#prinixety

[thisaccisdead]

prinxiety...maybe virgil seeing romans skirt...please?<3

[ID: a lineart doodle of virgil and roman sanders. roman is in his skirt outfit. virgil has his head buried in roman’s shoulder and roman has a hand on his back. there is a cloud of words coming from virgil but it is partially obscured by their bodies, but most of the messages seem to be along the lines of “i hate you”/“you’re the worst”/“grrr.” /end ID.]

anon and knowing how to make a request which i actually do ,

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Tightrope Fanfic

Title: Tightrope

Summary:  Virgil feels lost. It’s not a foreign feeling, especially when one is the embodiment of Anxiety. But it feels like one as he stares down at a sniffling Roman in his arms. He doesn’t know what has happened. One moment, the others are having their spat about the wedding. The next, Roman barges into his room mid-breakdown and hasn’t left since. 

Pairings: platonic prinixety

Word-Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Crying, Anger, Panic, Discussion of POF, Hurt/Comfort

This is a companion fic to Safety Net, but you don’t have to read that one to understand the context of this one <3

-

Virgil feels lost. It’s not a foreign feeling, especially when one is the embodiment of Anxiety. But it feels like one as he stares down at a sniffling Roman in his arms. He doesn’t know what has happened. One moment, the others are having their spat about the wedding. The next, Roman barges into his room mid-breakdown and hasn’t left since.

He keeps expecting the rug to be pulled out from under him. That perhaps this is some delayed April’s Fool joke. A ploy by Remus or one of the Others to fuck with him. His mind crafts a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations for why this can’t be reality.

Because Virgil doesn’t know how to handle a Roman who fell from a great height and shattered completely. What if he cannot put the pieces back together again? What if he messes up and makes things worse? What if he’s the one to cause this in the first place?

No, he refuses to go down that spiraling thought pattern. Because if he unravels now, then he’ll be completely useless to Roman. He compartmentalizes the fear, stuffing it away to haunt him at a later date.

Roman’s cries have died down to a few hiccuping gasps of air. The ever-poised, ever-presentable Prince of Passion is anything but. He lays in Virgil’s arms, as limp and lifeless as a doll. His white princely jacket wrinkly and half-undone, red sash hanging loosely. Virgil cannot see his eyes from underneath his rumpled, messy hair but he’s willing to bet they’re bloodshot. Virgil bits his lips as he notes the dark ichor running down Roman’s cheeks like smeared mascara. 

Roman has been in his room for far too long. Especially for someone who was already in a fragile emotional state upon showing up. Virgil shouldn’t have allowed him to stay. But he couldn’t find in himself to deny Roman, not when he’d looked at Virgil with a helpless terror in his eyes. So he had chosen instead to hold onto a sobbing Roman while trying to figure out what the hell happened. 

The clock in his room is hardly reliable, but he’s certain at least an hour has passed and he’s still nowhere closer than he’d been at the start. Which is that it involves the stupid wedding, Patton and Deceit. The latter of which, apparently told them his actual name. He won’t know more unless Roman divulges more. And in the swirling storm of hysteria that is his room, the chances of that happening is slim.

Before he can let doubt rake its claws into him, he pulls Roman closer to his chest and syncs out. Roman realizes a moment too late what’s happening. He lets out a startled gasp, tries pushing away, but it’s too late. With a loud crackle, they appear in the gloomy fog of a dead forest.

Roman looks around, eyebrows bunched up together. If this was any other situation, Virgil might’ve smirked.

“It’s the imagination,” Virgil says, answering the question behind Roman’s bewildered gaze, “Or at least my little pocket of it. No one will find us here.”

Well maybe except Remus, the one responsible for its creation. Virgil is hoping that today will not be the day he decides to return here for the first time in years.

Roman opens his mouth to speak, yet hesitates halfway through. He turns his head away from Virgil, shrugging. Virgil’s cold dead heart plummets at this. Roman isn’t supposed to be this defeated. He’s supposed to be stubborn, obstinate, argumentative. Virgil knows how to handle that. He knows how to bait Roman into banter, to get him to admit the root of his problems. But this? He doesn’t know how to deal with a Roman this apathetic. And that scares him.

Virgil should apologize, he thinks. After everything that happened, he hunkered down in his room. He stayed away thinking his presence would only be detrimental than beneficial. He was Anxiety after all, flight or fight. In this case, he chose flight. But obviously, like everything else in his existence, that’d been the wrong choice yet again.

He inhales deeply, his breath hitching at the last moment, the words refusing to come out. They remain stuck in clumps inside his throat, refusing to solidify into verbal spoken words. The ghostly howl of the wind is the only sound between the two.

Then Roman laughs. It sounds more like a cat hacking up a hairball than his usual melodious chuckles. It’s loud, harsh and absolutely dripping with pain. Halfway through he ends up in a coughing fit. Virgil watches, unsure how to respond.

“You were right.” Roman croaks at last, sagging heavily against a tree.

Those words aren't what Virgil likes to hear. It’s never good when he, Anxiety, is right.  He’d much prefer to be proven wrong. Even if that meant Roman lording it over his head for weeks on end. It’s annoying as hell and he never thought he’d miss that until now.

Virgil swallows, pushing the sudden ache in his chest aside. He doesn’t need confirmation to know what he was right about.

 Still, his heart thudding heavily in his chest, he asks anyways, “About Janus?”

Roman nods, grimacing. 

“Ro, what happened?” Virgil asks, unable to hold that question within himself any longer.

The fanciful side doesn’t respond at first. His hand traces the grooves of the bark on the tree he’s leaned against. His lips twist and contort, as if fighting to find the words to say. Virgil isn’t sure if he’s ever seen Roman ever at a loss for words until now.

“I thought it was a villainous trick at first. Just another ploy to get us to trust him. I made fun of it, even. It wasn’t until the way you reacted when I mentioned it to you that I thought otherwise,” Roman says, breaking in mid-conscious thought. Something that is very Roman-like, forgetting other people can’t read his mind. There must be something in Virgil’s face because he clarifies, “Deceit’s name I mean.”

“I mean, I don’t blame you,” Virgil says slowly, toying with his hoodie strings, “He never told any of the Others.”

“But he told you?”

Now it’s Virgil’s turn to stare at the ground. The ache in his chest returns, except it’s different. It’s like a fire-pit at a summer camp-out. It’s warm and comfortable to linger next to, but stay too long and you’ll be sweltering in the unbearable suffocating heat. The same goes for thinking about the past. That’s why he hates getting nostalgic. It’s hard to reminisce about the good times without remembering why they ended.

The old him that hasn’t been extinguished yet, the one that called himself Janus’ friend, is indignant that Roman apparently made fun of Janus’ name. However the newer him that calls himself Virgil and wears the purple hoodie, isn’t. Good, he thinks, he deserves it. And he isn’t too ashamed of feeling that way. Not after the raging forest fire that burnt down their friendship in the first place.

“Yeah.” Virgil breaths out with stifled lungs. He can feel Roman’s eyes burning a hole in his head. He thinks he’d find an unspoken question in them if he looks up. He doesn’t elaborate. He isn’t in the mood for scorching his tongue on the ashes of a cremated friendship. Especially when it’d shift the focus onto him and not Roman. Something he’s certain Roman wants despite it being so rare for him to flinch away from the spotlight. 

For all their vast, stark differences, they aren’t really that different when it comes down to several things, one being that neither of them like showing weakness. They are also incredibly stubborn. It just so happens Virgil has the stronger resolve at this moment.

“I trusted him,” Roman says, continuing where he’d left off, “I trusted him, I thought he’d knew best and I just wanted--” 

A huff cuts off Roman’s words as he flings his arms towards the sky. He paces in front of Virgil, muttering bits and pieces too quick for him to understand. Perhaps he does need to share a little. Just to help Roman know and understand he isn’t alone. 

“Listen, I get it,” Virgil says, “I also trusted Janus once too--”

“No, it wasn’t Janus--well, yes, but--” Roman yanks at his hair, “I meant Patton!”

Patton? Virgil feels as if he'd been riding on the flying magic rug from Aladdin. Only the magic rug has been ripped from underneath him and now he’s freefalling into a waterfall full of sharp pointy rocks at the bottom.

He’d thought he knew where this conversation was heading except now he’s lost more than ever before. He needs a minute to breathe, to process what’s happening. Roman doesn’t give him that. He pushes on, shaking his head like a riled-up mistreated stallion from a horse girl movie.

“I wanted to do what was right for Thomas and--and Patton has always known what’s right, right?”

He gazes desperately at Virgil, searching for reassurance, for affirmation. Virgil’s heart sinks. He can't honestly give that to Roman, though he'd love to give Roman whatever his heart desires to stop his pain. 

Patton tries his best, he really does. But even he is wrong sometimes. He has made mistakes, ones that have hurt Virgil himself both past and present. And although Virgil has forgiven him, it doesn’t change the fact that even their softest puffball isn’t always right.

He can tell Roman realizes that by the way his scowl grows bigger.

“Am I too dimwitted?” Roman growls, “Was I the only one foolish enough to believe that? Just like believing that I could truly be--be--” 

He lets out a tormented scream, slumping down against a tree. Head bowed, knees drawn close, arms pulled tightly around himself. Virgil stands a few feet away, still so far from understanding as he was when Roman first appeared in his room. Only that apparently he needed to kick both Janus’ and Patton’s collective asses.

Virgil withholds a sigh as he crouches down next to Roman. 

A gloomy fog hardly provides the best lighting. It’s better than the dark murkiness of his room, however, and it’s here that he notices something. A blueish-purple splotch of something. Just barely poking out of Roman’s collar. It’s then, Virgil remembers that a metaphoric “bruised ego” is anything but metaphoric for one metaphysical entity such as Roman, Creativity and Ego in one.

“Princey,” Virgil says, his voice unusually level, “did you get hurt by what happened earlier?”

Roman doesn’t answer his question. Not directly at least. “Lee and Mary Lee hardly spoke to Thomas at the wedding, did you know that?”

“Yeah,” Virgil bites his lips, “I knew that.”

It’s a rhetorical question. Of course Virgil knows--he’s a part of Thomas. He’d been with Thomas during the wedding. The leg bouncing up and down in an anxious jitter. Directing the eyes away from the merriment of the wedding and towards that pointless moronic mobile game. The clenching feeling in Thomas’ throat during the brief interaction with Lee and Mary Lee. He hadn’t even been able to say hello because of Virgil.

He’d tried so hard to hold back, to not torment Thomas with his decision anymore than his host had already endured. It didn’t really matter in the end. As Thomas finally slipped away from the wedding, so had Virgil slipped into his room. He ignored the muffled noises of the debate erupting outside the mindscape. Why show his face when Thomas already knew what his input would be? Or knowing what he’d once been, for that matter? Or at least, that had been his justifications at the time.

“Which hardly seems fair! After what I--Thomas sacrificed to be there for them. B-but it’d been the right decision, right?” Roman laughs, shaking his head. He doesn’t wait for an answer as he pushes on, “Was it too selfish to expect more? To think that making the right decision would result in an award?”

Virgil stays silent. Morality isn’t his forte; sure as Anxiety he often cautioned Thomas to follow societal rules. It’s often easier to go with the current rather than fight against it. So he’s hardly the most reliable source of it. 

And as for his role, both the wedding and the call-back offered the same amount of dread. After all, he’s Anxiety. It’s literally his job to nitpick and point out every single thing a situation could go wrong, no matter how improbable or absurd. Unlike Roman, he’d be lying if he said he was surprised by the outcome of the wedding. It’s not far off from what he had predicted.

On the flipside, he could offer a million ways of how the audition could’ve ended poorly. A tear in Thomas’ pants mid-audition. Thomas blanking out on a crucial line. A meteor falling from the atmosphere and effectively crushing Thomas to death. Okay, that last one is highly improbable but it could still happen! You never know!

Regardless, he doubted any of that is what Roman needed to hear.

“I trusted him. He’d said it’d been the right decision when I made it. And I believed him.” Roman scoffs.

Virgil frowns, cautiously sitting a few feet away from Roman. He chooses not to look him in the eye, treating him as if he’s an easily-startled wild creature.

“Y’know, he and I are going through a bit of a rough patch. He’s trying his best, I know he is. But take it from me--sometimes someone’s best isn’t always good enough. And I think it’s okay if it...takes time for you to forgive Patton.”

“No!”

“No?”

“I mean,” Roman lets out a frustrated scream, “I don’t know! Before, there was a script, a stage, parts to play. Ones I had intimately memorized! But it’s as if it’s before the curtain rises before the opening show and the director has thrown out the script completely. He expects me after years of practice to perform something I’ve never seen--that even he has no concept of what it looks like and h-how is any actor expected to perform in such conditions?” 

A light-bulb finally goes off in Virgil’s head.

“You’re...angry at Thomas, aren’t you?”

Roman flinches as he’d been struck, throwing his body backwards harshly against the tree. He looks hardly affected by it as he scrambles quickly to his feet.

“Wh-what? No! That’s absurd!” Roman protests, “I’m not angry at Thomas--”

“But you are,” Virgil interrupts, rising to his feet, “You’re angry at both Patton and Janus, yeah, but they’re just targets to throw your misplaced anger at. Because you don’t want to admit it’s actually Thomas--”

“Yes, because you’re wrong, Mary Mary Q-quite Misconstrued!” Roman puffs up his chest, trying to keep his head high, “I--I’d never, I can’t hate Thomas--”

“Whoa, I didn’t say you hated him,” Virgil says, gently tugging Roman’s hands into his own, “there’s a difference between being mad at someone for something, and hating them.”

Roman looks at him with almost a wild gaze to his eyes, so close to almost hyperventilating. Virgil can almost see the invisible cracks in Roman’s skin, his multitude of facades peeling away before Virgil’s eyes. He looks at Roman and sees himself. 

“I used to think they were the same thing,” Virgil begins, “But they’re not. Hate is when you abhor ill will towards someone, when you wish them dead or worse. Anger...anger is just a form of fear. And it’s okay to feel and experience that anger, you don’t have to repress it.”

“I’m not scared of Thomas,” Roman scoffs, his gaze drawn to the forest floor rather than Virgil.

“But you are afraid that if Thomas can accept Janus and possibly Remus, then he could just as easily change his mind regarding you, right?” Virgil questions, “You’re afraid because all you've ever done has been in Thomas’ best interest and suddenly now you’re being told all it’s done is hurt him. You’re afraid but you don’t want to admit it, so you turn to anger instead because that’s better than being scared, right?”

“I’m not…” Roman trails off, clenching his jaw. Virgil is fully expecting to get punched by the way his body tenses up. Roman does lunge towards him just then, arms flailing out. Virgil doesn’t even have a chance to raise his arms up in defense before he gets an armful of blubbering prince once more.

“I’m supposed to be Thomas’ hero, he told me I was, but what if I’m not? W-what if I never was? And--and I have to be good, Virgil, I can’t be evil--”

Roman lets it all go then. It’s a tidal wave of anxiety and fears, of self-doubt and self-deprecation. Almost any other person would become overwhelmed by how much perturbation Roman’s kept hidden all these years. But Virgil is Anxiety, his realm is terror and trepidation. He’s experienced every fear-induced thought and more under the sun. He understands it better than perhaps anyone else ever could.

He knows Roman will most likely clam up after today. That later on, they’ll need to address these things in detail and take care of the bruises mottling his skin. Roman will need encouragement to rebuild his confidence and to turn away from self-destructive habits. Both of which are things that Virgil struggles with all too well. He knows it to feel as impossible as walking across a tightrope blindfolded. Right now, however, all Roman needs is for someone to listen.

And so listen Virgil does.

[miss-writes-a-lot]

I don't know why but I really love drawing Virgil in a dress...but here he is in a dress! Headcannons soon and warning-they will suck!

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

"Heavenly" for the one word prompt :D

“You’re...heavenly.” Roman gasped, a childlike wonder dancing in his eyes. 

“Heavenly?” Virgil smirked, flapping his white wings, “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I’m a demon straight from hell.”

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Spaghetti and Insecurity Fanfic

Title: Spaghetti and Insecurity

Summary: Virgil is neither Patton or Logan. He cannot offer emotional support or be a comforting pillar of rationality. He’s just Virgil, and sometimes he wonders if being Virgil is enough.

Something is wrong with Princey--he’s holed himself up in his room and has refused to join the others for dinner the last couple days. Will Virgil be able to find what’s making his life difficult and kill it? Or will he just make things worse by being himself? (Human!AU)

Pairings: platonic prinixety (background platonic LAMP)

Words: 2619

Warnings: self-deprecation, anxiety,  insecurity, food mention

This is the result of someone randomly sending me an unsolicited one-word prompt. I’d thought I would write up a short fic for funsies. It was supposed to only be three sentences long dangit. Anyways, I’m sure this wasn’t what you were expecting, @focusteens, but here you go  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Dinner’s almost ready.” Patton poked his head into Virgil’s room.

“What are we eating?” Virgil asked, taking off his headphones

“Food.” Patton winked, and then vanished. A moment later he heard a distant knock on Logan’s door.

Virgil groaned at Patton’s reply. He knew that Patton meant it in good spirit, but vague answers like that made Virgil…well, anxious. He knew Patton wouldn’t poison him. Not on purpose, anyways. There was that one time where Patton had forgotten about Virgil’s almond allergy. He’d apologized profusely for days afterwards.

He put away his headphones before standing up from his bed and stretching. Satisfied, he crept into the hallway, nearly running into Logan in the process.

“Virgil!” Logan called out, nearly dropping his book as he sidestepped away to avoid a collision.

“Sorry, Logan.” Virgil sheepishly muttered.

“It’s quite alright, it’s my fault for walking and reading at the same time.” The other man collected himself for a moment before heading towards the kitchen.

Virgil followed after him. Patton was already there, moving to place a steaming pot of something directly onto the table. Virgil rushed to clasp Patton’s wrist, stopping the pot from reaching the table.

“Pat, wait.” Virgil hesitated, his next words lost in a flurry of panic.

“What’s wrong?” Patton furrowed his brows.

“You forgot a potholder,” Logan explained, brandishing said item in his hands. In the time that Virgil stopped Patton, the other had recognized the problem and found a solution. Logan was good at that. Virgil was just a problem-identifier, not a problem-solver.

Logan placed the potholder onto the table and together both Virgil and Patton slowly lowered the pot onto the potholder.

“Thanks, Virge. I could’ve burned a hole in the table!” Patton grinned.

“It’s no problem.” Virgil murmured, as he slid into his seat.

He was embarrassed about how he overreacted to the situation. Patton placing a hot pot on the wooden table wasn’t the end of the world. But Patton had saw Virgil’s actions for what they were; a concern for Patton’s safety, and appreciated them for that exact reason.

That was one of the many reasons why he loved Patton Hart. The reasons were so numerous that it was incomprehensible as to why anyone wouldn’t love Patton Hart. Virgil has and would fight anyone who would say a bad word against him.

“Bon appetit!” Patton exclaimed, opening the lid of the pot to reveal spaghetti noodles.

Virgil glanced around the table to see tomato sauce and Parmesan cheese sitting by the pot. Spaghetti. Good, Virgil liked spaghetti. It was a favorite among all the occupants of the apartment including Logan, despite protests otherwise. He always groaned and cited other healthy alternatives they could be eating compared to the Italian dish. But Virgil knew who ate the most of the leftovers from Spaghetti nights.

As Patton started piling noodles onto Virgil’s bowl, he realized something.

“Hey, where’s Princey?” He asked, referring to Roman.

The two had met during a production of Into the Woods at the local community theatre. Virgil gotten himself roped into the tech crew and that’s where he met Roman, who played the part of Cinderella’s Prince. Virgil sarcastically referred to him as Princey once, and the nickname stuck.

But that was beside the point. There was only three bowls on the table, and Virgil was sure Roman was home. He’d saw the other in the kitchen a few hours ago. Roman practically bolted back into his bedroom, coffee mug in hand, moments after a quick exchange of Hellos.

Patton paused.

“He wouldn’t come out–said he had some writing to finish up.” Patton noted with a sad smile.

“Again?” Virgil scowled.

“This has been the third night in a row, if I’m not mistaken.” Logan said,  adjusting his glasses.

“Now, now kiddos! You know how Roman gets when inspiration hits.” Patton said, thinly concealing his own concern, “I’ll bring him a plate of food after we’re done.”

“No, I’ll do it.” Virgil said, surprising even himself with the demand. But he needed to know if the idiot was still alive in there.

He cleared his throat, “I mean if it’s alright with you, Patton…”

“Of course,” Patton waved it off, “I can do the dishes tonight for you while you do that.”

“Patton you already cooked dinner,” Virgil protested, “I can still clean the dishes after I deliver the food to him.”

“I insist!”

Virgil opened his mouth, but Logan beat him to the punch.

“How about Patton and I do the dishes together?” He suggested.

“Alright.” Virgil sullenly agreed.

Once more Logan had solved the problem, this time through a compromise. Virgil didn’t hold a grudge against Logan. It was very much the opposite. Virgil admired Logan’s ability to view a situation objectively and apply rational solutions to it. He wished he could be as steadfast in logic as Logan was.

Dinner carried on without a hitch. Patton launched into a tale about the humorous pet parrot he saw today at the vet clinic. He worked as a vet assistant. Which was really the perfect job for him, despite how emotional he got when they were forced to put down pets. He knew the animals were in a better place now that they weren’t feeling any pain, but it was still really sad okay!?

After they finished their meal, Virgil stood up and made a bowl for Roman. He made sure to put an absurd amount of Parmesan cheese on it, as per Roman’s tastes.

As he left, Logan was attempting to hide a chuckle from Patton’s punning antics. As with spaghetti, Logan held a secret appreciation of puns. Patton knew this, which was why he tried fitting as many puns in one breath in his presence to get a reaction out of Logan.

Virgil walked down the hallway, taking a left at his door to where Roman’s bedroom was located. It was the largest of the four bedrooms in the apartment, as it was technically the master bedroom. It was perfect for Roman’s needs, however, as he housed a lot of his props and costumes from the various plays he participated in.

He drew a breath, balancing the bowl in one hand before knocking on the door with the other.

“Coming, Padre!” A muffled voice shouted. He could hear Roman stumbling his way over before the doorknob jiggled. Roman opened the door only about half a foot wide, causing Virgil to be unable to see the current state of his room. Looking at the state Roman was in, he had a feeling that the bedroom was likely messy.

“You’re not Patton.” Roman frowned.

“Very observant, Roman.” Virgil wryly remarked, “I got pasta for you--extra Romano cheese, your favorite.”

The other cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Thank you, Virgil,” He said, taking the bowl from Virgil. The door started to swing shut.

“Wait just a minute!” Virgil stuck out his foot, preventing the door from shutting all the way. He grimaced in pain but continued, “We need to talk!”

“About what?” Roman suddenly snapped, his grip growing tighter around the bowl.

“Why you look like shit for starters.” Virgil bit back, folding up his arms.

Roman spluttered but he didn’t deny it. Because it was the truth. He really did look like shit. Roman was usually a fanatic about his appearance. He spent a full hour fixing his hair and applying makeup. He was obsessed with contour; making his cheekbones appear sharper and his nose slimmer. He antagonized over his outfit, even during casual outings. 

No he couldn’t just throw on a hoodie and a pair of skinny jeans and call it a day. Nor could he certainly wear those red sneakers with that shade of pomegranate, please take this seriously okay Virgil?!

However, staring at the man in front of him, it’d be impossible to know he was the same man that once ordered a pair of converse in three different colors to color-coordinate with his outfits. Virgil was almost certain there was a whole rat family living in Roman’s hair. Dark circles clung to his eyes, weighing him down like bowling balls. Usually Roman made an attempt to hide them with makeup. But his acne face was void of any make-up. He wore a baggy wrinkled polka dotted t-shirt that clashed horribly with his striped PJ pants. Saying Roman looked like shit was a nice way of putting it.

“Alright,” Roman relented, sighing heavily as he let Virgil in.

As suspected, the state of his room was just as bad as Roman’s appearance. Piles of dirty clothing, papers, and other various stuff cluttered the floor. He spotted a cluster of coffee mugs on Roman’s desk, solving the mystery of where all their mugs were disappearing off to. Sitting beside the mugs was a collection of partially eaten dinners.

This was definitely worse than what Virgil had expected. His spidey senses had been acting up ever since Roman holed himself up in his room. Yes, there were times when Roman was struck with inspiration and became obsessed with writing until it became scarce once more. But he usually was excited to share with the others in his triumphs, he loved to bounce ideas off of them.

Roman swallowed nervously, and opened up his mouth to speak but Virgil cut him off.

“I don’t want to hear what’s eating at you until you’ve actually eaten something, alright?” He said, gesturing towards the bowl of spaghetti.

Virgil glared at him until Roman started reluctantly shoving noodles into his mouth. He got halfway through before he almost choked, sobbing wrenching his throat.

“Whoa, whoa, hey.” Virgil set the bowl aside before turning to face Roman before hesitating. He wasn’t Patton or Logan. He wasn’t good at providing emotional support or being a pillar of comforting rationality. He was just Virgil, who was a walking anxiety attack waiting to happen.

But he was all Roman had at the moment, so he reached out his arms, silently offering Roman a hug. An offer the latter took full heartedly, launching at Virgil with such a force that almost caused him to fall over.

Virgil patted his back, doing his best to assuage Roman. When his tears faded away, Virgil pulled away enough to look at Roman in the eyes.

“What’s bothering you, Princey?” He murmured, “Do I need to find whatever’s making your life difficult and kill it?”

The corners of Roman’s lips turned up at the inside joke reference. It quickly fell as he mulled over his answer.

“It’s--it’s stupid.” He croaked, his voice lackluster and missing its normal regaliness.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Virgil raised his eyebrows.

“Oh you know me, I overreacted as usual,” Roman laughed apprehensively, “seriously, Virgil, I’ll be back to my usual fabulous self in no time--”

“Tell me, dammit!”

“Roman’s voice faltered as he blinked up at Virgil, spooked by his exclamation.

“Man, I’m shit at this,” Virgil mumbled underneath his breath before speaking up, “Look I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by pressuring you. I just wanna let you know that I’m...worried about you. I know saying this makes me a big hypocrite but you don’t have to face things alone. I’m here if you want to talk and I’m sure whatever it is, it’s not stupid.”

Roman studied his face, oddly quiet compared to his loud boisterous self. It could’ve only been a minute, but Virgil was already panicking. Did he mess up? Was Roman mad at him?

“I can also get either Patton or Logan if you want--”

“No, I want you.” Roman said, collapsing onto the floor in a heap. His head rested against his dresser as he let out a heavy sigh. Cautiously, Virgil moved to join him, sitting down cross-legged.

“I submitted one of my novels to a couple publishers.”

“Wait, really?” Virgil asked, eyes widening in surprise.

Roman had been working on becoming a published author for as long as Virgil had known him. The only problem with this was that Roman suffering from the usual writing woes. Too many ideas and not enough time nor motivation to quench them all.

Like in other areas of his life, Roman was passionate and spontaneous. He put his heart and soul in a project, claimed it was the One, only to abandon it for a more exciting project days later.

“I cannot write if there is no passion!” Roman once cried out when Logan suggested he should dig his heels in and finish a project.

As much as Roman went on about his projects, he was...hesitant about showing his writing with the others. The one time he allowed Logan to look at his writing it nearly ended their friendship. Logan had been rather zealous with his constructive criticism. Roman proclaimed that one day the others would be able to read his novel once it was published.

“I’ll give you all signed copies of course.” He winked.

Virgil didn’t need verbal confirmation to know that hadn’t happened.

“I--I wanted to surprise you guys,” Roman chuckled darkly, “I had it planned out and everything. I was going to drag you all to a bookstore and shock you all.”

He sighed.

“I took all the necessary preparations--but,” Roman turned to face away from Virgil, “they hated it, Virge. Th-they all hated it. I had my one shot and I blew it.”

“Whoa, whoa hey,” Virgil placed a hand on his shoulder, “there’s not a limit to how many times you can submit a novel for publishing, is there?”

.“No.” Roman admitted, sniffling.

“You’re not Alexander Hamilton, Roman. You didn’t have one shot that you threw away--you’ve still got multiple shots left.” Virgil winced. Did that sound good, did he do good?!

Roman looked back at him, studying his face.

“But what if everyone hates it?” Roman’s voice cracked.

“Okay, I know for a fact not everyone will hate it. You’ve got Logan, Patton and me--we don’t care about what stuffy old editors think, we’ll love regardless. Besides, J.K Rowling? She got rejected billions of times before the Harry Potter series was picked up.”

“Wh--how could they not recognize a masterpiece when they saw it?” Roman demanded, some of his usual vigor returning.

“I don’t know, but imagine being one of the editors who rejected it.” Virgil said. Roman let out a bark of laughter, and Virgil smiled in relief.

“Look, all I’m saying Roman is that imagine if Rowling gave up after the first few rejections. Imagine a world without Harry Potter and how radically different our generation would be because of that.”

Roman gave a horrified shudder.

“If Rowling didn’t give up, I don’t think you should either.” Virgil shrugged his shoulders, “after all, heroes don’t give up when the going gets tough, right?”

Something flickered across Roman’s face and for a moment, Virgil was worried he’d messed up. But then Roman leaned forward, burying his head into the nook of Virgil’s neck as he wrapped his arms around his middle. Virgil rolled his eyes, but placed an arm around Roman as he used the other to cradle his head.

“Thank you.” Roman whispered.

Virgil stiffened, startled by Roman’s stark gratitude.

“N-no problem, Princey.” He recovered, pulling out of the hug, “why don’t we go see if Pat and Lo are up for a movie night?”

“That sounds good--it’s been a while since we’ve done one,” The other smiled, “We should watch Aladdin--no Beauty and the Beast!”

“How about both?” Virgil suggested.

Roman’s smile grew, “I like the way you think.”

He excitedly bounded down the hallway like an excited labrador, singing a mismatched medley of songs from both the movies. Virgil shook his head at his antics, but secretly he was glad to see he’d helped Roman return to his usual self.

Virgil was not Logan or Patton. He couldn’t be there for Roman in the ways they were there for him. He was just Virgil, and Virgil was enough.

General Tag List: (if you’d like to be added or taken off, please message me or send me an ask!) @karebearmay @punsterterry  @yourhappypappypatton@alextheodd@cryingtitan @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2@usothemarshmallow@madly-handsome  @i-just-wanna-be-alone-blog @remy-alagaesias-dragon-queen@ashrain5 @otaku-marijane @pathos-logical@moonstone-fox@violetvirgil @fandergecko @echomist13

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Headcannon: Virgil sometimes dances around his room when he’s listening to music and nobody else is around

Title: Not A Chance

Summary: Virgil doesn’t dance. At least not compared to the likes of Roman, whose practically the embodiment of a Disney prince. That’s why he dances in his room by himself where no one can judge him and his terrible dancing.

Pairings: platonic prinxiety

Word Count: 1299

Warnings: Self-depreciation, anxiety because this is Virgil we’re talking about

My sincerest apologies to the dear Anon that sent this to my inbox, four months ago when I had my 100 Follower celebration. In any case, this was such a fun thing to write and a great reprieve from my big bang project so thank you for sending this in, and I hope you get a chance to read this.

“You can’t be serious!”

“I am.”

“You don’t like dancing? At all?”

“I don’t dance.” He affirmed, scowling as he crossed his arms against hischest.

“I know you can.” Roman said in a singsong fashion.

Virgil raised an eyebrow, “Why do I have a feeling that’s areference to some obscure musical?”

He could never tell when Roman was just being his overly-flamboyantself or when he was actually quoting something. It certainly sounded familiar, however.

Roman gave a dramatic gasp, a hand flailing upwards towards hisforehead.

“Obscure musical? ObSCURE MUSICAL?!” He screeched in disbelief,falling backwards onto the couch where Logan sat. The latter, used to Roman’s antics,sighed as he raised the book he was reading just as Roman’s head rested ontohis lap.

“Roman, please. I’m trying to read here.”

“Did you not hear what he said?” Roman said, pausing for amoment as he sat up, “Well, of course you wouldn’t understand, Einstein.”

“What’s with all the commotion?” Patton asked, grinning ashe brought in a fresh plate of chocolate chip cookies from the kitchen.

“It’s a travesty, Patton. An outrage!” Roman made a beelinefor the platter of cookies and picked one up, “He called High School Musical 2an ‘obscure musical!’”

Cookie in hand, he used it to point accusingly at Virgil likeone of his sabers. Virgil considered taking a bite out of the cookie just toget a reaction from Roman. Knowing Patton wouldn’t find it funny, he instead grabbeda cookie of his own to nibble on.

“Well it kinda is,” Virgil said, taking a bite intochocolatey goodness, “I mean, it wasn’t even on Broadway, right?”

“It is a Pop Culture icon, Virgil!” Roman huffed, “I supposeyou know nothing about it, since you only listen to your PG 13 rated music.”“Hey, that’s not fair, I don’t only listen to that type of music,” Virgil mumbled.

Roman perked up, “What was that?”

“I said, I listen to some musicals!” Virgil turned away, faceblushing, as he shoved the rest of his cookie into his mouth.

“Really?” Roman asked skeptically.

“Yes really,” Virgil smirked, “I mean, c’mon, even you have toadmit there’s some dark crap that goes on in musicals. Like Heathers or SweeneyTodd.”

Roman’s lips twisted upwards.

“I suppose you have me there, Sweeney Downer,” Roman relented,“but surely you can’t have a musical appreciation and not be compelled to moveto the rhythm of the beat.”

Dang, he’d hoped that Roman had forgotten about that mattercompletely.

“Sorry to disappoint, princey, but I don’t dance—not achance.” Virgil said, thanking Patton for the cookies as he scooped up two moreand walked off.

“So you do know the song after all!” Roman screeched afterhim.

A loud, raucous cackle echoed in the hallways.

Virgil didn’t dance. Not when compared to the likes ofRoman. He understood it. Roman, after all, was Thomas’ creativity, all hishopes and dreams. He was the ego—brash and confident in ways that Virgil couldnever be. While Roman feinted off his boundless energy with daring quests tosave damsels from the Dragon Witch, Virgil preferred to snuggle up in a blanketand listen to music.

It wasn’t just that, of course. Dancing had always beenThomas’ weak point in theatre, and Virgil suffered with the same struggle. Hestill enjoyed dancing despite it. He just preferred to enjoy it from within thecomforts of his room, away from peering eyes.

Yes, he knew by now that the others wouldn’t tease him forhis lack of coordination. But as the literal embodiment of anxiety, it was hardconvincing himself otherwise. What if Roman teased him relentlessly about hisatrocious dancing skills? That was the last thing Virgil needed.

He chose to keep to the confines of his room, where his audiencewas an assortment of stuffed animals. Several of them being gifts from Patton.He didn’t dance often, only when he felt his heartbeat racing. It made him wantto punch a wall, and since punching walls hurt a lot, dancing was a betteralternative. He lost himself in the music, as he physically projected what themusic meant to him.

A few weeks after the exchange with Roman, Virgil found himselfin such an occasion once more. Virgil took a deep breath before pressing playon his iPod, waiting for the vocals to start. As the singer’s wistful voicestarted, he moved. He channeled the subject of the song; a young girl wishingto escape her harsh reality through dreams.

He twirled and spun, jumped and leapt and he didn’t stopdancing until the song ended. Afterwards, he collapsed onto the ground in smiling,sweaty heap.

“So you can dance!”A triumphant voice exclaimed.

Standing at the doorway, hands on his hips, was Roman. Helooked beyond thrilled by this discovery.

Virgil shot up from the floor, stumbling over to his iPod toshut off the next song.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded.

Virgil couldn’t believe he forgot to lock his door or thefact he didn’t even hear Roman open the door. Had he even knocked? Or did Romanintended to burst through his door with exciting idea and instead caught him inthe act?

Roman’s smile slipped from his face, “Easy, there. Padre sentme here to tell you that dinner’s ready. I guess you were so busy dancing up astorm that you didn’t hear me knocking!”

Virgil groaned, “Just get on with it, already.”

“Get on with what?” Roman asked, his eyebrows furrowing withconcern.

“You know,” He gestured with his hand, “tell me how much mydancing sucks.”

“Virgil, what?” Roman blinked, “your dancing doesn’t suck,it was magnificent!”

“C’mon, you don’t have to act like it’s good when it’s not;I can take the heat.” Virgil refused to make eye contact with him.

A hand softly rested on his shoulder, “Virgil, look at me.”

He sighed and complied, startled to see an unusually grave expressionon Roman’s face.

“I promise on my honor as a prince that I meant it when I saidyou were magnificent.”

“You mean it?” Virgil asked, anxiety gnawing at his insides.

“Of course.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Virgil swallowed, unsure how to handle thecompliment. Their relationship was built off of banter and witty remarks. Not…whateverthis was.

“Virgil why didn’t you tell me you actually enjoyed dancing?”Roman hesitated, “were you afraid of me…making fun of you?”

He stood there not at all like a dashing, confident princebut more like a kicked puppy with that pitiful expression of his.

“Yeah,” Virgil admitted, “I just figured…you’d tease me aboutit.”

“I know you had good reason to assume that considering how Itreated you wrongly in the past, but know this,” Roman drew a breath in, “Iwould never tease you for something like this. I can see dancing is a passionfor you—a dream! And I don’t destroy dreams, I help nourish them!”

“Is this your way of offering me a dance lesson?”

“Only if you want one.”

Virgil snorted, “Wow, gee thanks, Roman. First you say mydancing’s great and then you offer to teach me. Which is it?”

Roman spluttered, “I do mean it! That your dancing is great,that is! I just—I just thought—”

“Relax, I get what you mean. I was just messing with you.” Virgilbumped his shoulder with Roman’s in a friendly manner as he strode past him, “Weshould get going to dinner. Patton and Logan are probably wondering what’sgoing on.”

“Er, of course. Onwards, we go!” Roman recomposed himselfbefore following after him.

“And Roman?” Virgil turned back to look at him, “I think…Imight just take you up on that dancing lesson after all.”

General Tag List:  @fandergecko @yourhappypappypatton @alextheodd@cryingtitan  @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @usothemarshmallow @madly-handsome  @i-just-wanna-be-alone @alagaesiasdragonqueen @ashrain5 @otaku-marijane @narniasfinestavengingsociopath @remy-alagaesias-dragon-queen

Platonic Prinixety Tag List:

 @emokittenlikesgore @completelyclevername @urtrashhq @thegirlwiththedragonheart@tree4life25 @too-random-for-me @hissesssss @deathbyvenusftw @ill-interested @just-another-transblog @inkyroo@theanxietyofbeinganxious @panicatthefalloutphanficfandom @allthemetalsoftherainbow @depressed-alone @theroyalramen@rileyfirstname @hikariyukino @magicmapleleaf @pieces-of-annedrew @saphirestrike @asalwayss @romanssippycup@virgils-anxiety @redundant-statements-for-400 @skylagamingfea @clueingforblogs @ladynikitablack @fairly-close@vampyrsarah @haikyuupaladin @all-these-trees-stealing-mah-o2@migraine-marathon @samidaboss3 @proudhufflepuff@alextheodd @sandersfanders @pansexual-cat @hanramz-the-fander @anastasialestina @prplzorua @darude-sanderstorm@sanders-sides-shambles @thestoryofme13 @a-blog-just-for-sanders @trashfireiplier @the-optimism-of-the-ostriches@sanders-sides-things @callboxkat @kurna-kovite @221biotchplease @pattonly-absurd @starry-eyed-haiku-dreamer@prinxietypreoccupied @pattykrabbies @shygirl4991 @musicphanpie-b @superintrovertfangirl @silversunshine2012@lockolocka @makemeaplant @today-only-happens-once  @koalaaquabear @catsandrandomness @rose-gold-roman@musicsavedmefromdeath @devastate-my-space @anachronistic-cat @heythereprincey @dudlebuggs @sanders-trash-4ever@spoonfullofcrofters @siriuswhiskers @thenerdycube @pinkeasteregg @notallpotatoesarefrenchfries @virgilisaneternalmood@multi-fandom-trash-x9000 @kirsten-the-freak @thepusheenqueen @artistictaurean @funsizedgremlin @pal-im-not-clever@poundland-twoface @logan-exe @thecrimsoncodex @unknownsandersfan @yourmomsafalsehood @robanilla @dementeddracon @ive-given-up-on-it @v-blue-writer @sassy-in-glasses @blazeimagines101 @sanders-fam-ily @trashypansexual @paxtonlovestea @lowkey-logicality @do-rey-me @hottopicvirge @rptheturk @candiukas @nottodaylogic@ffsas-side-account @shadow-walker-1201 @micha-like-you-find-in-rocks @milomeepit @grey-lysander @fricksonsticks@baileystarsketches @ace-of-hufflepuffs @voices-and-stardust @deadinsidebutliving @acechirou @ocotopushugs@datonerougecookeh @lana–22 @kentato-kenart @logically-sided @osnapitzbc @areyousirius-noheisdead @ruuworld@floatyghosty @kiwibite @theworldismysupernova @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @mercythemermaids-blog @pearls-of-patton@memesanddreamsinc @jade-dragon226-fan @mollycassmith @juvenile-changeling @ace-v-p-d @sesame-icecream@dreamerhowelll @nyxwordsmith @fireflighyt @roman-is-a-gay @reba-andthesides @thesilentbluesparrow @angered-turtle@fanatic564 @emovirgil @misc-merde @captain-loki-xavier @evilmuffin @k9cat @louisthewarlock @asterias-confused-writings@spacenerrrd @aph-roma @theworldismysupernova @highwarlockofhogsmeade @notveryglittery @cripplingchips @thats-so-crash @literaturegays @cinderlunarcyborg @anony-phangirl @savingshae @minamishipsit @faithhopefelony @smokeyrutilequartz@kfc-chickenyo @AskolotlQuestions @nymphaedoratonks @allaboutme713 @the-feels-are-coming @karalora @karmicmayhem@faacethefacts @radioactivebread @elvishfrenchassassin @ashbash-the-trashcash @thisisshien @angeliclogan @nightlovechild@virgil-is-verge @hoodie-bros @cinquefoilelove @iris-sanders-athena @ono-its-ryane @pensive-patton @roman-is-a-dramatic-prince @vulnerablevirgil @confinesofpersonalknowledge @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @muontsy2 @katesattic @planetsanders@erlenmeyertrashofsandersides  @starlightlogan

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Fallen Angel Fanfic

Title: Fallen Angel

Summary:  “Just so we are clear, you didn’t stab this person.” Fantasy AU

Pairings: platonic AMP I’m sorry Logan, aka platonic moxiety & prinixety & royality

Words: 1768

Warnings: Blood, vague descriptions of wounds, crying, mild profanity

Hi, my name is Kat and I don’t know how to freaking write ficlets apparently. Oh well, this was a fun break from my Big Bang project. Thank you to both @fandergecko and @queen-of-all-things-snuggly for sending in this prompt!

“Just so we are clear, you didn’t stab this person.”

“Do you think so lowly of me to stab a random citizen?!” Roman cried out, aghast.

“Well I don’t know, Princey, you sure are fond of waving that sword of yours around,” Virgil retorted, “Please, I need to know if my best friend attempted murder or not.”

“No, I didn’t, I swear!” Roman pleaded, “I heard frantic knocking on my door and when I opened it, he was standing there. He asked me for help before he fell unconscious. Can you save him or not?”

Virgil looked down on the man lying on the table. Roman had came to his cottage in a panic, cradling the bleeding man in his arms. Virgil immediately directed him inside, and once the man was placed on the table, Roman collapsed on the floor. His lungs heaved as he tried to regain his breath after sprinting half a mile carrying a person. Meanwhile Virgil focused on stopping the man’s bleeding, biding his time until Roman caught his breath to ask his question.

The man looked like, well, shit. There wasn’t a better way to describe someone on the verge of death. There was a large gaping stab wound in his chest, and his arms were covered in several other nasty little cuts. His skin was bordering on transcendent—Virgil could almost see his blood veins. His mousy brown hair was caked with sweat combined with blood. Although there were thankfully no wounds on his head. He wore plain grey robes with a robin blue cloak. But the most impressive features the man possessed was the wings.

They were grey with gorgeous blue under-feathers. Their beauty was undermined by the fact that they were pitifully small, much too tiny for him to achieve actual flight. In all his years as a mage, he had never come across a human being with wings. He had seen plenty of fae, but this man wasn’t a fae but not quite human either. He was something different, and that terrified Virgil a bit. But else was new? The unknown always scared him. It was why he preferred to remain in his little cottage while other mages like Logan loved to explore the world.

“Yes, I can.” Virgil answered at last, “It’s going to take up a lot of my mana, though, so don’t be alarmed if I faint shortly after.”

Virgil closed his eyes, breathing, before he began the incantation. It wasn’t one he used often, but that was mainly because the village he lived nearby was mostly peaceful. There was the occasional farm injury, sure, but he mostly dealt with illnesses. In exchange for his services, the villagers paid him in herbs and food. It didn’t take much to keep Virgil happy.

He stretched his hands out towards the stranger on the table and a soft violet glow emitted from his fingertips. The physical manifestation of his magic reached out to the man, slowly starting to regenerate the area around his chest wound. Virgil could tell though it wasn’t enough. He started chanting louder, letting more energy pour from his hands. He almost flinched when he felt the man’s soul waver.

No. He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t lose him.

He pressed further, pulling forth from his magic reserves. The wound was almost healed, he needed just a bit more, he needed to push for just a bit more longer—

He felt himself start to fade away, when a hand grabbed his shoulder, disrupting his concentration. He dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

“Virgil!” Roman gasped, his voice raw from yelling, “that’s enough!”

“Roman please, let me finish it—”

“Did you not hear me shouting at you at all?” Roman interrupted, “You almost died!” Virgil glared at his best friend, “I did not! I had it under control—”

“Ex—excuse me,” A timid voice interrupted, “where exactly am I?”

Shocked, both of them turned to see their guest sitting up on the table. He gave them a smile, but his eyes flickered hesitantly between the two. Virgil’s gaze trailed down to look at the chest wound, where it was now a big red angry mark. The marks on his arms were mostly faded due to the accelerated healing courtesy of Virgil’s magic.

He swallowed. He hated to admit it, but Roman was right. He may have tried to accomplish too much in one night. He needed to only stabilize the stranger, not heal him to near perfect health.

“You’re here in my cottage,” Virgil said, “my name is Virgil, and this oaf is Roman, do you remember him?”

Roman made a disgruntled sound at being labelled as an oaf, but Virgil elbowed him to keep quiet. He immediately regretted that decision as a wave of nausea hit him. Yup. He was definitely starting to feel the effects of magic deprivation.

The man studied Roman closely for a moment before recognition lit his eyes.

“You were the one at the door…” His voice trailed off into a whisper, “I—I didn’t think you’d help me.”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I help you? A hero always helps those in need!” Roman proclaimed loudly, “although I must admit, it was Virgil’s magical prowess that saved your life. Might I ask what your name is?”

Virgil rolled his eyes at Roman’s antics. As the Lord over this village and the other villages that surrounded it, he took great pride looking after his citizens. Except he tended to be very…extravagant about it.

“Patton—my name is Patton,” His eyes watered up with tears, “Thank you—thank you so much. Both of you.”

Patton trembled, feathers shaking, as he withheld a sob. Virgil and Roman shared worried glances with one another. Roman ventured near him, placing a careful hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s alright. You can cry if you need to.”

With that, Patton launched himself at Roman, clinging to his frame as he sobbed into Roman’s chest. Roman held on just as tightly, murmuring encouragements to him.

“Shh, you’re okay—you’re safe with us now. Let it all out, it’s okay.”

This was the last thing Virgil remembered before he finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

He couldn’t tell how much time at passed, but the sunbeam of light hitting his face told him it was at least morning. He groaned, attempting to shield the light with his hand.

“Hey Roman, I think Virgil’s awake!” A voice excited called out.

Someone moved to stand over him and blearily, Virgil opened his eyes.

“Hello!” Patton exclaimed, looking like a beam of sunshine himself.

“About damn time you woke up!” Roman strolled towards him, with a grin adorning his face.

“Language!” Patton playfully swatted at Roman’s arm.

“Ahh, I apologize dear Patton.”

The two looked at one another before bursting into laughter.

“How long was I out?” Virgil asked, eying the pair carefully.

“Around five days,” Roman informed him, “I was almost worried if you were ever going to wake up.”

“Sh—shitake!” Virgil changed his wording midsentence when he saw the warning look on Patton’s face. Apparently, he was not kidding around about that.

“Well, now that you’re up, you can enjoy some of the breakfast I made!” Patton declared, as he skipped off to the fireplace where something brewed in a pot above the fire.

“Patton’s awfully cheery.” Virgil remarked to Roman.

“He’s one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met,” Roman said, “I can’t fathom why anyone would want to harm him.”

“Has he not told yet what happened?”

“He’s been reluctant to share, which is—understandable,” Roman sighed, “but he finally promised me he’d share once you were awake.”

They ate breakfast near Virgil’s cot, as both Patton and Roman insisted he needed to stay on bed rest for a little while longer. Virgil protested, although he knew he would demand the same in their situation. Once breakfast was finished and the dishes were stacked together to be washed later, a silence entered the cottage as laughter from pleasantries died down. Roman bounced his leg in anticipation, impatient to hear what happened to Patton. Virgil laid quietly in his cot, content to wait until Patton was comfortable to share.

Patton’s wings twitched before he leaned forward, indicating he was ready to share.

“My people live in the mountains high above this village,” Patton began, “I don’t think humans have a name for us, as we tend to keep to ourselves. The elders forbade contact with outsiders.”

“If they forbade contact, how do you know our language then?” Roman asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Because I’d sneak down the mountain when I wasn’t supposed to,” Patton sheepishly admitted, “perhaps it was wrong of me, but I was curious! I wanted to meet those who dwell on land—I knew your people couldn’t be as bad as the elders painted you out to be! Besides, in my people’s eyes…I was seen as a cripple. I can’t fly with my wings, meaning I can’t hunt as effectively as my brethren can.

“But below the mountain I knew there were people just like me who couldn’t fly. I wanted to meet them so badly. So I took a cloak to hide my wings and traveled down the mountain. I only meant to visit once. But it was so wonderful, that I kept returning and eventually I learned your language almost better than my own!

“It was easy to sneak off as my people didn’t care about my whereabouts. Because of that…I grew too confident in my ability to sneak away. Fi—five days ago, my brother started to follow my whereabouts and discovered what I’d been doing.”

Patton paused, a sob wretched his throat.

“He—he attacked me with his hunting knife and then ordered me to show my face in the mountains again. I grabbed his arm to plead with him and, and that’s when he stabbed me in the chest, I finally fled from his presence afterwards.”

He turned to face Roman, “and then that’s when I stumbled across your home.”

“That’s…” Virgil shook his head, “that’s awful Patton.”

“That’s it, we are your family now!” Roman declared.

“Wh—what?!” Patton yelped.

“You deserve to have a family that loves and appreciates you for what you are. Not a family that scorns you for things you cannot help,” Virgil said, “that is, if you want—”

“Yes!” Patton cried out, tears streaming down his face, “Yes I want that more than anything!”

“Excellent!” Roman roared, sweeping Patton off his feet to twirl him around. Virgil grinned at the admittedly adorable sight. 

For the first time in his life, Patton was soaring.

General Tag List: @yourhappypappypatton @alextheodd@cryingtitan @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2@usothemarshmallow@madly-handsome  @i-just-wanna-be-alone-blog @remy-alagaesias-dragon-queen @ashrain5 @otaku-marijane@fandersfic-prinxiety @pathos-logical @moonstonefox12@violetvirgil @fandersfic-moxiety @fandersfic-royality

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

5 or 6 would be awesome. o.o

Title: Facing Fears

Summary:  “You’re overthinking this, just go with it. If they try anything, well, just take off their heads.” High School AU

Pairings: platonic prinixety

Words: 1138

Warnings: death mention (no actual character death), vague mentions of bullying, let me know if there’s anything else!

Sorry for the wait, anon! It took me awhile to figure out what to do with this prompt!

“You’re overthinking this, just go with it. If they try anything, well, just take off their heads.”

“Take off their heads?” Virgil rose an eyebrow, “I’m pretty sure that’s an even worse idea.”

“Well, what do you expect to say?” Roman huffed, crossing his arms together, “Imagine them in their underwear?”

“No, that’s worse.” Virgil shuddered, dropping his face onto the table with a thud.

“Look, pretend you’re just presenting it to me and you’ll do fine.”

“No I won’t,” Virgil murmured, face still squished against the table, “I can’t pretend when I know there’s gonna be a ton of people staring at me—judging me. I’m not like you Roman, I can’t go out there—I JUST CAN’T!”

He looked up at Roman, panicked. He expected Roman to laugh off Virgil’s concerns, teasing him for his excessive worriedness.  Instead, his face was unusually solemn.

“What do you mean, you’re not like me?” Roman asked, soft and inquisitive.

“You love being on stage, being the center of the spotlight—you don’t care what people think about you,” Virgil gritted his teeth, “Y’know that’s not really me. I’m just the outcast with crippling social anxiety. I don’t even know how I let you talk me into this in the first place.”

Roman let out a choked, strained laugh. Virgil glared at him.“What’s so funny?” He demanded, suddenly growing wary.

In the hierarchical society of high school, Virgil and Roman shouldn’t have interacted beyond what was necessary for school. Roman ran with the popular crowd. It wasn’t hard to see why. He had charms, good lucks and he was the star of the theatre program.

Virgil, meanwhile, belonged to the lowest of the lowest rung. He sat at the back of the class, ate lunch alone. He snarled and snapped at people, pushing them away. It was easier that way. He learned long ago that putting on a dark persona was the best way to protect himself. Even the bullies stayed away from Virgil, who seemed impervious to their taunts and insults.

He was surviving just fine until that damned group project came along. The teacher assigned the groups, much to everyone but Virgil’s horror. Seeing as he had no friends, he figured it wasn’t any worse than usual.

Of course, he had to be assigned to Roman, of all people. The two got off to a rough start. Roman resented Virgil, angry he was torn apart from his friends. Virgil hated Roman on the principle he was one of those popular kids who thought himself above the others. He didn’t get the nickname “The Prince” for nothing after all!

But somehow, they miraculously managed not to kill each other before the group project was over. Not only that, but they became friends. Somewhat. Which was how he allowed himself to be talked into performing at the talent show by Roman.

“Nothing, truly,” Roman said once he recovered from his laugh, “It’s just—I’m not brave as you think I am. I’m a coward.”

“You are not a coward.” Virgil protested. Where was this coming from?

“But I am!” Roman insisted, “I cared so much about my image that I didn’t stop to think about how I was hurting people. I acted like a jerk to you and so many others just to fit in with the crowd. It was awful and atrocious and not prince-like at all!”

“You’re not a coward, Roman,” Virgil said softly, “You recognized it was wrong and you put a stop to it. A coward would’ve just kept going.”

“You think so?” Roman sniffled.

“Of course. Why else would I say it?” Virgil rolled his eyes but held out his arms, “do you need a hug, Princey?”

He didn’t think Roman would actually accept his offer. But the other teenager came barreling into him, squeezing him tightly. Virgil stiffened in surprise, before hugging him back as well.

“Besides, coward or not, you’re still fearless of the stage.” Virgil whispered to him as he finally withdrew from the hug.

“Believe me Virgil, even I get afraid of that stage. I understand how intimidating it is to have hundreds of eyes staring at you. But I know you can do it. You’re one of the bravest people I know.”

“Me? Brave?” Now it was Virgil’s turn to laugh.

“I’m being serious!” Roman exclaimed, “You aren’t afraid to speak your mind about things you’re passionate about—regardless of the consequences. You spoke out against me, despite the ridicule you could’ve endure from it. You fricking fought off a raccoon with a broomstick while I was busy screaming. You dyed your hair purple! You’d certainly earn a spot at the round table of King Arthur.”

“And yet, the thought of performing in front of people makes me wanna die.” Virgil rolled his eyes.

Roman sighed.

“Look, Virgil, you don’t have to do it, if you don’t want to. I realize—maybe perhaps I pushed you too hard and I apologize for making you uncomfortable.”

Virgil bit his lips. It was true that Roman had pushed him into signing up for the talent show contest. He’d never signed up without him. But he couldn’t lie that he hadn’t enjoyed practicing with Roman in the days leading up to the show. It was just the thought of being alone up there that terrified him.

“No, it’s fine,” Virgil bit his lips, “I think—I think I can do it, as long as you’re up there with me.”

Roman’s eyes widened, and Virgil hastily added, “Only if you want to! I mean I understand if you don’t—”

“Of course, I want to!” Roman said, his eyes gleaming gleefully, “we’ll just have to make some adjustments to the act!”

That night, Roman squeezed his shoulder before the two of them walked out. Roman sat at the piano while Virgil adjusted his grip on his guitar. They gave each other a nod before they started. Together with Roman, Virgil played his heart out. In that moment, nothing existed but the music. His fingers flew across the strings of his guitar, madly dashing to keep in time with Roman’s chords. With Roman’s encouraging gaze, Virgil opened his lips and sang.

When the crowd roared with approval at the end, Virgil flinched. He’d nearly forgotten they existed.  He recovered quickly, giving a shaky bow before exiting.

“See? I knew you could do it! And you didn’t have to cut anyone’s heads off.” Roman said, elbowing him playfully.

“Oh shut up.” Virgil said, elbowing him back.

They didn’t win the talent show. Some girl with a niche for unicycling while playing an ukulele accomplished that. But they still celebrated with ice cream from Dairy Queen regardless.

“To facing fears!” Roman proclaimed, raising his ice cream cone high as if toasting.

“To facing fears,” Virgil smirked, clinking his ice cream cone against Roman’s.

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