#symapthetic deceit
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The Power of Storytelling: Night Falls
listen nonny i wanna put the full ask here but it's so long so i'm just gonna link it here
K. So I saw half a head canon somewhere, and expanded on it. Then my sib went and made it sad. We want to share it with you, and see if you have thoughts or opinions: Remus is the twin with really good handwriting. Fancy, neat, elegant, whatever. Roman has very untidy handwriting. Rushed, cramped, scrawling, almost unreadable. This is because Remus has time to perfect any of his ideas. No rush, no worries. On the other hand, almost no one cares about his ideas either. But Roman is being pressed for more and better ideas constantly. He barely had time to make ideas, let alone perfect ones. Leading to more pressure, rushing him more, him trying to go faster, be better, have something that can be used <3 no rush to reply, no need for a story if you don't want. Just curious if you have thoughts <3 - anon
Read on Ao3 Masterlist
Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues
Pairings: anxceit, can be platonic or romantic you decide
Word Count: 2663
Sometimes, he thinks as he walks up the steps to the castle, the Imagination outdoes itself.
Indeed, the place would put most of Disney to shame, with its towering spires and shimmering white-gold walls, and flowering trees lining the approaching walkway. The townspeople, clad in more finery than he’s ever seen before, come together under the canopy of the evening sky. He straightens his coat and lingers by the leftmost pillar, eyes scanning the crowd.
Amidst the sea of glimmering gowns and shining suits, he spots a figure in gold. He raises one hand, waiting until the figure turns and spots him and smiles. He keeps it aloft as Invoq makes his way up the stairs to join them, sweeping into a bow as soon as he’s close enough.
“Good evening, my lord,” he says softly, “an honor to see you.”
“You flatter me,” Invoq laughs, straightening the cloak upon his shoulders, “and you certainly clean up well.”
“I was hardly about to attend a ball in clothes made for tromping through the woods, now, was I?”
“Hmm, I don’t know.”
“Hey!”
Invoq tosses his head back and laughs, sparkling over his shoulder like sunshine. Ugh, it’s far too early in the night to be this sappy, and yet here they are. Tobias simply shakes his head and offers his arm. Invoq loops his through gratefully and lets him lead the pair through the high archway into the ballroom.
“Goodness,” Invoq whispers next to him, “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
He can’t help but agree. If he thought the outside of the palace was resplendent, the inside is simply extravagant.
The ballroom floor is marble, polished so fine it catches the light like mother-of-pearl, even as the gowns and suits swirl atop it. The ceilings, high and vaulted, are covered with stained glass that shimmers with starlight. The candlelight flickers and gives way to the bright lights of oil lamps, catching the golden glimmers of Invoq’s cloak as they step through.
“You look incredible,” he whispers as Invoq turns to him.
“I could say the same.” His gaze travels up and down. “The purple really suits you.”
“I’ve been told it’s my color.”
Something familiar flickers across Invoq’s expression and his smile lifts. He finds himself smiling back.
Tell him, a voice whispers, tell him, tell him now.
But the draw of the ballroom coaxes them from the door and the moment is lost, swept away by the stirring music. He doesn’t find himself minding too much, not when Invoq’s hand is cool and solid in his, his laugh at his shoulder, and their eager whispers flitting back and forth.
The air grows lighter, thinner as they drift further and further into the room. A giddiness keeps the smile from leaving his face, a laugh stuck in his throat as though the slightest brush would dislodge it. The room spins, they spin with it, whirling across the room to see the food, the people, the music.
“I’ve never been to a ball before,” Invoq confesses in a heightened whisper, “but I can see what all the fuss is about.”
“Right?” He shakes his head. “I always thought that Pr—that people were exaggerating just for the sake of it, but now that I’m here…”
He looks up at the ceiling. The colors wink back at him. He takes a deep breath and reaches for Invoq’s hand. He can feel him jolt in surprise as he laces their fingers together.
“…I’m glad you’re here with me,” he mumbles, not meeting his eyes, “I’m…really glad.”
Invoq squeezes his hand. “I’m glad you’re here too.”
His head jerks up. “Really?”
Invoq frowns. “Yes, of course, why would I lie?”
“N-no, no reason, it’s just…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I know we don’t always…get along and we haven’t seen eye to eye, and…um…”
Invoq tugs him closer. “But we apologized. We made up, remember?”
“Yeah, but…”
“‘But?’”
He takes a deep breath. “Is that enough? That we…we apologized and everything?”
Invoq looks at him and a familiar expression flickers across his face. A gloved hand comes up to cup his cheek and he closes his eyes at the feeling.
“I just…I really don’t like fighting with you,” he mumbles.
“Oh, sweetie…” The hand strokes along his face. “I don’t like fighting with you either.”
“No?”
“I wasn’t lying when I said you could be scary, you know.”
He huffs a laugh, opening his eyes and seeing Invoq smiling back at him. “You can too.”
“Oh, believe me, I know.” Something like regret flickers across his face. “I know I can be. I’ve been scary to you, haven’t I?”
“Yeah, but…” He reaches out and wraps his hand around Invoq’s gloved one. “I, um…mostly I’m scared of you because you’re mad at me.”
Invoq’s eyes widen. “Is anger that scary to you?”
“Not the anger.”
He watches understanding flicker across the magician’s face and he steps a little closer. The other hand comes up to cradle his face and Invoq leans down, resting their foreheads together.
“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs against his skin, “I’ve missed all of you.”
“A-all of me?”
Invoq pulls away and he chases the contact before he can think better of it. Tell him, the voice whispers, come on, just tell him.
Invoq’s lips part. He looks down, scanning his face. Is…is he about to say something? Is he about to say it?
“Come on,” he says at the last moment, clearly swallowing another set of words, “dance with me.”
He blinks. “Dance with you?”
“It’ll be fun.” Invoq begins to lead him to the dance floor. “You’ll do brilliantly.”
“Uh, I haven’t danced in—“ years, at least— “I don’t think I can dance.”
Invoq chuckles, bringing him close. “Nonsense, sweetie, you’ll do just fine. Just hold onto me, I’ll keep you safe.”
“I’ve been told I’m a handful,” he protests weakly as they step onto the floor.
Invoq raises an eyebrow. “A handful, hmm? And which handful would that be?”
Before he can ask what the hell that means, Invoq’s hand cups his cheek again.
“This one,” he murmurs, his other hand settling on his waist, “or this one?”
…okay, that was pretty good. Judging by Invoq’s smirk, he knows it too. He shakes his head, avoiding eye contact. A hand nudges his chin back up.
“Eyes on me, sweetie.”
“If you don’t want to get stepped on—“
“I have complete and utter faith in you.”
He snorts. “Now that’s a lie.”
“When it comes to my confidence in you?” Invoq’s smirk widens. “Never.”
He barely has time to get his words in order before the dance swells into motion around them and he quickly loses himself in keeping track of time, making sure he’s not stepping on Invoq, and trying frantically to keep his hands from sweating.
Another gentle touch under his chin and he sees Invoq looking at him with fond concern.
“You’re doing wonderful,” he murmurs, spinning them slowly, “the only person you have to worry about impressing is me and you’re doing it just fine.”
“Sorry, I just…nerves.”
“What on earth do you have to be nervous about?”
It startles a laugh out of his throat. What does he have to be nervous about, what kind of question is that? Just about everything, is normally the answer.
“Close your eyes.”
He blinks. “What?”
“Close your eyes,” Invoq repeats gently, pulling him a little closer and slowing their movement, “let me guide you. Then you won’t have to worry about looking at everyone else and seeing them.”
He cups his face for a moment.
“And you also won’t have to look at me.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to look at you,” he mumbles quickly, “I just—I—I don’t like—“
“Eye contact is hard,” comes Invoq’s voice, “I know.”
He takes a deep breath and gives himself a shake, closing his eyes and letting Invoq take some of his weight. Invoq squeezes his hand and leans close, his mouth next to his ear.
“Ready? Here we go…”
They dance. The room falls away into darkness, replaced by the sweet sounds of the music and the cool pressure of Invoq’s hand in his, his arm about his waist. The glove is smooth, the cloak soft. The rocking motions of their steps carry them across the marble floor, spinning and spinning until all he can keep track of is the hand in his and the voice in his ear.
The giddiness he’d felt earlier settles somewhat, cooling from its vibrancy into something softer. The ripples smooth out, a still lake in the middle of a silent forest. He can picture the stars overhead in the inky blue sky, the glitter of Invoq’s gold as he holds him close. It’s a heady feeling, to put his trust in the other man’s hands like this, his body responding to the dance on instinct rather than instruction.
Would it be so bad to stay here? To sink into this moment, this quiet, and never want to leave? Would it be so awful to open his eyes to Invoq, to step into a life here and have it exactly the way he wants it to be? They could go anywhere, do anything, stay or leave, it wouldn’t matter. Not here, not with these people, with this world.
But it would only be this world.
He would only ever have this here. He would only have a chance to snatch a moment like this, steal it away from the times in between. Live his life in pursuit of this, never able to properly enjoy it because of how fleeting it would end up being. His life would become nothing but a chase, a struggle to get more, more, more, and miss everything else.
He’s already started. He’s spinning away from the ball, away from Invoq, away from everything. He can’t feel the other man pressed against him anymore, only the weight of what it will be like when he pulls away. He wants to stay in this moment forever and so he can’t stay here anymore. Not like this.
Tell him.
“Sweetie,” a voice is calling, “sweetie, open your eyes.”
A hand. A hand on his face.
“Don’t cry, my darling,” the voice says again, almost on the verge of pleading, “was it too much? Come back to me, sweetie, talk to me.”
He opens his eyes, blinking at the sudden loss of light. They’re outside, the breeze ruffling their clothes. He’s breathing hard, why is he breathing hard? The hand on his face keeps stroking, brushing away—
Ah, he’s crying. That’s why he’s breathing hard.
“Shh, shh,” the voice murmurs again, “it’s alright, sweetie, I’m right here, I won’t hurt you. Talk to me, my dear, what’s going on?”
He looks up and sees Invoq’s face staring at him, concern written plainly across his features. He brushes away another tear and cups his face properly.
“Was it too much, my darling? Is that it?”
He can’t do anything except stare at the face, that face, Invoq’s face. He lets out a wounded noise and surges forward, wrapping his arms tightly around him. Invoq lets out a noise of surprise and wraps his arms around him too.
“Shh, shh, that’s it, I’m right here, I’m right here. It’s okay, it’s going to be okay. Talk to me, my darling, what’s the matter?”
“I can’t,” he gasps, “I can’t do this, I can’t do this anymore.”
“What, sweetie, dance? That’s okay, we don’t have to dance anymore, you did beautifully—“
“No!” He wrenches back, wrapping his arms around himself. “I can’t—I can’t—I can’t—“
“You’re scaring me, sweetie.” Gloved hands try and tug his nails away from his arms. “You need to calm down, come on…”
But he looks up and sees the wrong face coming to comfort him and the cries grow again.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he manages through the sobs as Invoq’s face looks more and more confused, “I don’t—I don’t want—“
“You won’t lose me, sweetie,” Invoq’s face says, coming closer, “I promise, Tobias, you won’t—“
“Not Tobias!”
The courtyard falls silent. The eyes widen on Invoq’s face and his hand falters.
“What?”
Tell him.
He takes a deep breath and stands taller. Invoq’s face looks at him in confusion as he opens his mouth again.
“Not Tobias,” he repeats, careful to enunciate his words.
Invoq’s face scans his. Then the eyes widen. His lips part and—
“Your Majesty?”
They swing around quickly to see a group of nobles hurrying towards them. The one in the front with a black embroidered waistcoat stops short. He bows quickly.
“My apologies for disturbing your evening, my lords,” he says, “I mistook you for someone else.”
“No harm done,” Invoq says quickly, glancing at him before returning his attention to the footman, “though I do hope we were not confused for someone…unsightly.”
“Hardly,” another one of the nobles snorts, “I thought you might be the prince.”
“The prince?”
“Yes,” one of the ladies says, adjusting her gown, “I…spotted you through one of the windows and I thought—well, hoped it might be him.”
“I’m afraid not,” Invoq sighs, “though I am flattered by the compliment.”
The footman shakes his head. “I confess I…had rather hoped it too.”
Wait, what? “Why did you hope?”
“It’s been so long since we’ve seen or heard from our prince,” another noble says sadly, “or since his presence in the kingdom has been felt.”
He exchanges a quick and worried glance with Invoq before they step closer. “What do you mean?”
“He left,” one of the ladies explains, “without a word, without a trace. We simply woke up one day and he was…gone.”
“How long ago was this,” he asks, “how recently?”
“It’s been years,” the footman says, “and we are starting to lose hope that he will ever return.”
He glances at Invoq again. Invoq clears his throat. “What happened right before he left?”
“Nothing, nothing at all. There was nothing out of the ordinary and now…” One of the nobles runs a hand through his hair. “Now we all miss him dreadfully.”
“He used to throw much better balls,” one of the ladies whispers, “they used to be so…colorful.”
“And the music…everything was incredible. He was incredible.” A noble rests his hand on her shoulder. “We all felt his loss. My children cried for days when they realized he wasn’t coming to play anymore.”
Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. He looks at the footman again.
“What was the prince’s name?”
The footman looks at him funny. “I’m surprised you don’t know.”
“Humor me,” he says, “I’ve not got the best memory.”
“The Prince who Vanished,” the footman says, “our beloved Prince Remus.”
The wind is cold. It whistles at the door of the rickety hut and reaches its fingers mercilessly through the slats in the wood. Roman curls up under the thin blanket, trying to squeeze himself further against the warm stone. The nights weren’t always this cold, but tonight…tonight they are.
The ball is tonight. Janus and Virgil should be enjoying themselves. He isn’t going anywhere near them. He won’t ruin their fun.
He curls up tighter, trying in vain to coax some of the warmth into his body.
He should be happy. He should be. The townspeople that he created to appreciate his stories do. The children that are figments of his imagination care about listening to him. He even got to comfort one of them briefly before sending them to Virgil who did it properly.
He looks around at the scraps of paper with horrid scrawls all over every surface, and then he looks at the invitation with pristine letters and clear script.
He misses Remus.
It’s cold. He curls up tighter.
Sometimes we don’t get happy endings.
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#dragonbabbles#sanders sides#fic#virgil sanders#deceit sanders#sympathetic deceit#janus sanders#roman sanders#roman angst#roman sanders angst#remus sanders#symapthetic remus
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Moods during Quarantine
(they're in a video call)
Logan: guys we are in the same house.
Patton: i MISS YOU GUYS JSKSKSJ
Remus: Chilling in the crib
Virgil: ...
Roman: *Loud singing in the bathroom*
Deceit: day 20 of quarantine. I'm going insane.
@thatsthat24
#ts sanders sides#sanders sides#logan sanders sides#logan sanders fanart#ts logan#logan sanders#patton sanders#sanders sides patton#ts patton#virgil sanders fanart#ts virgil#virgil sanders#sanders sides remus#ts remus#remus sanders#remus#sanders sides roman#ts roman#roman sanders#symapthetic deceit#ts deceit#deceit sanders#deceit#deceit art#ts art#ts fanart#my art
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sorry about all the sticky notes i’m bad at drawing ;D
this is shapeshiftin deciet with a truly not so confident roman :))
#i feel like deciet would be good at getting to the truth#also they gay#roman sanders#deciet sanders#sandersides#sander sides creativity#sander sides deciet#ts roman#ts deciet#ts creativity#ts slimy boi#sander sides art#symapthetic deceit
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Logan: Remus came into my room last night drunk. And said he was "dressed to impress."
Deceit: What was he wearing?
Logan: He was naked.
Deceit: Yeah, he wa-
Remus: I wasn’t drunk!
#incorrect sanders sides quotes#incorrect dark sides#sympathetic remus#symapthetic deceit#sympathetic dark sides#logan sanders#ts logan#ts logan sanders#remus sanders tw#ts remus#ts remus sanders#tw remus#remus sanders#duke remus#ts deceit#deceit sanders#ts deceit sanders#incorrect sanders sides#sanders sides incorrect quotes#sanders sides incorrect
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Kiss and Tell pt3
And a stunning conclusion! If you miss the beginning, you can find it [here] and if you need a refresher pt2 is [here]! Are we ready for some happy endgame Analoceit?
Summary: The number Three is a tricky concept to learn. Virgil walks into a party and tries anyway.
Words: 4778
TW: Cursing
Quick Taglist: @cerberusisspot @never-end1ng-suffering @chelsvans @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @silverflame-wc @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @thenaiads @treasureofpriam
Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist
It feels like the start to a joke: Virgil Storm walks into a party and asks to kiss his ex boyfriend. Except that the punchline is Virgil, himself, and its not supposed to be metaphorical.
He picked up a few things from Wit Protect: crippling anxiety, a willpower to hold grudges far longer than an average person, and a healthy dose of masochism.
Because he just had to ask didn’t he? Couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself, couldn’t keep his tongue in his head and the words in his throat and the smile off his own stupid fucking face. There’s something wrong with him, that much is obvious. Because he asked and expected Logan to punch him, expected Dee to kick him, expected all their friends to jump between them and shout at Virgil to get out and go away and never to come back again.
And he still had asked. And waited for that pain that tore deep into his chest and ripped apart his fragile little unlovable heart.
He had asked.
Virgil Storm walks into a party, forgets, for a moment, how to count and asks to kiss his ex boyfriend.
1 + 1 = 2
Logan + Dee = a happy couple
And Virgil had no right to be coming in and ruining that.
(Like he ruined everything else too: ruined Mom and Dad’s marriage as a happy little accident, ruined Dee’s life by just up and leaving without an explanation, ruined the first and second safe locations because he couldn’t remember a stupid name, ruined, ruined, ruined.)
Virgil had come back to town a week before school started. He had been sick the entire week, feeling feverish every time he stepped out of the house. The park had been updated, so the swings that he and Dee had played on as kids were replaced with new ones that didn’t screech when someone used them. The bakery his mom and him used to visit before school was now a coffee shop and the pastries weren’t as good. The old man who ran the grocer in town had a stroke and so his nephew ran the place now.
The Watertower was a new color. The library had a new statue outfront. The paint studio was boarded up.
Their treehouse was decrypted.
Virgil had walked alone with his hood up and he had been terrified of running into someone who remembered him.
He felt like a kid again: keeping his curtains drawn because that meant that no one would come peeking at him to see what he was. Keeping his curtains drawn because he didn’t need any friends.
Keeping his curtains drawn and wishing someone would come anyway.
Last time it had been Dee.
(Dee’s house is different too. Looks like his mother gave up on that vegetable garden.)
Dee who should hate him, Dee who would hate him, Dee who had a perfectly good and fine life without Virgil in it again.
Which Virgil knew, because he had a heart attack when he heard that laughter outside the library, that unforgettable laughter that preened and danced in the air like some kind of fairy to enchant all that heard it. Because he’s heart had stopped when he saw Dee standing there, amidst a group of people, of friends that Virgil didn’t recognize, smiling so very brightly, arms linked together with the others to prove that he belonged with them. Because his heart shattered when he watched Dee lean over and kiss another boy right on the lips.
Virgil Storm walks into a party and wishes he could hate Logan Ackroyd.
But the guy is just...fucking perfect. Its a different kind of perfect than Dee is. Dee is a magician who could make the sadness disappear, who could pull reasons to keep fighting out of his sleeves, who could turn a sniveling pathetic little kid into a lovesick teenager who thought he knew what the hell “forever” meant.
Logan’s not like that. He’s cold hard facts, with no time for those who don’t want to listen. He’s a preacher and Virgil didn’t realize he wanted to be at the front of the audience until its too late. He’s the teacher that makes him write an essay in class and then gives him a fucking gold star because he managed not to fuck it up too bad and somehow Virgil still thinks about it late at night, guiltily enjoying the pleased feeling in his chest.
Virgil wants to hate him, because Logan was everything he wanted to be: smart, collected, happy, with Dee.
He shouldn’t have come back. When Agent DW placed the folders in front of him after his dad’s trail was completed and all the guys trying to kill them had been jailed, and when she had asked him if he wanted to stay in Bumfuck, Wherever with the name Andy, or go back home as Virgil…
Virgil Storm walks into a party and thinks that if he’s ever called Andy again he’ll commit murder and join his father in jail.
Isn’t it strange? Isn’t it awful?
Logan and Dee should hate him. He breaks everything he touches.
Why had he asked to kiss Dee?
Because he knows he doesn’t have a place here, doesn’t deserve a place there. He doesn’t want a place there.
He doesn’t want-- not like this.
Not where Logan has look from the sidelines, or Dee has to watch Virgil take this good, happy thing him and Logan have and crush it. He doesn’t want something like this, if it means one of them ends up in tears.
1 + 1 = 2
That’s what his teachers told him.
Virgil already left once. Virgil already took himself out of a relationship once, removed himself from the problem, erased his own existence from the variables.
Its a word problem and Virgil knows this one well: Logan is the oranges and Dee is the apples and Virgil can pick one, or the other, or none. And even though he’s a Starving African Orphan he knows picking one is going to leave the other to rot away and he won’t-- doesn’t-- fucking can’t--
Maybe it was supposed to be a goodbye kiss? Its a reach, Virgil knows because he’s never been good at goodbyes and he fucked up the only ones he got: a paper note really? A roll of his eyes as his dad was carted away? A two fingered salute to Toby who had still be reeling from the idea that Andy was a work of fiction that he had been hanging out with for seven years?
Dee had deserved a goodbye.
Virgil had put his tongue in his mouth instead.
He’s a masochist (who liked ripping his own heart out again and again and again).
Virgil Storm walks into a party and now he’s still sitting there as reality comes careening back on him, a tsunami to drown him, a bag to suffocate him, a guillotine to decapitate him.
Because Virgil hadn’t thought about consequences and Dee had pushed him away before fleeing the scene and Logan had to sit there and watch. And the world feels like its too small, and the air feels like its too thin and Virgil feels like he just threw himself through a glass window into a freefall waiting for the ground to smash the rest of him to bits.
Dee ran off.
And Virgil is staring at Logan.
Roman is punch drunk out of his mind, laughing as he stares at the billions of pictures he just took. Remus is slung right over Patton wheezing with his joy. Patton has tears streaming down his face and pink cheeks and happiness glowing off him. Emile is trying to spin that stupid bottle and Remy is fighting over it with him.
And not one of them seem to be aware of what just happened. Virgil’s not sure a single one of them could tell him where they are, what their names are, who he just kissed.
But Dee ran off.
And Logan is staring at Virgil.
“I--”
He means this. He means this more than anything. Why can’t he say it? Apologize, damnit.
“Go,” he whispers, not even sure that he can be heard over Remy’s stupid music.
Because Dee ran off and Virgil is here and Virgil isn’t going to make Logan choose like this. In a decision between his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s colossal fuck up of an ex, there isn’t even a choice to be made.
Shouldn’t be a choice to be made.
Logan is blinking at him.
Logan is walking towards him.
Logan is grabbing his hand.
“Come on,” Logan says.
Virgil Storm walks into a party and he’s still trying to figure out how to do math.
Because 1 +1 = 2 and Virgil learned that when he was six fucking years old when Dee had knocked on his door and demanded at Virgil come out and play with him, and then again when he was ten when he was so scared of graduating elementary school and Dee held his hand the whole time, then again when they were twelve and Virgil slammed their lips together while they were in the back of that Movie Theater before he could chicken out.
Dee + Logan + Virgil does not equal 2.
Virgil knows this. He knows that Logan knows this, because he and Logan share their Calculus class and have cursed out their homework together many times. If Logan can do three digit multiplication while drunk, he should be able to see that 3 is more than 2 and one of them needs to go.
Its pick and choose and and and
And Logan’s hand is tight around his, warm like an open flame, and strong like someone who knows what he is doing. Because it is Logan Ackroyd and Virgil’s only known him for a handful of months but he’s the most put together person he’s ever met, the person that never lost sight of what he wanted before, the person who always had a solution.
The person who had invited Virgil to sit with them at lunch and then refused to let it be awkward when everyone else had whispered was that a smart idea, Logan, don’t you know who this is? Don’t you know what he did? Don’t you know what he is to Dee?
Virgil Storm walks into a party and wishes he could tell anyone why he kissed his ex.
But he doesn't know why. The bottle had landed on him and Dee had just looked so smug about getting Logan out of the game and someone had to take him down a notch, didn't they? Someone had to defend Logan's honor?
But wait thats not right, because this was a game and it was fun until Virgil forgot that he left Dee without a warning and then showed back up just to threaten this relationship that he and Logan have. He doesn't have a right to kiss anyone, not Dee, not Logan.
He tries to dig his heels into the carpet, tries to wretch his hand from Logan's, tries to stop the world from spinning so much.
He thinks that maybe the universe is laughing at him. What a ridiculous notion, thinking that Virgil can stop ruination before it comes.
Logan drags him down the halls of Remy's house right after Dee, and finds the bathroom empty with the lights on and the door open and the toilet filled with vomit.
And the window open.
And, oh.
Dee jumped out a window to get away from Virgil, didn’t he?
"Come on," Logan says.
Virgil stumbles after him: back out the bathroom, back down the hall, right past the party and straight for the front door.
"Be Safe!" Patton yells after them (followed by a delighted shriek when Remus presses a multitude of cursory kisses into his neck).
Virgil Storm walks into a party and Logan Ackroyd drags him right out of it.
It seems so stupid, doesn’t it? Logan taking Virgil with him, holding his hand, being a steady center of calm while Virgil just wants to cover his ears hunch his shoulders and scream until the memories of Dee are gone and he stops….fucking… trying to… fucking ruin… This. Them. Here. Now. Whatever.
The city is so big now, bigger than when they were kids: Virgil doesn’t know where Dee would have gone in a disgusted panic, in a horrified frenzy, in whatever it was that Virgil had made him feel. At one point it might have been their fucking treehouse, the movie theater backlot, the icecream aisle of the grocer staring at the stupid fucking popsicles. But Virgil doesn’t know Dee anymore, doesn’t know this town, doesn’t know what he’s doing.
Dee could have gone anywhere to get away from him.
Except that he’s just on the ground next to Remy’s mailbox, one hand clutching the grass, the other a fistfull of hair and shaking like all of his bones were trying to leave his skin at once.
Its cold, Virgil realizes a second later. Its cold because its December and they’re outside wearing jeans and T-shirts and not a single coat between the three of them and its night so of course its fucking cold--
Logan plops onto the ground next to Dee, narrowly missing the mailbox and Virgil tumbles down after him.
There are over seven billion people in the world, Virgil knows this, but somehow all he can do is count the ones in front of him.
1, 2, 3.
Dee, Logan, Virgil.
It doesn’t equal 2. Can’t equal 2.
And Virgil still loves the feeling of pain, loves tearing his heart apart, loves watching Logan be soft and Dee be happy because he’s not and won’t ever be necessary for them--
“I--” Virgil says just as Logan cups Dee’s face with one hand. The other is still weaved between Virgil’s fingers like some sort of knot project. Virgil tries to let go-- he does-- but Logan just tightens and squeezes and does not let him let go.
Dee is shaking and crying and Virgil thinks that anyone who ever said that someone is beautiful when they cry is a fucking idiot. There was nothing pretty about see him in the moonlight leaking tears like a garden hose and covered in snot and curling on himself like his own arms are the only things stopping him from shattering apart on the lawn right now. There’s nothing gorgeous about the way his eyes are puffing up and his make up is smearing and his breaths are short and fleeting and fully of incoherent apologies.
There’s nothing heart warming about seeing him sobbing.
“Breathe with me,” Logan commands. “Dee, Inhale with me. One… Two… Three--”
Dee shudders. And tries and tries and tries but every breath is choked and wet and rattling.
And Virgil.
Virgil has no right to be doing this, but he flings his chest against Dee’s back and presses against him because pressure had always been one of the things that Dee liked when he was not-okay. How could Virgil forget, when so many of their days in that treehouse included him and Dee lying on one another musing with each other’s hair or scrolling on their phones or soaking in the silence?
Dee’s breath shudders, stops, and then he inhales. Logan counts steady as a metronome, steady as a time passing, steady as the Earth turning.
1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2
Dee stops sobbing and his shaking decreases and his hand loosens on his hair just enough for Logan to reach up and untangle his fingers.
“You’re doing good,” Virgil whispers in Dee’s ear, because that’s what he needs to hear isn’t it? That’s what Virgil wished someone would say every time he crammed himself in his closet and willed his lungs to just fucking work when his Mother didn’t know or care or understand what was going on.
Logan counts. Virgil whispers. Dee breathes.
1, 2, 3
Logan’s hands are holding them both. Dee is leaning back against Virgil like he’s the shield between Dee and insanity and Virgil isn’t sure why he’s still there and can’t remember how to leave.
“I think…” Logan starts which is almost comical because when doesn’t he think? “I think we need to talk.”
“Talk,” Dee repeats, hoarsely. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Yeah,” Virgil says.
They don’t say anything.
Virgil knows what he needs to do. He knows that he needs to pull back, needs to untangle himself from Logan and stop draping himself over Logan’s boyfriend and go back into the house to get his coat and shoes and maybe a blanket for the other two before he starts that trek back to his apartment. He knows that he needs to go because he doesn’t belong and he needs to call Agent DW and get her to find him another place to live again because-- surprise-- he ruined this one too.
Virgil tries to shift back, but Dee follows him.
“Don’t--” Dee croaks.
Virgil stops moving. Because Dee sounds so fragile, because he never sounds fragile, because its was Dee.
“Please…” Dee whispers, “Please don’t.”
And, well, Virgil is a masochist who hates himself. What other option does he have than to stay and await for the speech of telling off that Logan is preparing?
Virgil’s seen Logan tear into people, he’s seen Logan put people straight, he’s seen Logan stand on tables and slaughter the morons who dared go against him. He and Dee had that in common: their words were weapons and they knew how to use them.
“I--” Virgil says, “I’m--”
Sorry? Not Sorry? Sad? A fuck up?
“Did you mean it?” Logan asks.
And Virgil’s chin is on Dee’s shoulder and the cold breeze blows straight through him.
“Virgil,” Logan says patiently impatient, “Did you mean it when you kissed Dee?”
Virgil knows what he has to say. What he’s supposed to say. What he needs to say.
“It was a goodbye kiss.” “It was an apology.” “It was part of the game.” “It wasn’t meant as anything.” “No, I didn’t.”
“You fucking liar.” Dee growls at him, miserably. (Aren’t they all miserable right now?)
And really what did he expect? Dee knew him better than he knew himself.
“Virgil.” Logan says.
“God, Fucking Shut Up!” Virgil snarls, “Both of you! Shut Up! Stop Asking Me if I Liked Kissing My Ex!”
“Did you?”
“SHUT UP!”
“That’s not an answer!”
“Fuck Your Answer!” Virgil throws back, and maybe its the hysteria talking because his voice is louder than he meant, louder than it should be with the three of them so close they are touching to keep warm. How can Virgil cover his ears and block out the sound of Logan’s accusing voice without pulling away from Dee or letting go of Logan’s hand?
“Why Does Anyone Need an Answer?” Virgil snarls, “What Does it Matter At All? You’ve Got--” He chokes because of course he does. And isn’t that an answer all by itself? “You’ve Got--”
Seven years ago, Virgil had entered Witness Protection with his mother when his father agreed to testify against the “shady organization that promised him big money to help put Virgil through college”. Seven years ago, Agent DW showed up on his doorstep ten minutes before he was set to meet Dee at the bus stop and took his phone from him. Seven whole fucking years ago, Virgil Storm was ripped out of time.
And things are different now: Dee is different, the town is different, life is different.
And Virgil feels like he’s playing the longest game of Catch-Up since Captain America himself. How can he belong when everyone around him is years and miles beyond what he remembers?
“You’ve got each other,” Virgil says, finally, miserably.
Dee can’t turn to look at him, but Virgil can feel the way he’s tensing and closes his eyes so that he doesn’t have to see the way that Logan is staring at him.
1 + 1 = 2
“What’s wrong with three?”
Three? Its a prime number, its an odd number, its one more than 2? And bad things come in threes don't they? A man, a woman, and the son they didn't want; a treehouse, grape popsicles, and a movie theater that sells overpriced candy; a party, a bottle, and a kiss that's still tingling on Virgil's lips.
So Virg startles a laugh. What else can he do?
(Leave, let go and leave and never come back.)
He blinks back a sting behind his eyes, one he's familiar with-- dontcrydontcrydontcry-- and suddenly right in front of him is Logan.
Logan, whos eyes swim with galaxies in them, who's pale skin drinks in the moonlight and glows like a lighthouse to bring him home, who's voice is a tremor in the night, a general with the power to raze countries. Logan, who's so close Virgil can see through the fog of their breaths and feel his warm exhales on his nose and cheeks.
Virgil breath catches in his throat. He can see each individual eyelash on Logan's face. Surely that must be because Virgil is still clinging to his boyfriend--
"I want to run an experiment," Logan's lips move smoothly, softly, barely more than necessary and Virgil can see his tongue flicking around the alphabet soup of syllables.
Logan leans closer. Virgil stays still, transfixed on those lips, and pressed against Dee's shoulder. This is a mistake, isn't it? Maybe Logan hit his head on the Mailbox and now he thinks Virgil is Dee and he doesn't really mean this at all and they need to take him to the hospital before he dies of bloodlo--
Logan's nose is touching his. "May I?"
And whatever sound Virgil makes is pitiful, and pathetic, and embarrassing, and a "yes, please."
Logan kisses him, is kissing, kissed him. Virgil finds a new meaning in the term "seeing stars" because right then his eyes are dazzled with sparkling diamonds and bursts of colors. It does something to him, makes his heart race and leap into his throat, makes him lurch forward because its not enough, he's not close enough. Logan’s fingers twists around him and Virgil thinks that he should be freezing but his palm is clammy. And his other arm snakes around Dee’s waist before he can even think about what he's doing (does he ever think?).
Logan kissing him, and Dee leaning into his touch and Virgil thinks he died and somehow ended up in heaven.
This--
Oh.
This is 3.
One more than 2.
Virgil Storm walks into a party and somehow ends up kissing his ex’s new boyfriend, too.
Logan's pulls away slowly, like a hesitance, like a regret. Virgil thinks he licks his lips, breathing so warmly, looking so flushed-- flushed? Logan's flushed and shy and soft in a way that Virgil’s never blessed enough to see before.
He coughs, weakly, fakely, and Virgil distantly thinks thats his attempt to regain some form of control. "Well. I believe my hypothesis was correct."
"Nerd," Virgil croaks. "God fucking ner--"
Dee's lips are on his by some magic-like contortion because Dee's back is still pressed into Virgil's chest squeezing all the air from his lungs and last time Virgil checked humans weren't supposed to be able to do that.
"Do shut up," Dee whispers into Virgil's mouth.
Virgil thinks that if he died this isn’t such a bad way to spend his whatever’s-next.
(Dee’s learned new things, Virgil realizes, because he kisses differently now than he had back when they were twelve and so fucking stupid.)
Dee’s mouth moves off Virgil’s lips, dashing across his cheeks and peppering him with featherlight kisses. If Virgil wasn’t so absolutely out of it he might have been annoyed because that was Dee, kissing his fucking freckles and Virgil had worked to hard to cover them with concealer--
Then Dee turns around and drags Logan by his fucking tie into a kiss of their own with Virgil in a front row seat. Virgil’s always enjoyed theater but this is something more: being this close, feelings both of them just inches away-- thats a show he thinks he wants to come back to again and again and again and--
Isn’t that ridiculous? Isn’t that insane?
A week ago, a day ago, twenty minutes ago, this sight would have Virgil’s heart shattering right down the middle and stomping on the pieces and crying because even though it hurt like fucking hell this is what he wanted for them: he wanted Dee and Logan to be happy and safe and, and, and yeah he wanted them to be together too.
But right here, right now? He’s a part of this, and his heart does this stupid- fucking- jump thing when he watches them and his jaw hurts because he’s smiling so damn wide.
God, when was the last time he smiled like this?
He’s feeling some stupid emotion and its so nice and warm and safe that he doesn’t think he can even describe it with actual words (he’s always been a math person anyway). How does anyone describe this feather-fragile feeling, this cocktail of emotions, this atomic bomb of Need that causes him to hold on to all of this when he knows every other person he knows would tell him to let go?
This is something breakable.
And Virgil doesn’t know if it will be him that breaks or if it will be this… thing that he thinks came out of nowhere.
But he’s a masochist and he wants to find out.
“So,” Logan says between gasps for air, “Three?”
Dee laughs and blows a column of white condensation into the air. “Three, definitely.”
1 + 1 + 1 =/= 2
Virgil always thought that math was overrated anyway.
“Three,” Virgil says and it tastes like grape popsicles. Isn’t that weird? Virgil hasn’t had grape popsicles since that summer seven years ago. He misses that taste.
He sends a squeeze to Logan’s hand and Logan squeezes back. He hums into Dee’s neck and Dee laughs like he’s going to cry. Its the three of them together and who would have thought this day would come?
“Uh…” A fourth voice speaks up and Virgil squints up into the yellowed flashlight that’s rolling over the three of them. Its a guy-- must be one of the neighbors, though who knows why he’s out so late at night. “You three okay? I heard some yelling earlier....”
Virgil laughs at him, at them, at the universe. Dee’s shaking, too, something wonderful to learn and feel next to his heart.
“Should I take that as a no?” The man asks.
“Uh, no, Mr. Sanders,” Logan says but he’s grinning like he just achieved immortality. “I mean, yes! But not like--”
“I kissed two boys,” Virgil says, “And I really like them both.”
“Moron,” Dee laughs again.
The man, Concerned Neighbor, Mr. Sanders, looks somewhere between amused and confused. He shifts his weight, glancing beyond them, towards the house. (And Virgil doesn’t need to turn to know that fucking Remy is watching them from the windows.)
"Well you three should get back inside," the Concerned Neighbor says and Virgil gets the feeling he should be embarrassed, but honestly? Who gives a fuck? "Its cold out here."
Right.
Because its the end of December and its nearly ten oclock and jackets were quite literally the last thing on any of their minds.
Oh god what if they got pneumonia from this?
“Unlikely,” Logan says, straightening his tie. “Most likely one of us will contract a common head cold and then transmit it to the other two through an abundance of close proximity to each other.”
“Yes and that sounds completely awful,” Dee says wriggling around as he tries to get up. Virgil lets him go briefly, but snags the back of Dee’s neck before he can go too far. Dee squeaks in a way that is adorable.
“STORM! You fucker! Your hands are fucking ice cubes!” Dee bucks away and punches him in the shoulder before sprinting toward the door with a sharp little smile on his face.
And Virgil runs after him, pulling Logan along because he doesn’t want to let go at all. Its ridiculous. Its silly and hilarious and laughable and, and, and.
And they catch up to Dee right on the door step, bathed in the multicolored lights of the party where Logan gets a chance to snag Dee in a hug and Virgil--
Virgil Storm walks into a party and gets to tell everyone how he kissed both his boyfriends.
#analoceit#sanders sides#Kiss and Tell#virgil sanders#symapthetic deceit#Deceit Sanders#logan sanders#tw cursing#anxceit#loceit#analogical#kissing#Just let the boys be happy#Hmmm might make more for this au#stay tuned#happy ending
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Virgil randomly turns into a toddler one day because he's so stressed and toddlers arent stressed
Deceit looked down in his arms, sighing in relief as Virgil finally fell asleep. It was a surprise to all when they found a baby in Virgil’s room, his hoodie covering him up. They soon saw it was Virgil himself, mostly from the eyes and the way he seemed to cling onto his hoodie. None of the light sides knew what to do as Virgil wouldn’t stop crying.
Logan tried talking to him, Roman tried telling him stories, even Patton tried to calming him down. Nothing would work. They soon called in Deceit and Remus to help out, and before they knew it, Virgil was holding his arms out for Deceit.
Deceit had taken him, shocked that Virgil did it again. The others were confused as to why Virgil was a baby, the blame about to be turned in Roman.
“He does this when he’s stressed,” Deceit explains before it can happen, “Something must’ve happened for him to react like this. Since babies don’t have anything to stress about, he does this. He should be back by tomorrow.”
“So what now? We just take care of him?”
“Obviously. We can’t just leave him alone.”
“Movie night?”
“I guess, yeah. Remus, please beha-“
Roman shut up as he saw his brother coo at Virgil and take over on holding him. They watched how Remus talked with Virgil as if nothing, and how the baby would smile and clap it’s tiny hands. Deceit looks over and just shrugs.
“Remus is a natural with baby Virgil. Virgil isn’t very fussy when a baby, just don’t give him broccoli and all is good.”
And that is how they spent their day. Roman conjured up baby toys and a play mat for him, moving everything around with Logan. Patton made baby food with Deceit, listening to his advice on what Virgil liked and didn’t like. Remus made sure to entertain Virgil as they prepared everything, setting him down once it was ready. A Disney movie was set in the background for noise, which caught Virgil’s attention and was clapping along to the songs.
“Food is ready!”
If someone told either of the sides that they would all come together because Virgil turned into a baby, they would’ve laughed. But now, they were together, watching a movie as Patton fed Virgil. Virgil just looked at everyone and smiles, playing with his toys. Night soon came around and Logan sees Virgil struggling to keep his eyes open.
“Maybe it’s time for him to sleep,” Logan speaks up as he picks up Virgil slowly, laying his head on his shoulder but Virgil got fussy.
“I’ll take over,” Deceit says and stands up, taking Virgil from Logan and laid him in his arm. “I’ll lay him in his bed, and don’t worry, it’s fine.”
Deceit hums as he walks upstairs and walks into Virgil’s room, seeing it for the first time. Sure, he saw how the living room was, but never his bedroom. He chuckles at the many posters and how he kept up the purple and black aesthetic. He looks down at Virgil and sees him yawning and whining.
“Calm down,” He chuckles and shakes his head, “You’re really a fussy baby. I’m still surprised you wanted to be with me.”
He sits down on Virgil’s bed and gently rocks him in his arms and sighs. He closes his eyes and keeps rocking Virgil, hoping he would sleep quickly. Of course, as soon as he opened an eye to see, Virgil was still awake.
“Of course you want a lullaby or song,” Deceit sighs and tries to think of one, humming and then nodded once he had one in mind.
“Lavender's blue, dilly dilly/Lavender's green/When you are king, dilly dilly/I shall be queen//Who told you so, dilly dilly/Who told you so?/'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly/That told me so,” Deceit sings to him smoothly, stroking his cheek in small circles with his thumb. He stands up and slowly paces around with him, “Call up your friends, dilly, dilly/Set them to work/Some to the plough, dilly dilly/Some to the fork//Some to the hay, dilly dilly/Some to thresh corn/Whilst you and I, dilly dilly/Keep ourselves warm,” Deceit watches him yawn and closes his eyes, making him smile fondly at the sight,
“Lavender's green, dilly dilly/Lavender's blue/When you are king, dilly dilly/I shall be queen,” He lowers his voice into a whisper as he moves to lay Virgil in the middle of the bed, being slow and gentle, “Who told you so, dilly dilly/Who told you so?/'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly/That told me so.”
He looks down at Virgil as he sleeps, pressing a small kiss on his forehead. He was happy, inside, to have been able to care for Virgil at least once more. He turns on the night light, placing two pillows at his sides, walking towards the door. He looks back once more, turning off the main light.
“Goodnight, Virgil. Rest well,” He whispers, shutting the door behind him.
#writing prompt#virgil sanders#logan sanders#roman sanders#patton sanders#deceit sanders#symapthetic deceit#remus sanders#sympathetic remus#sanders sides#thomas sanders#fanders#my writing
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not spoilers thomas sanders sanders sides thingy
ok. i get that there are, like, 3 light sides (patton, roman, logan) and 3 dark sides (remus, deceit, virgil)
but wouldn’t it just be *nifty* if it was like:
white sides: patton, roman
grey sides: logan, virgil
black sides: deceit, remus
and like, it’s not a “good or bad” thing, it’s just sorta like lawful neutral and chaotic.
just because i don’t want any of my bois to be “evil” i want that good good character development
#thomas sanders#sanders sides#idk#i just thought it would be funny#sympathetic dark sides#sympathetic everyone#symapthetic deceit#sympathetic remus#i just love them ok
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mask + princeit!!
I assume you mean roceit? I've never seen the ship name be princeit so I hope this is what you wanted ^^'
"No, Jay..." Roman voice was quiet as he lifted up his hand to cover janus' own. He spoke softly, almost whispering at this point. "Please...you don't need to wear the mask around me. You know how much I love to look at your beautiful face. And yes, even your scars." The prince reached forward to gently kiss janus' scarred and burnt cheek.
He could feel Janus exhale slowly...only to inhale then he nodded. Gradually the other lowered down the mask that digitally hides his burnt side of his face. Then his soft eyes looked up to him and he swallowed.
"Okay... For you."
Send me a word + a ship and I'll write a 3 sentence short fic based off it!!!
#sanders sides#roman Sanders#roman#deceit#deceit sanders#symapthetic deceit#romantic roceit#roceit#sanders Sides#sanders sides au#Sanders sides fanfic#sanders Sides fic#my fics
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The Lemon Wrapped In A Tiger Print Bandana
It was Christmas night when the fight started. Father never really was too kind. Janus fled the house when it got loud. So loud...- anyway. He slid his back against the cold, unforgiving door.
The 16 year old pulled out his mother's phone, and dialed 911. The woman on the other line promised that thing would be put in jail.
He didn't believe her.
He hung up the phone. Then, he was poked in the arm. He looked up to see a boy he knew from school, Logan. He was holding something. Janus grabbed it. It was a lemon wrapped in a tiger print bandana, with a note.
#cliffhanger#loceit#deceit sanders#logan x deceit#logan sanders#symapthetic deceit#tw yelling#tw fighting
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Some things Janus does as the caretaker of the Others:
- Makes breakfast, lunch, and dinner for them.
- If one of them is sick he stays by there side the entire time
- Stops fights between them as the Others often get on eachother's nerves
- Gives head kisses and cuddles to those who need some love or extra attention on a bad day
- Plays games with them
- Sings/hums lullabies to them when they can't sleep
- Snuggles with them during movie nights
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10. Moceit
Fellas, It's gay-
(so tumblr deleted my queued post.)
@tsshipmonth2020
#my art#tsshipmonth2020#moceit#ts moceit#patton sanders#sanders sides patton#ts patton#symapthetic deceit#deceit sanders#ts deceit#patton x deceit
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My list if theories I haven't had the chance to think out:
(WARNING: You vs Yourself Spoilers)
1. Deceit and Patton can wander around different side's places/areas because they are both a major influence to them.
2. Roman is very down in the dumps because he just gave up what he was made to do- pursue a dream, but he knows it's "for the better".
3. Virgil wasn't present because he's:
A) he's still hung up about what happened in the past episode
B) Too nervous by Thomas's overwhelming anxiety to pop up and say hi
C) Wasn't needed. Last episode, he didn't provide any impartial input to help sway Thomas's decision, but this is very unlikely the sole reason of his absence. Janus (Deceit) and Logan's knowledge was all that was needed to fight against the Roman and Patton duo. This fight was basically logic vs belief. It was made clear that if Virgil was more serious about it, he could instantly force Thomas to stay home or go to the wedding via panicking and paranoia, but he didn't. Because he knew how unfair he was in the last episode after encountering Dee. He (most likely) knew that if he got involved, both parties would get hurt in the process, and it's obvious he doesn't want to hurt anybody. Especially not Thomas.
4. Yeah, that's it. I'll add on later after my mind processes what just happened.
#thomas sanders#virgil sanders#deceit sanders#roman sanders#logan sanders#ts patton#patton sanders#sanders sides theory#sanders sides#theory#symapthetic deceit#tw: spoilers
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Found Families - Home is Where the Hart is - Chapter Twenty Five
I have been excited to write this chapter for ages and now it is finally here. I may be procrastinating on my uni essays but at least I have a new chapter. I hope you enjoy. Stay safe x
Masterlist
Summary: 3 am trauma sessions
Word Count: 4502
Warnings: Past child abuse, panic attack, child abuse, physical abuse, gun mention, fire mention, swearing, psychological/emotional abuse, scars mention, death mention, suicide, anxiety, self-deprecation, infidelity, nightmare, flashback mention, food mention (This one is really dark) (If I have missed anything please let me know)
Patton awoke slowly to light streaming into the room, providing a pleasant warm morning glow to the otherwise darkened room. Dee’s hair tickled his nostrils as he breathed in and hugged him close to his chest as Virgil softly snored, the peaceful expression so drastically different from the pain-fuelled one from the night before brought a smile to Patton’s face. He hadn’t planned to fall asleep but he was glad he did. Last nights nightmare and panic attack was so severe, it had been a while since his last one, especially one so bad. Virgil had told him previously that Patton’s presence was comforting for him, particularly in the aftermath of a panic attack or flashback, so he usually stayed until Virgil fell asleep and would then return to his own room for the remainder of the night, leaving all of the emotional conversations for the following day. However, last nights breakdown required special attention and Patton felt more comfortable staying close to Virgil in case he had another nightmare.
These nights Virgil’s past trauma reared its ugly head were horrible. Nights when his mind took a hold of him and forced him to relive his most painful memories. When all of the anger and hurt he held inside his tiny ten year old body spilled out in an explosion of all of the emotions he tried to desperately to suppress. Patton couldn’t help feeling useless during these moments, there was only so much he could to combat the immediate problems and help Virgil through it in the moment. He had learned most of Virgil’s triggers and how he responded to certain types of touch, support and consolation, however, Virgil’s mental health was often unpredictable. Emile had taught him how to respond appropriately in specific situations but he constantly had to adapt his methods depending on the circumstances, Virgil’s moods and his tolerance for physical touch in the moment. They were lucky his panic attack hadn’t progressed any further and he had managed to sleep through the rest of the night.
Patton lifted his head to see Virgil and Dee curled up in each others arms, he smiled. Patton adored their closeness, they had a horrible upbringing but always had each other. Virgil was fiercely protective of Dee and Dee was attached to him at the hip, during Virgil’s flashbacks and panic attack he needed to be able to see Dee at all times to ensure himself that he was still here. It was the most effective way to calming him down by physically showing him that Dee was safe and here. Once Patton made sure they were both sound asleep and laid his head back down, allowing himself to be taken by sleep once again. Until he jolted upwards. What time was it?
Patton quickly glanced at the alarm clock. 7:45. Sugar! They had missed the school bus. They were going to be so late. Patton leapt up, shaking both Virgil and Dee awake.
“Hey, kiddos, wake up” Patton said with a sense of urgency in his voice as he roused them both from their slumber. “We all slept him, quickly get dressed,”.
Once Patton had ensured both Virgil and Dee were awake and getting dressed, he bolted out of Virgil’s room and narrowly avoided tripping over both Roman and Roman’s blanket, who was awoken abruptly by Patton’s yelp in surprise. He knew of Roman’s habit of waiting by Virgil’s door until Patton left, he had carried him to bed on one too many occasions after he fell asleep in the hallway.
“Dad?” Roman said his voice still heavy with sleep as he rubbed his eyes.
“Sorry, Roman, it looks like we all slept in, quickly go and get dressed then come downstairs for breakfast,” Patton explained as he knocked on Logan’s door before rushing off his own room to get himself dressed.
After throwing on the first pieces of clothes he could, culminating in a rather odd array of colours and pattern but he didn’t have time to worry about that now. As he left his room to begin preparing a quick breakfast - he noticed something strange. Logan’s door was still closed. Patton hadn’t heard it while he was getting it and it was entirely out of character for Logan to have slept in also. He knocked on the door. No response. He tried again. Silence. Roman, Virgil and Dee were exiting their own rooms now fully dressed.
“Logan, are you awake? Patton called out, not simply wanting to barge in, however, following another period of silence his nerves over came him and he opened the door.
The room was empty. Bed made pristinely as if nobody had ever slept there, the rest of the room was just as orderly. Logan was obsessed with routine. Perhaps, he had woken at his usual time but wanted to avoid waking anyone else despite the time and had been waiting downstairs for them. Patton, followed by Roman, Virgil and Dee all headed downstairs but as he reached the centre of the stairs a sweet smell entered his nostrils. It was the smell of…pancakes. He sped up, rushing towards the kitchen and the direction of the smell. As he entered the kitchen, he saw Logan standing over the sink on top of a step (so he would be able to reach it) cleaning a variety of dishes; pans, utensils and bowls, with a stack of slightly misshapen pancakes sitting on the table.
“Logan?” Patton said in surprise. He had no idea what to think? Should he be proud? Logan had prepared breakfast of them. Upset? What if something had happened while he was asleep? What if the kitchen had caught fire? What if Logan had gotten hurt and he had no idea?
“Good morning, I noticed you were still asleep so I decided to prepare breakfast to allow you time to rest,” Logan explained as he finished the last of the dishes, piling them onto the drying rack.
“Sweet!” Roman explained as he, Virgil and Dee sat at the table, digging into breakfast.
“Where did you learn to cook, Logan?” Patton asked choosing to discuss why Logan shouldn’t be cooking without supervision after breakfast. Sitting down at the table.
“I only know how to prepare pancakes, Maggie taught me the basic steps and from observing you I have memorised the process,” Logan explained as he continued cleaning instead of sitting down to eat with the rest of them.
Once they had all finished, Patton checked the time. 7:55. He had already resounded to his fate that they were going to be late. Patton urged Roman to finish getting ready, Virgil and Dee disappeared upstairs also as Patton helped Logan finish the cleaning.
“Hey, Logan, thank you for cooking breakfast but…next time you want to cook something please let me know,” Patton said. “What if something had happened or you got hurt?”.
“I-I’m sorry,” Logan responded quietly, head down as he dried the dishes. Patton knew Logan didn’t consider his own safety and was only thinking about the benefit to everyone else.
“I am not getting you into trouble but I just want you to be a little more careful, cooking can be dangerous especially while you are unsupervised. Promise me will you ask me for help if you ever need it,” Patton urged placing a hand on Logan’s shoulder and taking the dish cloth from him.
“I-I promise…I apologise Patton, I wasn’t thinking,”Logan admitted as he allowed Patton to take over drying the dishes while he sat down to finally eat his own breakfast.
“It is alright Logan, I know you had good intentions and you really helped me out this morning. But maybe next time, lets cook together, okay?” Patton said as he finished up the dishes, sent a quick text message to Emile, asking him to watch over Logan, Dee and Virgil - he explained the situation of the previous night - and a phone call to the school, explaining they would likely be late and Virgil wouldn’t be attending today. He was light on the details but they had the necessary information in his file so it required very little explanation for him to be allowed to take a mental health day. “Do you mind if you keep Virgil company for me Logan? Emile will be over in a little while and I’ll be home as soon as I can,”.
“Of course,” Logan responded as he dissected his singular pancake.
“Thank you, kiddo,” Patton said as Roman, Virgil and Dee appeared a short while later. “All right, you ready Roman? Virge, Emile will be over soon, you just take it easy today,”.
Virgil had hardly spoken at all this morning which wasn’t unusual but the expression on his face yanked at Patton’s heartstrings, his under eye circles were significantly darker than usual, his mouth was down-turned, eyes lifeless. He looked so tired. Panic attacks, especially one as severe as last night drain a lot of energy. Virgil usually slept the entire following day to recover. Today seemed like it would be no different. Virgil curled up on the sofa with Dee, drifting in and out of consciousness. Patton covered him with a blanket, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead.
“Okay, we really need to go now,” Patton said, he hated to leave Virgil, during a moment like this but Emile would be here shortly, he would be able to provide Virgil the support he needed until Patton returned. “I’ll see you later kiddos, I love you,”.
“Bye, dad,” Virgil mumbled his soft voice hoarse and broken. Patton’s smiled. He was going to be okay. They were going to be okay.
Bang…The shot rang out. He ran…He ran and ran and ran. The fire blazed around him. The air hot and the smoke thick. Coughing and stumbling as it entered his lungs, his vision blurred and his chest burned. He nearly allowed himself to be taken by the darkness. Until he heard it. A cry. No…No…No. Not him…Don’t hurt him…Where is he? He forced himself up, fighting through the burning pain. He ran…He ran and ran and ran. It was him. His father. Big, ugly, terrifying. His face blank. Gun hanging limply from his hand. He stood motionless over the screaming child before grabbing him. He screamed. “PLEASE…PLEASE…DON’T HURT HIM…HURT ME INSTEAD…STOP PLEASE!” His father did not listen. Only kept walking. Ignoring his pleading and begging.The fire had spread. Raging all around them. Burning hot and fierce. His father stop. His brother squirming in his hands holding him out over the flames. “NO…NO…NO…STOP…STOP…DON’T HURT HIM!”. He let go.
Virgil jolted awake. Sinking his teeth into his blanket to prevent him from screaming. His chest burned as all of the oxygen was painfully squeezed out of his lungs. He tried to focus his gaze on Dee, sound asleep in his bed, reminding himself he was still here. He was still here. Not there. He was here. Alive. He was alive. Virgil pressed his hands to his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart beneath his palms, he counted through the breathing pattern Uncle Emile had taught him until the pained ease and his breathing slowed. He picked up his stuffed eeyore, hugging it tight to his chest as he lay back. He knew he likely wouldn’t be returning to sleep any time soon. On nights like these Patton used to stay awake with him, just talking or sitting in silence, his presence was comforting in those moment. However, Virgil had already disturbed Patton today, forced him awake to deal with his issues, made them late for school, forcing him to call Emile just to watch him. He shouldn’t disturb him. He was fine. Fine. All good.
Okay, maybe he wasn’t fine. His hands were trembling and his throat and chest still burned as if he had inhaled a lung full of ash. Virgil glanced towards his alarm clock. 3:25am. Virgil decided to go down stairs to get a drink of water. Before leaving he checked on Dee, stroking his cheek as he mumbled in his sleep. He was still here. He made sure the window was still securely locked before quietly leaving, carefully not to wake any one else as he went downstairs. However, Virgil wasn’t alone. As he descended the stairs, a soft light caught his attention. It was Logan. Curled up on the armchair. Book in one hand, flash-lighting the other. Shining it on the pages as he flipped through them. Why was he awake? Logan hadn’t slept in like the rest of them. Why was he up at three in morning?
Virgil inched forward, careful not to disturb Logan. He looked so tired. The beginnings of purple bruises had appeared under his eyes. He looked nothing like the usual pristine, put together Logan. His hair was unruly. He was dressed in his oversized pyjamas and his mask was slipping. They really were the same. They were doing the exact same thing. Both were plagued by nightmares yet refused to accept Patton’s support like he urged them to, out of the fear they were bothering him. Leading to them sitting alone, in the dark, the thoughts circling again and again and again. They were the same.
“You’re up late,” Virgil called out. Logan flinched, startled by the sudden intrusion, evidently not expecting any company at this hour.
“Virgil…Why are you awake?” Logan asked closing his book and allowing the flash-light to illuminate more of the room.
“Same reason as you,” Virgil responded as he clambered over the back of the sofa, collapsing in the centre of it.
“I…I don’t know what you are talking about,” Logan stammered averting his gaze back to his book.
“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” Virgil answered sarcasm thick in his words.
Logan’s mask was slipping. Virgil could see right through him. The tension he held in his body. The watery eyes. How he trembled despite his desperate efforts to stop. Logan was exhausted. Virgil was exhausted simply watching him fight against himself. He had returned to reading his book, attempting to ignore Virgil’s presence by not acknowledging his existence. Virgil stood, walking over to where Patton stored the extra blankets, picked out two. Wrapping one around his shoulders and the other he tossed across Logan’s lap, on top of his book and flash-light.
“Here,” Virgil said before returning his seat, creating a blanket cocoon for himself.
“Thank you,” Logan grumbled manoeuvring the blanket around his shoulders and then silence fell over them.
After a period of silence, Logan closed his book, rubbing his temples as a pained expression came over his face. It was so sad. He looked so tired. Virgil had been where he was. Holding everything inside, until it attacked. He had Patton, Roman, Dee, Emile, Dot and Larry. Logan had nobody. He was alone. Dealing with everything on his own. Refusing to open up and accept any help. Maybe, Virgil was being hypocritical. He was currently ignoring his own problems but this was about Logan. The pain would only worsen. Building and building and building until he broke. Virgil knew he hadn’t told Patton about his past yet and from his behaviour it didn’t seem like he would any time soon. Logan wouldn’t be able to keep it all inside for much longer. Virgil had tried. It never ended well. He had to do something.
“I had a another nightmare…the anniversary of my parent’s death is coming up,” Virgil said. So, he was doing this now. Logan head snapped towards him.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Logan responded presumably believing he had offended Virgil in some way.
“Don’t be…they-they were not good people,” Virgil admitted he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, Logan was still giving him his full attention as if urging him to continue.
“He…my dad…my bio dad…he hurt me. He drank a lot because of my mum, she was never really there, she was always out with different men, he knew but he directed all of his anger on me. I took it. I took all of it so he wouldn’t hurt Dee,” Virgil said picking at his fingers nails. “My dad hated Dee, he found out he wasn’t his kid and everything got worse. I had to take care to Dee, mum was always out and dad was always drinking, she used to give me money for food and I used all of it for formula and stuff for Dee. I needed him to be safe. He was just a baby. I didn’t care what happened to me. He was safe,”.
Virgil hadn’t told anyone this in ages. It took him months to confess everything to Patton and then another six months to talk about it with Uncle Emile in therapy yet here he was bearing to all to Logan.
“Everything got worse…Dad…he came home early from drinking and found my mum in bed with another man. He shot him. He…he killed me. He was going to kill her to. I-I stood in front of her. I couldn’t let him hurt her. I thought he was going to sh-shoot me…He pressed the g-gun to my head…I thought…he was…going to…k-kill me. I sometimes wish he did!” Virgil exclaimed breathing growing faster and more erratic. “But he didn’t. He knocked me down and set the house on fire. I had to get Dee out but when I am found him…My dad was already there…He grabbed him and started carrying him away...I was screaming at him to stop…b-but…h-he wouldn’t listen,”,
Logan had moved from the armchair to the sofa, right next to Virgil. He hadn’t noticed he had moved at all.
“He c-carried him away. I-I kept screaming and begging him…B-but he wouldn’t stop. He c-carried…him…to the fire…He let him go…just…let him fall,” Virgil was openly sobbing now, tears stung his eyes, his entire body was trembling as he beginning to descend into hyperventilation. “I-I managed…managed to get him out but he got burned…really b-badly…My dad just stood there…he just stood there. I-I started screaming at him. Why? Why would he do that? He didn’t answer…He-he raised the…gun to…his head…He shot himself…Right in front of me…I was fucking seven…I was a fucking kid,”.
“I got out with Dee. My mum died because of the smoke and the house collapsed because of the fire…I-I was a kid…A fucking kid,” Virgil panted his breathing short and raspy, his hands burned with the memories of the flames searing his skin as the tears continued to fall. Why was he like this?
“Virgil, I believe you are in the beginning stages of a panic attack, I would like to help you if you would allow me to,” Logan asked inching closer however Virgil knew he wouldn’t reach out with explicit consent, he would laugh is he could. He had done this to try and get Logan to open up but here he was being comforted by him.
Virgil merely nodded, reaching his hands out, allowing Logan to take them and direct them in the correct position as he counted through the breathing routine. In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8. Virgil assumed Patton must have taught him. After several cycles his breathing began to even out but then the laughter burst out of him.
“Um…Virgil…are you alright?” Logan asked having retreated to the other side of the sofa once Virgil’s panic attack had passed, his confusion present on his face from Virgil strange reaction.
“Yeah, yeah…jesus…I thought sharing all of my trauma would help you feel comfortable to open up but in the end you ended up comforting me,” Virgil chuckled wrapping his blanket tighter around himself.
“I appreciate the sentiment Virgil, I’m fine,” Logan replied averting his gaze. Clearly a lie.
“No your not, I can tell,” Virgil stated.
“I-I…okay…okay…I had a nightmare,” Logan admitted. “My parents were also not nice people, they were obsessed with control and perfection which included me. I needed to be perfect for them. They would…punish me…if I wasn’t. Small things; food taken away, more studying…other things. H-horrible things…I-I…” Logan trailed off, hand hovering over a specific spot on his chest which was hidden by the fabric of his jumper.
“It’s okay Logan, you don’t need to show me,” Virgil’s voice softened. Logan who appeared so strong and unbothered by everything was terrified. Terrified by what his parents had done to him. He looked so small and frail, trembling as he recalled the painful memories.
“Its pathetic. So pathetic,” Logan repeated. “Why can’t I do it? Your scars were as a result of you saving your brother’s life, mine are only from my own cowardice. I let them do this to me. I let them. I did nothing to stop it!”.
“You can’t blame yourself,” Virgil urged.
“Why not? It’s my fault. I didn’t fight back. I did nothing. Its pathetic,” Logan exclaimed. Virgil could see the tears welling up in his eyes.
“No, it isn’t,” A voice called out. Both Virgil and Logan jumped at the sudden intrusion, turning towards the direction of the voice. It was Patton. Still dressed in his baby blue pyjamas. “I had a feeling I would find the two of you here,”.
Patton sat on the sofa, urging Virgil and Logan to sit on either side on him, neither had spoken since they were caught. Virgil only wrapped the blanket tighter around himself as Logan stared at his hands, twisting them in the fabric of his pyjama pants.
“I heard a lot of what you both said, I am not upset but I want you…both of you…to know I would never be upset with you for waking me up if you need me. It hurts me more to know you are suffering in silence. I am your dad. I will be here for you at all hours of the night. You kiddos are my top priority. I am here for you,” Patton said his usual goofy and bubbly personality replaced with what Virgil and Roman referred to as Patton’s serious mode. Virgil had heard the same speech on numerous occasions but he still struggled to belief him. This brain wouldn’t allow him to. “You can come to me, I want you too, there isn’t anything we can’t work through as a family. Now who wants a hug?”.
Virgil almost threw himself into Patton’s arms, revelling in the almost instant relief it provided him, as if Patton’s aura of comfort and safety dispelled all the evil from his body. Logan took a little more convincing but soon enough he was also wrapped in Patton’s embrace, Virgil took a hold of Logan’s sleeve. He wasn’t sure why he did. Maybe to prevent Logan from pulling away? Or just to remind him that Virgil he was for him? But he didn’t resist, allowing himself to be enveloped in Patton’s arms. Virgil didn’t know how long they sat there, curled up in each others arms. Logan had fallen asleep a short while ago and Virgil would likely be following him soon.
“Let’s get you two to bed,” Patton said softly, moving carefully so not to wake Logan, lifting him with ease in order to carry him to bed. Virgil staggered groggily behind him. Once Logan was put to bed, Patton entered Virgil’s room. “How are you doing Virge?”.
“Fine,” Virgil mumbled sleepily, curling up beneath his weighted blanket as Patton sat on the edge of his bed, picking up his eeyore toy, tucking it besides him underneath his covers.
“Are you sure? Today has been a difficult day for you,” Patton said running his fingers through Virgil’s fringe.
“I’m worried about Logan,” Virgil admitted, burrowing further beneath his covers.
“I know, I am too but I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Patton said Virgil felt a little more at ease. Logan would be okay. Patton would help him. “Okay kiddo, you get to sleep now, it is late,”.
“Night, dad,” Virgil mumbled as Patton pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“Goodnight Virgil, I love you,” Patton whispered before closing the door silently.
Virgil closed his eyes, slipping into a peaceful and dreamless sleep. The weight and pain easing. Maybe he would be okay.
Taglist: @i-do-not-dislike-fudge @poems-art-darkness-n-more @skylark-cain @amber1594 @darkrainbow333 @falseh0od @lovingcreatorstrawberry @gr3ml1n-loser @callboxkat @tacochippy @angelgrace003 @comicsimpson @themischievous-one @cobythinks @whatschooldoesntteachyou @fandomkitty8 @coloursintheblur @read-write-inspire-repeat @clinicalawesomeness @janus-sanders-deserves-better @scared-ghosthunter @silverstarlinedart @winterrose42 @dumbgayemo @imthatgrace2 @glitchybina @quietwords-loudthoughts @vanilla-rose-swirl @laurabrand
If you have any requests or questions about to series or want to be added to the taglist please do not hesitate to send me an ask. Thanks.
#sander sides#sander sides au#logan sanders#patton sanders#virgil sanders#roman sanders#deceit sanders#symapthetic deceit#thomas sanders#Emile Picani#cartoon therapy#My writing#my fics#found families#home is where the hart is
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Deceit: Once I saw someone write lgtb instead of lgbt and it confused me, but now I love it because it's a perfect acronym for let's guillotine the bourgeoisie.
Virgil: Let's get this bread
Deceit: Bread is exactly what the french wanted when they guillotined the bourgeoisie.
#incorrect deceit quotes#symapthetic deceit#sympathetic dark sides#ts deceit#deceit sanders#ts deceit sanders#ts virgil#virgil sanders#sympathetic virgil#ts virgil sanders#sanders sides virgil#incorrect sanders sides quotes#sanders sides incorrect quotes#sanders sides incorrect#sanders sides#incorrect sanders sides#incorrect quotes
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Remus: hey Dee, can I ask you something?
Deceit: sure Remus *sighs and rolls his eyes*
Remus: do you hiss?
Deceit: ...what
Remus: you know, cause you’re a snake... and snakes to the hissy-hiss
Remus: OwO
Deceit: What the hell? I’m not sure if I hiss or not and how the hell did you do that with your face!?
Remus: hmph, well thats stupid *runs away*
Remus, running away: ♪~ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ
#sanders sides#deceit sanders#remus sanders#symapthetic deceit#sympathetic dark sides#sympathetic remus#ts sides#ts deciet#ts remus#sanders sides incorrect#sanders sides incorrect quotes#incorrect sanders sides#ts incorrect quotes#incorrect sanders sides quotes#incorrect quotes#deceit sanders sides#sanders sides deceit#remus sanders sides#sanders sides remus
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Roman Prince, Psychic pt1
Hello, I’m back with another au!
Summary: Roman reads minds, loses his job and makes it his mission to get his brother a boyfriend.
Pairings: Anxceit, (future) Logince, and brotherly Prinxiety
Word Count: 6014
Quick Taglist: @chelsvans @faithfulcat111 @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @treasureofpriam
Read on AO3 || My General Writing List
Roman has lost twenty two jobs in the past three years, which is offensive on many levels. First of all, twenty two was a number that could only be divided by two and eleven, which is much worse than twenty eight minutes ago when he had lost only a total of twenty one jobs in the past three years.
Twenty two only ever brought bad luck.
Additionally, he had been fired from all of his previous jobs so that meant that he had technically failed twenty two times before. Roman was not a fan of failure, not a fan of other people (Virgil) knowing about said failure and lording it over him.
And, of course, there was also the fact that Roman was a grown adult and suddenly money was an issue when he wanted to not be evicted from his apartment. Or, you know, eat.
So when his brother picks up on the third ring, Roman knows that Virgil already is aware what he’s gonna ask.
“Again?” Virgil says instead of the usual “hello”. He sounds tired, worn out, but Roman gets the feeling its not really directed at him.
“It was an accident,” Roman whines, slumped over steering wheel of his car. “I swear!”
“That’s the second this month.”
“I can’t help it, Emo Undertaker.”
Which is a lie, because he definitely can help it and has helped it before. Roman is just bad at helping it. He thought he was doing well! He was really trying this time! He had managed to snag an editing job for a newspaper that required barely any talking to other people! He could make it through the day without actually talking to people and then there would be no issues other than his crippling desire to hold a conversation which was easily overlooked in the grand scheme of things--
But really, he should have guessed. No one, not even his absolute idiot of a(n ex) boss said “I’m gonna schedule you because you’re the only one stupid enough to say yes” to someone’s face.
Perhaps on his next resume he should title it Roman Prince, Psychic.
On the other side of the phone, Virgil huffs distantly, “No its my brother, Pat. He got fired again.”
“Patton is there?” Roman asks.
He can almost see Virgil cringe on the other end of the phone, “Uh yeah.”
Roman’s lips twist downward on his already not-great mood. “Virge, it’s been months--”
“I know!” Virgil says, “I know! There’s just some stuff we have to do first.”
“We?” The word is short on his tongue, bitter, leaving Roman’s tongue chasing down syllables for the empty space.
“Hey weren’t we talking about your lack of a job?” Virgil says suddenly.
“I do not want that creeper using you, Virgil.”
“Hey, Pat’s not a creeper.” Virgil says sounding more annoyed than Roman’s sure he has a right to be. “New rule, I don’t tell you to stop reading minds, and you don’t tell me to stop seeing dead people.”
“There’s a difference between seeing dead people, and seeing dead people Virgil.”
“Hey have you considered shutting up?”
“Look, he may be cute, but he’s been dead for twenty years--”
“Roman.”
“I’m just saying! He is old enough to be our dad, dude!”
“I’m hanging up.”
He does before Roman can say anything else. Roman flips his phone in his hand three times (a good number, Roman’s favorite) and senses the on coming text before it arrives. He twists his keys in the ignition of his car and listens as it rumbles to life with a story of the previous owner (Harold Johnston, who purchased it new, drove it for a while, hit two deer, and got four speeding tickets on before passing it on to his son who crashed it once in a drowsy driving accident that resulted in it being sent in a reused car dealership where Molly Keller bought it----).
By the time Roman makes it through the seven stop lights (three of which he squeezes through because Carl Smith is out jogging and pressed the crosswalk button at just the right time), there’s a message from Virgil in his inbox with a list of new places that were hiring.
It wasn’t that Roman has never thought about starting his own business, because he has. Many times, all the time. Every time he fell asleep. He imagined a cute little office off mainstreet: A psychic shop with charms in the windows that glowed at all hours, colorful draperies and scented candles that would make the shop float on mystery and otherworldness. He’d emerge from the back of the store in elegant clothes, like an ethereal being to startle any customers who dropped in, and he’d whip up a facade of a crystal ball, hide fans around the shop, and electrify the table in the middle of the room to sell the bit.
Roman has thought about starting his own psychic business before. But unfortunately, no one wants to be told things they already knew.
Which of course was the only psychic thing Roman can do. Read minds and see inner dreams with absolutely no ability to confirm them happening and-or not happening.
(And you only tell a person once that they’re getting a puppy for Christmas before you learn your lesson.)
To be perfectly honest, which Roman tries to be as he flicks on the lights to his apartment three times, Virgil would have much more luck maintaining a psychic shop. They’re almost opposites, if true opposites were a thing that exists.
Instead of reading thoughts, Roman’s younger brother hears murder stories. Instead of seeing dreams, Virgil sees dead people wandering the streets.
It made growing up and having friends a real challenge. If Roman had a nickel for every time Virgil had grabbed his arm with his cold fingers and looked him in the eye before asking if Roman could see the person in front of them, he’d have three nickels. Which wasn’t a lot, but there was something upsetting about hearing the complete terror in his little brother’s voice when he couldn’t tell the living from the dead.
The dead also like to talk to Virgil, like to hover around him because he gives off a shadowy aura that works like a drug on ghosts. It makes them feel a bit more alive, makes them more corporal, makes them more dangerous. And once they’ve had a taste, they come back for more, and more, and more.
Ghosts are good for getting information, but rarely good for anything else.
(Roman does not trust Patton. Not since Virgil told him the ghost had shown up, not since the last guy had whispered all the things he would do to Virgil if Virgil tried to leave or cut him off, not since Roman had put a hole in the hospital waiting room wall because that was his brother and he should have been there.)
Roman calls Virgil back just before dinner time after he had gone over the list (seven places, another good number) and it rings only twice before his brother picked up.
“Hey Ro, I’m kinda busy right now--”
“Busy?” Roman asks, “On Tuesday?”
“Yes!” Virgil hisses, “Very busy-- ow! Don’t touch that!-- I’ll call you later, Ro.”
“Are you raising the dead again?”
“What? No! I’m, uh,” There was a shuffling, a swear word, and a distant, “at the movies?”
“Right, I’ll pretend I believe that.” Roman says, “I was just checking the list. Your coffee shop is on here.”
“Yes, it is.” Virgil shifts the phone, “Remy fired a guy last week for purposely giving people regular coffee instead of decaf. I thought Remy was gonna kill the guy.”
“Are you sure you want me to apply there?”
There is a swatch and the telltale sound of a match lighting, and the phone shifts again, “I had an idea.”
Roman traces his fingers over the edge of his counter top, absently counting the corners, and grating his skin when it comes up even numbered. “Oh?”
(wrong wrong wrong. Its too short)
“Yeah, maybe you’ve been going about this all wrong. Instead of cutting yourself off from people, maybe you should embrace them-- ow!” Virgil makes a hiss and Roman guesses plops his fingers in his mouth quickly, “Fucking candles. I hate lighting matches.”
“Stop trying to raise the dead for a second and help your dearest brother understand,” Roman says. “What do you mean “embrace them”?”
His fingers slice the edge of the counter, four four four isn’t enough, is too much, its wrong.
“A customer came up to me yesterday and demanded a refund because I didn’t put whip cream her latte.” Virgil explains. “I was angry because she didn’t tell me that she wanted whip cream and its not like I can read minds-- and then I remembered my brother can read minds.” The phone shifts again, “Besides you love talking to people and don’t even try to deny it. That editing job was slowly killing you.”
Roman is quiet for a moment, because, really what is he supposed to say to that? Reading minds isn’t all that great, the same way as seeing their childhood cat that died seven years ago wasn’t all that great. But Virgil was also right: Roman missed talking to people, missed the days when he could show up without having to study for the “pop” quizzes and when he could do little magic tricks to wow his friends in between the classes.
And even if everyone thought his psychic abilities were just parlor tricks, Roman still misses the attention.
“I’ve gotta go, Ro,” Virgil says, “McDonalds nuggets get cold fast, and the dead don’t like cold food.”
“Picky, are they?”
“Very much so.” Virgil agrees, “Just send in an application. I’ll put in a good word to Remy, and if it doesn’t work out, we’ll figure something else out.”
Roman’s fingers hit the corner of the counter again, for the seventh time and he flings them back like they were burning. “Right, yeah. Sure.”
“Bye, Ro.”
“Yeah, thanks, Casper.” Roman says and means it deeply.
Virgil ends the call.
Roman twists the phone in his hand three times as the call screen closes. The puzzle game on his phone is about two minutes 120 seconds from reminding him his game hasn’t been played yet today and wouldn’t play at all today if he ended up in the hospital waiting room because something his brother got food poisoning from McDonald’s--
Roman fingers tap the call button again.
First ring, “Ro?”
“Sorry,” Roman blurts out, “I-- am? Damnit! I really am sorry, Virge.”
Virgil’s quiet for a moment, but then he says softly, “I get it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Roman’s mouth snaps close. He ends the call and lets his brother go back to raising the dead on his Tuesday night where he is not going to get food poisoning. He leaves his phone on the counter and flicks the switch three times before leaving the room to go find his computer and fill out the online application.
***
Roman enjoys his twenty third job interview much less than Remy Dormire does. It lasts slightly less than twelve minutes, and by the end of it Roman is ushered behind the counter and given a brown apron (with a single hole at the bottom) and a nametag with his name on it.
(First name only, and it makes the back of his mouth taste like bitter oranges.)
Virgil gives him a rare smile on his way back out, and finishes making two drinks at once, and ships them off to the customers waiting patiently at the end of the counter.
It wasn’t quite the calm Roman was used too, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Thoughts flowed over Roman like a river, dangerous but exciting. He felt a type of connection to everyone in the store, a type of connection that came from understanding the blurbs and fragments that made up a consciousness.
It was strange to think that no one else felt like this, felt like they were touching and being touched in a way that was closer than physical contact. How could anyone not want to feel like this?
But how could anyone know what they were missing when they had never had such a feeling before in their lives?
He had tried explaining it to Virgil once, twice, thrice before. He wishes he could send thoughts the way he read them.
Roman leans over the other side of the counter watching Virgil pour coffee into a styrofoam cup, “You’re off in a minute right?” He taps the the dividing wall, “Wanna grab lunch?”
Virgil hums, his eyes flicking to the side just enough for Roman to guess who might be standing in the empty space.
Roman taps again, “Unless you and Ghost McGee already have fun plans.”
“They can be changed.” Virgil says, and slides the drink over the counter, “Logan!”
Roman shuffles to the side so a guy with glasses and a plaid button up can get his drink. “I don’t want to get in the way of your ghost time. And I definitely don’t want you bringing undead dilemmas to our lunch.”
“I don’t have--” Virgil huffs, “Patton has things to do this afternoon anyway.”
Roman frowned. “Things to do? The guy’s dead.”
Virgil scowls darker than usual. Actually now that Roman is looking, he notices that Virgil’s eyeshadow is a shade lighter than normal: as if he’s trying to make his skin look less pale by comparison. His fingers tap the dividing wall again as Roman narrows his eyes at his brother and tries to remember if he’s ever looked his drained after a night of summoning the dead for a ghost party.
“Five minutes,” Virgil says abruptly, “I’ll see you then.” He wipes the counter with a purple rag and then uses it to slide right away from Roman entirely.
Its a cheap tactic. Roman’s almost offended. The buzz of the cafe hums around him, through him, and causing goosebumps right down his spine. Its exciting, being close to people, almost exciting enough to distract Roman from the predicament of Virgil being cagey-er than before (which he hadn’t thought was possible). His knuckles tap the wall three times and he turns on his heel to settle into a chair for the next five minutes.
(Five was an okay number, Roman supposed. Seven was better, and Three was the best. But Five wasn’t an even number so it was something. At least, no one ever got cancer when he counted to five.)
Roman’s never been good at singling out thoughts in a busy location: too little practice, not enough reason to need to. The process itself required a lot of focus and will power and it felt a lot like pulling out teeth (something he had done when he was seven and Virgil was five and he had lost two teeth in a row and it was wrong, and he couldn’t figure out how to explain it to his parents when they came to figure out why the doors kept slamming). Cutting out the thoughts that weren’t even in order, had no logical reasoning: in the span of a minute a person could go from thinking about a TV show, to thinking about the color of the tile floor, to the scent in the air, to a birthday present for a friend, to, to, to. And with multiple people? In a small space like this coffee shop? It was easier to stop a mountain slide than cut off one person from himself.
Roman’s never been good at singling out thoughts in a busy location, but just this once he’s makes an attempt.
Roman’s never been good at singling out thoughts in a busy location--
Virgil is his brother, and so that means that Roman is obligated to figure out why he’s being cagey. Especially if he’s going to bring the moping to their lunch. And Roman’s absolutely not patient enough to wait five minutes to figure out what is causing him distress.
Virgil's thoughts feel exactly like him, Roman thinks. He's a little cold, a little clammy, a little crafty. His presence is like a cat evading capture by any means and when Roman was particularly bored as a child he used to chase after them, chase the feelings, and the scraps of emotions and impressions that sped by like he was actively running out of time to think them.
Virgil is thinking about coffee. He’s thinking about how to punch buttons into the computer they use for the register and how the person currently ordering is an actual idiot because they don’t serve a “Vanilla Chai Tea Latte” because this store is not a freaking Starbucks, its either a “Vanilla Chai Tea” or a “Vanilla Latte” and fuck, Roman get out of my head before I send a Zombie after you.
So Roman blinks back seeing his brother at the counter, using that customer service smile to please the middle aged woman digging through her purse, but his eyes are dark when he shoots Roman his patented don’t-mess-with-me glare.
I said five minutes, fucking wait will you.
And Roman debates for a moment, less than a minute, just 21 seconds staying there in Virgil's mind that feels a lot like a sweater in the middle of the winter. But in the end Virgil’s mind moves on to the ingredients in a Vanilla Chai Tea and someone else and the girl in the corner has the top third song of the week stuck in her head on a loop and Roman is ever so easily distracted by the repetition of the three lines--
He falls out of his brother’s mind and back into the connective conscious of humans as a whole. There's nothing jarring about it. It's just simple acceptance, like the course of a river gently rolling over him.
If he closes his eyes it feels like safety and warmth and calmness.
The next thing he knows there's a shove as his shoulder that nearly nearly knocks him off the chair. Virgil's standing there, his hair sticking up from where he yanked off his visor and his mysterious purple eyes glowing with annoyance and irritation and a bit of worry.
"I've been calling you," He says, "Are you alright?"
Roman offers him a blinding smile, that most likely comes across dopey, "Absolutely, Graveyard ghoul!”
Virgil stares at him for a moment longer, mouth curled downwards. “Holy shit, just how socially starved are you? You look like you’re on drugs.”
Roman’s vision is a little blurry. He rubs his eye to clear it, and is surprised when it comes back with tears. Was he crying? “I’m perfectly fine!” He flicks away the tears, because honestly they’re happy tears, and they mean so much and absolutely nothing at the same time.
He gathers his stuff and stands up, (tall enough that he can count the three inch difference between him and Virgil), “Are we going to lunch now?”
Virgil keeps staring at him for a moment, and Roman can only glimpse fractions of impressions from him before his eyes narrow with suspicion.
“Fine. Yeah.” Virgil says, “I know just the place.”
****
“Really, this place?” Roman asks and almost can’t quite believe it.
Virgil, in all his brother loving glory, does not give him a response. Since he was the one driving he puts the car in park (“not this spot! Use that one!” “Is this necessary?” “Do you like your current car insurance number, Virge?”) and then kicks the door open with more force than necessary. In the car is a lot quieter than in the cafe, but Virgil spends the entire drive thinking of musical numbers rather than what is bothering him.
The only things that Roman learns from the twenty minute drive to a sandwich shop in the middle of the city is that, Virgil is really into The Guy Who Doesn’t Like Musicals for someone who doesn’t like musicals, and that he’s three times a better driver than Roman can ever hope to be.
“Why here, Virge?” Roman asks getting out of the car and stumbling around the edge of the trunk. His brother is already across the parking lot by that time. “We passed nine other shops on the way here!”
Virgil’s hand goes flying up and snaps close in a silencing motion. Roman thinks that its way more effective on ghosts than on living being that he can’t control, but he goes quiet anyway. Virgil huddles by the storefront glass doors turning his around with his hand to his ear-- is he seriously pretending to be on the phone right now?-- and is peering into the shop as inconspicuously as he can.
Roman is beyond confused.
Virgil takes a deep breath, and nods to himself apparently seeing whatever he was looking for. He grabs the door and then waves Roman inside quickly like he’s embarrassed to be seen with him.
“What is happening?” Roman asks.
“Just shut up and follow my lead.” Virgil says.
And proceeds to go up to the counter and order a sandwich like a normal person. Roman frowns at the implication that he doesn’t know how to order a sandwich from a shop. His fingers knock the counter (Ew the last customer did not wash their hands after using the restroom, ew, ew!) and he gives the tired sandwich maker a dazzling smile.
He looks a little old to be working in food retail in honesty. Much more Virgil and Roman’s age than the high school teenagers that are manning the cash register a few feet over. His eyes are gold and brown and very interesting to look at, along with with the dusting of concealer that is all over his cheek covering up something. His name tag is strategically missing in the moment but Roman doesn’t think it matters too much in the grand scheme of things.
The guys name is Dante Ethan Ekans. He’s tired. Overworked. Not paid enough.
He got a nice voice though. He keeps glancing between Virgil and Roman and Virgil, Virgil, Virgil. So much so that he puts way too much mayo on Roman’s sandwich.
Roman grabs a thing of chips and throws them on the counter at the same time as Dante the sandwich maker puts his carefully wrapped flatbread sandwich next to the register to be rung up. Instead of sliding to the back, Dante leans on the counter next to the sandwiches ignoring the high schooler ringing them up and grins at (a blushing????) Virgil.
“Back again, Raccoon?” Dante the sandwich maker says flicking his tongue out just enough to show off a tongue piercing. Its not something Roman thought could be attractive, but somehow he makes it attractive.
And if Roman can tell that from two feet away, Virgil’s hopeless as the target of such an action.
“Yeah,” Virgil says, “I mean- I just-- I wanted lunch.”
“I can see,” Dante says with a smile. “You’ve made a habit out of coming here for lunch. A guy has to wonder if thats the only reason you keep coming back.”
Roman looks at him, and then Dante the sandwich maker, and thinks he almost understands what is going on.
“Virgil, quick question….”
“I’ll buy you a cookie if you can hold your fucking tongue for three more seconds.” Virgil snaps out loud and then thinks so horrifically loud in his head that Roman resists the urge grimace.
Say it out loud. I dare you.
Virgil is glaring at him again. Dante is staring at him like he’s just now noticing that Virgil came with someone, despite the fact that the man made his sandwich. He pushes off the counter suddenly, with his eyes darting between Virgil and Roman and his thoughts becoming clouded with a sudden flurry of unhappy impressions then he clears his throat and hums a self dismissal.
“And Ice cream from the parlor on First Street.” Roman whispers quickly.
“Roman!” Virgil snaps.
“Deal or no?”
“I hate you.”
“What type of brother would I be if you didn’t hate me?” Roman says loudly without even looking at Virgil. Dante stumbles his steps towards the back. Roman thinks he glances back, but its so quick that Roman really only has the unraveling of the sandwich makers shoulders to take as assurance he was heard.
Roman leans towards his brother in a much, much lower voice, “is this why you’ve been distracted? Because boy troubles?”
“Shut up!” Virgil hisses back and elbows him.
“That will be $23.36.” The cashier says effectively keeping them from breaking into a brawl at the counter.
Roman taps his foot in a series of three while Virgil pays with a debt card and takes their sandwiches and drink cups to a table.
“He’s flipping amazing,” Roman says once they’re sitting and Virgil’s stopped blushing through his concealer. “What’s the problem?”
“Can you read his thoughts right now?” Virgil hisses back. He does a great job of flicking a piece of lettuce off his sandwich.
“Can I-- YES!” Roman presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I am insulted you had to ask at all--”
“Just do it.” Virgil snaps and then folds his arms on the table and burrows his head into them without even attempting to eat his sandwich at all.
Roman imagines that Patton is floating over Virgil’s shoulder even if he can’t see the ghost. He hopes the ghost is as confused as he is, but he seriously doubts it.
“It shouldn’t be that hard.” Virgil mumbles, “He’s probably always thinking about him.”
Roman’s stomach drops for his brother, “A boy friend?” (He frowns at the needless separation of the words)
Virgil moans, “Worse.”
“He’s not straight,” Roman mumbles, because at least that much is obvious.
Virgil doesn’t give him a response, so Roman goes deeper. Dante’s thoughts are at odds with his actions, which throws Roman off when he goes to single them out from Virgil’s and the other workers and the small family that was eating across the dining area. Where he comes off as smooth and suave and absolutely sure of himself….
HOLY FUCK BROTHER DOES HOT RUN IN THE FAMILY WHAT THE FUCK--
...His thoughts are not. Roman chases the screaming through the astral plane with mild amusement. Even when the man is cleaning dishes in the back or checking bread or pacing the back, his thoughts are shouting with panic and he keeps coming back to the snapshot of Virgil at the counter. There’s fragments of emotions with it too, amusement, happiness, self embarrassment, as if he can’t believe he really called Virgil a Raccoon and Virgil let him.
Honestly with how much Virgil comes up in his mind, Roman can’t see why his brother isn't launching himself over the counter and dragging the sandwich maker to the freezer for an impromptu make out session.
Or at least he couldn’t.
Then Dante’s thoughts take a leap to the cook time on the last batch of bread, and then the clock, and then the current time and then--
“Dad!”
Roman’s head jerks as he lets go of the isolated thought process and comes back to reality. Virgil does not look up but half his sandwich is gone. Its looks very much like Virgil is throwing himself a pity party while Dante rounds the counter to catch a small child in a hug.
Its undeniably adorable. Roman’s own heart is melting at the sight. The kid can only be four at max, and he’s wearing a backpack almost as big as he is, with a spiderman theme. When the kid talks, he prattles on, and Dante listens to each word with adoration in his eyes.
“So he has got a kid,” Roman comments. He taps Virgil’s foot under the table, “Don’t tell me a kid is a turn off.”
“Roman, you know how I am with kids,” Virgil says. “I’m worse with kids than I am with adults! Which is saying something! The last living person I talked casually to called me a freak and threw a kickball at my face.”
“That was middle school, Miserable Mortuary.” Roman points out, and taps Virgil's foot again, “And if you remember, I beat the snot out of Alfred Hitchcockopolous for saying that. Not to mention, we are talking right this second.”
Virgil grunts sullenly, “Whatever. I’m still bad with kids. I give off that dark energy aura, remember? Give it an hour and Thomas will be running for the hills! There’s no way I could court his dad if he hates me. I’m not gonna drive that wedge between them.”
“You don’t know that yet! Have you talked to this Thomas?”
“And get labeled as a pedophile? No way, not happening.”
“Virgil,” Roman says pointedly (and taps Virgil's foot again), “I’m not saying approach the kid and offer him a joy ride in your crappy used silver Scion. You don’t have to even wait until Dante is out of earshot. Ask him about his favorite color.”
Virgil makes a rather pathetic noise in response. “It’s Dee. He hates being called Dante.”
Roman glances back at Dante the sandwich maker and Thomas the kid. Dante was getting him set up at a table by the counter where he could color in a cheap Star Wars coloring book. He hadn’t come in with anyone. Which was odd. It wasn’t like anyone would let a four year old ride the buses around town either. But surely if there was another parent in the mix they would have at least come in to see that Dante had received the kid, right?
Roman chews on his sandwich for a moment. His eyes are narrowed at his brother as the melody of thoughts roll over him. He’s seeing, feeling glimpses of something else from his brother something that’s making him even more upset than the whole Dad issue.
“What is it?” Roman says, because he’s terribly impatient for his brothers cryptic dance around thoughts.
“You know how I was busy last night?”
“Summoning the dead on a Tuesday?” Roman nods three times.
“Yeah,” Virgil says and drops his head again like a moody teenager. “Yeah that.”
Roman gets flashes of flash night from Virgil’s point of view: Patton kneeling beside him, McDonalds kids meals, too many melted candles, too many slight variations to the chalk circle, a long night. There’s an unsatisfied tinged to them, an unhappiness, a frustration and a nervousness.
It takes Roman a moment to work out what it means.
“Oh,” Roman says, “oh no.”
“Yeah,” Virgil bounces his head on his arms staring into his lap, “Thomas’s mother, Dee’s girlfriend, died in childbirth.”
The sandwich tastes foul in Romans mouth. Too much mayo and bad feelings from it. Virgil stuffs a chip in his mouth and crunches on it sadly.
Overall, it's not how Roman was expecting the lunch out to go.
"It's been four years though, right?" Roman tries, because even if Virgil and him give each other grief all the time, he never wants to see his brother unhappy. "He's definitely in to you, Vee. I have proof. He's moved on."
"That's not the issue," Virgil whines. His eyes flick over Romans shoulder where there's absolutely nothing there, which means that Patton the ghost is witnessing this exchange at least. "Ghosts are tricky businesses. For all I know, me dating Dee will cause a tremor in the afterlife and will bring a vengeful ghost down on the three of us."
"Isn't that an extremely rare occurrence?" Roman says.
Virgil huffs glaring to the side, "Not helping, Pat. And to answer your question, Ro, it is a rare occurrence. But I'm also a magical fucking beacon of dark energy that draws ghosts to myself. Do you really think that the odds are in my favor for this one?"
Roman squints at his brother, "Yes, I do? That is why I'm telling you to go talk to the kid?"
"I'm not going to talk to the kid," Virgil says stubbornly, "Not until I know I'm not gonna endanger him or Dee or… myself." He rubs the insides of his arms, and Roman gets flashes of an emergency room and his own fist in the walls. Neither of them say anything for a moment, and from the glassy look in Virgil's eyes, Patton chooses to be quiet too.
Then Virgil shakes his head and wards off the thoughts. "It's fine. Or whatever. Patton and I are going to do some deep research and I'll find a way to contact Marissa. If she gives me permission, I'll go ahead and talk to Dee again."
He wraps up the rest of his sandwich neatly and leans back in his chair facing the counter where Dante is replacing the produce selection. As if sensing him watching Dante's head tilts up and he winks towards Virgil with another snake like flick of his tongue piercing.
Virgil goes red in the face and stands up. "You know what, I'll be outside!"
Roman catches a glimpse of a dopey, stupid, lovesick smile on his brothers face and cant believe that hes not in a Hallmark movie. Really it's insulting now. This is drama gold and no ones even writing it down.
Dante frowns as Virgil flees the scene, and head to the back again with the clear intention to mope in his thoughts. Roman is left alone at a table, with half a sandwich. Which is fine! All fine!
Roman packs up their combined trash and saves the second half of Virgil's sandwich before he gets up and strolls across the restaurant to the trashcan near where Thomas is sitting. Once he throws his stuff away he stops by the table where the kid is sitting.
"Oh my lord!" Roman says, "Look at this magnificent art work! The colors, the lines, the texture! How very bold! Tell me artist, are you the one who crafted such intricate works?"
Thomas grins up at him bursting with joviality. "I am, mister! Who are you?"
"My name's Roman Prince, young artist!" Roman says, "I am trying to solve a problem that I think you can help me with."
"Me?" Thomas says, "What is it?"
Roman thinks that this kid would be very easy to kidnap.
"Well you see, my brother comes here quite often and he thinks your dad is very super nice." Roman explains the best he can, "He wants to be your dad's friend but my brother is very shy around people."
Thomas taps a red crayon to his lip, "He's that scary man that was over there, right? Dad talks about him a lot."
Roman smiles, "My brother talks about your dad a lot, too!" It's a lie, but really it's for a good cause. "I want them to be friends because they seem very happy together. How about I write down my brothers phone number and you give it to your dad for me?"
Thomas nods easily at the words, and then excitedly, "Then they can set up a playdate! Even if Mr. Purple is really scary, I think he makes dad laugh a lot. And Uncle Emile says laughing is good!"
Roman laughs at that. He scribbles out the numbers for Virgil's personal phone in red crayon on a napkin and gives Thomas a fist bump for teamwork. By the time Dante appears in the front again (with a cloud of suspicion and terror that a stranger is near his son) Roman gives him a cheery wave goodbye and is out the door.
(Virgil is lying in the middle of the parking lot just behind his car and asks Roman to run him over and put him out of his misery.)
(Roman does not run him over.)
(It does take twelve minutes to convince his hopeless brother to get off the asphalt and into the car for the ride back to Virgil's apartment.)
#psychic au#thomas sanders#sanders sides#roman sanders#virgil sanders#symapthetic deceit#deceit sanders#dadceit#patton sanders#Psychic!Roman#Necromancer!Virgil#kid!Thomas#coffee shops#anxceit#future logince#brotherly prinxiety#Number counting OCD#ghost!patton#sorry pat
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