Setting Prompts:
Mecha, Omegaverse, Historical, Post-apocalyptic, 1960s, Fantasy, Space
There are 7 setting prompts, so if you wish, you can mix and match them for each of the days, or ignore them entirely, it's up to you! Feel free to use as many or as little prompts as you want, just be sure to tag this blog on the day!
(Also, apologies to those of you who submitted specific fandom/crossover prompts, I see you, but I didn't want to exclude people wanting to participate who may not know the other fandom, including myself, you are more than welcome to write your own fandom crossover as part of the event, though!)
[so] it's just like him that he ends up dating somebody who loves storms as much as he loves theatre—and roman's whole life is theatre. roman's whole other life (ugh, he can practically hear logan bugging him about that) is his partner—virgil.
or,
prinxiety week day 1 | storms
[ title from ''darkside'' by alan walker ]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
He’d spend most of April tucked away in his room with the curtains drawn to wait it out, wincing at every roll of thunder while his brothers ventured out into it to explore into the puddles that appeared, much to the anguish of their father. Though they were always back before the puddles dried up.
Not Roman. And not because he didn’t also wish to explore beyond their bubble. He just didn’t like the feeling of rain pinging off of his perpetually damp skin, gradually coating him in its protective layer.
As he got older and more in-tuned with his abilities, he learned that the rain could be a comfort. Especially after meeting Virgil.
Virgil, who was alluring enough to draw even Roman out into the rain to see him…and Roman was apparently the only one who could see him.
Virgil had seemed surprised to see Varshi like Roman, and Roman was perplexed by how solid he was. It was no wonder the rain ran right off of him, despite the presence of magic surrounding him.
Virgil who invited Ro to see more of his world.
They couldn’t talk at first— Roman didn’t know how to the same way Virgil and people like Virgil did, but he did like to listen to Virgil do so. Virgil’s voice was soothing and steady…the syllables and sounds were strange and different from a spirit of the water like himself.
Virgil’s sound was smooth and unhurried like the underground winds in deep caves. He had different sound waves that reverberated through Roman pleasantly, more intensely than the steady hum and patter of his father in their bubble.
Roman sat with him on the back tailgate of what Virgil said was his “station wagon”. He called it the old Misery Machine (and Missy…or Miser). When Roman understood what that meant and was concerned, though, Virgil assured him it was just a reference to something he liked. Roman had to wonder why until Virgil played a new song for him, and then he understood.
He eventually was able to tell Roman more about it: he’d saved up to trade for it with the help of his own sibling, Jay. Roman thought it would be nice to introduce his siblings to Virgil one day. They’d definitely get along with him.
.
.
.
The early puddles always seemed to guide Roman right to Virgil.
It was always raining when he went there, too, which was what connected their realms, he thought. After the first two times, Virgil was always waiting for him, with a new strange beautiful sound to play for him. Sometimes he brought food, but they quickly learned Roman couldn’t actually consume it. That was fine with him. He still liked to sit with Virgil and play with the rain as Virgil sheltered beside him under the back covering of Missy.
Roman liked when Virgil’s wheel home moved while he was visiting. Roman sat in the seat across from him and just admired the passing landscape with the window down. Fields of spikey blaze bushes that looked like they were burning brightly, shimmering in the light despite the gentle rainfall forecasted. Stocky red vines as big as trees reaching up into the clouds with massive umbrella leaves. Weaving through mossy boulders that looked like they had been placed there by giants a millennia ago. Rolling fields of lavender bunches that stretched to the horizon and beyond it, probably.
Often following the fleeting rain to stay together just a little bit longer, until they reached the rain shadow of the mountains or the sea.
No matter how far they drove, they never met the end of the world. Roman’s own world felt so small now. Smaller than it had ever been, since prior, it had been all that existed in the limits of his mind. But here was so vast and beautiful. Roman marveled at it all, wishing they could stay for longer than they had.
He wanted to see all of it. He also never wanted to find the end of new places and people and sights. Every trip was uniquely memorable. He wanted to stay and see it all in wide-eyed wonder. He wanted to linger on the moments with Virgil, his growing affection uncontained nor quantifiable. He just knew it was at least as expansive as the world was, with all his memories.
Roman looked at it all with the window down to be part of it. He let the wind fly wildly across him, refreshing from all the stillness he was so used to at home. Freeing from always just looking out through a contorted view before now. He grinned.
Virgil didn’t seem to ever mind the rain sometimes getting in. Roman stuck his hand out to feel this world’s rain collect and pool around his hand like a glove. He smiled at the odd cool blob sticking to him, it reverberating the melodic sounds of the vehicle softly against him. It felt relaxing against his face and body, and Roman liked to be near it as it played, memorizing vibrations.
Usually Virgil’s humming matched the wagon’s and Roman liked to hear it even more. He tried to hum too, in his own way, and Virgil flashed a rare big smile that Roman wanted to keep seeing more. Especially directed at him.
He let Virgil feel the water pooling against his hand, and held Virgil’s hand experimentally. The water bent around it, then absorbed Virgil’s hand as it seemed determined to keep its blobby form, wiggling around their intertwined fingers. It eventually deformed and gave up, running down Virgil’s arm in a soaked mess on his sleeves. Roman tilted his head at his Virgil seemed surprised they could touch at all.
Virgil didn’t let go, though, and Roman appreciated the height that allowed him to lean in and rest his head on Virgil’s shoulder. It always left Virgil’s shirts and jackets damp, but once they’d parked on a mountain road overlooking a gently swirling green lake, he said he didn’t mind. That was right before he drew Roman into a kiss for the second time that morning.
Every time it rained, Roman went to find Virgil.
And more often than not, he was sitting in his metal wagon home, in a brand new miraculously beautiful place that somehow was still a part of the same world that Virgil traveled, collecting and archiving in sparkly transparent jars to sell at ‘markets’. Roman got to see the markets a few times over the years. They always amazed him, but he was disappointed by how he could not take the little treasures back home with him.
Virgil kept them for him in his van and eventually was able to create a gift for Roman that didn’t fall away or get damaged when he passed back through the puddles: a waterdrop necklace, imbued with Virgil’s magic. Each of the sparkling 8 beads showed a looping image of Virgil’s world that he had been to with Roman. Roman never took it off.
Perhaps Roman was just young and foolish and in love for the first time, but he’d never been more grateful to find someone to spend time with. Time no longer cooped up in his room, but instead sitting in the sunlight as the rain pattered on, pushing it once the sky cleared for just long enough to admire it and how Virgil’s smile seemed even more stunning under light of the moon and stars.
He didn’t like to leave Virgil, but they were from very different worlds. And never the less, he looked forward to seeing him again every time it rained. Roman would never stop visiting him, and had never missed a chance to see him. And Virgil never grew tired of him, or asked him to visit less. He seemed just as glad to see Roman…he wondered why Virgil was never with anyone, over the years. Not even his family when Roman was around.
But Virgil never talked about them except in vague, past tense terms, and Roman didn’t know how to ask even when he learned the words to. It at least always seemed fond when he spoke of them, if a little sad. Roman would sit closer in quiet support each time. Roman would be there for him as much as he could, then. Perhaps he could find a way to not be bound to the rain alone. It had to be possible.
But until they figured it out, Roman was happy to be a traveler between worlds, looking out for Virgil for them. Making sure he wasn’t always alone between his brief visits into the various beautiful and unusual cities of his world. And Roman was less lonely now too, as it was almost always raining somewhere else. He wondered if Virgil chased the rain, with how often Ro found him in it. He liked to think it was so they could see each other again, for as long as the water covered the lush and parched earth.
Roman loved the sound of a storm brewing, because now it meant he’d see his wonderful water witch again.
————
A/N: “When it rains” by Paramore. Song about someone “confronting a person who has isolated themselves in depression and consistently avoids facing their problems or accepting support.”
I fought for my life on every little break I had from work to get this done 😂 i started a new job with 10 hour shifts last week, so I’ve been trying to get used to it. This is very stream-of-consciousness and probably reads like it…no beta because it was so last minute LOL. I will definitely look this over and edit it once I’m home to put on AO3, but here it is! The car name is also a Paramore Reference, vaguely (mixed with a play on “Mystery Machine”— you can guess who Virgil can thank there lmao).
Lesson learned: do not try to re-line your fic on tumblr mobile once you paste it in :,) very hard to undo…
ao3: "and at any second now"
rating: T
warnings: prinxiety, pots, internalized ableism, food, crying
genre: hurt/comfort
description: Roman and Virgil go on a little picnic date at the park (prompt "picnic" for @prinxietyweek , which i totally forgot about, whoops. also lyrics from ajj "body terror song")
I'm very sorry that you have to have a body
One that will hurt you and be the subject of so much of your fear
It will betray you, be used against you
Then it will fail on you, my dear
Dread coils in every limb as Virgil gets dressed. They're supposed to have a picnic date today. The weather's projected to be warm, but not Death Valley levels, and there's supposed to be a light breeze. He's been looking forward to it for days.
And now, just getting dressed, Virgil feels like collapsing face first into his pillows and breathing in fabric for a while. His heart's racing, his head is swimming, nausea keeps surging up his throat, and despite still being half-naked, he's already hot and sweaty.
Roman's in the bathroom, so Virgil feels free to slip out their pulse oximeter, just to check. 135. Not the worst it's ever been, but it certainly matches the soup of symptom shittiness swirling around in Virgil's body.
He sits down, then after a moment of contemplation, flops back, making sure his head is on Roman's pillow so he can breathe in his partner's scent. Better. He can feel his heartbeat slowing, steadying. The dizziness is beginning to ebb and in its place, a sickly fatigue is starting to creep in.
"All I did was try to get dressed," Virgil mumbles, staring up at the ceiling, and struggling to swallow the lump in his throat. He can't cry. Roman will notice. Roman might call off their picnic. Virgil doesn't want that.
Actually, if there's one thing Virgil would change about Roman, it might be that. Symptom flare, in Roman's mind, always seems to mean that Virgil should rest. That plans can be cancelled and things can be shuffled around and it's okay to take a break.
And it's not that Virgil doesn't appreciate that. Because they do! It helps knowing that Roman's not going to dismiss them when they feel like shit, or push them into overdoing it.
It just--
He wishes that Roman would let him decide that a little more. That maybe, Virgil's okay not feeling the greatest, if it means they get to do something. Either something fun, like this picnic, or something else, like an important appointment or chore.
Virgil rubs at the bridge of their nose. Of course, every time they think of bringing that up, all they can think is that they're just weighing Roman down with their disabilities. Because if they insist on powering through something when they're unwell (especially the important shit), then it takes longer. Both for the thing, and then for the aftermath. And Roman has to help him more sometimes. And he can be out of commission more, from POTS or chronic pain or migraine or whatever else. Keeping Roman from doing anything. Making himself even more of a burden.
Roman never calls him a burden, but Virgil's good at scribbling in that blank himself.
Virgil drags himself upright again, grabbing his half-empty bottle of electrolytes™ and taking a few swallows. They can do this.
They do manage to get dressed by the time Roman is out of the bathroom. Black skirt that hits a few inches above his knees, purple shirt that hides the abdominal compression, knee-high compression socks in a purple/black Halloween pattern. He's got rainbow sneakers for the outdoors, ones that always make him smile.
Roman's face lights up when he sees them, and Virgil's cheeks redden, a pleased smile turning up his mouth.
"You look gorgeous, darling!" Roman says, arms slipping around Virgil's back and pulling him closer, planting a kiss on Virgil's forehead.
"Thanks," Virgil says. He bites his bottom lip as he makes a show of looking Roman up and down. "You're pretty handsome yourself," they say lightly, tugging Roman down for a proper kiss. Roman tastes faintly of toothpaste.
"Ready, darling?" Roman asks. Virgil nods, then hesitates.
"Gotta pee again," they admit, as their face goes redder. "I drank more."
"Good boy!" Roman praises, and Virgil feels a tingle of happiness go down all the way to their toes.
When they return, Roman's sitting on the couch in the living room, idly scrolling through his phone. An honest-to-goodness picnic basket is laying at his feet, with a purple ribbon threaded through the handles.
"Oh my god," Virgil giggles. Roman looks up and grins, unashamed.
"Do you like it?" He asks. Virgil nods and sits down on the other side of the couch to put his shoes on. He has a bag, too, one that already contains some useful things, like his midodrine and extra electrolytes. He has a water bottle, too, of course.
He's lightheaded again as soon as he stands on, but he tries not to let it show as he smiles at Roman. It will be fine, Virgil chants to himself. His smile goes sappy, seeing Roman grab Virgil's hoodie "just in case" the weather changes.
The weather outside isn't particularly hot, but Virgil's heart still starts pounding in his chest as he waits for Roman to unlock the car. If I get this picnic canceled, I will never forgive myself, Virgil promises himself darkly.
"Virgil?" Roman asks, after buckling himself in. Virgil turns, sure that the truth of his minor POTS flare is written all over their face. Roman smiles softly at them, then tugs them closer and kisses their lips. "I love you."
"I love you, too," Virgil breathes, suddenly overwhelmed with how much he loves this man. Guilt squirms, cold and sour and abandoned, in the pit of his stomach.
The park's not that far away. Virgil feels fine, bopping along to the cute playlist he turned on, the air conditioning blasting his skin. Roman's adorable when he belts out a song, Virgil decides. They can't stop the smile when Roman sings a particularly tricky bit and then grins after, like he's accomplished something brilliant (and he has).
There are people in the park, but not as many as Virgil would have expected on a nice day. Roman parks in the shade, and some of Virgil's apprehension slips back, pooling in his chest.
"Shall we?" Roman asks, and Virgil nods eagerly.
Roman won't let them carry the picnic basket. No matter how Virgil entreats him.
"It is my noble duty," Roman informs them, holding it higher, out of Virgil's grasp. Virgil stomps his foot, laughing.
"Roman!" Virgil protests. "I can carry a picnic basket! You're the one who put it together, the least I could do is carry it!"
"Hmm, a worthy argument," Roman says, pretending to ponder. "No."
"You're ridiculous," Virgil mutters. Roman grins smugly at him, then tucks the picnic basket in one arm, offering his other hand to Virgil.
"May I escort you?" Roman asks, like they're suddenly in a period drama. Virgil laughs and takes his hand.
"Sure, but if I fall, you have to rescue the picnic basket and the picnic basket alone, it's my dying wish," Virgil teases.
"You don't feel like falling, right?" Roman asks, the joking evaporating from his tone, and Virgil sighs.
"No, my love, I'm not going to fall," Virgil says. He wishes he hadn't said it, all of a sudden. He didn't- it was just supposed to be a joke--
"Good, because the picnic basket gets it if you do," Roman says, and he's smiling when he says it, but Virgil knows he's serious. It quiets them, makes them pay more attention to the discomfort in their chest and the exhaustion weighing down their limbs.
Roman finds an empty pavilion and sets the picnic basket down in the middle of a table, gracefully assisting Virgil in sitting down on one side of the table. He sits down facing them, and lightly tugs the ribbon on the picnic basket's handles.
"Voila!" Roman says. "Lunch is served." Virgil smiles at his theatrics. His chest feels soft and fuzzy and warm now again. He knows Roman means well. Knows he worries.
"Give me your wrist?" Roman requests. Puzzled, Virgil holds out one arm, cheeks flushing as Roman lightly ties the ribbon around his wrist. "Mine," Roman says quietly, and Virgil feels like melting.
"Yours," he agrees, just as softly.
Peeking into the basket, Virgil wants to tear up. Roman's picked out several of their favorites. It's not fair. It's not fair he's so sweet and kind and loving and--
"Virgil?" Roman asks, concern and alarm mixing together in his voice. Virgil looks up and blinks rapidly when he realizes that Roman is suddenly blurry.
"Sorry," they say, swallowing hard. "Sorry, I just- you're so sweet."
"Sweetheart, I don't think a cupcake in your lunch is enough to make you cry," Roman points out. "What is it?"
"I don't-" Virgil takes a deep breath. "I need my midodrine," he admits roughly. "I don't- I don't feel the greatest, but-"
"Darling, we didn't have to-" Roman starts, confirming Virgil's worst fears.
"But I wanted to!" They blurt out, accidentally interrupting him. "Sorry," they mutter, cheeks hot. "I just- it's always a little bad in the morning, and it's a little worse today, and I hate it, I hate doing nothing and feeling so shit, it's not- it's not fair, but I- I want to be here, I want to do things sometimes, I don't want to just cancel all the time, but I don't know when that's just- just the internal ableism talking, or when I just wanna do shit, and I appreciate you so much, but you just- I don't want to cancel," Virgil finishes plaintively, breathing hard. Tears burn the corners of his eyes. "And now I'm ruining everything, and I just-"
"Hey," Roman says, suddenly much closer, and Virgil realizes he's gotten up and moved to Virgil's side of the table. He gently tilts Virgil's chin up, so he can look into their watery green eyes. "Sweetheart. You aren't ruining anything."
"I'm crying," Virgil points out, voice wobbling. Roman's thumb gently brushes away some of the tears, as he smiles sadly down at Virgil.
"You are," Roman says. "But you haven't ruined anything, beloved. You're just overwhelmed. I'm sorry if I've been contributing to it. I don't want you to feel like you can't rest, or listen to your body, or push through things just because you think you have to. Your health is so, so important to me. Physical and mental. Can we-" He hesitates, and Virgil waits, heart trembling in his throat. "Can we talk about it when you don't feel well? I won't knee-jerk say that we should cancel something, or not go out, okay? We can talk about it. Would that help?"
"Yeah," Virgil says, feeling like a bobble-head doll as they nod. They sniff hard once, then twice. Ugh, congestion. "That- yeah, that would help a lot. Thank you." Roman kisses Virgil's cheek, and Virgil sags against him in relief.
"Now," Roman says. "Even though you don't feel well, you want to still have this picnic, right?"
"Yes," Virgil says. "I do. Very much." His heart feels lighter in his chest, though he knows it's still beating a little fast. "Yes, I do. With you." He reaches out a hand, booping Roman on the nose and making him laugh.
"With me," Roman agrees, with a little laugh, tugging Virgil closer against him. "Then let's eat, sweetheart. And don't forget your meds."
"I won't," Virgil promises, fondness stealing through them like warm, sweet syrup. "I love you." A thought strikes them, and they pout. "I can't lie down for at least four hours after I take it, though."
"We can cuddle like this," Roman says, already knowing where their mind is going, as he wraps an arm around their middle. They've somehow found themself almost straddling the end of the bench, pressed into Roman, but Virgil can't say he minds very much.
"Good," Virgil says, and pulls the picnic basket closer.
