Im Yelling At The Void But Idc

I’m yelling at the void but idc

(Yes, hello, i changed my username and profile picture. and IRL found my account and I felt like a change)

But just. The way Thomas has set up Logan’s ark (something I’ve been screaming over) makes me wanna scream /pos

Because we’ve talked about Logan wanting to be taken seriously but at the same time being allowed to be goofy and emotional, not enough, but its been mentioned. But its interesting how uncomfortable that makes him. Like he fight to be taken seriously because he wants to be respected, something that the rest of the sides half do. Like Roman’s name calling is a sign of disrespect because he aims at what he knows will knock Logan down. Like this isn’t me attacked Roman, the feud is 100% two-side a lot of the time.

But I’d love to see an ark of Logan trying to balance the fact that Thomas is not a serious person, but that Logan is and instead of one bending to the other, they need to accept the faults in each other and work together.

This is a stream of consciousness post so forgive me if it makes no sense

Roman: you dont scare me

Remus: I will gaslight you, I’m a cancer, don’t tempt me

Grief

Themes: death, grief, hopeful ending Warnings: Death, grief, anger, pain, loss, car accidents, crying. Words: A fair amount (1245 words)

i. I am coping. I'll post something happier soon. Take care of yourselves and each other

Virgil realises that his thoughts tend to think in Before and After on a slightly damp day.

Before the event and After.

It's a steeling sort of realisation, like a dunk of cold water as he remembers there once was Before—a before the chest pain and the tears. There was a time when it was just a worst-case scenario and not his reality.

There was a time before Janus was dead.

And now he was in the after.

He still thinks about that before, more than any good grief counsellor would let him get away with. He still thinks about the night he went to bed, Virgil Storm, a 30-year-old with a husband who works night shifts. Not Virgil Storm, a widow. Not Virgil Storm, whose friends have to visit every day because they know there's no food in the house, and they don't want to plan another funeral.

It's an awful feeling, too, because no matter how much he closes his eyes and squeezes them shut to the point of pain, there's no going back to the before. There's no prayer, wish, spell, or nothing that will bring him back to the before. Or that will bring Janus to the after. There's no backwards, and the forwards seem unbearable to him, sitting here on a damp day, with the heating off but a blanket around him. Janus' cup from that morning Is still on the end table because Virgil hasn't been able to cope with the thought of there never being another cup there.

He cries a lot and is tired a lot. Patton tries his best to get him to sleep but doesn't understand why Virgil can't seem to. He thinks it would be an escape, but Virgil just can't do it. He can't bring himself to sleep when he knows he will only have to wake up again. And for a few minutes, Virgil knows he won't remember. He'll reach for that long-cold side of the bed because he won't remember, and he thinks that might be the cruellest thing he could ever do. A selfish part of him wants to forget, wants to forget this sadness and pain, but he can't, so he won't. Janus doesn't deserve that; Janus deserves more than to be t-boned on the interstate when coming home after making a pitstop because Virgil wanted doughnuts.

But Virgil can't think about that right now, so he doesn't. He just cries and huddles closer to the blanket.

Remus supposes they think he's heartless. Or if not heartless, then repressed. If he's frank, he's probably a little bit of both. And stupid, added in. Though he'd have to give a massive fuck you to the people who seem to think they get to decide how he copes.

It wasn't their best friend who was killed by a fucking idiot drunk driver at 4 am. No, it was his. His oldest friend was killed just like that, and Remus thinks he's allowed to cope however the fuck he sees fit. Whether it be drinking himself, angry and getting into a fight, or screaming so hard the cops are called at 2 am while at home, then he's coping, sue him.

It hits him in waves, the grief. In the mornings, he'll wake up and be sad, but he'll be able to breathe. And then he'll be at the store, and he'll see Janus' favourite chocolates on sale or smell his cologne or hear something, and it's like his finding out all over again, and he can't breathe again, and his eyes will water, and he'll have to go home and cry like a baby.

He knows one person in the world will understand his feelings, but how does he do that? Reach out to Virgil, Janus' widow, and say he's struggling? As if the man didn't lose his husband, his partner, the person he wanted and was willing to spend the rest of his life with. The person he wanted to travel with and host Christmas with. How does Remus go up to the man who lost his soulmate and look for comfort in him?

So he doesn't.

He didn't think Virgil would either until he did.

Remus finds himself at the front door of Virgil's house (it's a punch in his gut to no longer call it Virgil and Janus' house), and he's stalling on ringing the doorbell because then he'll come face to face with the widow of his best friend.

Once again, Virgil makes the first move. He opens the door, and red eyes meet watery ones.

"Come in," he says. And Remus does. He steps inside, and he stands in the hallway.

"how-"

"don't," Virgil says. "You know, so don't ask." And Remus nods because he does know. Of course, he does. If anyone would, it's him. "I didn't ask you here to help me through my grief; let's face it, neither of us is doing well. I asked you here because there's no point in both of us going through it alone." He takes a deep breath. "He wouldn't want us to, and since he isn't here to force us to talk to each other, I'm doing it." Remus has nothing to say in response, so he only nods. Virgil's right. Janus would hit them both on the head for isolating themselves. "So we're going to clean in silence. We're going to clean-" Virgil breaks off, a sob escaping before he takes a deep breath and continues, voice thick, "we're going to clean his cups and plates, and I've been too scared to. And his shirts." And Remus nods again, shoulders shaking.

"We will." And it's all he can manage to say, he realises. Because he has no other words to share, he realises that's okay.

So they clean. And when Virgil's sobs get too loud, or Remus' hands shake too much, they stop and drink a glass of water or watch some dumb sitcom episode. And when the sobs and shakes subside, they help each other and continue.

It takes three days and millions of breaks, but the next time Patton visits to restock the fridge, the plates and bowls are gone, and the sheets are clean. There are still shirts that need to be washed, but Remus puts them back on Janus' side of the bed, reminding Virgil this is a marathon, not a sprint. And there are still albums that need to be sorted, but Virgil took them from Remus' shaking hands and put them in a bag for Remus to take home to keep when he has the strength to return to his apartment.

The others come over for dinner - Logon and Roman coming in after work, Roman pulling his brother close the second he's in arms reach. Patton makes pasta, and the three of them - Logon, Roman and Patton - share stories and jokes about Janus. Virgil and Remus are quiet, but it's not a lousy quiet. They're just exhausting because grief is crippling, and this is the first time they've genuinely stopped in what feels like weeks, so they relish in it.

And in the morning, they both wake up on the couch, turn on the TV, and comfort each other when Janus' favourite documentary or an ad for his favourite movie comes on.

They'll live, they decide. They'll suffer, choke, cry, and get angry, but they'll live.

If for no reason other than Janus' wasn't able to, they'll live.

SADNESS OVER NEW THOMAS SANDERS VIDEO!!!!

AND A SANDERS SIDE VIDEO TOO?!?

“A toast!” Everyone in the room looks up as Janus stands up, his chair screetching behind him. He’s sat at the top of the table. They’re all here, sitting at the long dining table. Everyone, including Thomas, who sits at the other end, looks up to the deceitful side but he’s only loooking at Virgil. “A toast,” Janus repeats. “To Virgil.” The room is quiet and Virgil feels everyone’s silent gazes swing to him. “To Virgil.” He razes his glass, the red liquid slopshing slightly. Virgil feels his dread building but he can’t look away. He’s gaze is frozen on the other side. “Always the protector,” he begins, his eyes shifting form brown to yellow. “never the protected.”

Virgil’s world comes crashing down around him. His vision begins to blur as he sees them all raise their glasses. They’re look at him. They’re all looking at him. He sees their lips moving but he can’t hear them over his own heartbeat in his ear. He wants to speak, but his vocal cords are gone. His throat is throbbing and he thinks someone might ripped them out of his throat. He wants to say something, anything, but he can’t. He’s helpless.

He’s alone.

:)