#um... yeah

Ignore the shit on my desk. They're similar to the first time I did it, just better (in my opinion at least) and it took me two days (technically, and I havnt even done the other hand yet lol) but yeah... bye!

Logan had gotten home that night to Roman and Patton asleep leaning against each other, blanket across their laps and TV playing The Little Mermaid. Logan had turned the TV off and reoriented their blanket to cover them both before heading into his room. Once in there and dressed for bed, he took the napkins and placed them on his desk. Contemplating for an embarrassing amount of time whether to text them now or in the morning. In the morning he’d be more competent but now they would know he hadn’t forgotten. See- this was why he hated feelings. They make things so complex for no reason.

He settled on texting them then and there, not expecting a text back so soon. He got one almost immediately from all of them.

“What if he lost them?” Virgil was standing in the mirror scrubbing his makeup off and contemplating every worst case scenario possible out loud to his two best friends. You know, as you do on a Thursday night.

“He’s going to lose the papers we watched him put in his pocket?” Janus was standing next to him, doing his fourteen and a half step skincare routine (Don’t ask what the half step is, he’ll say it’s a secret)

“It could happen! What if the wind blew them out of his pocket when he got out of his car?” Why wouldn’t his stupid eyeshadow come off?

“Didn’t happen!” Remus shouts from the other room. He’s trying to get his borderline one hundred accessories off. Well- he was. Now he’s looking at his phone and standing in the doorway of the bathroom, one shoe on and one foot bare because this maniac takes his shoes off shoe-sock shoe-sock instead of shoe-shoe sock-sock like a normal human being. Virgil has grown to love him despite his flaws though.

“How do you know? Look up, sweetie” Janus had taken the wipe from Virgil’s hand and was cleaning for him, apparently he was being too rough with his skin or whatever.

“Because he just texted me.” Remus was taking a picture of Virgil and actively sending it to Logan as they spoke.

“You better not send that to him” Virgil knows that Remus has enough bad photos of them all to fill their house with picture frames, it doesn’t need more and it doesn’t need to show them to Logan.

“I won't, I promise!” Remus said, y’know, like a liar. Virgil’s own phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.

{Hello, Virgil. I am texting to be sure this is the correct phone number.}

Why does he text so formally? Should Virgil be formal back? Is it meant to be a joke and Virgil doesn’t understand it?

“Hold still or I’m going to poke you in the eye” Janus grumbles. Virgil tilts his head back up while he texts back.

{Yeah you got the right number}

{Good.}

Why the periods? Periods are meant to be either satire or very serious. Why can’t people be easier to read?

Then it was Janus’ turn. His phone buzzed on the counter. He turns Virgil’s head to face the mirror, letting go when Virgil approves of the clean face.

“So he doesn’t like- hate us for almost killing him, right?” Virgil faceplants into the bed about 15 minutes later ready to begin winding down for the night.

“If anything he’d be pissed at us for pressuring him into going on a date with us” Remus very unhelpfully chimes in from the foot of the bed

“He doesn’t hate us for anything; he texted us”

“What if he felt socially obligated?”

“Unlikely, try to go to sleep, Virgil.”

“I can get your drugs if you want”

“Don’t call them drugs, Remus. But yes that’d be great”

“He WHAT?!” Roman sat gaping at Logan from across the kitchen table, his fork clattered to his plate at a pitch that harmonized with the prince’s exclamation.

“He kissed the back of my hand. And Remus hugged me. And Virgil just sort of waved” Logan doesn’t see what the big deal is. It’s an uncommon farewell gesture, sure, but not unheard of.

“Did you at least thank him?” Roman asks, picking his fork up once more.

“What the- No, why would I thank him?” That just seems weird and awkward in Logan’s opinion. Roman’s fork drops again. “You’re going to break your plate if you keep doing that”

Patton places down his own plate, joining the conversation and sitting next to Roman. “Did you at least enjoy yourself?” He begins to cut into his pancakes.

“I did. I got a job offer. It was a very productive dinner.” Logan takes a sip of his juice, thinking of the text exchange he’d had with Virgil earlier that morning. “I am to meet with them at the same venue next Saturday as they have another concert that night. I’ll get to see how things are run and given a chance to see how well I perform as well as meet the crew. If all goes well I’ll get the job”

“Aw!” Patton clutches his heart, “My kiddo is growing up so fast! Going on dates with boys, getting his first job! I couldn’t be more proud of you Logan.”

“I am an adult man, I have had several jobs in the past, and I am still not your kid-” Logan lists his rebuttals off on his fingers before he’s cut off by Roman.

“Wait wait wait, backtrack a little Professor Proton,” Roman’s hand was held up dramatically as if to cut off an orchestra. “What do you mean you’re getting a job? Like- you’re just going to be gone sometimes?”

“Yes, that’s generally how jobs work, Roman. Is this new information?” Roman literally has a job. How does he not know this?

“No not like that” Roman sighs, “I mean, why wasn’t that the first thing you told us?”

“You, yourself, explicitly asked how the ‘romancing’ went. I hardly qualify a job interview as romantic” While Logan didn’t exactly know a lot about courtship, he did know that work was not usually where one blossomed. Unless you work in a coffee shop and your soulmate works at a flower shop across the street, according to Roman. Logan still didn’t understand why that was. But since neither of those careers were present in the discussion, he elected to forgo talking about his potential employment.

“You've got to let me help you choose the outfit you wear to it. I have literally been waiting for this moment for YEARS” Roman claps his hands together. “Maybe I can finally take you shopping for something other than those bland vests you wear all the time”

“What's wrong with my usual attire? It seems perfectly adequate for a job-”

“It's ugly and it definitely won't impress those three emos”

“Their style seems to fall more under the punk aesthetic than emo”

“Not the point I'm making, Teach. Now, you are going to let me take you shopping because I know what my brother and his friends like-”

“-You don't even know their names-”

“I know enough! This is non-negotiable, Logan. You're letting me take you shopping.”

Patton sighs as he collects Roman and Logan's plates, shaking his head at their arguing.

Forgot to share this i made while watching Total Drama.

No wonder Sandman is an arsonist. Donnie claims he set shit on fire as a kid to keep himself warm at night when he was lonely, and when the flames spread it stuck with him. The habit, and the warmth. Sandman’s softer than he gives himself credit for. He puts on a big nasty painted grin and bares both pairs of teeth, but he’s the warmest of them all. He always feels so bad, strokes Crab’s hair when the others feed.

Only one of them can at a time. Obviously. One human is not enough food for three hungry vampires, not when they want to keep him alive, at least. Donnie is the one who cleans him up. If Benze has been drinking his blood, he’s always far too dazed and shaken by the end of it to be the doctor. They still don’t know if it’s a personality thing, the distant, almost drunken shock that takes hold of Benze when he’s just eaten, or if it’s because he was made different than Sandman or Donnie.

Donnie is careful and gentle, if unpracticed, when he dabs at the bite marks. He’s Crab’s blood family. When Crab is dazed like this, the irony seems hilarious. His only blood, drinking his blood, and then patching him back up like they used to as kids when they’d get into petty scraps and then make up later. Crab giggles, lets his head fall back against Sandman, nose stroking lightly against his cheek.

Sandman never feeds on him. Never. Not once. They’ve fought about this. But it’s okay. Sandman always, always holds him. It doesn’t matter if it’s this or a real injury. Sandman is so good at holding. Crab can feel him turn his head, nuzzling at his hair. Sandman kisses his forehead. Crab smiles at that.

“Hi,” he breathes, lightheaded. Sometimes he can't tell if it's more from the blood loss or from the contact it entails. He thinks he could get drunk on this feeling, of loving and being loved in return, in the most visceral of ways.

“Hi,” Sandman whispers back. He's positioned behind Crab, with Crab leaning back against his chest and his chin hooked over Crab's shoulder. He strokes Crab's face again, doing a shitty job of hiding that he's checking his pulse. “How you feeling?”

Crab’s hands are shaking, just a tiny bit. Benze and Donnie are always so, so careful with him. They would never take more than he can spare to lose. He’s a little bit dizzy, and the puncture wound stings, but he’ll be fine by morning.

“I’m fine,” he replies, rolling his eyes though it sets his narrow view, mostly of his friends, tilting. Sandman lets out a relieved sigh. Crab huffs a quiet laugh. “Relax, dude. It’s okay.”

“I know,” Sandman says tersely. He’s so rarely this edgy, at least not so obviously. It’s almost endearing, but mostly sweet.

Crab turns his head awkwardly so he can look Sandman at an angle, peering up at him from his position with his head resting comfortably on his shoulder. “I’m okay,” he says softly.

“Don’t begrudge us our concern,” Donnie says. “Move over, he gripes, then knees Sandman in the ribs climbing onto the couch with them and gets an amused oof in return. Donnie will always, always choose to take care of Sandman if he has to choose. He knows his cousin can handle himself. Sandy’s a different deal. It's almost scary the bond those two have, and it has been since they were little. Crab used to feel like an outsider around them because they're so close. Now he's grateful for it. They won't ever end up alone.

Donnie slots himself in beside Sandman and reaches for Crab's hand. It's like they think they're killing him, or something. If he was dying, or even a bit too dizzy, he'd tell them. They should know that by now. There's no need to be so melodramatic about it. Being a dramatic bitch is his job. Crab tells them this.

"You guys know," he says, breathing softly against Sandman's jaw, "You make way too big a deal out of this?"

"Shut up," Sandman grumbles, low enough that Crab can feel the vibration where he's leaning against Sandman's chest.

"No way," Crab retorts, smirking a little dizzily. "It doesn't bother me, you know that."

"Maybe it should," says Donnie, sounding mildly perturbed. "We're not gonna stop worrying," he adds, then sighs, exasperated. "Benze, come here."

There's a moment's heavy hesitation. "Are you sure?" Benze asks quietly. When Crab turns his head to look at him, he's looking at Sandman. There's some kind of bad blood between them. Pun intended. It's like no matter how hard they try or how much they love each other, they're still afraid. Of each other, or what they're capable of. They can practically read each other's minds. Crab doesn't know what there is to be afraid of, but he sees the fear anyway.

"Benze," he murmurs. "Baby. Come here." It's a cheap shot, honestly. He knows the pet names are one thing Benze can never withstand. He kind of wonders if Benze had ever been loved before they met. It's a little sad to think about for too long. But it works. Benze's face, smeared with his blood a few minutes ago before he had the presence of mind to clean himself up, crumbles and he slowly joins them on the sagging couch.

"It's okay, dude," mutters Sandman, stretching out one hand to grab Benze by the back of the neck and pull their foreheads together. Benze sinks onto the cushions, hands briefly ghosting over the bandaged bite marks before he curls himself tightly, almost protectively, around Crab's side.

"Hey, baby," Crab whispers. Benze blinks slowly at him, red reflection from his eyes flickering in the half light. "You're okay. I trust you," he says, though he's said it so many times. "I love you." Benze still flinches at that. That's part of why Crab says it so much. Half to teach him that it's true, but partly to see the stunned, awestruck look in his eyes. It's like magic.

"Thank you," Benze whispers back. It doesn't matter if he means for feeding him or for loving him. It's kind of the same thing, anyway. Benze doesn't say I love you back. He never does. Crab isn't sure he'll ever be able to. But he knows.

Their blood is cooler than it should be, they can't regulate temperature as well as they should be able to, but with the three of them wrapped around him like this, Crab feels warm. How could anyone ever think they're monsters when they're so full of love? How could anyone ever fear them? How could they hate them?