#ts fanfic

[bisousbabie]

dress

best friends to lovers - James Potter x reader

a/n: prompt is the song dress by taylor swift + dialouge promt "i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know."

cw: smut. fingering + heavy making out.

"I don't want you like a best friend

Only bought this dress so you could take it off"

James held you close. Arm around your shoulder and drink in hand as you stood by the edge of the party. Music blasted throughout giggled conversations and drinks poured fast. You wanted him so bad, no needed him.

"i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know." your breath fanned over his neck slightly warm as you uttered those words, red stained lips falling into a slight smile.

James stood, his mouth slightly open as you smiled up at him. Your red mini dress clinging to your thighs, hardly covering anything. The music thumped through the floor making you all the more heady.

You'd done this on purpose. The sexiest dress you owned was needed, you were sick of pining and waiting for James, you had to take it into your own hands. His lips were soft against yours, the taste of your cherry soda melting into the kiss. Years of friendship, chaste kisses, and occasional hand holding all boiling down to this.

James pressed himself closer to you, your tits against his front. Before pulling you up to his dorm. Within minute you had James back on his bed pushing your dress up your thighs, placing kisses in its wake. As he righted himself you kissed his neck, the soft light of the dorm room beautifully illuminating his collarbone and jawline. James looked like a god. You pulled at his shirt, undoing the buttons as he laughed at your eagerness.

His laugh caught in his throat as you kissed him again, the desire visible in your eyes. His gentle hands cupped your pussy, rubbing circles. He kept his eyes on yours, watching you come apart on his fingers as he dipped them inside you.

"So pretty babe," He muttered before pressing his lips to yours once again. His palm was perfectly bumping against your clit with every thrust, his fingers hitting just the right spot. James watched you fall apart moaning softly into his gentle kisses.

You stayed with him all night, a beautiful friendship turning into something you'd both pined for for years.

#james smut #james potter #hp #james x reader #james x you #james potter smut #blurb #marauders smut #marauders era #hp fandom #james potter blurb #james potter imagine #james potter x y/n #james potter headcanon #james potter dialouge #taylor swift prompt #ts fanfic #james x fem reader #james x female reader #friends to lovers #bestfriend!james #fwb!james

[rosepetalgold]

i look at you (and i dream)

Summary: Roman tells Logan what he’s thinking about and discovers his dreams might be closer to reality than he’d dared to imagine.

Relationships: Romantic Logince

Warnings: None! Pure domestic fluff!

Word count: 962

Notes: Title inspired by Mikrokosmos by BTS

Read on Ao3 Masterpost

-

“Roman, are you even listening to me?”

Roman blinks, emerging out of the colorful tapestry of his thoughts to find Logan staring at him from where he’s paused chopping vegetables for the dish he’s concocting for dinner, one eyebrow arched in a silent question.

“Sorry, my love,” he says sheepishly. “I just got caught up daydreaming.”

Logan sighs, shaking his head not unkindly as he returns to his cutting board, the slightest upturn of his lips betraying that he mustn’t be too put out by Roman’s lapse of focus. “I suppose it would be too much to ask for your ambitions of fame and grandeur to wait until I was done telling you about my day.”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t thinking about any of that.”

“Work, then?”

“No, not that either.”

“Then what on earth were you daydreaming about?”

“You.”

Logan casts him a sideways glance, clearly baffled, even as his knife doesn’t falter in its steady rhythm. “I’m right here.”

“I know,” Roman breathes, not even trying to keep the wonderment out of his voice at the truth of such a simple statement, still unable to quite believe that this was real, that Logan was here, was choosing him, was his. “But I look at you and I just can’t help but dream.”

But his words only cause the puzzlement furrowing Logan’s brow to deepen. “I don’t understand. What could you possibly be dreaming about?”

Roman laughs under his breath, answers dancing over one another in his mind like so many bits of dandelion fluff caught in a breeze, too many to ever count. Where to even begin?

“Everything.”

He shifts closer, gently finessing the knife from Logan’s grip and laying it on the counter before taking his lover’s hands in his own.

“I dream about waking up next to you every morning and watching the sunset next to you every night. I dream about seeing you land your dream job and finally being recognized for that endlessly brilliant mind of yours. I dream about buying a house together out in the country like you want and us making it our own. I dream about surprising you with homegrown roses on idyllic summer mornings and slow dancing in the dark with you on starlit winter nights. I dream about all the days I’ll come home to you and all the ways I’ll fall even deeper in love with you and all the countless quiet moments I’ll get to just be by your side as we grow old and gray.” He laces their fingers together, marveling inwardly at how readily Logan reciprocates the touch, palms warm and steady against his own. “I dream of us, of the life we’ll lead, of the future we have together.”

Logan only stares at him for a long moment, gaze searching his own as a hint of pink begins to tinge his cheeks, and Roman can’t help but smile softly at the sight, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to the bloom of color.

“You really think about all that?” Logan’s voice is slightly choked, words scarcely more than a whisper, and Roman draws back, a twinge of worry flickering to life in his stomach, but Logan’s grip tightens around his, keeping him from retreating.

“Of course I do. You’re it for me, Logan; why would I ever dream about anything else?”

Logan doesn’t even bother replying, simply tugs one hand free from Roman’s fingers, wraps it around the back of his neck, and pulls him into an ardent kiss.

Logan had never been as much of one for words as Roman was, had always tended to struggle a bit to vocalize his deepest feelings, but Roman doesn’t need a long-winded reply, not when the press of the other man’s body against his is all the answer he needs.

Logan, though, apparently isn’t content to let his reaction do all the talking for him.

“I know that not many people would call me a dreamer,” he says as he pulls back, gaze so open and vulnerable in the golden rays of the late afternoon light that Roman’s heart squeezes in his chest. “But I want that too. That future. The two of us. You.”

“It’s ours,” Roman vows. “And I’m yours.”

They meet in the middle this time, an intoxicating press of lips that tastes of hopes and dreams and happy endings, and oh nevermind all his indulgent imaginings about what might be, this is all Roman could ever want.

If this is his reward for daydreaming, he really needs to do it more often.

Entirely too soon Logan is drawing back again, rosiness now fully blossomed across his cheekbones.

“We don’t have to have a house in the country,” he says as if his brain has just caught up to Roman’s earlier words, the delay in processing entirely more endearing than it should be. “I know you like the city.”

Roman shrugs, sure the expression on his face can only be described as utterly besotted as his hands find a home in the familiar curve of Logan’s waist, pure affection melting through every inch of his body. “I can compromise as long as there’s no bears.”

Logan chuckles, low and bemused.

“No bears,” he promises, and with the way his eyes are sparkling with amusement, what else is Roman supposed to do but kiss him again?

“Love you,” Logan murmurs against his lips, the words still enough even after all this time to send butterflies dancing through Roman’s stomach like it’s the first he’s ever heard them. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too,” he whispers, and here, with Logan in his arms, present and future inseparable from each other for one breathlessly suspended moment, he can’t dream to ask for anything more.

-

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!): @darth-does-stuff

#i return from the dead with a bit of shamelessly self-indulgent logince fluff #these two nerds are still my absolute favorite #they deserve a bit of softness if i do say so myself #enjoy! #sanders sides #ts roman #roman sanders #ts logan #logan sanders #logince #fluff #domestic fluff #they're in love your honor #ts fanfic #my fic #rosepetal writes

[folklore-girl]

WILDEST DREAMS (hana’s version)

word count: 1.1kish?

a/n: so “hana’s version” means that i’m writing this heavily based on taylor’s music video, but also with my own hcs. also this is purely for entertainment purposes, though mostly just a writing practice for me since i haven’t written since ages. also, thanku @trashmeowcan for helping me warna i would’ve still been overthinking abt this ILYSM. gif creds to @komhacoustic !!

warnings: too many taylor references and lots of cringe too teehee

hope you enjoy!

[ lights , camera and ... action !! ]

he was so perfect.

his eyes were such a startling shade of grey—that if you look closely, you’d see the emotion twisting in them, swirling behind those dark clouds. his lips tasted like the cigarettes he smoked and his voice had been frequenting  my dreams lately. all of him, his face, his jaw, his shoulder—he was the most beautiful sculpture i’d ever seen.

he whispered to me, “let’s get out of this town, drive out of the city, away from the crowds...”

i was screaming internally, thinking of the implication of his words in a wordless script when the director yelled cut.

of course we were pretending.

of course, none of it was true.

. . .

we were shooting in the african deserts, and it was a short film about the magic, madness, heaven and sin that was love.

on the day we arrived to the location, the director had explained the script and the portrayal of love that this film wanted to show, the same as she had done on the phone call. she explained how our chemistry would be the magic, the madness would be evident when both of us would be ready to leave the life we knew to start a new one with each other, heaven would be when he’d touch me and sin because our love was forbidden in the script—he was a pilot, and i was an actress. the entire film had no dialogues or as the director said, our expressions will “say all that is needed to know”.

it was two week’s work and then we’d be out of the scorching dry deserts of sahara. that was the plan. at least until i met him.

after i did, i knew i’d gladly burn in this heat for a few more weeks —or even an entire lifetime— than letting go of him. i’d risk it all smiling.

it was absolute madness.

. . .

our characters were crazy in love.

he, the pilot, had flown miles just to see the actress for a few hours everyday, while she worked on her new movie. the pilot is tall and handsome as hell, while the actress is beautiful, and has such an irresistible charm that the pilot cannot help but fall for her humor and wits.

we were the perfect casting, although the others kept saying it would be fairly difficult to show it all in expressions, no words at all.

but for me, it proved to be fairly easy. i was lovestruck, and there was no hiding it from him because he knew it. he had to, from the way he smiled and the way he touched me, or maybe i was simply delusional.

probably the latter, but oh well. it was all a pretend anyways. none of it was real.

it could be though.

. . .

it was pure magic.

the way he looked at me, the way he held me close and how my knees felt weak after our first kiss onscreen.

i felt every moment of it. goosebumps on the back of my neck whenever he whispered in my ear. his fingertips grazing my skin, and when he held me close, his hand on my waist.

i lived those moments a thousand times and i’m sure he did too, he must have.

so i took my chance and said, “no one has to know what we do,” and no one did. what we did in my tent at night was no one’s business, and nobody had the slightest clue.

all i know is that i woke up with his clothes in my room, and the vague memory of his hands in my hair, his body on mine. i knew heaven was a place on earth, with him, in his arms.

. . .

we were lying on the bed, our bodies a tangled mess and the clothes thrown on the ground in a hurry. his hand caressed my waist and i peered through the tiny window of the tent, at the nighttime stars and thought.

i thought of the dangerous game i was playing and how one week is no time at all. blink, and it would all be over.

but oh, he was kissing my neck and i couldn’t think straight. he was definitely going to be the death of me.

. . .

“ready for the last scene?” he took my hand and whispered to me.

“yes,” i smiled a little. “are you?”

he gave me a sad smile and said, “maybe..”

and the camera started rolling. the actress was in a stunning red dress, with her hair pinned up masterfully by her movie stylist—she’d sneaked out of the movie set to meet him—and the pilot was in his uniform, all ready to go. the sun was slipping down the horizon, and the clouds were streaked in a beautiful mess of warm colors in the sky whilst the moon rose, accompanied by the barely visible stars, scattered like peppers.

his face changed ever so slightly, as he conveyed that he needed to go but didn’t want to. he tucked a loose strand of my hair and i knew what it meant—he loved me too much to give what we had away willingly. i stared painfully at him, then at the ground. the actress didn’t want to let go of her lover either.

a few moments later, he smiled and lifted my chin, conveying that the distance would just create fondness between the two. their love is stronger than anything and the actress knows too, so she smiles back, sweet and soft.

they have their very last kiss and the actress worries if her lover would remember her, the memories they have together and this very moment. and so i spoke with my eyes, “say you’ll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe...”

she made him promise they’ll meet again, and that would be soon.

“red lips and rosy cheeks, say you’ll see me again, even if it’s just in your wildest dreams ah-ahh…”

. . .

it was the premiere night.

i was in my vintage off-shoulder, sparkling silver with a heavy white scarf and my hair up in an updo similar to my hairstyle in the short film.

i was dressed as my character, the enchantress.

the moment i arrived at the red carpet, cameras were flashing and i was smiling. i was seeing him again tonight, so the smile was genuine. at least until i saw him, with her.

we talked a little, and he introduced his new girlfriend and i smiled wide. and when she complimented my acting in my past movies, i smiled even wider and thanked her.

little did she know, what she was about to see wasn’t me acting. not even close.

we entered the cinema hall and the short film began. it was a 90’s romance, all black and white.

halfway through the movie, i realized i was done smiling. i leaned ahead in my seat and we made subtle eye-contact before i turned and left the hall, murmuring about a sick stomach.

the moment i stepped out, i felt something wet on my cheek and ran as fast as i could wearing a vintage dress, my heels clicking furiously. i knew he was following me, trying to stop me from leaving and i knew that but by the time he’d reach me, he’d be too late.

in the backseat of my car, i wondered about how we were built to fall apart.

hope u liked it!! also i’m writing after, like, 6 months or more so i promise i can do better than this shit lol

likes and reblogs are appreciated !! <3

tagging ppl who might be interested:

@cordelia-street @born-to-be-suburban-legends @indiansapphic @girlatreus @tiredandcaffeinated @prembharidhun @maya-why @carelikeribbonsinyourhair @shefollowedthestars @folkloregurl @doyouknowwhoyouare13 @manjulika-fanblog

might make a taglist too later so we msg me if u want to be tagged/removed xx

#. ༉‧₊˚ — her writings ! #taylor swift #1989 tv #1989 era #ts 1989 #1989 taylor's version #taylor alison swift #ts fanfic #fanfic #taylornation #i love you taylor #swifties #the eras tour #tswift #tswift13 #tswiftdaily #1989 #taylors version #taylor swift eras #taylor nation #eras tour #aesthetic #tsuseraugust #tsuserhana #tsusermels #tsuserjime #tsuserjen #tsusermeggie #writers on tumblr

[thatonelesbianfander]

Currently working on an AU where Janus is a grim reaper and Remus is a spirit that Janus reaped who follows him around because I got bored and wanted to get back into writing fanfic. I’m going to write chapters 1 & 2 and post them and then see where my motivation takes me from there

Edit: Chapters 1&2 are currently out! You can find chapter 1 here and there’s a link on chapter one that will lead you to chapter two

#thatonelesbianfander #sanders sides #thomas sanders #remus sanders #ts remus #janus sanders #ts janus #tss #sasi #sanders sides au #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts fanfic #ts au

[treenissanderssidesstuff]

Dumb Bitchitis

Summary:

Virgil and Remy sleep together and it takes Virgil a long time to get over it. He starts dating this cute guy named Emile who couldn’t be further from his old flame, thinking that this guy would be safe to open up to after it all.

Notes:

Cause I’ve got dumb bitchitis I might even be a side chick You take five hours, I reply quick   — Dumb Bitchitis by yung cxreal

Ship: RemyxEmilexVirgil

Ao3 Link

Next

Chapter 1: Fuck Feelings

The only light illuminating the room was the cold blue light of a phone bouncing off of Virgil’s pale skin as it faded outward into the encompassing darkness of the otherwise night cast room. He was laying on his hip, chin propped up in his palm with an elbow digging into the mattress while bouncing between three or four apps on his phone as he looked for some kind of distraction before his mind slipped into self-deprecation and blame. The only other movement in the room was a chest slowly rising and falling beside him and Virgil watched it from the corner of his eye as it was vaguely illuminated by the blue cascade dispersing from his crappy phone screen.

When would he fucking learn?

One fucking text message and he was at it again. He wasn’t even sure what prompted him to answer the sudden incoming text message from “Tall, Dark, and Dickish.” Virgil knew exactly what he was getting into when he answered the sudden “Hey” with a similarly vague “Sup?” Before he knew it, Virgil was getting into a familiar black car that he knew, but only as Remy’s car—he’d never been a car person, beyond color and general shape, they all looked the fucking same—that was inbound on an equally familiar route. They stopped at an apartment that he’d absolutely been to before and as good as the sex was, it never made up for how much he felt like shit afterwards in the quiet of it all. 

Virgil could see Remy asleep on his back, paying no mind to him, even with the little movements as he snoozed. No, Virgil had done his job and he’d known it. Honestly, he’d half expected Remy to have turned away from him by now and simply lay there, sleeping—for real or not—until Virgil left of his own accord.

There was just one thing… Remy was still on his back. It would be so easy for Virgil to just scoot in a little closer, nestle into the crook of his arm. Lanky and small, Virgil didn’t take up much room compared to the other man who dwarfed him by nearly a foot. Chances are that it would hardly disturb him, if at all. Virgil could just slip into that little space between Remy’s arm and hip, nestle in, and pretend he belonged there for a quiet hour in the early morning before he was inevitably sent on his way again. It was damn tempting. 

Nibbling on the inside of his lip, Virgil caved after a moment and shifted up to his knees, crawling on all fours to shift about a foot across the expanse of the bed. He was careful about making his way over the top of Remy’s arm, doing his best not to shift it as he nuzzled into the promised land of being cradled the way he desired. 

For a beautiful moment, he thought it worked. 

“What are you doing?” a quiet, pointed voice asked him, still heavy with sex and sleep. Beneath messy bangs, he could see dark eyes pointed in his direction with a laser-focus that made him squirm in place. 

“N-noth…” Virgil started, swallowing as he tried to push down the bile that had begun to creep up his throat alongside his panic. “Nothing,” he said, steadier, but no less panicked with him frozen in place. “I just… wanted to get cl-closer.”

Remy stared at him for a long moment, before extracting his arm from around Virgil’s back. “Don’t,” Remy said as he pushed to sit up. He didn’t even bother to look away as he bluntly told him, “You’re not really relationship material, Virgil.”

It had been five years. 

Virgil wasn’t sure why his mind was lingering on ancient history this morning as he sipped his tea in a coffee shop that felt frozen in time, sending him back to sitting at the same table during exam week as he tried to cram in another chapter’s worth of knowledge. Maybe it was the place, the fact that he was back in this little college town again, the hellhole he’d gotten away from with his graduation. Ending up here again half a decade never part of the plan; no, he’d gotten out of dodge at the first opportunity with a desk job. Data Entry. It was easy and mindless stuff where he could make up the difference and build his portfolio during evenings and weekends in hopes to land a graphic design role somewhere. He’d been trying at it for just as long and hadn’t really gotten anywhere, until he suddenly received a call, he hadn’t expected regarding an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. 

With single determination and a lot of dumb luck, one of his roommates had made it big in the game industry with an indie title after they’d graduated. After the hours spent pouring tirelessly over the game, wasting away years of his life trying to do every part of it himself, Remus started making calls for a bigger team for the sequel and Virgil had been at the top of the list. He’d wanted Virgil there first to take things all the way from storyboarding to in-game art and design. 

Who was he to turn down that kind of opportunity?

Five years and it was like a time portal, the counter hadn’t changed, the smell of coffee and the goldie slopping away at the bowl on the floor was a familiar sight in a community where dogs were usually served before a line of customers. Honestly, Virgil was pretty sure that if the freshman at the counter could swing it, she’d close the shop to everyone but dogs with the way the girl was doting over him. 

It wasn’t a surprise to hear another cooing voice enter the scene along with the sound of a bell as the front glass door swung open. Normally that wouldn’t have been enough to draw Virgil’s eyes beyond the normal, cursory, anxiety-driven glance at the new person that had entered Virgil’s general area, but broad shoulders and a bright toothy smile pulled his eyes for a prolonged look. Their hair was pulled back and neat, pink framed glasses sat on the bridge of their nose that only drew his attention in a bit more of just how pretty the person was in front of them with wide, bright eyes behind those lenses.

He wasn’t expecting rich sepia irises to catch him in his stare. Virgil ducked a little further into his hoodie, shrugging further into the fabric as a wink was aimed in his direction. Sure, that his cheeks matched the color of their glasses, he did his best to disappear into the corner of the sweet shop as the other person turned around to order. It was only too bad that the shop was too small for either of the two to be truly out of sight of the other. 

“I’ll take a large, iced vanilla latte, a medium hot chocolate, and… what pastries do you have today?” He heard them ask. Their voice was more chipper than he would have expected just looking at them, but with their upbeat aura and shoulders up like they were both willing and able to distribute hugs at any given moment, it helped complete the picture of a jigsawed savior complex. 

“Of course!” the cashier replied, queuing in the items to the register with a few clicks of her hand. “The eclairs are fresh, and the croissants should be out of the oven in just a couple minutes.”

“That sounds lovely,” they replied, looking far too joyful and sweet, even for a place like this, as if they should be stashed in the display alongside the other sugary confections. “One of the croissants when they’re ready and I’ll take two of the eclairs, thank you, ma’am.”

“Can I have a name for the order?” The cashier asked, and Virgil’s ears perked up even as he tried to make a point not to pay attention. His mind and ears were in some kind of standoff as he stared down at his chai and kept listening in spite of himself. 

“Just use Emile,” they said cheerfully, moving even closer as they shuffled to the delivery counter to wait on their order.

Virgil continued to watch them in his peripheral, making a point not to stare directly lest he draw attention to himself. Surely, they would only be a few more minutes, and then he could start breathing again. He figured they would start fiddling on their phone or something the way most people did, but instead Virgil saw them pull something out of their pocket. It looked as if they were scrawling out some kind of note, just in time for their order to arrive in front of them. 

Emile, as they told the cashier, smiled at the worker just as brightly as they had when they first entered, even as they reached for their items. It seemed that the drinks were easy enough, but adding the bag of goodies, along with whatever else it was the person had in their hand overburdened them slightly as they tried to balance everything in their grip while glancing forward at the door, as if they were plotting for it. 

Though he wasn’t really certain what prompted him to do it, but without a word, Virgil stood and pushed it open before they had to figure out how to juggle everything and the door atop of it. 

Whatever berating was pestering him from the back of his mind about being both nosy and perceived, melted when that stranger’s smile was aimed in his direction. It left him feeling rich and warm, like whip topped coffee as the cream started to melt into the otherwise bitter drink. 

“Thank you,” they said, their honey-rich voice sticky enough to catch his ears again as they gave him a polite nod, moving towards him and the open door. 

“N-no problem,” Virgil said, low and mumbled into his hoodie, but he thought they heard it anyway as their expression seemed to only grow warmer, something about the way their eyes crinkled at him, like they were sharing a mutual secret.

As they slid past, it was definitely only the tight fit that had them brushing against him as they made their way through the doorway. He held out a hand for them to balance on if they needed it down the entrance step, but instead he felt something placed into his palm as they gave him a little wiggly wave of their fingers, another wink, and that pretty grin before they turned and made their way down the cobble street. 

For a moment Virgil was frozen, trying to figure out just what happened, but when he finally tore his gaze away from their retreating, distant form he blinked and looked down to see a pastry in his hand, a fresh eclair with something sticking out of the side of the wrapper. It was a pale pink info card with a QR code on one side and contact information on the other. 

What caught his attention even more though was the messy, handwritten scrawl at the top of one side that just said. 

“Want to do brunch?”

“-it’s just a shame how quickly they had to wrap up the show with all the controversy. I think they could have gotten another couple of seasons out of it if they had really started to dive into-”

Chin in his hand and elbow on the table, Virgil was certain that he could keep listening to Emile explain their opinions on their favorite cartoons for hours and never grow bored of the conversation. They had a passion about their arguments, and he found himself easily agreeing with many of their points. Though, the rare disagreement had been even more fun as the two then were able to parse their thoughts out and debate back and forth with different perspectives until they reached some midpoint conclusion. 

“It would have been nice to see them go a little deeper into some of the character’s trauma,” Virgil agreed. “It would have validated Lapis’ journey and even Bismuth as a character overall.”

“Exactly,” Emile agreed, waving an arm in his direction in a way he knew he’d said something particularly right. “It’s just disappointing that the network was too cowardly to keep exploring some of those deeper themes and showed their hand by canceling the show when it came to displaying a bit of queer representation.”

“Bury your gays?” Virgil asked, though rather than it being a thematic character trend, it was literally the show being stomped to a close IRL.

“Unfortunately,” they agreed solemnly. “Still, I’m glad the creators took the stand they did, it opened new doors.”

Virgil didn’t say anything in response, just staring for an extended moment. He could feel a smile tugging on the edge of his lips as he watched them, certain that he must have had a dopey, doe-eyed, love-struck look on his face again. They were incredible. 

“What?” Emile asked, blinking at him, a nervous smile coming to their face as they looked back. “Do I have something on my face?”

Virgil shook his head as they started to pat around their cheeks, looking for some missed morsel of something or other.

“You’re amazing,” Virgil said after shaking his head.

Their mouth opened, then closed again, burying it in their hands. “How are you this sweet?” they asked, looking up at him with helplessness in their expression when they knew he meant every word. Of course, he did. 

They were both taking a chance on each other. Virgil was taking a chance on a relationship at all after the series of flings he’d been through. It was easier when there were no feelings involved and the last time that he’d gotten attached in any real capacity… it didn’t end well for him. From what he gathered from Emile; they were taking a chance on another relationship. He knew he wasn’t their only one, they’d had a long-term partner who they’d known since they were both kids. Though it sounded as if they only truly started a romantic relationship in the last few years, as far as he could tell the two had been mutually pining for the other one for decades before then. It was honestly sweet as hell and exactly the kind of situationship that Virgil could imagine Emile getting themselves into completely by accident.

Though Virgil only knew the gist of the situation, he didn’t even know the other partner’s name yet. Emile had been quick to reveal that they were poly and Virgil was quick to agree. He wasn’t looking to be the center of their world, just a moon orbiting their space, a partnership. In truth, it took off some of the pressure that came with perfectionism, the idea of being everything that someone needed was kinda a terrifying prospect, really. 

So no, he didn’t mind sharing. 

He couldn’t say the other relationship didn’t have an impact, Emile talked about it sometimes, even though thus far, they’d kept names out of the conversation as they were both gauging how seriously their relationship was progressing.

“You’re the sweet one,” Virgil insisted, “or were you not the one that refused to give up on that fair game until you won me a prize?”

“I did it, didn’t I?” Emile asked, sticking out a tongue, still giggling around it as they did. 

“Mothfrog and I thank you for it,” Virgil said, their laughter was contagious, “but even you have to admit you were terrible at that ring toss.”

“And you have to admit that it was rigged,” they countered.

Honestly with the amount they spent on new rounds, they probably could have just found the plush online for cheaper, but Emile insisted they wouldn’t be leaving the fairgrounds without the stuffie, simply because it had caught Virgil’s eye for a double take. But really, who could resist a mothman frog?

The laughing kept on for a moment as they both caught their breath and there were mutual smiles between them, that hadn’t quite faded when Emile turned to him with something serious coming over their face. There was hesitance that made his own smile faulter as he wondered just what could have suddenly gone wrong. 

“Can I talk to you about something?” Emile asked. 

“That depends, are you breaking up with me?” Virgil asked. Their eyes widened in panic, like they hadn’t expected that answer and he hoped that meant it wasn’t what they wanted to do. “Because if so, is it okay if I say no?”

“No!” Emile said quickly, holding up a hand, “w-wait no, yes, I mean-” 

They held up both hands, as if asking for both mercy and a slowdown. “Please listen.”

Virgil nodded, even as anxiety started to knot in his stomach, at least it didn’t sound like they were trying to suddenly leave him on the roadside like an unwanted house cat that had gotten too needy. 

“You know I’m in another relationship, right?” Emile asked, waiting for Virgil to nod. 

He did immediately because of course he knew, it came up in conversation between them on their very first date together. 

“I was wondering if the three of us could maybe go out somewhere as… friends maybe?” They said, casting pouty eyes in his direction that made Virgil realize that he’d never be able to deny them anything. “It’d be nice to know that my partners at least get along amicably.”

Virgil thought about it a moment, he and Emile had mostly been going on outings together, it’d felt just as much of dates as any other actual relationship he’d had in the past, but even he could admit that it would be nice to be able to swing by their place without a sense of awkwardness of some random stranger being there that could potentially end his and Emile’s entire relationship if he disapproved. Truthfully, he didn’t know if that’s how it worked, but Virgil figured he had to probably get the boyfriend’s approval at least to some extent, considering how close the two were. 

Though, the prospect of meeting him didn’t lessen that possibility necessarily, instead it just sped up the process. Still… for his own anxiety’s sake, he’d rather know than not. At least having an idea of where he stood could help him get a game plan for what might come next. 

“Can you tell me a little more about him?” Virgil asked. 

“Oh! Absolutely,” they said, reaching for their phone as they started to scroll through it for a minute. “Let me just-” they suddenly frowned, and Virgil’s head tilted to the side as he waited to hear what was wrong. “Oh shoot, sorry Virgil. I forgot I never transferred over my data from my old phone.”

He was about to reassure them, before something lit up in their eyes and Virgil already knew them enough to know some kind of idea had clicked its way on in their mind. 

“How about this, when I get home, I’ll send some pictures and we can talk more about some of the details?”

They looked so hopeful, staring up at him from over the bridge of their glasses. What else could he do but give them a slightly awkward smile and a nervous “Sure, why not?”

And so it was, their date continuing from there as the topic switched to activities that would be appropriate for three people trying to get to know each other. When it was time to go home, it always left him a little warm that Emile sent him a text when they made it home safe, sending cute, animated gifs of cheek kisses and hearts when he’d confirmed that he’d made it back alright too. 

It wasn’t five minutes later that he heard his phone blowing up with a stream of messages and Virgil smiled, hearing the familiar ring-tone he’d set for them specifically playing on repeat as he reached through his bag. 

Though, as soon as he clicked it to life, the image that stared back at him made the phone slip from his hand and clatter back into the heap of his bag. Virgil had to grab for it and double check he hadn’t just been seeing things as he unlocked it a second time. 

No. 

Staring back at him was a picture of Emile and Remy standing side by side, Remy’s arm was wrapped around their shoulder as the top of their head nestled into the round of his cheek. It looked new, they were wearing the same outfit that they’d worn out today and though it could have been coincidence, Virgil thought it was more likely that the picture was just taken. 

“Virgil, sweetheart, meet Remy, my other partner,” the message beneath read. 

Notes:

I don’t wanna fall for you now But it already happened, don’t know how Now I gotta ghost you Can I can’t keep too close to you And I’m not trying to fall for you now   —Fuck feelings by Oliva O’Brien

#Oh look who wrote something for the first time in ages #sanders sides #remile #Anxmile #Sleepxiety #Viremile #angst #human au #hurt/comfort #fanfiction #ts fanfic

[fantastyfanfictionist]

The Secret Canvas: A Tale of Art and Adventure

If you enjoy this story please reblog. As always feedback is encouraged and welcome. Summary: Upon inheriting a mansion Virgil's exploration leads to unexpected adventures.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

“Hi Virgil!” The executor, Sarah, met up with him as the taxi drove away. “Thank you for meeting me, especially on such short notice and all the way out here.”

Virgil slung his backpack over his shoulder and sighed.

She continued. “It’s just that it was extremely hard to find-”

Virgil tuned out what she was saying and looked at the house in front of him. It was a mansion, literally. Two, maybe three stories tall, a wrap-around porch, a turret on one side and so many windows.

‘Who lives here?’ Virgil wondered following Sarah up the stairs.

“I’ll show you to the office and we’ll go over some things.” She unlocked the door and Virgil entered behind her.

“Wow,” He couldn’t help but mumbled. The inside was old? Antique? He wasn’t sure, but it was stunning. Some of the furniture had white covers and there was dust everywhere.

He was in a lobby area with what he guessed were chairs and side tables. Stairs wrapped around and there was a balcony looking down with doors going past what he could see.

“In here please?” Sarah opened a door to his left.

Virgil put down his backpack and followed her.

This room was clean compared to the rest of the house. A desk and some chairs. A bookshelf lined the back wall.

Sarah sat on a chair and pulled out some papers. “First order of business.” She handed Virgil a copy.

“This is a sealed will and I was named the Executor of it. Legally, I don’t have to give you a copy or explain this to you, but it states that the inheritance must go to next of kin and you seem young, I’ll do you the favor.”

“Okay,” Virgil looked confused. “If this is a will, do I have to sign anything?”

“No,” Sarah smiled. “That’s only in movies. You sign if you disagree and take it back to court. Because you are the sole beneficiary, you did get notice to get a copy of the will if you like. I don’t think you knew about that though.”

Virgil shook his head, looking at the papers in his hand. Sarah continued.

“Because you’re the only one with assets to get, the probate stage was a lot faster than normal, and I waited to meet with you in person until it was over.”

“So I could’ve found this out at any point, since when?”

“For about a 6 months now. Like I said, legally I don’t have to give you a copy, just have to let you know how to get one. And I don’t have to meet you in person. But I feel in your best interest, it would be better for me to do so.”

“Thanks?” Virgil looked at the papers. “Not to be insensitive but who is Walter Brooks?”

“I believe he was your great-great grandfather’s uncle.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He was a painter. Like you.” She beamed.

“You know-”

“Have you heard of Eliot Canvas?” She seemingly changed the subject.

“Practically all painters know him. No one knows who his real identity is.”

“Yeah, turns out it’s Walter Brooks. The paintings that are not finished around the house confirm that.”

Virgil sat back in his chair. Disbelief written on his face, Sarah laughed.

“You are getting his house as well as everything in it.”

“Why am I getting all his things? There was no one else? No grand kids? No brothers with family?”

“You are next of kin. You’re the only person alive with relation to him.”

“If it was that long ago why now?”

“His will stated to read through when his brother’s and sister’s passed on. The last one did sometime last year. This is your house now, I think you’ll like it. It’s surrounded by trees and a big yard and no one really comes on this side of town anyway. Likely you won’t be disturbed by a bunch of neighbors.” She handed him a key and a notepad with some numbers on it. “There’s a safe in one of the rooms. I have to get going, but it was nice meeting you and I wish you good luck.” They stood and Sarah reached and shook Virgil’s hand.

Not long after Virgil was left in silence. “Time to explore I guess.” He muttered to himself, picking up his backpack he walked up the stairs.

The upstairs was a little less decorated than the downstairs, but the view looking down was beautiful nonetheless. A chandelier Virgil didn’t notice before hung on the ceiling a little ways away from the doorway and light from one of the windows shone on it, beaming little rainbows across the room. There was a hallway with doors lined up and down both sides.

“Start from one side I guess.” Virgil walked to one end of the hall. “Empty room.” He moved on to the next. “Empty... Empty... Empty... Empty… Empty… Do any of these at least have a bed?” The next few doors were also empty and Virgil was on the last one from the hallway. “Emp-” Virgil paused when he saw it wasn’t empty like he expected. “Stairs?” A circular railing led up somewhere and Virgil walked into the room.

“Must be the attic.” He climbed the stairs. “Wow,” He breathed out. It was brighter than he expected, caused by the many windows lining the wall, letting in natural light. The sunset created a glow across the room, filled with mostly blank canvas’s and a few half-finished ones.

Pulling out his own smaller canvas and paintbrush Virgil walked up to the window, in awe at the view.

Forest was in front of him and to his right a field half full of flowers and half of what he assumed were weeds. Faintly in the distance to his left he saw some roofs of buildings, most likely the rest of town. Sarah was right, this house is secluded. ‘Just the way I like it.”

Paintbrush still in hand he turned to look at the rest of the canvas’s in the room. “That’s odd?” He noticed a finished painting behind some half finished ones.

The odd thing wasn’t that it was finished, but that it had no dust on it. “For an old painting it sure looks clean.”

He walked over towards it. From what he could see, it was the view he just saw out the window, and it did have some small differences. Instead of buildings in the distance it was more trees and the field was all flowers. Virgil moved the paintings in front of it and picked up the finished canvas.

In an instant, light blinded him and he had to close his eyes. Virgil slowly opened his eyes and found himself in a strangely familiar field. “The painting!”

Part 1/?

#ssfanfic #virgil sanders #sanders sides fanfic #painter Virgil #ts fanfic #sanders sides human au #fanfic #the secret canvas: a tale of art and adventure #The secret Canvas #human au #Roman Sanders #Logan Sanders #Patton Sanders

[tsspromptmonth]

Sanders Sides Spring Cleaning Event Sign-ups Now Open!

Sign ups are now open! https://forms.gle/pyvBGpspec26ASP68

Sign ups open February 10 and close on February 28. Matches will be announced on March 3.

Full text under the break.

Sanders Sides Spring Cleaning Event Find a new home for your work in progress and bring new life to another creator's WIP.

February 10: Sign ups open

February 28: Sign ups close

March 3: Matches announced

Creations shared at the end of April.

#sanders sides #ts fanfiction #sanders sides spring cleaning swap #ts fanfic #ts fanart

[the-panmixxia]

POUND OF PREVENTION (AND AN OUNCE OF CURE) MASTERLIST!

This lovely fic is my submission to the @ts-storytime big bang event. For this I had the privilege of being teamed up with @im-an-anxious-wreck who was sweet enough to create not one, but two gorgeous pieces of art. Check out the post here and send some love.

This fic is based on, and is the sequel to, A Black Cat For (un) Luck, which you can read here.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

(fin)

#sanders sides #sleep sanders #logan sanders #dark sides #sanders sides roman #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #tss fanfic #tss fanfiction #fanfic #fanart #thomas sanders #writing #virgil turns into a cat #magic #multichapter #masterpost #masterlist

[tss-storytime]

Storytime Sign Ups start Feb 1st

New mods, new blog! Same event you know and love.

Sign Ups start February 1st, so watch this space!

Full schedule below the cut.

February 1st: Writer, artist, and beta sign-ups open, discord opens

April 30th: Writer, artist, and beta sign-ups close

May 1st: Pinch hitter sign-ups open

May 1st-8th: Summaries submitted

May 9th: Summaries posted

May 15th: Choices due

May 17th: Matchings posted

June 18th: First pairing check-in due

July 16th: Final checkins due

July 18th: Posting schedule announced

July 31th: Pinch-hitter sign-ups closed

August 1st: Big Bang goes live!

#tss-storytime #ts-storytime #ts fanart #ts fanfic #ts creative event

[officiallunatic]

Pre-Bite Logan in my shitty art style? Don't mind if I do.

#sanders sides #ts logan #ts patton #ts roman #ts virgil #ts janus #ts remus #logicality #prinxiety #demus #werewolves #ao3 fanfic #ts fanfic

[theimprobabledreamersworld]

Happy Birthday Patton!

A nice little Moceit one shot I speed wrote for Patton’s birthday! :D

Inspired a little by Law and Order SVU, no warnings just a little hurt/comfort :)

I'm starting from scratch with a writing taglist, if you would like to be added, let me know!

Happy Birthday Patton.

Word count: 1,031

Platonic/Pre-romantic/Romantic Moceit- whatever you would like to see it as :)

Janus sat on the sofa staring at the floor, deep in thought about how much of a rollercoaster life had become recently. He had made himself well and truly known to the others, the drama wasn’t usually his forte, but he wanted to make sure his entrance was spectacular. He had torn everything apart, he had pieced one tiny section back together, it was a tiring existence for him recently. Despite the turmoil he had caused, there was one constant light in his life.

Patton.

As much as it sca- pained him to admit it, Janus and Patton had been growing closer recently, despite Janus’ adamant sarcasm in the latest video calling Patton ‘his bestie’. He actually found himself becoming fond on Patton’s company. He found himself baking cookies with Patton, reading classic novels to him when neither of them could sleep, watching Disney movie after movie with no complaints; just acceptance. Even the quiet moments were acceptable, just sitting in a comfortable silence without the chill in the air coming from the others. Janus noticed that his sarcasm was beginning to rub off on Patton ever so slightly. He smiled fondly as he remembered an exchange from the other day.

“What will you be doing when we’re 85?”

“Squabbling with you.”

“Now wouldn’t that be nice?”

They were both lonely, craving the company of someone who didn’t look at them with indifference or anger, so it was only natural that they would grow closer. That wasn’t such a bad thing after all, at least not in Janus’ mind.

“Hey, you!” Janus jumped when the cheery voice appeared out of nowhere, followed by someone collapsing onto the sofa next to him. It took all of two seconds for him to recognise that cat hoodie he lov- despised so much.  

“If you’re trying to give me a heart attack, you’re going the right way about it!” He retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm as Patton giggled, playfully hitting his shoulder.

“Oh c’mon, you know you love me!” Patton teased making Janus roll his eyes. If only he knew…

The comfortable silence filled the space until Janus glanced over and noticed Patton looking at him with nothing but worry in his eyes. Could he really make the choice to step back? Step back from Patton?

“Hey. What’s going on in that mind of yours?” He heard Patton try to mask the concern in his voice as he felt as hand rest on his arm. Janus sighed and rested his gloved hand on top of Patton’s.

“Oh you know, just thinking about how I could ruin the next thing we have to face.” Janus bitterly answered, the realisation hit Patton like a freight train and he forced Janus’ chin up to look him in the eyes.

“Talk to me. Please?” Patton pleaded quietly, the tone of voice that Janus just couldn’t say no to. He sighed and began to open up to the one person he knew wouldn’t judge him… because they needed each other.

How could he broach this in a way that wouldn’t hurt Patton? He had already done that before, and it was something he swore he would never do again. The one time he caused Patton to spiral was the worst experience of his life, and one he was still regretting to this day.

"You know, when we started spending more time together, what five months a-"

"Six, actually." Patton interrupted with a smirk. Janus let out a chuckle as he removed the gloves from his hands. His mask being removed and letting the vulnerability show.

"Always have to have the final say, don’t you?” Patton shrugged and Janus bit the bullet, continuing like he was saying. “Before we met... The world was an old movie, it was all black and white. Then you, you started to meddle your way into my world and the black and white became different shades of grey. Before I knew it... There were blues... and greens and yellows and reds...”

He couldn’t help but smile when he listed the colours, as he watched the concern from Patton’s face melt away into fondness and happiness, especially when blue was mentioned first. Despite his reputation of lying, every word was true. He had been caught in a monochrome world until Patton showed him colours, how the world isn’t set in its ways. He could be happy with Patton, even when the rest of them told him he was just shifty and untrustworthy.

“You... opened my heart, Patton... And I thank you for it..." Janus felt tears sting the corners of his eyes as he saw the concern flood Patton’s face again.

"And?"

"I- I have to step back, before anyone else gets hurt." He heard Patton gasp and turned his face away.

“No. No! Don’t you dare!” Patton’s voice echoed off the walls. Janus raised an eyebrow in confusion, why was it such a big deal?

“You can’t… you can’t step back. I absolutely won’t let you! I need you, Jan. And I have to go LilyPadton mode to make you understand that, then so help me-” Janus smiled fondly at the nickname and gently put a finger in Patton’s lips to stop him from talking, then rubbed his cheek softly with his thumb.

“Alright. I’ll stay, but only for you.”

The comfortable silence fell between them once again and then the clock beeped indicating midnight. Janus suddenly realised what day it was.

“Oh! Before anything else…” He quickly got off the sofa and ran to his room, grabbing a small blue bag with a gold bow around it. Janus came back to see Patton looking confused, so he handed over the bag.

“Wow, you’re early! Thank you, Jan!” Patton gasped excitedly as he took the gift and peeked inside. Janus chuckled as he loaded up ‘Tangled’ on the DVD player, he knew that neither of them would getting sleep anytime soon. He sat down next to Patton again and let him cuddle up while the opening credits rolled.

“I just wanted to be first… Happy Birthday Patton.”

#happy birthday patton #sanders sides #ts patton #ts janus #patton sanders #janus sanders #moceit #platonic moceit #pre romantic moceit #romantic moceit #ts fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction

[rosepetalgold]

the art of saying goodbye

Summary: Remus expects a lot of things from the Queen Anne Victorian house he’s just purchased—a restoration project to occupy his time, some peace and quiet from nosy neighbors, a chance to brag about being a homeowner before his goody two-shoes brother.

What he doesn’t expect is for the property to come with a very real, very curious ghost. But what is he supposed to do, just ignore the spirit? That'd be nothing short of rude, especially considering that the specter's fascination with modern science and penchant for hijacking Remus' technology proves unfairly endearing.

But even as their unlikely friendship grows, so too do the questions swirling in Remus’ mind: Why is Logan still haunting the place he used to live? Who is the mysterious Janus he refuses to talk about? And what will it take for the ghost to finally find peace with the life and the love that were stolen from him so long ago?

Relationships: Platonic Intrulogical, past romantic Loceit, background romantic Prinxiety

Warnings for this chapter: None!

Word Count: 7000

Notes: My fic for this year's @sandersidesbigbang, aka another angsty tale that inexplicably grew out of a single fluffy scene, aka a prime excuse to procrastinate by poring through countless photos of beautiful Queen Anne houses my beloved. I hope you enjoy this ghostie story as much I enjoyed writing it! A big shoutout to my wonderful beta reader @dragonsaphirareads for all their feedback on this fic, and don't miss the amazing art by the incredible @casart and @onthevirgeofdestruction—you can check out their pieces here and here! (Seriously, even if you don't read the fic, go feast your eyes on their work because it is straight-up stunning. Go look, you'll see.)

Read on Ao3 Masterpost

-

start (you’re here!) - next

-

“This place is definitely haunted.”

Remus snorts, giving his brother a friendly sock in the arm.

“Oh come on, Ro, you scared of a few ghosties now? Afraid a floating white sheet is gonna jump out and yell boo?”

Roman doesn’t answer, just eyes the Queen Anne Victorian home in front of them with the amount of trepidation he usually reserved for any time Remus started a sentence with ‘I have an idea.’ The house does give off distinctly spooky vibes, Remus has to admit, what with its boards in desperate need of a new coat of paint and its broken window in the attic, not to mention the porch that looks liable to send someone plummeting to the ground if they take a single wrong step, but what was wrong with any of that? It all just added to the building’s character, and the risk of falling through the veranda was a delightful way to keep visitors on their toes, in his superior opinion.

And besides, he couldn’t turn his nose up at the property’s many flaws when they made it dirt-cheap. He wasn’t exactly a millionaire.

He grabs Roman’s arm, tugging him forward.

“C’mon, there’s some wicked spindlework on the back you gotta check out.”

His brother makes a sound of protest, dragging his feet as Remus hauls him onward.

“Aren’t we going to go inside?”

“Nah, I don’t have the keys yet. Everything’s still pending or whatever.”

Roman shifts his incredulous gaze from the house to Remus.

“You made me come all this way just to look at the outside of a house you haven’t even officially bought yet?”

Why yes, he had. He was such a good brother.

“Don’t act like it’s such a burden to drive twenty minutes out of the way to get here, especially when it means you’re twenty minutes closer to a booty call with Virgil.”

Roman splutters, face flushing a splendidly scandalized shade of crimson, and Remus cackles. That was more like it.

“Now c’mon c’mon c’mon, the sooner you ooh and aah over all my cool house shit, the sooner you can get some of that good di—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Roman interrupts, slapping his hands over his ears, but he doesn’t protest as Remus pulls him around to the back of the house and points out the expansive if overgrown backyard, the plethora of decorative elements adorning the home, the leaded glass windows that have survived well over a century.

“I don’t get it, though,” Roman says as he eyes the tower gracing the corner of the house, something Remus would swear is a hint of jealousy in his gaze. Made sense. He knows for a fact his brother would sell his soul to be Rapunzel. “If this is such a nice place, why has it sat empty for so long?”

“Dunno. The realtor just said it stayed in the family of the guy who built it for a while before changing hands a bunch. Apparently every time it’s been on the market it’s taken ages to find a buyer, but she didn’t really say why no one wanted to live here for too long.” Probably just her trying not to scare him away from what was clearly a substantial restoration project so she wouldn’t lose her commission. Either that or there was some kind of toxic fungus in the walls that had taken over all the previous residents’ brains and turned them into zombies and Remus was about to become its next victim.

What a delightful gamble to find out which one it was.

“Can we please go now before some serial killer comes charging out of this place and we both end up on the news?” Roman asks, already edging back towards the front of the house.

“Sure, if you really want to give up your one shot of having your fifteen minutes of fame in the media,” Remus replies, dancing away with a grin as Roman aims a kick at his shins. “Fine, fine, we’ll go. I wouldn’t want to keep you from a hot date and some—”

Something catches his attention, a flash of movement out of the very corner of his eye, and he pauses mid-stride, doing a double-take at the second-story balcony overlooking the backyard.

Nothing. Not even a curtain blowing in the non-existent breeze.

“What?” Roman questions from where he’s also stopped a few yards ahead of him.

Remus looks a moment longer, searching for anything out of place, but all is still.

“Nothing. Probably just a bat or something. Wouldn’t that be cool as shit, to have bats as roommates? Hey, maybe they have rabies if they’re out in the daytime. Did you know…”

He launches into a spiel of the most gruesome and fascinating facts he knows about the disease, joyfully watching his brother’s face grow increasingly horrified with each one as they make their way back across the yard, and by the time they reach the driveway, the flicker of movement is barely a blip on his mental radar.

Just a trick of his eyes, surely.

It wasn’t like houses could actually be haunted, after all.

---

Home sweet home.

Or home rundown-and-slightly-musty-smelling home, as the case may be, but who was Remus to nitpick?

He fits his shiny new key into the lock and steps inside, letting the door click shut solidly behind him as he pauses just over the threshold, taking a moment to survey the foyer. His foyer now, in his very own home. The sale had been endless offers and counteroffers and a mountain of paperwork so large he’s positive he could have buried himself beneath it and never been seen again, but the place is finally his.

Him, a homeowner. Who’d have thunk it. He’ll be rubbing this in Roman’s apartment-renting face every chance he can get, thank you very much. It’s the least he can do, really.

He unceremoniously deposits the cardboard box in his arms on the floor and wanders further inside, trailing his hand along the smooth wood of the stair banister as he passes. He’s supposed to be meeting some of his friends back at his old place shortly—or now, actually, but that was wholly irrelevant—to start moving all of his worldly possessions into his fancy new abode, but he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of taking the first load of boxes alone just to have the place to himself for a bit; he could use a few minutes to enjoy the space in peace before it’s filled with Roman and Virgil squabbling about the worst Disney movie heroes or whatever argument they were bound to get into.

Despite its well-worn exterior, the house is in surprisingly good condition inside, he muses as he roams through the empty rooms. There’s clearly extensive work that needs to be done if he wants to restore the place to its Victorian glory, an ambitious undertaking he knows will be neither cheap nor easy, but the bones of the structure are all solid, especially considering how many years it’s stood empty.

He finishes his meandering loop around the first floor and heads up the stairs, the tread of his steps entirely too loud for the pervasive quiet as he continues his exploratory wandering through the second story rooms. He pauses as he reaches what is clearly the master bedroom, surveying the original fireplace, the century-old hardwood, the attached balcony that was just begging to be used to pour water onto his unsuspecting brother’s head. Shit, his new house was cool as fuck.

It’d make the most sense to start hauling his load of boxes here, considering that’s where most of his crap is going to end up eventually, but the longer he hovers in the doorway, the more something feels … off. Just the slightest tingle prickling down his spine, and not the good kind. He steps inside and the temperature drops noticeably, a chill raising the hair on his arms.

“The fuck?” he mutters, raking his gaze over the windows in search of damaged panes letting in a breeze, but everything is intact.

He advances another step on impulse and the pinpricks dancing along his vertebrae only grow stronger, now accompanied by the distinct feeling he’s being watched. He scans the room again, slower this time, but there’s no furniture, no closet, not so much as a nook or cranny for anyone or anything to hide. Even the ceiling is empty when he turns his gaze upwards on the off chance he really does have some bats hanging around that he’s somehow missed on his numerous pre-sale walk-throughs.

Nary a beady eye to be found and still the sensation of being in someone’s sights doesn’t lessen. Not that it’s a threatening feeling, exactly, just distinctly unsettling, like there’s someone behind him no matter how many times he glances over his shoulder and finds nothing but empty air.

But that was crazy. He’d read the final sale documents until his eyes had been about to start bleeding and he’s absolutely positive that the house hadn’t come with any roommates. He’s probably just imagining the feeling, the result of watching one too many horror movies in the last week or his brain making things up in an attempt to liven up the empty space.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, yanking him out of his thoughts, and he rolls his eyes without even looking at the screen, already able to see the text from Roman in his mind’s eye: where you at?? i’m not packing up all your crap for you followed by an absurdly long string of emojis that basically constituted their own Roman-specific hieroglyphic language.

Time to face the moving-day music before Roman got annoyed enough with waiting that he rescinded his promise of free manual labor, then. Any investigations of potential invisible voyeurs would have to wait, no matter how titillating such a prospect sounded when he put it like that.

“You win for now, house,” he says into the quiet as he turns to leave, an edge of coldness still dancing along the goosebumps on his skin. “Keep your secrets. I’ll figure ‘em out eventually.”

---

The afternoon passes in a blur of hauling entirely too many heavy boxes and unwieldy pieces of furniture to the new house, and by the time night settles onto the horizon, Remus is utterly exhausted. He flops back on the couch, too tired to even think about putting his bedframe together, and he’s out in minutes.

He wakes disoriented, mind scrabbling blankly for a moment before the darkness coalesces into the still-unfamiliar contours of his sitting room. He just lies there for a moment, trying to figure out what’s roused him, but all is still. Just his brain deciding to deprive him of some tantalizingly horrifying nightmares, unfortunately—

Tap tap tap.

Remus bolts upright at the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the hardwood upstairs, adrenaline surging in a dizzying rush. There hadn’t been any signs of a squatter all day, and surely he’d remembered to lock the doors so no one could steal all the crap he’d just spent a whole day of his life lugging around. He waits for a moment, holding his breath as silence falls, and just when he’s about to pass the whole thing off as his imagination playing tricks on him, the steps start up again, slow and rhythmic like someone is pacing on the upper level.

Fuck his luck. If someone is secretly living in the attic of his fancy new home, he’s not going to be pleased.

He rolls off the couch and snatches his phone off of one of the plethora of boxes waiting to be unpacked, debating whether to risk turning on the flashlight before deciding for it; he might give away any element of surprise with the beam, but he’s certain to give it away if he starts banging face-first into walls or cracking his skull open falling down the stairs. His eye catches on a glass paperweight on the coffee table, a characteristically pretentious housewarming present from Roman, who apparently thought Remus had so many papers flying about that he needed to corral them with a glorified rock, and he seizes it on a whim.

Makeshift weapon was a much more useful purpose for the thing than its intended function anyways.

He edges around the scattered boxes towards the stairs, careful to keep his steps light and his hand shielding the light from his phone as the footfalls continue overhead, and makes it all the way up the steps without so much as a creak to give him away.

Flawless. He knew all those times sneaking up behind Roman to scare the shit out of him as kids would pay off someday.

He pauses on the landing to triangulate the noise, then creeps down the hall towards the footsteps as the sound grows even more distinct. The master bedroom again? What the actual fuck was going on with that room? Had he really managed to miss someone in there when he’d investigated earlier in the day? No, he couldn’t have, but then how had someone managed to get past where he’d been sleeping on the couch? Unless he really did have somebody living in the walls—

A floorboard squeaks underneath his foot, deafeningly loud in the quiet of the night, and the footsteps abruptly stop. Remus swears under his breath. Traitorous piece of wood. Now or never, then.

He lunges forward into the doorway of the master bedroom, raising the paperweight and howling a war cry as he swings his light across the room to reveal—

Nothing. The space is as entirely and utterly empty as it had been that morning.

Well, shit. There went any element of surprise he had left.

He darts back into the hall, racing to search through the rest of the rooms on the upper level one by one, but they’re all just as vacant as the first. He even hauls himself into the attic, bracing himself to be clubbed over the head by whoever is lurking, but with the exception of innumerable shadows billowing away from his flashlight, the space proves equally empty as the rest.

Unease stirs in his gut, creeping in alongside the lingering adrenaline as he makes his way back down the precariously rickety ladder into the main house. Surely there’s no way someone could have gotten past him, not when he would have heard them in the hall or going down the stairs.

And yet, as far as he can tell, besides a few mice tucked away in the attic, there isn’t another living soul in the house.

He stops in the doorway of the master bedroom again, staring inside. He’s positive this is where the footsteps had been emanating from, lack of proof be damned. Something weird was going on with this house.

Good thing Remus had just made the biggest financial commitment of his life to buy it.

Nothing for it now but to hope some elusive, wall-dwelling ax murderer doesn’t give him the chop in his sleep, he supposes, although he has to admit that’d be a badass way to go.

He reluctantly makes his way back downstairs and shoves a pile of boxes at the foot of the stairs to trip any nefarious intruders coming down, then retreats back to the couch, all the while keeping his ears primed for so much as a whisper of sound above him.

But even though it takes him a long time to drift back to sleep, the house around him remains as silent as a grave.

---

The whole thing must have been an impressively lucid dream, Remus decides the next morning. A second investigation in the light of day doesn’t reveal anything out of place: no shoe prints on the floor, no critters, certainly no people. It was probably nothing then, he tries to convince himself, just his overactive imagination needing an outlet after being a bit too jittery from all the excitement of moving.

But he finds himself pausing in the master bedroom again, something drawing him back to the space. First the chill and the strange feeling of being watched, then the mysterious footsteps? Two separate coincidences, or something more?

God, he sounded about as paranoid as Virgil. Next thing he knew he was going to be inventing his very own conspiracy theory to explain a few bumps in the night.

It really was nothing, he tells himself, shaking off any lingering unease as he tromps back down the stairs. If he starts jumping at every little noise in his old-as-shit house, he’ll be long dead before he gets the property restored. If he starts seeing glowing red eyes in the dark, he’ll start to worry. Until then, he has a mountain of boxes to unpack.

Unfortunately, said mountain does not pull a Beauty and the Beast and begin unpacking itself, leaving Remus to spend a dreadfully dull afternoon doing it instead, only the allure of building a fort out of all the empty boxes keeping him from living out of cardboard for the rest of his life.

By the time he’s finally finished unboxing most of the downstairs and getting the tv and wifi set up, most of the day has passed him by, afternoon sunlight splaying golden fingers across the hardwood.

Break time, then. He’s earned it, if he does say so himself.

He collapses onto the couch, flipping on the tv and surfing through the channels until he finds a rerun of some low-budget horror film from the eighties. Perfect. Nothing like a bit of mindless tv to rot his brain just that much more. Settling back more comfortably into the cushions, he pops open the bag of chips he’s snagged from the kitchen and pulls out his phone, beginning to scroll through his notifications.

Modern multitasking at its finest, truly.

But he’s barely a minute into atrophying his mind via social media before the tv starts flickering, volume dropping precipitously before ratcheting back up, the picture jumping to the weather channel, then a British cooking show, then the news with Spanish subtitles flashing in and out at the bottom of the screen.

Remus freezes with a chip halfway to his mouth, staring at the remote where it’s very definitely out of his reach on the coffee table, all by its lonesome. He’s no expert, but he’s pretty sure technology was not, in fact, supposed to suddenly start functioning by itself without any human input. Was his new house secretly sitting over some freaky radioactive waste? That would certainly explain why no one had wanted to buy it. Or was this some EMP disaster? Had someone decided to take out the whole country’s power grid, starting with Remus’ shitty tv?

He sits up, reaching for the rogue remote, only to pause as a chill moves over him, then past him like it’s heading for the tv, and the screen crackles, static beginning to fuzz both the video and the audio as the picture continues to leap wildly between programs.

Fuck the remote, then. Whatever freak accident has descended upon his living room, it’s time to go straight to the source.

Abandoning his snack, he stands, striding to the outlet and yanking the plug out of the wall. Silence falls immediately, the screen fading to black, but there still lingers a noticeable chill in the air, cold energy palpable against his skin and all too reminiscent of the feeling he remembers from being in the master bedroom.

“What the hell,” he mutters under his breath, casting his gaze around the room. Empty, just as upstairs had been the last three times he’d checked. He takes a step backwards, then another, and the strange chill decreases. On a whim, he pulls out his phone, scrolling through several apps without even paying attention to them, and sure enough, the hair on his arms raises as the temperature falls again, that sparking feeling of energy growing more intense as his phone begins to flicker on its own.

“What the actual hell,” he whispers again. Roman can’t have been right—this place can’t actually be haunted. There’s absolutely no way there’s a real, live—or dead, technically, he supposes—ghost in his living room right now playing fuck-up-the-electronics.

But if there is…

“Hello?” he calls, and the flickering abruptly stops, chill retreating once more. Shit. One word in and apparently Remus has already fucked things up. “Hello?” he tries again. Did this maybe-possible-potential ghostie even speak English? “I’m Remus,” he says, feeling more than a little crazy for introducing himself to his empty living room. If Roman ever knew of this, he’d die laughing and then Remus really would have a ghost haunting his ass.

He wracks his brain for something to say. If he were a ghost and a stranger started moving all of their shit into his home, what would he want to hear from them?

“Um, cool house you have here. I’m not gonna like, fuck it up or anything.”

Silence.

“I’m planning on restoring it bit by bit as I have money so if you could tell me the original paint color or wallpaper patterns, that’d be dope.”

Still nothing. Apparently the ghost is not amused. Time for a different tactic, then.

“What’s your name?”

Not even a cricket chirping. Jesus fucking christ, Remus is really blowing this.

“That’s the tv—the television,” he explains, gesturing towards the device that had seemingly either fascinated or enraged his new housemate, he can’t quite tell which. “It works by… well, I don’t really know how it works. Something with waves and frequencies or some shit? But you can watch recordings, people acting or baking or doing dumb reality dating shows or whatever, so if there’s something that you wanna see…”

He trails off, surreptitiously scanning the room for any ethereal presences, but the house is quiet, the ghostly feeling fading bit by bit. Great. An actual paranormal experience and he’s gone and shoved his foot so far in his mouth he can practically feel his toes wiggling in his small intestine.

“Alright, that’s cool, no worries. Just lemme know if you change your mind.”

He waits a moment more, hoping for a disembodied voice to speak or an object to start moving on its own or his body to suddenly become possessed, but there’s nothing. Snagging his leather jacket off the back of the couch, he beelines for the door, forcing himself not to run as excitement begins to grow with every step, bubbling up around his bones. He has a ghost. A ghost, an actual fucking ghost, and he hadn’t even had to pay extra for it. No way he’s not going to take advantage of the universe handing him the sickest housewarming present in the world, never mind the fact that he might end up a walking meat suit for the spirit.

He pauses as he reaches the edge of the yard, then thinks better of it and pivots, heading for his car instead. Who knew how far ghost range was, and he doesn’t want his new roomie overhearing. He’s practically vibrating with energy as he makes his way down the long, winding drive, and he only makes it a few miles down the road before he’s pulling over onto the shoulder, hopefully well out of spirit range.

His first call rings through to voicemail, but Remus doesn’t bother leaving a message, just hangs up and tries again, only to be met with the same result. The third time, though, proves to be the charm.

“What,” the voice on the other end spits, cheerful as ever. “Fuck you, Remus, I’m in the middle of—”

“You’re still into all that weird stuff, right? Like the cryptids and the creepies and the ghouls and ghosties and all that?” Remus interrupts. He can deal with Virgil’s wrath another time—he has information he needs and he needs it pronto.

A pause, so long he’s sure Virgil has hung up on him and he’s going to have to keep calling until the emo answers his question.

“Yeah?” the distrustful reply finally comes, anger blunted by obvious wariness. “Why—”

“I need to pick your brain,” Remus cuts in again. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

---

Plan Contact The Resident Possibly Unfriendly Ghost Who Might Possess Him, or CTRPUGWMPH to be short and snappy about it, is officially a go.

Unfortunately, it isn’t off to a promising start.

Virgil’s knowledge had turned out to be more spirit lore than specifics about how to get a ghost to actually appear, although he’d been infinitely more helpful than Roman, who’d just stared at him and asked if he’d had the house checked for carbon monoxide poisoning. Remus had soundly ignored him and had left Virgil’s apartment with his head swimming with theories about why ghosts haunt particular places and an extensive lecture from Virgil about how to find any potential objects or reasons tying a ghost to the house that might provide a potential talking point to engage said ghost in conversation.

But despite digging into every crack and crevice on the internet, emailing the local historical society, even calling his realtor to ask again about the history of the property, Remus comes up with precious little. The house had originally been built in the 1880s by a local merchant, everyone seems to agree, and had been inherited by his nephew soon after, but beyond that there’s frustratingly scant information available, and he can’t find so much as a whisper about anyone dying in the home. His ghostie could be anyone, then: A Victorian builder who’d taken a tumble, a flapper girl who’d partied a tad too hard, a hapless victim of some modern serial killer who’d taken advantage of the place sitting abandoned for years to do a bit of light murdering. 

With precisely zero context clues as to his new housemate’s identity, then, Remus embraces his remarkable talent of keeping up an entirely one-sided conversation as he works around the house the next few days, rambling about anything and everything related to the property he can think of, hoping something will pique the ghost’s interest. But besides a few more cold spots and flickering screens, the house remains stubbornly quiet. Maybe his ghost just needed a bit of help in communicating, though; drifting around an empty building with no one to talk to for the past god-knew-how-many years can’t have done good things to their incorporeal vocal cords.

Which brings him to Plan B: The infamous Ouija board, favorite tool of grifters and bullshit paranormalists everywhere.

And yet despite the makeshift, very high-budget seance he conducts with the two dollar board and the zero dollar candles he’s lovingly stolen from his brother, there’s once again no reply from beyond the veil besides a chill in the room that somehow radiates disapproval. Apparently his ghost isn’t a fan of pseudoscientific games any more than he is. At least they had standards, whoever they were.

But Remus is a stubborn bastard if he does say so himself, so on to Plan C it is. The used EMF meter he snags off of ebay has definitely seen better days, given the prominent crack across its screen, but the thing had been cheap and still seemed to work, so Remus wasn’t complaining.  Fancy equipment was for fancy people, after all, and of all the things he’s ever been called, he’s positive fancy isn’t one of them. He sets up the device behind the tv, which still seems to intrigue his ghost every time it’s turned on, puts on the first show he can find, and forces himself to walk away. His little trap is set. Now all he has to do is bide his time pretending to busy himself unpacking a box of books in the next room—

He barely has the chance to register the tv screen flickering out of the corner of his eye before an ear-splitting shriek is rending the air, startling him so violently that he promptly drops a hefty tome on his foot.

“Shit,” he breathes, surging back into the living room, but the noise has already stopped just as suddenly as it began, replaced by a frigid chill permeating the room. Maybe he should have thought twice about scaring the resident phantom without first hiding any of his valuables. Hopefully he won’t wake up tomorrow to find his tv shattered. “It won’t hurt you,” he calls, though the EMF meter indicates a distinct lack of any supernatural presences. “It just makes noise to let me know when you’re nearby, yeah? Totally harmless.”

No response, but for once he doesn’t mind, not when there’s excitement dancing white-hot across his nerves. There really is a ghost or spirit or demon or something here, and he hasn’t just been imagining things.

Fuck, this house is single-handedly the coolest thing that’s ever happened to him, even if he does now have to worry about his haunting buddy getting a bit of revenge on him in the middle of the night.

But Remus survives safe and sound into the next day without so much as a supernatural scratch on his skin. Bloody payback didn’t seem like his ghost’s style anyways, not when their favorite activity seemed to be pressing as many buttons as possible on the tv remote at once. Curiosity is still nipping impatiently at his heels though, urging him to explore this latest avenue of potential communication more, so he sets up the EMF meter again, this time in the master bedroom where the spirit seems most inclined to spend time if the continued pacing in the middle of the night is anything to go by.

A brilliant plan, only minorly ruined by the fact that the device is nowhere to be found when he goes searching for it the next morning.

“Are you disappearing things, ghostie?” he asks the empty bedroom. “Gonna zap me into another dimension next?”

 He’s joking, but as his hunt through the house reveals neither hide nor hair of the EMF meter, he can’t help but wonder. Had the ghost really just yeeted the thing into the ether? Or maybe it was right where he’d left it in the middle of the bedroom, but had been turned invisible like the spirit themself? What kind of ghostly superpowers did he even have, if any—

He comes to an abrupt halt as he emerges out the back door onto the porch, a laugh spilling past his lips as he surveys the myriad bits of metal and broken plastic strewn around him. Looks like he’s found his EMF meter. Apparently his ghost wasn’t nearly as endeared to this technology as he was anything with a screen. He glances up to the master bedroom window over his head, shading his eyes from the sun.

“Fair enough,” he calls, still fighting down amusement despite himself, and there’s the faintest shimmer in the air above the balcony, reminiscent of a heat mirage despite the cool morning air. “No more screeching little boxes.”

Left with zero information about his ghost’s identity, a useless Ouija board better repurposed as a doorstop, and the remains of his one piece of official ghost-hunting equipment, Remus concludes his only option is to embark on Plan D. Said plan isn’t so much an strategic approach as it is a wild hail mary to find any way to communicate with his ghost that didn’t involved hurling objects from balconies, as much fun as such an activity was, but then again, Plan D did sound delightfully dirty, so he’ll take the trade-off.

The internet, of course, is the place to turn to for highly questionable ghost advice, and it only takes a single google search to find message boards teeming with it. Half of it is clearly bullshit, he quickly discovers as he trawls through post after useless post, and the other half is baseless theories without any semblance of evidence to back them up, but just as he’s about to call it quits and move on to whatever the hell Plan E is, an old thread catches his eye.

‘Old Ghost Caught By Photography?’ the title reads, and Remus skims through the post, intrigued despite himself at the detailed claims the author had been able to capture the image of a Victorian spirit by using an antique camera and photography methods from the end of the nineteenth century. He pores over the attached images, searching for the slightest hint of photoshop or manipulation, but everything seems legit. And it made sense in some weird, probably illogical way, he supposes, that ghosts might only be spotted by using technology from their day and age—historical continuity in the metaphysical realm or some shit.

It’s the best lead he has after hours of searching, and really, he’s just spent a very hefty chunk of change buying a whole-ass house; what was the harm in dropping a few more dollars on some vintage photography equipment?

Which is precisely how he finds himself crammed into his makeshift darkroom in the tiny closet under the stairs several weeks later, holding his breath as he carefully begins to look through the latest batch of negatives he’s just finished processing. It had taken an obscene amount of research, a healthy dose of trial-and-error, and more than a few failures to figure out the intricacies of the dry plate photography process, but he’d gotten there in the end, even if the most he has to show for it is a few suspicious blurs in a couple of images.

Maybe this whole idea of capturing ghosts in photos was just as bullshit as the others, he muses as he examines yet another empty picture of the dining room, or maybe his ghost wasn’t from the same era as the camera he’d bought. Maybe his ghost simply didn’t want to have his photo taken, or maybe—

His train of thought abruptly derails as he picks up the next plate.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

The image is still a negative, the reversed colors lending a certain eeriness to the picture under the red darkroom lights, but there, right smack in the middle of the photo—a figure. An actual human figure, clear as day, looking right at the camera. Remus whoops, nearly knocking over a vial of chemicals with his elbow as he dances backwards in pure giddiness. Oh fuck yes , there is a ghost haunting the place. His ghost, now that he owns the house. His ghost who is…

He pauses, forcing himself to focus on the figure in the photo even as he feels like he’s about to vibrate right off of his bones with excitement. Spectacles, clean-shaven, dark hair neatly styled. Neat trousers, white shirt, trim waistcoat, and a decidedly fancy ascot, the whole ensemble distinctly old-fashioned. Victorian, then? Or Edwardian? Or some historical reenactor who’d met an untimely demise in costume? And it does seem to be an untimely demise; the man looks to be in his mid- to late-twenties, unless he’d found some ability to look whatever age he wanted in the afterlife.

Regardless, he can’t make himself focus on fashion for long. He has a ghost to talk to. Fighting his way out of the cramped closet, he bounds up the stairs, forcing himself to slow to a respectable jog as he darts into the master bedroom. He stops in the middle of the still-bare room, trying and utterly failing to keep his hopes in check.

“Hello? Ghostie?”

No response.

“Mr. Glasses and White Shirt?” 

His skin prickles, the hair on the back of his neck raising. Aha. There he was. 

“Hey, what’s up?” He turns in a slow circle, searching for any sign of his specter, any flicker of light off a spectacle lens or a flash of a shirtsleeve, but the room is as empty as ever.

“I have a photo if you’d like to see it.” Could ghosts not see themselves in mirrors or was that only vampire lore? And if he couldn’t see his own reflection, did the ghost even remember what he looked like?

He raises the picture, proferring the negative to the vacant room, and holds his breath. Nothing, for several long moments, and then the chill edges closer. Remus bites his lip, barely able to keep himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet at the prospect of a ghost being within arm’s reach.

“I wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything, I just wanted to see if you were real or if I needed to go check myself into a padded room, you know? I’m Remus, if I haven’t said that. What’s your name?”

Several more excruciatingly long moments that Remus is sure has to be the longest span of silence in history, then—

“Hello.”

The voice is thin and slightly hoarse, quiet enough that Remus has to strain to make it out, but it’s as unmistakably real as the form that flickers into existence right in front of his eyes, identical to the man in the photo. He’s distinctly transparent, the edges of him not quite defined, fuzzing out around the edges like the ambient glow of neon signs, but he’s here and he’s real and this is so fucking cool that Remus could keel over right here and now from excitement and join the ghost in wandering around the house for all eternity.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, because if there was ever a time for swearing, by god this is fucking it, and the spirit withdraws slightly, already guarded expression closing in further. “No no no, it’s good,” he rushes to assure him, resisting the urge to reach out and try to touch him. “Good holy shit. Complimentary holy shit.”

The ghost doesn’t seem entirely appeased, but he tilts his head slightly, something like curiosity sparking in his eyes as he evaluates Remus.

“Why are you not frightened of me?” he finally asks, and Remus has to fight back the absurd laugh bubbling up in his chest. He’s being questioned by a century-old ghost in the middle of his haunted home. Life really was delightfully freaky.

“No offense, man, but you’re not exactly terrifying. I mean, I’ve been here what? A solid month? And you haven’t even tried to pluck my eyeballs out or anything.”

Another unreadable pause. Is he just giving the spirit ideas? Were his eyes about to be forcibly unmarried from his skull à la eagles tearing out Prometheus’ liver?

“Do you want me to be afraid of you?” he asks after a further absolutely unbearable five seconds of silence.

“No,” the ghost admits after a moment of clear hesitation, “but previous residents certainly have not appreciated my presence here.”

Remus scoffs. “That’s their problem. Some of us are smarter than that.”

The other man’s head tilt deepens, something akin to puzzlement furrowing his brow, as if he can’t fathom why having a ghost is actually the most badass shit on the face of the planet.

“Can I ask you some questions?” Remus asks, exhilaration still racing along the underside of his skin so intensely that he can barely stand it. “You can ask me whatever you want, too.”

The ghost nods, although he still seems cautious as one hand fiddles absently with his ascot. “I suppose that would be alright.”

Twenty questions with an undead spirit. Remus’ life really was getting better by the minute.

“Did you used to live here?”

“I did, many years ago.”

“Did you own the place?”

“At one point in time, yes. It was truly a beautiful house in its day, and a wonderful place to reside.”

Oh fuck yes. If having an old-timey ghost who can give him historically accurate advice about restoring the house isn’t the coolest fucking thing that’s ever happened to him, he isn’t sure what is. He has half a mind to start grilling him on paint colors and wallpaper prints and the original hardwood, but—

“Did you die here?”

The words are blurting out of his mouth without even bothering to detour through his brain on the way out, burning curiosity eclipsing any thought that perhaps asking about death isn’t exactly acceptable ghost etiquette. He barely has time to register the change in the spirit’s expression, the visceral upset written across his features clear as day, before he’s gone in between one breath and the next, vanishing back into whatever thin air he’d come from and leaving nothing but a biting chill in his wake.

Shit shit shit. He’s finally gotten the ghost to trust him enough to show up and talk and then he’s gone and ruined it within the span of two minutes all because he had all the self-control of a sieve trying to retain water.

“Wait,” he calls, casting about in vain. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Well, apparently his subconscious had, but that hadn’t been his intention. “Please come back. You can ask me as many invasive questions as you like.” Nothing. “You can haunt me for revenge, if you want.” Utter silence. “Are you gonna hurl me off the balcony like my EMF meter?”

There he goes again, giving the specter ideas, although really, being yeeted out of a window by a ghost would be a damn cool end if he does say so himself. He lingers in the room for several long minutes, forcing himself to keep quiet lest he miss the spirit’s hushed voice, but there’s nothing but the faint sound of a bird twittering outside.

“Alright,” he finally relents, disappointment pooling in his stomach as he glances down at the photography plate still in his hand, the negative serving as indisputable evidence that the encounter hadn’t just been a fever dream. He’ll find a way to make things right with the ghost somehow, one way or another. He has to. “Just come spook me if you change your mind.”

-

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!): @darth-does-stuff

#thomas sanders sides big bang 2023 #tssbb2023 #sanders sides #ts remus #remus sanders #ts logan #logan sanders #ts roman #roman sanders #ts virgil #virgil sanders #intrulogical #loceit #ts fanfic #the art of saying goodbye #my fic #rosepetal writes

[tss-grimmverse]

Chapter 8: Gladiolus

Roman learns some disturbing things about his father, and he and Virgil finally talk.

Want to start at the beginning? Here’s the AO3 link and the Wattpad link.

An excerpt from Chapter 8:

They’d nearly reached the top of the staircase. “Was he awful, Red?” Roman asked quietly. “Just tell me; I can take it. I already know he abandoned my bio mom and Smile, and nothing I’ve heard so far has improved that image.” “Johnny was…difficult,” Red allowed after a moment. “How do you mean?” Red sighed. “I won’t sugarcoat it. We all had our inner demons to fight, but his were more vicious than most. His faery master fed on pain. I still believe the bastard used Johnny’s powers to control their other changelings, which broke him on a fundamental level. He was fickle, moody, prone to violent outbursts, hated any kind of commitment, and he enjoyed…” Roman swallowed hard. “Enjoyed what?” Red grimaced at his expression. “The thing you need to understand about Johnny’s history with this house is how deeply he hated faeries.”

The whole chapter can be found over on AO3 or Wattpad. The boys aren't completely hopeless at talking! And Roman has only learned the tip of the iceberg...

#sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides #ts fanfiction #ts fanfic #roman sanders #ts roman #virgil sanders #ts virgil #patton sanders #ts patton #original characters #fae #faery #changelings #magic mirror #alternate universe #daddy issues #talking about feelings #there was more than one bed #this time #prinxiety #patton has secrets

[lily-janus]

Someone Like You - chapter 2

Chapter 1 | chapter 2 | next

Summary: Roman is being... nice? And he seems to want to work with Janus? ...what's going on here?

Pairing: pre-romantic roceit

Warnings: disabillity, mentions of murder in the context of the play. I think that's it for this chapter, be sure to let me know if I missed anything.

Word count: 1,059

The second chapter is here! Still written by @prince-rowan-of-the-forest , not me yet, next week my part will start at the half of chapter 3. Hope you enjoy! @tsspromptmonth

It had been a few days since then. Janus had texted the number Roman had given him at lunch that day, since he didn't really feel like eating, Roman had replied with an indistinguishable string of emojis that Janus still had no clue the meaning of.

They had arranged to meet up at a local coffee shop that weekend to work on planning, he wondered why the hell Roman seemed so eager to meet up with him to work on this, usually his partners would get annoyed with his constant backwards talking and pessimism and give up on working together at all. This was new to him and he couldn't help but think this was some kind of long-winded trick.

He was just about to take a bite of his sandwich when he felt a tap on his left shoulder- his blind side. Completely on instinct Janus dropped the sandwich and whirled around as best he could in the chair and lashed out at the attacker, who yelped in surprise.

"Woah!" he said, "Sorry for startling you!"

And of course it was Roman, perfect, great, absolutely fantastic.

"I thought you would've seen me coming," Roman said sheepishly.

"Yes well being blind does make that slightly difficult," Janus said with a shrug before picking up his dropped sandwich from the table, "Did you actually want something or did you just come over here to make a fool of me like everyone else,"

"Make a fool of- no! Oh whatever, I came over here because I had some ideas for our project that I wished to share with you!" Roman said, "And also I noticed you were sitting alone which is kinda depressing so I thought I'd come over here and make you look less like a loner,"

"Gee thanks," Janus said, rolling his eyes, "Whatever would people think of you if they saw you with someone like me?"

"Not that I need anyone's permission or approval to talk to you," Roman said, sitting down on the table next to him. Janus shifted so he was just a little further away, "But I told my friends I was coming over here to work on our project so, no-one who matters actually cares,"

"Right… and what was so important that you had to interrupt my lunch to tell me?"

"Well!" Roman said, opening his bag and pulling out his notebook, before pushing it over to him, "Have a look!"

Janus raised an eyebrow at him before shaking his head and taking the book before pulling his glasses out of his pocket and putting them on. At least he’d remembered them today. .

The title page for their project was tabbed with a thin pink post-it note and upon opening it Janus found that the page had been decorated with colourful artwork that referenced the play, the three witches, a castle turret, some blood and a knife, he hated to admit it but it looked very pretty. Underneath the title Janus identified the writing as both of their names.

"Did you do all this?" Janus couldn't help but ask, pointing at the artwork. Roman nodded, "Where the hell do you people find the time for these things…"

"Turn the page!" Roman said with a smile, he seemed to be attempting to contain his excitement. Janus just shook his head and did as told. On the double page spread he found a title that read 'Roles and Costumes'.

"Is this- us?" Janus asked, looking at the two figures drawn onto one side of the page, he noticed that the drawing of him had his signature bowler hat that he wore everywhere and the picture of Roman had a little floating crown about his head.

Janus supposed those were to mark who each of them were, because the rest of the figure was just a base with no details, based on the title he could guess it was so they could experiment with the costume ideas.

On the opposite page was a list of the play's characters in order of significance and next to them, written in pencil, were either Janus' or Roman's name.

"I can't believe you put this much effort into this," Janus huffed. He had meant it as an insult, because who in their right mind puts this much effort into an English class project, but it only made Roman smile more. Janus hated to admit it made his heart flutter.

"Yes, well! I thought it might be best for us to go together on Saturday to have a look at a couple of locations I had in mind for filming, and I thought it might be helpful to have a vague idea of which of us would play each character beforehand,"

"You pegged me as Lady Macbeth?" Janus said, raising an eyebrow.

"Indeed! She's the cunning mind behind the murder plot after all," Roman said with a wide sweep of his arm, "And besides, I believe you'd be able to perform her soliloquys and muster her attitude better than I ever could,*

"And also you want to be Macbeth, Mr Main Character," Janus said, a small smile subconsciously pulling at his lips, Roman went red.

"Well- maybe…"

"And I see you get to murder me on multiple occasions," Janus pointed out where he was listed to play both Banquo and King Duncan.

"Hey! You get to murder me too! Don't you make out that this murder is one-sided!" Roman cried, pointing at where it said Janus' name next to Macduff, Janus smiled.

"Alright fine," Janus said, shaking his head, "You can have your way,"

"Yes!" Roman cheered, "So I think we should keep the more important characters consistent, but as for side characters, we'll need to switch around based on who is in the scene," Roman explained, Janus nodded.

"We're definitely not going to struggle with acting this out as just us two," Janus said, closing Roman's notebook and handing it back over.

"I'm sure we can find a way! Maybe we could use- puppets, or something, I dunno yet," Roman smiled, standing up, *Don't worry your pretty little face about it, see you Saturday!"

And he turned and walked off into the lunch crowd, leaving Janus staring after him. What the hell did that last statement mean? His face was anything but pretty, and he wasn't little, thank you very much.

#Someone Like You #chapter 2 #sanders sides #ts fanfic #sanders sides fanfic #pre romantic roceit #macbeth #tw murder mention #tw disability #written by prince rowan of the forest #wip exchange #ts janus #ts roman #janus sanders #roman sanders

[treenissanderssidesstuff]

Sorry if this is random, but just wanted to say I love your fics! Coming from AO3 and your stories are absolutely amazing :]

Not random at all! I really appreciate it. Currently working on a couple. I still plan on finishing Dumb Bitchitis, which unfortunately hasn't gotten to the fun parts yet. It's just been hard to get into the groove whenever a certain someone IRL pouts about it (no real hate to him, but I'm not afraid to tease). For context, the story's taking some inspiration from real life, but like far enough back on that the different people can look back and laugh about it now and everyone's aware I'm working on it.

I also have another story in the midst that I'm trying to write all of before posting, I expect it to be about 9 or 10 chapters? It's cute and not ship-focused for the most part. I think it'll be the "appeals to most people" kinda fun fic.

Then I've been challenged by my partner for a one shot (something we'll both be attempting)

So stay tuned for all of those! ^-^

For now, I have a theory to write!

Thanks Anon! The message and ask is always appreciated. I keep my inbox open! :D

#sanders sides #ts fanfic #asked and answered

[northernthiefcranberry]

i just brought a new chapter of fanfic to Ao3 - and so I hate translations sometimes. but alas, there is no one else to do this.

and it’s also hell to try to juggle some words or, God forbid, accents or mannerisms when the language is not yours at all.

someone save me, what have I gotten myself into…

#totally spies #tim scam × samantha simpson #totally spies sam #ts fanfiction #ts fanfic #ts tim scam