright red, before he managed to protest.

“That is not what I was referring to and you know it!” The pirate leaned back and laughed loud and long. By the time he stopped, Logan’s blush had mostly receded.

“Sorry, that was just too good for me to pass up.” Remus wiped a tear from his eye. “But I guess it’s only fair now that I spill the tea.” Jokingly, he raised his still steaming cup, but placed it on the ground without letting any of the liquid escape. Afterwards he pulled on a chain around his neck, revealing a locket from underneath his shirt.

“This is a family heirloom of sorts. My dad had it made for Mom in place of an engagement ring since it was cheaper and they couldn’t really afford more. Later, he got another one made on Mom’s request so they could match. She said it made her feel better about sending him out to sea. Ro has the other one now and I kinda see where mom was coming from. Knowing he has the other makes me feel like we’re connected still.”

“That is a wonderful story, Remus. I am sorry if this is overstepping a boundary, but am I right in assuming your parents have passed?”

“Yeah.” The pirate looked solemn and Logan had to suppress the urge to grab his hand in support. “Ro and I were away; we were doing an apprenticeship to learn to sail on something bigger than a fishing boat. There was a pandemic in our hometown. By the time we heard and made our way back, Mom had already passed. Dad had managed to survive the illness, but it left him severely weakened. He was bedridden when we saw him. Told us that Mom said sorry she left without saying goodbye. That he was sorry he wouldn’t stay either. Ro and I sent him off. I never expected him to make it long without Mom, he basically worshipped her. If Ro and I had still depended on him he might have been able to pull through, but I guess he didn’t have much to live for anymore.”

“My condolences.” It was all Logan could think to say.

“It’s been a few years, I’ve come to terms with it,” Remus waved him off, though his smile was wavering. He put the locket back under his shirt. “Anyway, let’s switch to less depressing topics! How does reporting back to the Council work? Like do they summon you or something?”

“In very rare cases,” Logan explained, glad as well that they changed the direction of discussion again, “but most of the time they send a representative, usually two sirens that go by Janus and Virgil.”

“Sirens?!” Remus eyes were wide and he leaned closer. “What are they like?” Logan raised a brow.

“You’re a pirate. Surely you have encountered sirens before.”

“Nope, actually! At least not up close! We know better than to sail into their territory. I’ve seen some shapes that I think were sirens but I can’t say for sure. I always wanted to meet one!”

“You seem to be very interested in anything that has to do with Elemental Spirits.”

“Duh! It’s fascinating stuff!”

“I think so, too, but most see them as a bother more than anything else.”

“Yeah, I know. Really stupid in my opinion. Like they were here before us, we’re the ones intruding. They’re just defending what’s theirs.”

“I am glad you think so as well. I always found it incredibly rude how people talk about nature like it is something we need to fight instead of adapting to co-exist with it.”

“Exactly!” They smiled at each other, though Logan broke eye-contact when he felt his blush return. He cleared his throat.

“To answer your question about Janus and Virgil: they both are rather brash. Janus dislikes humans and staying on the surface too long, especially on sunny days. Virgil is skittish, and though he doesn’t necessarily dislike humanity, he fears us to a degree, so he’d rather stay away from the surface as well. He does come by occasionally to just chat which Janus is much less likely to do.”

“A siren fearing us sounds strange to me.”

“Well, as far as I understand it, there are Siren Hunters out there that specialize in capturing them. And siren scales are quite valuable, with their immortality and regeneration, if they are trapped, it is likely to end in torture for them.”

“Oh, I fucking hate the Hunters. Total dicks. Think they’re the shit, better than anybody else. Shot one in the head once, his face as he realized what was about to happen was so funny.”

“Please tell me more about your travels. I am quite curious to hear about the daily life of a pirate.”

“Sure! But you gotta tell me a bit more about your research too!”

“Gladly.”

~~~

They talked for hours about Remus’ life on the sea – even a bit about his childhood adventures with his brother – and Logan’s time as an immortal. Remus noticed that he avoided talking about his life before that for long, all he learned was that Logan grew up as the fourth son of a noble and after finishing his studies at his university didn’t get the funding for his passion project, so he worked as a navigator for hire to try and fund it himself. The pirate didn’t press him for more details than he was willing to give, they had only just met after all.

“I should head back to the ship soon,” Remus commented once he saw the sky turn orange through the canopy of trees above him. Logan startled, apparently not having noticed the passage of time.

“I apologize for holding you up for so long. Your crew must be worried.”

“It’s fine,” Remus waved him off, though he did get up to his feet, Logan close behind. “This isn’t the longest I’ve been away from the ship. They’ll send a squad if it gets dark though, so I should get back before then.”

“I agree, that is for the best. I would prefer the wildlife to remain as undisturbed as possible. Where is your ship? I can guide you back.”

“I mean, I got a compass, so I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I would prefer to guide you, it will be faster and again, it will cause less disturbances.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. We’re anchored on the south-western coast.”

“Very well, then please follow me.” Logan walked off, back into the jungle, and Remus hurried to follow him.

“Can I come back tomorrow? And bring a friend?”

“Just one?”

“Yeah. I’m sure the others would be curious, too, but Pat is the calmest one amongst them, as well as the one most interested in the topic.”

“Very well. If your supplies allow you to stay, I do not mind.”

“They should. I think.” Logan looked back at him with a doubtful expression. “I’m gonna check in with Pat on that to be sure, I promise. And I still need to hide this thing now that I think about it.” He gestured to the satchel at his side. Logan stopped and fully turned towards him.

“How big is it?” Remus pulled the box containing the seal out of the bag and showed it to the immortal, who looked it over once. “I believe I know a good place to store it. I can show you tomorrow.”

“That would be awesome, thanks.”

“My pleasure.” They continued on their way for a few more minutes until Logan stopped again, pointing further ahead. “We are not far from the beach, just continue straight ahead. I will meet you here again in the morning.”

“Got it, thanks, Death Defiant!” The nickname made Logan scowl, and Remus laughed as he jogged passed. True to Logan’s word, the captain soon broke through the tree line to a by now familiar looking beach. There was a rowboat pulled up on the sand but instead of Sloane, Remy and Emile waited for him.

“There you are, Capt’n,” Remy yawned. “We were starting to worry.” Considering that his First Mate sat on the beach leaned against his boyfriend, both wrapped in a blanket and looking very relaxed, Remus found that hard to believe.

“Yeah, yeah. I know I’m probably getting chewed out by Patton, let’s just head back.”

“Do we have to?” Remy whined, cuddling closer to Emile. “I don’t wanna move.”

“The captain has spoken, love, up you get.” Emile unwrapped the blanket and gently pried Remy off of him who let out another whine but complied.

“Fine! I was getting hungry anyway,” he pouted before climbing into the rowboat. Emile rolled his eyes at his dramatics but followed. Which left Remus to push the boat back into the water, but he managed it without much struggle. Remy and Emile were lighter than they looked.

Back on the ship, Patton indeed scolded Remus for remaining gone for the whole day and especially for leaving Sloane behind (Sloane himself didn’t seem to have minded it, actually).

“Did you at least find a good hiding spot?” Patton sighed, probably having noticed that he wasn’t getting through to his captain.

“Not yet, but I did find something far better,” Remus grinned. Patton tilted his head, looking like a confused dog. “I’m gonna show you tomorrow. Everyone!” he called, getting the attention of his crew that had gathered on the deck in preparations for dinner. “We’ll be staying here one more day! Or like half a day, we can afford that, right, Patton?”

Patton looked annoyed to be asked that after Remus had already made the announcement but nodded.

“Do we get to know why?” Missy asked.

“Nah, it’s a secret for now!”

“Figured.” The crew turned back to what they were doing before, all knowing better than to question their captain when he gets like that. Remus was so proud that they knew him so well.

“Now, let’s get some food, I’m starving!”

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snowdice · 2 years

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Sometimes Labels Shift (Mini Fic Series 43)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Virgil & Logan, Virgil & Patton, Logan/Patton

Characters: Virgil, Logan, Patton

Summary: Logan enjoyed Virgil’s graduation ceremony. Everyone else enjoys the after party.

“Ugh,” said Virgil when they entered the mall. “Air conditioning. Finally.”

Patton glanced over and smiled at him. He himself was relieved to be in the air conditioning after having sat in the heat for over 2 hours and then taking pictures outside the school. The drive from the graduation ceremony to the mall had been too short for the car’s air condition to manage to cool it down, so coming inside was the first relief they’d had.

Virgil had removed his cap and gown after taking pictures. Between the cap and his sweat, his purple tinged hair was sticking to his head a bit, not that he seemed to care at this point.

“I’m going to eat so much pizza,” Virgil continued.

“He doesn’t get to choose the type of pizza we’re getting, right?” Remy stage whispered to Patton.

“Oh, Logan’s buying me whatever pizza I want today because he made me sit through that.”

“You will be glad you went to your graduation ceremony later in your life,” Logan insisted. Patton wasn’t sure if that was true for Virgil, but Patton had gotten to get a lot of cute pictures of him in his gown, so he was content with having sat in a stuffy auditorium for a couple of hours.

“I will not,” Virgil argued back. “Which is why I’m getting shrimp and olive pizza today.”

“We’re buying our own pizza,” Remy said to Emile.

Patton smiled as Remy, Virgil, and Logan started arguing about what pizza was going to be ordered once they got to the restaurant.

They were about halfway to the restaurant which was on the other side of the mall when Patton’s eyes landed on a sign.

“Oh!” Patton said, stopping in front of the Build-a-Bear. “Virgil, do you remember when we first came here to buy you stuff.”

“I do, Pat,” Virgil said, glancing at the storefront. “Shadow’s on my desk right now.”

Patton smiled.

“Patton no,” Logan said as Patton grabbed Virgil’s arm. “We-” Patton pulled Virgil into the store to the boy’s amusement.

“They have little graduation caps!” Patton said, enthused.

“Yes, I can see that,” Virgil said with a wide smile.

“We have to get you one!”

“Patton please…” Logan said.

“We have to get him one, Logan,” Patton insisted. “Or two. Or three!”

“One,” Logan said.

“Or three!”

“Patton…”

Patton paid him no mind, linking his arm with Virgil’s who was grinning widely. “Take it as payback for the two hours I sat in that auditorium,” Virgil said.

“I thought that was the pizza…”

“The pizza’s worth, like, 20 minutes max of that,” Virgil said, sticking out his tongue.

“Come on, let’s pick some out,” Patton said.

They walked through the aisles looking at all of the choices. Remy and Emile joined them, but then wandered off to whisper to each other amongst the shelves.

In the end, Patton did make them get three (sort of four), though they were part of a special set. The set was a plush bird’s nest, and you got to pick three birds to go in it. The demonstrative pictures mostly had birds of all the same type in each nest, but Patton asked an employee if they could pick out their own birds and they said yes.

After much debate, Patton and Virgil picked out three birds for the nest. Easy enough to choose, they picked out a bluebird first and dressed it up in a little vest and glasses. Then, they chose a dove and put it in a doctor’s coat and last, they picked out a slightly smaller crow which they dressed up in the graduation outfit Patton had pointed out before.

“It’s perfect!” Patton gushed. “I love them.”

Despite his headshake, Logan smiled as he paid for the stuffed animals.

“Anyway,” Virgil said once the new stuffed animals were paid for. “Shrimp pizza?”

Logan sighed.

Emile and Remy were already waiting outside for them with their own bag.

“What did you two get?” Patton asked curiously.

“It’s actually a present for you,” Remy said with a huge smile. Emile was looking away, clearly trying (and failing) to pretend to not be a part of this.

“For me?” Patton asked, confused as he took the offered bag.

“Well, really it’s going to be a present for all of us, I’m sure,” Remy said with a wink.

Patton frowned and reached into the bag. He immediately laughed. “Aw!” he said. “A Bluebird teddy bear!”

“I hate you,” Logan immediately said to Remy.

“I’ll love it forever and ever!” Patton declared.

Virgil laughed. Logan sighed.

Want to read more? Click below!

Labeled Master Post.

My Masterpost.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logicality #remy sanders #emile piccani #remile #platonic moxiety #platonic analogical #labeled universe #sometimes labels shift #sometimes labels shift mini fic #adriana writes #not pieces fic

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asksuccubussides · 9 months

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(Hi, me again. I’ve got a bunch of different ones so feel free to pick yours favourites and ignore the rest. Obviously platonic asks for everyone but Remy and Emile.)

Janus+Virgil - 6, 8, 10, 14, 23

Roman+Remus - 7, 12, 20, 30, 41

Emile+Remy - 3, 11, 17, 24, 31

Sketch

(Yay i was hoping someone would pick 3 for Remile C: also sorry this took so long, been busy with some personal stuff. not proofread)

Janus & Virgil

8. What do they love most about the other? Why?

"I don't like this question" Virgil replied instantly as he blushed just a little. Though he was so pale even the tiniest bit of blush made his cheeks look red "This question sucks"

"We can skip ahead to the next question I suppose"

10. Do they share any hobbies or interests? How do these things bring them together?

Janus looked over to Virgil "What don't we share? We both enjoy arson, debauchery and most of all tax evasion. just to name a few"

"Not true! Especially the second one! I like all things supernatural, occult, frieghtening and generally scary" Virgil's voice constantly sounded hoarse and just a bit darker than it was naturally supposed to be "And unlike the slimey snake I have awesome music taste"

"Oh pleassse-"

"I can take the smooth jazz and the blues but my line is drawn at showtunes dude"

"Come ON Virge! The black parade is basically two box steps away from being a full on musical. You can not look me in the eyes and tell me your little dressed up boys aren't just as theatrical as mine"

Virgil just rolled his eyes while moving his hands like it was a mouth non stop blabbing.

"I have a theory that the interests you share with your childhood best friend sticks with you like a mold for the rest of life which is the only reason why I do enjoy less sophisticated things like ghost hunting videos and cryptids" Janus explained to which Virgil butted in with.

"I'm the mold"

"Though most of the time I tend to focus on philosophy, psychology and general hatred for the way society is today. Very healthy enjoyable activites all around"

"We hate society...Together!"

Janus and Virgil both nodded dramatically while high fiving over that.

14. Do they enjoy PDA, or are they more private with affection?

"If someone tries to touch me I will gnaw their arm of....Or more realistically just run away" Virgil said "Janus can touch me sparingly because he's not a person, he's a snake"

"Obviously"

"Yeah obviously. Especially not in public. I don't even want to be visible in public or exists there! Much less all" He grimaced while waving his hand around "That"

"I for one definitely would neeevveer enjoy any sort of public affection because I am obviously very much against those sorts of theatrics" Janus snarked out.

23. What are the defining characteristics of their relationship?

"I'm a dramatic bitch and Virgil is 60% pure anxiety and therefore far too compassionate to me for his own good" "We grew up together so we're kinda stuck together now" They both said at the same time.

They looked at each other before continuing.

"He's a genuinly good person where as im not" "Seeing him rot makes me so fucking anxious I gotta do something bout it. He keeps me down to earth..Literally...I mean he- you help me with the brain spiders"

They were sitting on the floor of their shared dormroom doing a puzzle precisely because Virgil had seen Janus laying in bed all day and had dragged him up to do anything even if it was just walking around the room a few times before doing a puzzle. Jan went along only becuase he knew it calmed Virgil down.

"I'm not lazing around it's called philosophing" Janus argued "If we were living in ancient times I would be the next Socrates"

"We're living in 2023 and everything is a fucKING NIGHTMAREEE" Virgil took a deep breathe "Screaming helps sometimes"

"Did you get it all out? Want to scream together?"

"YES!"

They sat on the floor next to each other and screamed while continuing with the puzzle.

Roman & Remus

7. How often do they say “I love you”?

"UuuuuuuUUuuuuUUuuuhhhh...Neva? Never!" Remus replied before smiling. "I think I show it well enough nonverbally! Like this"

Remus dove to bite his brother directly in the skin of his knee to which Roman tried to swat him away. Instead Remus started to bite the ends of Roman's hair.

"Stop eating me!!"

"I'm so lovegiving" Remus said with a mouthfull of hair.

With the same wrath in her eyes as a kitty cat about to strike Roman lifted her hand and absolutely smacked her brother down into the floor.

"I for one am muuucchhhh" She sang that last word "better at showing love than you! That is to people deserving of it!! But yes I do say it sometimes...even to...that thing"

"I dont remember you saying mucky ucku lovey stuff to me"

"Yeah! because you're always off your ass when I do and never remember! Maybe if you stopped acting like a sack of poatoes every few weeks you would remember more!!"

"Or you could just say it more" Remus mocked while waging his tail back and forth.

Roman just rolled his eyes.

12. Do they have a difficult time when separated from each other, or are they fairly independent?

"Bitchfuck you spend like all your time on earth obviously we're independent. I spend more time with the dustrats under my bed than I do with you!" Remus exclaimed, waving his arms around like always.

"If anything it's a relief to be away from you" Roman turned his head up while fixing with his hair "A prince such as myself has no reason to be around a blegh like you 24/7"

"And I don't have any reason to hang around a boring non creative little assshit! Except to leave totally awesome bugs in your clothes!"

41. What would they do if they lost the other?

Neither of them answered at first. A quiet gasp left Roman's slightly pursed lips while his ahnds stayed frozen mid air on their way to cover his mouth. Remus insticly moved his tail to wrap around his brother.

"I....I don't like thinking about that..." Roman murmured out "....I already think about it often as it is.....Every time....I am so afraid dukey is going to break the rules in a horrible way some day and I wont be there to.....I don't want to think about it...."

She moved her arms around herself while looking down at the floor. Remus looked to her but she didn't even glance back.

"Well I would hunt them down to the ends of the earths and kill them obviously! And then I would find a way to resurect people so I could kill them again!!"

"...I have to go....I have...something...i have an art show to see" Roman lied while standing up. Remus tried to reach for him with his tail but he quickly left the room.

Through the thin wall Remus could hear Roman take a deep shaky breathe before beginning to quietly mumble to himself "Strong prince. A strong prince doesn't break at something small. Strong brave prince" He began to hymn to the tune of one of his favorite disney songs while walking away.

Emile & Remy

3. What was their first impression of each other?

As soon as the two of them heard the questions they both started to smile silly little smiles. The type of smile reserved to passing to notes to each other during class and holding hands for the first time.

'Alright so girl it was-' Remy began to sign.

"-We met at one of those live dissections they used to have at universities back in the day!!" Emile exclaimed "Of a corpse of course!! I don't support murder!"

'I was there 'cause like I had nothing to do and I was like a demon in the late 1800s what was a bitch to do? I love concerts and like if you think about it a live disesction is a sort of concert! And I' Remy ran their finger mindleesly down their cheek to their lip and spoke the rest of the sentence "I just remember like looking back and seeing you a few seats behind and you were just like....shining...it was blinding and I was like girrrl what the fuck is someone as sweet looking as you doing here"

Emile moved his arm around his lover and nudged his head against theirs "A....supernatural like me wasn't supposed to be in a place like that but I was simply so fascinated by the brain and the body and the beautiful biology of it all. As soon as I saw you I got so nervous you would see me and-" he laughed "I don't even know how you would get me in trouble for it I just thought somehow y'know sweetie?"

"I know babe"

"But gosh once the dissection began I forgot all about my worries I was so intrigued"

"Girrl I could not have cared less bout that diessction. I couldn't stop like eyeing Emile"

"And then at the end you when everyone was leaving you, my sweet little honeybun, talked to me"

Remy moved their tail around his back and pressed a kiss to his temple.

Emile let up into a snort "You asked me why the hell I was there-"

"Which is like toootally the worst first line I coulda said. I know! I should have like asked if you'd sat in sugar 'cause your ass is so sweet"

When Emile laughed again Remy laid their hand against his chest and let the feeling of their laughter reverbete into their hand.

"I love your laugh babe"

24. How do their personalities affect their relationship? Do their characteristics compliment each other, or clash often?

'Bitches like always assume our personalities gonna clash 'cause I'm a rude loudmouth and my sweetie here is a sweetie but eh I think we go together good' Remy signed.

'We've leveled each other out I think. I tell you when you're being too rude and you tell me when I forget personal boundaries and become rude by therapising-"

'You can be a bit naive sometimes' Remy teased with a smile.

Emile poked at their cheek 'And you're too quick to assumptions. But for the most part we're like a puzzle with no pieces missing'

'Nice metaphor'

'That was a parabel but thank you. The best part is that I'm less social than my honeybun but they enjoy sleeping which I don't so I have all of my peaceful alone time and watch all of my cartoon reruns while they're asleep. Cozy cuddles!!'

31. Do they often go out on dates? What are these like?

'How love we been together now babe?'

"Uuuuuhhh we're coming up on 127 years I think. I remember because we look around 27!"

'Yeah were like in our old couple phase sooo like we dont go on dates as often as like we used to do cause now were tots more chill but like maybe once a month right`?'

'Something like that yes' Emile moved his arms around their upper arm and squeezed tight 'I cant go to earth without my honeybun. Im physically unable to open a door to earth. So we like to go on dates on earth'

'I like going to concerts and like testing different beds to sleep in' They bumped their head against their lovers 'Both meanings of sleep in' to which Emile chuckled.

'My favorite part is just walking around in nature and people watching which is good because as long as my sweetie has a coffee we can just sit and stare at people for hours'

'Oh i LOVE bitching bout peoples clothes'

'Gosh when I say it out loud our dates sound so boring'

'When you get over a 100 I think people like get why. Like what else can we do at this point. Look at the fucking mona lisa again!? Cmon now. I know that bitch in and out at this point. I can piss on Freuds grave again'

'We can stay at the hello kitty hotel again'

'That place Was sweet as hell. Good point'

#thanks for the asks!#follow up asks to any of their responses are allowed #remile #sanders sides #tss #platonic anxceit #janus sanders #remy sanders

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prince-rowan-of-the-forest · 9 months

Text

Ribbons and Rainstorms

Chapter 1 : That Fateful Day

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Roman Edevane has been terrified of storms since his twin brother's death when they were small children. He sits and he watches the dark clouds roll from his window, too afraid to sleep but unable to tear his eyes away. Then, one night, lightning strikes the temple on the hill and he forgets all about the storm in his rush to protect it. When he finds not a burning temple, but the God of Storms himself.

After that he kept coming back—Why? He wasn’t sure, and though meeting the god responsible for the storms doesn't abate his fear completely at first, Vi was… nothing like Roman could have ever expected. The God of storms was kind, he was sweet, a little shy and not to mention a whole other level of handsome. Somehow Roman can’t help but fall for them.

But he can’t be in love with a God… can he? Even if he was, could a God ever love him back?

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-Ao3-

Masterpost | Next ->

Art For This Fic by @anxious-mess19

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Warnings: Past character death, touch starvation, panic attacks + flashbacks, non-graphic injuries.

Pairings: Prinxiety, platonic DLAMPR, background Remile

Word count: 42,585

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Thunder terrified Roman.

The fear started on a night like this. When he and his twin brother were only six years old. The night he lost him.

He couldn't help but think about it whenever there was a storm, curled up in the bay window seat of his bedroom wrapped in blankets that couldn’t quite bring him the comfort he wanted. He kept a lantern on the other side of the window seat, but it was still the lightning that brightened his room, water that raced down his window and thunder that shook him to his very soul.

Neither of the servants knew. Of course, he had never told anyone aside from his parents about his fear. The servants would think him weak, a hopeful Protector of the Storm being afraid of thunder, and his tutor would think it an issue he must overcome.

And while he rejected most notions of fear, this one he kept close to his heart.

As much as he hated it while the storm itself raged on, when his fear took control and made him weak. When there wasn’t a storm to scare him he kept that same fear safe in his heart, reminding him of his lost brother, lost to the fire that struck him down from the sky. He had been there when it happened and seen Remus afterwards, drenched in water and coated in mud in their garden but so severely burned that he didn’t even look like his brother anymore. He had screamed and cried until a maid had rushed down from the house to find the young Roman cradling his twin close. He had still been alive, though barely, and unconscious. They had rushed him to the closest healer, still in the darkness of the storm. But in the end he hadn’t made it, and died with Roman clutching his hand.

After Remus died, Roman had refused to leave their room for nearly a week, and for every thunderstorm since he had sat in his window wrapped in blankets, praying to the great God of the Storm that his brother was safe in the afterlife and no-one else would be hurt.

His household by now knew not to bother him during a storm, even if only his parents knew why.

From beyond his window, one stormy night that was the same as most, Roman saw a flash and flinched, before his eyes widened, lightning had just struck the temple that stood tall on the hill in the forest beyond their house. He watched as lightning struck once more, twice, then three times and that… couldn’t be normal? Wasn’t it said that lightning never struck twice? But here it was, striking the temple over and over.

Not to mention, that was the temple the lightning had hit. The temple dedicated to Vi, the storm God. The temple he, Roman, was supposed to protect, ironically.

Storm almost entirely gone from his mind in an instant, Roman ran from his room. Grabbing his sword from its hook by the door as he went. He ran through the house, grabbing his cloak with one hand and throwing it over his shoulders while he tugged on his boots with the other.

“Roman?” Taz, called, shock lacing her voice, “Honey, what in the name of the Sun himself are you doing? Where are you— Roman!?”

“No time, Ma! I have to go, I’ll— I’ll be back— I’ll explain later,” he called, throwing open the back door and running straight out into the rain.

His boots slid a little when they hit the soaked, mud coated grass. But his years of training — agility courses and races against other trainees through rough terrain — helped him to keep his footing as he ran through their gardens towards the forest. The sky lit up once again with lighting, and Roman’s attention was drawn back to the storm. The thunder crashed as he ran, the fear in his heart somehow guiding him towards the temple. He ran faster, not even hesitating as he leapt over the wall that separated their gardens from the road and the forest on the other side. He didn’t stop running until he stood on the steps of the building.

The temple was grand, as it should be, built from bricks of black marble, streaked with white like lighting strikes. The large brackets that usually held flaming torches — which he lit and replenished mind you — were put out by the rain that had soaked the front steps and a large portion of the inside of the temple too, though the braziers at the back nearer the altar were still glowing bright with fire. The sight had Roman wondering if he had been seeing things. The temple didn’t seem damaged from the lighting strikes in the slightest. The only damage the temple faced was the constant wasting of time and abandonment — he had always been one of the very few to come here, after all.

His instincts still urged him forward though, so Roman mounted the steps to the temple, trying his best to get some of the mud from his boots. As he entered the temple at last he noticed a figure stood next to the altar. They dressed in black and a deep, rich purple, they looked almost like a shadow in the firelight.

“Hey!” Roman called, raising his sword, he was the lone defender of this temple, after all, and his gut was telling him there was something strange about this figure, some kind of… strange aura, they didn’t turn, but their head lifted, “What is your business here?”

“You’re not going to fight me with that sword, are you?” The stranger said, still facing away from him, Roman thought he could hear the smirk on their face through their voice.

“That depends,” Roman answered slowly, this figure sent a spark of adrenaline through his heart that he hadn’t felt for a reason other than rumbling thunder for years and years, “Do you wish to do harm to this temple?”

“I do not,” They said, running their fingers over the old silver candelabra that sat on the altar in a way that seemed much too delicate for their imposing presence, “You are the one who sits and watches the storms, fearful, from your window, are you not?”

Roman wasn’t sure what to say, his sword now lowered to the ground. He still wasn’t certain this stranger wasn’t a threat. Besides, how on earth did this stranger know that?

“I see you there often,” They said by way of explanation, “But I don’t understand why you’re here now? The storms make you afraid, yet you have left your safety, here in the Storm’s temple itself, don’t you think you’re in more danger?”

He had to take a deep breath, the words stabbing through him, he noticed then that his hands were shaking. Only now did he realise that yes, he had left the safety of his windowsill, why? What was it that brought him here?

“I… I saw lightning strike the temple,” He said, “So…”

“The temple is undamaged by the sky’s fire,” The stranger told him, resting a hand fully on the altar and lifting the other to gesture to the ceiling, “It is the storm God’s temple, after all,”

“Oh… of course” Roman said quietly, admittedly, he now felt a little stupid. He should have had faith that the Gods could protect their own temples.

“The temple is safe, why don’t you go home?” The stranger asked. Roman turned to look back out the door, just in time to see a lightning bolt strike somewhere in the far distance. He flinched, the idea of staying in the temple with this stranger seemed far superior to going back out into the storm now that he had come to his senses.

“No I… I think I’ll stay,” Roman said, clutching his sword tightly, his drenched cloak heavy on his shoulders. He honestly felt rather pathetic in front of the stranger, whose robes seemed to be of finer quality than any noble he’s ever seen, definitely more expensive than anything his family owned. They may be rich for their small village, but in comparison to other families… they had barely anything. He was soaking wet and in his nightclothes underneath the cloak and boots, he hadn’t been expecting to meet a pretty, well-dressed stranger in the temple, though he wasn’t sure what he had been expecting either.

“Oh, really?” The stranger asked, “Shouldn’t you go home to your mother? She’s worried about you, after you ran off into the rain without a warning nor an explanation,”

“How do you… know that?” Roman asked slowly, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

“I know of all that takes place in my domain,” They said, turning a little, black hair and glittering silver circlet giving way to moonlight pale skin and piercing silver eyes that glowed slightly in the darkness, Roman took another step back that must have been instinct, “And you, little protector, just happen to be quite interesting."

“You’re…” Roman trailed off, gaze flickering from the stranger’s face to the tapestry that hung between the flaming torches on the back wall of the temple. The same pale skin, though depicted with purple eyes, and black hair splayed out like a dark halo. The figure on the tapestry was wearing dramatically flowing purple and midnight blue robes and held a lightning bolt within their hands. The figure who stood in front of him had black streaks under their eyes, as if they had been crying black tears and he wore simpler clothes than the tapestry depicted, but Roman had no doubt that they were the same person.

The God noticed Roman’s line of sight and turned to look at the tapestry as well, before turning back with a smirk on their face. He noticed distantly that his eyes now glowed purple like the tapestry, and his hair had gained purple streaks amongst the black. What on their good earth.

“Perhaps,” they said, glancing back at the tapestry, “It’s quite unflattering, really, I look far too…” They paused, bringing a hand up to their chin, “Villainous, maybe, is that why no-one comes here?”

Roman spluttered for a second, his mind tripping over the fact that he was talking to a literal God right now far too much to form proper sentences. After a moment of opening and closing his mouth, though, he finally found a sentence, “I— I don’t know… most people I meet say that the Sun God is more friendly or the God of Stars more appealing, even my mother doesn’t understand why I worship here,”

“Of course,” Vi sighed, “Why do you?”

“Why do I… what?” Roman asked, confused.

“Worship here,” they said, “You’re afraid of me and my storms, yet you still pray to me and see that my temple is clean and protected. I do not understand why.”

“Oh…” Roman sighed, looking down, he didn’t want to talk about this, God or not. He supposed he would have to, a direct request from a God was not one to be refused, “I— um— well— my brother— twin brother— he died, when we were a lot younger…”

Vi’s eyes seemed to soften, but he didn’t tell Roman to stop.

“He was struck by lighting, during a thunderstorm,” Roman said, his voice growing small, “I started worshipping you afterwards because— I guess because six-year-old me thought since your lightning killed him, you’d be able to protect him in the afterlife, which is, stupid, I know, Jay probably would’ve been better, but I guess I’ve hoped— whatever, storms remind me of the day it happened, that’s— that’s why I’m scared at least.”

When he looked up he found that Vi was now right in front of him, like, right in front of him. He had to look up to look at their face, this guy was unfairly tall, and unfairly pretty too, it probably came with being a God.

“I’m sorry for what has happened to you,” Vi said, his deep voice unfairly soft. Was everything about this God unfair? “Storms are forces of destruction, it’s true, but I never intend for them to take the lives of those so young and undeserving.”

“Thank you-?” Roman stuttered, when on earth had he started crying? One corner of Vi’s mouth pulled up into a half smile as he leaned forward and kissed his forehead. The spot they had touched felt almost like it burned but… in a way that wasn’t unpleasant, somehow.

“I accept your thanks,” Vi told him, hands on his shoulders, the touch burning even through his clothes made him jolt slightly in surprise. He wondered if that burning sensation was something that came with Vi or if it was something else, “I will see you another time, for now you must return home, the storm is clearing up,”

True to his word, the rain outside the temple was starting to calm and the thunder was sounding much further away. When Roman looked back to Vi, he found him gone in a swirl of purple sparks.

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Masterpost | Next ->

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Taglist: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @reptilianrapscallion420 @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti

(i'm only tagging you all in this first chapter because today is going to be a longggg day of spam!)

#sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #prinxiety #sanders sides fanfiction #fanfic #ts roman #ts virgil #rowan writes #Ribbons and Rainstorms

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edupunkn00b · 1 month

Text

My WIPs Summarized Badly

Many thanks to @penna-nomen for tagging me!

Following your model, here are my WIPs in my planned order of completion. Let's see how this goes. Some have been partially published, some are only glimmers in my head (and Google Docs).

There are some spoilers in the notes below but so few people are likely to see this I think I'm safe. :D

Dystopian future man (who got eaten an Amazon Abracadabra (tm) packing bot in the last story), runs away to live with the local superhero clan and falls in love. (Meus ex Machina; intrulogical, oranceit, familial morange)

The gods must be crazy. (Villains Aren't Born. They're Made; intruality, intrulogicality if we're really, really good)

And they were roommates. (Where the Air Is Sweet; logicality)

A formerly enthralled new vampire learns how easy it is to enthrall another human. Well, werewolf. Well, you know what I mean. Oh, and did I mention he and his friends need to save New York City's supernatural beings from bigoted normies? Yeah. (Thrall; intruanaloceit, orange-tinted royality, logince zest)

There is a mage in the South. (Just Like Magic; platonic (?) loceit)

There's something strange going on in the Mindscape. (Echoes of Our Future; intrulogical)

Patton Croft is two years old. (Fatherhood, part of Overruled; intruloceit)

Janus likes wine. (About Janus; intrulogical)

And they were roommates. Again? (Roomies; intruality)

Dracula learns to love. (untitled, from the Beside Me-Dee-Thrall universe; Intruanaloceit)

Once upon a time, Remus and Logan get married. Remus has a nightmare. (Dreams and Nightmares, Logan-Janus-Roman-Remus/Happily Ever After universe; intrulogical, roceit, remile)

Remus and Logan get married. The end. (Love You Madly, from the Love and Madness/Play Us a Song universe; intrulogical)

An android falls in love. (Welcome to the Hive; intruloceit)

There's a reason bodyguards shouldn't fall in love with their clients, you know. (With My Life; roceit)

Time loops have been done before. (Time After Time; intrulogical)

Janus is the Doctor’s soulmate, reincarnated through dozens of characters in their search for them across the universes. (More Time With You)

[ redacted ] ([ redacted ]; loceit)

Did I boop you on the 1st? Please consider that a tag! :D

#Meus ex Machina #Villains Aren't Born. They're Made #Where the Air is Sweet #Thrall #Just Like Magic #Echoes of Our Future #Fatherhood #About Janus #Roomies #Dreams and Nightmares #Love You Madly #[ redacted ]#untitled #WIP Ask game #Welcome to the Hive #With My Life #Time After Time #some have already begun being published #some have not

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sandersidesbigbang · 8 months

Text

Halcyon

Image ID: The picture shows a the classical overlay of a penguin company book with the lower half black and the title Halcyon in white. The upper half shows a small golden crown with a clear gem. Around are flowers in bloom in various orange, yellow, white and rosé colors. [End ID]

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Roceit (Main), Remile (Background), ThomasxNico (Background/not on screen), rest is platonic

Summary/Excerpt: Everyone can imagine why a prince being kidnapped by the fae is a politically delicate affair. It's also overall stressful for said prince's friends. So naturally everyone is delighted when they manage to get Roman back to the castle. Except the one teenie tiny little problem that he doesn't seem to recognize his friends.

AUTHOR

@the-princey-pie

BETAS

@the-depressed-comedic-relief

ARTISTS

@pompomqt

@expolikestoart

#promo post #tssbb2023 #thomas sanders sides big bang

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oh-theatre · 2 years

Text

Objection!: Chapter 31

Chapter title: Soon

A/n: Stands awkwardly. Hi! Okay so, i know its been two years since the previous chapter and I honestly did not think I would be writing a new one. But this story deserves an ending so I do intend to finish it to all those still out there who read it. So whoever is still here, thank you and I hope you enjoy the chapter <3

First | Previous | Next

words: 1511

summary: Pattons finally recovering, where does everyone go from here?

pairings: Logicality, Prinxiety, platonic Demus, romantic Remile

warnings: Hospital mention, Courthouse/Law mentions

Ao3 Link

“I'm cleared!” Patton announces, a tired whoop from the crowded room makes him giggle. Logan grunts in approval, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. “I get to go home” He explains quietly to the sleeping twins resting on his bed, his fingers carding through their hair.

“And while we’re all ela-” Roman pauses, yawning “-ted, it's far too early” Virgil nods, looking sadly at his now empty cup of coffee.

“He should be able to be checked out around noon today, we want to go over some home care, medicines he’ll need to be taking…” Patton nods along, not sure where the doctor's instructions fell out of tune but Roman was right it really was too early. Once she had finished, given an extra copy of instructions to Logan and taken her leave, the two made their way out.

“Work and stuff” Virgil had, oh so kindly explained, taking his leave with Roman sleepily guiding him the right way. The lawyer couldn't help but smile, glad his friends finally put the puzzle pieces back together.

“Hmm” Logan hummed next to him, “I'll be back around noon to pick you up, Emile and Remy have agreed to take the kids for a bit so you'll only have to worry about rest” He explained through his own suppressed yawn. Patton flashes a grateful smile to the detective and his partner, receiving two thumbs up from Remy. He watches as the couple gently lift the sleeping children, waving them off. “And while I love you” Logan continued “I have work to get to”

“Aw shucks, you sure you dont wanna hang out with me and my Friends reruns?” Patton teases, Logan lips turn up slightly, signs of an amused smile. “Go, be a lawyer, I'll see you at noon” He assures, tugging the taller down only a bit to plant a kiss.

“Noon then” He confirms before joining the others and leaving Patton alone once more.

“Finally” he stretches. Don't get him wrong, he loved his friends, he loved Logan, his kids. But finally, eyes weren't constantly watching him, he could breathe. He only hoped this refreshing feeling continued at home. He was finally feeling like himself again, his fingers itching to be back in the courthouse, standing in front of a judge fighting for something, for someone. “George!” He exclaims to himself, rushing for his phone on his nightstand. He practically punches in the number. “George” He smiles, the other line connects instantly. He hears apologetic rambles at first listening as they turn into worries for the lawyer then a burning anger of vengeance. Christ, Patton could barely get a word in. “Ge-” He tries, cant blame him for not being heard over what he thinks is the man shouting at the tv for…existing? He can't help but laugh, shaking his head. “George,” He states firmly, finally receiving silence. He knows, knows you should never judge solely by a cover. Any man can fake who they are, any person can smile while hiding a sinister secret. But Patton couldn't help it, this man wasn't capable of what he'd been accused of. “I'd love to meet up”

~~~ “Too early” Virgil complains again, “Early early early” He shakes in defiance. Roman finishes checking himself and his guest into the courthouse, wrapping up a polite conversation with Jenny.

“Honey” He begins, Virgil's soft “Early”s continuing “Ho-ney” he enunciates, taking his partner's hand. “Coffee?” He offers, allowing himself to ignore just how many the detective had already consumed. Suddenly, like magic, Virgil brightens. Or, as much as he could. After all, he needed some coffee in him. “Come along then, my treat”

“Well I'd sure hope so” the shorter quips, nudging Roman.

“You are spoiled” he decides, lifting up Virgil's hand to kiss it sweetly, regardless of his words.

“Blasphemy, I am so unspoiled, in fact i a-” And before Virgil can continue whatever tangent he planned, Roman saves himself and his ears, he kisses his partner swallowing up whatever words he had. “Cheater” “Work smarter, not harder” Roman grins. And even with Virgil's mumbles of rejection, he was smiling.

“Is that what you teach my kid when you babysit?” Virgil sighs, though his disappointment is only an act.

“Absolutely!” Roman nods, his smile wider than ever. “I tell him, I say ‘Damian. Listen, when you're in math class, simply use a calculator’ and oh does he smile”

“Oh my god, you're a terrible influence” Virgil laughs, feeling his chest bubble with warmth. “He needs to learn how to do math without the calculator” “Virgil” Roman turns, taking the detective's face in his hands. “Mi amor” He starts, Virgil rolls his eyes covering his obvious blush. “When, literally when, will he ever have to do math where a calculator is not available” Romans eyes are stern.

“That's so not the point, it's good for him to have the skill” Virgil rebuts

“The answer is never! Never is he going to be an adult, doing math that requires a calculator, where a calculator is not available” He turns back to the path, stopping by the coffee stand, ordering two cups.

“You're impossible” Virgil whispers, with absolutely zero malicious intent, watching his breath in the cold air. He joins the judges side, thanking him for the coffee.

Strolling the courthouse, both fully aware there was no destination, made him happy. Being by Romans side, even in silence, made him happy.

Virgil was happy.

The guilt washed away with ease. Every ounce that had been shoving him to his knees, grinding them to pieces, let him go. Patton was okay, he was going home, safe. Liam hadn't bothered the group since Logan put him in his place. Remy and him had been forgiven, by both Patton and Logan. James, may he rot, was in jail. And Roman was his. All his to love for however long he was permitted to, a small- no, a big part hoped it was forever. At this bright hour of 8:05 AM, Virgil allowed himself this moment of self indulgence. This moment to be selfish, coffee in one hand, Roman in the other.

He was happy.

~~~

“I am not happy, Tolentino” Heard, processed, and instantly forgotten. Logan's head was killing him, the last thing he needed was a scolding and running on no coffee as well. “I think we need to have a discussion about your recent work ethic”

“Mhm” Logan was barely listening, honestly, his mind was nowhere at the moment. His boss could be firing him from the firm, but he was far too tired to care. After another lecture, Logan was dismissed, giving him ample opportunity to find the nearest coffee booth and consume all of it.

He had been skeptical of the firm working out of the courthouse at first. Lawyers coming in and out, cases he wasn't on though dying to participate happening just next door, the judges bothering him, it had a recipe for disaster written all over it. But it ended up being perfect. It was exactly the place he wanted to work at. If his stuffy office ever got too much, just a quick stroll and he could find himself in the courtyard, listening to the steady fountain flow.

It was perfect.

Plus, this is where he met Patton. Fell in love with him, proposed to him, and watched him everyday.

That wasn't so bad.

He smiled, lifting the coffee to his lips, sipping carefully at the hot beverage. One could argue the worst things also happened here, and they wouldn't be wrong. But the good for Logan, far outweighed the bad. The love of his life walked these halls everyday, lighting up his path as he smiled. Hm, he thought to himself, he should call Patton. He missed his fiancee, and noon was so far away.

“Patton Hart!” A familiar yet welcome warmth creeped on Logan.

“Whos taking whos last name” Well. That was definitely not how he wanted to start the conversation.

“Well,” Patton thought for a moment, considering Logan's question with sincerity. “Patton Tolentino”

Logan would blame the red tint of his cheeks on the cold air.

“Its not bad…but I like my last name!” Patton chirps, Logan nods, covering his mouth “And it's the kids last name” It is, Logan's mind was gone once more. Patton Tolentino, Patton Tolentino, the name ran through his mind. “Lo?”

“Present” A soft giggle resonated through the phone “Logan Hart” He repeats, it felt odd falling off his tongue at first. “Loooogan Hart” He tried once more, it wasn't bad. However, could such a sweet name, filled with adoration, suit him. With his mind busy, he hadn't noticed the other line had gone quiet. “Honeybee?” He inquires softly

“Can't we just get married already” Had he not been listening so intently, Logan would have missed the whisper of desperation.

“What about combining them?” He proposes. A laugh rings through, approving the idea. They continue an idle conversation, but Patton's question continues to play over and over in his mind.

Soon.

Soon, I promise.

#objection au #sanders sides #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #logicality #prinxiety #remile #demus #remus sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #youtube #remy sanders #emile picani #write #writing #ao3 #archive of our own

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krowfics · 2 years

Text

A Spider’s Shadow Chapter 9

Fandom: Warrior cats/Sander Sides

Ships: Prinxiety, Logicality, Dukeceit, otherwise platonic LAMP, familial Creativitwins+Thomas -eventual remile and eventual carrot kings but they will take a while-

Plot: Spiderpaw is the sole witness to a murder, due to this, he is no longer safe in Shadowclan. He soon finds himself amongst a group of secret rebels who disagree with the Warrior Code.

Words this chapter: 2115

Notes: Warriors typical violence/hunting, unsympathetic/morally gray Janus and Remus... that unsympathetic warning is getting less and less believable isn’t it? Remus is Remus but it’s not that bad.

look! i finally finished proofreading it! that is to say i gave up because everytime i looked there were more typos lmao

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8

~~~

"Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath the highledge for a clan meeting." Redstar's voice called first thing in the morning. Enough cats were awake for it, and he likely wanted to get his announcements out of the way before morning patrol left.

Lionbright found himself next to Spiderpaw, who was sitting patiently as cats gathered around. Well, patiently but nervously. Lionbright was exactly sure why, being that Redstar already confirmed that he could stay, but Spiderpaw always seemed a little bit nervous about everything, so Lionbright just rested his tail over the other's shoulder in hopes that he could relax.

"As many of you have heard, Nightstar hunts with Starclan now." Redstar started, Lionbright shuffled minutely closer when he felt Spiderpaw tense up next to him. "According to Acorntail, it appeared to have been her own choice, but we know that is not the case."

There were murmurs throughout the crowd, many eyes went right to Spiderpaw, knowing he was connected somehow.

"As promised, I will explain why Spiderpaw is here, I thank you for not informing cats from other clans of him being here. Spiderpaw witnessed Snakestar taking Nightstar's last lives. I agreed to allow him to stay, given that we received word of Nightstar's death to confirm and now we have."

He turned his gaze to the small apprentice then, "Do you still wish to stay and continue your training in Thunderclan?"

Spiderpaw nodded despite his clear unease, "Yes."

"Then you will need a mentor." Redstar said softly.

Lionbright hadn't thought about that. Who would Redstar pick? He'd have to make someone train two apprentices as the clan was full of 'paws, all the seasoned warriors already had a cat to train.

"Lionbright." The cat in question looked up to his father. Lionbright blinked blankly. What? Why was his name said? He was supposed to step forward wasn’t he? He should do that. Why was his name called?

Lionbright carefully removed his tail from his friend’s shoulders and stood, stepping forward towards Redstar.

“Lionbright,” He repeated, “You are ready to take on an apprentice.” Lionbright felt like he swallowed his tongue, “You have received excellent training from Fernstorm, and you have shown yourself to be brave and caring. You will be the mentor of Spiderpaw, and I expect you to pass on all you know to him.”

Lionbright could barely comprehend what was going on. He suddenly realized that Spiderpaw - his ‘paw - his apprentice, was standing next to him again. He hadn’t expected to get an apprentice until Blossumfur’s future kits turned six moons old. But he has an apprentice now, and not just any apprentice, he was going to train his friend!

He turned to Spiderpaw then, barely able to contain his excitement. Spiderpaw gazed at him softly, giving him a slow blink which sent his chest fluttering. They both stepped closer and touched noses.

The crowd was quiet outside of a few murmurs. They stepped back and just looked at each other, Lionbright shuffled a bit in place, his tail sticking straight up in joy.

“Spiderpaw!” Someone called, both him and Lionbright looked to see Newtclaw yowling from just outside the elders den.

“Spiderpaw!” Beetlestrike repeated next to him. It wasn’t a naming ceremony, but it was half of one, and the rest of the clan picked up on it.

It was quieter than Lionrbight’s ceremony’s cheers, he noticed distantly, but plenty of cats called out the new Thunderclan apprentice’s name and Spiderpaw looked just a bit excited beyond his nerves.

"Also," Redstar said, once the cheering had calmed down a bit, "Ratpaw is missing again. Fernstorm may now begin organizing the patrols." He turned suddenly and returned to his den.

Lionbright held back a scoff. His brother missed his first apprentice ceremony, because of course he did! He's Ratpaw, he doesn't care about anyone or anything, least of all his own kin.

Spiderpaw licked his chest, likely embarrassed from so many cats calling his name. It was almost adorable. He glanced up to Lionbright, “Well then, any plans for your first day as a mentor?” He asked.

“Oh, oh um, no.” Lionbright mewed, still excitedly shuffling his feet where he stood, “Redstar didn’t give me any warning, but um, a tour? A tour of the territory is usually the first thing, I think. Do you wanna do that?”

“I would.” Said his apprentice. His apprentice!

“Let’s- Oh, do you want to eat something first? I’m not really hungry but walking sounds like it might take a while.”

“I can wait.” Spiderpaw said, he might’ve been holding back laughter, but Lionbright paid no mind.

“Then, let’s go.”

They made their way to the clan’s entrance, with Lionbright making a quick stop in front of the deputy to inform her that he'll be out of camp for a while.

Lionbright had an extra hop in his step he couldn't seem to stifle but he didn't mind, "Where do you wanna go first? The borders? The owl tree? Oh, I can show you the places to gather moss, that'd probably be helpful."

"It's your territory, you show me whatever you want to show me first." Spiderpaw said, he sounded distinctly like he was holding back a laugh.

Lionbright turned to him with a grin, "It's your territory too now."

"Yes," Spiderpaw huffed fondly, "But I also don't know where anything is, just pick a place and I'll follow."

Lionbright hummed, "Okay." he nodded, turning towards the lake. They could start there and make their way around Thunderclan territory.

Lionbright was downright giddy showing his friend everything. The best places to find moss, his favorite places to hunt, the training grounds where the forest floor was caked in thick moss, making it perfect for battle training. And also laying on after being exhausted by battle training.

In fact, he should demonstrate just how useful the training grounds were now. The moss was a familiar feeling under his feet, he hadn't spent any time ther since being an apprentice himself. Warriors were, of course, allowed to use the area, but he often found himself too busy to.

He had at least wanted to have a practice fight or two with Ratpaw, maybe teach his medicine cat sibling a few of the more complicated moves he doubted Frostpool had taught him, let alone if she knew them herself. But the thought of his littlermate did nothing more than dig a pit in his gut now.

"It's soft." Spiderpaw said, astonished.

Lionbright returned his attention to the tom, who was staring wide eyed at the ground and shifting on his paws.

"That's what makes it such a good location for training." Lionbright mewed.

Spiderpaw stepped forward, putting weight on the extended paw to feel the squish of the moss underneath. "We don't have any place like this in Shadowclan," he explained distractedly, "Little kits just play in the bedding and by the time they're apprentices they're used to taking hits to the ground."

Lionbright blinked dumbly, "Oh, that sounds a bit … harsh." Maybe not every clan was lucky enough for such an area, still, he'd worry about the chaffing alone from such training. It would be fine for play fighting, kits wouldn't make it to be warriors if they couldn't handle that, but genuine training from a full-grown warrior? Frostpool would never stop lecturing everyone about all the injuries.

Lionbright shook himself, attempting to lighten the mood, "Next you're gonna tell me that they get used to claws then to."

Spiderpaw looked up then, tilting his head in confusion, "They do."

"They…As apprentices?"

"Well, yeah," Spiderpaw said, "As kits too, usually, play fighting and all. No one ever really used their claws on me, Nightstar got a bit nervous whenever I was injured "

He shifted, looking down at his paws again, though Lionbright thought it might be for another reason. He stepped towards his apprentice and pressed their sides together, "Lets go to the next area.'' He suggested softly, Spiderpaw nodding, sticking close to his side for a bit as they traveled through the forest.

At the very end of their tour, Lionbright led Spiderpaw to the outer border. "Badgers and foxes sometimes show up around here so we usually patrol every other day or so. I wouldn't go too far out of the territory," he explained, "There's a thunder path full of monsters once you get too far out."

Spiderpaw looked downright scared at the mention of monsters, "I don't think I want to go out there at all."

Lionbright nodded. Even as a kit he knew to stay far away from the outer border, even if he paid little mind to the rule of kits not leaving camp.

"Come on." Lionbright said, turning, "We should head back to camp and eat something. I can practically hear a sparrow chirping my name."

Spiderpaw started after him but stopped. The warrior was just about to ask him why when he smelled it. Stuffy herbs mixed with sickening twoleg stuff and just a hint of other cats. He could barely parse out the Thunderclan on him.

A barely tamed fury ran through Lionbright, he fought for his shackles not to rise.

Ratpaw was trotting towards them, not a care in all the forest and beyond. He hadn't seemed to notice them yet, looking around at his surroundings instead, with the way the wind was heading he likely hadnt smelled their scent either.

He startled slightly when he saw them, only to pick up his pace, “Oh hello, dear littermate!” he said jollyly, “Have we reevaluated the rule on not letting kits out of camp?” he said, tilting his head to the other cat.

Lionbright stepped forward with a scowl, “I’m taking my apprentice on a tour of the territory.”

Ratpaw paused at that, his calm demeanor stiffened, eyes widening, “Your apprentice?”

He just stared at his brother. He almost wanted to unsheathe his claws and make the other’s betrayal known. He had thought, as unlikely as it was, that Ratpaw wouldn’t want to miss his achievements despite everything. But here he was now, with not an apology to show. Lionbright turned, “We’re heading back now, I suggest you come along.”

Refusing to look back, he only knew that Spiderpaw had followed when the apprentice bounded up to his side. He got confirmation that Ratpaw followed by the faint sound of occasional crunching leaves and the fact that his scent lingered even after a few paces. Lionbright didn't want to turn around to see but he was fairly certain the medicine cat was keeping his distance a few cat-lengths back.

He stepped through the clan entrance fuming, Spiderpaw sticking close to his side.

"Caught something! Though it smells like crowfood." Lionbright announced to no one in particular. Sheepbelly had heard and seemed to take it as a cue to run up to highledge, Redstar peered out a moment later.

"Ratpaw."

"Uh yeah?" he drawled like he hadn't vanished without a trace to go frolicking wherever he frolicked.

"Would you like to explain your absence?"

"Not particularly, no."

Redstar sighed, "I don't know what to do with you, Ratpaw"

"Talk about a lack of creativity! ‘Cause I can think of plenty, cast me out of the clan, kill me in my sleep, make me eat crowfood, or y'know, make me a warrior." He ground out the last part, "But, oh no! We mustn't go against our precious Starclan-"

"Ratpaw. You are not to leave camp for the time being."

"Oh, I've never heard that one before." Ratpaw said, his mew dripping with sarcasm.

Redstar just rolled his eyes and returned to his den, Lionbright could hardly blame him.

The warrior had led his apprentice to the fresh kill pile and was half heartedly looking for something to eat, though recent events seemed to have killed his appetite.

He twitched his ear at someone approaching but didn't turn to look.

"I didn't mean to miss the ceremony." Ratpaw said quietly.

"So you snuck out on accident?" Lionbright asked.

Ratpaw opened his mouth to reply but an angry meow cut him off, "Ratpaw, you get over here this instant!"

All three toms turned to see Frostpool standing near her den.

Ratpaw's face scrunched up and Lionbright almost thought he was going to start hissing.

"It's not fair." He bit out instead and walked to his mentor who was likely about to give him an earful.

Spiderpaw said nothing, just sidled up next to him and pressed their sides together. Lionbright rested his tail on the others back almost instinctively, though he was certain the gesture was more for comforting himself than the other this time.

~~~

posting this at 2am because my sleep schedule is excellent and not at all messed up

Tags~ @perfectly-princely-emo-nightmare @wasinotwantedatthisexactsecond

#thekrowiswriting #sanders sides #warrior cats #warrior cats fic #prinxiety #dukeceit #demus #virgil sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #fanfiction #A Spider’s Shadow

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parker-writes-things · 2 years

Text

hey!! new pinned bc my old one wouldn’t let me edit for some reason

but hiya i’m parker!! i write for many different fandoms, including sanders sides, percy jackson, south park, mha, it 2017/2019, fnaf, pokémon, adventure time, and probably more which i’ll add as i remember :)

(note regarding sanders sides: while i used to be deep into the fandom, i'm not very into it anymore because of personal reasons. i might write for it occasionally, but i'm less likely to take requests for it.)

requests always open, just beware that i don’t always finish things, and i might not have enough motivation to do your request </3 writing is mostly just a pastime for me, and i don’t like pressure being put on me for something that’s just a hobby

my ao3!! (note that only users with accounts can view them because fuck AI <3)

ships in bold are the ones i’m best at or prefer doing; i won’t do anything that’s prosh*p because it makes me uncomfortable to write

sanders sides: i will write any ship platonically!! my only exceptions to romantic relationships are r//mr//m, moceit, royality, intruality, analogical, patton/remy, remus/remy, patmile, romile, lomile, janus/emile, remus/emile and maybe a few others that i’ll add as i remember (again). preferences toward prinxiety, logicality, demus and remile

percy jackson: any ship platonically; romantically i’ll write pernico, solangelo, valdangelo, stollace, and possibly a few more

south park: any ship platonically; romantically i’ll write style, creek, bunny, tyde, gregstophe, fike, and maybe more

mha: any ship platonically; romantically i’ll write tododeku, kiribaku, shinkami, dabihawks, natshig, tamirio, tokoyami/shouji, tokoyami/satou and probably more - may write bakudeku, seroroki or momojirou but only if i feel like it/have ideas for it

it 2017: any ship platonically; romantically i’ll write reddie, stenbrough, benverly, billverly, and possibly stozier if i feel like it

fnaf: any ship platonically; romantically i’ll only write the glamrock animatronics + sun/moon and djmm

pokemon: any ship platonically; romantically i’ll only write red/blue, gold/silver and ash/gary, i’m not back into the fandom enough to do other ships asklsdkskd

adventure time: any ship platonically; romantically i’ll write finn/flame princess or fionna/flame prince and bubbline or gumlee, maybe some side jake/rainicorn or cake/monochromicorn. high preference on gumlee bc i’m a gay guy and it’s more comfortable to me :)

there are probably some i’m missing that i’ll add as i go!! but this is all for now :) will add links to previous stories soon

tags:

for non-writing posts: #parker rambles

for my writing: #parker writes

i don’t tag reblogs just bc i’ve reblogged a lot of things, but if you need any triggers tagged lmk!!!

taglist so far: @psychedelicships (i think that’s who asked to be on the taglist???)

things i’ve written under the cut

“100 bad days” ficlet (sanders sides, patton angst)

“they’ll talk about us” (sanders sides, intrulogical/implied intruloceit)

“it looked alright in the pictures” (sanders sides, prinxiety)

“it’s like i want to be alone, but i want to be touched” (mha, kiribaku)

“please never fall in love again” (south park, style)

“ending.” (south park, bunny)

history of wrong guys (south park, creek)

stage directions (sanders sides, prinxiety)

#pinned #parker writes #rambles #sanders sides #pjo #percy jackson #south park #mha #it 2017 #it 2019 #fnaf #pokemon #adventure time #writblr #writeblr #writerblr #masterpost

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i-am-bitterly-jittery · 2 years

Text

Virgil Ships💜🌩️

A Masterlist of my fics that feature a Virgil ship. For other ships or platonic ships, checkout my Masterlist Masterlist (I reached my link limit on my general Masterlist so I made some smaller ones)

AO3: LonelyThursday

Pairings:

Analogical:

You Can’t Spell ROMANCE Without ROMAN (But I’d Sure Like To), (Original Angst Draft) Oneshot | Word count: 3,081 | Canonverse | & Intruality, Roceit

They Call Me Wicked (<-Masterlist link) Multi-part | Incomplete | Descendants AU | & Moceit, Rosleep

Anxceit:

Quiet Day Cuddles Oneshot | Word count: 311 | Canonverse

Campfire Oneshot | Word count: 522 | High School AU

On Death’s Doorstep (<-ODD Masterlist link) Multi-part | Incomplete | Superpowers AU

Dukexiety:

Five Time Someone Mistook Roman and Remus (And One Time They Finally Met) Austin, Abuela, Virgil, Remy, Janus and Patton, They Finally Meet Multi-part | Complete | Human AU | & Logicality, Roceit

Moxiety:

A Pantheon A Matter For The Gods Series | Incomplete | Mythology AU

This Is Why I Left The Dark Sides Oneshot | Word count: 879 | Canonverse | Platonic or Romantic

Simply Meant To Be (tumblr exclusive) Roceit momceit blurb, Part 1, Part 2 Multi-part | Incomplete | Soulmate AU | & Intrulogical, Remile, Roceit

Setting Sail Rough Seas Ahead, Getting Out Of Hand Series | Incomplete | Pirate AU | & Intrulogical, Roceit

Moxiety Week (Masterlist)

AroAce Remus Perfectly Normal Follow Your Aro Twoshot | Middle School AU | College AU | & Roloceit, QPR Intrumoxiety

Prinxiety:

If love is a game, I’m going to win Oneshot | Word count: 3,652 | Canonverse | & Logicality

Polycules:

Anxceitmus:

Monsters All Oneshot | Word count: 3,003 | Fantasy AU

Soulmates? Oneshot | Word count: 2,701 | Soulmate AU | & Royalogicality, DLAMP

Moxieceit:

To Worship At Your Altar Devoted, Pray To Me A Little Longer: Part 1, Part 2.1, Part 2.2, Part 3 Series | Incomplete | Gods AU | & Intrulogince

Intrumoxieceit:

My Best Friend’s Brother Part 1, Part 2 (complete) Breakfast, Three’s A Crowd, Four’s A Party Janus’s 100% Foolproof Plan To Win Patton’s Heart: Step 1, Step 2, Step 3, Step 4, Step 5, Profit Series | Incomplete | High School AU | & Logince

LAMP:

Go To Bed. Make Me Oneshot | Word count: 540 | Canonverse | Platonic or Romantic

Compartmentalized (tumblr exclusive) Part 1 Multi-part | Incomplete | Human AU | & Dukeceit

Say the Word (I’m already here) Word count: 1,774 | Soulmate AU | & Dukeceit

#ts sanders sides #virgil sanders #thursday writes

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thepenguinclub · 2 years

Text

floriography

virgil/mental health, brotherly virgil & remy, background remile, virgil & emile, virgil & janus, platonic dlamp, soulmates, lots of flowers, mental health struggles, self harm, PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS

word count: 11,104

Summary:

It was the next day when he felt the familiar itch, and instead of looking for something sharp, he looked at the box. He pulled out a few brushes and a few colors and sat, staring at them.

He stared for five minutes before the itch became unbearable and he sighed, reaching out.

He painted a vine of pink and white flowers curling around his left forearm, and when he was done, the itch was gone.

He started doing it more and more, until he found himself painting on his skin even without the itch that had first motivated him to do so. Remy was elated, and complemented every piece of artwork he could see.

Virgil’s soulmates were confused, at first. He had told himself he wasn’t going to read their reactions, but he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t think he could bring himself to keep doing it if they hated it.

They didn’t.

---

Virgil, on starting at rock bottom and working his way up. Flowers are also important.

————

hello, all. just gotta start off by saying that i am extremely proud of this. it's the longest individual work i've written and i think i did a pretty good job, if i do say so myself. i hope y'all like it.

next, thank you to @sunbrightshadows for helping me through this process and being the best beta i could ever ask for, and to thein273 for providing some insight on the characters.

a few notes:

1. heed the warnings. please. if i missed anything, let me know.

2. anything that doesn’t seem explained is most likely explained later. The flower meanings should be explained by the word or few words directly before/after the flower name, but anything that was unclear was added in italics next to the parentheses.

3. also, homophobia does exist in this universe. soulmates are generally expected by society to get married if they’re the opposite sex and be best friends if they’re the same sex. (obviously sibling bonds are not included in this, society does not encourage incest).

enjoy!

WARNINGS: purposeful self harm (cutting), scars, depression, anxiety, abandonment, child neglect, eating and drinking (no alcohol), feelings of self-loathing, cruel words said in anger (situationally cruel, nothing inappropriate or offensive), passing mention of murder and rape (nothing actually happens, just virgil being a little mean and sarcastically paranoid)

stay safe.

————

The bond is formed on everyone’s fifth birthday.

Whether the other person has had their fifth birthday already or not is up to chance and the powers of the universe, so it isn’t uncommon for a five year old to sit with empty skin for a while.

Virgil wasn’t so lucky.

On his fifth birthday he woke up early and excited, eagerly checking his arms for signs of writing that he hadn’t put there. Sure enough, light blue doodles and yellow scribbles greeted him. He ran down the stairs to show his parents.

That was a mistake.

More than one soulmate was unheard of. Documented as rare cases and generally shunned by the world, and, freshly five years old, Virgil learned that lesson harshly. His parents brought him to a doctor, showed him the two different colored writings, and were told the verdict. After that, things changed. Quickly.

His mom and dad were called away on more and more business trips, especially once the indigo, green and red writing showed up too. When the clock struck midnight on December 19th, the night of Virgil’s tenth birthday, he hadn’t seen his parents in a year, always gone on some business or another.

Virgil wasn’t a dumb child. He knew what that meant, and he knew that he was the reason his parents left, and he knew that what he had was bad.

Remy was Virgil’s older brother by almost ten years. He was fifteen when Virgil turned five, and he didn’t like his parents very much to begin with. Remy liked to do what he wanted to do, and his parents were very caught up in their own image. Even before they left, they were neglectful.

Remy was the one who raised Virgil. The kindest thing their parents did was continuously send them money, because it couldn’t get out that they disowned their own children, so Remy had all the assets he needed to give Virgil a relatively lavish childhood.

Still. Virgil was greatly affected by his parents' abandonment. He was riddled with chronic anxiety, with the constant thrum of depression in his veins. He didn’t make friends, didn’t do well in school, and spent his time locked in his room. The only thing Virgil did that meant anything to him was draw.

He had a sketchbook, one Remy had bought him ages ago. He filled it with sketches, doodles, figures and landscapes. Anything that came to mind, he drew.

When Virgil was thirteen he looked at a razor one day and thought ‘fuck it’.

It was almost addictive, to him. It gave him something to focus on, something to take his misery out on, and it only seemed to work in his favor that what he happened to be taking such feelings out on was himself. Lines, neat and even, grew into the skin of his thighs, hidden by the long pants he was never without. He knew it was wrong, and that it wasn’t good for him, but he wasn’t doing anything he didn’t deserve, and no one had to know. Not even his soulmates.

See, his soulmates were a whole can of worms he preferred to keep locked up in a box at the bottom of the ocean. There were five of them, which was five too many, in his opinion. They talked to each other constantly, and Virgil was a silent observer, trying his hardest not to read their conversations but having no choice. It was one of the things he hated about himself (one of the many, many things).

He had never written them. Not even when he was a kid. His parents forbid it, and once they left he was too deep into the throes of his anxiety to even try. It had been too long, he thought. It would be creepy, learning there was someone else basically eavesdropping on all the conversations you had in private. Then added on insecurity. What if they didn’t like him? He was a miserable, jagged person with so many problems it filled his too big, empty house. They would hate him.

Remy knew, of course, and tried to help, but he was woefully unequipped to handle such an issue, and when it became clear that every attempted conversation about the topic was going to end in an argument, he eventually stopped trying.

However, all of that, everything, came to a head a few weeks before Virgil’s seventeenth birthday. It was completely an accident, what Virgil had been referring to as ‘The Incident’, the one that had happened a month beforehand. The one when Remy had accidentally walked in on Virgil and seen the freshly weeping wounds, along with countless old scars.

They had talked, and Virgil had felt so defeated, so at his worst, he agreed to try and stop cutting himself. Just for Remy, who, despite being twenty-seven, was still living with Virgil, at least until he went to college.

It hadn’t been going very well, to say the least. Virgil would get an itch under his skin that needed to be let out, one that had him reaching for the first sharp object he could find, and then he’d be right back where he started.

So, it was a few weeks before Virgil’s seventeenth birthday, and things were looking down.

“I got you something,” Remy said apropos of nothing, walking into the living room with a box in his hands. Virgil had been making his food run of the day and was trying to stealthily creep back to his room, but, seeing that he had been caught, sank down onto the couch reluctantly.

“Why?” he asked, suspicious. Remy dropped the box onto the coffee table in front of Virgil, and sat on the couch beside him.

“It’s almost your birthday,” he explained casually. “And I saw them and thought you might like them.”

Virgil reached over to the box and pulled it onto his lap. It was fairly light. He poked it experimentally.

“It’s not gonna blow up.” Remy rolled his eyes. Virgil glanced at him out of the corner of his eye before cautiously lifting the lid off and setting it to the side.

“It’s… paint,” he said blankly. Inside the box were at least two dozen medium-sized tubes of paint in a variety of colors and paintbrushes of various shapes and sizes.

“It’s skin-safe paint,” Remy corrected carefully. Virgil narrowed his eyes, still looking into the box. Remy continued. “I know you’ve been… struggling, and I thought that, maybe, instead of doing what you had been doing, you could do this.”

“What exactly is ‘this’?” Virgil asked, looking up. Remy gestured to the paint.

“You’re an amazing artist, Virge.” He shrugged. “You could do art. Paint on yourself whenever you get that urge. It might not help,” he added, “but it couldn’t hurt.”

Virgil was silent.

“You realize this would transfer to my soulmates, right?” he finally asked. Remy cringed.

“Well, yeah, but-”

“I don’t want to talk to them,” Virgil interrupted definitively. He went to put the lid back on the box.

“You don’t have to talk to them,” Remy said, stopping his movements. “You don’t have to even acknowledge them. They don’t have a reign over your body, Virgil, you’re allowed to paint on it without their approval. Just… do it in places they could cover up, I guess,” he finished.

Virgil slowly put the lid back down. He thought about it. He thought about Remy, and how much he had sacrificed for Virgil, and how hard he was trying to be helpful without being overbearing. About how much he cared.

“Okay,” Virgil finally said quietly. “I’ll try it out.”

Remy’s smile looked relieved, and Virgil tried to ignore the guilt churning in his stomach.

It was the next day when he felt the familiar itch, and instead of looking for something sharp, he looked at the box. He pulled out a few brushes and a few colors and sat, staring at them.

He stared for five minutes before the itch became unbearable and he sighed, reaching out.

He painted a vine of pink and white flowers curling around his left forearm, and when he was done, the itch was gone.

They didn’t, though. Once they got past the initial confusion over who was actually painting, conferring with each other below the vines until Logic had suggested the idea that there was an entirely different, previously unknown member of their bond, they had loved the painting.

As Virgil painted more and more, they seemed to get more and more used to the idea of a sixth person, often attempting to prompt him into responding. He never did, sticking to painting whatever he felt whenever he felt like it and essentially ignoring all of their messages.

He read them all, though, and every time one or more of them left a kind review next to one of his paintings he smiled for the next fifteen minutes. Remy noticed, and all of a sudden there was a lot more smiling in their house.

Virgil went to a small school for art and art history. He ran up the money that their parents had stopped sending as soon as he had turned eighteen with tuition, so when he graduated he moved into a small two bedroom apartment in New York City with Remy, who was working as both a barista and at a small startup business that provided tailored help to those with disabilities in the workforce, and Remy’s boyfriend Emile, his soulmate, who was working as a therapist.

Emile made a lot of money, actually, but the majority of it went to the hospital bills for both his ailing mother and his little sister, who was born with a chronic illness that kept her in a bed for the majority of her life, so they were scraping by as a group as best as they could, keeping one eye to the future and one eye on their bank accounts.

Virgil found work at an art museum, acting as a tour guide, and selling his paintings online. It wasn’t until he had been working there for a few years that one of his coworkers had been promoted to the manager and offered to give him a section of the gift shop to sell some of his work as long as the museum got a cut of the profit. Virgil, obviously, agreed, and his bedroom was slowly but surely absorbed by painter's tarp and half-finished canvases until the only way it resembled a bedroom was the small twin bed stuffed in a corner and a dresser that looked like a paint palette threw up over it.

There were good days and bad days.

Sometimes Virgil sold three paintings and made more money than he previously would have made in a month, and sometimes on those days he would paint a field of green clovers and simple yellow wood sorrel flowers on his shoulder to signify his joy, or maybe a little yellow and white pod of coronella for his success, and whenever he did his soulmates would always comment on how beautiful and nice it was.

Sometimes painting wasn’t enough, and Virgil had to lock himself in the bathroom and breathe through the itch under his skin, and sometimes he would cover himself from neck to waist in aggressively messy purple hyacinths, aconite and black roses, because he hated himself and didn’t see a light in the murky throws of his depression. His soulmates learned not to comment on those.

It was on one such day that he came home from work in a mood of insecurity (foxglove) and anxiety (hellebore), dropping his bag on the ground and immediately falling face-first onto the couch. Emile didn’t look up from where he was sitting on the end of the couch, going through some papers. He patted Virgil’s head, which had landed next to his thigh.

“Bad day?” he asked casually, shuffling the papers slightly. Virgil grunted into the couch cushions. He spoke, but it was muffled. Emile put the papers on the coffee table and turned to face him better.

“Sorry, honey, I don’t speak couch-cushion.”

Virgil groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows with a huff, blowing his purple bangs out of his eyes. Emile had matching pink tips, with Remy sporting a rainbow undercut.

“I don’t know how you put up with me,” he said. “You’re living with your boyfriend and his little brother, that has to be annoying.”

Emile furrowed his eyebrows and patted his lap. Virgil flopped down again, but scooted forward so his head was resting on Emile’s thighs, turning onto his back so he was looking up at him. Emile started running his fingers through Virgil’s hair.

“I don’t “put up with you,”” he replied, doing air quotes around the words. “Virgil, I love living with you. I love you just as much as I love Remy, you’re just as much my family as he is.”

Virgil frowned.

“Why?” he asked quietly. “I’m not very easy to love.”

“If I did everything in my life just because it was easy, I would be at a job I don’t like in a city I didn’t want to live in with no family and no loved ones,” Emile stated bluntly. “You have to work for what you want, and what’s good for you. And your love is good for me, Virgil, despite what your brain is telling you.” He ruffled Virgil’s hair and smiled down at him. “I am more than happy to work for it.”

That was a lot of positive emotion (pink hyacinth), something Virgil wasn’t overly used to, so he grunted and turned his head into Emile’s stomach, wrapping his arms around his torso in a loose hug. Emile let out a breathy laugh and rubbed his back. Virgil pulled away a little bit.

“I love you, too,” he mumbled, so quiet he wasn’t even sure if Emile heard it. It didn’t take a second for Emile to squeeze him closer, though, so he was pretty confident the message (yellow rose) (platonic love) was received.

A few days later, when Virgil was in a much better mood and sporting a curiosity (sycamore) leaf next to one of Logic’s excited lectures and carefully painted pride (hundred leaved rose) under Prince and Duke’s newest news of performances, he walked up to Emile confidently (hepatica). Well, semi-confidently, but that was as much as Virgil ever got.

“What’s your favorite thing?” he asked, causing Emile to look up from where he was typing on his laptop. He tilted his head slightly, pushing up his glasses.

“I don’t know if I have one,” he answered slowly, “I like a lot of things.”

“Yeah, but if you had to choose something.” Virgil pulled out one of the other chairs at the table and sat down heavily. “The first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word ‘favorite.’”

Emile considered the question for a second, then, oddly, started to look embarrassed (downturned pink lilium).

“Well, I- I’ve never actually told anyone this before,” he started, and Virgil leaned forward attentively, “but my favorite animal is actually a unicorn.”

“Really?” Virgil asked. He had always heard Emile say his favorite animal was a cat, and told Emile so. He laughed self-consciously.

“That’s what I told people,” he explained. “Unicorns have been my favorite animal since I was a little kid, but I knew my dad wouldn’t be very happy with that answer, and he was already concerned I was ‘turning gay,’” he stopped to roll his eyes, and Virgil snorted in amusement (hybrid delphinium), “so I never told anyone.”

“So when you needed to choose a fake favorite animal,” Virgil replied slowly, smiling “you chose the one animal you were allergic to?”

Emile hit his arm lightly and laughed.

“I was six and it was the first one I thought of!” he defended. “And I wasn’t lying, I do like cats!”

“Alright, alright,” Virgil put his hands up in surrender (peace lilies).

“Any reason for the question?” Emile asked after a second. Virgil shook his head.

“No reason at all,” he lied (red dahlia).

Two weeks later, Emile found a 17 by 24 inch painting of a white unicorn with a pink mane and tail running through a field of yellow agrimonia (gratitude), yellow roses (platonic love), chinese chrysanthemum (cheerfulness in adversity) and dots of purple bluebells (kindness).

At work, Virgil had a routine. He took the first two tours, and then he worked in the gift shop until his lunch break. He repeated the process until he was off for the day at seven, and he liked it that way. Too many tours and he got burned out from all the talking, too little tours and he got stir crazy in the gift shop.

It was an hour before his lunch break on an otherwise uneventful Thursday that a woman came up to the counter with nothing in her basket. Virgil slapped his customer service face on.

“Excuse me,” the woman started, “I was wondering about the paintings on display over there?”

She pointed across the store to the small gallery of Virgil’s paintings. There was a sign in the middle, saying that they were for sale and to ask the cashier for more information.

“They’re by a local artist,” Virgil said kindly, having learned that stating he was the artist right out of the gate was not the best marketing strategy, “and all are for sale, I’d be happy to help you with anything you’d like. Is there one you had in mind?”

“Well, they’re all amazing,” she gushed, and Virgil’s smile became a lot less fake, a warm feeling blooming in his chest (lathyrus) (pleasure), “but I absolutely love the orange one in the middle on the right.”

The painting she was referring to was one depicting a dark forest clearing with figures of orange and yellow fire dancing around a small fountain. It had been a spur-of-the-moment (the moment being 2:46am) work after a weird dream, and Virgil wasn’t actually the biggest fan of it, but he was glad someone else was.

He told the woman as much, and she smiled brightly. Virgil came out from behind the cashier desk and gestured for her to follow him, talking as he walked. t

“That is an eighteen by twenty-four inch canvas, so frames should be relatively easy to get,” he said. Coming up to the painting, he glanced at the small tag hanging off of one of the corners. He turned to the lady. “It’s nine hundred dollars not including shipping, but if you would like we can ship it at a seventy percent discount with free packaging.” Virgil finished his spiel with a little flourish at the painting, and the woman laughed.

“That sounds perfect,” she replied. “I would love the shipping option, please.”

Virgil nodded, and directed her to the other cashier on duty while he took the painting down and started to package it. The woman came back after a few minutes and answered the questions he had about the shipping, then asked one of her own.

“Who’s the artist that does these?” She swept an arm along the wall. “I’d love to get in contact with them for other pieces!”

Virgil glanced up from where he was carefully wrapping the painting in bubble wrap, before he looked back down.

“That would be me,” he answered. “Virgil Storm, at your service.”

“Oh, wow!” She placed her purse down on a table. “You’re very skilled, do you take commissions?”

“I do.” He finished taping the bubble wrap, taped the paper he had written the information on to the front, and set the painting aside. “I’d be happy to work with you on anything you’d like. Here,” he pulled a white card with dark purple text on it, “is my business card. Either email, text, or give me a call and we can figure out what I can do for you.”

The woman took the card carefully, putting it in her purse.

“Thank you!” she said kindly (yellow lilies). They exchanged goodbyes, and, soon, Virgil was left alone. He wandered back to the cashier desk, but the gift shop was practically deserted, it being around lunchtime, so, to entertain himself, Virgil reached into his bag.

He pulled out a little travel-sized paint palette and brush, popping open the lid for the pink, yellow, and green paints as well as grabbing a tissue to wipe excess paint on. He rolled up his left sleeve and started to paint a simple pink flower with a yellow center and green stem, a cosmos flower (peacefulness). Prince drew a little red heart with exclamation points next to some of the finished flowers as Virgil continued to paint, and Snake left a simple ‘cute,’ which Virgil had learned was a genuine compliment and not him being sarcastic.

Virgil didn’t know much about his soulmates. Most identifiable information like names, addresses and phone numbers didn’t transfer over the bond, so they had all chosen fake names to make everything easier. Logic because he was smart, Heart because he was sweet, Prince because he was dramatic, Duke because he was even more dramatic, and Snake because he was sarcastic and liked snakes. Virgil hadn’t chosen one, seeing as he had never actually written to his soulmates, but they had taken to calling him by the names of flowers.

They each had colors, too. With so many people in one bond, it became confusing quickly when it came to who wrote what, so they had all chosen colors early in life to be more identifiable. Red for Prince, yellow for Snake, green for Duke, light blue for Heart, dark blue for Logic. Virgil sometimes found himself contemplating what color he would use if he ever wrote to them. He always ended up leaning towards purple.

He knew that Prince and Duke were twins, Snake and Logic were roommates, and Heart lived with his mom but made frequent trips to the other’s apartments. He knew that Prince was an actor and Duke was a dancer. He knew Snake was a lawyer, and Logic was a professor at a college, and Heart was a preschool teacher and volunteered at an animal shelter. He knew they were extremely close.

Virgil floated on the edges.

He knew they cared for him, they had told him so enough times, but he knew that they knew next to nothing about him. They knew he painted. They knew he liked flowers. That was it. They didn’t even know his pronouns, always using neutral ones.

Which, that should have been easy, right? It should have been easy to just tell them that. He was a cis man, it should have been easy to write a quick ‘he/him’ somewhere, but no. He couldn’t bring himself to do so. Despite being in a league's better mental state than he had ever been, he still hovered a pen over his skin, never touching, until he sighed and placed it down. Sometimes he threw it.

But Emile had been telling him he needed to be nicer to himself, to talk about all the facts, which Remy had wholeheartedly supported, so it beared mentioning that he tried.

He painted masculinity (sweet William) next to gender neutral pronouns. He painted gratitude (eustoma) next to their compliments. He tried, and they didn’t understand, but that was okay. He was perfectly content to paint flowers for them, as long as it made them happy (dandelions). He was fine (fungus) (resilience, loneliness, solitude).

“Excuse me,” a voice said, causing Virgil to jump and snap his head up. There was a young woman, probably a little younger than him, with a man around the same age slightly behind her.

Virgil straightened up, setting his paintbrush on the tissue.

“How can I help you?” he asked in his customer service voice, slipping back into the persona swiftly.

“Those flowers are beautiful,” the woman replied, gesturing to the fresh painting on his forearm. Virgil felt the intense urge to pull his sleeve down to cover it, but he had gotten wet paint on the inside of clothes before, and it was Not Pleasant, so he restrained himself.

“Thank you,” he said politely. He never knew how to react to compliments. Usually he either ended up being really awkward about it or turning so red he resembled a blush colored flower more than a blushing person.

“Would you do one on me?” the woman continued excitedly. Virgil paused.

“Sorry,” he spoke after a moment, “what?”

“Would you paint a flower on me?” she repeated in the same excited tone. The man behind her rolled his eyes fondly. “Like facepaint, although I was thinking on my arm. It’s gorgeous, and it would transfer over to Lenny,” she gestured to the man behind her, and he waved, “which would just be perfect because we’re on our honeymoon and the pictures would be amazing!”

Virgil blinked blankly after the woman stopped talking, processing.

“I would pay you,” she added after a moment of him standing there, and it was probably not a good thing that he immediately spurred into action with those words, but also money was a great motivator and he would die on that hill.

“I mean- sure?” he tried, sounding less like he was agreeing to something and more like he was five and asking a stranger to help find his parents who he lost in Target while trying not to cry.

That didn’t seem to phase the woman, though, who clapped her hands excitedly.

“Great! My name’s Penelope, by the way.” She handed her purse to Lenny, who took it automatically. Penelope turned back to Virgil, a megawatt smile on display. Virgil’s face hurt just looking at it.

“Uh, I guess I’ll get some chairs,” Virgil stammered, mentally trying to figure out what the hell he was doing. “Meet me over by those paintings?” he asked, pointing over to his gallery, which had the most floor space available. Penelope nodded, brunette curls bouncing, before turning on her heel and heading the way he pointed, Lenny following obediently.

Five minutes later, Virgil was sitting on a chair with Penelope perched on the other one, facing him. He had his paint palette resting on a stool next to him, brush in hand. He thanked any gods he could think of that it was a really slow day today.

“So, what flower would you like?” he asked as Penelope showed him the spot on her upper arm that she wanted it on.

“Which do you recommend?” she asked in return.

“Well, it depends if you’re going for a specific look or a meaning,” he answered. Penelope looked up at Lenny, who was standing behind her. Virgil had offered him a chair, but he had insisted he didn’t need one, planning on looking around the gift shop.

“What do you think, babe?” She smiled up at him, and he smiled back, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Maybe one that shows we’re newlyweds?” he offered shyly, and Virgil took a second to admire their completely opposing personalities that somehow fit together perfectly. They seemed to have a good relationship.

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Penelope exclaimed, looking back at Virgil. “Are there flowers that mean that?”

“Of course,” Virgil replies instantly. “There are flowers for almost anything. Here.” He set his paintbrush down and pulled out his phone, typing in a few words before turning it to show the couple.

“These are peonies,” he explained as Penelope gently took his phone and started scrolling through the pictures, Lenny leaning over to watch over her shoulder. “Generally they symbolize love, happiness, wealth, and romance, but the different colors mean specific things. White is used in wedding bouquets, but it isn’t actually related to weddings symbolically. Light pink, however, symbolizes romance, luck and prosperity. Hot pink and red are more intense feelings of love, but yellow is for new beginnings and fresh starts.” He paused to take a breath, flushing slightly when he realized he’d been rambling. He cleared his throat uncertainly (daffodil). “Anyway, yeah,” he finished lamely.

Penelope looked up at him brightly.

“That’s amazing that you know that off the top of your head!” she said enthusiastically, handing him his phone back. He tucked it into his pocket. “I think we’d like the light pink, right honey?”

Lenny nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

Penelope settled into her seat, and, with an assurance she would be fine if he left, Lenny disappeared to wander around the store. Virgil adjusted his chair so he was on Penelope’s side, her arm a blank canvas in front of him. He didn’t paint peonies very often, never really identifying with the meanings, but he did paint some flowers just for fun, and their petals were a nice challenge, so he wasn’t going in completely blind.

With a quiet warning that the paint would be cold, he started, losing himself in the familiar process. He didn’t notice when his lunch break came and went, until he was brought back to the world by the finished painting in front of him. Three light pink peonies took up Penelope’s upper arm, white baby’s breath (everlasting love) interspersed with the leaves and blush colored petals.

Virgil straightened and arched his back with a slight groan, spine popping loudly. He was getting too old to sit hunched over for so long. He glanced around quickly, noticing that the other cashier had switched out, but they were reading a new book than they were yesterday, which meant there had hardly been anyone in.

Penelope put her phone down, turning to him in anticipation.

“Are you done?” she asked politely, and, when Virgil replied in the positive, she quickly called Lenny over. Penelope stood up to meet him, and they both admired the flowers on each other with matching expressions of awe.

“These are amazing,” Lenny murmured quietly, tracing his fingers lightly over the flowers on Penelope’s arm. It was the type of statement that didn’t require an answer, so Virgil just left them to each other, cleaning up his paint. His poor little travel palette wasn’t built for such detailed pieces and was on its last legs, and Virgil made a note to grab a new one when he got home.

For now, he clicked the lids shut and wiped his brush off, walking to throw the tissues he had used away. When he got back, it was to Penelope accosting him cheerily, shoving money into his hands.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She backed away from him slightly, leaving him flustered and clutching the bills so tightly he heard them crinkle. “You’ve made our honeymoon that much better, and that’s saying something!”

She laughed brightly, and Lenny chuckled quietly, grabbing her hand and intertwining their fingers. (light pink rose) (joy of life, youth, romance)

“Happy to be of service,” Virgil said, smiling slightly, and it was the most genuine one he had had all day. Penelope was a bit much, but he was glad he did something to make them so happy.

“We have lunch reservations,” Lenny muttered to Penelope quietly.

“Oh!” she spun around, grabbing her purse. “You’re right!” She turned back around again, hair settling around her shoulders in a way that looked almost unnatural. “Thank you so much…” she trailed off expectantly, and Virgil stared at her for a moment before he realized what she was asking.

“Oh, uh, Virgil,” he stuttered. “My name’s Virgil, sorry.”

“Thank you so much, Virgil,” Penelope said without missing a beat, her smile softening.

“It’s no problem,” he replied, giving another small smile.

She and Lenny walked out the door hand in hand, and it was only then that Virgil dared to look at the cash in his hand.

“Oh my god…” he whispered to himself, feeling like his eyes were bugging out of his head.

The door to their apartment cracked against the wall with a bang, and Virgil heard someone (Remy) swear loudly. He slammed the door behind him and sped into the living room, sitting on the edge of the couch while Emile and Remy took a second to hastily back away from the heart attacks that had just been triggered.

“What is wrong with you?” Remy whisper-shouted, hand on his chest.

“I sold a painting today,” Virgil answered, practically vibrating (rhododendron) (energy). He set his bag heavily on the floor in front of him, pulling eight-hundred and ten bucks out of his backpack and setting it on the table. The museum took ten percent of his earnings from selling the paintings, so that was what he made out of nine hundred. He preferred to get the money in cash, so at the end of any day he sold a painting he took the money from the museum’s store of money. His manager was well aware of this, and had no problem with it.

“That’s great, Virge,” Emile encouraged with a smile (goldenrod). Remy narrowed his eyes suspiciously (mint).

“And?” he asked. Virgil vibrated more. (rhododendron!)

“This lady saw me painting on myself and asked for me to paint on her,” he said quickly. “And she was really nice so I painted some peonies for her and her soulmate.”

“Did she pay you?” Emile asked, seeing where the story was going. Virgil nodded jerkily, and pulled another few bills out of his backpack. Three Benjamin Franklins stared up at them.

“Three hundred dollars?” Remy screeched, diving for the money as if to inspect if it was real.

“She paid me three hundred dollars to spend two hours painting on her arm!” Virgil shouted back, sounding panicked. “By the time I realized how much she paid me they were gone!”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Emile soothed, holding his hands out. “Deep breaths.”

Simultaneously, both Remy and Virgil sucked in breaths loudly. Emile huffed a laugh out.

“Virgil,” he addressed calmly (lavender), “did she ever indicate that she felt like she had paid too much?”

Virgil shook his head.

“Did she seem generous when you talked with her?”

After a second, he nodded.

“Then I don’t think there’s a problem here,” Emile finished confidently (fern). “She probably thought you were sweet, thought your art was worth a lot, which it is, and felt comfortable spending that much money.”

Virgil clenched his hands into fists.

“That’s a lot of money,” he whispered, staring at the cash on the table.

“Which,” Emile put an arm around Virgil’s shoulders, tugging him in for a hug, “is a good thing. Right, Remy?”

“Right, yeah,” Remy replied absentmindedly, holding the money up to the light and squinting. He suddenly turned to look at them quickly, possibly sustaining whiplash in the process. He grinned (clematis) (mischief). “How much coffee do you think I could buy with eleven hundred dollars?”

Virgil was still worried (christmas rose) and a little shaken up about the money, but he walked into work the next day armed with a new palette and positive reinforcement from Emile and Remy, so he wasn’t too upset.

Which was good, because if he was any more anxious (foxglove) he probably would have fainted when people started asking for him.

Apparently, Penelope and Lenny had gone out the previous night and recommended a bus full of people to hit Virgil up for some flower paintings, providing eager instructions to where they could find him.

And his boss, the jerk, had only found this predicament amusing, as well as seen a golden opportunity for more money.

So there Virgil was, a full sized palette on his lap, a sign reading “Skin-safe paintings! Seniors and Children - $15 Adults - $20” propped up next to him, and a line seventeen people long, wrapping around the store.

Still, by the end of the day Virgil had made more money than he usually did in a week, and sold three paintings. Three! In one day!

So the trend continued. Every day, Virgil gave one tour, set everything up, and painted on people for the rest of the day. He still did mostly flowers, regaling people with as many symbolisms as they were willing to listen to, but he moved on to simple requests as well, a dinosaur here, a sunset there.

When he really thought about it, the only downside was that he didn’t get to paint on himself much anymore. He spent all day painting on other people, and then spent his free time painting on canvases, because more work meant more exposure meant that Virgil had a backlog of five different commissions he needed to complete before he could even think about painting anything for fun.

But he still loved art, and he loved seeing the happy faces that his art created, and he was making enough money for Remy to be able to move from a full-time barista to only part-time, so he could focus on his business. He was making enough money for the worry lines on Emile’s forehead to ease, not having to balance hospital bills and utilities and food on his paycheck. He was making enough money to seriously consider buying the worn-down greenhouse on the roof from the owner of the apartment building and turning it into an actual studio, instead of working in his cramped bedroom.

Which meant that painting on himself was at the back of his thoughts. He still kept up with his soulmates, of course, painting little amaryllis flowers (pride) next to announcements, drawing bells of Ireland (luck) on days when there was a big event happening. And, on a particularly good day, he even painted ambrosia (love is reciprocated) next to Heart’s nightly “I love you!”

They still didn’t understand. Virgil didn’t think they ever would. He had never wanted to talk to his soulmates, never wanted to be more than little doodles in the corners of the pages of their lives, but-

But now he did, a little. He wanted them to know him, to talk with him like they talked to each other, like he tried to talk to them. He wanted them to be happy for him, for how his life was finally getting really really good. He wanted them to laugh about how Remy was so scared to buy Emile a ring that Virgil had to do it for him. He wanted them to hold him when things got too overwhelming. He wanted them to be there, be in his life, and it scared him. (aspen)

Because when it came down to it, it was Virgil who was keeping them at arm's length. He was the one that had never taken those first steps, and he was the one that felt like he never would. Despite the fact that he tried to talk to them, he wasn’t doing it in a way they could understand him, and that was his fault, not theirs.

So what did he do, now that he finally thought that maybe he could take those first steps? It was up to him and him alone to make that move, and it was something he didn’t know how to handle.

Lucky for him, he didn’t end up having to.

“Thank you!” the little boy said cheerily, waving. He had a manatee on his forearm, something he had, according to his father, been excited (red and yellow roses) about getting all week.

“Of course,” Virgil replied with a smile, waving back. “Come back any time.”

He plopped his brush into his paint glass, replacing it with another one that had been soaking for a while. He wiped it off on the rag draped across his leg, cracked a few of his joints, and glanced up at the next person in line.

“You can take a seat here.” He waved a hand at the seat, seeing them sit down delicately in his peripheral. He was focused on getting the leftover paint out of his brush, and he talked as he worked. “Do you have an idea of what you would like?”

“I was hoping for a flower,” the person responded after a moment. Their voice was masculine and even, sounding elegant.

“Do you know which one?” Virgil asked, finishing up with his brush and finally meeting the person’s gaze, adjusting himself in his chair.

They were attractive, definitely. Brown hair with blonde highlights, skin just a shade darker than a natural tan, piercing heterochromatic eyes, one a deep brown and the other a lighter version, shot with something that looked like gold in the sunlight shining through the windows.

“I was hoping you would choose.” They held out their hand. “Would you do it on the back, please.”

“Sure,” Virgil managed to get out through his teeth. The stranger’s stare was assessing, almost judgemental, or suspicious (mint).

Virgil took the stranger's hand in his, breaking eye contact and dipping his brush in the yellow.

Pansies symbolized thinking of someone, so he figured they sort of fit. Mostly he chose them because they were black and yellow, a dramatic enough color combination to fit this person, as well as match their outfit, which was an all black suit with no color but the yellow stripes on their black tie.

When Virgil was done, he let the stranger’s hand drop, turning to put his brush in the water as they inspected the artwork.

“What’s your name?” the stranger asked. Virgil looked back at them.

“Virgil, he/him,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“Janus,” the stranger said, his lips twitching up into a miniscule smile, “he/him as well.”

Virgil nodded, setting his palette to the side so he could stretch. Janus watched him.

“Virgil,” he started after a moment. Virgil stopped stretching to meet his eyes. “What’s that on your hand?”

“Uh, probably paint,” Virgil laughed self-consciously, looking down at his hands only to freeze in place.

Yellow and black pansies, on the back of his hand. He stared at them. He stared up at Janus. His hands started shaking, so he busied himself with his paints. He swallowed.

“You should go,” he got out, amazed at the fact that his voice was working at all. “I have more customers.”

“Okay,” Janus replied easily. “When should I come back?”

“Never” was on the tip of his tongue, years of darkness conditioning his response, but he managed to wrangle himself before he could say it. His hands stilled.

“My lunch break is at 12:30 tomorrow,” he said quietly. Janus nodded, reached into his wallet that he had pulled out at some point, and gave Virgil a fifty dollar bill. Virgil stared at the money, and, by the time he could bring himself to say something, Janus was already out the door.

As it turned out, Virgil had chosen very well when he decided to paint pansies, because “on my mind” was exactly what Janus was. Throughout the rest of the day, and night, Janus and their prospective meeting was all he could think about. His thoughts manifested themselves in a painting half the size of his wall, depicting a lone, shadowy figure staring at an incoming storm.

Janus was waiting for him outside the exit of the gift shop, dressed the same as the day before, a black suit with small yellow accents. Virgil briefly contemplated just turning around and acting like he forgot, but that was when Janus spotted him, waving him over with a small half-smile. Virgil tried to smile back as he made his way over, but it probably just looked like a miserable grimace.

“You look nice,” Janus complimented (purple iris), once Virgil had stopped in front of him. Virgil blushed up to his ears (broom). He had dressed a little better than normal, replacing his typically paint-stained black clothes with clean black clothes and his customary hoodie, and he even let Emile do some of his makeup, which was a terrifying experience. His worn black messenger bag didn’t exactly fit, but no way was Virgil leaving it behind.

“Thanks,” Virgil muttered, ducking his head. “You do too.”

Janus nodded at him, and started walking. Virgil walked alongside him. They didn’t talk much beyond the customary ‘how has your day been,’ both giving bullshit answers. At least it wasn’t only Virgil who was feeling awkward.

They stopped at a cafe not far from the museum. Janus walked in confidently (pink tulip) while Virgil shuffled in behind him.

The cafe was completely and totally average looking. Brown and beige with green furniture, a chalkboard menu with reasonable prices, topped off with two bored looking employees leaning with their elbows on the counter, chins resting in hand. They looked up when Janus and Virgil approached the counter.

Janus ordered “his usual”, which Virgil blinked at. The employees seemed to know, though, because one just started pressing buttons on the screen while the other moved to start making the drink. Virgil stuttered through ordering a plain coffee and a croissant, pulling his wallet out of his bag only to freeze when Janus started leading them away, apparently having used Flash powers to speed pay before Virgil could.

Virgil didn’t know how to react to that.

They sat at a two person table next to the window, and the light from the overcast day outside gave the left side of Janus’ face a silver glow that directly contrasted with the warmer brown in his left eye. Virgil twisted his fingers together under the table.

A moment later, the barista was calling Janus’ name and he was out of his seat, leaving Virgil alone as he went to get the drinks. Virgil stared at the table. He was starting to itch for his paints.

Janus sat down again and set Virgil’s coffee and croissant in front of him without a word. Virgil immediately dug into the croissant just to have something to do, and Janus observed him with a blank face. Virgil didn’t meet his eyes as he finished his croissant and washed it down with some of the coffee.

Janus still didn’t say anything even when Virgil was clearly done eating and drinking for the moment, leaving him to squirm in his seat and get more and more uncomfortable (balsamine). Virgil was heavily resisting the urge just excuse himself to the bathroom to paint on his fucking pinky finger if he had to, both because he wanted to make a good impression and also because Janus would know that was what he was doing.

It was another full minute before Virgil’s hand started gravitating to his forearm, and as soon as he started subconsciously scratching at his hoodie he knew he was done. He gripped his arm so hard his knuckles were white.

“Are you going to fucking say anything?” he hissed out through his teeth, gaze fixed firmly on the table in front of him. He was not relapsing in any form because of this asshole who apparently just liked to watch him squirm.

“I was waiting for you to start,” Janus replied coolly. Virgil scoffed, hackles rising. (petunia) (anger)

“Right, because I so obviously look like I’m about to jump into twenty questions,” he spat, readjusting his position on the seat to face more towards the room with his back to the window. Janus put his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “I should have known by now that you’re not one for starting conversations.”

It hit Virgil like a slap to the face.

Of course. Of course Janus was mad and frustrated ith Virgil. He’d- He’d been waiting his whole life to actually learn anything about Virgil, been waiting his whole life to meet him, and when he finally did, it was fucking… Virgil. Virgil would be mad too.

What was he even doing here? (love lies bleeding) (homelessness)

Janus had quickly blanched after he spoke, eyes widening and mouth snapping closed, but the damage had already been done. Virgil stood up sharply, swung his bag over his shoulder and pushed his chair in behind him. Janus followed him up.

“Wait, Virgil, I didn’t mean-”

“Yeah, you did,” Virgil interrupted quietly. “It’s okay.”

He turned on his heel and walked out the door and onto the street, turning in the direction of the museum. Janus followed him out and placed a hand on his shoulder, turning him around.

“I’m sorry,” Janus rushed out. “You’re right, I did mean it, but I-” He stopped, looking angry at himself. “Don’t leave.”

“You look like a black tulip,” Virgil replied, voice barely a whisper above the hustle and bustle of the city around them. “I think you’re a bit more like a thorn apple, though.”

Janus looked dreadfully confused.

“That’s okay, I think,” Virgil assured him with a smile he forced onto his face. “It’s used for medicines.” He paused. “Thank you for the coffee, Janus. You don’t have to see me again.”

And with that, he ducked his head, spun around, and got lost in the crowd, leaving Janus standing in the flow of people with a furrowed brow and a frown adorning his face.

Virgil was quiet after that. He spent the next few days in a haze of self-loathing (lily) and the worst bit of it was that his one escape, one alternative, had been taken away from him. He couldn’t paint on himself anymore, because Janus and the others would see it loud and clear when they so obviously didn’t want him to be a part of their life.

Obviously, because they hadn’t said anything either. The soul-link had stayed completely and utterly silent, until the last of the ink and paint had washed away and, for the first time since Virgil was four, his skin was completely blank.

“I ruined it,” he said miserably (rue) into Remy’s thigh, where he was smushing his face as he laid face down across the couch. Emile rubbed his ankles soothingly.

“You did not,” Remy replied hotly (tiger lily). “That dickhead was the one who ruined it, you did nothing wrong.”

“Uh, yes I did?” Virgil looked up at him, flabbergasted. “What do you call twenty years of radio silence?”

“You working through life without catering to your soulmates?” Emile piped up from the end of the couch. “Virgil, you weren’t allowed to talk to them, and then when you were, you weren’t in the right headspace to. There’s nothing wrong with that, and if they can’t respect that then you don’t want to know them anyway.” (alchemilla mollis (lady’s mantle)) (comfort, I'm here for you)

Virgil dropped his head into Remy’s thigh with a groan.

“But that doesn’t actually stop you from wanting to?” Remy guessed. Virgil nodded. Remy ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair. “We’ll work on that,” he promised. “But for now, just take it one day at a time, paint on whatever the fuck you want, and know that you haven’t done anything wrong. Okay?”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed, although it was muffled by Remy’s sweatpants. Remy ruffled his hair.

Virgil tried really, really hard to believe what Remy said. He threw himself into work and got through a record amount of commissions, enough that he did actually buy the greenhouse on the roof from the apartment owner and started hiring people to help him renovate it by adding insulation, drywall, and all the other important things that Virgil had spent hours hyperfocusing on at three in the morning that were needed for creating a place paintings could be in safely.

That was what was on his mind as he cleaned up his paints for the day two weeks later, having closed his little station in the shop ten minutes ago. What was on his to-do list for when he got home. He was meeting with his neighbor, also conveniently a builder of houses, to go over the stuff they had to still acquire before they could start installing stuff, and he had to call the electrician to get him to come out and see how to hopefully hook up the greenhouse to either a generator or the building’s main powerline.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize someone was standing next to him, waiting to be noticed, until they cleared their throat.

Virgil jumped, head snapping up, only to fall back down again with a sigh. Janus crossed his arms.

“Well, I feel welcomed,” he deadpanned. Virgil set all his paints into their tray and picked it up, carrying it over to the storage closet. Janus followed him, leaving an imaginary trail of pink begonia flowers behind him (beware).

“Are you here to follow me home? Murder me in my apartment? Rape me in an alley?” Virgil asked tiredly, sliding the tray onto its shelf as Janus hovered at the doorway. He sputtered at Virgil’s words.

“Wh- no! What is wrong with you? Why would you think that?” Janus stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. Virgil ignored him as he locked the storage closet behind him and went back to fold the table and chairs up.

“I thought I told you that you didn’t need to see me again,” Virgil pointed out, just in case Janus had forgotten and a guilty conscience had driven him to seek Virgil out.

“I know,” Janus said, looking painfully out of place in his suit surrounded by overpriced gift shop merchandise. “I wanted to see you.”

“Didn’t get a chance to say everything you wanted to?” Virgil asked, placing one of the chairs against the wall and moving to fold up the other one.

“No,” Janus said again, and, when Virgil risked a glance over at him, he even looked a little sheepish. A little ashamed (white peony). “I’m here to apologize for what I said, actually. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“It’s okay,” Virgil shrugged. He moved on to the table, lifting two of the legs and laying it flat on its top, then crouching to push the legs in.

“It’s not,” Janus insisted. “I didn’t want to make you feel bad, that’s not why I invited you for coffee.”

“Why else would you have invited me?” Virgil’s tone was absent-minded as he focused wholly on the task in front of him and not at all on the man watching him. He picked up the table and leaned it against the wall, then went to go collect his things.

“Because I wanted to get to know you,” Janus answered seriously. “But I made you uncomfortable and then was exceedingly rude, so I apologize. That wasn’t my intention when I asked to meet with you, but it’s what I did.”

Virgil’s steps halted just barely, but he managed to save it in time to look like he had just tripped a little. He hurried over to his bag. Janus continued to follow him.

“Are you going to say anything?” he asked, a little desperate. Virgil felt bad, he did, but he wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to say. Emotion was swirling in his chest and he wasn’t used to it. He was a little concerned he was going to start crying, which would be incredibly stupid and embarrassing. He swung his bag onto his shoulder.

Janus had been perfectly clear at the cafe. He was probably only apologizing because the other’s wanted their chance too. Or because he wanted Virgil to get his hopes up.

Yes, Virgil was self-aware to know those thoughts were paranoid. No, Virgil was not going to do anything about them until he was alone in his room.

He was pushing open the door, one step away from freedom.

“You stopped painting,” Janus called, obviously a last-ditch attempt. Unfortunately for Virgil, it worked. He paused. “Why’d you stop painting to us?”

“Why’d you stop writing?” Virgil asked without permission from his brain, turning around and letting the door close behind him. Janus’ shoulders relaxed when he got a response.

“We were trying to give you your space.”

“I was trying to give you yours.”

They stared at each other. Virgil, again, had no idea what to say. He contemplated turning around and leaving.

Janus must have been able to tell, because all of a sudden words were rushing out.

“We liked your paintings,” he said. “They’re very good. You’re very good. But we didn’t really get them, right?” Janus was desperate again. It wasn’t a good look on him. “Didn’t get what you were trying to say.” He stopped, then scrambled for the phone in his pocket so abruptly it made Virgil flinch. He swiped it open with fervor and navigated to something quickly, before turning it towards Virgil.

On it was a painting of a sycamore leaf with a little maroon puff of a flower, next to a paragraph of pen. The skin tone it was on wasn’t Janus’.

“Curiosity, right?” Janus asked. He swiped the picture. It was a hundred-leaved rose. “Pride.” Bells of Ireland. “Luck.” Sweet William. “Masculinity.” Eustoma. “Gratitude.” Cosmos flower. “Peacefulness.” Amaryllis. “Pride again.” Ambrosia. “Love is reciprocated.”

Throughout Janus’ apparent slideshow of flowers Virgil had painted on himself, Virgil had had mixed reactions. The blood had drained steadily out of his face and his hands had started shaking, but he thought he might be smiling a bit, and he knew the warmth in his chest was a good thing.

They understood. They got it. They hadn’t before, but something had changed. They understood (snowdrop, caduceus) (hope, growth and healing).

Janus swiped to a picture of someone’s shirtless torso. It was covered in so many purple hyacinths Virgil couldn’t tell which skin tone was under them.

“Depression,” Janus said slowly, before lowering his phone. He pointed to himself. “Power, elegance and strength, but also disguise and deceitful charms.”

Virgil closed his eyes, the blood in his face that had left quickly making its way back into a light blush.

“Sorry,” he apologized. He didn’t know why Janus seemed to take away his voice, but here it was again, barely a whistle in the stale air of the empty gift shop. He opened his eyes. “I didn’t think you would understand.”

“I didn’t,” Janus assured him. “Until I went home. We, uh, we compiled all the pictures we had into an album and spent days getting the meanings for them.”

Well. Now they were both blushing.

“I, uh,” Janus stopped, turning his phone back towards himself for a second, pulling something up, before handing it to Virgil. He took it gingerly, looking down at the picture. “Blue hyacinths are really hard to come by in a city,” Janus said. “But they were the ones that the internet told me meant-”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil finished, staring down at the picture of the blue hyacinth flowers. “Making peace.”

“Right,” Janus confirmed lamely. They stood there. Virgil stared at the phone.

“Do you want to get coffee?” Virgil blurted out after one second too long of awkward silence, looking up suddenly. He cringed. “We can… play twenty questions?”

To his infinite relief, Janus started laughing. He walked towards Virgil.

“Yes.” He smiled. “I would very much like to get to know you.”

It was four months later, and it was hot outside.

The dead of summer was not kind, and Virgil wiped sweat away from his forehead. He had just hauled three new canvases up to his studio, and he was steadily dripping with exertion. Thank all the Gods that the studio was insulated, because the fans had been running for a while, and stepping into the room was a breath of fresh, blessedly cool air.

Virgil struggled with the canvases (all the size of building murals… why was this his life) to the wall, plopping them down gracelessly. He breathed out aggressively, cracking his back.

“Okay,” he said out loud, talking to himself. “Now just gotta finish this bad boy.” (anemone) (anticipation) He turned to the wall opposite the door. Stretched across the entire wall (which was over ten feet, both upwards and side-to-side) was a sheet of canvas, pulled taught with a frame that Virgil had to make himself. It depicted an ocean scene, with a reef shark as the focal point among colorful corral and vibrant fish.

He’d been commissioned by a museum in California, who was paying him a truly ridiculous amount of money to create this portable mural for them. He was rather enjoying the big size. (laurel) (ambition, success)

Of course, it was a little bit of a challenge to get the higher up and harder to reach parts.

Which is how, thirty minutes later, Virgil found himself swaying to the beat of My Chemical Romance as he hung upside down off of a pipe he had temporarily installed to run parallel to both the painting and the ceiling, at the perfect height for Virgil to either perch on or hang from, as he needed to.

(Yes, he knew there were things made for this type of thing. He had ordered one, but it wasn’t there yet. Plus, this was more fun.)

His knees were hooked over the pipe, his pallet held securely right-side up next to his head as he focused to paint some of the finishing details on the school of fish he was working on.

It was only when the blood had well and truly rushed to his head that he transferred his brush to between his teeth, crunching sideways and grabbing the pipe with his hand to hang a little less upside down and a bit more sideways, to give some of his internal juices time to return to their proper spots before he swung back down to continue.

This was also when he conveniently noticed the other presences in his studio. He turned his head with a raised eyebrow.

Remy raised his right back.

“I swear, I don’t know where he gets this from,” he told the others. Patton giggled slightly, Remus following his example but doubling every aspect of it. Roman and Janus appeared to be fascinated. Logan just looked absolutely gobsmacked.

“How are you doing that comfortably?” he asked, dumbfounded. Virgil shrugged. He set the paint palette on his stomach and grabbed the brush out of his mouth.

“I’m creative,” he answered simply.

“Obviously,” Roman cut in with obvious awe. “That’s absolutely incredible, Virgil.”

Virgil blushed, and Remy snickered at him. He managed to glare at his brother through the heat in his face.

“Out,” he ordered, half joking and half not (hydrangea) (brotherly love). Remy seemed to understand, because he put his hands up in surrender.

“I’ll leave you to your monkeying around,” he replied, cackling at the groans he received and amusedly returning Patton’s high five on his way out. (larkspur)

“How do you get down from there?” Janus asked after the door closed, coming closer, until he was almost under Virgil.

“It’s not very hard,” Virgil answered. He put the brush back in his mouth and grabbed the palette, unhooking his legs so he was just hanging from his hand. From there, it was only a few foot drop, and he bent his knees in a practiced motion as he landed. When he stood back up, Janus was less than a foot away.

“You,” he said, something in his voice Virgil couldn’t decipher, “are a very interesting person, Virgil.”

“Thank you,” Virgil replied, deciding to take the comment in stride. He walked over to his workbench and set his palette in the sink and put his brush in the cup full of paint water, making a note to clean them later. He also grabbed a damp towel, ringing it out and then turning around to face the room as he cleaned paint off his hands.

His soulmates wandered around the studio curiously. It occurred to Virgil that they’d never been in there before. He leaned against the counter and watched them.

Remus was going through the pile of scrapped canvases, oohing and aahing at some. He appeared to be sorting them. Patton had gravitated towards his little gallery of half-finished paintings, the ones he had hung as a reminder to complete them soon. He seemed to have made a game of guessing what they would turn into. Virgil made a note to have him do that when he was in the mood to make something new, some of the ideas sounded really good.

Roman was tracing the flowers Virgil had painted on the walls when he first was finishing up the studio a few weeks ago, running his fingers against the raised paints of a field of brilliant marigold (creativity). Logan had stopped in front of the mural, inspecting the dozens of different sea creatures that were depicted. Virgil had done his research to make sure that they were all accurate, as well as realistic to that kind of coral reef. Logan seemed pleased with the product, hands flapping lightly at his sides as he muttered under his breath at the painting.

Janus settled next to him, dressed in casual black sweats and a yellow t-shirt. Apparently, even he wasn’t immune to the heat.

“What do you think?” Virgil asked him as they surveyed the studio. It had come a long way, and was something Virgil was extremely proud of. Next to finally, finally, meeting his soulmates and having not done anything to himself since he was sixteen, it was probably his greatest accomplishment.

“I think it’s amazing,” Janus answered him softly. Virgil let out a breath, a weight he didn’t know he was holding lifting off his shoulders. Janus turned to him fully, his gaze pinning Virgil in place. “You’re amazing, Virgil. I’m sorry we didn’t see it sooner.” (white orchid)

Virgil swallowed, and looked back out to the studio. At his progress, and his life, and the people that he had known for all of it but only met a few months ago.

“White tulips,” Virgil said, equally as soft. He looked back at Janus with a smile. “Forgiveness.”

Janus smiled back, shuffling closer until their sides were pressed together and his arm could lay across Virgil’s shoulders.

Daffodils

White roses

Yellow peonies

Plumerias

Yellow orchids

Calatheas

(new beginnings)

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hopefully you enjoyed reading just as much as i enjoyed writing it!

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