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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 7 months

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Starved | Famished

Augh the creativitwins fic,, I loved it so so much, they'rebrothersyour honor, I wonder how would the others react when they realize what they did to Roman. Especially Logan – anon

*materializes into existence* Hi :D Idk if I've said this yet, so excuse me if I've repeated myself. Quick Note: don't have to write it if ya don't want to, btw. Take care of yourself <3 Le Request: mother hen Virgil. In any h/c situation. In any au or canonverse. (I just finished the latest addition to Code Words AND I just binged the Protector/Protecting/Protected series. Holy hell. You're one of my favorites) Anyway, hope you're doing well :D – oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: starvation, cannibalism (implied very loosely)

Pairings: none

Word Count: 3502

For Logan, working with Remus can be something of a mixed bag. On one hand, it can be incredibly rewarding to work together on a project and see it come to fruition; Remus's boundless passion is inspiring and refreshing in its own unique way. On the other, however, Remus has a tendency to…craft things that then eventually become Logan's responsibility.

He's helping Remus peruse the remnants of the latest Nightmare clean-up, going over what can be broken down safely in the Imagination and what needs to be sectioned off and dealt with at a later time, preferably with at least Virgil's help but perhaps the others as well. He's just finishing cataloging a particularly fascinating specimen that originated in something closer to Janus's side of things when he hears a voice coming from…somewhere.

"Rise above," the voice is saying, "become more than the biological drives that so harness your body. You are more than those fickle urges that drive you, you are more than the slavish brute they would make of you."

Logan raises an eyebrow, turning to locate the source of the voice.

"Rise above," it says again, "you are better than insatiable beasts. You are more than your hunger. Do not let your appetite for more overwhelm your rationality."

As he walks toward it, he spots a box on the very corner of Remus's shelf, set aside from the rest of them. Most of the Nightmares come in silver boxes with two latches on the side and a sort of projection screen that shows its contents depending on the volatility of the subject matter. This one, the one the voice is coming out of, is a dark box that has no seams or doors of any kind. And yet, as he gets closer, the very center of it becomes transparent and he peers through to see the silhouette of a man in a long, dark coat, giving some sort of speech.

"We are not uncivilized," he says as Logan's hand reaches for the box, "we are not beyond reason! We are not to give in to this thing that would seek to master us."

So entranced does he become by the speech that he fails to notice the edges of the room are blurring, that his hand has begun to stretch impossibly long toward the center of the box, nor that the man is growing closer and closer.

"Hunger is a prison," the man says as Logan finds the words on his own tongue, "and we are not beasts to be caged."

The sudden roar of a crowd jolts him from his stupor and he looks around to realize he's in a square, surrounded by people, standing at the base of a stage upon which this man holds his arms out to accept the applause. He looks up at this ashen, grey-faced figure and immediately takes in how thin he is, how much the coat even around his narrow frame snaps and blows about in the wind. He pulls his arms a little closer to himself and slowly begins to take off his tie.

Everyone else is clad in thick cloaks and almost worn garments. The chill is not insubstantial but they huddle together as though it were the depths of winter. Every face is shrewd and beady-eyed, wary of their immediate neighbor as though at any moment, they might be attacked. Only a scarce few look normal: the guards around the side of the stage, clad in a dark blue uniform not too dissimilar to his own aesthetic, and another official with a flat cap and a crest around his neck.

He looks back up at the man on the stage, then around at the rest of the square. Thankfully, whatever pulled him in here had the sense to put him near the peripheries of the crowd, but not right at the edges where he could immediately be noticed. He looks to be at the base of some big official building with transit streets leading out in all directions. A veritable cornucopia for whoever this man in power seems to be. There don't seem to be any particularly modern aspects to it. Horse-drawn carts carry rows and rows of crates. Young children selling newspapers stand at the corners, though they don't seem to be trying very hard to sell their papers. Blank grey business fronts sit between cold and desolated empty spaces with covered or broken windows above them.

In short, the place feels miserable.

Someone bumps into him and he realizes the crowd is starting to disperse. Not to be caught looking like he doesn't know where he's going, he follows a larger group toward the front of another building where a large board hangs, seemingly the equivalent of a news bulletin or at the very least, something else for him to stand in front of and not be questioned for it.

The crest of a fanged crown sits at the top, under which are the words RATIONS DELAYED, SHIPMENT HIJACKED. A few people mutter amongst themselves. Logan frowns as he looks around. This place doesn't seem to be a warzone, nor does it feel as though it has the urgency of a city supporting a war effort. Perhaps a natural disaster, then? But the infrastructure is holding up so well that it's hard to see what it might be.

"My child."

It's such an unexpected form of address that it takes Logan a second to realize it's directed at him, but when everyone else starts edging away he turns around and comes face to face with the man from the stage.

"Hello. My apologies, I didn't mean to be rude."

"No offense taken." This close, the man's voice takes on a near-silky quality that nevertheless makes the hairs on the back of Logan's neck stand up. "I saw you listening to the sermon and your reaction captivated me."

Logan adjusts his grip on his notebook. "Oh?"

The man nods, clasping his bone-thin grey fingers in front of himself. "You see, it has been quite some time since someone has attended one of our little events and looked so…well-fed."

As he says the words 'well-fed,' his eyes travel up and down Logan's body.

"I must admit, I was…it was refreshing to hear such a sermon," Logan says, "I have not often heard such sentiments conveyed so eloquently. It can be frustrating, when there is so much that you wish to communicate but you can't find the words."

The man bows his head. "You flatter me."

"Your eloquence is something to be proud of."

"Come," the man says, beckoning with a single crooked finger, "walk with me aways."

Logan follows him as they turn about the square, passing another billboard stating the rations shipment has been hijacked. The man spares a passing glance upwards.

"Shame," Logan says quietly, "isn't it?"

The man shrugs. "You cannot hope for everyone to be reasonable, nor can you see reason for them. There will always be those that believe we deserve to feed."

Logan nods along to the first part of that, but then he hears the second. "Apologies, what did you say?"

"There will always be those that believe in giving in to hunger. To allow ourselves to whet that dangerous thing known as appetite." The man shakes his head. "We much be vigilant, you know."

Surely…surely this has to be some metaphor. Surely they're not actually starving themselves. But they keep walking, further and further, until Logan notices something else.

Out of all of the things he's seen posters or boards for, out of all the buildings around square, out of everything he can see, hear, smell, everything, there is not a single mention of food.

He has an awful feeling about his perceived 'metaphor.'

"What will we do," he asks after they've started down another side street, still tailed by a few of the guards, "if the rations never arrive?"

"Then we will have to source from somewhere else."

"How long will that take?"

"It's hard to say, really," the man remarks as the air begins to turn reddish-brown, the street becoming littered with trash, refuse, scraps of paper. "Perhaps a few months."

Logan frowns. "But what shall we do in the meantime?"

"We shall press on, as we always have. We have almost switched entirely over to the pills, after all, and soon we will eliminate the need for food entirely."

Definitely not a metaphor. Definitely not a metaphor.

They pass by an alley. Down a block, Logan catches sight of a massive obstruction through the fog—when did the fog get here? Now that he's paying attention to it, a thick and soupy red fog has started to swell from the bottom of the buildings, almost as though it were coming from the street itself. It doesn't rise higher than his knees before it starts to dissipate, tendrils of mist curling up almost like steam as it rises into the air, but the swirling clouds don't do anything to soothe the grip on his notebook.

"There must be something to be done," he says as they pass by another obstruction, "surely all these people can't just starve."

"Ah, but to starve is to be free," the man says, "after all, to truly allow the hunger to run its course without being affected by its lure, that is the greatest freedom of all."

"Dying isn't freedom," Logan points out, "to starve is to die."

The man turns to look at him. His eyes, sunken into his skin, jaundiced and piercing. "All things die, my child. Will you die a beast, or a man?"

"What point is there in dying faster because you don't eat?"

Behind them, the officials get closer. One of them reaches for something in a pocket and Logan tenses.

"You are well-fed," the man says again, pointing a single, thin finger at him as the officer blows a whistle, "and you will never know what ecstasy it is to be hungry."

A deep and guttural snarling comes from the other end of the alley. Logan whips around to see two horrifying spider-like monsters crawling out of the mist. Their mandibles drool black ichor, eyes blind and unseeing but trained on him. They move with a sinister mockery of life as they begin to walk toward him. He backs up automatically only to run into a bat jabbed into his spine.

The officials form a blockade behind him as the spider monsters get closer and closer. His heart pounds. They seem to sense it and one of them snarls, rearing up as its front two legs come off the ground, lunging for him—

Another roar splits the air.

From between the spiders charges a massive hulking bear, maw dripping and eyes crazed as it bursts through the middle of the alley. Logan barely has time to throw his hands up and defend himself before the bear knocks him over and seizes him in its jaws. He cries out as it picks him up bodily and turns, running away from the officials, the man, and the monsters with him held in its jaws.

Is this how he dies? Does he get eaten here? Is the bear taking him back to kill him? Frantically, he tries to remember what you're supposed to do around bears but all that comes to mind is how to get a bear to stay away from you. In a panic, he goes to hit it with his notebook, but then he catches its gaze.

Some of the mania vanishes. The bear looks at him and for a second, he recognizes its eyes. This is how Remus's Kraken looks at him, or how Roman's dragon looks, or how any of the sentient creatures in the Imagination look when he stumbles across them.

He's safe, somehow, and he's being taken somewhere better.

That being said, being carried in a bear's jaws as it runs full speed through the forest is not exactly a pleasant journey. He suffers more than a fair few scrapes and scratches as he blunders into branches and bushes, over hills and through the underbrush. Eventually, he feels the bear slow and deposits him none-too-gently in a heap in the dip of a valley.

"Oh, hey, what'd you—Logan?"

Logan looks up to see Remus and Virgil. Remus has his hands full of something Logan will ask about with the safety of rubber gloves and an apron, and Virgil's perched on a rock. A low groaning noise from behind him and he looks to see the bear shrinking, coming out of its giant and frenzied state until it's just a cub that whuffs quietly and slinks over to Remus, lolling on the ground.

"Hey, buddy, is that why you ran off so fast?"

The bear huffs again and Remus leans down to rub their heads together.

"You're such a good boy."

"What're you doing in here, L," Virgil asks, getting up and pulling a first-aid kit out of his hoodie, "and why do you look like—well, why do you look like you've been carried through the woods by a bear?"

He crouches down and starts cleaning some of the scratches on Logan's arms.

"You know you gotta have one of them when you come in here, buddy, even when you think you know where you're going. And look at this—you gotta be more careful, you know there's some shit in here."

Logan finds himself oddly recalcitrant as Virgil starts tending to his wounds, even though he knows he should just let him. Sure enough, the moment he starts trying to pull away, Virgil looks up and raises an eyebrow and immediately he slumps and lets Virgil do what he wants.

"What's going on, bud?"

"I wasn't trying to come in here," Logan says mulishly, "I didn't even come here. Not really. I didn't use the doors."

"So then how'd you get here?"

"Don't move so much," Virgil scolds as he turns to face Remus, "you're gonna rip this one open again."

"The box on your shelf. The dark one."

Remus fully stops what he's doing to look at Logan. The bear cub growls. He vanishes whatever he's working on and grabs a rag from his pocket to wipe off his hands. He leans down to scratch the bear cub behind the ears and takes a deep breath.

"Tell me exactly what happened."

Logan recounts the story, from hearing the voice, to finding himself in the square, to being in the alley when the horrific spider things came out, to being rescued by the bear cub. Remus listens attentively as Virgil finishes tending to his wounds.

"You went into someone's intrusive thoughts," Remus says when once again, Logan asks what happened, "sometimes they're strong enough to manifest into actual places in the Imagination."

"Thomas doesn't have a history of eating disorders, and it isn't as though he hasn't been eating lately—"

"Not just that kind of hunger, L," Virgil says quietly, going back to the rock as the bear cub sits up, "and it's not…fuck, I'm not gonna be good at explaining this without violating someone's privacy."

Logan frowns. "What?"

"Those aren't Thomas's intrusive thoughts, they're a Side's."

"Who's hungry?"

"I don't know, Logan," Remus says in a voice that communicates that he does know, and so should Logan, "who do you think is hungry?"

"I don't know!"

"Yes, you do."

"What else did they say," Virgil says quietly, "in that place, what else were they talking about?"

Logan frowns, thinking hard. Something about being more than just beasts, something about rising above, something about being more than…than base desires, that was it. More than hunger.

Base desire, base desire, why does that ring a bell?

"Is it Patton?"

"Why Patton?"

"He out of all of us is the most connected to things like emotions, or shame, or guilt."

"It's not Patton."

"Janus, then? He—well, no, that wouldn't be it either."

"You're unbelievable," Remus growls, even as Virgil quietly says his name. The bear cub snarls at him too.

"What? What did I do?"

"Really? You can't fucking figure it out? They literally talked about suppressing base desires and not giving into stupid basic needs and all this stuff about being too smart for it, too good for it, how awful it is to spend time feeding the basic part of you that just wants to feel and you're having a problem figuring out what you did?"

"I don't know what you're talking about! I don't—when have I ever told anyone it's okay not to eat?"

The bear cub nearly lunges at him but Remus catches it by the scruff of its neck. "Here, then, here's an easier question. The crest. The insignia. Did you see it?"

"Yes, I saw it."

"What did it look like?"

He frowns again, trying to conjure it up. It was…it had something to do with teeth, didn't it? Yes, it was teeth around something else. Something…something metal, wasn't it? A fanged metal something…a fanged…

"A crown," he says slowly, "it was a crown surrounded by teeth."

Remus stares at him. So does Virgil.

Oh.

Oh, no.

***

Roman wakes up cold. He curls up under his blankets, trying to find a little bit of warmth, before he sighs and drags himself out of bed toward the door to the Imagination. It swings open and brings him to a quiet grove in the middle of the forest, under the branches of a tree sparkling in the starlight with drops of dew. Moon lilies and other night flowers glow gently as he sits down with the blanket, curling up to lean against the soft mossy rock. A warm breeze blows across his cheeks as he tries to get warm again.

He hears a quiet snuffling sound and turns to see Remus's bear cub walking up to him, curling up at his side with its head a comforting weight in his lap. One shaking hand carefully brushes the rough fur and the cub growls contentedly, shifting Roman's hand to where it wants it.

"Roro?"

"Re?" He turns to see Remus walking toward him. "Are—did I wake you up?"

"Nah. I'm—well, I'm technically asleep right now, I guess." He gestures down at himself. "Astral form."

"Oh. Uh—"

"You're fine," he says, sitting down on Roman's other side, "nightmare again?"

"Not really. I just felt off today and I got—my room got really cold so I came in here." The bear cub presses its nose against his knee. "Hi, buddy."

"I, uh—" Remus leans up against his shoulder— "I might know why you felt really shitty today."

"Really?"

"Logan—so Logan helps me do stuff sometimes, right?" Roman nods. "Well…he found the place I'd been keeping your intrusive thoughts to deal with their byproduct later and he fell into it."

Fuck. Fuck, oh no— "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Remus says as the cub growls, "and we—Virgil and I may have knocked some sense into him."

Roman frowns. "Meaning…?"

"Meaning that I owe you quite the apology."

Roman startles and the cub growls louder as Logan walks out of the forest too, standing a respectful distance away. Remus excuses himself and Logan slowly takes his place, a little further away when the cub starts to growl at him.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, "I never…I never meant for you to feel like you had to starve yourself. You're not just some base desire to ignore, you're a lovely and priceless part of Thomas. You…you deserve to feed too, Roman."

"L-Logan, I—"

"Can I hug you, little one?"

Roman just sniffles and holds out his arms and Logan wraps his arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer. The cub allows it, its nose still pressed against Roman's knee as Logan cards his fingers through his hair.

"I'm here for you," he whispers, "I will be here for you. I'll do better."

"I'm not trying to be needy, I'm just—"

"You can need things," Logan interrupts gently, "you can need things. That's being alive, that's being us, that's…that's okay, Roman."

The cub snuffles in agreement.

"Will—can we stay like this for a while, please?"

"Of course."

***

"So," Remus says, clapping his hands, "what should we do this time?"

"Logan," Virgil asks, "any ideas?"

"How would you feel about blowing up a government building?"

"Excellent."

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#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #roman angst #roman sanders angst #logan sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #virgil sanders #fic

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anxiousgaypanicking · 4 months

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What are each of the Sander sides in your opinion, biggest and least favorite kinks??

janus: biggest is wax play/temperature play (and obviously hypnosis), least favourite is being edged/given ruined orgasms

remus: biggest is any sort of s&m, least favourite is anything slow and soft (ik not really a kink but i think he'd HATE vanilla sex)

roman: biggest is any sort of roleplay/dressing up, least favourite is any sort of cum marking/cum on his face/chest

logan: biggest is nipple play, least favourite is being ignored during sex (dislikes being used/roleplaying like an object. its bad enough he will safeword out of it if he's not getting enough attention)

patton: biggest is feederism/spanking the others, least favourite is being slapped/spanked (he can give but wont take smh)

virgil: biggest is bondage/shibari, least favourite is being gagged

#ask #sanders sides smut #hcs

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thedevilslittlebottleofhotsauce · 1 year

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top ten all time favorite fics

Bury Your Sons Slade Wilson doesn't have a conscience. If he ever had one, he got rid of it years ago. But watching a man half his age cry every night from his nightmares is starting to get to him, waking up feelings he long ago put aside. Jason Todd and slade Wilson father son relationship this fic was so good it is my absolute favorite it is set in Arkham knight verse it healed my daddy issues I went into the new year reading this

2. Wait Patiently (For You To Devour Me) dream of the endless/ the Corinthian

'He knew what he was thanking the being for then. He knew why he was on his knees, hunched over and trembling, craning his neck to drink up the celestial form that befell him. He knew why his heart pumped the blood through his veins. He knew why he felt the warmth and saw the light and worshipped the beauty. It was all because of him. It was all for him.

“Who are you?” The figure leaned further over him in response, looming over him in a way that should have scared him, should’ve made him cower under his gaze, but only served to make his body shake in anticipation. The air seemed to swirl around the two, disturbed by the sudden movement, subtle particles of dust illuminated and sprawling. He swallowed thickly. The being smiled.

“I’m Dream,” He tested the word in his mouth, repeating it like a prayer on his lips, “And you, are my Corinthian.”' this one was written so beautifully.

3. Safe at Anchor Derek hale/ stiles stilinski

All hail Stiles, the Fixer of Wolves. this one is really sweet with some good old platonic cuddling till later its not. will need an account to read

4. Ashes, Ashes Derek hale/ stiles stlinlinski

The Sheriff gets a call at work - someone's tried to burn down his home with his son inside.

"I thought of you coming here, and finding me dead, of another burnt out husk of a body, something else fire has stolen from you, of you having nothing left to grasp but ashes," John can't even call that a whimper, it's clearly a whine as Derek's hands tighten against Stile's hips, as if his boy will shudder to dust at the mere mention of the possibility unless Derek's hands can hold him into one piece, "and that thought was worse than dying." this one definitely made me cry

5. that’s the art of getting by Remus lupin/ Sirius black

“What do you want me to do?” Remus says, tiredly. All he wants is to curl up on his bed. Smoke a pack of cigarettes. Get drunk. He can’t stop looking at Harry.

“Remus...” Dumbledore is gentle. Remus hates when he has that tone. Hates that he knows it will hurt. “There is no one else left.”

A bitter laugh escapes him. “So you’ll curse the poor thing with a werewolf for a guardian?” god I love it when Remus lupin is a wreak

6. Crooked Love Roman Sionis/ victor zsasz

Roman Sionis comes back to Gotham after eight years and struggles to establish a space for himself in his father's company.

Victor Zsasz sees a pretty face in a club and becomes infatuated.

(or: the untold backstory of Roman Sionis and his right hand man) i just love serial killers and victor zsasz

7. THE HUES IN OUR HAIR COMPLIMENT ONE ANOTHER.

"I have scars too." It's an offering, something small and fragile clasped in his palm. Bruce offers the hand holding the dangerous vulnerability of his life to Jason, waiting.

Jason turns to look at Bruce over his shoulder, and Bruce sees the moment understanding fills the boy's eyes. Sometimes Jason acts too old for his age, filled with empathy beyond his years.

He reaches out and accepts the small offering, holding it carefully in his own damaged hands.

(The first time Bruce washes his son's hair.) short sweet Bruce and Jason being father- son pre robin Jason

8. Laughter Lines Roy harper/ Jason Todd

Roy had fatherhood thrust upon him, and honestly, he's terrified. He doesn't know how to be a dad, he doesn't even know if he can be one. At least Roy doesn't have to do this alone- not as alone as he expected. Support from his friends brings the most unexpected bit of help Roy could have gotten-

Jason. Dick's kid brother who seems more than happy to spend every second he can with Roy and Lian. Who smiles when Roy laughs and looks genuinely happy when he's holding Lian. Who cares about Roy more than he should- and who Roy never wants to hurt.

And when he loses Jason, Roy is so sure he has. Sure he should have done something differently, somehow. So when a new face shows up in Gotham, and Roy gets wind of who he might be, he has no choice but to face the reality that Jason still needs him. That maybe he's got a second chance to do right by the kid he loved and simply couldn't. i just love me some Roy harper and Jason Todd

9. and you can use my skin castiel/ dean winchester

Castiel slips from his chair to kneel at Dean’s feet. He takes Dean’s hands in his, and there on the floor holding something with devotion, he understands Communion. He understands Eucharist. He understands believing in someone so deeply that to shelter a piece of them within yourself is an act of untempered faith, love and prayer and deep-wide trust.

Cas comes back. Dean can’t stop touching him. I had to at least put a destiel fic on here

10. Lock All The Doors Behind You Derek hale/ stiles stilinski

He has no idea what you're supposed to say when you find one of your...werewolf acquaintances, completely out of their mind, growling like they're about to see what your insides taste like. There's no handbook for this. Stiles is thinking that if he survives he might write one. really cute and hilarious

honorable mention. The Corner of Divinity slade Wilson/ Jason Todd

He stared, heart in his throat. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. The heavy tang of blood was thick in the air and his feet felt like lead. He couldn’t move. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. Whatever he’d expected to find, it wasn’t this.

Deathstroke’s lips twisted in a smirk. “I hoped you would show.”

“How could I resist?” Jason drawled, grateful his helmet hid his voice and for the scent blocking patches on his neck. “It was such an artfully worded invitation.” i had to through this one on here slade murders the joke for Jason hell yeah will need an account to read

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edupunkn00b · 10 months

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Remus

Remus, a sophomore, attends a first year Law School party under false pretenses.

Janus leaves said party, drunk and annoyed that his friend Jack has yet again deserted him as he chased some tail.

It's a storybook meet cute, right? ---

WC: 4918 - Rated M - alcohol, underage (19 yo) drinking, heavily suggestive, kissing, swearing, angst (with comfort) - Celebrating Remus' birthday by exploring some mature content ---

It was a gorgeous day. It was cool without being cold and the clear, bright autumn light made the entire campus glow. Remus had his sketchbook and pencils and slowly made his way to the Quad outside the dining hall. He was early to meet Roman for dinner, but he wanted to capture all the colors before the setting sun—and impending Seattle rain—leeched them all away.

He had nearly gotten to his favorite tree, the giant gingko at the center of the Quad, when a smiling upperclassman approached him. "Oh, Roman, thank god I found you! I've been looking for you everywhere! Are you free tonight to help block the stage for my play?"

Remus smiled back and tilted his head with a little shoulder shimmy. "Well, hello, Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome, but I'm not Roman." He pressed a hand to his chest, and bowed. "I'm Remus, his twin."

The man's face fell a bit. "Oh, sorry to bother you. Um, well, if you see Roman, will you let him know Nate's looking for him?"

Remus nodded and opened his mouth to reply but the man had already started off in the other direction. Remus shrugged and resumed walking.

He camped out under his favorite tree along the path he knew Roman would have to take on his way to the dining hall, pulled on his headphones and started drawing. After several minutes, he was interrupted by someone tapping his shoulder and waving a hand in front of his face. He freed one ear. She was smiling broadly, "I said, Roman, I didn't know you were an artist, too! Does that make you a quadruple threat?"

Remus grinned as wide as he could and spread his arms as if to say 'tada!' "You've got Roman's one and only brother Remus this afternoon!" He pretended not to notice the fractional dip in the girl's smile when he said his name. "You like art? I've got other sketches here..." He reached out as though to shake her hand, "You know my name now, what's yours?"

Her smile had shrunk to a small and polite closed-lipped ghost of its former self. "Oh, hi, Remus..." She gave the tiniest of shrugs. "I thought you were Roman. Uh, my name's Debbie. It's nice to meet you, but I should be getting to class." She started to turn. "See you around."

Remus kept the grin pasted on his face, "Sure, see you around..." He’d swallowed and replaced the headphones and returned to his drawing when he was interrupted yet again.

"Oh, Roman... just the man I wanted to see!" Remus' shoulders knotted and he sucked in a deep breath, ready to once more with feeling explain that he was sorry to disappoint the world but he was not, in fact, the dashing actor/singer/dancer Roman Prince, but only his identical-but-still-somehow-lesser-twin brother, Remus. He lifted his eyes and saw the hottest guy he'd seen all year—or at least that week.

Fuck it. If they all wanted him to be Roman... then he'd be Roman.

"Well, hello there. And you’re just the man I wanted to see..." Remus dragged his eyes up and down the body of the tall, muscular man standing before him and grinned. "What can I do you for this lovely evening?"

The man laughed and offered his hand. Remus grabbed it and pulled himself up. “I’m throwing a little get together at my place tonight,” he smiled. “You should come.”

Remus bit his lower lip and smiled. “I’d love to come… to your party.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he laughed again and took Remus’ hand and scrawled the address of a building just off campus. He closed his fingers over his palm then brought his hand up for a soft kiss. “See you at seven, Roman?”

“I'll be there, baby.”

~~~

If Janus had to listen to one more cover of Hey Baby he was going to take a fucking mallet to Jack’s stereo.

He nursed his second scotch and scowled out at the buzzed party goers bouncing against each other in a gross approximation of dancing. It seemed like their entire first year law school class was jammed into that apartment, along with a dozen or so googly-eyed undergrads readily downing the potluck punch on the counter.

And Jack? His so-called best friend Jack who’d somehow convinced him to come to this third-rate tribute to the cult of Dionysis was wrapped around that sophomore he’d picked up on the Quad.

The younger man laughed again, a loud, almost nervous cackle, then rubbed up against Jack like they weren’t in the middle of a crowded party. Finally, Jack seemed to get an ounce of sense and disappeared with the guy into his bedroom.

Despite the pounding music, the room was quieter without them and Janus sat back in his chair, lifting his now empty glass to his lips. Fuck.

The bottle he’d snagged from the kitchen sat empty on the little table at his elbow. He knew where Jack had more but it would mean relinquishing his seat. One more, then he’d head home.

True to his prediction, the moment he stood, a couple swooped in, wrapped around each other and trying to swallow each other's faces. Rolling his eyes, he fished out the bottle at the back of Jack’s cereal cabinet and poured himself another healthy serving.

As he sipped, his eyes cast over the party. Surely there was someone here worth meeting, if only for a night. A shrieking cheer burst from the makeshift dance floor when Can’t Take Me Home played for the third time and everyone paired up to find new ways to drunkenly grind their genitals together.

“Prescient,” he muttered and drained his glass.

“You sick fuck!” Jack’s shout rose above the din but the rest of the party goers didn’t seem to notice. “You thought I wouldn’t care?”

“No, Jack, baby…” That obnoxious undergrad’s croon churned uncomfortably in Janus’ stomach, the voice was wrong but the tone…. Janus shook his head and swallowed back his first thought. “Of course you’d—” His voice cracked. ”It’s why I said something. I—”

“Just get the fuck out.” Jack didn’t even yell. He’d dragged the guy, half-naked, out to the living room and Janus watched from behind the kitchen island. The guy had stopped, struggling to button up his fly, when Jack shoved a bundle of clothes and a grungy pair of boots into his arms. He opened the door, barely waiting long enough for the guy to leave before letting it slam shut.

Jack caught his eye. “Jan!” His half-drunken smile returned as he slunk through the crowd to join him in the kitchen. “I see you found my Ballantine’s,” he laughed and swiped Janus’ empty glass and the bottle, refilling it. He gulped down half of it before returning it to him.

“What was that all about?” Janus asked, looking pointedly at the door.

“Ah, nothing worth worrying about,” he shook his head. “Hm, but that ”—Jack winked at a senior dressed in leather pants and a cropped mesh tank that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. “Now that’s something I’d like to concern myself with. Excuse me, mon ami. You’re good for a while, right?” he asked, clapping Janus’ back and walking away before he could answer.

He hadn’t yet finished his drink by the time Jack was leading a replacement conquest back to his room. Janus knew he wasn’t really one to judge but at least he bothered to let his sheets cool before he pulled someone new into his bed.

Slamming back the dregs of his fourth—fifth?—and last drink, Janus left the glass in the sink and took the bottle with him before slipping out into the hallway.

The door closed behind him with a heavy thunk and the quiet hallway swallowed up the echo of the party. He leaned against the door, relishing the moment the ringing in his ears faded away, leaving only the hum of machinery from the elevator.

And quiet sniffling from the stairwell.

Janus stepped closer, toe-heeling his way down the carpeted hall until he peeked around the corner and spotted Jack’s sophomore from the party, now fully dressed and sitting on the steps. His back was turned to Janus, but his auburn hair and faded Green Day tee shirt were unmistakable. Sitting two steps down and curled against the wall, he’d tucked his feet up on the same step and hugged them to his chest like a lost friend.

It felt rude to pretend he wasn’t there while he waited for the elevator, so Janus cleared his throat and stepped closer. The guy bolted upright, scuffed Docs skidding down a step and he craned his neck to look over his shoulder.

Pater, you asshole. Don't talk to him. Don't talk to him, don't talk to him, don’t—

“Hey,” Janus murmured, fishing in his pockets for a tissue. “You, uh… You alright?” He set down the whiskey bottle and finally found a little packet and passed it down to him. “Are you hurt?”

A sharp smile cut across his face and he scrubbed his eyes dry with one sleeve even as he struggled to pull out a tissue. “Of course, I’m fine, cutie.” His gaze danced over the banister, up and down the steps, everywhere but Janus’ eyes. “I’m doin’ just fine. How are you doin’?”

Janus frowned as he tried to meet his eyes. He had a tiny scar in the outer corner, just below his eyebrow. Gabe had had a scar there, too. But bright green eyes peeked through auburn curls instead of that familiar warm ebony.

They carried the same sadness, though.

He shook his head. “I’m fine, thank you for asking,” he murmured, smoothing his mask back on. “Weren’t you at the party with Jack?” he asked, deflecting his flirting. He was certain the guy hadn’t noticed him there, and it could give him an out at least.

“Yeah, I was, but…” he looked away but not before Janus saw his smile disintegrate.

“That bad, huh?” C’mon, man, save us both some face. “I always suspected Jack was a selfish lover but I figured he’d at least give you a reach around,” he tried to joke.

The guy barked out a wet laugh. “I wouldn’t know. We didn’t get that far.” He scrubbed away more tears with the heel of his palm and shrugged before he again hugged his legs close to his chest. “Jack had me confused with someone else and, once I told him, he…” his voice cracked, belying his earlier wicked grin and sultry little wink.

“You have a doppelganger around here?”

“Yeah…” he whispered, “My twin.”

“Ah.” Janus squinted at him. For all his obnoxious innuendos and loud flirtation at the party, the man now sat hunched on a dirty step, arms wrapped around his shins, practically the fetal position. He looked like he wanted to sink into the floor and Janus’ hands twitched, nearly overwhelmed by the desire to wipe away the fresh tears slowly trailing down his cheek. He’s not Gabe, he’s not Gabe, he’s not Gabe.

A thought seeped through his tipsy mind and went straight to his mouth. “But, wait… you didn’t realize Jack had you confused with your twin?”

He shifted on the step, chewing at his lip. He looked like he’d eaten something rotten.

“Ah,” Janus said again, quieter this time. The man somehow shrunk further into himself. He stepped a little closer, drawn by something he couldn’t explain. “So if you’re not your brother, who are you?”

He looked up at Janus, trying—and failing—to hide the wobble in his lower lip. “You won’t laugh?” Janus raised a hand with a wink.

“Never.”

“I’m Remus,” he said quietly. “And not from that fucking book.”

Janus sat down next to him. “I’d never laugh at the founder of Rome.”

Remus’ lips twitched with a surprised smile, eyeing Janus from the corner of his eyes.

“Besides, Remus, I’ve got you beat.”

He smirked. “Oh, yeah, where’s your paddle, Daddy?”

Janus threw his back and laughed. “I prefer ‘Sir,’” he said, shaking his head and pretending to stand.

“Okay, for real,” Remus grabbed at his sleeve, a flash of genuine warmth in his smile. “Tell me? What’s your name?”

Not Gabe. That same mix of soft spice. But different. Alcohol sang through his veins, muffling the alarms in his chest. “My name is Janus,” he said at last.

Remus’ eyebrows jumped up and his grin broadened. “Latin?” Janus nodded and a smile slowly spread across his face.

“Hm… I really do need to brush up on my Latin studies.” His eyes dragged over Janus’ body as he licked his lips. Janus felt his face and chest flush and Remus only pouted, sliding a little closer. “The only thing I know how to say is cum magna calor.”

“I don’t believe that word means what you think it means.”

“Maybe you should give me some lessons.” He let his palm rest on Janus' knee. “I’m a quick study.”

He’s not Gabe, he’s not Gabe, he’s not Gabe. It’s just a fucking scar, Pater. He’s not Gabe.

Remus’ hand slid up his thigh, his hot palm burning through the thin material of Janus’ slacks.

“I might have something for that back at my place,” he finally purred, staring back into those bright green eyes. “It’s a bit of a walk, but… you look like you've got some stamina.”

Remus stood, taking Janus’ hand. “I’ve got an even better idea.”

~~~~~

The night had turned cold since the party started and Remus curled one arm around Janus’ waist as they walked. “We’ll keep eachother warm,” he murmured, tentatively sliding a hand into his back pocket. Janus just smiled back and took a swig from the bottle he’d apparently stolen from Jack’s party.

“This’ll keep us warm, too,” he almost slurred, pressing the bottle into Remus’ empty hand.

He watched Janus’ eyes as he drank, the whiskey burning far more than the punch had at the party. Janus hadn’t even flinched as he drank and, though Remus tried to hide it, the other man noticed.

“Oh, a light weight,” he grinned, capping the bottle and pulling him closer as they walked.

“Cut me some slack, baby,” Remus shrugged with a little smile. “Nineteen year olds don’t usually drink a lot of whiskey.”

He was sure he’d made a mistake when something flashed across Janus’ face but the wrinkle in his brow soon smoothed and he drank the last of the bottle before dropping it in the grass.

“That’s littering,” he smiled.

“Mm-hm,” Janus hummed back and stopped walking. He drew Remus close and nuzzled against his neck. “Add to that public drunken disorderly conduct, supplying alcohol to a minor…” He nipped at the soft flesh just above his collar bone. “Wanna add public lewdness?”

“Be gay, do crimes?” Remus chuckled, scanning the Quad over Janus’ shoulder. Raindrops splattered against the grass. It was light for now, but… “How about we go somewhere warmer?” he whispered, slowly pulling away. He searched the other man’s eyes. His gaze was fuzzy, not focusing on any one spot for long. No matter what they did, he needed to get Janus indoors.

Janus nodded. “Lead the way, Remus Caesar,” he bowed, leaning heaving against Remus’ side as he straightened.

“It’s Prince, actually,” he chuckled. “Just through here,” Remus whispered, pointing to the far side of the science building and pushing away the unease in the pit of his stomach. He slipped his arm free and crouched down in front of a dark window at ground level. Grinning up at Janus, he turned the latch and laughed as it easily spun in place.

“The lock’s been busted since at least last winter and they still haven’t fixed it.” Swinging the window open, he rolled onto his stomach and shimmied partway down. “I’ll jump down, then help you through,” he said, fresh warmth filling his chest at the surprised gleam in Janus’ eyes.

He grunted as he dropped down to the floor and fell to one knee, but quickly recovered. “Just a sec!” he called and spotted a sturdy desk to shove under the window. He clambered on top of it and whispered through the window. “Come on. It’s a short drop.”

“Isn’t the prince meant to climb the tower, not sneak through the basement?” he chuckled, crawling after him and sliding his lower half through the open window.

“Whatever works.” Remus’ hands were warm and steady on his hips as he guided him down until they stood together on top of the dusty desk. Still gripping Remus’ arm, Janus looked around at the room. Three old skeletons, each missing limbs, were gathered in one corner, the green exit light spilling through the door cast long shadows across the floor. A dozen or so rolling chalkboards were tucked in the opposite corner, and the center of the room was crowded with cracked lab benches and half-broken equipment.

“How’d y’even find this place?” Janus frowned at the slurring fuzziness in his words, but Remus didn’t seem to notice. Or care. “I’s here as an undergrad fer two years an’ never came across it.”

“Never underestimate the power of a bored Art Major,” Remus laughed, picking up what had to be a replica of a WW II gas mask. Janus leaned in to inspect it but stumbled against a lab bench. His hands flew up to steady himself but he only ended up pinning Remus against the hard marble surface as he fell into his arms.

Remus peeled off the mask and let it tumble to the table behind him. He threaded his fingers behind Janus’ neck and pulled him closer. “Hmm…” he purred near his ear, hot breath sending a shiver down Janus’ spine. “I suppose we should never underestimate the power of a thirsty law student, either.”

That damned mix of softness and heat swirled in his eyes as he looked up at him. Eyes squeezed shut, Janus curled over him and sucked hard just under his jaw. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he growled and pushed back just enough to let him up before hitching himself up onto the lab bench.

Janus slid back and watched Remus strip off his shirt. His chest was littered with mostly faded hickies and nicks and marks. He held his left arm close to his belly, but Janus caught a flash of scars running up and down his inner forearm as he worked open the top buttons of his jeans.

“No.” Janus shook his head and leaned forward to trace the faint marks on his chest. He smiled as he dragged both hands down his bare skin until he reached Remus’ hips. “C’mere,” he slurred and tugged him closer.

“One mark’s not enough for you?” Grinning, Remus climbed up and straddled his lap.

“Is ‘t fer you?”

Remus was eager and warm in his arms and every little gasp he let out sent shivers up and down Janus’ spine. The kisses he gave in return were tender, softly mouthing along Janus’ jaw and below his ear, sweet whispers of his name.

The heavy scent of spring magnolias filled his lungs tears pricked the corners of his eyes. It had been so long since he’d felt this, this soft passion, the warmth and gentle kisses. “Tell me what you want,” Janus murmured after leaving a particularly dark mark on his chest.

“I want you,” he whispered. Gripping his shoulders, he ground down hard against him. “How about you catch up and get rid of some of your clothes, Jannie?”

Dizzy from the whiskey, Janus nodded but pulled him closer. He didn’t want to let go. “Anything you want, Gabe…”

“I’m not Gabe .” Remus pulled back, a tremble in his chin even as he glared. “I’m me . And if your Gabe’s so great, why isn’t he here grinding up against you instead of me?”

Stunned, Janus blinked at him, vision blurred in the darkened room as reality crashed down on him. A chilly breeze blew in through the open window, kicking up the scent of fallen leaves and a hint of woodsmoke from the line of houses next to campus. Sniffling, Remus climbed off his lap and picked up his discarded shirt. “I’m no replacement. Go find your fucking Gabe. Tell him I said ‘you’re welcome’ for warming you up for him.”

“Gabe’s gone,” Janus shot back, the lingering buzz stripping away his filter. “He’s in the fucking ground. He’s jus’… gone,” he muttered and then slid off the lab bench, swaying as he struggled to regain his footing.

“Shit, Jan, wait—” Remus grabbed his wrist, barely Janus’ sloppy roundhouse. But he didn’t let go.

“Wai’ what?” he shouted. Yanking his arm back only succeeded in pulling him closer.

“I didn’t know,” Remus said with a softness Janus couldn’t understand. “I’m sorry.” He traced calloused fingers over his cheek, leaving a wet trail across his skin.

Janus’ knees wobbled as his adrenaline fizzled away and he dropped down to the floor. He hung his head and watched the tears sprinkle against the hands—his and Remus’—in his lap. When had he started crying?

“I didn’t know,” Remus whispered again after he knelt next to him. His free hand reached out and gently turned Janus’ head until he faced him.

He stared back at him and Janus trembled as he fought to pull his mask back on, but Remus wouldn’t release his gaze, bright green eyes demanding his attention, his story.

“No-one knows,” he whispered, words spilling out before he could stop them. “Not here at least…” A sob threatened to push up from the back of his throat and he clamped his teeth down on his lip. Remus brushed a thumb over his mouth, the unexpected tenderness unclenching his jaw. “It was… I los’ Gabe back home…”

Tears chased his words and Remus pulled him close, cooing softly. He buried his face against Remus’ neck and cried.

~~~

“I sh… I should head home…” Janus didn’t want to let go, but his eyelids were heavy and swollen from crying, his head stuffed with cotton. He was miles from his earlier giddiness, but hours from sober and it was a long walk home.

”Oh, Jannie, you’re all the way down Broadway,” Remus drew him close again. He still hadn’t put on his shirt, but Janus had a hard time minding the warm, bare skin under his palms. “That's too far to walk.. how about you crash at my dorm. I’m just across the quad.”

“I… I can’…” Janus shook his head but couldn’t make himself pull away. “I need t’ sleep this off,” he finally managed.

“I’m not trying to fuck you,” Remus muttered, squeezing the arm crossed over his back. “Not anymore, at least,” he added with a little eyebrow waggle, but his face quickly shifted back to that soft, concerned look. Janus stared back at him, confounded and… comforted by the rapid change. “I just want you to be safe.”

“Why?” Remus frowned at his question and started to look away, but Janus cradled his jaw and turned his head back. “I mean… Why care about me? It’s not your fault I’m drunk and…” And called you another man’s name…

Remus shrugged. “I guess…” He rubbed his cheek against Janus’ palm, a soft, catlike gesture. “I guess anyone who cared enough about someone to mourn them… Needs some care,” he finally smiled.

The room spun around them and Janus’ head wobbled, a little nod. Rising slowly, Remus lifted him to his feet and pointed at the door. “It’s only locked from the outside.” He curled an arm around his waist again, a similar pose to how they’d walked here from Jack’s party. “Ready?” he asked, then pushed through the door.

The rain grew heavier as they walked and by the time they’d reached the dorm, they were soaked.

“Shhh… my brother’s asleep,” he whispered when he poked his head through the door. Stifling a curse, Remus stubbed his toe on Ro’s chair as he moved around in the dark, looking for clean-ish towels. He gave Janus the softer one. “Not to be all ‘you should get out of those wet clothes,’ but…” he whispered, peeling off his shirt. “You should get out of those wet clothes.”

Nodding, Janus fumbled with the buttons on his shirt before stepping back and almost falling against the wall. “Shit,” Remus hissed, looking over his shoulder. Ro had his headphones on, probably listening to his textbooks. “Lemme help you, Jannie,” he whispered and quickly undid his buttons and pulled off the sopping shirt.

Working together, they undressed in the dark, towels wrapped around their waists. “Last week was laundry day,” Remus shrugged as he peeled back the blankets, grateful Janus seemed too out of it to even notice. He’d never actually had anyone in their room before and he was kinda disgusted with himself.

“Thank you, ‘mus,” Janus muttered as he climbed into the bed. Remus started to cover him, he could sleep in the bean bag nest by his desk. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fallen asleep there. “Wai—” Despite his stupor, Janus’ hand snaked out from the blankets and gripped his wrist. “Please, stay?” He looked up through half-lidded eyes. “I won’—” Janus’ head lolled against the pillow but he didn’t let go.

“Okay,” Remus finally nodded and curled around him. Janus was almost completely out by the time he’d covered them both with the blanket, moving just enough to nuzzled against him.

“‘Nigh’ ‘mus…” he muttered, one arm draped over his waist.

“Good night, Jan…” Remus rubbed his cheek against his hair. Even through the sour stench of the whiskey, his hair smelled like mint and earl grey tea. Scrunched together in the bed, their towels had loosened, leaving Remus very aware of how vulnerable he was in this virtual—and drunken—stranger’s arms. He didn’t even know his last name.

Everything about this was wrong. So why did it feel so right?

“Sleep well,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss into his hair and drifted off to sleep.

~~~

Roman stretched and sat up at the insistent beep of his alarm. It had rained in the night and Re’s hamper smelled… wet. Raising an eyebrow at his brother’s sleeping form, he sighed. At least he came home last night. Roman had considered waiting up for him, but the last time he’d done that, Re had just laughed at his overprotectiveness. And frankly, with an audition right after his morning shift, he couldn’t afford the missed sleep today.

He got up and clicked off his alarm before stripping off his pajamas and grabbing his day’s outfit and a robe, thanking the universe for the small miracle of separate closets.

“So you really are identical,” a man mumbled in a low growl, golden blond hair and two sharp eyes just barely peering out from under Remus’ comforter.

“Jesus Christ Superstar!” Roman’s face burned and he pressed his folded clothes against his groin. Re’s head soon poked out from under the covers, as well. “Dammit, Re! Warn a dude next time you bring someone home!”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, Ro Bro. I got lucky last night.” He winked at his boyfriend and the man snorted. “You were asleep when we got in. Didn’t want to wake you.” Remus propped himself up on one elbow and yawned. “Ro, this is Janus. Janus, meet my brother Roman.”

“Janice?” He began to smirk.

Remus pulled a scowling Janus closer to him, laying across his chest. “Hey, Ro, you’re peeking.” Roman looked down and tried to adjust the bundle of clothes to better cover himself. He fumbled his way backwards to the closet and pushed his arms through the sleeves of his robe and tied it tight around his waist.

Collecting his shower caddy and a fresh set of clothes, he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a half an hour. Please be dressed when I do.” He let the door slam behind him.

Remus waggled his eyebrows at Janus. “Half an hour, huh? That’s enough time to pick up where we left off, if you’re… up for it?” He shifted under the covers, and his grin grew when his hands brushed a little lower against Janus’ hip.

“I, um…” Janus’ breath caught in his throat, still not quite over the way Remus had curled over him so protectively, slashing back at his brother at even a hinted mock of his name. “I have a class…”

“So do I…” The hunger in his smile softened as he looked back at Janus, warmth and longing in his eyes. One hand drawn through his hair, he brushed tender kisses along his jaw. “But wouldn’t you rather stay here with me?”

Pulling back, he nuzzled against the warm, rough hand now at his cheek, and his gaze trailed up from the love bites he’d left on Remus’ chest and neck to the stubble sprouting across his jaw and upper lip. His full mouth curved up in an impossibly shy smile, like he feared Janus might just push him away. Finally, Janus met his eyes, sparkling green with flecks of gold even in the thin streams of light spilling from the edges of the drawn blinds.

Janus smiled. No, he’s not Gabe. He’s Remus. And he’s wonderful.

He pulled Remus closer and fell into their kiss.

---

The story continues in

#Remus #ts remus #ts janus #dukeceit #Happy Birthday‚ Remus!#ts roman #Remus Prince #Janus Pater #Roman Prince #human AU #the butterfly of the Happily Ever After butterfly universe of It Could Always Be Worse and The Uses of Adversity #the 'Dorm Room Incident' mentioned in the first chapter of The Uses of Adversity #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic

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imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper · 1 year

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💫🎀💞

(I couldn't pick just one zbzbxn)

AHHH FELLOW GRIM <3 <3 <3 <3 THANK YOU FOR THE ASK! 💫what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

GOD this one feels so goddamn arrogant like even more than the compliment one lol but my favorite comment I’ve ever gotten (and I’m by no means asking anyone else to do this) was from someone who saw their trauma and their flaws and shit in a character in my fic and commented telling me about it and how MY GODDAMN FIC of all things was helping them to work through it because the way I wrote the character was something they’d never seen before and it really connected with them. I JUST-. Like I said I am NOT asking anyone else to get that personal, I don’t expect that much from anyone but I still feel like I have to shout it out because it is ENTIRELY the reason I am still fighting to finish that fic through the burnout even after abandoning it for an extended period of time.

On a much more general note I always write about my blorbos and my very specific headcanons of said blorbos so anything like musing on my portrayal of my blorbos will send me into a flurry of hand flaps.

🎀give yourself a compliment about your own writing

I love that I always (sometimes unintentionally) make very flawed and very broken characters. In TMDORG Janus was once a very toxic and selfish person and literally killed someone (inadvertently but still) , Remus ran away from his long term partner and completely shut him out for a solid year and Roman is- well- was an arrogant jackass who’s too wrapped up in his own problems to notice when he hurts other people. My OCs and my portrayal of other characters are all so mean and co-dependant and nihilistic and do fucked up shit without thinking first and sometimes even with thinking first they do it anyways. There’s a specific scene I’m thinking of from a series of un-posted vignettes I wrote where there’s some very DEEP intense longing going on and its like: this is the culmination of at least three years of headcanons and about a solid month of struggle to write this scene in this fic in this series alone, right? I work up the nerve to reach out to a friend of mine to read it and they’re like “Yeah this is fucking creepy and bad” and it stung a little (a lot) because I hadn’t really been thinking of it like that. But I turned around and re-read it and agreed with them. It killed a part of me I think but another grew to take its place: it IS a little fucked up because these are deeply fucked up people I’m writing and I’M GLAD its fucked up. I love my fucked up little people. But also the flip side to that is that I LOVE that they can be all that but still be good and lovable and deserving of love and good things, they can bounce off eachother like fucking cattle going down a round pannel shoot for medical treatment and still love and care about and try their goddamn hardest to do what’s right by each other. Am I giving myself too much praise? Yes. But is this more about how I personally see my characters and not how they actually are? Also yes.

💞what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language

100% the characters above all else, I write dreadfully slow painful character explorations and nothing else LOL. I do always try to make sure that something HAPPENS IE the “Murder mystery” in TMDORG or a better example of what you’re usually gonna get the slow build of a relationship in my most recent baby MWBEYH but exploring characters and their relationships is where my heart lies and is the reason I come up with stories and write them in the first place. I get an idea about a scenario or a very specific headcanon and I have to put the characters into the little Webkinz movie maker (side note you couldn’t say root beer in that stupid thing and it pissed me off SO MUCH) with the right pieces and press play. Usually this is to my detriment LOL if you want an example of this in action look at TMDORG: Initially the plot was a much heavier focus and it was going to BE an actual murder mystery, the character’s screen time/focus was going to be a lot more balanced but I got super caught up in the very very fraught relationship between Janus and Remus in the world I’d made and WHOOPS everything else fell to the wayside. Hopefully in the future I will have actually written another one of my bigger pet projects that I can reference besides TMDORG lol. Thank you again! :)

#the word of grim #asks #answered #ask game #writing ask game #fellow grim

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snowdice · 2 years

Text

Creased Hoodies (Chapter 1: Interrupted Summer Plans) [Folds in Time Universe]

Fandom: Sander Sides

Relationships: Logan/Virgil, Janus/Patton (background), Remus & Roman (background)

Characters:

Main: Logan, Virgil

Appear: Patton, Roman

Mentioned: Janus, Remus

Summary: Virgil just wanted to go on his planned summer research trip to do an anthropological study in 2005 America. However, when he is taken off course by an unknown enemy, he ends up stranded in the summer of 2018 with no way to get back the the 44rd century. Luckily, 2018 happens to be where a certain illegal time agency is based, and he might have an in with one of its agents.

This is the intermission for the story Folds in Paper. It takes place between Folds in Paper Book 1 and Book 2. It also takes place after the first 5 chapter of “Messages for a Hacker” which are side stories in the universe. Check all of this and more out on my Folds in Time Master Post.

Chapter Summary: Patton meets someone at the farmers market.

Patton goes to the farmers market.

Notes: Time travel AU

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

Patton was a fan of the summer months which was why he was a little unhappy that he’d be missing a good chunk of them. Though, he guessed, he didn’t so much miss them as misplace them. He had stopped by to tell Roman and Logan what had happened with getting trapped in pre-history with Janus and why he’d be missing for a good chunk of time over the next few months to make up for it. He was staying with his now technically younger roommates for a week or two to recuperate before hopping forward a bit. He’d duck in for his mom’s birthday and his grandpa’s yearly fishing trip (Though Patton was of the opinion that he did not really want to eat fresh fish for a least a little while yet.) but would mostly be skipping forward a whole two months.

He’d land in early August which was still summer, but he’d miss most of June and July, and that was sad, but at least apples would be fresh around that time. Plus, fall was his second favorite season anyway.

Yet, for now, he got to relax a little bit back in late May. Logan had finished poking and prodding him to make sure he wasn’t sick with any really bad ancient disease yesterday, so he was officially allowed to leave the apartment. Since it was Saturday, he and Roman had decided to go grab some stuff from the recently opened Farmers Market.

Roman had gotten bored with the vegetable shopping and had split off to go look at the arts and crafts (and, knowing him, probably pastries) that the market had to offer, leaving Patton to finish up getting fresh ingredients for the week. He may have also been grabbing a little bit extra so he could make frozen meals at some point this week. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Roman and Logan to feed themselves in his absence, (Okay, well, he did not trust Logan and Roman often got distracted.) but he did want to leave something nice for them while he was away. He knew he’d missed them while he’d been gone.

He wandered down the main path through the market. Most days this was a side street off Main, but on Saturdays in the summer, it was blocked off to cars and hosted a large number of stands selling different things, mostly produce. In a small park off to one side, there was a live band set up and down the way a bit there were food trucks selling prepared food to people who got peckish while wandering the stands. He mostly tried to stay away from those because they almost exclusively sold unhealthy and overpriced food.

But gosh was it good food.

And Logan wasn’t here to stop him…

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to go have a look at what they had this morning. He turned away from the vegetable stands he was supposed to be shopping at and walked towards the parking lot lined with food trucks. It was, as predicted, mostly food that was horribly bad for you. Most of the things there were sweets, though some had actual meal food such as walking tacos and grilled cheeses. One was even serving pancakes with fresh berries with a sign telling you where you could buy the same berries elsewhere in the market. Patton’s eyes though, went straight past anything most people would consider actual food and landed on small stand with the words “Fresh Donuts and Fried Oreos for Sale.”

Now, he knew for a fact that he could only eat one, maybe two if he stretched it, fried Oreos at a time before he got sick to his stomach. They were just so sweet and greasy, but they sold them in packs of three. Hmm…

He looked around. “Would you like one?” he asked an older man with hair just starting to grey who’d been walking between the stands.

The man stopped, seemingly surprised at being addressed. He blinked at him in surprise. “What?” he asked.

“A fried Oreo,” Patton explained. “I love them but eating more than two makes me sick to my stomach.”

“Just… don’t eat the last one,” the man suggested. He was shifting back and forth on his feet.

“You obviously don’t know me,” Patton said. “Anyway. Free fried Oreo?”

“I…uh… yeah, sure whatever.”

“Great!” Patton said, turning back to the employee waiting. “3 please!” They had already been dunked in hot oil while the employee had been waiting for Patton, so they were out within seconds, hot and fresh. Patton thanked her and turned towards the man. He grabbed a napkin to pick one of the Oreos out of the packet and handed it to him. “Here you go!”

“Thanks,” he said with an awkward half smile.

“No problem!” Patton replied.

“Well anyway, I’m really in the middle of something, so I ought to be going now.”

“Oh, okay, bye!” Patton said, but he was already gone. Patton shrugged and reached into his bag of fried Oreos as he started walking in the opposite direction from the one the man took towards the park and the live music there. He’d go take a quick walk around the little park listening to the music to maybe work off the Oreos he was eating and then go back to his shopping.

He was about halfway between the food trucks and the makeshift stage when there was a loud screeching sound which he at first attributed to mic feedback, until he felt a kind of swoopy feeling in his gut like after eating two corndogs before going on a rollercoaster even though Logan had told him not to. Someone was time traveling and not your gentle popping here or there safe time travel. No, something was wrong.

There were popping sounds like those little mini popping firecrackers that kids threw at each other’s feet on the Fourth of July. People near the stage jerked away with little startled shrieks, attributing the sounds to something going wrong with the equipment, but it wasn’t actually coming from the stage, not exactly.

It was coming from somewhere behind the stage. Patton made note of the fact that it was so close to the musical equipment almost as though whatever was happening was intentionally set up to make people think it was an electrical problem. He picked up his pace a bit, but not too much as he didn’t want anyone to notice him doing so.

By the time he made it there, the noises had stopped, and the feeling of wrong time travel had settled into an annoying hum. The people around and on the stage were starting to settle, though clearly the musicians were confused.

Patton was confused too. What was that? Was it over? Why did something still feel off? He couldn’t scan the area to check what was wrong. He hadn’t brought the timepiece to walk to the local farmer’s market. He usually didn’t wear it about his own time for fear carrying it around frivolously may lead to disaster. Pickpockets snatching time travel devices off of the unaware had caused enough undue trauma, thank you very much.

So, he had only his own eyes and ears to work with. Yet, despite his experience, he didn’t see anything particularly amiss. He kept his eyes out for an object that might have caused the disturbance or clothing that didn’t quite match the times, but he saw nothing.

After a few minutes of slipping his way through the crowds, he finally decided to give up for now. He’d go back to the apartment and tell Logan something had happened. He should be able to figure out something. He weaved his way out of the crowd of people and back onto the sidewalk that surrounded the little concert area. Yet, as he was about to turn away, he heard an unfamiliar voice call out to him.

“Pat!” it called, and Patton turned to look at a man speed walking towards him in an inconspicuous black hoody and blue jeans. “You’re Pat,” he said when he was closer, his tone somewhere between a statement and a question.

Patton tilted his head at the stranger with a frown. “Do you know me?” he asked.

“Not really,” he replied, “but I remembered your face.”

“What?” Patton asked.

He raised an arm and let the hoody sleeve slip down just a touch. Patton could detect a bit of panic in his eyes, and he figured out why when a timepiece much like Janus’s but not quite as fancy was revealed. “It’s broken. Please help.”

Want to read more? Click below!

Part 2

Folds in Time Universe Master Post

My Main Masterpost

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #analogical #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #mentioned moceit #mentioned janus sanders #mentioned remus sanders #time travel au #folds in time universe #creased hoodies

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vulgarvixxen · 2 years

Note

6.“i can’t remember.” heavy on angst plz🥺 -🧪

Angst with an extra side of angst, hold the comfort

Warnings: Violence, animal attack, injuries, medical restraining, memory loss, character death, child character death, grief, hurt/no comfort

Childhood Memories

“I CAN'T REMEMBER! Remus screams as his brother and beat friends try to hold him down so they can get him strapped to the medical bed, “I CAN'T REMEMBER HER FACE!” Blood from the deep scratches makes it hard for them to keep hold. Working together Virgil and Roman get one arm restrained and split up to help the others, finally they get him pinned down and secure and they can step back to take stock of the situation.

The twins had started making creatures together, one would start and they’d trade off for a few days before letting it loose to see what it’d become. It was a way for them to work together but not have to be in the same place (and inevitably push each other’s buttons). So today when they went out for a bit of monster slaying they found several of the new creatures had developed abilities from their anatomy. A bull horned beetle had a herd of similar beetles that produced milk, the pigeon-fox griffins with possum tails seemed to be the solution to the kingdom’s trash problem, but not everything was good. A few of their new creatures had become dangerous, the lizard-thing with spikes along its back like a woolie caterpillar had developed venom that drove those unfortunate enough to get too close mad with great sadness. So to keep the balance of the imagination safe the royals went looking to get rid of these lizards and maybe capture one for their favorite chemical and biology nerd to find a cure(just in case they didn’t eradicate the population of cursed lizards).

Roman found the original lizard and gave chase, it led them to its den with the young still too little to leave the tree they were born in. If his subjects hadn’t died from despair because of this mistake he would have left them be but at least two people had killed themselves and another was being treated for dehydration after crying for so long. He dispatched them quickly and as painlessly as he could, he didn’t notice Remus arriving after him and trying to coax a baby lizard into a plastic container. He didn’t notice a second adult lizard running to protect the nest, Remus did, “Ro-bro watch out!” Roman was pushed out of the way and oriented himself just in time to actually notice Remus taking multiple spikes to his leg. In a protective rage of his own, Roman grabbed up his sword again and struck the lizard, chopping and hacking at it until it stopped moving.

The pained groan behind him reminded Roman just what that thing could do, he needed to get Remus back to the others. The spines reminded him of porcupine quills but he wasn’t sure what part had the venom so he summoned some thick rubber gloves and a rose clipper, a moment later and the spines were cut to a length that wouldn’t get jostled as much as they left. “I gotcha Re, Lo-bot or Jay will know what to do. Just sleep, you can’t be sad if you sleep!” Remus just whines and nods in response. He rambles as he looks around to make sure another one of those things isn’t waiting to attack, he sees the last two of the young curled up in defensive balls under the container Remus dropped. A lucky break. Sliding the lid under the babies and locking the lid, Roman secures the container in his pack and goes back over and lifts Remus into his arms, careful not to touch the remaining points of the spines.

“What are we going to do? We can’t keep him sedated and he won’t spot screaming his throat raw when he’s awake!” Patton asks as Virgil holds him close, Janus looks ill as he looks at the unnaturally still form of his bestie. Logan had taken Roman to another bed to make sure he hadn’t been exposed to the venom or sustained injuries while too distracted to notice them, they had been gone for a while… “Janus, who was Remus talking about? He said he couldn’t remember ‘her’ but I don’t think I know who he was talking about.” Virgil questions, brows bunched up in thought.

Janus sighs and pushes some sweaty hair off of Remus’s face as he thinks about how to answer this extremely personal question. Of course he knew who Remus meant but he wasn’t sure if the alternative creativity would want the others to know, it was a painful memory for both of them. Would it help to share it or just add on to their differences in the group. But it’s been so, so long, maybe they needed to talk about it to heal? “If I tell you it has to be all of you, I’m not telling this story twice and I don’t want Remus to have to tell it at all. Those are my conditions.” Virgil looks…frightened, the seriousness of the situation apparent from the lack of avoidance, Patton just nodded as he rubbed one of Remus’s restrained arms.

Some moments later Logan and Roman return with news, “Thankfully Remus was trying to catch a subject for study and Roman was able to bring the remaining young back. I should be able to make an anti-venom but it will take some time to make enough, we’ll have to keep him drugged or sedated until then.” Logan explained, he looked pained when he looked at the wilting form of Roman who hadn’t said a word since he had returned shouting for help desperately. “It would be best if we made a rotation so someone is always here. That way the others can rest while myself and the vigil keep watch.”

“I think that we can agree to that as long as you take a shift to rest too, you can’t help anyone if you burn yourself out.” Janus points out, “yeah, you need naps and food breaks kiddo, I don’t want two of my boys sick!” Patton agrees. With both parental sides ganging up against him Logan has to agree, the glare Virgil gives him that says he sided with them and not to test them all. “With that decided it is my turn to share with the group I suppose.” All eyes focus on Janus.

When the twins were separated as children Remus had a difficult time coping with being alone and not having a playmate. Virgil was too young and sensitive for the games 9 year old Remus wanted to play, so what did the young creativity do? He made a new sibling. A sister, since he already had a brother who he hoped to see again soon, Lady Riley. She looked like them all but with long hair and chubbier cheeks, if Janus hadn’t seen her manifest he would have thought she was a side. Riley played with Remus and helped him make things when he was in the mood for it, she would read to Virgil in his crib or sing him little nonsense songs as kids do. She loved watching Janus make food or sew costumes, she begged him to teach her to hand-stitch. Remus had given her a dark green to match his bright green, a dress short enough to run in but long enough to twirl in. They did almost everything together for about 2 years, she had become Janus’s third child and a big part of their family…Then the bullying started. Thomas was being picked on for being ‘odd’ or liking ‘girl’ things, it caused a wave of repression for anything deemed ‘girly’ including little Riley. She woke up one day feeling weak and dizzy. They had thought it was a cold from playing in the sprinklers but as the day went on she became worse, the next morning they woke and the spot next to Remus was empty. All traces of her were gone, the costumes she wore for playtime, the drawings, her image in their family photos…all gone. Remus had lost another sibling and Janus had lost one of his children and they couldn’t even hold on to a memory of her because Thomas’s mind had erased all of those. 20 plus years had muddled the picture of her in their minds, haunting them with the ghost of her existence.

The room was silent save the sniffles Patton was trying to suppress in Virgil’s shoulder, the other Right Brain sides looked at Janus with mixtures of horror and grief. Roman looked sick, pale and shaking as tears poured down his face. Janus is quick to summon a chair for the prince to sit in before the poor dear could fall. “Breath Peachick, everything will be ok.” The lying side tried to sooth, using the old nickname he had for the preening prince. The man looked at Janus with such a deep sadness that he thought he might fall right into it and drown. He's not prepared for the broken rasped words that fall out of Roman’s mouth, “I-we had a sister?”

#🧪 anon #tss Remus #tss roman #tss angst #remus angst #roman angst #actually just angst for everyone #death mention #hurt no comfort #tss oc

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lumosinlove · 3 years

Text

Between Fifth and You

(cw in tags)

chapter one

“Olives or twist?”

Sirius had to watch the barkeep’s mouth to make out the words beneath the pounding music, which meant Sirius caught the way his eyes skittered across his face almost fearfully. The sheer amount of obsidian in this place probably did nothing to lighten his features. Not to mention, few people knew how to look him in the eye.

“Twist,” he said.

The man nodded and flipped the bottle of gin until it dipped into a shot glass, the glass into the ice. Sirius watched until he was stirring the bitters in and a hand appeared on his shoulder, lips to his neck.

“Burn this,” Saint said, and plucked at Sirius’ shirt sleeve, rubbing the black material between his fingers. Sirius raised an eyebrow as he turned. Saint’s own shirt was unbuttoned half way down his hard chest, light brown skin warm in the flashing club lights. “You’ve worn it too many times.”

“Hello to you, too,” Sirius said. “I like this shirt.”

“I liked it two months ago,” Saint replied. “It’s September now, your highness.”

Sirius scoffed as the bartender slid him his drink.

“You gonna tell everyone the sun did that?” Sirius took a clean sip of gin with one hand and stroked his other through Saint’s gold curls, only suddenly some of the slightly course strands were almost white.

Saint’s grin turned coy. “Isn’t it nice to have a mystery to think about?”

“Oh, yeah, do blonds have more fun?”

“You wouldn’t know.”

The music kicked up a beat that Sirius felt through his spine.

“Why do we always come here?” he leaned a hip against the bar. “We have an entire city.”

“Yeah, fuck the rest of the world, we have one whole city.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Saint shook his head. “Because that’s what we do. You see that guy over there? I’ve taken him out four times. Couldn’t tell you his name. They couldn’t tell you mine.”

“Everyone knows your name, Saint.”

Saint grinned. “Maybe. But why do we go back to each other? Because we’re creatures of fucking habit.” Saint cocked his head, stole Sirius’ drink. “And what is this city but a bad, bad habit?”

Sirius’ blood cooled and he looked away.

What am I, Sirius? said the familiar voice from his memory. Am I easy? Am I safe? Do you want me, or am I just familiar now?

He closed his eyes against the memory of his reply.

Bad habit indeed.

XOXO

Spotted—a familiar face from the past. What has this train brought in? Thanks to a tip from @magicinthemaking, I bring you this picture of none other than Remus Lupin (and a certain Southern bell we know and love) under Grand Central’s stars. We missed you, Re—how was England? Or was it Europe?

The rumors can never seem to decide, but why the sudden change in plans to take his Junior year abroad? Here we were thinking he wanted nothing more than to stay.

I wonder how another certain star will feel about this sudden homecoming. And just in time for senior year’s Fall semester, too.

XOXO.

Remus adjusted his suitcase, glad he’d mailed so many of his things home. He’d been on U.S. soil for all of three hours, and he already missed Rome. He wanted to walk down the tiny staircase from his billet family’s apartment and get a cappuccino. He wanted to stand on the drain of the Pantheon and soak up the sheer history in the air.

He already wanted a break.

But he also wanted to see Julian. Sometimes it felt like the only thing pulling him back home was seeing his baby brother’s grin in real life rather than across a Facetime call.

“All good?”

Remus looked up at Leo. His blond hair was still bleached a bright blond from the Roman sun. Their program had ended in May, but Remus was glad they had stayed together. He hadn’t been looking for Leo—for someone to kiss for the first time in the rose garden at the top of the Aventine Hill while Leo told him about its past as a cemetery.

It’s footpaths are laid out like a Minorah, see? Leo had pointed out. To remember. 300 different types of roses isn’t enough. But I like to come here.

Remus thought it had been Leo’s love for history, and his respect, too, that had drawn him in. They both came from a world where the biggest thing most people cared about was what they’d wear to the next party, and who was bringing their next drink.

Remus hadn’t been able to believe his luck, as fragile as his heart was still.

“Yeah,” Remus nodded. “All good.”

But he wasn’t sure. They hadn’t been friends here, in the city, or at Hogwarts. It had been Rome. Remus didn’t know what their old lives would do to them. But he took Leo’s hand and watched the way Leo fingered the star he wore around his neck, the way he shot Remus his dimpled smile.

“Come on,” Remus said. “I want you to meet Julian.”

XOXO

Good morning Upper East Siders—Gossip Girl here. All trends point to Fall’s Hogwartsers coming back in Black—in more ways than one. Sirius Black’s got a baby brother on campus now, and after another wild summer for the Hogwarts College elite, count me in with the rest of them on wondering what to expect. Rumor is he’s not much like our favorite star.

“You don’t have to talk to me, you know.”

Sirius kept his eyes on his eggs and toast. “Your missing your tie. Mom said—”

“What do you care?” Regulus replied. “I hear when she used to make you wear one it usually ended up around some other guy’s neck by ten in the morning.”

“If you’re going to believe everything you read on Gossip Girl about me, then maybe I won’t talk to you.”

Regulus smirked. “So, you read it, too.”

“Boys.”

Both brothers went back to their breakfasts.

“Good morning, mom,” Sirius said.

Walburga Black smiled with her painted lips, resting a hand on Sirius’ shoulder and bending to kiss his cheek.

“Don’t you both look handsome for your first day. Although that leather jacket has seen better days, Sirius. Do what you want for dinner, ask Chef, I don’t care. I’ll be at the House.”

The House. The House of Black, his mother’s million dollar fashion industry.

“Fine,” Regulus nodded, and rose. “I’ll take the first car.”

Sirius rolled his eyes again. “Really?”

Regulus just snatched up his backpack.

Saint, James, and Thomas were waiting for him on one of the courtyard tables when Sirius got out of the Escalade. It certainly felt like a first day of a semester. Saint’s neck dripped in gold necklaces—a story behind each one. Thomas, who had replaced his short braids with a closely shaved head, wore a white t-shirt and ripped up jean shorts, gold nose-ring glinting in the sun. James had evidently been helped out by Lily, as usual, a green, tight-fitting Henley shirt bunched up at his elbows. The two flanked Saint, who basked on top of the stone table, head tilted back to bare his throat in a way that made Sirius think of last night, in the back of the bar. He could see a purplish mark he had left there.

“You’re looking surprisingly chipper,” James said when Sirius reached Hogwarts’ courtyard.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, knowing he didn’t. “I’m not failing any classes yet, James.”

His friends went oddly silent. Sirius looked around at them, spreading his hands in confusion. Saint wouldn’t look at him, expression going oddly stoney. Thomas, finally, offered him his phone, biting his lip. Sirius took it.

His heart leapt to his throat. He didn’t even bother reading the Instagram caption. Remus loomed out at him from the phone screen.

“Leo Knut,” Saint said. “Who would have thought.”

Sirius cleared his throat and turned away from the picture—from Remus and Leo’s clasped hands.

“Why wouldn’t I be chipper?” he said again, and ignored their unconvinced expressions. “I’ve got class.”

Under his desk while he waited for the rest of the class to show, Sirius pulled out his phone and opened Instagram.

XOXO

Remus approached campus slowly. He felt like he didn’t know anyone anymore, even if he knew that wasn’t true. He thought he saw James from afar, but Lily and Kasey didn’t have class today.

Really, Remus didn’t know if he had many friends that weren’t…shared. That didn’t feel too close to home. Manhattan wasn’t that big of an island.

He looked down at his schedule he’d written out on his phone.

The 19th Century Novel - Hogsmeade R#302.

He made his way to the Hogsmeade building and climbed the spiral staircase quickly. It all felt too industrial, too metallic. At least he’d woken up with Leo, who still had the ancient air about him. He didn’t want that bubble to pop.

“Mr. Lupin,” Professor McGonagall beamed when he walked in, and Remus smiled, too at her familiar Scottish drawl. “It’s so very nice to have you back.”

“Hi, Professor. It’s good to be—”

But the words died on Remus’ tongue. He looked out at the small class—just twenty at this high level—and his heart, out of habit it seemed, had leapt at the sight of familiar dark hair.

Uh-oh. Looks like Pyramus and Thisbe are actually wishing for a wall between them this time.

Sirius’ hair was shorter than it had been at the end of sophomore year, the last time Remus had seen him. He wore a touch of a beard, too, just scruff, really, but it framed his silver eyes like darkness to the stars—two stars, which were zeroed in on Remus.

“Back,” Remus tried to recover, mouth dry. He sent McGonagall a shaky smile, and turned to find a seat, trying not to find those stars again.

He resisted the urge to close his eyes in defeat when he realized that there was only one left. He walked towards Sirius looking ahead and with his heart pounding. Leo. Leo making pancakes for him and Julian this morning. Leo making his little brother laugh. But he could smell the worn leather of Sirius’ jacket. He remembered the feel of it around his own shoulders. Are you cold, baby?

“All righty, then,” McGonagall stood from her chair and leaned against the front of her desk, looking down her spectacles at the attendance sheet. “Looks like we’re all here.”

XOXO

“Well?” Saint asked as Sirius took the joint from between his fingers.

“Sat down next to me,” Sirius said. “Didn’t say a fucking word.”

“Did you say a fucking word?” Saint raised his eyebrows.

Sirius blew out smoke. “No.”

“Well, all right, you fucking hypocrite.”

Sirius looked over at him from where they lay side by side, stretched out in the fading sunshine of Central Park. “I’m keeping this now.”

“No, you’re not. Did you pay for that? I don’t think so.”

Sirius scoffed. “Yeah, like this made a dent in the Montague treasuries.”

Saint laughed, tucking a palm behind his head. Sirius let his eyes linger on the strip of skin where his shirt rode up. He’d kissed that last night, too. It was nice with Saint. He’d been friends with him for longer than he could remember. Saint never looked for more. If Sirius snapped at him, he snapped back and then they laughed about it. Saint wandered through the world loving people freely. He kissed them, or he made them dinner, or he took them for long walks along the river. He showed them his favorite jazz club, or gave them the orgasm of their life, or read to them from his favorite books. He was New York in human form, accepting and inviting, living and breathing.

Sirius wished he was so trusting, even if trust seemed a funny word to apply to Saint.

No one ever got too close to either of them, except the other.

“What are you wearing to your mom’s fashion show?” Saint asked with his eyes closed. “It’s the event of the season.”

“Are you joking? The fittings started in July.”

“Mm, I love that,” Saint grinned, stretching. “Want to come help me decide what I’m wearing? We’re at the Plaza right now, you know that. You know my mother. If it’s not broken, break it. We’re renovating again. We can order champagne to the room.”

“Is that code for make out?”

“Partly. But I will be showing you my outfit choices.”

“Deal.”

XOXO

Remus made it back home seeing no one, but one of the butlers had an envelope with his name on it waiting for him.

“Thanks, Moody,” Remus murmured, but thought briefly about handing it right back to him.

He knew this invitation. He knew its black boarders and heavy stock. It came ever year.

It used to be something they had looked forward to.

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

invites you

TOUJOURS PUR

“Jesus,” Remus breathed, but took it up to his room, checking the time on the way. Julian would still be at school, his parents at work. This apartment was too big for the four of them, not to mention just Remus alone.

His suitcases still lay open and unpacked on his floor, and he kicked at one without looking up.

“So, did you just forget to mention that you were home?”

Remus spun towards his bed, only to find Lily sprawled across it and fiddling with an emerald on a chain.

“I had to find out from Gossip Girl?” Lily shook her head.

Remus slapped the invitation against his thigh. “Wow, wasn’t like that was a surprise present for you or anything.”

Lily smiled, red hair in a thick french braid. “I see green and I know it’s for me. What can I say?”

Remus huffed out a laugh, and she gave a small squeal and pushed off of the bed to wrap him in a hug.

“I’m so happy you’re home, Re.”

He let himself rest his chin in the crook of her neck for a moment. ‘Thanks, Lils.”

She pulled back, hands on his shoulders. “What, no, me too?”

“I am,” he said tentatively. “But I had fun in Rome.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Southern fun?”

“His name is Leo,” Remus said pointedly, then eyed the pile of garment bags piled high on the other side of his bed. “Are those…”

“Pour moi, et pour toi,” Lily patted his cheek. “We have a fashion show to go to, sweetheart.”

XOXO

What do we think, Courtiers? House of Black’s fashion show is the biggest event of the fall. But what on Earth does doe-eyed Remus Lupin have to do within that dark forest now?

Is he a Bambi, or still the wolf we knew?

You know you love me.

XOXO,

Gossip Girl

#between fifth and you lumosinlove #wolfstar #harry potter #gossip girl #Harry Potter x gossip girl #sirius black #remus lupin #cw: mention of sex #cw: drinking #cw: drugs #Harry Potter fic #the marauders #the marauders era #Harry Potter au #woflstar au

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spicycreativity · 3 years

Text

I didn't actually mean to write this *hurriedly kicks WIPs and requests under the bed* But here it is. I think the memory of the side effects of my COVID booster combined with the high of getting canon Remus-Janus interaction yesterday combined with my love of Moceit and my brain sort of. Planned this in the background while I was thinking of other things. Anyway.

Word count: 3k

Pairing: Platonic Dukeceit, pre-Moceit

Summary: Patton is sad. Remus is sick. Janus looks after them both.

Add'l Notes: I will write the same post-PoF fic over and over and over again because this is one cake I will never get sick of. More post-PoF fics. I need them. Also, I've been pretty much exclusively consuming existentialist literature and homoerotic Raffles fanfiction lately and it REALLY shows in the text.

Tags: Stream of consciousness, sickfic, pre-relationship, falling in love, glass symbolism, HEAVY glass symbolism, it's about the glass, post-PoF, it's probably painfully obvious that I'm not hyperopic, I like the Mountain Goats and I LOVE divorcing songs from their original contexts, did I mention glass, Moceit Moceit Moceit

Love, Love, Love:

Now we see things as in a mirror, dimly. Now we shall see each other face to face.

Patton had never been a big reader. It just wasn't how his brain worked. Constructing pictures out of words had always escaped him, and the subtle language of symbolism and metaphor slipped beyond his grasp. Why couldn't everyone just say what they meant? He stared at the collection of strangers before him, strangers wearing his friend's faces. Like Alice before him, he had fallen through the looking glass somehow. That, at least, was one book he had read.

The silence in the living room made him ache. There sat Roman in his favorite armchair (red, of course), stiff and lifeless as a mannequin. He didn't come in laughing anymore, didn't come in yawning or buzzing with excitement to tell everyone his new ideas. He didn't swing by the kitchen for coffee and a plateful of whatever Patton had cooked, didn't lounge in the armchair with his legs slung over one armrest and the plate artfully balanced on his chest.

Virgil, too, was silent. He sat laterally to Roman, curled up on the couch like he was afraid to take up space. He wore his headphones, but no tinny music emanated from them that Patton could hear. He used to stretch out with the practiced slouch of a teenager, occasionally even going so far as to plant his feet in Patton's lap if he happened to be occupying the couch as well. He would blast his music until the whole living room could hear it spilling out from his headphones and answer any attempts at conversation with a teasing "What? Can't hear you!" But now there were no attempts at conversation to answer.

Logan's recliner sat at a 90 degree angle from the couch. He never reclined in it, a fact for which Roman loved to badger him. But if they had found him stiff before, he was practically inanimate now. No more playful nagging, no more glimmers of smiles behind his glasses.

Like players without stage directions, they all took their marks and were silent.

Patton dutifully occupied his designated spot on the couch. Every silent second that ticked by was agony, but he knew better now than to try to break it. He had tried before and every syllable had clattered from his lips and rang out ugly and cacophonous, like pots unceremoniously dislodged from their hanging rack. They did speak, sometimes, but he had long since learned that forcing it would get him nowhere.

The whole living room stretched out before him, a temple of loss and heartache. Even the colors seemed muted, although that might have been an accident on Roman's part. His sash never lost its proud crimson hue, but sometimes he leached a sickening shade of gray into his surroundings. No, Patton would receive no comfort here but the syrupy dose of nostalgia that seemed to hurt as much as it helped. It filled the yawning cavern in his chest, true, but it also turned his stomach and filled his eyes with tears.

He had hoped that Janus might show himself here and there, as he'd seemed to have no qualms about inflicting his company on them before. (Although Patton had hoped he had made it clear in that moment they had stolen in the depths of That Night that Janus was more than welcome, and he had thought that Janus had nodded and even smiled a little despite the dangerous glimmer welling in his eyes). But Janus had not left so much as a note. Patton was beginning to wonder if he had dreamed the whole thing up. But the gentle softness of Janus' gloves lingered on his fingertips. It had happened.

Maybe he had been a little one-sided about the whole thing. He had invited Janus around, sure, to do what? Sit in awkward silence with him while the others glared daggers at him? Walk Patton through the particulars of moral relativism, or whatever mental framework let him cite the words of racists and bigots in service of a so-called greater good?

Patton blushed; he was being uncharitable now. Had been for quite some time. All Thomas' life, maybe. That was what had gotten him into this mess. He needed— Thomas needed someone to check him. He had been awfully arrogant, awfully uncharitable. Awful. The nostalgia drained out of his chest along with whatever small ribbons of hope or happiness it had managed to bring with it. Patton would have sighed if he wasn't so afraid of disturbing the silence. He might as well go and see Janus, if only to reassure him that Patton really did want him around.

But first, he had to gather the courage to stand up and walk away.

Up close, Remus was a washed-out shadow of everything Roman was. It was easier to see when he wasn't moving. Even with the subconscious playing tricks with their appearances, Roman and Remus were, in the very loosest of terms, identical. They shared the same facial features, anyway. Remus painted a horrifying picture of a Roman who had never seen the sun, who had never so much as tasted Patton's cooking. Roman through the looking glass, if the looking glass was covered in dust and grime and who knew what else.

Patton hovered in the entrance of what was evidently some sort of living room. Aside from Remus asleep on the couch, there really wasn't anything sinister about it. Two armchairs, a couch, a coffee table laden with mugs and plates and dog-eared books. It was as standard as a living room could be. No, it was only Remus who gave Patton pause, made him tense his hand against the wall until the tendons jumped.

It was like stumbling across a sleeping lion; Patton knew he should flee, but also knew that he was unlikely to experience a moment like this again. A quiet moment where he could study Remus in terrified awe. An unexpected phrase sprang to Patton's mind as his gaze roved over that supine form: Poor thing! For Remus, who always looked sort of sickly and wan, looked especially sickly now. He was shivering beneath a yellow throw blanket, stocking feet sticking out beneath it and broaching the far armrest despite his bent knees. His face, too, was paler than Patton had ever known it, and his matted hair appeared all but glued to his face with sweat. Yes, a moment after the thought had occurred to him, Patton agreed with it. Poor thing. Someone should really be looking after him.

And then, as though Patton's thoughts had summoned him, Janus entered stage left with a whole duvet bundled up in his arms. Blessed, perhaps, by serpent's grace, he managed not to trip over the trailing corners of it as Patton would have.

This was a perfect moment for Patton to announce himself or leave. He should. But he didn't want to do either, satisfied for the moment to play voyeur as a sickening feeling began to take hold.

Janus sighed as he surveyed Remus for a moment, brushing aside some of those sweat-dampened locks with a bare hand. Patton shivered. Janus did not notice as he found the corners of the duvet and spread it over Remus until every part of him, neck to foot, was covered. "Not feeling any better?" he murmured, evidently seeing something that Patton didn't.

"Just kill me and get it over with." Remus' voice was thin and scraping, and it was no great shock when he started to cough not a second after the last word had passed his lips.

Janus knelt and helped him sit up, tender touches, murmured somethings that Patton couldn't discern over those braying coughs. The ache in his chest deepened and spread, sending tendrils up to wrap around his lungs and lodge in his throat until he could only breathe in horrible shallow gasps— He was going to get caught; he needed to leave— But the thought of returning to that unendurable silence only worsened the horrible sick feeling now permeating the whole inside of him. The first few tears finally spilled over and with a final gasp, he stopped fighting. So here he was, bawling on the threshold of a tableau that was never his to witness, mourning something he had lost.

"Oh, dear," came Janus' metered voice. Patton didn't look up, couldn't meet his eyes. "Don't tell me you went and got yourself sick, too?"

Patton shook his head, dislodging a few tears from the tip of his nose and sending them freefalling onto the toes of his socks. "Sorry," he squeaked, and at least squeaking was better than croaking. "I'll go— Just wanted— I didn't see you, so I— Sorry, sorry, sorry." His glasses were a foggy mess by now, his eyes brimming with an endless supply of tears. He didn't fight it when a soft, gloved finger or two slid neatly under his chin and applied pressure, compelling him to look up.

Sure enough, Janus existed as nothing more than a watery smear of colors. "Go ahead and do that," Janus said, not moving his fingers. "Please leave me here to wonder what just happened; I'd really appreciate that."

Patton's cheeks burned from the combined force of crying and shame. "Sorry," he said again.

Somewhere beyond the limited scope of Patton's vision, Remus wheezed. Janus moved in a way that Patton could only discern by the slide of gloved fingers across his chin and a shifting of colors before his eyes. "What?" said Janus.

"Tissues," Remus rasped. He began to clear his throat, sounding somewhat frantic to Patton's ears.

"Right by your hand," Janus said.

Remus found his voice again. "Not for me. For your new" —he interrupted himself with a cough— "pet crybaby."

"Go back to sleep," Janus said, and all the harsh words in the world could not have masked the overt fondness in his tone.

The conversation, however brief, had distracted Patton enough that he was no longer outright sobbing. In fact he wasn't crying very much at all now. But he kept his dirty glasses on, safe from whatever was waiting for him beyond that foggy wall of blissful ignorance. If Janus was disgusted with him, he didn't want to see it. If Janus pitied him, he didn't want to see it. And worst of all, if Janus fixed him with the same affectionate gaze he had turned upon Remus, well. Patton especially didn't want to see that.

"So you'll stay," Janus said as though confirming something Patton had said.

"If…" Patton sniffled. "If that's what you want."

Janus twitched, sending a jolt up Patton's jaw, and was quiet for a split second too long. "That's what I want," he said, very, very quietly.

"What?"

Janus was quiet again; his breath made Patton's damp cheek itch when he sighed. "Here," he said finally, finally pulling his fingers away from Patton's chin.

"Um," said Patton.

"Oh, hold still." Something papery touched Patton's cheek. He was puzzled for a moment before the penny dropped. Tissues. Remus' tissues. It would be an easy enough thing for Janus to stretch out an arm behind him and reach them. "Can you see anything?" Janus asked.

"No."

Patton was far-sighted, or, as Logan was so fond of reminding him, hyperopic. When Janus gently removed Patton's glasses, half the world remained soft and blurry. "You'd better take my arm," Janus said, "so you don't trip over something."

"Gay," Remus said feebly from somewhere beneath the duvet.

"Remind me who's the one who can't seem to keep his pillows on the couch," Janus snapped.

"Mmph," said Remus and flipped Janus the bird. His hand was shaking. Patton tried not to care.

He took Janus' proffered arm and let Janus lead him to an armchair. His face was still hot and painful. Janus, for all his good intentions, had not made effective use of the tissues, and dry tears left Patton's cheeks sticky and irritated. The shame that kept rearing up certainly didn't help matters. Here was Janus doting over him like— Well, like Patton usually doted over his friends. Even now, was Janus spreading a throw blanket (pale blue, he must have thought it up just for Patton) over Patton's legs. Then he set the tissues and Patton's glasses in his lap and stared down at him. "Well?"

"Oh!" said Patton, ashamed once more. "Thank you, Janus."

"What— Oh. No."

"No?"

Janus rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Didn't you need me for something? Or were you just hoping to be tucked in and babied like Remus?"

"I heard that."

"Congratulations; your ears still work." Janus rolled his eyes and looked back at Patton. "Well?"

Patton found himself suddenly fascinated with the throw blanket's fleecy texture. "I hadn't seen you in a while. I just wasn't sure…"

Janus studied him with a guarded face. Over on the couch, Remus barked out a series of coughs that made Patton's own chest burn in sympathy. He looked keenly at Janus, but Janus wasn't hiding anything. The worry on his face might as well have been written on in red ink; he turned around so fast something in his neck cracked and knelt by Remus' side.

Only then did it occur to Patton to wonder just how Remus had gotten sick. It had happened to him once or twice and Logan had forced him to trace it back to some emotional turmoil on Thomas' part (coaxing him through recollections while he applied a damp cloth to Patton's face). But what could be nasty enough to take Remus down? If Patton had one good thing to say about him, he was tenacious.

Maybe.

He'd have to double-check with Logan what 'tenacious' meant once— Well. Later.

Wary of more sobs choking him out, Patton sat and watched. Janus seemed to have forgotten he was there at all, kneeling beside Remus as though he could keep him safe just by looking at him. By hoping. They weren't touching, Patton noticed. Was that Janus' desire or Remus'? Roman certainly never liked being touched, especially when he was out of sorts. Was Remus his shadow or his opposite?

And, perhaps more pressingly, did Janus like to be touched? Patton did. It would be nice if Janus was cuddly, too, because— He cut himself off with a dawning horror. Because what?

Janus got to his feet with a quiet noise of effort as Remus' coughing petered out. "Let's see," he said, drumming fingers along his jaw. He looked tired. Patton recognized it better at this distance, the pale cheek and shadowed eye. He saw it himself every morning when he looked in the mirror. He saw it in Logan, in Roman, in Virgil, when they happened to spare him a glance. And he saw it now with the giddy realization that this was Janus. Out of the spotlight, off the stage, with no agenda other than making Remus feel better. He was letting Patton see. As though agreeing with Patton's silent assessment, Janus flashed him half a smile (half a smile was all he was capable of) and said, "Coffee. For me, anyway. Sedatives for Remus, I think."

"Ketamine," Remus rasped.

"Horse tranquilizers for Remus," Janus said smoothly, though he shook his head 'no' at Patton and drew his fingers across his throat. "And for you? Whiskey? Vodka?"

"No, thank you!" Patton said on instinct, though his higher reasoning had already caught on to the joke. "Um."

"Do you drink coffee?" Janus asked.

"As long as it doesn't taste like coffee."

"What a surprise."

The sarcasm was gentle, the smile that accompanied it even more so. But then it was gone, as Janus turned away and poured out a dose of something viscous and neon for Remus and Patton scrubbed his fingernails against his khakis. He had thought he didn't understand Janus at all. He certainly didn't understand the compulsion to lie. He didn't understand the weird moral backbends and walkovers he made with ease. But this, he understood perfectly.

Remus was surprisingly compliant taking the medicine, which made Patton tilt his head in silent wonder. Janus didn't seem to find it unusual, rising once again and turning to face Patton. "Our turn. Sit tight. Call me if this one" —he indicated Remus with a wave— "starts convulsing. Well." He put up a finger. "If he starts convulsing and speaking in tongues, he's messing with you."

"Traitor," Remus hissed. "You're the one who suggested that."

Suddenly, Janus was the picture of befuddled innocence. "Me?" He touched his fingertips to his chest.

"Don't—" Remus sighed and adjusted the duvet. "Don't start. Ooh, meds are kicking in."

"I'll be back," Janus said to Patton.

"Don't you want a hand?" Patton asked, wary of being left alone with Remus, sedated or not.

He realized his poor choice of words not a second later, when Janus spread out all six of arms demonstratively. "I've got plenty, but thank you."

And he was gone.

Patton imagined his glasses clean and put them on.

Remus was asleep by the time Janus came back. Accordingly, Janus' face had grown a little darker, a little more closed. He handed Patton a blue coffee mug and sat down on the floor with his back against the front of the couch.

They were quiet for a moment. Patton told himself it was nice, but it really wasn't. He swallowed a mouthful of coffee that tasted only of maple syrup. "Is Remus going to be okay?" he asked.

"Don't let him scare you," Janus said, rolling his eyes. "I've told him a million times to be more careful where he puts his attention. Anyway, he'll be fine."

Patton nodded. "That's good." He took another long swallow of coffee, trying to find the right words. He didn't find them, but opened his mouth anyway. "I'm glad…" His gaze bounced between Remus and Janus. "I'm glad you have this. That Thomas has this."

"You—" Janus seemed to be struggling with himself. He glanced over his shoulder at Remus before continuing, clenched his jaw. "You're certainly not welcome to ever come back. In fact, I'd prefer it if you just left us alone."

An hour ago, the words would have stung despite the clearly articulated double meaning. But at long last, Patton's perception of Janus had come into full focus. So he smiled, truly happy for the first time in a week. "Thank you, Janus."

#moceit #it's subtle moceit but it's moceit #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #platonic dukeceit #spicywrites

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ask-fantasy-sanders-sides · 2 years

Note

Re, you were in a party with Marissa? I thought she and Roman just, er, "dated"... what did you guys get up to?

(Remus shakes his head,)

Remus: The three of us met at a guild shortly after Roman and I left the Temple. She was kinda stand-offish and quiet, grumpy ‘cause no one else wanted a kid in their party. --Really, I think she was being avoided because she was a pompous little brat, but I digress.

Remus: Roman took a liking to her, and I didn’t know any better, so the three of us signed up together as a novice party. Two almost-Paladins and a young Cleric against whatever low-level challenges no one else would take~! So, it was a lot of monster-hunting and “weird sounds in the forest”-investigating.

(Remus huffs, sounding absolutely disdainful when talking about her,)

Remus: Marissa was a better spellcastor than either of us, and a better fighter, but she was a total asshole! Treated people like servants, and did not take back-talk. I would have kicked her out of the group way earlier, but Roman pitched a fit whenever I suggested it, and you need at least three people to stay with the Guild.

Remus: But something was wrong about her, I swear it! I know she was a Cleric and carried magic items, but she always smelled like enchantment, like she had some permanent enchantment on her that she wouldn’t tell us about. She got really creepy about it whenever we’d go monster hunting -- like, crushing monsters is fun and all, but she really got into the sadism of it -- and she refused to equip healing spells because she wanted to be able to do offense at all times. She put all of the healing off on Roman, since I can’t do it and he’s a pushover.

Remus: She also had this one magic item, her favorite weapon; A whip made to look like a snake, and it would bite you as it hit you! She loved the thing, treated it like her pet, but I think she was lying about it being sentient. I think she was actually controlling it. Either way, it lashed out “on its own” and bit you if you stood too close to her. Everyone except Roman, anyway...

(Remus rolls his eyes,)

Remus: As you can probably tell, Roman was smitten with her because she acted like he was “special” and was pretty in his general vicinity. She still didn’t treat him like a person, but Roman’s bar for romantic partners is through the fucking floor.

#lets roll #please tell me if i need to tag anything else!#sparkleydoggy-main #tsrpgau Marissa

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Come Now, Little Prince

Prompts: Hey uh... *brushed off dust from crashing in through the roof* Could you write something about Roman or Remus having Agoraphobia and them getting trapped somewhere? My brain just wants to relate. If not that’s fine! Love your writing! - anon

Might I suggest,,,, writing trope where the severely hurt person goes to their nemesis and says “sorry, I just didn’t have anywhere else to go” but it’s with Roman and Janus - 1namelessalien1

Ahh, yes, the inevitable. Honestly a lil surprised I haven't done this sooner but here we go! Finally...

Read on Ao3

Pairings: roceit, dukeceit, creativitwins. can be platonic or romantic you choose save for creativitwins. they brothers

Warnings: roman gets stabbed and has to get stitches, agoraphobia

Word Count: 7611

Cities are full of bright lights and shadows alike. Those that live in the light, the heroes, the 'good guys.' Those that live in the shadows, their grisly work only illuminated when the sun deigns to show its face again. Sometimes the shadows are too deep. Sometimes the spotlights are too much.

The Prince, Roman Prince, is the Golden Boy of the city. The newsreels, the cameras, the public adore him. But they don't see the winces when the bulbs go off right in his face, or whispers to be better, do better, perform better from the people that pull him aside after every daring adventure.

No one knows the name Janus, but they know his work. They don't shout, they whisper. They huddle together in the dark, searching for the light so as not to get caught in his coils.

But sometimes, when spotlights are too bright and shadows too flat, a little prince will make its way into the snake's den.

He didn’t mean to.

It just—his hand slipped and they fell and they—they—

He didn’t mean to drop them. They weren’t—they weren’t supposed to fall but the knife hurt too much and he flinched and he—he—

The choppers roar around the roof, battering his head with their noise, noise, noise. The wind whips up around the concrete railing, whistling, whining, wailing as the body falls down, down, down. The searchlights glint off the knife as they pull it down with them.

And then he is alone, in a crowd, on the top of a roof, king of the clouds.

The lights glare in his face as their body disappears. Then…then…

Then fear.

———————————

One of the best things about being seen as a ‘super villain,’ and how gauche is that term, is that no one wants to ask too many questions when you rent an apartment. There are really far too many landlords that want to get to know you, want to be your friend, while knowing full well that they participate in a system where there is no ethical consumption or behavior. Really, if he ever starts renting his own property, there will be no illusions on his end.

But hey, at least these ones know not to put their noses where they’ll get bitten off if they poke too far.

Janus sighs, opening the cupboard and taking the teacup down. The kettle whistles merrily on the stove as he reaches for the tea boxes.

Black, green, white, herbal…really, there are so many options. What to have for tonight, then? It is awfully late in the evening, there’s no real justification for consuming caffeine. Then again, he’ll do what he likes.

His phone buzzes. His real phone, not the one everyone sees him carry when he’s out and about. He rolls his eyes and takes the kettle off the heat as he spots the name on the text notification.

R. Sanders: 1 new notification

“What’ve you done now, Remus,” he mutters as he slides the message open, “and which one of your messes am I cleaning up now?”

The message opens to a report. Brief, as is the style of all the reports Janus demands, but the thing that gives him pause is just how brief.

Remus, as one can very well imagine, is…not exactly compliant when it comes to following the rules. And while that can be useful in its own special way, it does mean that Janus occasionally has to factor emojis out of Remus’s reports.

Well, more than occasionally.

But this time the report is two sentences. Janus pours the water into the teapot as he glances over the words.

R. Sanders: Slaughter down at 85th and Marilyn. The head of the beast is cut off.

Well, on paper, that should be a fantastic report. The rival infringing on Janus’s turf has been, ah, taken down a few notches.

That’s undermined considerably by the fact that this report lacks any of Remus’s enthusiasm.

Janus sighs as he settles on the loose-leaf blueberry mint tea, placing the cup aside to brew as he wanders toward the window. Perhaps Remus is simply tired from all this work today. It wouldn’t be the first time the man’s manic energy had been tempered by a good amount of strenuous activity. And cutting off the head of the beast was never going to be a simple job to begin with. True, it was always an issue with causing more collateral damage than Janus was personally comfortable with, but what’s done is done.

The city starts to slumber, the last of the pleasant natural light fading from the sky, giving way to the horrid stained brown of the light pollution. The skyscrapers barely flinch in the oncoming night, instead choosing to stand firm as the workers inside slave away. The smaller shops close their doors, the nighttime crowds vanishing into subway tunnels and bus stations. Janus leans against the window, the glass reflecting the elegant lines of his suit alongside the angles of the buildings.

If he were slightly less himself, he’d say it looks like he belongs here.

When the light fades further, he sighs, turning away and fetching his tea. He drops into his favorite chair next to the window and raises the cup to his mouth.

The head of the beast has been cut off. He has no appointments, no reports, no debriefings to attend. He has his cup of tea, Remus will handle anything that blows up on the networks. It is the perfect evening to be alone, secure in his apartment.

So of course, there has to be something that sends a prickle up the back of his neck.

Why is Remus’s report sitting with him like this? This should be fantastic news, he should be willing to open the bottle of champagne that’s sat in preparation for this moment. And yet, as he raises the cup to his mouth again, his teeth hit the rim and he jolts, spilling a little more than he meant to into his mouth. He swallows, thankful that there’s no one else here to see it, and sets the cup and saucer aside.

He folds his gloved hands behind his back and goes to the window again.

If there were something wrong, someone would tell him. He has eyes all over the city, ears everywhere, and those under his employ know better than to try and cross him. Remus is alive and well—clearly, given by the way the evening’s progressed so far—and wouldn’t hesitate to gleefully drag anyone he suspected into his rooms or an abandoned warehouse.

He spares a glance over his shoulder. The phone stays silent.

Fingers tap against his hand as he looks down. Not for the first time, he wonders what it must be like, down there, scurrying about, without the faintest idea of what it looks like from up here. Oh, he’s walked on the sidewalk outside his building, who hasn’t, that’s how he gets into the building in the first place, but…not like that.

The outside world is so…temperamental. So many people, so many things. There is no better place to be alone than a crowded city street, but there is no more dangerous a place to be yourself.

When he’s finished his cup of tea, and the prickle has not left the back of his neck alone, he stifles a curse and turns. Remus will listen to him. Or, more precisely, Remus will ramble and scheme and reassure him that nothing is wrong. He might get a strange look—because while everyone else can underestimate how much Remus sees at their own peril, Janus never has—but he will do it.

Janus opens the door, idly wondering if he needs to bring his coat, and abruptly stops walking.

There is someone on their knees right outside his door.

Well.

That would explain the feeling he’s had of something being wrong, how on earth his security system didn’t alert him to their presence is beyond him. He doesn’t bother to hide his sigh as he pulls his cane from the holder and tilts their chin up.

“I’m certain that you must be…”

Janus trails off as he tilts up a chin to reveal a bloodstained, agonized expression of someone who should not be here.

“I’m sorry,” Roman Prince says in the voice of a lost child, “I didn’t—I didn’t know where else to go.”

Janus’s fingers twitch on the cane as he watches the roll of Roman’s throat.

“Y-you said if I—if I—ever needed help one day to know better than to—to try and go back to th-them.”

Remus’s report is beginning to make more sense.

Janus remembers. Janus remembers this upstart pain in his ass getting in the way of many operations, from transports to exchanges to hostage negotiations. He remembers the crooked smile straight out of a movie as this little shit got in the way of everything, including his resolve to not get involved with any of the so-called heroes that ran around in this city in their spandex and naiveté.

He remembers shaking his head at this shiny new one and saying that when he realized the world was much, much grayer than he wanted to believe, Janus would be there to watch. He remembers a softer offer, after a rescue had resulted in a building—abandoned, but a building—blowing up and the poor thing looking like someone had kicked his puppy.

He remembers watching the rival’s henchmen carted off to jail as the hero of the hour was reprimanded for causing too much collateral damage by the people who supposedly adored him.

“You were right,” Roman continues in that lost, lost voice, “I’m—I’m sorry.”

It takes Roman reaching for him for Janus to remember what is going on and the cane jerks his head up higher, forcing him to stop. Janus narrows his eyes at the hero kneeling on the floor, takes in the blood on his face, his neck, his hands.

“Why are you here,” he asks, wrenching that chin just a little higher, “why did you come to me?”

“You said you would help,” comes the reply, “if I—if I didn’t want to do this anymore.”

Has the perfect prince killed someone for the first time? Is that what’s brought on this little display?

His eyes trail lower, looking for the weapon.

The light from his apartment shines on a tunic stained with blood, cut and torn, and a dark, ugly stain that is not getting any smaller.

Roman’s head lolls forward, almost nuzzling Janus’s thigh as it slips off the cane. His hair sticks to his face, too soaked with blood.

Janus’s eyes go wide.

Roman Prince is here, on his knees, bleeding out because he has nowhere else to go. He came to Janus, the person he should trust the least out of everyone in this city, and he’s here on his knees, pleading.

The hand not on the cane twitches, then slowly reaches forward to find the least bloody spot on Roman’s head. It runs gently through his hair and finds its way to his chin, lifting it up once more. Roman’s eyes, full of tears, stare back at him.

“Come inside, little prince,” Janus says, his voice far softer than he would normally allow, “you’re bleeding all over my carpet.”

There aren’t many places to go that aren’t carpeted inside Janus’s apartment, but they make it over the threshold before Roman’s state begins to truly worry him.

How did he even get here? By how much blood there is, surely he would’ve passed out by now? Roman seems oblivious to his inside questions, simply looks around for wherever Janus is leading him before he notices how much blood he’s leaving behind him.

“It’s alright,” Janus says, surprising the both of them, “I can have the floor cleaned.”

Roman just blinks at him. And oh, if it doesn’t hurt to see that innocence still in the eyes of the little lamb, even as the wolf goes to take his arm.

“The bathroom is through this way,” he says softly, “come now…”

It is an odd experience, surely, to have one’s own nemesis bloody, wounded, completely at his mercy, as he strips off his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves, and want to do nothing but hunt down the people that made him this way.

Roman sits like a broken doll, he realizes as he watches the man ease himself down and wait as Janus pulls on a pair of plastic gloves. He is not uncooperative when Janus pushes his limbs to the side, snipping away at the fabric, trying to figure out what precisely is going on. He does not protest when Janus finds the stab wound and presses a cloth harshly on top, nor when Janus grabs his hand and bids him to hold it there, hard. He is not unfeeling, just very, very quiet as Janus begins to douse the pads in antiseptic.

He doesn’t flinch when Janus cleans the wound as best he can—he’s no doctor, after all—before muttering that it’s going to need stitches.

“Oh,” he mumbles instead, “okay.”

“Yes, so—hold still,” he barks, forcing Roman to sit back down, “where do you think you’re going?”

Roman blinks. “You said it needs stitches.”

“Yes, which is why you shouldn’t be moving.”

“I was going to go get the stitches.”

Now it’s Janus’s turn to blink. “I will stitch you up, Roman, now stay.”

And there’s that lamb-like innocence again as Roman tilts his head. “You will?”

“I may not be a doctor,” Janus mutters, twisting to grab the first aid kit, “but I do know how to suture a wound.”

He takes a few more wipes and cleans the blood he can, pointedly ignoring Roman’s attentive look.

“You could be a doctor,” comes the mumble, “you seem…good at it.”

Janus huffs. “Less a doctor, more a medic.”

Roman’s brows furrow. “What’s the difference?”

“A doctor fixes you, a medic makes dying more comfortable.”

There’s a moment of silence. Janus half-expects the poor thing to seize up in fear, tremble before him, or—god forbid—try and fight him, but he does none of that. Because that would make sense.

Instead, Roman just closes his eyes and lets his head fall to the side against the tiled wall.

“You don’t have to make it comfortable then.”

Janus’s hands falter for a moment. His eyes flick to Roman’s bloodstained face before refocusing on the wound in front of him.

“You’re not going to die here,” he says firmly, and if he starts to work a little more quickly, that’s his business, not yours.

“Oh.”

“I imagine you wouldn’t’ve come here with the intent to die on my doorstep, that’s quite rude, you know.”

“…no.”

Now, see, as the best liar in the city, Janus knows when he hears one.

The absurdity of the situation strikes him once again, fainter this time, but still there. Roman Prince is here, bloody, wounded—fatally so if Janus hadn’t started tending to him right when he did— forced to roll over and show his belly, Janus’s teeth at his throat, and yet Janus reaches up to turn that pretty face to his.

“Tell me what happened, little prince,” he commands softly.

Roman swallows. “I didn’t mean to.”

Janus simply raises an eyebrow and starts to stitch up the wound. Roman doesn’t flinch but accepts the silent chide.

“I-it was the building security guard,” he mumbles, “they called in that someone was firing shots in the upper stories and couldn’t—couldn’t get away in time. They were—they—the call wasn’t completed.”

They died while they were on the line, Roman doesn’t say, but Janus hears it.

“Wh-when I got there, there were—they must’ve thought there was a mole in the—on the inside and they started—they were—“

They were killing their own people, Janus realizes, hiding his disgust behind another tied-off suture. He’s starting to have an awful feeling about where Roman’s been tonight.

“Something went wrong in one of the labs. They made a toxin, and it—it—“ Roman swallows— “it drove them insane.”

It made them homicidal, they killed each other.

“I...I think they were going to flee from the roof.”

As Janus ties off the last suture, he freezes.

Oh.

Oh, no.

“I tried to stop them,” Roman whispers, “I was holding onto them, it was windy, they were going to fall, they ran too fast out of the door, I caught them, I—I had them, they—they were going to be safe but then they—they—“

Janus presses two fingers to the warm chest next to the wound. He can feel Roman’s heart jumping. He rubs in slow circles.

“They stabbed me,” Roman finishes, “and I—I—I—“

A small noise that sounds too much like a sob swallows the rest of his words.

Oh, this poor little prince…

Roman swallows another sob. “I’m sorry.”

Janus tilts his head. “What’re you apologizing to me for, little prince?”

“Well, I can’t imagine that this is how you imagined spending your evening.”

“No,” Janus says, folding his hands in front of him, “but I can’t imagine this is how you imagined spending yours either.”

The little prince bruises as easily as ever, only this time he doesn’t bother to hide behind his bravado.

“Off,” Janus says softly, tugging lightly at the remains of Roman’s costume, “the rest of you needs to be cleaned.”

He watches unashamed as Roman follows his instruction, eyes traveling over the scars littering the body revealed to him piece by piece. Too many scars. When he stands bare, Janus takes his hands and deliberately cleans them of the blood.

Roman doesn’t stop trembling until Janus has cleaned away every last bit.

The costume will need to be disposed of, there’s no saving it. The floor in the bathroom is littered with bits of blood and the carpet near the door will need to be cleaned quickly. Luckily the cleaner that Janus employs is well-accustomed to such a request. Instead, Janus walks back to the bedroom.

There the little prince sits, looking far too much like a lost child. Janus pauses at the door, tugging his normal gloves back on.

The little prince looks far too good wrapped in Janus’s colors.

“Why did you come to me, little prince,” he asks after a moment, “you had no way of knowing that I wouldn’t kill you.”

Roman lowers his head and the lie from the bathroom plays uncomfortably in his head. Janus tilts his head as Roman clears his throat.

“I thought—part of me thought you would.”

A harsh laugh tears out of his throat before he can stop it. “So what, I was to be your confessional? You would fall on your knees, repent, and I would put you out of your misery? Or put you down, like some misbehaved dog?”

Roman hunches his shoulders. Janus’s mirth disappears in a flash.

“…maybe.”

Roman Prince dragged himself from the roof of 85th and Marilyn, all the way across the city to Janus’s real apartment, disarmed his security, and did not once tend to the stab wound in his chest.

Roman Prince witnessed a slaughter, watched people be driven out of their minds, and dropped someone who did their very best to kill him off a roof by accident.

Roman Prince fell to his knees in front of the one man in this city who he knew would be capable of killing him without a second thought.

“…do you want me to kill you?”

There’s a softness in his voice again, one that slipped unbidden into the words to make the blow seem more like a caress.

“I would make it quick,” he murmurs, still leaning against the doorway, watching the little prince, “it wouldn’t hurt.”

Roman looks at him. The child is lost, so lost, and so, so tired. He opens his mouth.

“Don’t you want to?”

…well.

Does he? Certainly, the little prince has caused more than his fair share of mishaps, messes, and mistakes, and putting him out of the equation permanently benefits Janus in more ways than one. And it’s not like it would be difficult. No one knows Roman is here, let alone anyone who would care, and even fewer that wouldn’t expect him to never be seen alive again. Janus could kill him in half a dozen ways in the next minute that Roman couldn’t possibly fight against, a dozen more that would take scarcely any longer.

Unbidden, his mind begins to list off the possibilities. The gun in the cabinet, the knife tucked into his shirt, the poison stored in the bathroom, even snapping the little prince’s neck.

But he takes one more look at the little prince and all of them vanish in an instant.

“Why did you come here?” he murmurs again.

Roman lets out a long breath. His hand on the borrowed shirt tightens and loosens, tightens and loosens.

“You’re the only one I trust,” he tells him quietly, and it’s the saddest thing he could’ve possibly said.

Janus crosses the room and cups the back of the little prince’s neck. Roman just bows his head, the little lamb waiting for another hand to come up and twist. Janus bites back the snarl of rage at how resigned Roman is to dying tonight and brushes his thumb along the curve of his cheek.

Stroke by stroke, he coaxes the tears from the little prince’s eyes and wipes them away.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs, leaning his weight against the edge of the bed, “there’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“I could’ve held on.”

“You’d just been stabbed, flinching is a perfectly understandable reaction.”

“But I’ve been stabbed before.”

“It’s not like you build up an immunity to knives going into you.”

“But I—“ Roman cuts himself off, curling his fist tightly in his lap.

“What is it, little prince?”

He just shakes his head firmly, lips pressed tightly together, red blooming on his cheeks.

Well, at least there’s blood flowing properly again. “We’re well past the point of embarrassment, little prince,” Janus remarks gently, “and if you’re worried about sharing weaknesses with me now…”

“I got scared,” Roman blurts, sounding every bit the reprimanded child. Janus pets his hair absentmindedly, encouraging him to speak again. When he won’t, Janus hums quietly.

“You were stabbed,” he reminds again, “that’s understandable.”

“Not of being stabbed.”

Janus frowns. “What then, little prince?”

“I…”

“I won’t harm you, little prince,” Janus murmurs when he hesitates.

“…I got scared of being outside.”

Janus’s hand pauses in Roman’s hair before gently lifting his chin. “What do you mean, little prince, that you were scared of being outside?”

“There—there was nowhere to go, I couldn’t get out, I couldn’t escape, there were too many people, the choppers were so—so loud and I—I didn’t know what to do—“

Fucking hell, Janus realizes as he shushes the little prince tenderly, he’s agoraphobic.

Flashes of their fights and altercations start to make more sense now. Why Roman prefers fighting in dark, cramped warehouses, why losing the hero on public transportation was so easy, why he almost never confronted Janus in public in broad daylight even though he clearly knows where Janus lives.

The weight of the expectations on Roman…how difficult his chosen occupation must be��how little support he gets for something that makes it infinitely harder for him…

Janus doesn’t realize he’s cradling Roman’s head until he strokes his thumb down his cheek and feels the soft brush of hair against his forearm. He looks down and sees Roman’s eyes all but flutter shut, lulled by the gentle touch against his face.

Trapped under the spotlights of the world, laid bare, stripped by their merciless eyes, unable to look away, escape from what they would only see as a colossal failure…

No wonder Roman sought out a denizen of the shadows where he could be sure no one would look for him.

What should, by all rights, feel like a cage to Roman might just become a den.

The snake tightens its coils protectively around the little prince and leans down to whisper in Roman’s ear.

“You’re safe, now,” he soothes, “there is no one else here but me, and I will look after you. There are no expectations here, you cannot do something wrong. I’m here to help you.”

The snake hisses in contentment as the little prince slumps into the coils, letting it pick him up and deposit him gently in the mass of the den, leaving only for a brief moment before returning to his side.

“Shh, shh,” he soothes as Roman blinks about in confusion, “you need to rest, I’ll be right here.”

“Why—what—“ Roman’s head hits the pillow and Janus almost laughs at how quickly his eyes close— “why’re you…helping?”

“You came to me for help, little prince.”

“But you…care?”

And oh, if that doesn’t make the snake’s cold black heart beat warmly in its chest.

“You may be surprised, little prince,” it hisses, drawing the little prince closer and closer, “but you’re not that difficult to care for.”

No, Janus decides, resigning himself to a night of little sleep as he watches Roman’s breathing begin to even out, stroking a hand through his hair, the little prince isn’t so hard to care for after all.

The snake has never been one to spare those that wander carelessly into its den, but this little prince did not do it carelessly. And it is surprisingly easy for Janus to soothe the remaining prickle on the back of his neck by scratching his fingers lightly along the back of Roman’s, to gentle the furrow in Roman’s sleep with a murmured reassurance into the little prince’s ear. The night passes slowly as the little prince dozes under the snake’s coils.

Only later, when the sun has begun to rise, does he realize he’s left his phone on the counter. He sighs, extricating himself gingerly from the sleeping Roman and going back to the kitchen.

R. Sanders: 1 new notification

He glances toward the bedroom and opens the text.

R. Sanders: if you don’t get your security system back online yourself in the next 30 seconds I’m coming over

Well, considering this message is from two minutes ago, Janus simply sighs and opens the door.

“That,” Remus snarls as he stalks inside, “is not the point.”

“I was about to reboot the system, Remus, do calm yourself.”

“I’m not the one who spent the entire fucking night in an unsecured location!”

Janus raises an eyebrow. “By all means, Remus, do keep shouting about my security system at the top of your lungs while the door is still open.”

Remus mutters angrily to himself but has the decency—or perhaps, the self-preservation—to quiet down while Janus shuts the door and turns the security system back on.

“Now then,” he says easily, setting the kettle to boil again—blueberry mint really was the correct choice to make last night— “what would you like to drink?”

Remus regards his tea boxes like he regards the new bottles of bleach.

“You still don’t keep coffee in your house, do you?” At Janus’s look, he sighs. “Just hot water.”

“Splendid.”

Janus takes his time setting up his teapot. Looseleaf black tea, a new teacup, the honey laid out just so, all while Remus’s tapping gets more and more impatient. But Remus is a good dog, he’ll wait until he’d given leave to speak again.

“I imagine you must have a reason for infringing upon my privacy this morning,” Janus says as he stirs the honey into the tea, “if not just to turn my system back on so that a corpse could not be tampered with.”

“I didn’t know if you were fucking dead, Jan,” Remus snarls, and oh, the poor thing was worried. How touching.

“I’m fine, Remus,” Janus says, softening his voice just the barest amount, “and it certainly speaks to the faith you have in me.”

“Yeah, yeah, faith in your something.”

“Come now, dear, let’s not be crass.”

“You like me crass.”

Janus hides a smile behind the rim of his cup. There’s the Remus that was missing from the report. Though as he looks at the loyal minion sitting across from him, he sees that something is still bothering him.

“Well, if that’s all then?”

Remus takes the bait. “Wasn’t us.”

“Pardon?”

“The beast,” Remus mutters, still glancing around the apartment, “wasn’t us.”

Then he spots the blood.

In Remus’s defense, Janus did open the door right as he arrived and he was definitely given time to look around before Janus swept him into a conversation. Still, the fact that it took Remus this long to spot the blood is…well.

“Shit—“ Remus springs to his feet— “are you hurt? How many?”

“Keep your voice down,” Janus murmurs, “I’m not hurt.”

“Then explain to me why there’s blood everywhere—“

“Keep your voice down.”

“Why the fuck should I keep my voice down? Someone was here, there’s fucking blood—“

Both of them freeze as a rustle of covers comes from the other room. Remus’s eyes widen and his hand goes to the gun at his side. In two quick steps, he’s almost to the bedroom.

Janus catches him by the arm.

“Don’t.”

The steel in his tone finally gets Remus to settle, the man glancing at the door once before allowing himself to be held in place.

“What the hell is going on here,” he hisses, finally keeping his voice down, “what aren’t you telling me?”

“Stay out of that room,” Janus orders, even though it’s a redundancy at this point, “and tell me what else you know.”

Remus opens his mouth to protest but a look quells him. He glances at the door one more time before sighing.

“By the time we got there, everything was over. There were network choppers crawling over every inch of that place, swarming with civvies. We had to fence to get in. Janus, they—“

If Remus has to take a breath, what the hell happened?

“God, Janus, it’s like someone gave a neurotic thirteen-year-old a hallucinogenic and a sledgehammer and told ‘em the building was a giant whack-a-mole.” Remus shakes his head. “Heads bashed in, eyes gouged out, like they—they—“

“Like they did it to each other,” Janus finishes.

Remus nods, his face pale. He looks up at Janus and it’s the second time in the last twelve hours he’s been caught off guard by someone’s expression.

“Jan, it’s bad,” he says quietly, “if they—we’re lucky it only got into that building.”

“And you’re certain it’s contained?”

“Someone tripped the quarantine field. The building locked down. Only way out was the roof.” Remus shakes his head. “The head of the beast was splayed out on the street, spine snapped in half, bloody knife. Like he was pinned up like a butterfly.”

He quirks his brow.

“Gotta admire the craftsmanship.”

Janus nods. Remus notices his silence and steps a little closer.

“So who the fuck is in that room?”

As if on cue, there’s another muffled hiss.

“Don’t,” Janus says when Remus’s hand goes to his gun again, “you’ll scare him.”

Now Remus looks at him like he'd grown another head. “Who the fuck is in that room?”

Janus bites back a curse when there are more noises.

“The person who cut the head off.”

“If you think that’s gonna stop me from getting in there—“

“Remus.”

Remus subsides, looking at him carefully. Janus sighs. Remus knows better than to directly disobey an order, and if Janus pushes, Remus will leave.

And yes, part of the snake wants to wrap around its den and keep its precious charge safe from anything else.

A larger part of Janus knows that keeping this information completely under wraps will become a liability quickly.

“Watch the door,” Janus says, letting Remus go.

Remus hasn’t worked for him for this long without picking up some of his observational skills, so he goes without complaint. Janus opens the door to the bedroom and has to stop the fond smile on his face as he sees the little prince trying to feign sleep. As if it’s going to work.

He crosses the room and leans down.

“You can stop pretending now, little prince.”

Roman’s eyes open and the snake hisses gently, noticing the pressure the little prince’s position is putting on his stitches.

“By all means, ruin the work it took to suture you up,” he remarks dryly, chuckling as Roman quickly—and carefully—rolls onto his back, “better.”

“D-do—I can go now,” Roman mumbles, “if—if you—if you want. I can leave. You don’t have to see me again, I’ll—I’ll go.”

Janus quirks an eyebrow. “And let you leave without breakfast? How rude of me.”

Roman’s eyes widen. “N-no, I didn’t mean—you don’t—I—“

“Hush, little prince,” Janus murmurs, petting Roman’s hair again, “none of that now.”

Roman’s eyes keep darting around the room, from the closed door to Janus’s hands to his face and away again. Janus frowns.

“Oh, little prince, have you always been so afraid of me?”

“Yes.”

The honesty takes Janus by surprise. Roman Prince has never been afraid of him, at least not like this, like some creature constantly bracing for a blow. He’s responded brilliantly to whatever jibes Janus throws at him during one of their altercations, always ready with a quip on his tongue or a pretty blush to a flirtation. He’s not—he’s never been this.

Perhaps the little prince is a better actor than I gave him credit for.

There are not many people in this city capable of doing that.

Then there’s the sudden realization that the reassurances from the night will no longer work. Roman was safe because he was alone with Janus, there was nothing he could do wrong that would hurt him, there was an easy way to escape if need be. But now Remus is here, there’s another variable to worry about.

And Roman is no match for the both of them.

“Let me have a look, little prince,” he says instead, leaning down to gently tug the shirt up and out of the way. Despite the hero’s movement, there’s no blood, no popped stitches. The wound will still be tender for a while yet, but there’s nothing to worry about. Not at the moment. He says as much, ending with a soft: “sit up, let’s get you something to eat.”

Roman glances at the door again.

“Remus won’t hurt you,” Janus reassures, “not while I’m here.”

Roman’s head whips around so quickly he frets that the little prince will snap his own neck.

“R-Remus?”

Janus blinks. “Yes, Remus, he’s who’s here, he works for me.”

“Remus Sanders?”

He quirks a brow. “And here I thought you didn’t bother to learn my staff.”

“N-no, Remus Sanders, he’s—he’s not dead?”

Not dead?

Judging by the sudden silence in the other room, Janus has about three seconds to brace for it before Remus slams the door open.

Remus’s eyes are giant, his face almost drained of color. Three quick steps and he’s got a fist in Roman’s shirt, wrenching him away from Janus and slamming him up against a wall.

“Remus,” Janus barks, “put him down.”

It says something about Remus’s state of mind that he doesn’t even register Janus’s command. Instead, the man has a knife pressed to Roman’s throat, every muscle in his body bunched up like a clenched fist.

Roman hasn’t flinched. He’s just staring at Remus, his hands sliding and scrabbling uselessly at Remus’s shoulders.

“Y-you’re alive,” he keeps mumbling, “you’re not dead, you’re alive, you’re safe, you’re—you’re—“

Remus abruptly lets Roman go, shoves him further against the wall and yanks the shirt out of the way to see the stitches. The knife goes back in its holster as Roman keeps babbling about how Remus is alive.

“Was it him,” Remus asks in a soft, dangerous voice, cutting through Roman’s babble, “did that bastard stab you?”

Roman jerks his head up and down.

“…well, at least you finally learned how to stand up to your bullies.”

Ah.

Janus must be getting rusty.

“As much as I hate to interrupt the family reunion,” he says, startling the brothers, “I believe there is still business to attend to.”

Remus has the decency to look a little ashamed at directly disobeying several orders now, but the little prince is still staring at Remus like his life depends on it. Janus shakes his head, crossing the room to gently take his chin again.

“You need to eat, little prince,” he murmurs, “come now.”

He doesn’t have to ask Remus to help the little prince to the kitchen. By the time he’s followed them out—and made sure his tea isn’t ruined—Remus has Roman sitting on one of the bar stools, stood next to him, every bit the guard dog as Roman clutches Remus’s tactical vest. As Janus starts to get something together for Roman to eat, Remus doesn’t move once. Instead, he lets Roman cling onto him, mumble to himself, and absentmindedly rub his cheek against Remus’s chest.

Janus sets a plate of food in front of Roman and picks up his tea again, taking a sip and staring at them over the rim of the cup.

This could be a problem.

Remus’s loyalty is not easily won, nor is it easily lost. The man’s been dragged behind a truck by his fingernails and not squealed once. And yet as Remus lifts his head—finally—and looks at Janus, it’s the first time he’s seen that loyalty waver.

Janus stares back. Remus knows better than to try and cross him. Remus himself has been the blunt instrument that disposes of those who did. Remus knows the extent of Janus’s influence better than anyone else, aside from Janus himself.

And still, that loyalty wavers.

The little prince, oblivious to the staring match happening over his head, mumbles a small thanks as he starts to eat. His hands are still shaking. Remus steps closer, pressing Roman further into the counter and the little prince lets him. The message is clear.

This is the one thing of Remus’s that he won’t let Janus take.

Which would be a problem—or wouldn’t be, depending on how quickly Remus cooperates—if Janus weren’t currently dividing his attention between Remus and how his hands are itching to wipe the last speck of blood from the little prince’s hairline.

It takes barely a glance for Remus to understand that Janus would never.

“Little prince,” Janus murmurs, coming around to the other side of the counter once Roman finishes, “I need to have a talk with Remus, do you think you can sleep a little more?”

“I can try.”

“Let’s have you try.” Janus glances at Remus.

“C’mon, Ro-Bro,” Remus says quietly, one arm around Roman’s waist, “back to bed.”

“Re?”

“I gotcha, Roro, I’m right here.”

How adorable.

Remus closes the bedroom door and there’s a long pause.

“Fuck.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Janus takes another sip of his tea. “Does anyone else know what happened?”

“The networks have a hold of the main story, they won’t know what happened inside until the lockdown expires, but Jan—if he was there—“

“The choppers saw him.”

“Shit.”

“They saw him drop the beast’s head but him fleeing the scene won’t look good.”

“I’ve got the team scrambling the data, the location of the beast’s head won’t reach the airwaves.”

“Good.”

Another pause.

“…why’d he come here?”

Janus settles the cup back in its saucer. “…he said I was the only one he could trust.”

Remus snarls. “As if we needed more proof that they treat their people like shit.”

“Believe me, I’ve got quite the list of people I’d like to question.”

Remus bares his teeth. “Don’t do it without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” He watches Remus stare at the door. “So…you have a brother?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know that from the extensive background check you did.”

Janus accepts it, setting the teacup aside. “The famous Roman Prince…oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

Remus’s head flicks sharply around to stare at him. But Janus says it with none of his usual flare, dragging his gloved fingertips along the counter.

“Has he always been so…” He fumbles for the right word.

There isn’t one.

Thankfully, Remus understands what he’s trying to get at.

“It’s hard not to,” he mumbles, “even when I hated him—and I hated him, he was always…”

Remus trails off into silence too.

“There was never a moment where I didn’t know that he was still my fucking brother.”

This is dangerous.

The closest thing Janus has to a weakness, up until this point, has been Remus. And Remus is a loyal man, but even he knows Janus will watch him die and feel only the slightest bit of remorse that a useful tool will no longer be in use.

But not anymore.

“I think he wanted me to kill him,” Janus murmurs, noting the way that Remus jerks in surprise.

“Do you think that’s why he came?”

“He told me that I was right,” he says, “that I was—that he remembered I’d told him if he ever realized he couldn’t do it anymore, if he ever needed help, that he should know better than to go back to the people that pretend to care about him.”

“You basically told him you’d be his suicide gun?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Remus,” Janus says lowly, looking up.

Remus regards him. “Would you have?”

“Killed him?”

“Yes.”

Could he have killed Roman Prince? Yes, easily.

Can he kill the little prince in the bedroom?

“My God,” Remus breathes, “you can’t do it, can you?”

Janus shakes his head. Like it or not, the snake can’t kill the little prince.

“So what now?”

Janus stands up straight. “The city isn’t just going to let Roman Prince disappear, not like that. They’re going to look for him. He’s going to have to make another public appearance.”

“And we have to clean up the rest of the mess.”

“That we’re used to,” Janus sighs, “that I’m not worried about.”

“You’re worried about Roman’s people trying to look for him.” Janus nods. “We’ve got feelers out, we can keep tabs on that.”

“Good.”

Remus spares another glance at the door. “Are you gonna keep him here until then?”

“Yes.”

He lets out a low whistle.

“Go. Get to work.”

“Aye aye, boss.” Remus fixes him with one last look before he disappears out the door.

Janus walks to the bedroom. This time the fond smile crawls across his face unhindered.

“You don’t have to pretend, little prince,” he says as he crosses the room, “if you can’t sleep, you can’t sleep.”

Roman blinks up at him as Janus sits on the edge of the bed. “Sorry.”

“No need for apologies.” He tilts his head to the side. “I never offered you painkillers, are you alright?”

Roman nods.

“Roman,” he asks softly, “why did you come here?”

There’s a pause.

“You said that you remembered me telling you that you could,” he continues, “and that you…trusted me, and yet you seemed surprised that I was—I am willing to help.”

“Still am.”

Remus’s words play in his head again. “You said you remembered what I said—and you be honest with me now,” he says, giving Roman a look, “did you want me to kill you?”

Roman swallows. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

And oh, Janus has waited so long to hear those words from that pretty mouth but not like this.

He pulls a tissue from the side table and tilts Roman’s head just so to get that last speck of blood, pausing at the way Roman shudders under his touch.

“When was the last time someone touched you,” he asks gently, “before this?”

Roman just shakes his head.

“What is the point,” the snake hisses, “of people pretending to care about you when they don’t give you what you obviously need?”

“You were,” the little prince mumbles, still a beat behind, “I think you were the last person to…to touch me.”

“Before…?”

“Yeah. When we…when you…”

When he had the little prince tied up in the factory downtown, another attempt to persuade him to back off. When he cupped the little prince’s chin in his hand and chuckled as a pretty blush spread across those cheeks. When he let gloved fingers run through his hair and smirked at how easily the little prince lost track of the conversation.

Now, though, Janus cradles the little prince’s face in his hands and lowers himself onto the bed.

“You can have it,” he whispers, running his fingers through the little prince’s hair, “if touch is what you need, you can have it.”

Roman’s eyes flutter, lost on the sensation of Janus’s touch, all but floating on the bed. He starts to curl unconsciously towards him, pliant and still. Janus lets him, moving to wrap his arms around the little prince as he tucks himself under Janus’s chin.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” he asks gently, “that you were hurting so badly?”

He feels the roll of Roman’s throat. “Didn’t want you to think I was any weaker.”

Janus bites back a curse. “Well, I’m afraid you’re about to witness firsthand how weak I am.”

Before Roman can ask what he means, Janus cups the back of his neck and gently, gently kisses his forehead.

“If no one else will do what needs to be done,” he murmurs into Roman’s hair, “then I will.”

If no one else will take care of the little prince that sacrifices so much to protect this city, then the snake is happy to oblige.

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If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #roman sanders #roman angst #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #agoraphobia #tw agoraphobia #fic

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dukeofonions · 3 years

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The Problem With Asides

Before I get into anything I want to clarify that this is not going to be a criticism of the two Asides episodes we’ve gotten so far. This is a critique of the concept of Sanders Asides as a separate series from the original Sanders Sides. A second note I want to make is that this is, just as all my other posts are, a personal opinion. This is not meant to be an attack on anyone, just a general criticism from a confused writer and viewer of the show.

And final disclaimer: A lot of what I’m going to say is based on information that I no longer have available. It’ll mostly be me recalling things I heard and if I at any point get something wrong please feel free to let me know.

That being said, let’s get into this, shall we?

(Fair warning this post is very long hence why I’ve divided it into parts so feel free to read then come back as you wish)

Part One: The Concept of Asides

Some time ago last year, I believe shortly after Dealing With Intrusive Thoughts came out, was when the idea for Sanders Asides was first announced. The basic concept of it being shorter, more lighthearted videos focusing on the Sides outside of the main storyline. This format would allow them to give us more Sides content in between the long waits for the main series since those episodes were beginning to take more time to produce.

Of course, everyone was eager for more Sides, so the majority of people were excited. Not only that but due to the main series tackling heavier themes, the episodes were becoming more angsty with less time for the characters to just relax and goof off with each other. The idea of having episodes reminiscent of the low stakes, sillier, happier content of season one was a welcome break from the more complex episodes and would be a nice return to form for the series.

We were also informed that these episodes would be much simpler than their main series counterparts and wouldn’t disrupt the work being done on Sanders Sides, which meant we didn’t have to worry about long gaps between the main story episodes, right?

(Another disclaimer: I am perfectly aware of the main reason why we were not given as much content last year and am not blaming Thomas or the team for doing what was necessary to keep themselves safe and hope they continue to do so as this continues into the new year)

Jump to November 22, 2019, where we got our first official episode of Sanders Asides, roughly five months after DWIT came out. Which, for this fandom, was record time to get more content and I was pleasantly surprised by how quickly they were able to get this out. Though at the same time, I wondered why it took five months to make what was meant to be a short, simple episode.

So imagine my surprise when I went to watch the episode and saw it was nearly 20 minutes long. Which, okay, isn’t that bad when you compare it to the lengths of the more recent Sanders Sides episodes. But at the time, I was under the impression that the Asides would be, well, much shorter. The longest I expected would be maybe 15 minutes, but you know what? It’s the first episode and it has been a while since we’ve had Sides content, so maybe they wanted to give us a little extra due to the long wait.

I started the episode and at first, I was overjoyed when I saw the first shot of all the Sides sitting in the living room in their onesies about to have a movie night. This was exactly what I’d been hoping to see from this series! It’s pretty much a staple thing in the fandom for the Sides to have movie nights together, and now it was happening in canon!

At the moment, I had high hopes for this series and was filled with joy.

Then that hope and joy were immediately crushed when I realized this was yet just another Virgil-centric angst episode. In fact, this entire episode was, well, exactly like a regular Sanders Sides episode. Sure, there were some jokes here and there, but the tone of the episode was no lighter than the last Sanders Sides episode. If anything DWIT felt lighter in comparison to this one.

Which leads me to ask, what the heck happened?

Part Two: Literally the Same Show

At this point in time, we’ve only had two episodes of Asides. Usually, I try to hold off my judgment of a series until I’ve had at least one other episode to see if my original criticisms still stand.

To be fair, I did think Flirting With Social Anxiety was a step in the right direction. More comedy, a lighter tone, yes. Perfect. But again, just like with Are There Healthy Distractions? This episode quickly dove right back into the angst pool, and just like ATHD it was a pretty long episode, clocking in at almost 25 minutes.

Not only that but again, both FWSA and ATHD don’t feel any different from the episodes we’ve been getting in Sanders Sides.

1. They’re just as angsty.

2. Roughly the same length as Sanders Sides episodes.

3. Take about just as long to produce.

4. Contain a lesson to be learned.

Which, okay, you can have lessons in lighter shows too, but we’re already getting that in Sanders Sides and Sanders Asides was described as, well, being less plot heavy. Yet so far both episodes are still tied in with the main plot.

ATHD deals with the aftermath of DWIT, not directly but it’s pretty obvious that the whole thing with Virgil’s reveal at the end of that episode is being addressed in the background. Which, kind of takes away the impact of that ending, but I’ll get to that later.

Then FWSA takes place after Putting Others First and again, is dealing with things from that episode in the background. Again though, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It makes sense to see the characters dealing with things from past events.

So why is it a problem here? Because, again, Sanders Asides is meant to be a separate series, and all the subtext brought on from the episodes in Sanders Sides makes the plots in these two episodes confusing.

For example, I was perplexed during my first watch of FWSA because I couldn’t understand why the focus of the conflict was lying. I didn’t understand why Virgil and Roman came to the conclusion that Thomas’ reason for being unable to approach Nico was because he was lying to himself, when both the title of the episode and what we were shown points more to, well, social anxiety being the problem.

(Quick note: One could argue that this was done purposefully to have Virgil putting the blame on Janus since he doesn’t like him and wouldn’t want to admit that he was the one responsible, but this series has had a bad habit of favoring Virgil in the past so until we get more answers I’m gonna leave this on the backburner)

It didn’t help that I had no idea when this episode was meant to take place in the timeline, and I originally thought it could take place a bit after season two since Roman and Virgil seemed to be doing better, but more on them later.

All of this bugged me until I found out that FWSA takes place after POF, and after watching the live stream that followed and getting some more context, the lying thing made a bit more sense, but the fact that I was as confused as I was just caused more frustration to build up. And I wasn’t the only one who got thrown off by the “Lying is wrong” message of FWSA so I had to ask again, why was this episode a Sanders Asides when apparently, you need information from the last Sanders Sides episode in order to understand it?

So you’re telling me, that the second episode in what is supposed to be a separate series that isn’t meant to be a part of the main plot, is now integral to the plot of the main story you’re telling in what is, as you have said, a separate show? How does that make any sense?

Okay, one could argue that Thomas getting a love interest doesn’t really fit with the current storyline that’s going on in Sanders Sides, and that is a fair point. The problem with that is, FWSA takes place right after Putting Others First.

You all remember what happened at the end of that episode, right?

Part Three: Intrusive Plots

At this point we’ve all become rather accustomed to the long waits in between videos, it’s nothing new to us, and for the most part they haven’t done anything to harm the current plot of Sanders Sides. Sure, the length of time between videos can cause people to lose interest, but for the most part the tone of the last three episodes of Sanders Sides hasn’t differed much and the story flow is still going along smoothly.

Let’s start with Selfishness vs Selflessness, which is the episode that sets up the big climax for season two. It’s still got its jokes and funny moments, but the overall tone is far more serious than previous episodes have been. This carries on into DWIT where Thomas has been so stressed out lately that he’s begun to have trouble with his intrusive thoughts.

Virgil even gives a pretty good summary of Thomas’ current mental state: “He recently realized he’s a bigger liar than he thought he was, he doesn’t understand himself, he’s committed to skipping a big callback, and he’s sleep-deprived. So yeah, he feels like a piece of dirt who has no control over his life.”

And all that was a direct result of the ending of SVS, despite DWIT not being the direct follow up to that episode the two are still intertwined. Remember that for later.

DWIT ends with the long awaited reveal of Virgil having been a “Dark Side.” Even though the majority of the fandom had figured it out by as early as Can Lying Be Good? That didn’t take away from the emotional gut punch that this scene was and it’s one of my favorite moments from the series. I may have to make a whole post breaking that scene down but what matters is that this scene was a turning point for Virgil’s character.

We’ve seen him trying to hide the truth from Thomas ever since Janus and Remus started popping up, and there were close calls with both of them nearly revealing it themselves and continuously dropping hints to Thomas. Only for Virgil to admit it to Thomas himself, and leave before Thomas can even say a word.

We don’t know for sure how Thomas is feeling in this moment, but it’s clear he’s been shaken by this. He doesn’t really have a lot of time to process it before he remembers to acknowledge the audience and close out the video.

This comes up again once we finally get to the monster of an episode that is POF, the follow up to SVS that everyone had been waiting over a year for. Right away we see that Patton and Roman will be at the forefront of this discussion with Logan popping up every now and then, but who doesn’t show up in this episode despite having played a role in SVS?

Virgil.

He’s nowhere to be seen and his absence is definitely felt. Why wouldn’t he be part of this discussion? He was there in SVS and had a lot to say on the matter, he was even part of the decision to choose the wedding over the callback! So why wasn’t he there?

Well, just look at the ending of DWIT and there’s your answer. Of course he isn’t about to show his face after that. Not when Thomas is already under so much stress already and he isn’t sure how Thomas will react to seeing him-

*insert random voice whispering off to the side*

Wait, Virgil has seen Thomas since DWIT? When?

*whispers continue*

Oh, right, they interacted in Sanders Asides. How did that go again?

*whispers explain*

Huh? Thomas said he’s cool with Virgil despite revealing that he’s been hiding something from him this whole time? That “something” being the fact that Virgil was once considered part of the others that were currently making Thomas’ life miserable?

*whispers confirm*

Really? They’re both okay with each other now? Well, good for them.

So wait, then why didn’t Virgil show up in POF? He was there during the first discussion and honestly he’d have more of a reason to show up than Logan who wasn’t really present at all in SVS.

*whispers explain*

He just wasn’t need there? Hm, alright. Guess that makes sense…

Well okay, Virgil and Thomas are on good terms once POF rolls around, Virgil isn’t present during the conversation because he isn’t needed and I suppose his presence would make things worse. Especially once Janus revealed himself, he wouldn’t allow him to get a word in. Even though Janus could probably silence him but I digress.

Fast forward towards the ending of POF, remember when I said to remember how SVS and DWIT were connected? Well DWIT is just as important to POF, acting as a bit of bridge between to the two episodes.

Janus brings up Remus (both directly and indirectly) twice in this episode.

First here:

Notice how Roman’s breakdown is already being foreshadowed here, the camera focusing on him while “Logan” says this isn’t an accident.

The second time Remus is brought up is at the very end after Janus has revealed his name:

“Oh, Roman thank God you don’t have a mustache. Otherwise between you and Remus, I wouldn’t know who the evil twin is.”

(No I am not posting screenshots of this scene I already got emotional over the last one)

As we saw at the end of DWIT, Roman does not have a good relationship with is brother. So much so that when Thomas refers to Remus as such, Roman creates a different analogy that compares Remus to a mirror, reflecting everything Roman doesn’t want to be.

Roman desperately wants to distance himself from Remus, not wanting anything to do with him. We’ve only gotten a glimpse of just how far this loathing goes, and part of that comes from Roman finally breaking down after being told by Janus that if it wasn’t for a mustache there’d be no difference between him and Remus.

This shook Roman more than anything else in the show has so far, moreso than him being the one to decide that Thomas should give up the callback. He was the one that pushed Thomas to make that decision, believing it was the noble thing to do, only for it to only make Thomas feel worse and then be told by Janus that his “noble sacrifice” was all for nothing.

Janus, the one who had been supporting Roman throughout SVS, buttering him up and encouraging him to go after his dream, told him that his sacrifice was worthless. Then to top it all off Janus admits what he did and brushes it off as a joke. He doesn’t apologize to Roman, leaving him in the dust, then when Roman responds by laughing at his name he’s shot down even lower.

And when he looks to Thomas and Patton for help, for answers, anything.

They stay silent.

Patton tries to reassure him, telling Roman that they love him, but he doesn’t believe it. He sinks out, and that’s the last we see of him.

Selfishness vs Selflessness, Dealing With Intrusive Thoughts, and Putting Others First are three of the biggest (and dare I say most important) episodes in the series. The three almost act like a trilogy, with POF leading to something bigger, the season finale. Which will be culmination of all three of these episodes.

We’ll be seeing Virgil’s reaction to Janus having been accepted by Patton and facing his own past as a “Dark Side.” Then we’ll find out what has become of Roman after he disappeared at the end of POF, and how it now affects his relationship with Thomas.

*whispers return and begin to whisper*

I’m sorry what?

*whispers repeat*

Virgil already knows about Janus getting somewhat accepted? Well okay I guess he would, wish we could have seen his reaction to that but oh well, no big deal. At least we got the Roman and Thomas confrontation to look forward to.

*whispers whisper*

Roman has already interacted with Thomas since POF? When?!

*whisper*

In FWSA? Oh yeah, how did that go again? It was super awkward right? Since Roman doesn’t really trust that Thomas loves or values him?

*whisperly whisper*

They get along just fine as if nothing happened?

*whispersty*

It looks like he might still be upset with him since he’s being a bit passive aggressive?

*whisper*

Can’t really tell because the three are too busy trying to talk to a cute guy at the mall?

Okay, I guess that all makes sense…

Looks like Roman and Virgil still aren’t on the best terms with Thomas but are able to push that aside to help him talk to this handsome stranger, and hey, it worked! Thomas now has a boyfriend! Just look at Roman and Virgil at the end, they’re both so happy with Thomas!

Looks like now they can focus on this new chapter in their life and leave the events of POF behind them. I mean, now that Roman and Virgil seem pretty cool with Thomas it would just feel weird to suddenly have them angry with him again, wouldn’t it?

Part Four: The Problem

Sanders Asides was originally described as being a series separate from the main storyline of Sanders Sides. Promising us shorter, less complicated episodes to give us a little something in between the longer, heavier episodes in Sanders Sides. This was a great idea that ended up falling apart the moment it began.

When I was going through SVS, DWIT, and POF I mentioned that the three of them felt like a trilogy. All three of them link together to tell one bigger story, and on their own they get the job done. They set up the season finale perfectly to the point where you have an idea of what to expect and what to look forward to.

The main things being the aftermath of Virgil’s reveal and Roman’s breakdown, which would most likely cultivate in them teaming up against Janus. This would also involve Virgil coming to terms with his past and Roman having to face Remus.

Of course, none of this has been officially confirmed, but given everything we’ve seen up to this point it just makes sense.

The story for season two is nearly complete, all we’re missing is the conclusion.

Then Sanders Asides showed up and threw everything off course. What was supposed to be its own thing crept into a story that was already (for all we knew) set up and being put into place.

We were told that the Asides wouldn’t do anything to disrupt the flow of Sanders Sides, yet it’s been confirmed that there will be one or two more episodes of Asides before we get the season finale.

Why? Why are these episodes necessary when everything was set to move forward after POF? If these episodes are that important that they absolutely have to be made before the finale then why are they simply not part of the main series?

You could say “Well they’re not directly tied to the main plot, that’s why.” But need I remind you that Asides as a concept was just intriduced after DWIT came out? These episodes were written specifcally for Asides, which unless I’m wrong means that they were just added into the main story with no planning whatsoever.

FWSA honestly feels like it should have been the start of season three, something that should have waited to be introduced after season two wrapped up because it’s just too much.

We already have so much to unpack from SVS, DWIT, and POF now we also have a new love interest on top of that?

Virgil and Thomas’ resolution doesn’t even feel all that special because it wasn’t talked about directly between them. Thomas was indirectly letting Virgil know they were still okay, so what does that leave for us? All that build up about Virgil being a “Dark Side” only for it to be brushed over like it was nothing, and this happened in an Asides episode, not even in the main series.

It also makes Virgil’s absence in POF confusing when they had already set up the perfect reason for him to be absent in DWIT, but according to the first episode of ATHD Virgil and Thomas are okay with each other. Sure, Virgil being there might have made things worse but at that point everyone was making things worse.

We no longer have a confrontation between Thomas and Roman to look forward to because in FWSA we see them interacting as normal. Even the passive agressiveness isn’t anything new to Roman and really, it all just sounds super petty which he had been known to behave like that even when nothing is seriously wrong. Not only that Roman is overjoyed at the end, having finally gotten something he desperately wanted, the happy ending he deserved.

All that’s left for him is to fave his feelings towards Remus, but what would even happen there?

The problem with Asides isn’t the quality of the episodes, FWSA is actually one of my favorite episodes. The problem with Asides is that the team is taking what should have been something small and turning it into a far too elaborate for what its original purpose was: To give us more lighthearted content to enjoy in between the waits for the heavier episodes.

Instead it just feels like they’re adding onto something that really didn’t need adding on to, creating more work for themselves when it just isn’t necessary, and that worries me.

Final Thoughts

Honestly, it’s hard for me to make all these judgments when no one has any idea what the finale is going to be like. And usually, the team is able to excede my expectations and create something amazing.

But with all these new Asides episodes that feel like they’re just being crammed in at the last second, it makes me wonder how the rest of the series will go if they continue down this road.

Season two started September 1st, 2017, it is now January 3rd, 2021. Throughout season two the production of episodes became more elaborate, and there have been complications that arose from trying to make these videos as a result that sent production screeching to a halt. And on top of that, these Sanders Asides have been added to create even more work for Thomas and the team.

I don’t understand why they’d do this to themselves when it’s already become more difficult than ever to make videos in general, not just Sanders Sides.

We were offered something simple that would have satisfied everyone during the difficult times, only to be given something that honestly, wasn’t even needed. I do appreciate Thomas trying to get us more content, but I don’t think he or the team realizes just how content we’d all be with just a five minute video of the characters we love just doing something as simple as hanging out and having fun, especially with how dark things have become all around us.

We don’t always have to be watching these characters struggle, sometimes we just need to see them be genuinely happy.

(Thanks to everyone who took time to read this monster of a post, I did not mean for it to get this long but it’s been dwelling on my mind for a while and I wanted to make sure I got out everything I wanted to say. Again, this is all just a personal opinions and you are not obligated to agree with me. If you have an objecting opinion I would not mind hearing it but please keep any discussions civil.)

#dukeofcritical #sanders sides #ts criticism #sanders sides criticism #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #long post

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nsfsprince · 3 years

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Hold Me Close (And Watch Me Coast)

As a Dragon Hybrid, Roman’s body is easily twice as big as the average human’s, let alone Logan’s. So, it’s really no surprise that sex between the two with their vast size difference is.. incredibly intense.

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Wordcount: 1.5k

A/N: Sooo.. This fic is like, incredibly self-indulgent? There’s unfortunately little to no plot, just steamy activities and a an expansion on this au’s take on Roman, Remus, and Patton’s Human/Dragon hybrid anatomy.(and a guilty acknowledgement that this au is, at its baseline, all about the size difference kink by default akdladklj) This is technically their first time together, not counting the numerus times they ended up grinding against each other till they came. (also i’m like extremely nervous/embarrassed posting this aight)

MINORS DNI

Warnings: Size Kink/Size Difference Kink, no like this is Very Intense Take on Size Kink(you’ve been warned), edging, vague descriptions of distinctly Not Human Genitalia(that may get drawn later but shh), gentle but intense penetrative sex, heavy descriptions reflective of deep penetration kink(?), Roman doesn’t directly check in like he should but he’s watching over Logan’s reactions like a hawk, plus Logan is completely on board the entire time, Overstimulation, lots of dirty talk and praise. A slight deviation on how human anatomy works to avoid actual realistic bodily repercussions and maintain a willing suspension of disbelief. If I missed anything please let me know!

Additionally, thank you all for your encouragement to post this(or anything to this blog for that matter), it’s genuinely appreciated and has helped so much!!

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Logan couldn’t help but squirm, his bound hands fisting the soft sheets of Roman’s nest as said Dragon oh so slowly fingered him open. Filthy praise had been dripping from Roman’s lips with every maddingly slow press into his entrance, the pads of his large fingers just barely toying with Logan’s prostate to keep him squirming and gasping.

They’d been at this for what felt like hours, though truly Logan really couldn’t be sure how long they had been at this. Every time Logan would near a peak, Roman would withdraw his fingers and press infuriatingly slow and soothing kisses to his shoulders until the peak had drifted far enough to begin again. It was pleasurable torture and Logan was losing his goddamn mind.

“When you promised you’d prep me, I didn't think it would mean ‘edge me to tears,’” Logan had groaned during one of those long pauses, having nearly come from the fourth thick finger prodding into his hole before Roman had pulled away.

“Oh love, you've never taken a cock as big as mine before, and trust me when I say I’m adamant to have you orgasm the moment you’re seated completely on my cock. Then, once you’re finally fully lax and loose from that first mind-melting orgasm, I’ll get to give you a real Dragon Railing. I'll pull out every single orgasm left inside of you and then another,

“I'll come inside again and again and fill you up so full. I’ll pleasure you till your orgasms dry and even then still pull just a few more 'til I know you'll still be feeling my Claim in you for weeks after.” The Dragon purred.

Logan visibly shuttered at the statement, his cock twitching in interest at the promise.

"Of course, there's also the added benefit of my Magic. It'll keep your body healthy and stable as I practically rearrange your guts over, and over, and over," Roman continued, a large hand cupping over Logan's weeping cock and giving it a tight teasing squeeze.

Logan's thighs trembled as Roman's re-slicked fingers pressed back inside, scissoring him open just that extra bit more as he laved a sharp kiss just behind his whining sub's ear.

Logan could scarcely understand it, just how much he wanted what Roman was promising, his half-hard cock eagerly dripping precum onto the soft sheets below.

He knows that Roman is big, he's seen it at rest through Roman's likely purposefully tight trousers time and time again. He knows that even when soft, he could still easily choke on just the head alone.

It wasn't exactly surprising though, considering Roman was himself a Dragon/Human Hybrid, and thus his entire body was at least twice as large as Logan, if not more. At a staggering 6'10", Roman's broad and muscular stature easily dwarfed Logan's stout 5'4" body, right down to the size of their cocks.

He also knows full well that it is going to ruin him mentally, knowing he'll never be satisfied with anything other than Roman. Maybe Logan just has a bit of a thing for his lover's size at this point, or maybe he doesn't. Maybe he just loves anything and everything that's Roman. He doesn't mind that fact either, seeing as Roman is the only one he's ever loved like this, and is the only one he plans to spend the rest of his life with anyway.

And he was more sure than ever, laying there pinned and having been edged to hell and back for who knew how long, that he desperately wanted Roman to utterly ruin him with his monstrous cock.

For a moment his entire worldview narrowed down to those four large fingers thrusting back and forth into his hole, now unhesitatingly stimulating his prostate. He keened and cried out, unable to buck into it with Roman's free hand keeping his hips in an iron grasp.

Right as he felt the now familiar feeling of his peak readying to crash down around him once more, Roman pulled out and away all together.

He let out a confused whine at the complete loss of his lover's weight over him, unable to look or move to find him with his arms still bound under him.

"Shh, shh, I'm right here my little mouse. I haven't left you," the Dragon soothed softly, briefly resting a grounding hand on the dip between Logan’s shoulders as the sound of shuffling clothing and slick movements filled the air.

All at once, Roman's weight returned, and Logan found his knees pushed apart by Roman's own coming to press in between them. Roman's scaled bare chest pressed searingly hot against Logan's own similarly unclothed torso, his large muscled arms bracketing in Logan's chest and shoulders on either side. His head dropped, pressing a gentle soothing kiss to his favorite spot near the crook of Logan's neck.

Any words Logan had been planning to say were flushed out with the shuttering gasp that escaped him. His thoughts scrambling as the thick unusually tapered head of Roman's slick cock rubbed teasingly against his hole for a moment or two, before finally, finally starting to sink inside.

Logan could not be faulted for the absolutely embarrassing keen that escaped him when Roman's hips gradually bore down with all his weight to sink his cock inside. He could feel through where their back and chest met how Roman’s chest was rumbling with a deeply pleased, nearly subsonic growl.

"Relax, little mouse, you're still so tight inside love. How am I going to bounce you on my cock soon if you don't relax?" Roman purred, one arm curling around and pulling up Logan's hips to ease the other's strain, "Think about how good it'll feel once I'm fully inside. Good little mouse, that's it, relax."

The prince found himself whimpering helplessly, his trembling back arching and shaking knees trying to spread wider to accommodate for the Dragon's unyielding massive cock. Roman's four thick fingers had just barely opened him up enough to actually keep it from being truly painful, barely keeping it to just a deep pleasurable ache.

It was all he could do to keep his trembling body lax, barely restraining himself from clenching down when inch after ribbed inch proved thicker than the last. Even wilder, he could still feel where the large tapered head was inside, spearing deeper than Logan had ever thought he was capable of experiencing- And the length still just kept coming.

It felt like ages before Roman finally buried his cock as far as it would go without continuing any painful forcing. Logan's hard little cock was weeping precum steadily, the other's monster of a cock pressing relentlessly into every sweet spot he didn't even know existed.

Roman finally stills, lightly worrying a few hickies into the skin of Logan's shoulders and throat with his teeth, waiting for Logan to adjust.

The prince could barely tell how he felt. it was undeniably heady, at least, to feel his lover so deep that his stomach ached in protest. His upper torso alongside his jaw had gone lax in pure awe, eyes screwed shut as his trembling legs were now completely useless at keeping him up. If it weren't for Roman's strong arm holding his hips up, Logan probably would have collapsed completely to the floor by now. That is, unless the other's massive cock could have ended up also keeping his poor hips in place, if given the chance that it remained stuck inside. An experiment for another day, surely.

"How are you feeling, love?" Roman purred, his voice cautious and calculating.

"Hnng" Logan keened artfully in response, clenching around the others cock in retaliation. He wouldn't see Roman's pleased grin in response, too deep in subspace and blissed out to suspect his lover's next act of mischief.

"Good boy, being so good for me. Alright then, going up!" Roman purred deviously.

Suddenly Logan found his entire body shifting as Roman pinned him to his chest and pulled him upright onto his lap. The Dragon settled down to the floor just enough to still maintain their balance as he let gravity pull Logan back down onto his cock.

The momentum that carried him pulled him perfectly back down the inch and a half he'd lost on the way up, before pressing him even further down as his weight additionally settled into position over the others cock.

That deep protesting ache in his stomach returned twice as loud from the sharp prodding the head of Roman's cock gave. It made Logan want to squirm away for the sharp few overwhelming seconds that he was stuck feeling it before suddenly feeling Roman’s hands press down on his hips. His head jerked back with a strangled moan as the tip of Roman's cock testingly pressed even deeper at the action.

And then Logan finds his hips suddenly flush with Roman's and the last inch and a half of Roman's cock plunging completely inside him. The deep ache that had sharpened with the final push was suddenly overwhelming his senses, and was inexplicably starting to feel really fucking good now as the head of the others cock seemed to finally manage and get.. even deeper, somehow.

Logan's hips instinctually jerk after a moment, purely overwhelmed with the cacophony of signals being sent to his brain, finally spiking that deep ache into a kaleidoscope of pure oversensitive pleasure. Before he can even really process the feeling it has him practically shouting Roman's name as he peaks harshly and comes all over his heaving chest and twitching hips.

Roman's hands pin their hips together, rutting slowly to continue carefully stimulating Logan's trembling body through his first orgasm. Eventually he paused to let Logan collapse against his chest, the prince obviously lost to his fucked-out bliss.

"We've only just gotten started, are you spent so soon, little Mouse?" Roman purred delightedly.

Logan just whimpered, dazedly shaking his head and spreading his legs once more even as it created a feedback loop with that terrible, wonderful, blissful ache.

"Good Boy."

#not safe for sanders #nsfs logince #prince writes #nsfs fantasy dragon au #heed the warnings #hi yes this was incredibly indulgent aight it's all about the overwhelming impossible pleasure #i left out descriptions of romans horns tail and wings bc they didnt interact much but i promise you #logan loves to grab Roman's horns as he rides him #and Roman's wings and tail are always curled protectively around them #ask to tag

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