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iceshard1011 · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton Characters: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Additional Tags: Eventual Romance, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Non-Human Humanoid Society, (said society is The Worst), Sympathetic Sides (Sanders Sides), Mild Language, Discrimination, Flirting, Polyamory, Asexual Character, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Picnics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Play Fighting, Fallen Angels, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Angst, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Teasing, Blood and Injury, Violence, Grief/Mourning, Protective Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Aftermath of Violence, Kissing, Threats of Violence, Deceit | Janus Sanders Needs a Hug, mentions of (heavily) implied transphobia, extra warnings in the end notes, please read them if you're uncertain or uncomfortable, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, Morality | Patton Sanders Angst Summary:

“You are a demon,” he realised.

Patton tilted his head, and it reminded Virgil of a wild animal.

“Yes,” he agreed, “and you are an angel without a halo, in a world looking to destroy your wings.”

19k fic below the cut, too :)

please mind the trigger warnins in the tags here on tumblr, and in the end note on ao3.

note: the italics don’t carry through copy and paste, so if i have missed some on this tumblr post i apologise. in that regard, the story may be more accurate on ao3.

Janus and Virgil had been fighting.

Unfortunately, these current days, this was not an uncommon occurrence. It was not a physical battle, as that was forbidden within the city, and most other parts of the Angelic Kingdom, but any angel in the general radius of the pairs’ shouting matches knew to subtly evacuate as quickly and quietly as they could. Neither brother was pleasant to be around when agitated, and it seemed recently that they only frustrated each other.

After all, no other angel was going to pick a fight with the lead Angel of Diligence.

Remus yawned, leaning back to admire the drawing he had completed. He almost wished he could add some details, like a ruffle to the wings of the angel, or a scar or two along their skin. The sketch for the to-be mural just seemed so… bland. (At least he did not have to write, like Virgil did. The kid had a real knack for story-telling, but some of the things he was required to write for the ‘good of the reputation of the Angelic Kingdom’ was so boring and so much wasted potential that Remus had considered using the scrolls as snacks, if angels ate snacks — which they did not.)

He supposed that was what he signed up for, when becoming an artist. No single hair out of place. No negative interpretations. No misrepresentation of the angels in any way.

It was not too much of a loss. Nobody knew about his secret stash of personal sketches, decidedly not positive interpretations, in his room.

Remus, an Angel of Liberality, was one of the very few individuals who had the… Remus would think balls, Remus would say ‘bravery’ to be around Janus and Virgil during one of their fights.

Not much scared him. (Anymore, at least. He had faced the worst of his nightmares and come out simply fine. Not that he would voluntarily tell anyone this, though.)

Even when the walls shuddered with Janus’ bellow of, “ENOUGH!”

Remus strained his ears but did not hear Virgil reply. He put his scroll and quill down and ventured into the common area. Both Janus and Virgil’s faces were flushed red, their shoulders heaving.

After a moment, Janus visibly composed himself. He set his shoulders and folded his hands behind his back. He lifted his chin and did not meet Virgil’s eyes when he said, “You are dismissed.”

“Dismissed?” seethed Virgil. “This is my home—”

“It is ours, if not mine,” spat Janus, and Virgil recoiled, not looking any less angry. “You will not disrespect me.”

Virgil opened his mouth.

“I am older than you,” said Janus, because angels did not growl, even though Remus was quite sure that was almost a snarl. “You will follow my orders. You may leave.”

Virgil stared at him, his fingers twitching. Remus wondered if he was itching for a scroll. That usually happened to him when he wanted to sketch something down. Then he whirled around, his face twisted hatefully. He froze when he spotted Remus in the hallway, watching with rapt interest, but then squeezed passed him to the open archway of the house and shot into the sunlight.

Remus looked over at Janus. “What was that?”

Janus looked exhausted as he rubbed his eyes. “A mild disagreement about robes.”

Remus tilted his head. “These?” he asked, lifting a handful of the white robe he was wearing. Janus sighed.

“Yes.”

Remus waited for him to elaborate, but he did not. Remus shrugged. “They are a little gaudy.” Janus shot him a warning glare, but Remus was not fazed. He never was. “He will come around. He always does.”

“I do not know,” Janus said softly, because angels did not mutter. He sat at the table and heaved a quiet breath, leaning against the back of the chair, because angels did not slouch, even if they were emotionally drained. “It seems we will fight about anything, these days.”

Remus shrugged again. He did that a lot. He did not have an answer for the Angel of Diligence, so he moved to sit across from him. He did not know how to help; dinner was not for a few hours yet, and angels did not eat out of time.

“Sorry, Remus,” Janus said quietly, which was surprising, because angels did not apologise unless it was only very extremely necessary. Janus’ eyes were far away. “I doubt either of us mean to make you upset.”

“I am not upset,” Remus said, because angels did not lie. “I find it funny how you forget that the entire city can probably hear your little spats.” Janus did not even send a disapproving look in his direction, though Remus did not use the most... approximate angelic language. “You brought me in here. The least I can do is tolerate your dynamic.”

“This is not our dynamic,” Janus disagreed. “At least... it should not be our dynamic.”

Remus thought about that. “I am not the cause of your fighting, am I?”

“Certainly not,” Janus said vehemently. “Virgil is... tolerant of you, but not fond. He is not, however, jealous, nor unhappy with your presence.”

“Then why are you fighting so much?” Remus asked. He was aware his questions could start to become exhausting, but Janus did not seem to be getting tired of him.

“I do not know,” said Janus, and his voice was... strangely unstable. Like the verbal version of a wooden board wobbling. “I do not know, Remus.”

The two sat like that until it became time for dinner to be made, faces neutral and eyes blank.

Angels did not cry, no matter how much they might want to.

Virgil was not returning to the house.

He did not care what Janus thought, or what Janus wanted, or whatever the hell the Ancient Laws instructed angels to do. He was fairly sure angels were not supposed to yell, and yet his throat was strangely raw.

Angels also were not supposed to curse, but Virgil had already decided: fuck his brother, and those pretentious assholes who wanted to keep him stuck to a strict, pointless schedule for the rest of his life.

Virgil could not care less about speeches and presentation and perfection — he was not perfect. No one up there was, and the sooner they realised that the sooner he would find it in himself to return and maybe apologise.

But in the meantime, he was not going to sit around and be scolded for wearing ‘the wrong kind’ of clothes around his own house.

Maybe he was not supposed to be an angel. Maybe somehow, somewhere, the universe had fucked up and given him feathers and a bracelet instead of a tail and a pair of horns.

Branches whipped at his face, and he stumbled. He had gotten to the In Between faster than he thought he would. Maybe he had been flying faster than he realised.

He looked around at the strange, warped world, and swallowed the lump in his throat. Nothing lived here. Nothing could live here. A long time ago, the angels had chosen what gorgeous, superior beings they wanted to gift access into their kingdom, and the demons had been left with all the other unwanted creatures. The world In Between the two kingdoms was desolate, and empty, and still just as dangerous as a demonic fire ring with prancing hyenas.

Because any being, holy or not, sentient or not, spending too much time between worlds, without the source of either kingdoms’ power, would waste away until they were nothing but the still air.

Virgil wondered if that was what he wanted. If he wanted to cease to exist. If the kingdom was better off without him. It certainly did not seem like he was making much of a difference.

He did not growl, because angels did not growl (but was he even an angel anymore—?), but he made some sort of noise as he ripped his halo from its position as a bracelet on his wrist.

It dissolved when he threw it to the ground, but he did not feel any different. He wondered if he was supposed to, or if he really was as defective as he thought he was, no matter what Janus had ever tried to argue otherwise.

He sunk to the ground and found that he did not actually care if he was snuffed from existence.

“Oh, goodness!”

Virgil’s eyes snapped open.

“What in Lucifer’s name are you doing here—?”

Something touched his shoulder, and Virgil’s veins were shot through with panic.

Virgil reared back, shooting to his feet, and flaring his wings.

“No, no, hey, I’m sorry!” the voice yelped, and from where he was struggling to stay aloft in the air, Virgil stared at the speaker. They were small, at least smaller than Virgil, and he was considered short by angel standards. They held themselves oddly, like they were ready to bolt at any second, despite looking very intrigued with Virgil. Their sandy hair was either so curly that it covered the sides of their head completely, or they had no ears, which was too odd of an option, really. At least, it would have been if... Their... well, their legs were normal enough, apart from the strange elongation of their foot, and the fact that they had no toes, and only the hoof of a deer, or maybe pig.

“Calm down, kiddo,” they were saying, holding their petite hands up. “Just breathe. I’m sorry for startling you.”

Virgil scowled but dropped to the ground, finding it too hard to remain suspended in air. He eyed the newcomer dubiously.

“My name’s Patton,” they said, and Virgil felt his lip curling into what would have been a grimace — if angels grimaced, which they did not.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

The stranger looked surprised. “I just saw you curled on the ground. I was worried.”

Virgil stared at him, bewildered. Patton, it seemed, was undeterred, and smiled brightly.

“What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Virgil.” The correct answer was, I am Virgil, as angels were instructed to respond, but... Virgil was not feeling like much of an angel at this moment.

Patton practically swooned. “That’s such a nice name!”

Virgil stared at him, baffled. What sort of answer was that? He did not have a nice name. He just had... a name. Like everyone else. It was neither nice nor not nice. Some names held more power than others, but his name was bland. Bland and boring and useless.

“You are very weird,” he decided.

Patton thought about that. “Um... Thanks!”

Virgil was getting more and more confused. “That was not a compliment.”

Patton frowned, and for a moment he almost thought that Patton may have been a big brother, because it was almost identical to the little pinch that Janus got between his eyebrows. “Virgil, buddy, that’s rude.”

It was then that Virgil noticed that the lack of normal looking ears was because of the pair of pale, flopping ears on either side of Patton’s head through his curls, and Virgil blanched.

“You are a demon,” he realised.

Patton tilted his head, and it reminded Virgil of a wild animal.

“Yes,” he agreed, “and you are an angel without a halo, in a world looking to destroy your wings.”

For a moment, Virgil was confused, but then he glanced back and saw a handful of white feathers fluttering to the ground. The In Between was taking its toll on him faster than he thought it would.

He shuddered, and more feathers floated down.

“Come with me,” Patton said, and Virgil’s head snapped around to glare at him. The demon smiled carefully. “It’s alright. My home isn’t far, it’s on the edges of the kingdom. You’ll be safe there.”

“I am an angel,” Virgil pointed out. He shifted uncomfortably. “I do not belong with demons.”

“What are your other options?” Patton asked. If Janus had said it, it would have been rhetorical; sarcastic, scathing. A tactic to make Virgil consider how stupid he was being. When Patton spoke, it sounded like a real question, like he genuinely wanted to know what else Virgil could do.

Virgil looked away and did not answer.

“Come with me,” Patton said again, beseechingly. “I promise, it’ll be alright.”

Virgil’s gaze darted around the landscape, then down to his shedded feathers. “Very well,” he muttered, because he did not feel like following angelic rules.

Patton beamed, turning. “Great! Follow me.”

Virgil followed him through the strange rock and twisting not-quite trees. The uneven ground bit at Virgil’s bare feet, who was used to gentle, cloudy floors. The world around them got darker, but Virgil was not sure how. It all became muddled, cloudy, but more like a night thunderstorm than tufts on a sunshine-lit day.

When Virgil squinted, he realised it was because the grey sky had morphed into a cloudy night sky. The underside of the clouds had a red hue, like reflecting a sunset, but Virgil could not see the light of a sun anywhere. There was a strange haze around the area, like the smoke of a fire. It was nothing blinding, but enough that Virgil had to squint to see anything in the far distance. Craggy mountain tops lunged for the dark, velvet sky, not anything more than dark silhouettes in the gloom. The ground was littered with natural rubbish, in the sense that it was far more cluttered than the In Between, where while the ground may have been uneven, it had no loose materials adding to its character. And of course, the Angelic Kingdom never had anything out of place on its perfect pathways. This place looked like it was constantly ravaged with tremors.

Virgil wanted to ask where they were, but he had a feeling that he already knew.

He followed Patton over the strewn ground, picking his way over the loose rocks and barbed shrubbery. There was a dark river cutting through the ground along the path they were walking, but Virgil did not want to look too closely. He could not tell if it was water or not, and whatever it was, was certainly not holy.

After too-long of Virgil trying desperately not to trip, a house of sorts cut through the odorless smog.

It looked ordinary, the closer they got. If Virgil was going to go for brutal honesty, he would call it closer to a hut than a house. Maybe a mound of somewhat sturdy dried mud and twigs pressed up against the base of a cliff. Or maybe those walls were just incredibly old, dirty bricks. He could not tell.

He wrinkled his nose. Was he going to be expected to say here?

An image flashed through his mind, of a haughty group of pompous angels frowning down at him from their palace in the white clouds, and Virgil decided he was happy with anything this strange little demon was going to offer.

“Is... this your home?” he asked, as politely as he could.

“It is!” Patton said.

Virgil looked between the demon and his home. “It is... nice.”

He obviously didn’t sound as convinced as he wanted to because Patton giggled, and said, “What? Did you think we all lived in gory, dark caves and castles?”

Virgil’s cheeks heated against his will. “I did not exactly... learn much about you.”

Patton’s gaze softened with sympathy. “Well,” he said, moved up to the blocked off entrance of the house in that odd, animalistic gait of his, “let’s try and change that, shall we?”

He opened the wall of the house and darted in. Virgil followed, having to duck slightly in the entranceway.

“I’m home!” Patton called out. Virgil looked around. It was... extremely cluttered, in the house. There was a hollow shelf, holding scrolls, like it was a very, exceedingly small library. There was a table with a thick, open tome with unintelligible scribbles across it, a small black stick resting beside it on the wood. A fireplace was positioned off to the side, with gathered crockery, looking as if they were washed with black water. Virgil thought about the river outside and wondered if that was not far from the truth.

“You’ve returned earlier than usual,” a new voice said, and a demon with dark, sharp lines staining the corner of his eyes materialised from the side wall. Wait, no, he had just done the same thing that Patton had done to get in... What were those strange, moving wall-parts? (And was he wearing eyeliner? Or was that natural?)

“Is everything— Oh.” The demon’s dark, gorgeous eyes found Virgil, and the angel suddenly felt very scrutinised. “Patton, this is an angel.”

“This is Virgil,” Patton corrected, and Virgil felt something in his chest react. “And he’s going to be staying for a long as he would like.”

The other demon blinked, and Patton turned to Virgil. “Virgil, this is Logan.”

The demon dipped his dark head, and Virgil wondered if all demons had strange skin colours like Patton’s dusty brown and Logan’s dark navy.

“Welcome,” Logan said, albeit a little stiffly. “I would say that I hope your stay hospital, but I have reasons to believe that this place is already... less than stellar compared to what you are used to.”

What Virgil was used to? Virgil was used to being judged. He was used to being yelled at. He was used to always being in the wrong, to being scolded for not being presentable enough, for being stared at and murmured about when he was thought to be out of earshot. He was used to not belonging — and while he had never felt more out of place than in this wrecked land of fire and brimstone and dark atmosphere, these demons were looking at him expectantly, like they cared about his opinion, like they cared about what he was going to say next.

His lips hedged on the beginnings of a smile.

“It is appreciated,” Virgil told Logan, and the unfairly pretty demon looked like he was preening. Something shifted behind him, and with a jolt, Virgil realised with a start that the long tailfeathers of a peacock were protruding from beneath his clothes.

Patton giggled and thumped Virgil’s hip with his own. The angel stumbled, and looked at Patton, perplexed. Was that some sort of greeting, in demonic language?

Patton did not notice his confusion, though, and looked around the house. “Where’s Roman?”

Virgil swallowed. How many demons lived here?

“Last I saw him, he was upstairs,” Logan said, moving to the table to peer down at the open book. “He was taking a break from writing.”

“Oh.” Patton’s odd ears dropped sympathetically. “Poor kiddo. He works so hard.”

“I doubt that anyone in the city will be even remotely interested in this novel, either,” Logan muttered, sounding mutinous. “No one cares for a grounded demon’s talent.”

“Grounded demon?” Virgil asked before he could stop him. The other two looked over at him.

“That’s what we are,” Patton said. “I’m sure you’ve always thought of demons with whipped tails and big bat wings, huh?” Virgil nodded. “Not all demons are like that. You angels have categories, right?”

Virgil stared at him blankly.

“The Seven Deadly Sins, and the Seven Heavenly Virtues,” Logan elaborated. “Humility, pride. Kindness, envy.”

“Oh.” Virgil’s wings shuffled with his shrug. “Yes. We called them Traits.”

“Well, some demons, like ones of pride and anger, tend to be more high ranking. They live in the centre of the kingdom, where most of the rich demons reside. They... uh...”

“Have superiority complexes,” a third voice said, and Virgil whirled around to see a demon descending the stairs that he had not previously realised were there. Where were those stairs on the outside of the house? Where was the second floor?

The third demon blinked sleepily at Virgil before yawning. “You’re new,” he said mildly.

“I am visiting,” Virgil said. The demon bobbed his head.

“You’re cute. You can stay.” He brushed past Virgil and headed over to the fireplace.

“Roman,” Patton said in a scolding voice. “No hitting on the guest.”

Roman shook himself, his wild hair flinging in all directions. From a distance, Virgil peered curiously at the little horns poking up through his wavy locks. Did all demons have animalistic features?

“As long as the guest doesn’t ask for it,” Roman said without looking back.

“I would not want to find endearment with a demon,” Virgil snapped. Roman glanced over his shoulder, and Virgil realised that his pupils were horizontal. The demon smirked, and it could have been hot, if Virgil was not already deeply unimpressed by his behaviour.

“You’re talking to a Demon of Lust, darling,” he said. “You don’t know what you want.”

“Roman,” Patton said in a warning voice, and Roman sighed heavily. Virgil had not realised his eyes had been glowing red until they dimmed to normal.

“Fine, fine, whatever,” he grumbled, and the silk in his silky voice switched out for a grumble. “Food, anyone?”

“Oooh, I’m hungry,” Patton said, bounding over. Virgil felt utterly lost. He looked over to Logan for help.

“Patton is a Demon of Gluttony,” Logan explained quietly, which was not really what Virgil had been silently asking. They both watched Roman and Patton rummage around in the fireplace. Virgil wondered if it was the demonic equivalent to a kitchen. “He often can’t help when he feels hungry, which is one hundred percent of the time. Indulging him is the best course of action.”

Virgil nodded carefully, considering that. “How are you… categorised?”

Logan kept his eyes on his demon friends. “I’m a Demon of Pride.”

“Should you not then be in the heart of the kingdom?” Virgil asked.

“I was born without wings,” Logan said plainly. “It happens, in some family lines. Genetic mishaps, mutations, so on and so forth. I did my best to live up to the standards of being a Demon of Pride, but quickly found it illogical to attempt to be someone I physically could not be.”

Virgil ducked his head. “I know the feeling,” he did not actually say.

“I am an Angel of Patience,” he murmured softly instead. Logan looked over at him, and nodded, once.

“Thank you for trusting me with that,” Logan said. Virgil shrugged. He did not know why he had. For all he knew, these demons were going to sacrifice him to their gods and eat his flesh and bone. Maybe Virgil was so apathetic at this point that he did not care what these demons wanted from him.

He pulled away from Logan’s side, looking around the room. His gaze landed on the desk and book. “You were saying that Roman... writes?”

“As a pastime,” said Logan. “His tales are slightly too romanticised, and gaudy, but I can appreciate the artistry to them. He... has yet to achieve the same praise from anyone outside of me and Patton, however.”

“May I ask...” Virgil trailed off, but Logan waited patiently. Virgil pointed at the long black stick. “What is that?”

“Charcoal,” Logan said. He crossed to Virgil and picked it up. He pushed it to the corner of the page, and it left a blackened, dusty spot behind. When Logan put it back down, his hands were tinted that same dark colour. “It’s what we write with. Do you not?”

“Quills,” Virgil answered faintly. “The end of cleaned feathers and pots of ink.”

“Ah.” Logan shook his head. “I can’t say that we are as... sophisticated.”

“You don’t have feathers to use as quills,” Virgil reasoned.

“Quite right.”

“Virgil!” Patton bounded over. “Do you eat?”

“Of course he eats,” Roman said, prowling over with him, licking his lips. For a moment, Virgil thought he was being suggestive again, but then he realised he was eating... some clump of fur and meat in his hands. Virgil looked away before he could be sick. “Angels are notorious for being fed purely on bullshit and assholiness.”

“Roman!” Patton snapped.

“Just as demons are grovelling, snarling creatures of grime and spit,” Virgil retorted, lifting his chin to frown down at Roman.

For a moment, the Demon of Lust looked mildly surprised, and maybe impressed. Then he frowned, looking confused. “For an Angel of Patience, you’re not the nicest individual I’ve ever come across.”

“Roman!” Patton chided again, but Virgil was already feeling the fight leaving him, making way for the resigned depression.

“Perhaps some of us just do not belong where Fate claims they do,” he muttered.

Roman perked up at that, looking excited. “Ooo, bad-mouthing Fate? That’ll get you somewhere where you don’t want to be.”

Patton planted himself between the two of them. “Roman, that’s enough.”

Roman grumbled but subsided obediently.

“How did you hear me?” Virgil asked, changing the topic. “About my Trait.”

“Heightened hearing,” Patton answered with a sunny smile that looked a bit too forced. “Goats and pigs have it. Peacocks, too.”

“Goats and pigs?” Virgil echoed.

“The animals representing lust and gluttony?” Roman said from where he was now sitting at the desk. “Do you not know anything about culture?”

“Not yours,” Virgil said, and he did not mean for it to be an insult.

“Well, anyway,” Patton not-so-subtly interjected, “I got you something to drink. I hope it’s okay.” He handed a mug that did not have a handle over to Virgil, who took it and sniffed the warm contents inside. It smelt like chocolate, with hazelnut, and maybe milk. But the mug itself was so dark. Virgil wondered if it had even been washed.

“What do you wash the bowls with?” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Patton looked slightly confused as he answered slowly, “We wash them with water, kiddo.”

Virgil looked at the mug in his hands dubiously. “They are black.”

“Oh, that’s just made of obsidian,” Patton answered. Virgil had no idea what he was talking about.

“It’s a type of stone you can get from volcanoes,” Logan explained, like he was explaining the existence of demons and angels to a human.

Virgil whirled on him. “There’s volcanoes out here?” he demanded.

Roman tilted his head. “Did you not see the huge mountain right next to our home?”

“Your home is built on a volcano?” Virgil cried.

“Beside,” correct Logan, “not on.” (Virgil was not reassured.)

He looked between the three demons and took a sip of the drink. It was sweet, almost syrupy as it went down. He waited for the burning, or the pain. For his airways to close and his brain to shut down and the demons to laugh as his vision faded.

“Is it good?” Patton asked expectantly.

“I like it,” Virgil answered honestly. Patton smiled.

“You let me know if you want any refills,” he said. “Would you like to eat anything?”

Virgil glanced over at where Roman was licking the blood his snack had left on his fingers. He froze when he found Virgil’s gaze locked onto him, and almost apologetically, said, “We have more than raw possum, if you wanted.”

Virgil was not sure what his face was doing, but it got a smile from Patton before the gluttonous demon darted back to the fireplace.

“Don’t you think you could have eaten that with slightly less mess?” Logan asked Roman.

“Hey, a demon’s got to do what a demon’s got to do. I’m hungry; I eat.”

“Yes, but you’re not exactly setting a great first impression to our guest,” Logan said, as if Virgil was not standing right beside them.

“Oh.” Roman looked over at Virgil. “My apologies, Patient Angel.”

It sounded more like a mockery of a nickname, and Virgil wrinkled his nose, but he had something else on his mind.

“You all speak strange,” he said honestly.

Roman’s eyebrows arched. “We’re the ones who talk strangely?”

“Roman.” Logan frowned at him.

Virgil thought about how to word what he was thinking. “Angels do not… shorten words, like you all do.”

Logan and Roman stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“You guys don’t speak in apostrophes?” Roman asked.

Virgil frowned. “Apostrophes?”

“Lucifer’s pitchfork...” Roman muttered under his breath with a shake of his head.

Patton arrived back with them, pushing a slate of what looked maybe like cream or yogurt into Virgil’s hands. “It’s got blueberries in it,” he said, also handing him a small, bent spoon.

Virgil looked at the little tub, to Patton, and back. Cautiously, he ate a spoonful. It tasted just as good as the drink, and did not kill him. He nodded approvingly. Patton beamed, and moved to hand Logan a platter of an assortment of foods that Virgil could not identify. The Demon of Gluttony darted back to the fireplace and returned with a bowl of what looked like crushed dragon fruit and maybe dried bread, but truly, Virgil did not have much clue as to what the food really was. He was about to ask when Patton and Logan both promptly sat on the ground.

The angel paused, startled. He looked around for a chair, but besides the one Roman was sitting in (backwards, now, as to see the others) at the desk, there were not any chairs. Slowly, Virgil lowered himself to the ground with them. He slowly ate through the meal Patton had provided him.

“Do you not have a schedule of meals?” Virgil asked finally.

Patton tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Angels cannot eat outside of the times on their schedules,” Virgil explained, and Patton looked horrified.

“We have no such rules,” Logan said. “No one moderates what we eat.”

“Bleh.” Roman made a face. “Imagine eating at the same time as everyone else. Gross.”

“Yes, the whole demonic kingdom would be covered in bloodied fur and splattered organs,” Virgil agreed sagely, and Patton burst into giggles. Even Logan looked like he was hiding a smile. Roman fumed in his seat.

“You’ll regret that, angel,” he growled, crouching on the seat.

For a terrifying moment, the demon launched from the chair, and Virgil waited for his throat to be ripped out.

But then Patton collided with Roman and the two thumped heavily to the floor, growling and snarling.

Virgil shot to his feet with a yelp, spilling the cream from his bowl. “Patton!” he shrieked, waiting for hot blood to spray onto the floor and Roman to go for Logan next.

But Roman only twisted, rolling Patton onto his back, and pinning him to the ground with a triumphant but breathy, “Ha!”

“Oh, very good,” Patton said, sounding frustrated and proud at the same time. “I could never beat you, anyway.”

“You certainly can’t,” Roman agreed. “You’re only small, Pattycakes. And you never had littermates to practice on.”

“Fair enough.” Patton sighed defeatedly. “You can’t always fight fire with fire.”

“Right.” Roman tossed his head importantly, so he missed the sly smirk creeping onto Patton’s face moments before his arms shot up to dig his hands into Roman’s sides.

The lustful demon shrieked, twisting to roll off Patton, who pounced on his friend, tickling him into the ground.

Still screaming and laughing, Roman hooking his arms over Patton’s waisted and dragging him down to be flush against his own body, preventing him from having the height advantage. Virgil was wondering if this was a common occurrence when Logan stepped in.

“Alright, alright.” The prideful demon moved towards them, his meal carefully placed to the side. Virgil glanced guiltily down at his spilled snack with a twist in his stomach. “That’s enough. We—”

Roman and Patton both lunged for Logan at the same time, dragging him to the ground into their cuddle pile.

Virgil tilted his head, almost trying to study them.

“Are you siblings?” he asked abruptly, and attention turned to him. For a moment, he felt guilty for interrupting their moment and cutting off their laughter, but then Roman’s returned, tenfold, and Virgil was pretty sure the only reason the demon had not curled into a ball yet was because of Patton and Logan’s weights pinning him flat to the ground.

“He thinks we’re littermates!” the Demon of Lust howled, tears forming at the edges of his eyes. Patton giggled with him. Logan did not laugh, but he did smile. Virgil was feeling far too out of place.

“No, we are not related,” Logan said to Virgil.

Virgil thought about Patton putting his hand on Virgil’s shoulder the moment he met him, and bumping their hips, and his spat with Roman, and now looked to where Logan was trying to explain further but was being distracted by the other two, and how he looked pretty far from professional from where he was squeezed into the snuggle pile.

“But you are so... touchy.”

Finally, the laughter died down again.

“I think demons are just like that,” Patton said, then drooped. “But... yeah, even for demon standards, I’ve been told I’m a bit much.”

“Not for us,” Roman said fiercely.

“You also live together,” Virgil went on. “Yet you are not related?”

“Is that an angelic rule?” Patton asked. His voice was gentle. Virgil nodded.

“As far as I am concerned, it is very common here for demons to live in family groups, but it is not a rule.” Logan pulled himself from the demons, despite Roman’s unhappy scowl. “It is, however, quite uncommon to contact and reside with demons outside of one’s category. Our group is... a bit of an anomaly.”

“I don’t know what that means but I bet it’s something super!” Patton chirped. He wiggled off Roman, who was looking more and more put-off with his cuddle buddies leaving him. “So... you’ve never been hugged, Virgil? Or touched, or anything?”

“I mean... sometimes,” Virgil mumbled. “When it was... really important.”

“Hugs are really important!” Patton said. “Would you like one right now?”

Virgil shuffled. “No, thank you.” He looked forlornly down at where he tipped over his food and guilt curled around him again. “I ruined your floor.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Patton said, waving his hands like he was waving away the issue.

Roman looked between the two of them, inquisitive, then yawned. “I’m tired.”

“You had a nap,” Logan said.

“I want another one,” Roman snapped. “Anyone care to join me?”

Virgil blanched, but the others did not react badly.

“Not tonight, kiddo,” Patton said. “We need to get Virgil sorted for where he’s going to stay. Wouldn’t want him to feel left out, now, would we?”

Roman grumbled under his breath and shot Virgil a dirty look, as if it was all his fault (and maybe it was) before stalking up the stairs like a prowling cat more than a grumpy goat.

“If you’re not siblings, are you partners?” Virgil asked. Patton and Logan shared a glance.

“It’s complicated,” Patton said carefully. “For... different reasons.”

“For starters, Roman is asexual,” Logan said, and Patton yelped and slapped him across the side of the head. The prideful demon instantly realised his mistake and ducked his head.

Virgil stared at him, trying to pick that apart. “An asexual Demon of Lust?”

Patton’s expression turned into something slightly more guarded and careful and utterly alien on that friendly face.

“It’s not unheard of,” he said, like he had to defend Roman.

“It’s possibly partly the reason he doesn’t belong anywhere but on the outskirts of the kingdom,” Logan said, and Virgil wondered if he had any tact.

Patton hissed at Logan, and he ducked his head, effectively ridiculed.

“I’m sorry, Virge,” the gluttonous demon said. “It wasn’t our place to tell you.”

“Roman has always been open about this,” Logan pointed out, and Patton frowned at him.

“That’s not quite the point, sugar,” murmured Patton, and Virgil tried not to wrinkle his noise. ‘Sugar’?

“Is everything okay?” Logan asked, and Virgil realised he’d been staring at the ground.

He looked up. “Is... is that normal, here?”

“Is what normal, kiddo?” Patton tilted his head.

Virgil did not know how to explain his question.

“There was... an angel I knew,” he started, slowly. “And... they did not like it when angels called them... a girl.” Patton’s eyes flooded with understanding, though Virgil was not sure how because he had not yet finished the story. “But... being who you are is something gifted to angels by Fate. It is a crime to think about changing it, and for anyone to agree. For that reason, angels are not to have makeup, or jewellery, unless it is for something like a theatre performance. So... this angel wanting to be called... ‘they’... was... shamed, and ignored, and eventually they just ran away, and they— she— ugh.”

Virgil made a very unlike angel noise and buried his face in his hands. He did not know why he was saying this, why he was asking these questions. Perhaps he had nothing left to lose. Maye he was just too tired to care anymore. Regardless of the reason, he was exposing himself to these demons — his kind’s sworn enemy — and he could not find it in himself to feel scared.

“It is hard to wrap my head around. Does that— Am I bad?”

“No.”

Surprisingly, the fierce answer came from Logan. Virgil looked up. The Demon of Pride was frowning, a flame in his eyes, but Virgil instinctively knew he was not the one in trouble.

“It is not your fault for being ignorant in a kingdom of arrogance,” Logan said firmly. “You are trying. You’re not ignoring us, like those other angels. Nor did you ignore that angel, just now, like anyone else did. That’s commendable.”

Virgil shook his head in disagreement but did not verbally protest.

“Did you ever hear from that angel again?” Patton asked with round eyes.

“No. Everyone thinks they just wasted away in the In Between. Their sister didn’t even care. She boasted that she was glad they were gone. My... my brother...”

Truth be told, Janus had followed along with just about everything the other angels had said. He had nodded along to their angry rants, and scowled in disgust, and tutted disapprovingly, all at the right points.

But when Virgil had stopped and looked, really looked, he had seen the tightness in Janus’ jaw. The tortured look in the back of his eyes. The way he would walk away from the conversation with clenched fists and tense shoulders.

He had not agreed with what the kingdom had been saying, but he had not had the bravery to say otherwise. Virgil was not much better; he was just as much of a coward.

“Angels have always been... close minded.” Logan spoke carefully, like he was stepping on glass.

“Not all of them.” Patton said with a smile in Virgil's direction, and if he was not so emotionally drained, Virgil may have blushed. Logan hummed in agreement, and then disappeared upstairs.

Patton led Virgil upstairs to a room at the end of a hallway. It was scattered with mink blankets and camel skins. The bed was long and low to the ground. The only light source was the hazy light from outside, hovering into the room through a window to cast the room in a red glow. It was a strange bedroom, far more different than Virgil’s back in the Angelic Kingdom.

“Was this... a spare room?” Virgil asked.

“What? No, silly, it’s my room!” Patton said brightly. Virgil blanched.

“I’m— I’m not staying in your room,” he said.

“Of course you are!”

“No!” Virgil cried. “I could not do that! It’s your bed!”

“Oh, I’ll just sleep on the floor downstairs.”

“No!” Virgil cried again, feeling more and more distressed. Who did he think he was? Invading the demons’ home like this, eating their food, ruining their carpet? Stealing Patton’s bed?

“No, no, it’s okay,” Patton was saying, rubbing his hands up and down Virgil’s bare arms. His skin burned under the demon’s touch. “It’s alright, sweetheart, breathe.”

“I do not want to steal your bed,” Virgil said through weird pants that were ravaging his body. “I do not... I...”

“Alright, honey. Okay.” Patton’s breath warmed Virgil’s cheek, and Virgil wondered distantly if Patton was standing on the tips of his toes to reach him. “No bed-stealing here. Okay?” Virgil nodded. “Okay. Come on, then.” He started to pull Virgil towards the bed.

“Hey, hey, no,” Patton said when Virgil jerked away from him. “It’s okay. You’re not kicking me out.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” Virgil offered. “I can leave—”

“No, no,” Patton insisted softly, crawling backwards into the bed, and gently pulling Virgil in with him. “Relax, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

“We—” Virgil swallowed. “We are sharing the bed?”

“I will not have a guest of mine sleep on the floor,” Patton said vehemently. Virgil tried to hide his smile. “And I don’t want to freak you out, so... this is a compromise?”

Virgil looked around the dim room, and then down at the demon, curled beside him, looking worried. He did not hide his smile that time.

“It is a good compromise,” he decided, and when Patton smiled that smile of his, Virgil found himself falling asleep easily.

Virgil awoke to the sounds of chatter and the smell of cooking meat.

He sat up, first confused at his unfamiliar surroundings, before remembering Janus, and the In Between, and Patton... And he was out of bed in quite a hurry.

He looked down at his wrinkled tunic. He thought about the near-rags the demons had worn yesterday, and how different their society was to angels, and wondered if they would care for his... unimpressive appearance.

He descended the stairs, found the three demons sprawled out around the floor, and decided they really would not.

“Good morning,” he said quietly, and Roman jumped three feet in the air. Virgil was seriously starting to doubt he was not a cat.

“Oh. You weren’t a fever dream,” he said blandly.

Logan sighed pointedly. Roman ducked his head but did not apologise.

“Good morning, Virgil,” Logan returned with a nod.

“‘Morning!” Patton chirped. “Here, we tried cooking some food for once. Um. I hope it’s okay.” He scampered over to pass him a plate of something that was almost burnt.

“Thank you,” Virgil said. He peered closely at it. “Angels do not have... whatever this is.” Roman gave an indignant squawk. “What is it?”

“Meat,” offered Patton.

“Food,” grumbled Roman.

“It is crocodile,” answered Logan.

Virgil almost dropped the plate. “What?”

Patton’s shoulders drooped. “It was the freshest meat we could get. Only a little bit! And we skinned it, don’t worry!”

Virgil wondered if he was turning green. “I-I do not think that I am very hungry.”

Patton’s face fell. “Oh.”

Something inside Virgil twisted at his crestfallen expression. “Uh—” he stuttered, which was odd because angels did not stutter. “Do you have cutlery?”

Patton instantly brightened and darted away to bring back a single fork. He moved around a lot, Virgil thought.

He held up the fork. “What... I...”

“You eat with it,” Patton said.

Virgil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I am to pick up this entire slice with a fork and... what, eat it in one gulp?”

“Do it, coward,” egged Roman. Patton and Virgil whirled to glare at him, but as Patton opened his mouth to scowl him, Virgil took the challenge head on and shoved what he could of the meat into his mouth.

It was chewy, and embarrassingly too much, and Virgil made a mess, but he managed to chew and swallow the whole piece in one go, and the demons looked thoroughly impressed.

“I rescind my ‘coward’ comment,” Roman said faintly, and Virgil would have smiled triumphantly if he was not so busy trying desperately to wipe his mouth clean. Patton giggled, and a moment later he was in front of Virgil, wiping his lips with the end of his torn sleeve.

Virgil blinked down at those sparkling blue eyes, so bright compared to his dark skin. If all demons were this gorgeous (which Roman and Logan were not, but they were still close) Virgil figured he would struggle to stay here much longer.

He ducked away before anyone of them could see the heat rising in his cheeks.

“Well, that was disappointedly uneventful.” Roman stood up and stretched. “I’m going to head out for the day.”

“Whatever for?” Logan asked. “You were out all of yesterday.”

“Inspiration, Bird Brain!” Roman said brightly. “There’s bound to be inspiration somewhere out there, and I just have to find it!” He padded over to the blocked entrance way and promptly... unblocked it.

“May I ask something?” Virgil blurted, and the demons looked back at him, surprised.

Patton inclined his head. “Something on your mind, kiddo?”

Virgil moved from Patton’s side to Roman’s and stared at the strange entranceway. He pointed at it. “What... what is this?”

“A... door?” Patton asked slowly.

Virgil looked between the demons and the door. “Angels do not have doors.”

“Satan, are there anything that angels do have?” Roman muttered.

“A good sense of who is an unnecessary dick,” Virgil said imperiously. Roman gaped at him. Virgil was not sure if he was more offended or impressed.

“Why don’t we all go out for the day?” Patton suggested abruptly. “We can help Roman look for something to write about and have a picnic at the same time!”

“Demons have picnics?” Virgil asked.

“I’m sure it’s not nearly as appealing as your sunlit, wind-filled ventures,” Roman sniped with a vicious smile, “but I’m sure we can find some place that will be just as dazzling.” Virgil wrinkled his nose sceptically. Roman grinned merrily over his shoulder. “Come on, then!” He disappeared out the door.

Logan rolled his eyes. “He’s damn hopeless,” he muttered, moving after him regardless. “Are you two coming?”

Virgil followed the trio of ambling demons out into the wasted landscape of red rock and hazy smoke. He eyed the burned-up shrubbery and shallow craters dubiously. Did Roman really think he could find a place that could rival a picnic area like those they had in the Angelic Kingdom, with a gentle breeze and clear air and brilliant sun? Maybe the real reason he could not write something good enough for the city’s attention was that he was just delusional.

After almost tripping over multiple loose rocks, having his robes caught on several spiked, burnt shrubbery and having a particularly scary, too-close encounter with a suddenly bursting geyser, Virgil was ready to end the adventure and drag the demons back to the house — or at the very least, trudge back on his own.

It was entirely unfair that the demons seemed to move much easier than him.

Roman, at the front of the group, had a pounce in his step. He leapt over boulders with ease and almost pinged off the ground each time he moved. Logan stepped lightly, delicately, but still with so much more grace than Virgil could manage. Even Patton, who supposedly was a Demon of Gluttony, totted pleasantly along, having no trouble with the difficult terrain.

It was an obvious given, but Virgil was not built for this hellbent place.

“Ready, you angelic pain?” Roman called, bringing Virgil from his thoughts. He looked up to see that they were approaching a strange wall of thorned bushes. Virgil was not sure there were even any flowers or leaves on the branches. He scowled.

“Ready to walk back to the house accompanied with thorn-sized divots covering my body? It’s a hard pass from me.”

Roman threw his head back and laughed. Without another word, he reached forward and brushed a portion of the branches aside, the thorns scraping harmlessly against his rough, dark skin, and Logan ducked through the created entrance.

Patton wiggled with delight and bounded right after, but Virgil hesitated. He could not see what was beyond the thorn wall. He glanced between Roman and where the other two had disappeared.

The Demon of Lust only smiled toothily. “If I were you, I wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.”

Virgil scowled again and brushed passed him, carefully avoiding stray branches.

Now, Virgil grew up — literally — in the light. He was used to bright days and no cloud cover. Houses were always lit with sunlight and extra candles and orbs of brightness. Even nighttime had sparkled with stars and the overhead moon.

Fair to say, Virgil’s eyes were used to intense, beaming displays.

Virgil was not prepared for the blazing light that assaulted him the moment he crossed through the thorn bush wall.

He might have actually staggered (which angels were not supposed to do under any circumstance) because he felt far too unsteady on his feet until a warm hand pressed to his back. His hands had risen automatically to shield his face, and he squinted desperately to see through his fingers at the blinding light.

“Oh, bad luck!” Roman’s voice said, just behind him. “Don’t worry, it just pulses sometimes. The blindness will recede eventually.”

“Eventually?” Patton squawked, somewhere at Virgil’s side. Virgil could just about hear Roman rolling his eyes.

“Fine, fine! Here, keep your eyes closed.” A pair of warm fingers pushed down on Virgil’s eyelids, and he fought against the urge to pull away. The hands were gentle and careful, and it almost felt like they were rubbing the light from behind his eyes.

After a moment, Roman retracted his hands, and Virgil’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked, then blinked again, trying to find something to focus on.

Patton’s bright blue eyes and curious expression and careful smile, it seemed, were mighty fine things to look at.

“Are you okay?” the gluttonous demon asked.

“He’s fiiiiine,” groaned Roman. “Come on, come on! I want to show you around!”

Virgil shook his head to clear it, took a step back, and gaped at their surroundings.

There were in a crater, but one that must have been thousands of years old, because the ground was regrowing its strange plant life, with some new additions including startling coloured blooming flowers and huge leaves. There was no life within the crater, as much as Virgil could tell, but the plants themselves looked like they were sentient lifeforms, waving in a non-existent wind and snapping at air.

Above them, the cloudy haze had lifted, at least a small bit, to reveal an obsidian sky above, so much darker than Virgil was used to. There was no moon, and no visible stars.

In the centre of it all, most likely the thing that had caused the crater to begin with, was an enormous, glimmering rock.

Virgil felt, frankly, quite faint.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Roman boasted. “I tried jumping on it, but it was way bigger than I anticipated. And I did NOT fall on my ass, before any of you say anything, because you can’t prove it!” No one was paying attention to him, though.

“A dying star,” Logan breathed, somewhere off to Virgil’s side. Virgil turned on him, startled.

“What?” He glanced back at the glowing stone. “That doesn’t make any sense! It’s solid, it’s not gas — that’s not possible— and there’s no stars around here anyway! What— i-it’s glowing, it’s— what?”

Silence followed him, and he looked around at the others.

“That’s the nerdiest thing I’ve experienced since Logan,” Roman said, flabbergasted.

Virgil ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “It just... took me off-guard.”

Patton giggled. “It’s okay.” He touched Virgil’s arm, only lightly, so Virgil would later wonder why it felt as if little pricks of lightning were shooting through his nerves. “It was cute.”

“Oh my GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD,” Roman complained. “I’m going down to find a spot to sit before you guys make me sick.”

Before Virgil could pick that comment apart in his confusion, Logan said, “You knew this was here,” in an astounded voice.

Roman threw a grin over his shoulder. “Yep.”

Logan sighed, raising his eyes to the starless sky above. “Unbelievable.”

It was only after the four of them settled onto a smooth section of rock, away from any hungry-looking plants, that Virgil realised they had not grabbed any food for the ‘demon picnic’. He must have had a look that spoke his confusion as much, because Patton tilted his head in his direction.

“What’re you thinking about, kiddo?” he prompted.

“When... what do you do on picnics?” Virgil asked. “There’s no... wine, or cheese, or... anything.”

“I thought angels didn’t eat out of time,” Roman said, only a little snidely.

Virgil met his eyes with a challenge. “Angels have designated picnic schedules.”

Roman’s eyebrows rose. He rubbed his face. “When do they make these rules?” he muttered. “Before or during your stages as a minor?”

Virgil lifted his chin, ready to reply... but why was he defending that kingdom? What did he care what these demons, who demonstrated more care and welcome than an entire lifetime of being with the angels had provided?

He lost his assertive posture. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, some of the rules are pretty dumb.”

Roman laughed, but there was something, deep in his eyes, that looked pained, and forced. “They certainly are.” He stood. “Better go find something to eat. Any requests?”

Strange tradition aside, Virgil offered, “Not crocodile.” Roman laughed again, and this time Virgil’s lips twitched in amusement. The sound was contagious.

“Very well,” the Demon of Lust said. “I will endeavour to find the best but crocodile for our angelic guest.”

It was after he left back through the thorn barrier that Virgil said, “For a lustful demon, he is very... enthusiastic about things that don’t involve... romance.”

“He’s showing off,” Logan said.

“He’s always been like that,” said Patton at the same time. The two glanced at each other. “It’s a bit of both,” Patton continued after a moment. “He insists on doing the hard work, like fetching water and food and anything else hands-on for us. It’s sweet.”

Virgil frowned. “Why?”

Patton ducked his head.

“It could be to do with the derivative views of Demons of Lust,” Logan explained slowly. “They usually aren’t the most... proper of demons. They live in the heart of the city, but from their nature you can guess what majority of their occupations entail.” Virgil grimaced and Logan nodded empathetically. “Demons of Lust tend to be... uh.” He cleared his throat. “Good with their hands, and Roman intends to prove that he can be useful in other ways.”

Virgil gaze down at the smooth ground beneath his legs.

“He's been through a lot,” Patton said, his shoulders drooping. Virgil wanted to wipe that sad look off his face, but he did not even know what to say, let alone how to act.

Logan hummed in agreement. “Yes, especially—”

Patton’s head shot up to give him a dark look, and he promptly stopped talking. Virgil looked between the two of them. “What?”

“Nothing,” Logan said, too quickly. He eyed Patton uncertainly before lowering his gaze. “It’s... nothing.”

“I have food!” Roman’s voice sang, and a moment later he was bouncing back through the bush towards them, in that cheerful gait of his. He trotted over to dump the gathered food before them. A group of collected berries, some weird, thick leaf-things, and a carcass of a dead animal about the length of Virgil’s arm.

“Why didn’t you just bring food with you when we left the house?” Virgil’s wings fluttered as he picked up a dark berry and squinted at it.

“Food doesn’t keep. Well, meat doesn’t,” Roman said, and Virgil had a hard time listening to anything he said when he talked as if he knew how food in the Angelic Kingdom kept. “Got to eat while it’s fresh!”

Virgil politely declined the meat, and focused on the variety of berries, and a couple of the strange leaves. They were filled with a weird substance, almost tasting like mince of sorts, and if Virgil was not sure weirded out by them, he probably would have eaten far more.

As it was, he had never had much of a big appetite, and he sat back after only a few minutes of eating.

It gave him a chance to study the others while they were distracted. They ate like ravenous wolves, and Virgil was half glad he had finished, because he probably would have lost his appetite even quicker.

Patton ate like he had not been fed in years, and Virgil’s eye roamed over his lean figure and exposed ribs and wondered distantly if he was constantly starving. Roman ate with all the grace and poise that Virgil expected from a Demon of Lust, and that was the same amount as any other demon — that is to say, little to none at all. He had gone quarters with the other two with the meat, and was tearing into it, muck and blood splattering from his lips and staining his knuckles. Logan focused more on the neater foods, but even he managed to look like he was fighting the food more than eating it.

Needless to say, it was a strange, mildly frightening experience.

Once they were finished, though, and had wiped the evidence from their lips and hands, the trio were back to their normal, grinning states. Virgil wondered if all demons went feral over meals and would not have been surprised by a positive answer.

“You didn’t eat much,” Patton said, almost mournfully. Virgil shrugged, and gifted him a hint of a smile.

“I could not have let you guys go hungry,” he said with a glimpse of mirth in his eyes. Patton clearly saw it and beamed back. God, that was almost as blinding as the dying star. He glanced back at it. “How did you find this? What science could possibly be behind it? You will have to explain it to me.”

Roman fell onto his back. “Oh, great,” he bemoaned. “Now we’re going to have to listen to Tail Feathers preen and gush about the stupid science behind a fallen, dying star. What’s so interesting about the logic of it? It’s a giant jewel from the sky! Cool enough as it is.”

Patton lightly whacked his knee. “Hush. You like listening to him.”

So the pair of them — and Roman, though it was obvious he tuned in and out — listened as Logan talked about the Demonic Kingdom and it’s landscape and surrounding atmosphere, how it tied into the world and kingdoms around it, and why it was so special that a dying star landed there of all places.

Logan talked quite a bit, Virgil quickly found, as he was still babbling even as they began to leave the crater. Virgil was not getting bored of listening to him, however, and was not about to complain. Roman obviously did not have the same opinion.

“OKAY WE GET IT,” Roman hollered after Logan had gone off on a tangent about the nonexistence of a sun and moon in the Demonic Kingdom. Virgil was unable to smother a snort of amusement, and Logan shot him a sly smirk. Virgil hoped Logan had kept talking just to bother Roman. “YOU’RE SMART AND ALL OF YOUR SMART, SCIENTIFIC WORDS ARE GOING OVER OUR HEADS, LET’S TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE NOW.”

“Actually, ‘nerdjacking’ is neither a smart nor scientific word,” Logan correctly mildly. Roman stared uncomprehendingly at him. Logan’s lips twitched. “It’s made up.”

Roman shrieked furiously, and Virgil burst out laughing as he lunged for Logan and widely missed, causing him to tumble across the dusty ground.

“Wow, able to catch crocodiles but not peacocks?” Logan said, mock-curiously. “You have an interesting skill set, Roman.”

“YOU FIEND!” the lustful demon screeched, and the pair darted off in the direction of the house, leaving Virgil and Patton a giggling mess in their dust.

Well, Virgil was giggling, and at first, he thought Patton was too, until he realised the demon was staring at him with a blank expression and wide, round eyes. Laughter died on his lips. “Is everything okay? Did I do something?”

Then Patton’s face split with that incredible smile again, and his eyes may have honestly started watering.

“Your laugh is... is...”

“Oh.” Virgil ducked his head, feeling his face heat up. He smiled, a little. “Yeah. I... I haven’t laughed like that in... a long time.”

A pair of hands cupped his cheeks and brought his gaze to meet Patton’s. “I hope we can keep that,” he said, voice quiet and lips soft and do not think about it, Virgil, stay strong. “I really, really hope we can keep you laughing like that.”

“What?” Virgil straightened, becoming too tall for Patton to reach, and smirked. “Does it fuel your ever-constant hunger for angel blood?”

Patton giggled and shook his head. “No. It just... makes me happy.”

Something in Virgil’s heart shifted and oh, that was not fair.

“Should we try and catch up?” he said, nodding to where Logan and Roman had disappeared off to. “Just to make sure Logan hasn’t actually been eaten or something by Roman.”

Patton chuckled. “Or that Roman hasn’t broken anything with his misplaced attack attempts.”

In agreement, the pair walked hand-in-hand after the other two, and Virgil prayed Patton wouldn’t look up and see the blush on his face.

It must have been a week, or maybe two, when Virgil woke up and his daily routine was interrupted by a particularly disturbing new variable.

Virgil often slept in far longer than the demons. He had come to find that this was because demons slept twice, throughout night and day, preferring to have two long naps that broke up their day instead of sleeping all in one period. It was strange, but Virgil learned to adjust (especially after he realised that they had been neglecting their second nap during the first few days to accommodate for him.) He’d gotten used to their routine, like how Roman was the one who often got food but Patton was the one who dished it out, or how Logan often zoned out when he read, or Patton’s daily wandering walks out of the house, which Virgil had learnt was how he had been found by the demon in the first place.

So, Virgil often woke up from his shared bed with Patton alone, and could go about getting ready by himself. His robes now were dirtied and torn from the toll adventuring would take on his outfit. At first, he was concerned that they would see him as improper, and dirty, and hate him and order him to leave, but they had barely batted an eye. They didn’t care for his tattered clothes, and frankly if they didn’t, neither did he.

He could merely dress, splash his face with fresh, warm basin water, and would go downstairs. He could resort to combing his hands through with his fingers. The demons didn’t use hairbrushes. Virgil could get used to all of this.

Except as he moved his hands through his hair, he brushed against something — a pair of soft, fuzzy somethings that moved with his touch — and he shrieked.

Virgil staggered downstairs at the same time as the demons lunged up to him, worrying over him, demanding to know what happened, why he screamed.

Babbling uncontrollably, Virgil grabbed Logan’s wrists and shoved his hands in the direction of the weird new appendages growing from his head.

Logan’s fingers gently glossed over them, and he relaxed.

“Ah,” he said, as if everything made sense. “Don’t panic, Virgil. They are simply ears.”

“I have a pair of perfectly good ears on the sides of my head!” Virgil cried. “Why do I have these?” He yanked at the fuzzy ears and ignored the pain that shot up his skull. Patton yelped.

“No, no, don’t do that!” He darted forward to try and ease Virgil’s hands from his head. “Don’t pull on them, honey, it’ll just hurt.”

“Easy, city slicker.” Roman grinned. “That’s normal. See, check these out.” He bent his neck at an awkward angle to expose his goat horns, and Patton gently moved Virgil’s hands to feel them cautiously. “Everyone has animal traits.”

“Demons have animal traits,” Virgil corrected.

The three demons glanced at each other.

“Yes,” Logan responded slowly, “and so can Turned Angels.”

Virgil blanched. “W-what? Angels can... can turn into demons?”

Logan glanced at the other two, who weren’t giving him any help. He nodded almost uncertainly, like he didn’t want to say the wrong thing to set anyone off. “It’s... possible.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Virgil cried, and the three of them recoiled from him as he began to pace. His wings flared open and shut, agitated. “There’s no— that— Really?”

Roman, suddenly snappish, growled, “Are you going to take our word for it or are you just going to keep blabbering all day?” Virgil paused, and waited for Patton or Logan’s reprimand. It didn’t come.

He turned away, hugging himself.

“Oh, baby.” Patton’s soft voice and warm breath reached his arm as the demon wrapped his arms around his torso. “It’s scary, I know. If you returned to the Angelic Kingdom now, your demonic traits wouldn’t be permanent. You could go back and return to normal if you’d like.”

And somehow that was even more horrifying than the idea that he was turning into a demon.

Virgil suddenly realised how silent it was around him, like the others were too scared to even breathe in his presence.

“No.” He let out a long breath. “No, it’s okay. Well. It’s not okay, but it will be. I will be okay.” He turned in Patton’s arms and pulled the little demon to his chest. He looked over Patton’s head to Logan and Roman. “I’m sorry for scaring all of you.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Patton said. “You could never!”

Logan and Roman didn’t interject, but Logan inclined his head in mute acceptance and forgiveness. Roman didn’t meet anyone’s gazes.

“I’m going to look for inspiration,” he muttered finally, and pushed past Virgil and Patton to disappear out the door. Patton half reached for him, protests dying on his lips. He drooped, defeated, in Virgil’s grip.

“Sorry,” Virgil said again.

“It was not entirely your fault,” Logan assured him. “Roman...”

“He’s not sensitive,” Patton defended quickly.

“I wasn’t going to say he was,” Logan assured him. “It’s a bit of a sore topic for him.”

Virgil fidgeted with his hands. Patton stilled them when he clasped their fingers together. “I feel like there’s more to him than you guys are ever going to tell me.”

“He has a brother,” Logan said, and wasn’t that just a proving point to Virgil’s statement? “He doesn’t live with him because it is forbidden.”

“I thought demons could live with whoever they like,” Virgil said.

“Demons can,” Logan confirmed.

“Angels can’t,” Patton said softly.

When the reality of what he’d just been told, Virgil stumbled back. He sat on the ground, staring at the carpet. There was a dark stain there, made by a spilled tub of blueberry yogurt.

“He’s an angel,” he said faintly. The demons’ silence answered his unasked question. “He’s an angel.”

“He was,” Patton corrected, moving to sit before him. “He’s a demon now, kiddo.”

Virgil shook his head. “But— he was so confused! About angel rules, and me, a-and...”

“He left a long time ago,” Logan said. “Times change.”

Virgil rubbed his hands over his face, his mind racing. Lust, his mind said, quietening the other thoughts, and he looked up, realising he had said that aloud. “Chastity. He was an Angel of Chastity.”

“Indeed.” Logan dipped his head.

It explained a few things, at least. Roman’s mutinous comments about angels, his lack of sexual preference, why he liked exploring the demonic world.

“Why did he leave?” Virgil asked. “Was he sick of the pretentious rules, too? But... he had a brother. Why would he leave his brother?”

Patton and Logan exchanged looks.

“That’s not our place,” Patton said softly. “We’ve already been telling you far too much.”

“You know he wouldn’t mind.” Logan moved to massage his nimble fingers into Patton’s tense shoulders. Virgil felt a spike of jealousy curl in his gut. Why didn’t he think to do that for Patton?

“Should I go after him?”

“Why don’t we draw something?” Patton suggested, glancing up to Logan. “Roman got those new blank scrolls the other day.”

Logan smiled. “Good idea.” He moved the bookcase and brought back a thick, empty scroll that he laid out in the middle of their small circle. He set the charcoal pencil beside it.

“I’m not very good at drawing,” Virgil admitted quietly.

“That’s no issue.” Logan waved a hand, like he was physically dismissing the apology.

Patton smiled, and shuffled over to lean into Virgil’s side. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured, and pressed a chaste kiss to Virgil’s cheekbone. “I’m not great at it either.”

Virgil’s mind was so busy malfunctioning that he completely missed the first half of the demons’ drawing game. When he eventually tuned back in, face still aflame and heart still thumping madly, he found that Patton and Logan were taking turns in drawing on the scroll’s canvas. So far, they had created a flat landscape with a single silhouette of a tree positioned on the side.

“Ready to play?” Patton asked with a sly look in his direction. If he had been in his right mind, Virgil would have cursed him. As it was, he could barely reply with a ‘thank you’ as Patton passed him the charcoal piece. He looked uncertainly down at the half-drawing and tried to think about anything but the way his cheek was still on fire. The charcoal rubbed against his pale skin.

Slowly he leaned forward, picked a spot where he wanted to draw, and carefully, he began to sketch.

It was sloppy, and too bulky, and not the right shape, but once Virgil pulled back from his attempt at a moon, both Patton and Logan seemed floored.

“That’s gorgeous, Virgil!” Patton said. Virgil shrugged.

“It’s...” He was aiming to say ‘nothing,’ but he found he couldn’t push down Patton’s praise as easily after that kiss. “Thanks.”

Patton grinned and leaned against him, resting his head on the edge of his shoulder. Virgil didn’t tense like he wanted to, but fire still ran up the skin where Patton touched him. He wondered if that was normal but didn’t want to interrupt Logan as he frowned and drew what looked like cloud cover over Virgil’s moon.

It was beginning to look like a beautiful landscape (with a far-off ocean, a setting sun blanketing the surrounding area in rimmed darkness, an overhead moon peeking through some clouds with its star brothers and sisters) when Roman arrived back.

“Got dinner,” he mumbled, and dropped a sack of grain, meat, and salt rocks next to the fireplace.

“Oh, thank—!”

Roman slammed the front door closed when he left again before Patton could finish.

For a moment, the three of them glanced between each other.

Then Virgil sighed quietly and stood. “I’m going to go talk to him.” Logan nodded, once, and Patton attempted to smile but Virgil could see the force behind it. He turned quickly so Patton wouldn’t have to keep up the act and moved to the door.

He knocked on it experimentally, but got no reply, so he opened it and slipped outside.

Roman was sitting to the side, leaning against the house. He didn’t look mad, or even sad. His eyes were worryingly blank.

“Sorry for snapping, earlier,” he said dully.

“It’s alright,” Virgil said, almost instantaneously. He sat down beside Roman, mirroring his position. “I... must have done something wrong, so—”

“No.” Virgil swallowed, glancing at the demon, who was slowly shaking his head. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

The pair sat in silence. Roman still looked slightly dazed. Virgil fidgeted with his hands.

“So...” he said after a minute, “you have a brother?”

Immediately he wanted to screw his jaw closed, but Roman didn’t react badly.

“I do,” he simply confirmed. Virgil took it Roman also understood that he now knew his past of an ex-Angel of Chastity.

“Did you leave because... you weren’t happy with having a brother?” Virgil asked softly, that mystery still unsolved.

Roman shook his head. “I was fine with it.” He didn’t offer anything else. Virgil felt a little out of his depth, to be the one trying to keep conversation with the usually loud, energetic demon.

“Was your brother not happy with it?” he asked instead.

“He was also fine with having a brother,” Roman said, and Virgil was at a loss. Roman finally raised his head, but instead of looking at Virgil, stared off into the distance. His eyes were the same discoloured red as the bricks behind them, as opposed to the bright blood that had locked onto Virgil the first time he stepped into the house. “It was... the Ancient Angels who had issues.”

Virgil’s eyebrows twitched. “That’s odd,” he mused thoughtfully. Had he ever experienced something like that? Had he ever even heard of something like that? “You can’t help who you are related to.”

Roman’s voice was quiet when he responded, “That’s not entirely the point, Virge.”

Virgil’s shoulders drooped. He was still confused. “Oh.”

Roman looked over at him from the corner of his eye, and when Virgil glanced over at them, there were hints of mirth returning to his gaze, his lips curling the tiniest bit upwards.

“You know, if you’re going to be sticking around, I think I need to think of some new nicknames.”

Virgil scoffed and rolled his eyes. “What, names like Angel Ass and Featherbrain weren’t good enough for you?”

“To be fair, Featherbrain is Logan. He’s the peacock.”

“And what do you think I am?” Virgil challenged.

Roman shrugged. “Who knows? With these little suckers.” He reached up and tugged — gently — on Virgil’s ears, and he laughed and batted him away. “How does a hyena sound?”

“A hyena?” Virgil squawked.

“You laugh like one,” Roman said with a grin. “And you are quite greedy when it comes to Patton’s attention.”

“Hey!” Virgil shrieked. “No! I am not!”

Roman hooted with a laugh, scrambling away as Virgil lunged for him.

“Maybe you're a pig, like him!” he guffawed. “And you just need to wait it out until they grow more! It’s simply meant to be!”

“Shut up!” Virgil was laughing too hard to make an effective opponent, and Roman kept scampering out of the way of his grabs. It took a minute for Virgil to realise that Patton and Logan must have heard their ruckus and emerged from the house to watch the two of them scuffle.

Roman noticed them, lit up, and was bowled over when Virgil finally managed to catch him off-guard.

“Ha-ha!” He grinned down at Roman. “I win.” Roman pouted for a moment before smirking.

When his fingers tug into Virgil’s side, the angel merely raised an eyebrow. Roman’s face fell.

“Wait, what? Why aren’t you— That’s supposed to work!”

“I’m not ticklish,” Virgil announced with an air of victory. Roman groaned and squirmed indignantly.

“Damn it,” he muttered, and Virgil grinned toothily.

Roman startled, then, and peered closely at him. He reached up and his fingers just barely brushed against Virgil’s bottom lip. He jerked back, startled, and Roman, bashed, blushed.

“Sorry. Just, uh... pointy.”

Virgil frowned. “What?”

Roman pointed at his mouth, and Virgil ran his tongue over his teeth to find that, horrifyingly, there were indeed pointed.

“Everything okay?” Patton had moved up beside them, and Virgil shuffled off Roman. He swallowed.

“I really am turning into a demon, aren’t I?” he said quietly.

Patton’s eyes flooded with sympathy.

“You don’t have to,” Roman said, sitting up, before Patton could speak. “You could leave.” It wasn’t the same snappish tone he had used before fleeing the house. It wasn’t even remotely annoyed. Roman looked at him patiently. Empathetically. “It would fix everything. You wouldn't have to live like this.”

“Whatever you do,” Logan added, moving to Virgil’s other side to squeeze his arm, “we will help you.”

“Yes,” Patton agreed, though his voice was subdued and mournful. Virgil looked down at the small demon and his forlorn features. He glanced at the pain flickering in Roman’s eyes. He saw the tension coiling in Logan’s muscles.

He huffed and stood up. “I... have to think about it.”

“I’d love to tell you to take your time,” Logan said, rising with him. “But there’s an uncertainty around how much time you have before the power of the Demonic Kingdom take over your angelic senses.”

Virgil swallowed. “Can you give me an estimate?”

Logan glanced at Patton and Roman. “A day,” he choked out finally. Virgil’s heart dropped.

“Oh,” he said faintly.

“I’m sorry,” Logan said, and his voice trembled. “Maybe if I could have found out sooner, I would have been able to tell or, or fix it, or—”

“Hey, Big Bird, calm down.” Roman stood to press against Logan’s side. “Breathe.”

“It’s okay, L.” Virgil gave him a small smile. Patton bustled up to hold his hand, and he squeezed reassuringly. “We’ll work it out.”

Logan sighed dejectedly but didn’t protest or argue any further.

“I wonder if I’ll still have my wings,” Virgil mused, but then caught himself with a brief glance in Roman’s direction and his very obvious bare back, void of wings despite being an ex-angel. “Oh— sorry.”

Roman blinked before laughing. “Oh, don’t be sorry!” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe you will! I didn’t lose my wings to demon transformation.”

Virgil caught himself. “You... didn’t?”

“No.” Roman went sombre. “When I ran, I was unlucky enough to be intercepted by a patrol.” He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck nonchalantly, but Virgil felt sick.

“They...?”

Roman nodded. “Made sure I couldn’t change my mind once I left.”

Virgil’s gut twisted and he looked away. “God, what’s wrong with my people?”

“They’re not your people,” Patton injected softly. His hands were warm against Virgil’s palm. “You’re not like them.”

“What good am I doing down here?” Virgil whispered. “Running away from my problems, thinking I’m the only one with issues?”

“You didn’t know what else to do,” Patton reasoned. “From what you’ve told us, you couldn’t have known there were others like you.” In the corner of his eye, Virgil watched Roman tilt his head inquisitively at that, but Patton elaborated, “Oppressed and outcasted by those stupid rules,” and the lustful demon seemingly lost interest. Virgil tried not to squint at him. Curious.

Virgil shook himself, and Patton dropped his arm. That was enough niceties. Virgil could get ill with all the affection.

He nodded to the house. “Well, we don’t want to let dinner go off.”

“A man after my own heart!” Roman sang, already jumping forward.

“Wait.” Logan’s voice was firm, but deadly still. The others paused too, glancing back at them. His gorgeous eyes were narrowed at the ground as he concentrated, troubled. He looked up at them and asked, “Does anybody else hear that?”

Both Roman and Patton immediately stiffened. Virgil opened his mouth to ask what they were talking about.

“Patton look out!” cried Roman, lunging from the shelter of the house doorway to collide with the other demon.

Then two angelic sentries landed and slit Logan’s throat.

Roman’s bellow may as well have made the ground shake. Virgil would have almost believed that he was a cat instead of a goat, but then the second angel grabbed him by his horns and shoved him face first into the ground and held him there.

Patton was crying, huddling backwards, and quivering against the ground. His eyes were as wide as dying stars, flickering between his family.

“LOGAN!” Roman roared against the dirt smudging against his beautiful face. He struggled against the angel but couldn’t budge. It didn’t look like Logan had heard him, anyway; his eyes — those striking, dark eyes — were already glassy. Blood the colour of amethysts was pooling around his head as it flooded from his neck. His stained lips might have been twitching, trying to move, but all that came from his mouth was a trickle of that violet blood.

Virgil’s head spun.

He should be doing something. He should be moving. He should be screaming or crying or defending his friends or something, but he was standing there uselessly, and Logan was dying— Logan was dead— Why? What did the angels want? They couldn’t be here for him. He was a nobody. He didn’t matter.

Don’t tell me they killed Logan for me. Please, please, don’t tell me this is my fault. Logan can’t be dead because of me.

A third angel landed, glorious wings extended to their full length, glittering golden eyes narrowed, smile sharp as he straightened and readjusted his spotless suit.

“Hello, Virgil,” said Janus. “I thought I had told you not to mess with demons.”

Virgil had to throw up. He was going to throw up.

He couldn’t speak. He wanted to say Janus’ name, to curse him, to demand he leave, to help Logan, anything…

He couldn’t speak.

Beneath the feet of the second demon, Roman was cursing up a storm, expletives spitting from his snarled lips as he— glare wasn’t even the right word — as he blazed at Janus. Virgil's brother ignored him in favour of approaching Virgil, who quailed back. Roman snarled viciously, struggling to stand, making the angelic guard buck, unbalanced.

Janus paused and sighed. He didn’t even look in over his shoulder, but it must have been enough incentive for the angel because they drove their sword through the Demon of Lust’s back.

Virgil’s breath rushed out of him. He heard Patton screaming.

The angel stepped aside, taking their sword with them.

Patton shot forward, and a cry tore itself from Virgil’s throat.

“Go away!” Patton wailed, stumbling to Roman’s side, and pushing his hands to where the blue blood was soaking through his back. “Get away, you horrible, horrible, winged monsters! Leave us alone!”

Roman groaned, and Patton’s voice broke and he stopped shouting. He started talking quietly to Roman, who responded dazedly, but Virgil couldn’t hear either of their voices, even as he stared at them from his frozen position.

“Virgil.” Janus sounded tired. He was standing in front of him. Virgil could see him in the corner of his eye. He kept his gaze focused on Patton and Roman. “Oh, dear, you are trembling.” A hand gripped his elbow. It was cool, and smooth, and his brother’s, and not a demon’s.

“Don’t touch me.” Virgil ripped from Janus, skittering back to stare furiously at Janus. “What are you doing here?”

Janus blinked, and Virgil wondered where the hell he got the audacity to look shocked.

“I am taking you back,” he said slowly, as if he were explaining angels and demons to a youngster. As if he were explaining why angels were good, and holy and perfect, and demons were feral, disgusting scum not worth wasting time on.

“You are not coming anywhere near me,” Virgil snarled. Janus looked at him like he’d grown a tail and started talking in tongues.

“I understand we have had our disagreements,” Janus said slowly, holding up his hands. Patton was bent down to Roman, now, pressing their foreheads together. “But that is no reason to pick a fight with demons to air your frustrations. They could have killed you.”

Virgil gaped at him. He glanced over at Logan’s corpse, and Roman’s blue-soaked body and the tears rolling down Patton’s cheeks.

“Pathetic creatures, really,” Janus mused sadly. “It is almost a shame that they had to die because of you.”

Virgil choked on his curse, unable to get anything past his clogged throat.

Janus sighed again. “Come, Virgil. We are going home. Now.”

He turned and flared his wings. After a moment, he glanced back and found that Virgil hadn’t moved an inch.

Virgil glowered dangerously at him. His voice was steel. “I am home.”

Janus started.

Patton lunged.

Virgil jolted, as shocked as Janus while Patton clawed and bit and scratched and growled and cried and whimpered and sobbed.

The world swam around Virgil when he looked over to find Roman’s eyes dull and colourless. They didn’t even reflect off the shimmering pool of cobalt surrounding him. Virgil distantly wondered if the lump in his throat was not anxiety or emotion, and just his heart, trying to push its way out of his body, knowing that would be far less of a painful fate than what was happening around him.

Janus hissed, twisting away from his attacker, but the little demon only launched a second time, fastening the bone of Janus’ wing in his jaw and crunching it between his teeth.

Janus’ shriek spurred the other two angels into motion, and they darted forward.

Virgil got there first.

He lashed with his wing, the sharp ends of his feathers striking through both eyes of the first angel. She reared back with a shriek, clawing at her own face. He ignored Janus’ stunned cry of “Virgil!” and threw himself at the second angel, bowling them over and crunching their leg beneath his weight. He blocked out the screams as he dug his fingers — and sharpened nails, when had they grown so long? — into their thigh, digging and clawing until white blood was gushing from the gaping wound.

Firm hands dug into his shoulders and tore him from the angels, whirling him around and throwing him into the side of the house.

“What are you doing?” Janus’ eyes were wild, his hair crazed. His suit was flecked with small spots of white blood. Yet his voice was terrifyingly quiet, barely disturbing the electrified air. Virgil bared his teeth, and Janus paled. “You...”

Patton tackled Janus again, but the angel was ready for him this time, and the little demon was thrown to the ground with a brutal thump. Janus turned on him, his fingers twitching, like he was planning on twisting Patton’s neck in his grip.

And Virgil wasn’t going to have that.

He snarled and met Janus with a fire in his eyes and blood on his hands.

Janus ate dust when he crashed to the ground, metres from where he had been standing.

“DON’T TOUCH HIM,” Virgil ordered, his voice unnaturally deepened with fury.

Janus flipped to his feet. “Virgil—”

Virgil bared his fangs. “No.”

Janus’ eyes narrowed. “You are being reckless and—”

“No.”

Janus sighed. “I do not want to fight you, Soft Wings.” His voice was soft, and for a minute it seemed like the ever-present-since-childhood nickname would break through to Virgil. He hesitated. He looked at his brother and thought about what he was planning to do.

And then he caught a side of the blue and purple blood, sinking into the ground.

Soft Wings.

Kiddo.

Patient Angel.

Honey. Sweetheart.

Coward. City slicker.

Kiddo.

Angel of Practice.

Kiddo, kiddo, kiddo.

“Don’t worry, boss.” The first angel’s voice cut through Virgil’s inner mantra. He looked over to see her stagger, hand still covering her face, her lip twisted hatefully. “While you take care of your wayward brother, we will deal with the final demon.”

Virgil erupted with anger.

Literally.

At first, Virgil didn’t know what was happening, or where the blinding light, bright enough to rival a dying star, was coming from.

Then he felt something tugging at his skull, and his teeth and nails groaning in protest, spiking pain itching up through his spine.

When the light died down, Virgil raised his head to glower at Janus with elongated pupils.

His brother was frozen in place, like all the breath had been squeezed from him. The other angel had been knocked onto her back, and now one of her wings was twisted at an awkward, unnatural angle.

“Virgil.” Janus held out his hands beseechingly. Virgil fought the instinct that told him to bite off his fingers one by one. “What can I do?”

“What, still want me around?” Virgil snarled around his new fangs. “Want a demon for a brother?”

“I want you,” Janus breathed. “How do I get you back?”

Virgil raised his chin, power thrumming through his still-present wings. His long tail lashed. “You can’t.”

He knew he shouldn’t have been hurt at the heartbroken expression that flickered across Janus’ face. He had chosen this when he had ignored Virgil, when he had ridiculed him, when he had arrived at his new home where he was safe and happy and protected and slain his friends in front of him.

Janus smiling proudly down at him. Janus straightening their halos before leaving the house, his smooth hands making sure his bracelet wasn’t crooked. Janus laughing as his young little brother tried to do the same for his anklet, and only fumbled with it until he tripped. Janus introducing him to an angel with bright green eyes and toothy grin, announcing that he was their new roommate. Janus gently explaining that Remus had no family anymore, and the Ancient Angels had allowed him to live with them. Janus nodding approvingly when Virgil offered his hand to Remus, out of politeness and not joy.

“But.” Virgil spoke before he realised he had. Janus looked up, and Virgil suddenly saw how ragged his brother was. His feathers were matted from the blood that Patton had spilled, but they had been ruffled before he had even landed. His eyes were haunted, and tired, shallow shadows hugging the bags of his cheeks. He was tired, and stressed, and now gutted.

“But,” he said again, his voice more level. “If you can prove that you can fix your mistakes — if you find angels that are being outcasted, help them, give them a home and a safe place and somewhere where they aren’t suffering purely from the rules of the Ancient Angels. If you fight for angels who can’t fight for themselves. If you fight against injustice. If you make sure angels like him never find the same fate...” He pointed to Roman’s limp body and tried not to burst into tears. “Then maybe then, and only then... will I consider forgiving you.”

Janus visibly swallowed. “And then—”

“And then,” snarled Virgil, and Janus fell silent, “you will see how merciful I’m feeling.”

Janus clasped his hands behind his back, and Virgil saw how badly he was shaking. “It would have been more effective if you didn’t speak in apostrophes,” he said in a weak voice.

With a roar, Virgil striked forward, dark claws slashing along Janus’ face.

His brother staggered back, but he didn’t look betrayed or hurt. It was almost pitiful, how he looked like he understood Virgil’s behaviour.

“If you leave now, maybe I’ll let your little soldiers live,” he hissed. The other two angels were quaking as they stared at him. Janus, keeping his gaze locked with Virgil, waved at them with one wing, and they scrambled into the air, beating their wings furiously.

Janus opened his mouth. Virgil stared him down and he slowly shut it again. He didn’t say anything, only dipped his head — in understanding? Acceptance? Fear? — and turned, following the soldiers in a much more graceful manner.

Virgil watched with sharp eyes until they disappeared through the oppressive cloud cover above.

“Virgil?” a painfully quiet voice whispered. Patton slipped his hands into Virgil’s, and he promptly broke down. “Virgil!” Patton, alarmed, followed him to the ground, wrapping a warm arm around his back.

“I’m sorry,” rasped Virgil, his voice fading to barely above a hoarse whisper. “I’m so sorry, Pat, I...” In the corner of his eye, he saw Logan’s vacant gaze and Roman’s blue blood, and he broke off with a shuddering sob, his shoulders shaking. “I’m sorry.”

He heard Patton audibly gulp and wondered if his senses had been heightened or Patton was just remarkably close.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, warm lips pressing to Virgil’s temple. “It’s not your fault, honey.” Virgil choked, turning to bury his face in Patton’s shoulder. “They’ll be okay.”

Virgil didn’t protest. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He wasn’t in the mood for empty reassurance, or blind faith or hopeless dreams or misguided illusions. He’d had enough of lies.

He didn’t voice any of this. All that came from him when he opened his mouth was more sobs.

Patton continued to rub his back and press warmly at his side and gently hush him, which was all ridiculous because Patton was the one who was supposed to be sobbing and ripping up the ground and yelling at the sky.

Virgil trembled in Patton’s arms as the demon — though they were both demons, now, weren’t they? — stood them up and guided him — not towards the house, but to Virgil’s horror, Logan’s cooling body.

“I need you to help me get him inside,” Patton said softly. “Can you carry him?”

Virgil stared down at the blurry image of his friend through his tears. God, those beautiful eyes were not supposed to be that lifeless.

“Yeah,” he croaked finally. “Yes.”

Patton nodded, and for a brief moment, pressed his head to Virgil’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Virgil,” he promised emptily before pulling away and creeping over to Roman’s body like he was a startled animal and not a dead demon bleeding the colour of the Angelic Kingdom sky.

Virgil, after steeling himself, sunk to his knees and worked his arms under Logan’s body. He tried not to think about the warmth seeping out of his skin, and the wetness of his blood, and the way his chest wasn’t moving and eyes weren’t sparkling and mouth wasn’t moving in some random ramble about some vague scientific fact.

He swallowed another sob and stood, lifting the other demon easily in his arms. He wondered if he had always been so strong. (He doubted it.)

Something lashed behind him, and when he glanced down, he saw the tail — his tail — whipping back and forth for balance.

With another swallow, Virgil ignored it and moved to the house. He prompted the door open with his hip and Patton bustled passed him, walking awkwardly with Roman’s weight. Virgil averted his eyes and stared at the ground as he followed Patton up the stairs.

“Logan’s room is that door further down, just next to Roman’s,” Patton said, his voice still low. Virgil glanced over at him helplessly. Patton looked like he didn’t have the energy to even fake a smile. “Just put him in bed, kiddo. I’ll come and help when I can.”

Virgil tried not to frown in confusion. He wasn’t one to question demonic rituals, or ceremonial acts of a culture different to the one he was used to.

My culture now too, I suppose, he thought glumly. He trudged into Logan’s bedroom and looked around. It was far barer than Patton’s, or maybe just neater. Interesting looking scrolls were stacked in a corner. A map of what was presumably the Demonic Kingdom was hanging on the wall.

Virgil moved to the simplistic-looking bed and gently lay the prideful demon on the sheets. He was glad they were black, and the blood that would stain them wouldn’t be very visible. He wondered if demons didn’t bury their dead, but he couldn’t remain on that train of thought for too long because the idea of keeping Logan and Roman’s still, blood-soaked bodies in the house, just rooms from where Virgil slept, made him feel very, very ill.

Shuddering, he turned from the room and crept out. He peered into Roman’s room, where Patton was laying a red blanket over the lustful demon’s body, talking softly to him. Virgil remained silent as Patton sniffed and sat on the bed, almost curling up next to the body.

When Patton looked up without looking surprised, Virgil realised with a jolt that he had sensitive hearing.

“Sorry,” he murmured. Patton finally smiled, then, but it was small and still seemed a little forced. “I just, uh...” He growled under his breath, annoyed at how clumped his throat felt. Patton’s expression went impossibly soft and he stood, moving over to wrap his arms around Virgil’s ribs.

“It’s okay to feel things, sweetie.”

“I should have done something,” Virgil cried. “Logan even heard them coming — you all did! I could have stopped all of this if I had just—”

“Just what, love?” Patton interjected. “Taken the hit for yourself? Tried to explain to a trio of furious angels why they shouldn’t attack a group of scary-looking demons?”

“You’re not scary.” Virgil’s voice hitched. “None of you are.”

Patton’s smile widened, only slightly. Virgil rested his chin on Patton’s hair. “I’m glad you think so.”

They stayed like that for a while, leaning against each other, Virgil trying to calm himself and Patton trying to keep them both grounded.

“Well, I suppose we should get things ready,” Patton said finally, pulling away. “Once we’ve fetched some water, could you go and look over Logan? I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

Virgil stared down at him, all bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks and clogged nose and throat.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, exhausted. “Patton, they’re—”

“Oh!” Patton cried, hands flying to his mouth, and Virgil sighed, waiting for the demon to delve further into his denial. “Virge, I— I’m so sorry!”

Virgil frowned.

“We’re demons,” Patton said, as is that explained every question in the universe. “We can’t die.”

Virgil suppressed a groan. “Patton—”

Patton waved his hands, shaking his head furiously. “No, no! Really! We regenerate, it just takes longer depending on the injuries.”

Virgil blinked, then blinked again.

“Logan and Roman will be fine, really! Their bodies just need time to heal themselves!”

Virgil’s breath vanished from his lungs.

“It’s okay, Virge,” said Patton. “They really will be alright.”

Sudden heat flooded back into Virgil’s eyes. “Oh,” he said in a small voice, then again, breathlessly, “Oh.”

Patton smiled, laughing quietly. “It’s okay, Virge,” he said again. “I’m sorry, I should have told you, or explained it, I just forgot that there’s some not-very-common knowledge between our kingdoms and I—”

“But— but you were so upset!” Virgil gripped the sides of his head. “You went ballistic!”

Patton winced, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you try watching your family die in front of you and see if you act so chivalrous.”

Virgil let out a final, whooshing breath and fell forward, pulling Patton and crushing him to his chest.

“God fucking damnit, Pat,” he said with a wet laugh, then quietened, pulling back to stare at Patton in the eyes. “This is the truth, right? You’re not in denial or going delusional from grief?”

“No,” Patton promised. “I’m telling you the truth.”

Virgil nodded several times, processing the information. “Okay.” He narrowed his eyes. “What do we need to do?”

Over the course of the next day and night, Virgil wiped the blood from Logan’s skin, finding it already knitting itself back together as time went on. He wrapped bandages around Logan’s neck (and then was able to remove them not a few hours later, the blood having stopped flowing) and washed the bed sheets until the water no longer ran purple.

Patton did the same, although multiple times Virgil caught him having another breakdown while he tried to help Roman. Virgil (privately, of course) cursed Fate for making him fall for such an emotional demon. On several of these occasions Virgil’s mind started to race, telling him that something had gone wrong, or Patton had broken from his illusion of a happy ending, or Roman’s wound had been too great for his body to recover from.

But then Patton would smile and reassure him that it just got a bit much sometimes, and Virgil would sigh, return his smile, and send him downstairs to take a break while he took over.

Most of the night was filled with this sleepless routine.

At one point, they managed to catch some quiet time together in Patton’s (their, Patton would correct him) bed.

Patton reached up to run careful fingers through Virgil’s hair and finger at his new ears, giggling when they flicked under his touch. Virgil allowed him to run his new tail through his hands, too, watching with amusement as the gluttonous demon beamed at this new development.

“A tiger,” he whispered, and Virgil’s eyebrows arched.

“What?”

“You’re a tiger,” Patton repeated, looking up. “Your eyes— your reaction when it all happened... and of course! The opposite of patience: you’re a Demon of Wrath.”

Virgil fumbled, a little, at this revelation.

“I don’t feel angry,” he mumbled. Patton smiled.

“Does Roman always seem to feel lustful, to you?”

“He did try and hit on me the first few minutes I walked through the door,” Virgil pointed out. Patton rolled his eyes with a laugh.

“That’s just Roman,” he said. “But it’s because you’re not a pureblood. You are a formed demon, not a birthed one. There’s nothing wrong with that. In our house, at least,” he added with a sly wink.

Virgil flushed. He blew a raspberry at Patton, who giggled and wiggled up to cuddle him.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said quietly. “A very pretty tiger.”

“I think sleep deprivation is getting to you,” said Virgil gently, guiding Patton’s head down to rest on his collarbone. “Try and get some rest. I’ll look after the menaces.”

“Alright, kitto,” Patton murmured sleepily and closed his eyes. Virgil didn’t have the heart to wake him up to demand what sort of pun that was.

That next morning, Virgil walked into Logan’s room to find the Demon of Pride trying to stand from his bed.

“Hey!” he barked, darting forward to grab Logan’s shoulders and shove him back onto the bed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Logan had the audacity to give him an incredulous look. “Standing up?”

“After taking that sort of damage, fat chance,” Virgil snarled at him. “Lie back down.”

Logan blinked, then squinted. Virgil paused, feeling vulnerable under the scrutiny.

Though, then he suddenly realised his tail was flicking with anticipation and his ears had folded backwards in confusion, and he realised.

“I’m uh... I suppose I ran out of time,” he said, only a little sheepishly. “I’m a demon, now.”

“I can see that,” Logan said mildly, but Virgil could tell he was pleased. “I can’t exactly stay in bed all day, Virgil. Can you help me up?”

Virgil scowled down at him. “Do you promise to take everything slow and easy for the day?”

Logan sighed. “If that’s what it takes.”

Virgil thought for a minute, but seemingly satisfied, Vigil gripped his (now warm again) hand and helped him stand. To Logan’s complete credit, he barely even swayed. Still, Virgil couldn’t force himself to relax. He kept his grip firm but gentle on Logan’s arm and circled him. Logan stood still, looking mildly amused, and let Virgil finish his examination.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Virgil asked, leaning forward to squint at Logan’s face, thoroughly inspecting his smooth throat and bright eyes.

So when their lips knocked together, at first Virgil assumed it had been his fault, but then Logan’s expression morphed from dazed to horrified, and he took a step back.

“Apologies,” he said quickly. “I— that’s—”

Virgil didn’t know what his face was doing until his cheeks started to ache, and he realised he was smiling so wide his dimples were probably on full display (ugh).

He reached forward, sharp fingers lightly trailing the edges of Logan’s lips, which had previously just been pressed into a thin line.

“Feeling okay?” Virgil asked. Logan visibly swallowed, then nodded. Virgil pulled his hand back and Logan adjusted his shirt primly.

“Quite.”

Virgil grinned, and the tip of his tail twitched happily.

“Again, Virgil, my apologies, I—”

“Hey,” Virgil, fixing him with a patient look. “Do I look mad?”

“But— you and Patton—”

“Eh.” Virgil shrugged. “You’re all pretty likeable, for demons.” He shared a grin with Logan, who finally relaxed.

They both heard the thumping on carpet and the excited babbling long before Roman careened into Logan’s open doorway and stared, gaping, at Virgil.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, and Virgil was almost confused before Patton came up behind Roman. “Oh my god, you really weren’t kidding.”

“I told you I wasn’t!” Patton laughed.

“Unholy SHIT,” Roman cried. He shot forward and circled Virgil, who glared at him challengingly and dared him to say something. He paused in front of Virgil and bit his lip, looking abashed. “Can... Can I...?” He gestured to the top of Virgil’s head.

Virgil relaxed and ducked his head compliantly. Roman attentively brushed over his ears.

“How does it feel?” Logan asked curiously. Roman pulled back and Virgil straightened. “Being a demon?”

“Yeah,” scoffed Roman, not unkindly, “you’re not the superior being anymore. How does it feel to be longer above us? I have to know, it’s for science.”

Logan shot him a bemused look. “How on earth does that have anything remotely to do with—”

“SILENCE, GUINEA-FOUL,” Roman interrupted. “Let the Siberian Forest Cat talk.”

Patton frowned disapprovingly. “Ro—”

He was cut off by a chortling snort, and with a surprise, they turned to see Virgil covered his face with his hands, laughing into his palms.

“S-sorry,” he gasped out, waving his hand, and shaking his head. After a moment he composed himself and smiled down at Roman. “That was terrible.”

It seemed it was a day of unusual behaviour: Roman didn’t act offended at this. He only grinned brightly.

Then his face dropped into a scowl and he crossed his arms.

“God, that’s so unfair,” he muttered. “You got to be a tiger. I’m just a goat.”

Virgil tilted his head, thinking about his previously private conversation with Logan. A smirk creeping along his face, Virgil decided: fuck it.

He leaned down and planted his lips firmly on Roman’s.

“I don’t know,” he said as he pulled back, grinning smugly at Roman’s stupefied face. “I think they’re pretty great.”

Roman’s breath shuddered as he inhaled. His smile was a little star-struck when he said, “R-right.”

Patton giggled and looped his elbows through both Roman and Virgil’s arms.

“I have to admit I am curious as well,” Logan said slowly, and Virgil wondered if they just weren’t going to talk about any of… ‘it’. “About your certainty of your decision — staying here, beneath the rest of your people?”

“They’re not my people,” Virgil said, and it sounded familiar to something he’d already heard. He shook his head. “They’re not even my family.” Patton looked horrified at this, but Virgil grinned and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him into a side hug. “You guys are.”

Patton and Logan smiled. Roman made a face. “That was cheesier than Patton’s puns.”

“Or sappier than your nicknames,” Logan countered, and Virgil sighed. Sentimental moment over, he supposed, as Roman bleated in outrage.

“Hey!”

Six months later

Virgil, realistically, wanted to ask for a single day of normality.

A relaxed day, maybe an uneventful one. Maybe where he could take a nap without the anxiety of the house falling to pieces without him around to keep the order. (Honestly, how had these morons survived this long without him?) A day of bliss.

Not one where Roman wanted to try cooking for a change and forgot about it, causing the fireplace to explode and almost burn down the house, or where Patton tried to cheer Logan up after his feathers were burnt from Roman’s food mishap with an endless stream of puns and bad dad jokes that made even Virgil groan.

So of course, it was on this particular disastrous day that Fate decided to mess with Virgil personally some more.

He was reading over Roman’s most recent work, having successfully achieved attention from some in-city demons after some of Virgil’s tweaks to his work. (When Roman had found that the potential publishers had disregarded their groundedness because of how much the work had improved, he had hugged Virgil so hard he was fairly sure at least two ribs had popped out of place.) The story wasn’t bad; Roman was obviously trying some new avenues, now that he was more confident that demons would consider looking at what he made.

He was just circling a word and suggesting a better alternative when he heard it: the flapping, signifying approaching wings, too large to be an animal, yet not big enough to warrant panic. Although, the fluttering around the edges of the sound, indicating wings made of feathers made a small pit of anxiety grow in Virgil’s gut.

The others heard it too, but Virgil was already standing and making for the door before they could say anything. Patton tried to call for him to stop, but he exploded out of the house just as Janus landed.

He looked as formidably professional as ever, not a strand of hair out of place, his wings perfectly folded at his back. Face an expressionless mask. Eyes carefully blank and unreadable.

The only thing different this time around, was the gashed scars slicing down the side of his face, trailing over his eye running down the side of his cheek to reach the edge of his lip.

Virgil glowered at him, hunching his shoulders. He unfurled his wings, the feathers unkempt and so dirty the white was almost black, now, but still as glorious and empowering as ever. He blocked the entrance of the house with them, keeping both his possessions in, and Janus out. (He could hear impatient bustling as Roman paced at his back, wanting to get past.)

“What do you want?” Virgil demanded. He heard shuffling behind him, and the sound of Logan’s tailfeathers brushing in alarm. Distantly, he remembered that he and Roman hadn’t heard his tempest tongue before.

Janus visibly composed himself. “You told me that once I had done as you required, I would-”

“I told you I would consider forgiving you,” Virgil spat. “Not that you could return here.”

Janus seemed to be at a bit of a loss at this, closing his mouth and blinking.

“Ah,” he said finally. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Should I... I suppose... I’ll... be leaving, then.”

“Good.” Virgil snarled, baring his teeth for good measure.

“Wait!” a little voice cried, and Patton burst between the doorframe and Virgil’s wing. The Angel of Anger gave him a chagrined look. “Wait, maybe— maybe we can hear him out.”

“Sure.” Roman scrambled out behind Patton, and Virgil sighed, exasperated. What was the point in trying to protect them if they didn’t get the hint? “Right after I dig something sharp into his back.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Patton, distressed, grabbed Roman’s arms.

“Let’s see how he likes it!” Roman snarled. “What if we slit his throat as well, while we’re at it?”

“Perhaps we should think this through,” Logan piped up. At least he was being sensible and staying behind Virgil, where it was safe. “I doubt he came here for a fight.”

“No,” said Roman fiercely, and he almost shaking, “but we can sure give him one.”

“Stop it,” Virgil growled, his voice losing its unnatural tone. Silence fell and he tried to swallow guilt. “Go inside.”

“What?” Roman demanded, whirling on him. “But he—!”

“Roman.” Virgil stared him down, unwaveringly. Roman growled.

“We’re not helpless, Virgil,” he said.

Virgil sighed and moved from the doorway, cupping Roman’s face in his hands. “This is less of me being worried about what he’ll do to you, and more of me being worried about what you will do to him. You are quite a formidable foe when you want to be.”

Roman squinted suspiciously. “Flattery isn’t going to get me to relax.”

“But it’ll make you listen,” Virgil countered smoothly, and Roman finally relented. He shuffled back, but Patton slipped his hand into Virgil’s and peered up at him.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked in a whisper. Virgil smiled down at him.

“I’ve got it,” he reassured him. Patton nodded and stepped back. Virgil’s palm burned as he strode forward.

It was strange. They were... together, now, all four of them. Apparently, the trio of demons had been before Virgil had even arrived, but despite Virgil having been head over heels for Patton first, the pair of them still hadn’t exactly... made moves. Virgil wasn’t sure why. He hoped it wasn’t something he’d done to make Patton second guess anything.

He shook those thoughts from his head. That wasn’t what he needed to focus on.

The glare he fixed on Janus made him blurt, without pause, “I came to see you.”

Virgil’s eyebrows arched. His blackened wings twitched. His tail swished warningly behind him.

Janus looked like he understood the unspoken message clearly: you see me, and I am a demon.

“I... wanted to inform you that—” Janus’ voice became a little uneven, and he cleared his throat and straightened himself — “that I did as you asked.”

Virgil glowered.

“Started to do as you asked,” Janus corrected himself. “It’s... a work in progress?”

Virgil tried not to let his surprise show on his face. Janus was smug, and cunning, and insufferable, and he didn’t ever show any sign of weakness, and he certainly didn’t act so unsure of himself.

“I approached... many other angels, and... the majority of the Ancient Angels have been confronted about the community’s... opinions.”

Virgil’s lip twitched in disgust and Janus winced. “They... have considered my suggestions of changing a select number of rules. I... have the heads of Humility and Abstinence aiding me. And Remus, too, of course. I think I can sway Head of Kindness with a little more time, too. Emile does not like me very much.”

Virgil realised with an inward jolt that his face had gone slack from his tight scowl.

He resisted the urge to clear his throat. There were countless things he could say. He could growl a deep, “Good.” He could bare his teeth and snap a sharp, “Get out.” He could snarl and slash at the other side of Janus’ face, give him a matching set of scars, and roar that he didn’t care what Janus had done or would do.

The truth was: Virgil could say a lot.

The truth was: Virgil said nothing.

Virgil stared at this angel and refused to admit that he really did just want to see him as his brother once again.

He stared at Janus and nodded once.

“You can... always return,” Janus went on. “There are rules about demons and angels coexisting, and I doubt I will be able to change those ones as swiftly, though... I believe I can be convincing enough for an expectation to be made.”

Virgil’s ears flicked.

“Remus misses you, I think.” Because of course, Janus wasn’t going to admit to any weakness, and missing someone was certainly a weakness. “You... know that you can return to your family, no matter what, right?”

Virgil narrowed his eyes as he said, “I am with my family.”

Janus’ face didn’t betray any emotions, and Virgil wondered if he had seen that coming, and had been prepared. For a long moment of silence, he said nothing. His eyes darted over Virgil’s tensing shoulder. Virgil’s ears swivelled to listen as Roman shuffled on his feet anxiously, and Patton’s hands brushed over his shoulder, and Logan’s feathers fluttering as he strained to overhear their conversation.

“So you have,” Janus admitted faintly.

Virgil lifted his chin. Similarly, Janus lowered his gaze.

“I... will return, now.” The angel stepped back.

A quietly cleared throat made Virgil glanced over his shoulder. Patton, between Logan’s curious eyes and Roman’s deep frown, made a face that Virgil couldn’t make out. He blinked uncomprehendingly, and Patton gestured, a little wildly desperate, to Janus, who had turned to leave.

Virgil almost ignored him. Almost said nothing.

But then he was blurting out a jumbled, “Wait.”

Janus went rigid, but he paused. He didn’t turn, and didn’t speak up, obviously waiting for Virgil to speak.

“You... you may return,” Virgil said haltingly. “Once... once there are... more developments.”

For a long time, Janus said nothing.

When he turned, it was only a slight tilt of his head. The scars on that side of his face glistened in the heat of the Demonic Kingdom’s landscape.

“Only for updates,” he agreed without a hint of bitterness or malice. “Understood.”

With that, he flared his wings and shot into the sky. Virgil watched until the clouds swivelling around his disappearing form and he vanished.

Well, Virgil thought in a voice that was almost painfully reminiscently Patton’s. That could have gone worse.

“Are you going to stand there all day, you striped shorthair?” Roman called, still obviously impatient.

With a jump, Virgil turned and returned to them.

“How did it go?” Logan inquired.

Virgil tried to think on that, but all that his mind provided was static.

Logan smiled and rubbed his arms reassuringly. “That’s a perfectly normal reaction, Virgil. Don’t worry.”

Virgil nodded. Another warm hand brushed against the side of his face, and he looked down at Patton.

“Are you okay?” Patton asked with that soft, light voice of his, those gorgeous, caring eyes staring up at him. Virgil decided that after a long time, he really was.

In answer, Virgil grinned, and kissed him.

22 notes · View notes

thesaunatest · 4 years ago

Text

MY HUGE THEORY ON EL’S PLOTLINE IN S4

before you guys even start, YES I know that 99.9% of what I say is going to be wrong but this is literally just for fun.

its march 1986, middle of the school year and el HATES school

when we left her she was barely literate and had just started getting accostomed to speaking full sentences, NOWHERE NEAR a 9th grade level, so shes struggling in her classes to say the least

on top of that, she barely knows how to socialize with other people, so shes evidently getting picked on

with joyce and jonathan both working to keep the family afloat, will and el get left alone alot

but outside of the party, they socially have nothing in common

in fact, will is adapting to the new town a whole lot better than el. he fit right in with all the creative kids he met in class, but el didnt mesh with that crowd

anyway, our girl is sturggling

the only time she really has fun is when she visits hawkins, or when someone from the party visits them

which leads us to spring break

mike obviously comes to visit, and el doesnt want them to waste a single second so she begs mike and will to come explore the town with her

at this point joyce is already in her detective mode, hatching a rescue plan for hopper so she doesnt notice theyre gone

and jonathan is battling the heartbreak of nancy ghosting him when she was supposed to come visit

so the trio goes off on an adventure without anyone noticing.......... or so they think

because brenner is back, and he knows el is with the byers, but he cant go and snatch her because he doesnt have the resources all the way in california

in fact, he doesnt have the resources at all. his numbers experiment is seen as a catastrophic failure that lead to the deaths of hundreds of lab employees

the only way for him to redeem himself in the community, and gain his funding back is to present his peers with proof that the project can work, so he needs to get one of his numbers back

el is the only one he can track down, but he doesnt think he can do it himself. if she saw him, she could just kill him with her powers, he assumes because he doesnt know she lost them

so who does he employ to get el back to hawkins? lonnie byers

its almost too easy. it doesnt take much to bribe lonnie, and hey, its not like its his kid. so lonnie accepts the bribe, and goes all the way out to california to find el

he shows up at the byers house..... only to find it completely deserted. so he waits

and the trio finds him there after their day out (why are you here? what do you want? where are mom and jonathan?)

and lonnie, being as crafty as he is, comes up with a good excuse on the fly (hes craftier than i am because i genuinely have no idea what he would say)

anyway, he gets them in his car and on their way back to hawkins

jonathan shows up after theyve already left, and is too stoned tired to think anything of the empty house

and joyce is already halfway to russia

will knows his father. he knows that his father doesnt give a shit about him, the family, or anything about hawkins. he knows that his father wouldnt get involved in anything unless he had something to gain. so hes wraking his brain

maybe.... lonnie pulls over to take a suspicious phone call? maybe will figures out an inconsistency in his story? either way, the gang is onto lonnie and figures that they gotta get away from him and get back to joyce and jonathan

they tuck and roll out of the car. idk. all that matters is that they get out of there

as theyre rolling out of the car, el bonks her head a little and has a quick flashback to her time in the lab

since her intuition is always spot on, she takes this as a cue the breener is back and lonnie is working for him

she tells the boys it isnt safe to go back to california or hawkins, so they come up w an alternative plan, somewhere neither brenner nor lonnie would think to look for them

and while theyre on the road, they stop at a diner to eat (dont ask me where they got the money) and we get will leaving an emotional voicemail home, probably sobbing to jonathan about how much he means to will, which gives el an idea

because who has the resources to help her, as well as a desire for vengeance on brenner? kali

el uses her superb hitchiking skills to get them to chicago

maybe she just has some hints of her powers left, but it isnt too hard for el to find kali

she explains everything thats happened, and lets kali know that if she want revenge, the opportunity is hers

unfortunately, lonnie was hot on their trail, and called for reinforcements

theyre ambushed by the few employees brenner has working for him. initially, everyone is hiding, assisted by kali’s powers

but el knows they arent leaving empty handed, and would rather get taken away then have kali’s freedom taken from her

so el reveals herself, followed by mike because he wont leave her, followed by will because he wont leave mike

all three get taken away, back to hawkins lab, but now kali is even more motivated to bring down the lab once and for all

so kali and her gang get to hawkins, almost simultaniously with jonathan, who has been looking for his family in a frenzy since the morning he woke up to find eveyone gone, without even a note or a phone call, as well as argyle, who came along for the ride

the video store is being used as home base this season, so thats the first place they go, where they find steve, shortstaffed and not knowing whats going on because the whole team ditched him

they catch him up to speed on how EVERYONES GONE and steve catches them up to speed on how EVERYONE IS GETTING MURDERED

meanwhile, brenner has three predicaments

1) no matter what he does to el, what kind of torture he inflicts, she isnt using her powers because she doesnt have them. she tells him this several times. he refuses to believe it

2) lonnie byers is demanding his payment, which he didnt recieve because the deal was that he bring el to them, and he couldnt even do that

3) he has to find a way to dispose of mike and will, who he had no intention of bringing into the lab but theyre here and they know everything

and this is the moment where mike screws up by letting them know that people know theyre in the lab and people know about all the experiments and any second now, someones gonna come banging that door down to save us. nancy, jonathan, steve, robin max, lucas, dustin, kali-

and the second mike says her name he knows he screwed up

brenner decides in that moment that all he can do is round up everyone involved and get rid of them. conveniently, the string of murders occurring will serve as a good cover for what happened to them

and this is the part where joyce, murray, and hopper get back to hawkins

this is also the part where nancy and robin and the gang get back to hawkins

so nancy and robin immediately go to the video store armed with all the new information they learned from victor creel

..... and are met with jonathan, argyle, kali, and steve in pandemonium

they close the store for the day, and get ready to storm the lab

they realize that they need something from the school, so they head there to pick it up

and soon after arriving, theyre met with the all to familiar hawkins lab vans

they make a hasty escape, taking out some of the goons but they need to find a way to get the rest off their trail

they head for the woods, hoping to hide out in the cabin

meanwhile, the russia crew has taken the mostly demolished cabin as their haven to recover from whatever injuries they sustained

theyre all running through the woods, but they realize the people from the lab are closing in on them

and then nancy and jonathan pass a very familiar tree

they use whatever weapon they have on them to break through the bark, and head into the upside down

the lab people keep going into the woods, eventually finding hopper’s cabin

epic showdown between the russia crew and the lab people, joyce, murray and hopper win, they realize the lab is back, immediately head there realizing theyre gonna have to rescue someone

nancy and robin use the info they learned from victor creel to keep the gang alive in the upside down, max, argyle and eddie are freaking out because omg we’re in another dimention, we get some big reveal about the truth about the upside down and the gang makes their way out and head to the lab

and while this is all happening,we get some super emotional monologue between brenner and el (ala-the last 10 minutes of the truman show) and brenner realizes that el isnt going to be the naieve superweapn she used to be, and decides the best thing he can do with el is give her the standard punishment, time in the closet

and being in the closet triggers all sorts of flashbacks and emotions (mbb’s opportunity to show off her acting chops for an emmy)

joyce and hopper bust into the lab like they did in season 1, but this time they dont get caught

they decide to split up to cover more ground, and hopper finds el in the closet

and around the same time joyce finds mike and will and gets them out of there

here comes the REAL emotional performance

hopper sees her, we get a teary eyed “el!” “dad!”, and then hopper gets pulled away from el by lab workers

exactly the same way terry did

we’re watching this happen from el’s perspective, with a heart-wrenching “noooooooooo” from el, accompanied by cuts to every time el has had to be separated from someone she cares about (terry, the s1 ending, billy dying, her leaving kali in s2, saying goodbye to everyone on moving day, her being separated from mike and will when they got to the lab) accompanied by some terribly sad 80s song, then back to the present moment, she reaches her hand out and boom, the guards go flying. her powers are back

except she doesnt have control of them the way she did before, and now shes bringing the whole building down

her and hopper race to the the first floor, and meet joyce and the boys, they get out of the building at the very last second, and the whole thing collapses.

eventually they find the other group, the whole team is now together, they go and take down the big bad from the upside down, joyce almost KILLS lonnie

nancy and robin drop a huge bombshell that has to do with hawkins/the upside down, specifically pertaining to el, which they pieced together after talking to victor creel

we get a massive cliffhanger, season 5 starts like 10 minutes after the ending of season 4

#stranger things #yes i know half the stuff i said is going to be wrong #it would be really cool if it was tho #stranger things theory

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yamadadzawa · 4 years ago

Note

Oooh thank you for taking prompts, that’s so cool of you! Can we get an Aizawa accidentally finding out his resident problem student Midoriya is an orphan and/or homeless and adopting him with Mic? All the specifics of the hows is up to your own creative liberty! Bonus if they find out about his past trauma and quirklessness but idk if that would fit given it’s a short one shot hehe

Thank you so much for this prompt!! Yours was the first I received, and I finally got some inspiration and time to write a piece. I’ll share it below, and will post a link to the fic on ao3 separately!

---

A Fragile Promise

General Audiences | No Warnings | M/M

Aizawa Shouta & Midoriya Izuku, Yamada Hizashi & Midoriya Izuku, Aizawa Shouta/Yamada Hizashi, Yagi Toshinori & Midoriya Izuku (mentioned)

Aizawa Shouta, Yamada Hizashi, Midoriya Izuku, Yagi Toshinori (briefly)

Alternate Universe-Canon Divergence, Homeless Midoriya Izuku, Not Dead Midoriya Inko, Disappeared Midoriya Inko, Protective Midoriya Inko, Parental Aizawa Shouta, Parental Yamada Hizashi, Aizawa Shouta & Yamada Hizashi Adopt Midoriya Izuku, Dadzawa, Dadmic, Sensei | All for One is Midoriya Izuku’s Parent, Dad for One

Shouta notices the shift shortly after the students return from their internships. He doesn’t see it right away. It seems the Problem Child’s internship was good at giving him a boost in confidence—something that has suddenly dropped in the last few days. Midoriya’s usual bubbling energy is subdued. He still greets his friends each morning with a bright smile and brighter words. His performance in class hasn’t wavered, and he’s still giving hero exercises that plus ultra effort.

But something is missing. His smiles don’t stretch quite as wide, his voice is a fraction lower, his hand is slower as he takes notes. Instructions for practical exercises are followed by silence, where once Shouta could count on the thrum of mumbling words from Midoriya. It’s like something is just wrong enough for Shouta to notice, but when he tries to pinpoint what it is, he gets turned around and lost.

Fortunately, Shouta is a stubborn man, and he listens when his gut tells him that he shouldn’t let this go. He keeps a mental list of things that don’t make sense with his Problem Child. Day in and day out, it grows. Deeper, darker bags under his eyes. A gaze that darts around corners, lingers on his belongings, narrows when others get too close to them. A growing lag in his energy, shaky hands. Lips bitten raw, cuticles torn red. His uniform, once mostly meticulous, now consistently wrinkled, and occasionally stained. There are a few possible answers that linger in Shouta’s mind, poking and prodding at him every time he sees Midoriya. But nothing concrete. And then Yagi comes to him near the end of the day that week, and that nagging feeling that something is wrong grows.

“I think something may be wrong with Young Midoriya,” Yagi confides in him. “But when I tried to ask, he quite cleverly avoided the question, and now I fear he’s avoiding me.”

“You think I’ll have better luck?” Shouta raises a brow at the man. It’s no secret to anyone that Midoriya is Yagi’s favorite, and vice versa.

“Perhaps,” Yagi nods, sounding somewhat reluctant to admit it. If the topic of their conversation wasn’t the wellbeing of one of his students, Shouta would be tempted to smirk. “His respect for you is...different. Than it is for me.”

Shouta snorts. “His fear, you mean,” Shouta huffs, rolling his eyes when Yagi blanches and coughs quietly. “I know my reputation among the student body, Yagi.”

“I assure you, that is not what I meant,” Yagi insists. “I only meant...well. Young Midoriya’s respect for me is closer to hero worship, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Shouta inclines his head.

“His respect for you is for his teacher,” Yagi continues. “My hope is, that will be the difference.”

Shouta passes a hand through his hair and considers that. “Alright, you’ve got a point,” he admits. “And I’ve noticed something has been off for about a week or so now. It started a few days after the kids got back from their internships. It could be what happened in Hosu with Stain-” Shouta scoffs when Yagi tries to hold back a shocked cough. “I’m no fool, Yagi. I can piece together what actually happened. But I don’t think that’s it. Or at least, that’s not just it.”

“Keep me posted, please,” Yagi frowns, and Shouta will never admit out loud that he hates seeing that expression on the man’s face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shouta waves a hand, dismissing himself from the conversation and tucking his face into his capture weapon as he walks away. He needs to find Midoriya.

Of course, when he reaches the classroom, his Problem Child is nowhere to be seen. A few of the students linger around, including Iida and Uraraka, and they look as confused as him when their eyes catch on Midoriya’s empty seat. So he snuck out without them realizing it, Shouta thinks, mildly impressed. He sees no reason to stick around if Midoriya isn’t here, so he turns on his heel and walks to the teacher’s lounge.

Hizashi is waiting for him when he gets there, sprawled across one of the couches, already changed out of his Present Mic apparel and dressed down, hair in a loose bun. “Midoriya gone already?” He asks.

Shouta sighs and nods. “Looks like he slipped out without his friends noticing,” Shouta answers, dropping down onto the couch across from him with his head draped over the arm. “Part of me wants to make a home visit, but at the same time, that could make things worse if I’m not careful.”

Hizashi is silent for an uncharacteristically long time, so Shouta lifts his head to look at his husband. Hizashi’s eyes are narrowed, fingertips pressed together, teeth pressed down on his bottom lip. Shouta sits up and leans forward. He knows that look. “‘Zashi? What are you thinking?”

“Come with me,” Hizashi says, in lieu of an answer. Shouta nods, though, and does as Hizashi asks. If showing him is easier, if Hizashi can’t quite find the words, that’s fine. Shouta will trust him.

-----

Shouta begins to piece together what Hizashi was thinking as he follows him out of the car, and into the unsuspecting building across the street. It’s packed full, which isn’t a surprise given the population of the city. Shouta isn’t as familiar with this food bank as Hizashi is, so he lets Hizashi keep the lead once they’re inside. It takes them a few passes around the space before Shouta’s eyes catch a hint of green that looks familiar. Midoriya is alone, tucked in at a table in the corner, with a tray of food.

“You were right,” Shouta murmurs to Hizashi, nudging him and directing his attention towards their student.

Hizashi sighs sadly. “I was hoping I wasn’t.”

Shouta hums and reaches down to squeeze Hizashi’s hand, lacing their fingers together as he walks over to Midoriya’s table. He’s careful to approach from the side, where Problem Child will be less likely to see them until they’re close. He’s impressed when those green eyes snap their way sooner than he expected, and in any other situation, that wide eyed look on his face might be funny.

Shouta doesn’t say anything as he slides into the seat across from his student, but Hizashi does murmur a gentle “Hey there, little listener.”

“Yamada-sensei?” Midoriya asks, curiosity overriding his panic, eyes flitting over his teacher, then to their joined hands.

“Yeah,” Hizashi smiles. “This is my incognito look. Works surprisingly well.”

Midoriya gives them a wobbly smile, then looks down at his food, pushing it around on his tray instead of eating. “How, um,” he stops and swallows. “How much trouble am I in?”

“None,” Shouta says simply, as if the question doesn’t surround his heart with ice. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“O-Oh,” Midoriya’s brows do something funny there, clearly not expecting that. “But, um. But I’m…”

“You’re what?” Hizashi asks kindly, leaning forward to rest his chin on his palm, squeezing Shouta’s hand. When Midoriya doesn’t really answer, Hizashi hums. “Maybe this will be easier. Midoriya, do you have somewhere to stay?”

Problem Child shrugs, eyes still locked on his food. Shouta sees the way his hand shakes, knuckles white as he squeezes his chopsticks.

“Hmm,” Hizashi hums. “Maybe not the right way to ask. Midoriya, do you have a house or apartment to go home to?”

This time, Midoriya doesn’t answer, but the color on his cheeks and the tears that adorn them are enough.

“Oh, kid,” Hizashi voices their heartbreak, and releases Shouta’s hand to stand and slide into the seat next to Midoriya instead. His movements are carefully telegraphed, as he wraps an arm around their student and pulls him in close.

Shouta frowns and looks around the room, trying to spot anyone who looks like Midoriya. “Kid, where’s your mom?” When he turns back around to face Midoriya and Hizashi, the kid has gone pale and rigid in Hizashi’s embrace. Shouta meets Hizashi’s eyes, a silent conversation between them, and Hizashi takes back over.

Hizashi shifts to try and catch Midoriya’s eye, though the boy is doing a good job of avoiding that. “Midoriya, did your mother...kick you out?”

A firm head shake, those green eyes flashing indignantly. And that’s certainly something. “Kid, why isn’t she with you?” Shouta presses. More head shaking, slower this time, eyes guarded.

Shouta has two options here—he can continue to push, and risk the kid closing off completely, or he can let it go, and salvage what he can of this. He opts for the latter, albeit reluctantly. “Alright,” he sighs. “I won’t ask you about your mom anymore. If,” Shouta pauses, waiting for Midoriya to lift his head and meet Shouta’s eyes. “If you’ll agree to come stay with Hizashi and I. At least for now.”

Shouta is used to his Problem Child being extremely easy to read. He doesn’t know what to do with this Midoriya, who looks back at him with a wall behind his eyes that Shouta can’t see over. The only reason Shouta knows his anxious student is still behind that wall is because Midoriya’s nervous habit of twisting and pulling at his fingers prevails.

“You won’t be a burden,” Hizashi murmurs. “We’ve got a guest room, and plenty of food to feed three people.”

Shouta can tell they’re close. “And cats,” he adds on, mouth twitching when Midoriya’s fingers still and some light peeks through in his eyes. “Three of them.”

Midoriya ducks his head down, biting at his lip and pressing his hands against the table. Shouta knows they have to be patient here, and wait him out. Thankfully, it pays off.

“Okay,” Midoriya whispers.

-----

Midoriya is predictably skittish when they get him home. He keeps his bag hugged tight to his chest, and looks like he isn’t sure whether he’s allowed to put on the slippers Shouta nudges his way. The cats, of course, are good at breaking that tension.

“This one,” Shouta stoops down to lift up the biggest, a deep gray Maine Coon. “Is Umbra.”

“Just a warning,” Hizashi grins. “He doesn’t really seem to understand that he’s big and heavy. He’ll lay on your back or your chest and crush you.” Hizashi’s grin widens when he earns a small giggle from Midoriya.

Umbra hangs limp in Shouta’s grasp, though he watches Midoriya, and is quick to thump himself against the boy’s legs after Shouta sets him down. Unsurprisingly, the smallest of the other two cats is quick to try and steal Midoriya’s attention. Midoriya gasps when he sees her, crouching down to get a closer look.

“Ah, yeah,” Shouta says. “That’s Iris.”

“So small,” Midoriya whispers, trailing gentle fingers over her back.

“She’s a Singapura,” Hizashi crouches down to pet her too. “Or at least, that’s what we’ve been told. She was a stray, so we took her in. This is apparently as big as she gets.”

Midoriya looks between Umbra and Iris, and he doesn’t even need to say anything. Shouta snorts. “Yeah, it’s sure something.” Midoriya looks past Shouta and spies the last cat, a grouchy, gangly, and orange bastard. “That’s Bean. He’s not exactly the friendliest, so it might be best if you…” Shouta trails off, staring as Bean prowls over to Midoriya, and bonks his head against the boy’s cheek.

“Huh,” Hizashi says, grinning widely.

“Huh,” Shouta echoes.

Midoriya beams at Bean, and holds his hand out, letting Bean rub against his knuckles until he’s satisfied and walks away. Midoriya turns that smile towards Shouta and Hizashi, and Shouta knows they’re done for.

-----

Having been in Midoriya’s position once, Shouta knows to camp out on the couch. He’s not at all surprised when, around three in the morning, his Problem Child creeps through the living room with his bag on his back.

“Midoriya,” Shouta calls gently.

Midoriya yelps and jerks back, frantic eyes searching for Shouta in the dark, guilt flooding them when they lock eyes. Shouta sighs softly and pats the couch next to him. Midoriya’s shoulders droop, and he shuffles over, dropping down onto the spot.

“Was it something we did?” Shouta asks, being sure to keep his voice kind.

Midoriya sniffles quietly and shakes his head. Shouta hums and leans back. He has a thought, and wonders...

“Is it...your mom?”

There’s a sharp inhale of breath, and then no sound at all as Midoriya holds it and goes perfectly still.

“Izuku,” Shouta murmurs. “Please.” He doesn’t say anything else, and for once, it’s a feat. He doesn’t usually have to bite his tongue to stop the flow of words from passing his lips. But right now...he needs to wait.

Minutes pass with no sound between them except quiet breathing, and the occasional sniffle and hum from Midoriya. Until, finally, nearly ten minutes later, Shouta’s patience pays off. Midoriya pulls his bag into his lap, and unzips a compartment on the front. There’s a faint rustle, and then a hint of white in the darkness.

“Here,” Midoriya whispers, holding out a piece of paper.

Shouta takes it between careful fingers. He can just make out the writing from the glow of the window.

I have to draw him away. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t look for me. I will come back.

“Him?” Shouta barely breathes the question, unsure whether he’s scared that the boy or the paper will fall apart.

“I don’t know,” Midoriya replies, matching his tone. “I don’t know.”

Shouta sighs shakily, curling a hand across his mouth, fingers clenching against his jaw.

“S-Sensei,” Midoriya whispers. “Promise me, please. Promise me you won’t look for her. She said, said not to. She’ll come back. But I, we can’t, can’t look for her.”

Shouta closes his eyes and exhales shakily. “Alright, kid. Alright.”

It’s the worst kind of promise Shouta can give a child—one he’ll have to break.

#bnha #mha #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #midoriya izuku #dadzawa #dadmic #dad for one #my writing #my fic #crossposted to ao3 #Anonymous

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kth1 · 5 years ago

Text

Again [MYG]

Again [Yoongi x Reader] ⟶ Credits: @kimtaehyunq ⟶ Genre: Smut | 21+ | Vampire AU ⟶ Warnings: use of vulgar language, adult content, mature themes, bloodplay, foreplay, creampie, biting, unprotected sex, yoongi is a hungry vampire, bed sex, etc ⟶ WC: 3.5k+ ⟶ Summary: History with a vampire, you think you’d be over it by now. Yoongi comes and goes as he pleases. But why does he keep coming back? ⟶ Teaser: “He looked up at you through leering eyes, beaming deep garnet because he was so drugged on your blood. Mouth tinted red and in awe, “I told you I’d make it feel good.”” ⟶ Author’s note: Hi, hey, what’s up? It’s been awhile since I dabbled with writing but I’m glad I had creative juices flowing to help motivate me in making some BTS stuff. Many writers and editors have re-inspired me and I’m grateful to them. Also, nearing Halloween, I had to do something like write about a vampire. 😊

A shifting sound alerts you out of sleep. The room is dark, only being illuminated by random electronics throughout the area, like the blinking green light coming from the computer. A weight on your bed silently moved from the side towards the end. You heard a “pounce” sound come from the foot of the bed. In silence you listened to your cat scurry off out the room. It creaked the bedroom door as it exited the room and you listened to her pattering down the hall until the sound disappeared.

Lazily, you cracked open your eyes briefly to check the alarm clock on the stand beside the bed. Noting that it was close to 3:30 am. Inhaling in deep, you try to find composure to continue where you left off. Sleeping.

The standing fan facing your bed blew a soft breeze towards you. It was something you’re used to having, conditioned yourself. The sound of a mere fan helped you sleep at night. The soothing sound created just enough to give you low ambiance during the still nights. Complete silence had its own aura, that made you uneasy. Causing you to stay up listening to you own mind ponder useless nonsense.

You felt the temperature drop, a cooler breeze flowing through your room abruptly that wasn’t created through the single fan. Rolling over to face the wall that had your window, you noticed that it was left open allowing the cool night breeze flow in. Pushing past your navy curtains that shifted with the motion of the air. But you didn’t leave the window open?

As you leaned up in bed to head for the window a mysterious figure emerged into view, quickly making its way towards where you lie. In a blink of an eye you gasped, about to yell out when it leans down suddenly to cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhh… Don’t scream. It’s me.”

With eyes still widened from the shock, you soon relaxed. After recognizing the deep voice that split through my room, you eased back. How long has it been since you last heard this voice? With a nod, giving them the acknowledgement that you won’t shout.

The figure sat themselves down on the side of the bed, indenting their body into the mattress. Releasing their hand off your mouth slowly. It’s not the first time this happened, but it’s something you never fully got used to.

“Yoongi?” I whispered. “What’s wrong?”

His features were lit up slightly from the moonlight piercing into your room. He had a puzzled look to his face, he looked utterly confused. But his features were still stunning as ever. Effortlessly, he looks unreal, skin clear and glowing, hair styled neatly, and his attire clean cut and alternative. No doubt he was beautiful, he is a vampire after all. And most vampires are generally born with an extra little ‘spice’ to them.

But you still worried why he looked so disoriented. Something seemed to be bothering him and for him to randomly show up in the middle of the night, especially after not seeing another for a few months, you didn’t know how to take the situation that was at hand.

He sat still, looking broad and staring into the abyss, locking himself in his own world. Hesitantly, you placed yours hand over his that propped him up on the bed. His skin was cool and smooth, it felt like you just hovered your palm over a marble slab.

Yoongi’s thumb brushed over your fingers, slightly taking a grip of your hand in return. Grabbing hold of it only seconds later and bringing the back of your hand up to his mouth to place a small but sweet kiss. His touch reminded your of being touched by a snowflake that quickly melted by your own body heat. Yoongi lingered there for a few moments; you felt his cool breath exit his nose.

“I missed you, Y/n.”

You sighed. Not this again. There’s no way you could put yourself through this again. You’ve always been there for Yoongi ever since the two of you first met. Helping him in any way you could. But it’s difficult to keep up with him. He’s out of your league to put it nicely. Everything he needs is something you cannot match up to. It takes a toll on you each and every time.

You fully sat up in bed, retracting your hand slowly from his grasp. “Yoongi, we can’t do this,” you admitted. You were scared to put yourself through any more pain. Even though something in the back of your naive mind was yelling at you for saying those words out loud. Deep down you truly cared for Yoongi, truly wanted to be his and only his. But you weren’t enough.

He continued to stare off into the distance, listening carefully to your words. He looked calm though something felt off. That’s one inspiring thing you loved about Yoongi, no matter the situation he was able to give off a cool and relaxed exterior. But that also makes him scary at the same time.

“I need you.”

You blinked at his words. Did you hear him correctly? Yoongi snaked his hand back lacing it with your fingers once again, using his thumb to soothingly rub over it. “Please,” he spoke turning his head to look at me. From what you could make out it looked like he was struggling hard with his composure. His mannerisms felt off. It felt like there was something more to it than he was giving.

Leaning over with your free hand to reach for the light on the stand, Yoongi quickly snatched your wrist and held it still. “Keep it off.”

His sudden movement had you shocked, not as shocked when he broke into my room through the open window and nearly gave you a heart attack a few minutes ago, but shocked, nonetheless. Now you were beginning to feel totally concerned. He was hiding something from you! “Yoongi, what’s really going on with you?” You spoke, biting down on your lip.

Yoongi brought both of your hands to him, holding them close to his chest. He wasn’t one to really show much emotion, not because he didn’t have any, but more because it was difficult for him to express himself. You’re sure he constantly had conflicting thoughts in his mind endlessly.

“I just needed to see you again.” His voice deep, mumbled under his breath.

Yoongi kept his head down, clutching his hands to yours. Was this his way of showing sincerity?

You leaned towards him, moving your hands up, cuffing his face. Forcing his head up you held his cold face in your warm palms. Easily you could make out more details in his features. Your thumbs brushed along his cheekbones, ones that stuck out more prominent than you remember. It’s still fairly dark around your two bodies and though it was difficult for you to see under his hooded eyes, he had deep dark bags formed. Making him look drawn out.

“Have you been feeding, Yoongi?” You spoke in a soft tone.

He attempted to turn his head away, though you held it still. Instead he averted his gaze and exhaled deeply. “I’m fine.”

“You look pale.” You addressed matter-a-factually.

He half-heartedly chuckled, “I’m a vampire. I’m supposed to be paler than normal.”

You rolled your eyes at his bluntness. Yes, that was a given, being a vampire and all. “You know what I mean!”

Yoongi shifted himself more on the bed, kneeling towards you. Misery laced through his aura, he looked like he’s been through a tough time. Pain painted across his delicate face.

“Why aren’t you eating?” You asked, pushing his dark bangs away from his forehead with a hand.

Yoongi shook his head, in disapproval of what he’s about to say. What he’s trying to admit. “It’s not satisfying anymore... It’s not the same.”

Cocking your head to the side, like a puppy trying to understand the voice before them. “What?” Your body involuntary moved to the side, opening up space for Yoongi to lay besides you. Patting the newly opened spot, you offered him with a gentle smile.

He obliged, kicking off his shoes without the exchange of words. Lifting the duvet up and over his thin body once he slid himself closer. Yoongi laid facing you with his precious head resting in the fluff of a pillow. Pieces of his hair flared out, his arm hung loose around your waist; giving you just enough space away but not enough to be completely out of reach.

Your body heat trapped under the covers helped add some temperature to his cooled body. You couldn’t stand the way he looked. Your heart ached seeing his pain. “Talk to me, I’m begging you.” You traced his bottom lip with your index finger, trying to get his lips to open up and move.

Yoongi’s eyes met yours, the set of deep brown orbs connecting back to your own pair. They swirled with hidden emotion. His breath hitched the moment the pad of your finger landed on his mouth. He gulped, “It doesn’t feel right, unless it’s you.”

Your heart beat raised slightly to the reaction of this news. Your mind trying to process what he’s openly saying. “Please don’t say silly things.” You retorted with a scoff.

Something was telling you not to believe him and fall for this. Your mind was only trying to protect your from being hurt once again. But your body… your body ached and longed for Yoongi’s touch. You knew you missed him too, but you were utterly afraid to admit it yourself.

“Since when have I ever lied to you, Y/n?”

You swallowed hard. He’s right. No matter the penalty he was very straight forward with everything. Never giving false hope. So why would he be doing that now? Unless…

He is telling the truth.

You laid there speechless, staring back into Yoongi’s gaze. Not having a single word, a single vowel, not a single sound release from your lips. Just your two bodies placed side by side in soundlessness.

“How long has it been?” You mustered up the courage to ask.

“Two months.”

“But- Why?”

Two months is too long. Yoongi - he was depriving himself. He was willingly starving himself. And for what? Because it’s not the same? What’s not the same? Nothing has changed. He’s vampire. Your human. It doesn’t work. The two of you clash. It’s a reoccurring cycle - it’s all the same.

His gripped tightened around your waist, latching your close into his body and deleting all empty space. Your hands found their place against his carved chest. Faces just inches away from another. He formed a soft smile while looking down to your parting lips.

“Because of you.”

In a smooth motion he leaned in, meeting his thin curved lips to your rosy ones. The sweet savory moment heated up your cheeks, blossoming a hue of red. His tongue eagerly reached forward asking for access to your mouth. It was tender, sensual, and you groaned for him to touch you again. Memories flooding back to your mind of the last time. And the time before that. And the time before that… All impressions of him.

You caved hard under his presence.

Yoongi had a hold on you, curling his free arm to lift your thigh up over him. You extended your hands up into his hair, running your digits through his neat dark beautiful locks, tousling it up during the heated exchange between us. Enough to leave you short of breath as he finally pulled away from the kiss.

Yoongi didn’t hesitate. He trailed kisses from your jawline down to your neck and touching base at your collar bones. Hitting that magical sensitive location that made you go wild. A faint moan escaped pass your lips, “Yoongi…”

He fluttered many gentle icy kisses all around. Tender. Intimate. Lingering. You arched your neck enough to give him more room to continue his actions, to continue making your feel the way you were experiencing once again. He guided his hand up and down your thigh, gaining friction between your skins. You couldn’t help but ease into his delightful touches, slip under the patterns he traced with his slim fingers. Pushing your body up against him as much as you could to feel his hardening member under all the fabric.

“It’s okay, you can.” You muttered.

Yoongi continued to sway your body, completely falling under his spell one more time. He dipped his hand down, pushing under the hem of your shorts and past your pants, gliding a single finger between your slick folds. His digit taunted your clit, that little bundle of nerves controlling your every move. You were a sitting duck under Yoongi’s movements, all nerve endings screaming for him to work his tricky fingers.

“I’ll make it feel good for you.” Yoongi reassured to you.

A puff of air left your mouth; gripping down onto his shoulders. He slides down another finger, copying exactly what he did with the first. Yoongi’s touch is entirely intoxicating. Pressing against that sensitive sweet spot then plunging them deep inside your entrance in one swift motion.

With that, Yoongi licked a firm line up your neck. His trail of saliva coating your supple skin, glistening in the dim light. He curled his fingers up into your core, sliding in fast using thanks to your self-lubrication that collected down there. The tips of his fingers prodded straight into your g-spot, stimulating you even more as his teeth sank into the crook of your neck. The sensation sending shivers all over your body.

You moaned out in pleasure. A wave of sparkly adrenaline raced throughout your veins, washing over with a radiating heat. He hasn’t done it like this before. Oh please, “don’t stop!”

Yoongi sipped down the stream of fresh blood that leaked into his mouth. The impending orgasm that crept up far too fast for your liking had you fluttering your eyes shut. Instantly you body jolted to him, walls clenching hard around his slender fingers, riding out the ripples pacing within you as steadily as ever.

There was no recognition of how clothes flew off of your bodies, but they were on one second and gone the next. Bodies fumbling together, contacting the hot and cold temperatures.

Before you could even register the moment, you felt something thick and hard push pass your entrance and velvety walls, stretching you out with every inch that sank in. Your vulnerable puckered cunt receiving the full length of Yoongi’s hardened cock.

He looked up at you through leering eyes, beaming deep garnet from the drug of your blood. Mouth tinted red and in awe, “I told you I’d make it feel good.”

Not once has he told you anything but the harsh truth. He never spoke out a lie and you appreciated everything about that. Not once ever deceived. Mislead. Or felt like he exaggerated from facts or reality. You loved him for this, so much.

You reconnected your lips, pushing yourself pass the taste of iron that came with it. You wanted him, you craved him, you needed him again. Even if it hurt you. Just like this you’ll keep him.

Yoongi hovered over you; dick still submerged into your pussy. Tip entering and exiting you in long strides at a fast pace. Please don’t stop this. God, please don’t.

“Again.” You tossed your head to the side enjoying the pleasurable feeling.

“Okay.”

He locked his teeth back into the juncture of your neck, creating another puncture wound. But it didn’t feel like a wound to you. It felt like a love bit - a mark of his signed and packaged directly to me.

With the weight of him on top, Yoongi’s hips bucked sharp into you, jacking his cock back and forth. Skin slapping together filled the room, you held on tight with legs crossed around his tiny waist. Penetrating you perfectly into bliss.

Yoongi’s mouth moved down to my left breast, immediately contacting it with sloppy wet open-mouthed kisses. Raising a free hand to give attention to the right breast, stimulating and pinching the nipple making it harden within seconds.

“Y/n, I can’t get enough of you.” Yoongi admitted between kisses, botched of blood peppering your skin.

Face flushed, “Again!” You whined rolling your hips up into him to match his pace.

He can’t get enough of you? You can’t get enough of him. You had wanted nothing more than to feel connected to Yoongi regardless on how different the two of you were. His fangs once again pierced your bare skin, just above the breast this time. How he’s doing this is beyond you, fucking you hard with his dick, sucking you weak. But you still felt more energy than ever.

Yoongi continued his pace, eventually fastening his thrusts and mouth messily moving across your exposed skin. Staining areas with blood as he continued to paint over my body. Unbothered by the look, it felt natural.

Your blood put Yoongi through a craze of his own that he could only experience. Your scent filling up the room for his own satisfaction. Yoongi repays you back with lustful strides of his cock, forcing himself deep against the crest of your cervix. Shifting your body up with every powerful thrust, rocking the bed beneath your molded bodies.

Inaudible voices traded to another. Grunts, moans, growls. You could feel your climax coil in your lower stomach, persisting to blow over again and wishing to wash your body with sporadic twitches and spasms.

Was it the loss of blood in your body making me lightheaded or was it from the wonderful pounding you were getting? Probably both, but you couldn’t imagine it being any other way. If this is the Yoongi you get, you’re going to keep him as long as possible.

“I can tell you’re close. You’re stiffening around me, why don’t you let it go?”

You shook your head stubbornly; refusing to confess him your thoughts. You couldn’t reveal something that would mean nothing to him in the morning. Yoongi furrowed his brows as if he knew exactly what going on in that little head of yours.

Yoongi lifted himself, bending his knees into the bed and positioned one of your legs over his shoulder - giving his cock easier access and angle into your womanhood. Lifting your bottom half up on his thighs and snapping his hips repeatedly into you at this new angle forced you to squeeze your eyes shut, rolling your head back with a gasp. Simultaneously your hands reached out for anything to hold onto, to anchor yourself down.

He grunted at the sight of you, grinning wide with specks of blood on the corners of his mouth. You laid out in front of him at his own supervised mercy. A puppet and he- your puppeteer. This is what he couldn’t get enough of. What Yoongi missed. What he needed. This is what satisfied him. You laying beneath his control with joy plastered across your face has he’s balls deep into the warm wetness of your clenching pussy, tightening around his fully erect dick.

But you were delaying the grand finale.

“O-oh god, Yoongi…” You shrieked as the head of his cock forced itself dead on your g-spot, numbing tingles shooting down your legs.

Yoongi wasn’t giving up. He was determined to flush you out completely and taste the rich flavor of your metallic blood. Addicted to the taste and smell of it all.

“You’re going to cum again whether you like it or not.” He hissed.

Forcing his thumb between your legs, he rubbed harsh circles on your clit. His thrusts jammed deep into you, forcing your release to hit you full force. Juices spilling around his cock, sending your body in a raging frenzy.

He attacked his mouth to your raised thigh, burying his teeth, forming a deep gash and allowing a stream of blood run down the expanse of your leg. Yoongi lapped up the spilled liquid, at the same time using his lower back to roll his hips and chase his own sinful high. He clenched his teeth hard, bruising and mutilating the skin on your thigh once he released his full load into your cunt, earning a shriek of pain from you. Dick throbbing, your walls held onto him tightly, milking every last drop.

Yoongi tossed your legs to the side and collapsed face down into the mattress, panting heavily along with you. Your legs felt a tingly sensation all over besides the area that burned from the mouthful of flesh he dug into. His essence slowly oozing out of your cunt.

Again, your mind flooded with ‘am I good enough’. Did you satisfy Yoongi to make him stay with you or will this be a repetitive process and you will not see him again until he needed to get off? Why does your mind fill with doubt? With everything Yoongi just said, you still refused to believe it.

“Stop thinking.” Yoongi turned to face you.

“I-I can’t help it.” You choked, fresh tears collecting in your eyes.

Shifting so that his body connected to yours, Yoongi placed delicate kisses along your arm all the way up to your face. He latched his arm around your waist, rolling you to face him in return.

“I’m staying. I promise.”

The tears fell, you couldn’t control it. It’s like he read your mind, your body, and soul. Yoongi shushed you with a soft peck to your cheek, and one last one to your lips.

Yoongi never lied to you.

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suchalovelydisaster · 5 years ago

Text

The King- a Sanders Sides Fanfic

What was Creativity like before he was split in two parts?

Link for ao3

Words: 1898

Terrifying. Inappropriate. Unwanted. Intrusive. Disruptive. Creativity replayed these words in his mind several times over. It was not uncommon for him to be shot down every once and a while by the other sides. Most commonly, these words came from Anxiety. But now these insults grew more frequent and became more attacking in tone. Goddamn Anxiety. He might as well be called ‘paranoia’ with the way he treats Thomas.

Anxiety’s presence had become more and more prominent over the last few years. By the age of fifteen, the King believed he held more sway over Thomas than any other side. Despite Logic doing his best to overrule any negative feedback that was presented by the other side, Anxiety worked his hardest to make Thomas feel more alone than ever before. Now, the King of Creativity must do his best to work Thomas out of this grave Anxiety has dug.

As he used his skills to aid Thomas in conjuring fictional worlds, he found the other side would retreat into his room. When the King would exercise his rights to fully take over. He could send Thomas into daydream mode and allow him to be free of whatever would trouble him.

Daydream mode, however, sometimes came with side effects. Once daydream mode began to fade out, toward the ends of Thomas’s day, vivid nightmares would occur. As Anxiety was able to re-emerge into the mind palace, the visions of fairytale creatures would morph into horrific alternate versions of reality. Realities in which Thomas did things that would have dangerous consequences. Visions where Thomas hurt those he held dear and had always been kind to him. Fear and paranoia would take the wheel and lead Thomas into late-night spirals that were difficult to escape.

As the night would go on with Thomas losing precious hours of sleep daydream mode could finally fully dissipate. Leaving the King vulnerable to whatever criticism he would soon face. The sides could finally retire to their rooms after Thomas finally fell soundly asleep. But sometimes the King would overhear things said by the other sides.

“I feel terrible for the poor kid, honestly.” He heard Morality say once. “He can escape for a little while and is then thrown into a spiral of terrifying visions.”

Terrifying, The King thought. Morality thinks what I can do is terrifying. A rush of guilt came flooding over the side. His purpose was to be Thomas’s creative center. He was supposed to help Thomas, not become a hindrance to his everyday life.

He flashed back to a time when Thomas was quite young. Elementary school, you would write a story and illustrate it. Thomas was never excellent at drawing but, as The King of Creativity, he would try his hardest. The details of the story were fuzzy to him but he remembered an illustration of Thomas electrocuting one of his older brothers. The King had imagined it as a funny joke, which is what Thomas’s classmates saw it as. Unfortunately, Morality did not see it that way. The King was told that it was inappropriate and terrible to even joke about hurting a loved one.

Despite this warning, years later, Thomas would be faced with nightmares worse than what his innocent third-grade sketches could ever predict. The thoughts of performing a heinous crime that he had read about in a crime-novel or speaking about his deepest secrets to those who would use it against them. Fear of alienation would stop Thomas from speaking about what he thought about.

Soon, a day would come when Anxiety would approach Creativity after a daydream mode experience gone awry. He had said to the King, “I heard Logic use a term to describe what happens to you toward the end of your little brainstorming sessions,” He had begun. There was a harshness in his voice, he also sounded mildly taunting, like he was going to say something the King wouldn’t like. “He called them Intrusive Thoughts.”

Intrusive Thoughts. The King looked at the darkly dressed side in front of him. “What does that mean?” He had asked. He knew that, if it were important enough for Anxiety to tell him this, these words did not have pleasant meanings.

“To my knowledge, the word ‘Intrusive’ means something along the lines of disruptive or unwanted.” Anxiety replied, his voice was eerily calm.

It was disconcerting to see the side that was responsible for Thomas’s fears speaking with such a mild tone. From an outside perspective, it was obvious Anxiety was trying to get under Creativity’s skin. From the perspective of the King, it was working.

“Take that as you will, your Highness.” Anxiety shrugged and walked away from Creativity. Leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Anxiety’s words ran through the King’s mind for a long time. Even as he prepared to go to sleep, the remarks haunted him. Now, as Thomas faced another restless night, so did the King of Creativity. As time passed, the King heard the other sides express their concerns about Thomas’s wellbeing. They blamed Creativity for the ways Thomas’s mind would sway to writing something unpleasant or dark. They would tell Creativity that they needed to have positivity and happiness in order to cancel out the effects of Anxiety’s fear. And despite some very good brainstorming sessions in daydream-mode, there was also the stray few that would end in disaster.

Intrusive...disruptive...unwanted. Anxiety’s words, once again, ran through his mind. The King was now feeling shameful and guilty about how he was trying to help Thomas. This time was different from the others, however. This time, the feeling was not gone in the morning.

As the sides began their days, the King woke up still feeling guilty about the night before. He began growing afraid to engage in daydream mode for fear of the consequences. This, however, left both himself and Thomas feeling worse than usual. Soon, his only form of escapism for Thomas was gone. He began growing more distant from the other sides and was unconsciously isolating himself. His insecurities began to get the best of him. There would be times when he would duck out entirely, in order to avoid judgment.

Thomas’s imagination was stuck in a slump. Normally, he was incredibly creative and could write a story with ease. Writing was one of the ways he escaped his anxieties and the rest of his troubles. Now, he was stuck in a place where he couldn’t think of anything to write and was falling deeper into his fears and worries.

One night, the King had come out in order to alleviate Thomas’s stress, after a particularly difficult day. He had hoped that emerging in dire circumstances would lessen the chances of things going wrong toward the end of daydreaming. The King saw the look of surprise on Logic’s face as he asked to enter daydream mode. He never asked for permission, however, he had thought that asking for permission would be less disruptive.

Everything was seemingly going according to plan until daydream-mode began to fade out. Thomas’s ideas of drafting villainous characters began to shift into thoughts of himself as the villain; wreaking havoc on the relationships he had worked so hard to build up.

As Creativity saw what was happening, he panicked and retreated into his room. He abandoned daydream mode without hesitation. Leaving the other sides to deal with the aftermath of another disaster. As he disappeared into his room, the King broke down. He heard the words of the other sides running through his mind. Terrifying. Inappropriate. Unwanted. Intrusive. Disruptive. The King paced back and forth throughout his room. Thoughts were rattling inside his brain.

Am I hurting Thomas? How can I get rid of all of these horrific ideas? I can’t keep putting Thomas through all of this. What is the point of trying to help? Would it be better for everyone if I just was gone for good? His mind raced with questions and fear. How ironic, the King thought. I have now become the anxious and insecure side.

With that thought, the King collapsed to the floor. Gripping at his bedframe for stability, began to sob with his thoughts becoming even more frantic. What is wrong with me? How do I fix this? How...? Why...? What...?

Without any warning, he was enveloped in darkness.

He was alone, standing by himself, in a void. His head was ringing and he felt like the world was spinning around him.

“Get rid of the bad creativity.” He heard his own voice echoing throughout his mind. “Fix yourself.” It now echoed.

Suddenly, the King felt a sharp pain go through his entire body. Almost as if he was being ripped apart. He screamed in pain and fell to the ground.

He was still surrounded by darkness, thus causing the pain to be even more concerning. What is happening to me? The agony continued, as the colors of red and green flashed in his vision causing him blacked out again.

Two boys woke up on the floor of the King’s bedroom. One dressed in white with a red sash. The other dressed in black with a green sash. The looked at each other with the same fearful expression.

“Who are you?” They both asked at the same time.

“I’m Creativity.” They both responded. They both talked about the memories that they had leading up to that point. The pain and then waking up to the sight of each other. They talked about who most likely represented good creativity and who represented bad creativity. They decided that they were twins and a result of the King’s breakdown.

“Does this mean that we’re both the King?” The side in black and green asked.

“I think I’m more of a prince now,” the red and white side responded. “Since neither of us is fully the King anymore.”

“Well, if you’re a prince the I’ll be a duke!” Exclaimed the boy in green and black.

The Prince decided to call himself Roman. He decided that the Duke would be called Remus. Their names were similar to the twins Romulus and Remus, in Roman myth. Because the prince represented “good” creativity and Romulus was who Rome was named for, the prince decided that Roman was a good fit.

As time would go on, Roman would become the prized brother. He was “Good Creativity” after all. Remus became rejected, taken in by Deceit, and the other sides that were considered to be bad or harmful to Thomas. The Prince seemed to forget the trauma that caused the King’s split. The Duke, however, would harbor those memories for a long time after being shut out by the “good sides.”

Later in Thomas’s life, Anxiety would become one of the “good sides” too. The side that caused Creativity the most pain before the split. Soon, Remus would grow aggravated by the amount of attention Anxiety was getting by the good sides. As Deceit would also make more frequent appearances in Thomas’s decision making, Remus grew more fearful that he was becoming the only rejected side left.

Remus decided that sooner or later he was going to get the attention he craved. He didn’t give a damn if he was considered a “bad side,” he just wanted to be heard and have his voice be listened to. He decided to use his own daydream mode.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #roman sanders #deceit sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #creativity sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #morality sanders #anxiety sanders #virgil sanders #logic sand #fanfic #creative twins #dwit #dealing with intrusive thoughts #backstory #unsympathetic virgil

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murkycran · 4 years ago

Text

Rainboots

Summary: "First, there was never any proof that was even me, and secondly, I have a hatchback, Virgil, obviously any hypothetical opossums in cages would be stored in the back rather than on my leather seats."

"I was literally sitting beside you when Remus asked you to help and you said yes-" --- It's pouring when they leave the movies, Remus does his best to get them all banned from the theatre, Virgil's ride canceled on him, and only three of them are wearing rain boots.

Rating: Teen

Relationships: Gen

Tags: Friendship, Teenagers, Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Remus' brand of humor, Anxiety, Angst, very small angst where Virgil is having negative thoughts, But Nothing Too Bad

Words: 3410

Read on AO3!

---

As the end credits rolled and the lights of the theater brightened to allow guests to leave, the sudden lack of theatrical music revealed another sound.

"Is that rain?" Virgil asked, leaning forward in his seat to look at the others.

Remus was already out of his seat and hurriedly making his way...up? the theatre steps, rather than heading for the exit. Roman didn't appear to be paying attention at all, seemingly trying to reach down the back of his shirt for something while Logan checked his phone for missed notifications. Janus gave Virgil a dry look. "No, that's not rain at all. It totally sounded like that before the movie started."

As if punctuating his words, a rumble of thunder shook the building.

Patton hopped to his feet and dug around in his drawstring bag for a bit before emerging with a collapsible, lime-green umbrella clasped in his hand. "I hope everyone came prepared! I wouldn't want the weather to dampen the mood!"

Virgil completely missed the pun, because he, in fact, did not come prepared and was already dreading getting his clothes soaked. Janus at least remarked, "I'm not sharing my umbrella."

"Nor am I," Logan agreed, standing up as he put his phone away. "I told everyone in the group text earlier today to bring adequate rain gear, so no one is going to be able to use the excuse that they 'didn't know'."

Virgil sighed as he stood with the others and they began shimmying down the aisle towards the stairs. "Yeah, well, I kinda ducked out of the group text after Remus started threatening spoilers for the movie."

Speaking of. "HEY! Hey, guys, look!"

Virgil already felt a wave of mortification sweeping over him as not only their group but everyone else still in the theatre turned towards the projection booth at the top of the stairs. Remus was using his hands to make shadow puppets of dicks in front of the light coming from the projector.

"Oh my god," Virgil choked out, suddenly wishing the ground would swallow him up. Janus and Logan both wore unimpressed looks as Patton chuckled nervously and called back up to Remus. "Hey kiddo, maybe come back down? We don't want the movie theatre employees to ban you again."

"Patton, stop acting like we know him!" Virgil hissed. "Everyone's looking at us!"

"Normally I'd relish the attention," Roman spoke up as he finally stood, still shifting his shirt and jacket in an odd fashion, "but I have to agree with the Dark Knight on this one, padre. I'd rather we all not get banned because of my brother."

"Glad to see the everlasting, unbreakable bond of blood between brothers is still as strong as ever," Janus said.

Logan pushed his glasses up on his nose, raising an eyebrow at the tamer twin. "Roman, what are you doing?"

Roman's reply was cut off as Remus made a mad, cackling dash back down the stairs through the last of the people leaving the theatre as employees appeared from behind the projection booth door.

"We should leave quickly," Logan said. He was checking his phone again. "I'm getting flash flood warnings for our area."

Virgil groaned. "As if Remy's driving wasn't bad enough."

They all shared a wince. No one carpooled with Virgil twice after riding with Remy in the driver seat.

The remaining five - since Remus was no longer in sight - began making their way down the stairs. Roman lagged behind after every few steps, still tugging at his shirt behind his back. After reaching the bottom and glancing back to see the twin still struggling on the stairs halfway up, Patton finally asked, "Do you need help, bud?"

Roman huffed frustratedly. "Remus kept putting candy down the back of my shirt during the movie. I got the Twizzlers out, but I'm pretty sure he also dropped some Reese's Pieces down my collar. I think they're stuck to my back from sitting between me and the seat cushion."

"Oh, so that's what he was doing," Janus said. "I was wondering why he was moving around so much."

"Aw, what a waste of candy," Patton pouted.

"Dude, just go in the bathroom and take your shirt off to check," Virgil said.

"Yes, please do that," Janus agreed, eyeing Roman warily all of a sudden. "If you're going to be riding in my car there will be no melted candy left behind in the seats."

Roman sighed but finally stopped pulling at his shirt and jacket to follow them the rest of the way out. As they neared the bathrooms, Logan asked, "Why didn't you just stop him from doing it?"

The twin scoffed. "Uh, have you met my brother? It's Remus, you can't tell him to do anything, and it would've been exactly what he wanted: me making a scene in a dark theater. Besides, I got some revenge by shoving SourPatch Kids down his shirt, too." The last bit was said with a bit of pride.

Janus groaned dramatically as Roman left them outside the bathrooms. "Great, two people littering candy in my car." He sighed as he made his way to the benches against the wall opposite of the bathrooms and sat down, pulling his yellow, faux snake skin-patterned backpack into his lap and opening it.

Patton took a seat beside Janus and Virgil sat on Patton's other side, slouching down with his hands shoved in his pockets. Virgil said, "I know for a fact that you helped Remus smuggle possums into the guys gym at school two months ago using your car to back up to the back entrance. Yet you're worried about a few pieces of candy?"

Janus rolled his eyes as he pulled off his left shoe. "First, there was never any proof that was even me, and secondly, I have a hatchback, Virgil, obviously any hypothetical opossums in cages would be stored in the back rather than on my leather seats."

"I was literally sitting beside you when Remus asked you to help and you said yes-" Virgil started to argue, but Patton cut him off quickly, desperate to avoid the argument that was sure to start. "Janus, you brought rainboots, too?"

The teen in question had pulled two shiny yellow rainboots out of his backpack and already had one on. "Of course I did. My regular shoes are too nice to get wet. Plus, these keep water from getting on the cuff of my pants."

Logan was looking at the garishly yellow backpack somewhat dubiously. "How did you even fit those in there? You snuck in all the drinks in that bag."

"Please, I'm a very efficient packer. Carrying five bottles of soda in just because you all are too cheap to buy from the concession here was child's play, even with my boots."

"I wore my boots, too!" Patton excitedly stuck his feet out, proudly showing off his cat-patterned rainboots. "Why didn't you wear yours in? They're so cute!"

"What if it hadn't rained?" Janus asked as he packed away the shoes he'd originally been wearing, now sporting his yellow rainboots. "I would've looked like a fool."

Logan said, "There was a ninety percent chance of rain."

"Still didn't want to risk it."

"Risk what?" Roman interrupted, finally leaving the bathroom.

Virgil stood up, looking at his phone. "Janus ruining his hypothetical reputation."

The hoodie-clad teen missed the impressive glare Janus shot his way. "Excuse you-"

"Guys, where's Remus?" Roman once again interrupted (to the relief of Patton and Logan).

"I think he's outside," Logan said, pulling out his collapsible, navy blue umbrella. "He's probably waiting on us."

He was right. Sort of. Outside the rain was pouring down hard enough that a mist was being swept under the overhang of the theatre by the wind. The parking lot was visibly flooded with only a few cars left in sight. They found Remus using a sharpie to draw on one of the encased movie posters placed outside the building. "You guys are slower than corpses. I've already drawn on Shia LaBeouf's movie poster over there and remade it into a masterpiece. Want to see?"

Everyone was thankfully saved from answering by Virgil's strangled noise of frustration. "Guys, I have a problem."

As Patton held a hand out for the sharpie (which Remus turned over with only a slight pout), he asked, "What's wrong, kiddo?"

"Remy just said he can't pick me up. He thinks the tread on his tires wouldn't stand up against this much rain and he's worried we'd hydroplane."

Well, what Remy actually said was this:

Sleepy bastard: hey V, sorry but I can't pick u up tonite. it's raining 2 hard *sad face emoji*

Virgil: seriously? how am I supposed to get home?

Sleepy bastard: gee, idk, ask ur friends? call an uber? hey, I'll even pay for it bc this is kinda my fault

Virgil: what

Sleepy bastard: I keep forgetting 2 go get new tires and I'm afraid the tread wouldn't get any good traction with it raining this bad. can you imagine getting out in this like that, with MY driving? *horrified face emoji* one of ur friends is some rich kid, right? i bet he can afford tires, probably the BEST tires *several dollar sign emojis*

Virgil: oh my god

Virgil: youre my cousin and youre literally leaving me out in the cold

Sleepy bastard: gee, babe, it's almost like that driver's test u refuse 2 take might actually be worth taking now, huh?

Sleepy bastard: ok srry that was a low blow. but rlly i think u should try 2 get a ride with ur friend. not kidding about my tires being shit. college is sucking my bank account dry and i don't want 2 add a car repair bill, or worse, a hospital bill

Virgil: ...fine

Sleepy bastard: cool cool, I'll leave the lights on for u. lmk if u decide to spend the night at a friends house instead

Virgil almost would've laughed at that if he wasn't currently wondering how he was going to get home, because spending the night at one of his friends' houses, unexpected and uninvited? Yeah, right, like he'd do that. He needed at least two days' notice in order to psych himself up into talking to anyone else's parents, let alone inviting himself to their house unexpectedly.

Thankfully, he didn't have any reservations about asking his friends for a ride. "I need a ride. Can I go with one of you guys?"

The rest of the group shared a glance. Janus spoke up. "Well, technically I was driving everyone home... Roman and Remus were dropped off and Logan rode with me here from school since we had a debate team meeting after school. Patton had a GSA club meeting after school so he rode with me, too. My car only holds five people."

Virgil felt the first stirrings of panic winding up in his chest - he's such an inconvenience, if only he could make himself take the stupid driving test without freezing up - only for the fear to die as Remus suddenly scoffed. "Of course you can fit more than five people in that fancy car of yours, Dee, you're just not trying hard enough."

"Remus, you're not riding on the roof of the car again. We saw what happened last time," Logan said in a somewhat exasperated tone.

Patton paled. "Again?"

Roman waved off the cat-loving teen, unfazed. "Trust me, you didn't miss much. They were going so fast I didn't even get a good video out of it."

Patton made a choking noise, looking increasingly more worried. "Guys-"

Remus giggled, slapping a hand down on Patton's shoulder. "Don't worry, Dad, I was so pumped full of adrenaline I didn't even feel anything when I landed."

"You're going to give him a stroke," Virgil muttered, eyeing the increasingly paler Patton warily.

"The point is..." Remus cut in, "if the back cargo space is good enough for my opossum friends, then it's good enough for me. Problem solved."

"Hypothetical opossum friends," Janus hurriedly corrected. "But sure, we can try it."

"Cool, great, quick question though-" Roman said, staring out at the flooding parking lot. "Why the hell did you park so far away?"

All eyes turned to squint out through the virtual monsoon that was coming down. At the farthest end of the darkened lot sat golden Chevy Bolt, illuminated by the weak beam of a parking lot light pole.

"So people wouldn't park near me and risk scratching my car, obviously," Janus said, completely unbothered by the fact that his car was at least a good fifty yards away. "Unlike some people, I brought an umbrella and appropriate footwear. I can just pull back around and pick you all up so you don't drip in my car."

Completely disregarding his words, Remus suddenly shouted, "First loser to the car gets shotgun!", before taking off headlong into the pouring rain. Not to be outdone by his brother, Roman cursed before running after him, yelling, "NOT FAIR!"

The remaining four watched with varying reactions of dismay, amusement, and confusion.

"...Wouldn't the loser be the last one to the car? And I thought Remus was going to ride in the back...?" Logan asked.

Janus hummed. "He is. I'm pretty sure he just wanted to get wet."

Virgil once again regretted his life choices, looking down at his worn-out converses and tattered jeans. "This is gonna suck so bad. I'm going to be soaked the second I step out there."

"I don't know," Patton said with a smile, still watching Remus and Roman chase each other in the rain. "It looks kinda fun to me."

"Oh, please," Janus started, shooting a wide-eyed look at Patton, "don't tell me you're actually thinking about-"

The glasses-wearing teen shot Janus a bright smile. "Pleeeeease?"

The blonde teen stared hard at Patton, trying to resist. After a few moments, Janus finally crumbled with a put-out sigh and roll of his mismatched eyes. "Fine, go for it. Seems like everyone is out to ruin my car's interior tonight, you might as well join in."

With a gasp of delight, Patton leaped forward and put his arms around the shorter teen, exclaiming, "Thanks, Janus!"

Looking a bit like an indignant cat that didn't want to be held, Janus awkwardly patted his back. "Sure. Whatever."

Virgil was snickering to himself at the look on Janus' face, only to be startled out of it by Patton shoving his collapsible umbrella into his hands. "Here, Virge, you can have my umbrella since I won't be using it now!"

Then the cat-loving teen was laughing as he dashed out into the rain, ignoring Logan's call of, "Be careful!"

The last three friends watched as the others gleefully ran about the parking lot. Roman reached the car before his brother, but Remus just jumped on his twins' back and held on, making Roman shriek indignantly and stagger as he tried to adjust to the new weight. Patton was finding the deepest puddles of the parking lot and jumping in each one with giant splashes, his laughter echoing across the parking lot even in the rain.

Janus sighed once again and pulled out his umbrella. "Well, I suppose it was about time I had my car detailed anyways."

As Logan opened his own navy umbrella, he said, "I suggest we walk at a slower pace than the others to the car. Not only could we slip if we ran, but running in the rain causes you to get even wetter than if you walk because more droplets are hitting you as you increase speed."

Virgil hummed, taking note for the next time he had to go between classes when it was raining and opened the bright green umbrella Patton had lent to him. It popped open to reveal two eyes and a mouth resembling a frog's face on the green fabric. Cute, he thought to himself (but didn't dare say out loud; he had an aesthetic to maintain). Mumbling, he shot a "thanksforlettingmeridewithyou" in Janus' direction.

The blonde teen's mismatched eyes lit up and he grinned. "What was that, Virgil? I don't think I heard you. Speak up a little bit."

The hoodie-clad teen huffed. "You heard me, I'm not saying it again."

"Hm, rude."

All three of them stepped out into the downpour and began making their way through the flooded areas of the parking lot. Virgil's shoes were soaked in virtually seconds, but at least his hair and eyeshadow was dry. Patton had nearly made it to the car at this point as Remus chased Roman around the vehicle, going in circles while shouting at each other.

Janus twirled the keys in his hand but made no move to unlock the doors until he was standing at the driver's side door. Patton moved to get in the door behind the driver's seat. He was soaked to the bone and grinning as Virgil came to stand next to him and shared the umbrella with him (even though it wouldn't do much good at that point). Roman, thinking Janus was about to unlock the door, stopped running to stand and wait at the passenger seat door. "HA! I call shotgun."

Stopping turned out to be a mistake. Remus, still thoroughly engrossed in the chase, tackled his brother right into the wet asphalt with a triumphant cry. Logan deftly stepped in to take Roman's former spot and it was only then that Janus unlocked the car.

Everyone sans Roman and Remus quickly piled into the luxury hatchback that no high schooler had any right to be driving. As Janus cranked up the heat to full blast, a soaking wet Roman swung open the door to the backseat and dove into the last open spot behind Logan, grumbling. "Seriously, Remus, why? You just succeeded in getting us both completely wet. This jacket is probably ruined now, thanks to you."

Remus, who was already crawling into the cargo space behind the back seats via the back hatch, blew a raspberry. "Just get it dry-cleaned, you baby. Besides, some of us like getting wet, if you know what I mean." The comment was collectively ignored.

"I can already tell there's going to be scuff marks from the pavement," Roman said as he examined the fabric. "I hope those Sour Patch Kids I put down your shirt melted to your clothes when you got us both wet."

"Oh, I already ate those."

There were more than a few disgusted faces in the car at that particular statement. Roman looked horrified. "That's so disgusting- How are we even related?"

A question everyone had heard numerous times...

"The car isn't moving till everyone is wearing their seatbelt," Janus stated, sternly eyeing the backseat passengers in the rearview mirror. He and Logan were both already buckled.

Virgil scooted over a bit for Patton, who had taken the middle seat between Virgil and Roman, to reach his buckle. "But Remus doesn't have a seatbelt."

"Remus doesn't count," Janus said.

"Yeah, emo," Remus leaned forward to poke Virgil in the neck. "God herself couldn't kill me."

Virgil gave a full-body shudder at the poke - Remus' fingers were freezing - and leaned forward to get away from the offending hand. "I swear to god, Rem, if you keep that up-"

Patton paused in trying to wipe away at the water obscuring his glasses and turned in his seat, squinting. "Now kiddos, play nice-"

Roman snorted. "I don't think my brother even knows how to 'play nice'."

Remus jabbed freezing fingers into Roman's unprotected neck in gleeful retaliation.

Tuning out the less mature back seat passengers and setting the windshield wipers at full blast, Janus shifted into drive and began to slowly pull out of the nearly empty parking lot. Logan studied him out of the corner of his eye for a few moments before saying, "I would think you'd be more upset at the amount of water we tracked into your car, Remus and Roman especially."

Janus shot Logan a mischievous grin as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Oh, I'm sure I'll find a way to collect on this favor with each of you at a later date."

"Of course you would," Logan sighed, already dreading the implications.

The blonde teen simply snickered, finally pulling out onto the road to begin the ordeal of dropping everyone off at their respective homes.

#sanders sides #ts virgil #ts roman #ts logan #ts patton #ts remus #ts janus #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #my writing #my first attempt writing in the sanders sides fandom yay

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 5 years ago

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Whumptober Day 17, 18, 19, 20

I’m away for the weekend so I wrote a combo fic again, to make up for being away. I didn’t like two of the prompts so I used substitutes from this year’s alternate list.

Day 17: “Stay with me”

Day 18: Winded (alternate for muffled scream)

Day 19: Broken voice (alternate to Asphyxiation)

Day 20: Trembling

Simon

I don’t know why I do it. I should know better than to follow Baz over the drawbridge, especially so close to dusk.

But I can’t seem to help myself.

I caught sight of him when I opened the window in our room after dinner. Saw him hurrying towards the drawbridge, shoulders hunched against the wind.

Baz hates being cold. So why is he going out the gate?

Without a coat. Without his scarf.

He must be up to something.

I’m slamming the door behind me an instant later, buttoning my coat as I pound down the stairs at top speed. I nearly run into Dev as he’s on his way up.

“What’s the rush, Snow? It’s not like Cook Pritchard’s serving a second dinner.”

“Fuck off.”

“You’re slacking on creativity, Snow. You can’t say that to me every time.”

“It works. It’s short and simple.” I narrow my eyes. “Just like you.” I sidestep him, purposefully knocking his shoulder with mine, and then rush down the rest of the stairs and out the entrance of Mummer’s.

There’s no sign of Baz.

Doesn’t matter. I saw him heading towards the gate so that’s where I go.

I’m over the moat and onto the Great Lawn. I catch sight of Baz then—he’s almost to the small patch of trees that mark the start of the Wavering Wood.

Maybe he’s going to the football pitch.

Coach Mac hasn’t let him play since he’s been back. And he’s still got a limp. He does a fair job of hiding it most of the time but I can see it. I’ve watched him enough to know how he walks, how he moves.

Baz doesn’t walk like anyone else I’ve ever seen. He’s smooth and confident, but it’s more than that. He’s so fucking graceful. Smooth.

Baz glides.

It’s uncanny.

But it’s not how he’s walking now.

It’s more noticeable out here, on the uneven ground.

It looks all wrong. That bothers me. Baz shouldn’t be walking like that.

I want to know what happened to him. Where he’s been. Why he’s limping, why’s he’s so grey, why he looks so exhausted all the time.

All I have are questions.

Baz never gives me answers.

I’m trying to be as quiet as I can but there’s no cover on the Great Lawn. I wonder if he’s seen me.

Or caught wind of me with his vampire super senses.

That’s uncanny too. How he always knows when I’m following him or lurking in the stacks at the library or chasing him down in the Catacombs.

I don’t go to the Catacombs anymore.

He deserves that undisturbed time with his mother, even if he’s draining rats while he’s there. I’ll not mess with that again. I have some decency.

He is going to the pitch, the tosser.

There are trees near the pitch. I used to sit under them when I’d follow Baz to practice or matches.

I make my way to the small clump of them nearby. It’s getting dark and I’m in the shadows. Maybe Baz hasn’t seen me. He’s not turned around or looked over his shoulder, not as far as I can tell.

I settle down under the nearest tree, right at the edge of the pitch. I don’t really care if Baz sees me.

He should know I’ve got my eye on him. It’s what I do—keep tabs on Baz.

He’s all the way at the far end now—standing in front of the goal, hands in his pockets, head down, shoulders slumped, his hair whipping around in the brisk breeze.

It’s unnerving to see Baz like this. The veneer of arrogance swept away. The swagger muted. His proud posture diminished.

I’m holding my breath as I watch him, not even realizing I’ve scrambled up onto my knees in the grass until I feel the damp settling into the fabric of my trousers.

Baz walks right up to the goal and comes back out dribbling a ball. I hadn’t noticed it. Someone must have forgotten it after practice.

He veers across the far end of the pitch, bouncing the football off his knee, shifting direction as the ball drops to his feet again, squaring up, and then pounding the ball into the goal.

He retrieves it and does it again. And again.

He’s not even in his football kit. He’s in his coat and tie, with his school shoes on.

He still manages to look strong. Graceful. Fucking ruthless.

Baz must have seen me by now. I’ve moved until I’m standing at the edge of the pitch, watching him. He doesn’t stop.

I drop my coat on the sideline and jog across the grass until I’m just in front of the goal. I nod at Baz. “Try to get it past me.”

He stops, foot on the ball, eyes narrowed. “Don’t tempt me, Snow. There are more satisfying ways of hurting you. This is too easy.”

I take a step forward. “Fine, then.” I run at him and kick the ball away, chasing it down the field.

He snarls and speeds after me. He’s usually devastatingly fast but his leg is slowing him down tonight so I might have a chance. I’m almost clear to the far goal when he catches up, crowding right into me, thumping my shoulder hard, and stealing the ball.

It’s my turn to roar as I race after him.

The pitch is one of my favorite places at Watford. I don’t get to play enough football. Just pick up games from time to time with Gareth and some of the other boys in my year.

It’s dark now but the moon is up and Baz has done something to the football to make it glow. We’re tearing up and down the field, crashing into each other, struggling for possession, banging knees and arms and shoulders.

I’m sweating.

We’ve never done anything like this before. And it’s good. It’s really good. I’m grinning and I can see the flash of an answering smirk on Baz’s face when I get close.

It’s not his usual smirk. It’s actually more of a smile.

I’ve not seen that before. Not directed at me.

Baz gets a clear shot on goal and I take a break, hands on my knees as I catch my breath.

I’m winded. I may be in shape from all the sword work I do, but I’m not used to running like this.

“Had enough then, Snow?”

I take another deep breath and stand up straight. “I could have another go.” It would sound more sincere if my voice didn’t break as I speak.

Baz laughs. He’s holding the ball under his arm and I can see his chest rise and fall from the exertion. That’s not typical either. I’ve rarely ever seen him pause to catch his breath.

The need to ask him where he’s been comes over me again. To ask why he’s so thin, so gaunt. So grey.

I tamp my curiosity down. This moment—it’s fragile I think. I could break it with a wrong word or an offhand comment.

I don’t want to do that. It’s too important, whatever this is.

“Maybe next time,” Baz says, as if there actually might be a next time. Another night when we put aside our mutual hostility and actually indulge in something like this again.

He drops the ball and kicks it into the goal, gently this time, the glow fading from it as it rolls away. Then he straightens his suit coat and adjusts his cuffs.

“Call it a night then, shall we, Snow?”

“Yeah.”

We turn to walk back to the gate, shoulder to shoulder, feet in sync as we trudge across the lawn. I stoop to grab my coat from the side of the pitch and I hear Baz curse under his breath. “Bloody hell.”

My head snaps up at the tone of his voice and I follow his gaze to the drawbridge.

Fuck. It’s up.

“I didn’t think we were out here that long.”

“Neither did I.” Baz has his hands in his pockets and his shoulders are hunched once more. The wind’s picked up. It’s getting colder by the minute.

“What now, then?” I ask.

“You know your Mage has the drawbridge magicked. I can’t open it, not even with an “Open sesame.” His eyebrows come together. “I suppose I could try to get across the moat and over the walls somehow.”

“What, magic yourself a pair of wings?”

Baz rolls his eyes. “I could probably do something with a bit more finesse than that.”

I think back to the bony, misshapen wings I’d magicked up when the Humdrum snatched me at the end of last term. I’m certain Baz could manage something far better.

“Well, it’s not fair for you to rescue yourself and leave me out here on my own again.”

“Are you asking me to stay with you, Snow?”

I don’t answer him. Because, yeah, I am asking him to do just that. Stay with me. I may not say the words but I’m thinking them.

“It’s alright, Snow” Baz arches his eyebrow again. “I won’t abandon you to your fate.”

“How sporting of you.”

“It’s mostly because I can’t think of a spell to use to get over the wall.”

I sigh. “At least it’s not as cold as the last time you made me spend the night out here.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re referring to, Snow.”

“That’s rot and you know it.” I look around us. “At least it’s too early in the season for the snow devils.”

Baz snorts and I dart a glance at him. “It was you,” I say. “Just admit it.”

He smirks.

“Oh fuck off, Baz. I know it was you. No one else would pull a trick like that.”

No one else would have managed it.

Both of his eyebrows go up. “Maybe it was the Humdrum.”

It’s my turn to snort. “Right. Like the Humdrum doesn’t have better things to do than forge my girlfriend’s handwriting just to get me to freeze my arse off.”

Ex-girlfriend, I remind myself.

“Did the snow devils really chuck chestnuts at your head?” There’s an amused tone to Baz’s voice, the wanker.

“Yes. I couldn’t even blast the bastards.”

“Protected species.” He gives a snort again.

“You are a complete wanker, you know that?”

He waves a hand at me dismissively. “It wasn’t one of my better plans.”

“Ha! It was you!”

“Really, Snow, it’s not like it was such a great mystery. Who else could it have been?”

“But you’re admitting it!”

He shakes his head. “I’m stuck out here with you tonight. You are obviously not going to stop yammering on about it until I claim responsibility.” Baz tilts his head at me. “This time you have only yourself to blame though. I didn’t ask you to follow me tonight. You did that on your own.”

“And I’m going to freeze my arse off again, by the looks of it.”

“There are warming spells, you know.”

We bicker for a few moments as we try to find a spot out of the wind. We finally settle under the yew trees, resting shoulder to shoulder against the wide trunk.

I hear Baz cast a “snug as a bug in a rug” but it doesn’t work so well without a blanket. I can feel him trembling from the cold, arms wrapped across his chest, hands tucked under his arms.

I’ve got my duffle coat. I can still feel the wind but I’m a sight warmer than he is. And I usually run hot.

I slide my left arm out of my coat, the arm that’s flush with Baz’s shoulder. “Here,” I say.

“I’m not taking your coat, Snow.”

“I’m not giving it to you.” I turn so my back is to him, giving him more room to slide his arm in the empty sleeve. “We can share if you cast a “custom fit” on it.”

I’ve done that spell before. Or rather Penny has.

Baz gives me a dubious look but he’s pulling his wand out. He places his back against mine and slides his arm into the sleeve as he casts the spell.

My coat stretches between us, widening enough to accommodate both of us until we can sit side by side again. The front billows, the excess fabric bunching up until I do up the toggles.

“This is ludicrous.” Baz is frowning. “Simply ridiculous. Where do you come up with these ideas?”

“Penny,” I say truthfully.

“Of course. The ever-resourceful Bunce.”

I bump his shoulder. “You’re warmer now, aren’t you?”

Baz sighs. “Yes, Snow, I’m warmer.” I’m not sure if I’m imagining it but it almost feels as if he’s moved closer, leaning into me now. “But I swear I will burn you at the stake if you tell anyone about this.”

I bump his shoulder again. I can feel the cool impression of his hand resting on the ground between us, brushing against my fingers.

I want to take it in mine, twine his chilled fingers between my own until they get warm.

I shake my head. I don’t know where that thought came from.

It’s just because I’m cold, I tell myself. That’s all it is.

Baz splutters next to me. I think he’s laughing.

“What are you on about?”

“Nothing.” A giggle escapes him.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard Baz giggle.

“Come on, Baz? What’s so funny?”

“I don’t know if you recall I have twin sisters. Younger than me.” I don’t think I know anything about his family other than his father is cold and distant and his aunt is scary as hell. He’s never mentioned sisters before.

“Ok.”

He giggles again. “They fight like crazy, especially since the baby arrived.”

So there’s a baby too. This is all new information. I’ve no idea what’s gotten into him tonight, to be sharing all this with me. Eight years I’ve lived with the jammy bastard and this is the first time I’ve heard anything about siblings.

“Alright.”

“My step-mother was at her wits end a few months ago. So my aunt Fiona bought an extra-large t-shirt and painted “our get along shirt” on the front and stuffed my two sisters into it. They each got one sleeve and had to basically be shackled together until they stopped fighting.”

I can’t help it. I start to laugh. That’s exactly what Baz and I must look like in this coat.

I’m spluttering as I try to get the words out. “Maybe this is how we finally stop the war.”

Baz’s head is resting against the tree trunk and he’s laughing. “I can’t imagine why the Old Families didn’t think of this sooner.”

“They should have put us in a shirt like that years ago.”

“I’d have offed you if they’d done that, Snow. You have atrocious taste in clothes.”

“I’m not hearing any complaints from you at the moment.”

He doesn’t say anything and I’m pretty chuffed about it. It’s not often Baz Pitch is at a loss for words.

It doesn’t last long.

He clears his throat. “I suppose your taste in outerwear is tolerable.”

“So does this mean the next time you piss me off I just have to magic us into my coat?”

“It would confound the Anathema, that’s for certain.”

I’m still chortling about it a few moments later when I feel Baz’s hand again. His pinky finger brushes against mine.

I don’t hesitate this time. I place my hand over his gently, holding my breath, waiting for him to growl at me, snatch his hand away, blast me with a spell.

Baz silently turns his palm up, keeping his eyes trained on the sky above us, letting my fingers slide between his own and then his grip tightens on my hand.

I shift closer to him and tentatively drop my head on his shoulder. He’s tense, rigid for just a moment.

And then he sags against the tree, tilting his head to rest it on mine.

I should tell him. I should tell him now.

About his mother. About the Visiting.

But this . . . we’ve never had this. I don’t want to break whatever magic has come over us tonight.

I don’t know what we’re doing.

But this is so much better than fighting.

Baz

There are literally a half dozen spells I could have used to get myself over the walls. Snow doesn’t need to know that.

I could have left him out here all night again. I should have.

But I’m weak. I’ve missed him.

And I'm starting to wonder if he didn’t miss me too.

Snow’s hand is warm against mine. I can feel his breath on my shoulder.

There is no place I would rather be right now.

#whumptober 2019 #carry on #baz pitch #simon snow #stay with me #winded #broken voice #trembling #whumptober day 17 18 19 20 #my writing #my fics

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goldheartofsteel · 4 years ago

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apologies to my heart - a Moceit Soulmate AU

Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - College/University

Tagging:@omgsomeonesomewhereonearth || @patient–zer0 || @kawaiikat54 || @uniquedonutland || @sanderssides-angst || @wellhellothere09

CHAPTER 9:

Virgil drags Roman as far away from the living room as possible, to ensure that Patton and Janus have privacy for their conversation. However, this means he ends up with Princey in his bedroom and not under the circumstances he would have preferred.

“Alright, Storm Cloud. What was that all about?” asks Roman, the moment Virgil releases his arm.

Virgil huffs, not knowing how to answer but knowing that the cat’s hopefully coming out of the bag in the living room certainly helps him decide to tell the truth, more or less.

“Surely, you must have noticed the situation between Patton and Janus,” he runs a hand through his hair but not noticing the way Roman’s staring at him, “the opportunity to finally get everything out into the open presented itself, so I figured I would give them a hand to take it. They didn’t need an audience so…..”

Virgil shrugs.

“Uh, duh. Even Logan without his glasses on would notice something going on there, especially lately. What with all the glares and stares being tossed around,” replies Roman.

He taps his chin then looks at Virgil.

“You know, there’s something else I wanna ask about,” he says.

Moving across the room, Roman stands close to Virgil, causing him to raise an eyebrow in response.

“If you wanted to get me alone in your room, all you had to do was tell me. There’s no need for the dragging though with your grip, I didn’t know you like it rough,” flirts Roman.

Virgil’s jaw drops open as he blushes the same shade as Roman’s favorite color.

“That’s not--I didn’t--you’re reading too much into this, Princey!”

Roman chuckles.

“Then what’s been with all the staring? I know I look good, you can admit it.”

Biting his tongue, Virgil crosses his arms and refuses to respond as Roman’s gaze lingers on him and his blush only gets worse.

“You’re too cute, Storm Cloud,” compliments Roman with a smile.

“Will. You. Shut. Up?”

Shaking his head, Roman continues to grin.

“Now why would I do that when I am getting such an adorable reaction from you?”

Uncrossing his arms, Virgil opens then closes his fists several times as irritation and something else flutters across his face causing Roman’s grin to widen in response.

“Gah! You’re so frustrating! What am I going to do with you?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something, handsome.”

Virgil throws his hands up in the air.

“Oh shut up already!”

Roman smirks at Virgil.

“Make me.”

Later on, Virgil would claim it was all the stress from Patton and Janus' situation that made it easier for Roman to get under his skin, not that anyone would believe him, that made him do what he did.

Virgil reaches up, grabs Roman by the collar then pulls him down before proceeding to kiss him firmly on the lips.

-----

Time has run out and Patton feels like he’s sweating up a storm.

God, Janus will hate him for keeping this a secret all this time regardless of his feelings and behavior involving Roman. Why did he think not saying anything would be a good idea again?

“What is going on, Patton? Don’t say that there isn’t because I’ve noticed. I’ve wanted to ask you for awhile now,” comments Janus softly.

All Patton wants to do is reach out and grab Janus so he doesn’t leave. Does he deserve that though?

He runs a hand through his hair as he tries to avoid looking at Janus but he can’t keep his gaze away from his soulmate.

“You want the truth, Janus? I’m scared to tell you but if you want to know then you deserve to know,” says Patton.

Patton’s words stir worry and fear in Janus’ chest, that something or someone could hurt him or worse, make him lose Patton forever. Janus knows he wouldn’t be able to survive that.

Spotting the look on Janus’ face, Patton knows he’s going down the same path Roman did when he asked Patton what’s wrong so long ago.

“I’m not in danger or anything like that,” Patton rushes to comfort his soulmate, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest at the thought of his soulmate caring about him even platonically, “you don’t need to worry, Janus.”

A weight drops from his shoulder and Janus relaxes his stance, smiling a relieved smile towards Patton.

The concern still lingers.

“Then what is it, Patton? You know you can tell me anything,” says Janus.

Gosh, this is so hard.

“You’ll hate me for not telling you sooner and it will kill me when you stop wanting anything to do with me,” Patton admits, looking down at the floor.

Janus’ eyes widen and he stops breathing for a few moments.

There’s nothing in this world that would make him hate his sou-hate Patton and want nothing to do with him anymore. Besides, Virgil would absolutely kill Janus for upsetting Patton.

Patton takes a deep breath, knowing this is it and his life will change but whether it’s for the better or for the worse, he doesn’t know.

No more running.

No more keeping what they are a secret.

Patton looks up and meets Janus’ gaze, taking comfort in the smile he sent Patton.

“You and I….we are soulmates and I’ve known since the twins’ party back in freshman year when we kissed because Roman dared us to,” he confesses.

Janus blinks then stares at Patton for a few moments.

“Oh thank God it wasn’t anything serious.”

Patton tilts his head to the side in confusion but before he says a word, Janus removes the glove from his right hand before showing his wrist to Patton.

There sits an outline of a light blue frog.

“OH!” responds Patton with a grin.

Then he frowns.

“So, you don’t hate me for not speaking up and saying something?” he asks.

Janus shakes his head.

“I wish one of us would have said something sooner, all that time wasted when we could have been together but I don’t hate you. I’ll never hate you because I love you, Patton,” he takes a few steps until he’s in front of Patton, “even before I knew we’re soulmates, I loved you.”

Staring up at Janus, Patton could tell he’s tearing up because Janus said everything he wanted to hear.

Is this a dream?

In that moment, Janus remembers the phrase ‘actions speak louder than words’ and since Patton isn’t being convinced by his words, he’ll have to show his soulmate how he feels about Patton being the one for him.

Besides, he’s done fighting his desire to kiss Patton after all of this time.

#patton sanders #janus sanders #moceit #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #pattonfic #janusfic #moceitfic

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sleepyfan-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Ripples

A/N: This was a request from @littlepigart . The ask they sent me got eaten.

Fandom: UTMV

Characters: Dream, Ink, XGaster

Warnings: none, ask to tag

Word count: 2,250

Summary: Of the people and things that Ink shows XGaster while encouraging the other to keep improving the story of his world, he brings the other to Dream, and the two have a brief chat.

Tagslist: @anxiety-is-married-to-depression @angelofthehalfmoon @trainwreck-of-skeletons @hisame-amadashi @therandomskelekey

"-and while I do know what it's like to be discouraged and to feel as if you're lost and nothing is going to go well... You see... As I've shown you, there are many worlds, many different stories that are told, in endless variations. So, g when I bring you home, I hope that you understand that the story of your world is meant to unfold as it is - bright points and imperfections all in one." Ink finished, a warm smile appearing on his face as he gestured expansively to the doodlesphere, looking up at the Gaster he'd been speaking with.

The tall skeleton frowned a little, pushing his glasses so that they sat right on his face "I... There are indeed many worlds... Many timelines... I'm just.. It's staggering how many there truly are.."

"Yup~ And new worlds to appear at any time. Some are just sketches - concept worlds that are newly born. It's really exciting to watch the creator find more light, colors and life to fill them with. But each world has its’ own story. Isn't it amazing?" The creative guardian prompted with a grin.

"I... All of this is truly impressive. I'm just... I don't know if there really is anything I can do in my own world that can compare to any of these worlds… Perhaps I..." He sighs, shaking his head a little "I do not know if my imagination is not working well enough, or if I have simply hit a creative block of some kind." The Gaster responded, shaking his head a little, curling in on himself a bit. He doesn't want to tell the eager and cheerful young skeleton that he is still on the fence about destroying the world, and allowing the children to be free of suffering an imperfect story, in an imperfect world...

"Well, I know someone who will cheer you up from your slump!! He always makes me feel better, and I don't even have to constantly talk to him either. Come with me to the OT and I'll introduce you to him." Ink grinned, a strange grey door appearing before the two of them.

Before XGaster could ask where this door lead, Ink has already dragged him through it, and in a world that seems to be an odd mishmash of many timelines, multiple copies of different monsters and humans, Ink is shouting "Dreaaam? Oh Dreaaam, where are you?"

A bright yellow and blue sans alternate (as Ink was a sans alternate too) came running towards them "I’m right here, Ink. What's going on? I just finished talking to a couple of newcomers. They're settling in as well as can be expected... I just wish that there was more that could be done..."

Ink shrugged, gently patting Dream on one shoulder, answering with a shrug "It's up to the determined human, and in timelines that they come from..."

Dream winces a little and then looks over at XGaster, curious "Who's your friend, Ink?"

"Oh! This is XGaster, he comes from an... Interesting timeline. I've never seen an AU like his before, but he's feeling a little... Discouraged. He.. He's..." Ink's eye lights are a very bright pink, the other yellow "He's... a creator."

Dream stills for a moment, a soft gasp leaving him and the other bowed a little "O-Oh... It's... It's an honor to meet you, XGaster. Frisk - Core!Frisk that is - is the one who created this timeline."

"he's having a bit of a creative block and feeling a little blue, so I thought I'd bring him to you. YOu always seem to know what's the best thing to keep everyone positive." Ink hummed, his eye lights rapidly shifting shape and color as he spoke.

Dream nods, a determined expression appearing on his face, and he murmurs "I'm not quite sure what I can do to help encourage a creator... But I can do my best. Ink - the newcomers need housing, and they are running low on supplies. I don't suppose that you wouldn't mind making them living accomodations? They're that way..."

"Sure think, Dreamy. You take good care of XGaster while I'm gone, alright? I'll be back soon enough. Ciao~!" Ink answered back, rushing off in a blur of colors and movement.

Dream clears his nonexistent throat a little and asks quietly "So... So what in particular is upsetting you?"

"I just... I want to make sure that the world is perfect, you know? But... In the first iteration of our world, the humans turned on our ambassador, Frisk. because they couldn't age, and stayed an eternal child. I rewound the world back to the beginning and... In the next timeline, another war broke out, which we monsters won, but at a dear cost... SEveral more iterations, and things have gone wrong in some way... I can't... I can't seem to make the narrative of the story end purely happily, and I don't know how to make the story perfect... Ink says that no story is perfect and I... I understand that in theory... But I just... I want everyone to get their happy endings." XGaster sighed, frowning a little as he paced back and forth in front of the shorter skeleton. He was surprised at how... Calm he was feeling. Normally by this time he' either be yelling in frustration, or at the point of tears, or a combination of the two.

Dream looked at him for several seconds quietly before responding, voice gentle and comforting "it's quite noble of you to want to ensure the best ending possible for everyone... But if everyone had the same ending... Then would they really have different personalities? Because sure... You could take away every individual's personality and reformat them to obey you, and end up as nearly emotionless husks of their former selves... But then they wouldn't be able to reach their full potential, though technically they would be happy, or whatever emotion that you'd want them to... In my experience, there are good experiences and bad experiences. There must be a balance of both to live life to the fullest. The bad things help you grow... Or at least.... They should..."

XGaster thought about what the other had to say - so suffering may be a necessary component of a life lived well? An odd thought... But the shorter skeleton seemed to be distressed by something "Are... Are you alright?"

"O... I'm fine. Everyone feels frustrated or... Or as if things aren't going well. But you've got to push through it. There are shadows, but there is also light. You've just got to open your eyes and grasp it. Even if it's a faint flicker of candlelight." Dream responded, flashing a bright smile at him. He fidgeted a little and asks shyly "Ink... Ink said that you're a creator... If it's not impertinent to ask... How?"

XGaster smiled a little, glad to show the other "I possess this." the OVERWRITE button glowed a bright purple beneath his hands "It allows me to create, destroy or change anything I want, however I want. The only limits are my imagination and the amount of magic I have at any one point in time, at least so far as I have found."

Dream nodded, the smile on his face fading a little as he stared into the distance, fidgeting with his hands as if he were thinking about something. "Ah... What did Ink tell you about me?"

"That you were a friend of his who cheered him up when he was feeling down. I understand what he meant. I feel much better, thank you." XGaster responded, smiling warmly at the other, gently patting the other on one shoulder.

"Thank you... Uhm... Can you affect people or beings from other timelines, or just your own?" Dream asked curiously "and I asked about that as I... I'm... I'm the guardian of positivity. I try to encourage positive feelings in the beings of the multiverse..."

He seemed... Disquieted about something, and XGaster had a hunch there was a reason why he was asking about the nature of OVERWRITE. Nevertheless, he had no reason to not answer "Yes, I can - I helped to fix a broken door in an underswap, and healed an injured monster in a... I believe he called it a Swapfell? Ink was a bit annoyed at me, but the monster was grateful."

"I... Alright. Okay, you can... You can affect beings outside of your timeline. I... Forgive me if this is impertinent but... I have a favor to ask of you, but only if you promise to never tell anyone... Including Ink?" Dream murmurs, voice low and quavering. His smile had faded completely and the sans alternate looked very small and vulnerable.

"I'll try my best to do as you ask, and I'll keep it from Ink. What is it that you want?" XGaster asks curiously, having no idea what the young guardian might want to ask of him.

"You... While you were with Ink... You may have noticed that there are a lot of AUs and Timelines that are... Not... Not very happy... There's a reason for that, and it's due to the fact that the... There is an imbalance of power between myself and the... The former guardian of negativity. I'm not asking you to try to correct that... I don't know if you *can* considering the nature of what happened. What I am asking you... He and I are bound together by the strings of fate." Dream pauses for a couple of moments.

The guardian seems to be very upset as he continues to speak, XGaster stays quiet as Dream starts talking again.

"If one of us dies, so does the other. I... I'd rather... I don't... I don't want to be bound to him so closely. He has become a cruel and vicious tyrant. Someone who... Who Ink and I fight against, and while I desperately want to believe that I can... That one day I can bright him back from the darkness and corruption he has stumbled into... He's been this dark, corrupted caricature of the... Of the person I have known since the moment we were first created. I'm... I'm asking you to sever that bond, in case... In case there is no way to cure that corruption and he... He needs to die. Because I... I need to be able to be alive to fix the damage that he has caused if... If he..." Dream is unable to continue speaking, having buried his hands in his face, shoulders shaking as he sobbed silently.

"If it turns out that he does need to be killed, as you may have no other choice? I have never heard of such a bond. I will attempt to sever it - if you do die in the process, I believe that I can ressurect you. I have brought back the dead in the past." XGaster responds, summoning OVERWRITE and using it to bring up Dream's code - rather surprised to find out that, among other things, this slight skeleton is over five hundred years old. He scrolls through the other's data until he finds the fate bond. He studies the code closely before inputting the information and binding it with magic, severing the life and death connection between the two of them - making sure that the dark, twisted creature Dream was up until now bound to, would not find out as the bond snapped. OVERWRITE fades from existence and Dream wakes.

"I... D-Did it work?" The centuries old guardian asked, anxious.

"Yes. You two are no longer fate bound... And the only way he will find out is if one of the two of us tell shim, and I certainly won't say anything about it. Stay safe, Dream. Thank you for your words of encouragement." Changing the code of the monsters and humans around him... He hadn't considered that until Dream had asked him to. It was something that was definitely worth thinking more about.

The positive spirit tackled him and hugged him tightly, a wide, bright smile appearing on his face as Dream murmured "Thank you... Thank you so much! You... You have no idea how much of a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders."

"we all have our burdens to bear, and battles to fight. You have helped me a great deal, and I am glad to have been able to help you in kind." XGaster responded, a small smile appearing on his face. he's surprised that he can so deeply affect the nature of someone so critical to the balance of the multiverse. This power of his is something that he very much needed to put forethought into, and move with cautious careful care... Experiment bit by bit, to see just what and how much he could do, to ensure that he had his perfect story.

Ink pops up just as the two of them stop hugging, and asks "How are you feeling, XGaster?"

"Much better. I can understand why you like Dream quite a bit. He is certainly quite inspiring. I believe I am ready to go home and continue crafting the story as it should be." XGaster murmured with a warm smile, dozens of ideas from the many worlds he had visited - and from what he'd learned from Dream - floating through his mind. He'd be sure to mute the fear, hatred and distress the monsters and humans could feel. The last thing he needed was for Nightmare to find him.

#my writing #xgaster #ink sans #dream sans

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blu-eh · 5 years ago

Text

when kingdom comes calling

Words: 7,545 | Chapters: 1/1 | AO3 | Fanfiction

Summary: the Ghost Zone population assumes that Phantom took the crown with dignity. What they don’t know is fifteen year old Danny Fenton just wants to graduate high school, is constantly ready to throw hands with an army of eyeballs, and absolutely will not be crowned the Ghost King without a fight.

-----------------------------------

Danny is fifteen when the first Observant appears to completely ruin his life.

He wakes up with the feeling on the sun on his face and the birds chirping from outside his window. It’s peaceful, really, with his blankets being warm and his pillow soft. He feels more than a little well rested, which is a first considering his usual night-time activities, and thinks that maybe (just maybe) he can make it to school before the first period bell rings.

Belatedly, his ghost sense goes off.

Danny’s expecting it, really. It doesn’t stop the swirling aggravation as his good luck comes to an end. The day started out abnormal simply due to the fact that he had not once woken up at some ungodly hour in the morning to beat up a wandering ghost and send it back to the ghost zone. As per Fenton luck, his morning is ruined before it even has the chance to begin.

He groans, rubs sleep from his eyes, and comes face to face with the giant floating eyeball.

“Holy shit—” Danny turns intangible out of sheer surprise, falls through his bed, and is left grasping the sheets in order to pull himself as far as he possibly can away from the wayward Observant that is conveniently floating in his room. The Observant looks at him without blinking and its long cape flutters around its pencil-thin figure.

For a moment, they simply stare at each other. Danny, on the floor in his space pajamas, and the Observant hovering a few feet from the ground with its weird, unblinking, green eye.

“What are you doing in my room?” Danny says, slowly, and picks himself off the ground. He settles into a familiar fight stance and readies himself for a confrontation; space pajamas, bed head and all.

His previous encounters with the Observants and their weird time-council have not always been pleasant.

The Observant blinks at him, once, and says, “I have come to collect you for your coronation.”

“My what?”

“Your coronation, Daniel,” the Observant says with a sigh (which is really weird considering they don’t have mouths or, well, anything other than their eyes and hands). “It is time for you to take the throne and rule the Infinite Realms.”

Danny stares at him, his mouth opening and closing but no words coming out.

The Observant sighs again, “Please, come. There is much to do before you are crowned.”

Danny rubs his eyes just to make sure he’s not in some weird hallucination. He doesn’t think he’s fought any ghosts that could trap him in some freak alternate dimension or some sort of weird dream, but one can never be too careful. It would explain the situation more than whatever the Observant is trying to tell him, at least.

The Observants hate him. As if his own self-loathing isn’t enough to cover that base already. They’ve made it perfectly clear that should he ever mess up, should he ever become anything like Dan again, he would be destroyed and the council would not spare him pity for being a fifteen year old halfa.

Danny doesn’t remember doing anything bad or anything that could potentially cause his evil-future-self to come about and reign destruction and carnage on the earth, but then again Danny doesn’t have temporal clairvoyance like Clockwork and the rest of the Observants. Maybe he slept through one too many classes? Maybe he shoved the wrong ghost in his thermos?

Not like it matters, anyways. It doesn’t change the fact that Danny promised he wouldn’t turn into that and he isn’t just going to take whatever scheme the Observants dished out for him without a fight.

Danny holds up his hands, “Alright, okay. Listen, you had me going there for a little bit. I gotta admit that I was pretty surprised and kudos for the creativity but if you’re going to come up with a plan to kill me, at least make it believable.”

The Observant narrows its beady eye, “The council does not like it any more than you, child, but even we cannot directly disobey the Ancient Code of Rights.”

“The what?”

“Do you really not know?”

Danny’s irritation bubbles to the surface and he throws up his hands, “Its not exactly like any of you hand out Being a Ghost for Dummies book! Ghosts don’t tell me anything unless they’re trying to post-mortem murder me!”

The Observant blinks at him again, “You bested the previous king and his army in single combat thus earing the rights to the throne, the Ring of Rage, the Crown of Fire and the position of King of all Ghosts. I am to lead you into the Infinite Realms where we shall hold your coronation and crown you king. From there, you shall lead the Realms as did Pariah Dark in his prime.”

“King of all Ghosts—” Danny spluttered out before taking a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alright, ignoring literally all of that for a second—why didn’t I get this position, oh, wow, I dunno, right after I defeated Pariah? It’s been a year now.”

“You did not even know about your own core,” the ghost says, sounding miffed. Danny thinks if anyone should be sounding aggravated right now, its him. “A ghost—rather, a halfa in your case—that does not know his own power cannot take the throne. The council made a decision to wait until your powers were under your control and you have learned more about the Infinite Realms and the power you possess before taking your rightful place.”

Irritation bubbles to the surface as Danny tries to ignore the painful fact that he knows very little about ghost culture and ghost politics. He doesn’t dare tell the observant this, though, because he doesn’t want the power and he certainly doesn’t want to be king of some stupid dimension. His parents shoot at him enough thinking he's a normal ghost. There’s no telling what they would do if they ever were to find out he’s the ghost king.

Ectoplasm sparks to life in his hands as he tries to keep his emotions in check. He’s angry and confused and worried because why couldn’t things just stay simple?

Notwithstanding, it still doesn’t change the fact the Observants have tried to do something worse than kill him on several different occasions.

“You tried to have me obliterated.”

“Yes,” the Observant says simply. “That still would have been the preferable outcome to this entire situation.”

Danny blasts the floating eyeball out of his room and doesn’t once feel bad about it.

-----------------------------------

There’s an eyeball in his locker.

Danny glances around at the nearly empty halls and hisses out, “What are you doing here? Go away before I make you!”

The Observant hardly looks rattled at the threat. If anything, the thing seems even more determined to get Danny to go through with this absolute bullshit plan to make him, someone who is half human, king of the ghosts. “Follow me to the Infinite Realms for your coronation. You are under obligation to meet the council at Pariah’s Keep where you shall receive the Crown of Fire and the Ring of Rage.”

“No,” Danny snaps. “I have an English test next period with Mr. Lancer.”

“This is no time for your silly human games—"

Danny slams the locker in its eye. He turns to look at his friends, feeling deader inside currently than when he’s in ghost form.

“Huh,” Sam says and blinks in surprise. “When you told us this morning, I thought you were kidding.”

The locker rattles behind him and Danny casually leads against it when people start looking his way. The Observant could easily use intangibility to escape, but, for some reason, doesn’t. Danny’s not going to question it. “I wish I was.”

“Kinda cool that we’re friends with royalty,” Tucker says.

“You’re not,” Danny says. “Because I’m not taking some stupid crown and I’m not ruling the Ghost Zone where I am constantly in danger because ghosts hate me. I’m perfectly fine out here, with my family, and away from all of them.”

“Frostbite doesn’t hate you,” Sam says. Danny shoots her a look but she continues on like she hadn’t seen him. “Neither does Dora or Pandora, I think. And Cujo and Wulf.”

“You gotta admit, dude,” Tucker says and slings an arm around him before meandering away from the rattling locker. “The whole Ghost King thing is pretty cool.”

Danny’s so tired.

“Tucker, honestly, I just want to get to college and maybe not fail at life,” Danny says. He has a horrible feeling in his gut that this is only the start of what might be the end of his entire future. “And I have a very bad feeling that my future is not going to be as normal as I want it to be.”

-----------------------------------

Jazz figures out the entire situation by the end of the first night when she sees a floating eyeball hovering in front of Danny’s bedroom door. She ends up yanking him in her room and forcing him to tell her everything. He tells her, albeit reluctantly, but he does have to admit it feels pretty good to get it off his chest.

It still isn’t a fun conversation for any of them considering Danny’s future hanging by nothing more than a flimsy string.

Life still goes on. Mr. Lancer assigns him an absurd amount of homework. The school gets shut down at least twice a day because of Observant sightings. Unfortunately for Danny, school doesn’t stop just because a bunch of ghostly eyeballs have taken to haunting the school corridors.

Besides, by the third day and seventh missed class, Danny makes it exceptionally clear that the Observants should not—under any circumstance—enter his school and disrupt his classes. If they do, then Danny hasn’t been scared to use force in the past and definitely isn’t scared to punch a giant eyeball in the face should he see them wandering the halls or loitering in the windows.

The Observants learn very quickly. So, instead of bothering him in the halls, they wait outside in the parking lot until he’s let out of class at the end of the day. From there, they float around him (along with an unwilling Sam and Tucker) and try to convince Danny to enter the Ghost Zone and become a king of a realm he doesn’t even totally belong to.

“—Your coronation ceremony awaits you in the Infinite Realms. The council has requested your presence.”

Danny breaths through his nose, shares a sideways look with his friends, and tries not to do anything drastic. The Observant is just lucky that the streets are currently empty because, otherwise, Danny would not be putting up with the constant pestering. “Do you have anything new to say?”

“Should you not come then the council will be forced to do things outside of prior tradition.”

At least it said something new, Danny thinks even though he doesn’t necessarily like the tone the Observant is using. Out loud, he says, “Does that mean you’ll leave me alone and find a new king?”

“No,” the Observant says.

“Damn,” Danny says. “Anything else profound?”

“The Infinite Realms is in need of a ruler—"

“I said anything profound?”

The Observant actually looks a little offended by that. Tucker hides his laugh behind a cough while Sam doesn’t try to hide hers at all. He gives them a wry grin when he thinks the Observant isn’t looking and all three of them burst into laughter.

The Observant narrows its eyes at the group and says, stiffly, “Very well. If this is your choice.”

It disappears in a puff of smoke. Danny glances at the spot where the Observant once floated and shrugs because, well, it’s not like he can do anything about it now. It doesn’t stop the sudden feeling of apprehension that washes over him.

“Do you think they’re actually going to leave Danny alone?” Tucker asks.

“No,” Danny says. “I think it’s just going to get worse from here.”

-----------------------------------

“I’m not coming to the stupid coronation,” Danny snaps the moment he sees the eyeball in his bedroom. It’s a new one, of course, because the council apparently never sends the same Observant twice.

This one is definitely different, though. It's holding something close it its chest in its green, clawed hand. Every couple seconds, Danny catches sight of a flickering green light despite not being able to make out the object’s shape.

“Since you have made your refusal to enter the Infinite Realms for your coronation, then we are forced to bring the coronation to you,” the Observant answers. It opens its hands and presents the object; small, black and flickering in a eerie green flame with a smooth bottom and tiny points at its top. He can’t help the small sense of familiarity as he takes the object in.

Danny feels his heart stop.

“Wait, what—this that the CROWN?”

“Bow your head, child,” the Observant says. “And we shall get this over with.”

Danny backs up so fast he hits the opposite wall before the Observant can move a single step closer. He drops into a fight stance. “Yeah, uh, no. I’m good, thanks. Please go back to the Ghost Zone and literally never come back here again.”

“You do not yet hold power over the council.”

Danny shifts to into his ghost form and charges up an ectoblast. The combination of its flashing light and the fire from the crown cast an eerie green glow on the walls of his room. “Wanna bet?”

The Observant takes a step forward. “This is cumbersome—"

“Oh, wow, I’m sorry,” Danny snaps and spots his thermos right behind the giant, floating eyeball. He mentally makes a quick plan in his head. “Next time you try and make my life a living hell I’ll make it easier for you!”

The Observant makes a move as if it were going to place the crown on Danny's head but Danny's faster. He dodges, rolls out of the way, and blasts the stupid ghost in the side. It doesn’t make a sound, but it does narrow its eye further.

“If you put that thing on my head so help me—HEY, I said don’t. I don’t want your stupid crown or your stupid throne!” Danny tries to keep his frustration under control as the observant moves to place the damn thing on his head again. He lunges to the other side of his room, fingers curling around the familiar metal of his thermos. “Find someone else and leave me alone.”

The Observant slinks back, crown still in hand. It glances at the object before meeting Danny’s eyes. “I see this will not be easy.”

Danny doesn’t give it a chance to move. Before the Observant can even react, he opens the thermos and sucks the thing up (crown and all). The green glow of the room vanishes and Danny is left standing, alone, in the lightly damaged remains of his once-clean bedroom.

-----------------------------------

He finds a new Observant in his fridge with a certain flaming crown in its hand. He slams the fridge door shut without a single word.

Unfortunately, Observants are ghosts which means they have ghost powers and this one is much smarter than the locker-Observant. It phases through the fridge and attempts to place the crown on his head without a single word.

At least they were past formalities now.

“I’d say give it to Plasmius but we all know how that would end,” Danny says and dodges the hands that attempts to pin him down. He’s stuck in human form for the time being seeing as his parents are just a room over and he doubts they would be happy to find Phantom floating in their kitchen with Fenton missing. “Don’t—hey! If you don’t stop, I’m going to blast you, I swear to the ancients—"

“We are the ancients, Daniel—"

“Oh my god, shut up. Please, stop talking.”

“This is your destiny—”

“Has it ever occurred to you or your council that forcing a fifteen year old to become a king is really fucked? Like, seriously, I haven’t even graduated high school yet. I’m barley passing history, I don’t know anything about politics, I can’t even vote in human elections and you want me to become a king?”

Footsteps come from the room next to him. Danny meets the Observant’s eyes as he realizes the fact that there is a ghost in a ghost hunter’s house. There is absolutely nothing good that will come from this.

“Danny?” His mom’s voice calls out. Danny slams a pillow over the Observant and sits on it just as his mom rounds the corner. She looks around the room, once, and doesn’t seem to notice how Danny’s awkwardly sprawled out on the couch in a desperate attempt to keep her from seeing the Observant. “I thought I heard yelling. Is everything all right?”

Underneath him, the Observant squirms in clear discomfort. Danny hopes he elbows it in the eye.

Danny laughs nervously and plasters on a smile that’s just a bit too wide. “Nope, no yelling. I didn’t hear yelling. Everything is fine, mom. Nothing to see here.”

He feels a hand creeping up his back and he whips around to grab the clawed green appendage before it can force the crown on his head. Unfortunately, in his effort to resist being crowned, he forgets all about his ghost-hunting mom who has definitely saw the ghost beneath the pillow.

Danny likes to think that his life is just one string of disasters after another with absolutely no end in sight.

“Is that a ghost?!” Mom says and, oh boy, her gun is already out and pointed at the Observant.

Danny shares a slightly panicked look with the Observant, still holding it’s hand with the crown away from his own head. It might be the stupid eyeball’s fault in the first place, but Danny doesn’t think anyone really deserves to get handed over to his mom. Or get ripped apart molecule by molecule. That would almost be as bad as Skulker skinning him and hanging his pelt on the wall.

Danny scrambles off the couch, “Okay, this is all just a big misunderstanding—"

Mom’s not listening to him, though. Her gun whirls with power and she takes a step forward. “Step away from my son, you ectoplasmic fiend!”

The Observant either wants to die again or is stupidly brave because it stands up, billowing cape and all. “He is to bear the crown and the ring as seen by the council and take his place as the rightful ruler of the Infinite Realms in order to—”

Mom blasts the Observant before it can say another word. Danny has never been so grateful for his mom’s trigger happy finger in his life.

His mom turns to look him over and Danny shrinks back and says, weakly, “I think they have me confused with a ghost.”

The Observant floats back into a standing position, the crown flickering in his hand. Unfortunately, one blast is never enough to force an Observant to leave. Danny should know. He’s blasted them enough times to figure it out.

Danny hates floating eyeballs with his entire being.

“Daniel James Fenton,” the Observant says and dodges the next shot by his mom. It tries to approach him, yet again, with the crown outstretched. “You must take the crown and the ring in order to rule the Infinite Realms as it is your right—"

“Shut up,” Danny throws a couch pillow at it. The pillow bounces harmlessly off the ghost but his mom shoots it a second later so he feels rightfully validated.

“Don’t touch my son!” his mom snaps.

She blasts the ghost enough to send it backward, into the kitchen. The crown goes skidding out of its hands and rolls right to Danny’s feet. Danny meets the Observant’s eye. Then, out of pure spite, he kicks the thing as far away from him as possible. The Observant narrows its eye.

Mom has a ectogun to the Observant’s face before it can protest. Danny tries to hide his smile, but doesn’t do a fantastic job if the look the Observant is giving him is anything to go by.

“Listen here, you odd manifestation of ectoplasmic energy and post-human consciousness,” Mom says and leans a bit closer. “You are going to tell me exactly why you are here and exactly what you were trying to do to my son.”

The Observant doesn't even look at her.

“Another time, then,” the Observant says but it’s glaringly obvious that it is not talking to Danny’s mom. It stares at him with its weird, beady eye.

Mom notices and shakes the thing with her fists. She looks a second away from decking it and, if it had been any other situation, Danny might have let her. He probably would’ve even laughed. This situation, however, is not one Danny finds much humor in.

The Observant gives him one more look before both it and the crown disappear in a puff of green smoke. His mom’s face twists into one of furious frustration but she doesn’t seem wholly surprised. The house plunges into a irreversible quiet and, sitting on the floor of the living room, Danny feels a familiar twinge of apprehension in his gut.

It’s incredibly apparent that the Observants have no qualms about secret identities.

Not a second later, his dad bursts into the room with a gun in hand. “GHOST?”

“You just missed it, honey,” Mom says, fuming, before dropping to her knees and pulling Danny into a hug. “Oh, Danny, I’m so sorry. That must have been so terrifying for you. I know how much those nasty ghosts scare you. I promise that we'll work on the ghost shield and nothing like that will ever happen again.”

Luckily, his mom seems more concerned about the fact that a ghost got into their house and tried to attack their son than to pay close attention to the words the ghost has spoken. It doesn’t stop the rush of guilt that holds his very core.

-----------------------------------

“Take the crown, Daniel.”

“Can’t,” Danny says, tightly. “I have an algebra test tomorrow that I haven’t studied for because someone keeps trying to put a crown on my head when I’m sleeping so, as you can see, I’m trying not to be stressed about that. Can we please schedule this for another time?”

The Observant gives him a look. For a floating eyeball, the thing is shockingly expressive.

Danny shifts into a fighting stance. “Right, of course. I forgot nothing is easy with any of you.”

-----------------------------------

Jazz catches him shuffling down the stairs to the basement at four o’clock in the morning.

“Danny,” she says slowly, “How many of those eyeball ghosts are in that thermos?”

“Twenty seven,” Danny answers and tries not to fall down the stairs in pure exhaustion.

It’s more of a game at this point—try and get as close to the ghost kid as possible to put on the crown and the ring before he blasts them. Danny thinks the game sucks and he wants out.

“You don’t look very good.”

Danny narrows his eyes. “Thanks, Jazz. I hadn’t realized.”

Danny can tell from her face that she’s trying to psychoanalyze him but he likes to think that he’s actually doing pretty well considering the sheer number of Observants that try to force a crown or ring on him. It’s been almost a week and, well, he’s still not the Ghost King so that has to count for something. Danny is holding off hope that the council will get the message and fuck off.

“Don’t be sarcastic, Danny, I’m just worried,” Jazz says and follows him down the stairs. “How are you holding up?”

“My life is a nightmare,” Danny answers. “And my nightmares manifest in the form of lots of floating green eyeballs.”

He takes the last couple steps into the basement and places the thermos in the release shoot. There’s no point in keeping them in there—Danny knows because he’s already tried. No matter what he does or where he keeps them, both the Observants that he’s captured and the crown vanish from the thermos. Then, they show up the very next day and the cycle begins all over again.

“That’s very specific,” Jazz tells him. Then, “If they keep popping up like they have, it’s going to be very hard to keep your secret from mom and dad for much longer.”

“Jazz,” Danny says and tries to keep the worry out of his voice (even if he knows it's a losing battle). “If this keeps going then I’m not going to have a secret to hide from anyone anymore.”

-----------------------------------

There’s yelling on the streets and an ectoblast whizzes past his ears.

Danny’s in ghost form, fresh out of a battle from a rogue ghost, flying high above the streets with his parents following behind him in their assault vehicle. They’re yelling at him, like normal, and trying to blast him out of the air. Had it been any other day, Danny could’ve lost them in mere minutes but he’s exhausted from the fifteen observants he’s been avoiding and the two ghosts that he’s fought just this afternoon.

Another blast comes dangerously close to hitting him.

His ghostly tail flicks in irritation and he turns, just for a moment, to yell out, “Stop blasting me!”

He almost gets an ectoblast to the face in reply.

“Hold it, ghost kid! Listen to me when I’m talking to you!”

Danny races through the streets, the RV curving dangerously on the road behind him. A shot fizzes by his ear and he drives to the right, towards the school. He makes it a good thousand feet when an Observant pops, literally, right in front of him with the crown in his hand.

Danny shoots the Observant on principal.

Unfortunately, Observants are freakishly strong for only being a giant floating eyeball and, sure enough, he had a grand total of three different pursuers behind him. The only thing that could make his day better is if Valerie shows up to join the party.

(He really, really hopes Valerie does not show up to join the party. Danny doesn’t think he can handle his parents, the Observants and Valerie well enough to keep the crown off his head and his secret intact.)

Too add to Danny’s extreme luck, he can only take so many ectoblasts before even he needs to land lest he be forced to transform back into a human. He lost the Observant someone a couple blocks back, but, sadly, his parents will not be bound by important things like traffic laws and speed limits. His parents end up cornering him in some wayward back alley where they stand at the mouth, blocking the entrance. Both guns are trained on his grounded form.

His dad aims his ectogun right at Danny’s face and shouts, “Freeze, spook!”

Danny really, really doesn’t want to fight his parents but he also doesn’t want to be caught and dissected, so he powers up his ectoblasts anyways and waits for a good enough opening to fly away without being shot out of the sky for a second time today. His mom watches him with a wary caution that he matches. Out of the two, she’s definitely the more dangerous one.

“Come quietly, Phantom. You’re trapped,” his mom says.

It’s then that the Observant decides to make its appearance directly next to his parents at the mouth of the alley, holding out the crown. His parents jump at the sudden arrival of yet another ghost but the Observant pays them no mind.

“GHOST!” Jack yells and hoists his gun to the newest arrival.

“You’re the ghost that was in our house the other day,” his mom says with a sort of venom in her voice. She looks mad—like, actually pissed off—which is something Danny’s glad he’s never been on the receiving end of (yet). She seems almost conflicted, like she wants to aim at the new ghost but cant't since her gun is currently trained on Danny's chest.

The Observant hardly reacts, holding the crown out further. It meets Danny’s eyes and Danny has half a mind to blast the thing, despite his parents being there.

“Please do not make this more difficult than it already is,” it says.

There’s a split second in Danny’s mind where he almost considers turning himself over to his parents. Surely, it would be better than whatever awaited him should the Observant actually manage to crown him.

“Listen, guys,” Danny says and backs away. He holds up his hands, placating. “This has been fun and all but I’m very tired and I don’t actually want to deal with this so if I could, like, leave, that would be great.”

His mom’s eyes snap back over to him and she lifts her gun from where she had lowered in during her surprise. “You aren’t going anywhere, spook!”

The order actually got a rise out of the Observant. It turns to his parents with its single eye narrowed. “You have no jurisdiction over Phantom.”

“Phantom is in our town,” his mom snaps right back. The gun unwittingly moves more towards the Observant and less towards Danny. "Therefore we decide what is and is not fit!”

“He is the rightful king—"

“King?!”

"Ghosts don't have kings—"

Through the bickering, no one notices as Danny sinks into the floor, slips out of the alley and vanishes.

-----------------------------------

“Please, don’t,” Danny says.

He’s in ghost form, hovering about two hundred feet off the ground. It had been a normal morning for him so far despite the distinct lack of Observant appearances. Now, with a sick feeling in his stomach, Danny understands why.

In front of him, the Fright Knight stands in all his terrifying, ten foot tall glory. “You must bear the Crown of Fire and the Ring of Rage in order to take your place on the throne."

"Cant we talk about this, maybe?" Danny says, a little leery and more than a little pissed off. It's one thing to deal with a bunch of annoying, flying eyeballs but it's another thing entirely for said flying eyeballs to recruit the ghost of nightmares.

"I apologize, my prince, but there is no option here.”

Behind the Fright Knight, ten or so Observants loiter in the air. The one in the middle holds the familiar flaming crown and another holds the ring. They surround him in a semicircle, looking expectantly at the Fright Knight.

Danny’s life really just sucks.

“Oh, there’s an option alright,” Danny snaps. If there's one thing he hates, it's not being given a choice and while this is going to hurt (it’s so going to hurt), Danny is not going to let the Observants or the Fright Knight get that god-awful crown on his head. “I beat you once and I can do it again!”

The Fright Knight tilts his head in recognition and draws his sword. “Perhaps, but I am not playing to win.”

Has Danny ever mentioned that his life sucks? Because his life sucks.

“Should we help him?” Tucker asks Sam from where they stand below. Danny can just barely make out the words they’re saying with humming of his core and the rush of adrenaline that shoots through his system.

“I don’t think they’re planning on hurting him?” Sam answers back. “Besides do you have anything to go up against the Fright Knight?”

“Point,” Tucker says.

(Danny has great friends.)

“We would rather have done this the easy way,” one of the Observants says. The others bob their eyeballs in agreement.

Danny whirls on them, eyes narrowed. “You forfeited your right to have opinions on what's easy when you brought the Fright Knight into this!”

“It’s for your own good,” the same Observant answers. “The Fright Knight serves the king and the king alone.”

“For your own good,” Danny grumbles under his breath, mockingly. His hands light up with ectoplasm. “We’ll see about that.”

The fight doesn’t take long.

It’s as the Fright Knight said; he is not fighting to win. The knight is not below a few dirty tricks to hold Danny down for just a few seconds. Danny puts up a good fight but he's running on three shots of espresso and maybe a sum total of six hours of sleep the entire week thanks to the constant threat of observants trying to put the crown on his head or ring on his finger. Safe to say, he's not in his prime condition.

The Fright Knight ends up pinning him down in the middle of the destroyed street. His friends rush forward to help, but two Observants hold them back. Danny thrashes from where he’s pinned but he can’t do much more than move his head around. The Fright Knight and his horse are, unsurprisingly, very heavy and apparently very well trained in holding down slippery, intangible ghost-teenagers.

The Observant holding the crown approaches him slowly. Danny tries to bite it’s long, claw like hands out of spite but the Observant goes intangible before he can make contact. It slowly lowers the crown towards his head.

Danny’s eyes flash a dangerous green. “I swear, if you put that crown on my head I’ll—are you kidding me?!”

The Observant drops the crown on his head. It hovers just a few centimeters above his hair and Danny immediately feels a heavy sort of energy expanding throughout his body. The crown flares to life, changing from a small flicking fire to a roaring flame as power gathers in his very core.

“You could have come to your own coronation, however, we were forced to make drastic measures,” the Observant that crowned him says.

Boy, doesn't that just set Danny off.

With a snarl, Danny uses the new energy to twist and blast the Fright Knight off his back. The crown follows his movement, flaring brightly whenever he uses his powers. Instead of fighting back, the knight merely bows and disappears. Danny waits a couple moments, tense and ready to fight, but it seems the Fright Knight has done what he came here to do.

The crown feels heavy on his head.

He blasts the two Observants holding Sam and Tucker, too, just because they’re annoying. They rush over to him, but he holds up a hand and motions for them to wait. There are, after all, still ten ghosts and a ring that Danny needs to avoid.

Danny turns to the Observants, fights clenched and eyes narrowed. “Okay, congrats! You win. The crown is on my head. Please get rid of it now.”

“The Crown of Fire is your right,” one Observant says. “It belongs to you alone.”

An idea suddenly comes to mind.

“Cool,” Danny says, slowly. He takes the crown off and is surprised how little it resist. The fire doesn’t even burn his hand as he holds it by the rim. “Then you won’t mind if I do this.”

He throws the crown as far as he can, watching it sail above the homes. It flies for a hot minute before flicking out of sight. Danny feels strangely satisfied when he turns to the Observants with a grin on his face. However, the Observants don’t look nearly as worried as Danny expects them to. In fact, they look unbearably smug for what is, functionally, a giant floating eyeball.

The looks he's getting ring as very bad in his mind.

Something heavy settles back on his head. Danny’s smile drops and feels a sinking alarm in his gut when he reaches up to touch the flaming crown that he had, just mere seconds ago, thrown across the entire town. The same power settles in his core once again.

“No,” Danny whispers, horrified.

“Holy shit,” Tucker says from across the street.

Danny turns and catches Sam’s eye. She mouths what is going on? at him. Danny wishes he knew anything about what’s happening but, as always, he’s clueless and confused and no small part of him is very, very angry.

The Observants merely stare at him. One steps forward and says, “The crown is yours by right. Hold out your hand and we will bestow upon you the Ring of Rage. Then your coronation will be completed and we shall leave you and return to the Infinite Realms to continue our temporal duties.”

Danny’s flare a brighter green. Ectoplasm pools in his hands and he readies for another fight. He doesn’t know it at the time, but his crown flickers to life. Suddenly uneasy, the Observants back away slowly.

“If you try and put that ring on my hand I will cut off my fingers,” Danny says.

“You won’t,” another Observant says.

“Wanna bet?”

They get the ring on his finger but, by god, Danny doesn’t go down without blasting all ten of them into the ground first. They pin him just like before, in yet another crater in the middle of a street with the crown on his head, the ring on his finger and unimaginable power flowing through his veins.

Apparently satisfied, the Observants let him up and quickly retreat. Danny stands, grumbling all the while, brushes off the remainder of dust on his suit and turns to the Observants. He's staring at the group, wondering just how he should get rid of them after they ruin more lives when all ten of then fall to their knees.

Danny takes a step back in alarm.

“All hail King Phantom,” the Observants say together. Their voices echo across the quiet streets of Amity Park. “Defeater of Pariah Dark and ruler of the Infinite Realms.”

People come out of their houses, peeking and staring up at him in horrified awe. Children point to his crown and laugh while the eyes of the adults reflect unseen amounts of terror. Danny can already see whatever good reputation he had dying like a snuffed out flame due to a single announcement. Danny meets Sam and Tucker’s eyes and wishes for nothing more than to flicker out of existence at that very moment.

Instead, Danny is forced to stand there, arms crossed and pissed off, with a burning crown floating on his head, a heavy ring on his finger and the weight of the entire Ghost Zone on his shoulders.

It’s quite possibly the worst day he’s ever had in his entire half-life.

-----------------------------------

The ghosts coming out of the portal over the next couple days to congratulate him almost make the situation worse.

It’s Johnny 13 who comes out first, gives him an exaggerated bow with a grin and says, “Hope you have a fun time being king, kiddo. I don’t envy you.”

Danny, who has had the worst two weeks of his life, simply rolls his eyes and mutters a sarcastic, “Thanks.”

“Kitty sends her regards as well," Johnny flashes him a lopsided grin and gets on his bike. He raves the engine before suddenly looking back. "Don’t expect the current peace to last.”

Danny watches him go, hands in his head. The crown flickers in the dim light and ring glows. He’s still not quite sure what a normal king is supposed to do; much less king of the Ghost Zone.

-----------------------------------

“The crown looks good on you, dipstick,” Ember says, later, when he’s out flying and trying to clear his head. No matter what he’s tried, the crown and ring simply won’t go away. He's been forced to wear an assortment of hats and gloves in order to keep his parents from finding out. They're pissed enough that Phantom was crowned the Ghost King as it already is.

“I hate this,” Danny tells her. “I want the crown and the ring gone.”

The other ghosts are definitely enjoying his absolute misery, even if they were all on somewhat friendly terms. As it turns out, a lot ghosts tend to play suck-up when confronted with unimaginable power.

Ember's smile widens and she says, “Well they’re your crown and ring. You can do what you want with them.”

Danny wants them gone. Then, he realizes something and stares at her in surprise.

“Was that advice?” Danny asks. "Did you just give me advice?”

“Did I?”

“I thought you hated me.”

“Right now, I pity you more than anything,” Ember tells him. “It’s whatever, babypop. You’re the king now and you’re no Pariah Dark so even if you do get in the way of my plans, I’d rather have you be king than go back to his rule.”

“That’s a very low bar to set,” Danny mutters under his breath. He stands, the crown flaring as he does so. He tries to hide his scowl. “Don’t cause trouble or, I dunno, try and brainwash the entire human population, and you can stay.”

He disappears into the air, content to head home for the night. Behind him, Ember calls out, “Think about what I said, dipstick! It’s your own power. You just have to learn how to use it.”

Later that night, he floats on his bed an concentrates. His own power bubbles to the surface and, in a fit on control, he wills his ring and crown to disappear. The objects flicker once, twice, before vanishing entirely. They’re not completely gone, of course, because he can still feel the power in his body but hidden is better than nothing.

-----------------------------------

Technus gives him some weird ghost device as a congratulations present. Danny’s pretty sure it’s not going to explode and/or capture him, but he can never be certain with a ghost like Technus. He ends up quietly shuffling it to Tucker when the technology-themed ghost isn’t looking.

Youngblood, Spectra, the Box Ghost, Lunch Lady, Desiree and even Vlad (holy shit) come and give him (begrudging) congratulations. Half of them think it's hilarious that he’s the poor sucker who gets the bear the burden of the crown while the other half think it’s too much power for his tiny halfa body to handle. Luckily, Danny now has a much easier time sending them back to the Ghost Zone if they get too rowdy.

Vlad gives him an especially vindictive look when he corners Danny in their human forms. Danny returns his look by secretly flipping him off since he can’t exactly shoot the mayor with an ectoblast in public.

Vlad leers over him in what's supposed to be intimidating. “I doubt you can hold on to that crown forever, boy.”

Danny might not want to be king but there’s absolutely no way that he would ever let the crown or the ring fall into Vlad’s hand.

He pushes Vlad away and clenches his fists, eyes narrowed. “Are you going to try and take it from me, fruitloop?”

“Perhaps another time,” Vlad says with a smile. Danny holds his fists to his side to keep from punching him in the face. “After all, a crown is a heavy burden for a child to bear.”

Danny grits his teeth. “I think I’ll manage.”

“We will see, little badger,” Vlad says and turns to leave.

Danny glances around, just to make sure no one is looking, before creating a tiny ice patch right in front of Vlad. He tries to keep his laughter muffled (but definitely takes pride) when the billionaire-asshole slips and sends him a particularly nasty glare. He gives Vlad the most innocent wave he can muster despite the grin on his face.

Danny thinks he probably needed that meeting with Vlad. While he still doesn’t want the crown, Danny finds that spite is one hell of a motivator to keep the crown as far away from Vlad as possible.

-----------------------------------

Skulker comes last. To Danny’s horrified surprise, he bows low and says, “Congratulations.”

Danny stands in his pajamas at three o’clock in the morning and feeling slightly overwhelmed. “Alright, this is more than a little weird.”

“It’s custom to greet the new king,” Skulker says and straightens back out. Danny’s half waiting for a gotcha! and some missiles but Skulker doesn’t do much more than observe him.

Danny narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. “Do you have to be weird about it?”

“Don’t get me wrong, whelp,” Skulker says as he turns to leave. “This will not last. I hope you realize that just because you are king does not mean I will stop hunting you. Your crown just makes you that much more valuable to mount on my wall.”

Danny shifts between feeling touched and a little relived at the normalcy of the situation and the normal disgust that comes with Skulker threatening to skin him because, really, it’s just gross. Despite his words, he still hears the silent message Skulker is trying to convey.

Just because your king doesn’t mean anything will change.

And that? That’s more than a little relief off his shoulders. For the first time since he was crowned, Danny lets out a genuine bark of laughter and a grateful smile comes to his face.

“Thanks,” Danny says. “I don’t think I’d have it any other way.

#i wrote all 7k of this in one day so Thats Neat #anyways theres too much angsty in the danny phantom fandom so im making it my lifes mission to write not-angst #danny phantom #phic #phicc #i think thats what this fandom calls fanfiction uuuhhhhhhh #danny fenton #danny phantom fanfiction #my fics #phandom #idk what else to tag this as so just take it #do readmores even work on mobile or is tumblr like. broken.

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artemismoon12writes · 5 years ago

Text

Title: A Vested Interest

Daltonfic Big Bang: Week 3, Day 5, Dwodd

Ryan Cobb still didn’t know about his desk chair, so money was still up for grabs. Nice.

“Fuck off!” Derek yelled, looking across the large, white and glass hallway of the Ohio Brooks Parker Galleria Mall to the Hot Topic.

“What is it?” Bailey asked, not turning from his sink full of dishes. He was up to his elbows in coffee mugs and dessert-stained plates. “Is Sebastian coming up to ask for another job application?”

“Shut up Bailey, you know it’s only because he thinks Julian’s hot, not because he wants to work here. And no; it’s not that asshole.” Derek gestured across the hallway; Bailey couldn’t see it because he still had his back turned, uncaring. “It’s that fucking asshole and his boyfriend!”

“Who?”

“You know, the assistant manager and that hipster guy!”

“Oh Dwight?” Bailey asked. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re fucking again!”

Bailey made an amused noise. “Good for them.”

“Good for them!?” Derek exclaimed, “What the hell does that mean?”

“Well, if you could get laid at work you would.” Bailey said, hiding his laughter. “I’m glad you don’t for the record; I don’t want to clean that up, but it’s a little funny.”

“Exactly- how is it that the goth who isn’t even in charge of that place is getting laid and I’m here in a fucking Starbucks like a loser?”

While Derek was ranting, he was ignoring the girl at the register. Bailey shot her a look, commiserating before drying his hands to take her order.

“And if we’re really splitting hairs here Bailey, shouldn’t he, I don’t know? Be doing his job? Instead of letting his little hipster boyfriend fuck him in the changerooms?”

Bailey rolled his eyes, grabbing a larger sized cup for their customer and waving her panicked look aside. It was the least he could do since she was putting up with Derek’s ranting.

“Jeez, Derek if it bothers you so much, just join in our betting pool and you at least could make some money off it.” Bailey said, steaming the milk like it was just another normal day. Which, working with Derek for at long as he had, it kind of was.

“Betting pool?”

Their customer interjected, “I’m from the Barnes and Noble next door; we’ve got it going with us, Clay and the boys in the store, Bailey and y’all, and then then Chels and the Pet Co. downstairs for how long it’ll take the manager to catch them.”

“All those people know? And Ryan still hasn’t figured it out?” Derek asked, confounded.

She shrugged, “Yeah, well, Pet Co. was waiting for the two month mark to send Ryan upstairs at the right moment; but Todd and Dwight were just talking; I’m thinking Clay ran interference so the bet’s still going.”

Derek looked caught between anger and intrigue. He looked at her with a scowl before, “Put me down for fifty bucks on two weeks from now. Ryan’s not an idiot, he’ll realize.”

“Not if he spends all his time downstairs with the fish tanks.” Bailey pointed out.

“Why is he even managing a Hot Topic if he loved animals so much?”

“He’d never sell anything if he worked downstairs, that’s why.” Their customer pointed out, wandering back to the Barnes and Noble with her drink. “Good luck boys!”

Oh it’s on, Derek thought, not realizing how difficult a task it would actually be to accomplish.

---

Two months of this nonsense aside, Dwight Houston had not set out to completely disregard professionalism and decorum when he got this throwaway job at the mall. His mother raised him better than that- or so she kept saying. He was only here for the sole purpose of keeping his car and proving he was responsible- nothing more. If he had enough knowledge of alternative culture to tell people why Hot Topic was the worst place to shop, that wasn’t his problem. He was merely the solution.

When Todd Hendricks, or “Hipster Guy” as he referred to him for the first two weeks in his head, walked in, there was no master plan to get back at his manager for promoting him in this insanity. No, it was only a short conversation, based around Todd’s utter incompetence.

“If she’s a real goth, she will not want anything we sell here. This is emo shit, New Oracle in Glensdale is the real space for crystals. This is just plastic and Yellow 33!” Dwight shook the fake silver jewellery at the customer and his wide rimmed glasses, plaid shirt, and rough, red scarf. “Your sister will not like this.”

“But that’s why it’s funny. Because it’s not authentic.” The customer (who would be known as Todd) said. “She’ll hate it and it’ll be hilarious.”

“It’s offensive! You say she’s a witch, then it’s doubly offensive.” Dwight said, motioning to put the piece back up on the highest shelf with the pole hook.

“I’m her brother, she’ll know it’s a joke.” He argued. “I’m not here to rock your goth purist boat.”

“I am not a goth,” Dwight said, putting the offending piece out of reach. “I am a post-industrial punk with spiritualist leanings; its completely different.”

“Sure.” Was the response, grinning like he’d not proven anything.

Dwight groaned, “Clay, back me up here; the Vampire Diaries spinoff jewellery is not something we should be promoting to any self-respecting goth.”

His part-timer, Clay Rizzo, poked out from behind the piercing display where he totally wasn’t trying to steal new lip rings. “I don’t know Dwight; I am one of those emo pieces of shit, so maybe I’d recommend it?”

“I get no support around here!” Dwight said, stalking to the back of the store. “Impossible!”

Todd looked over to the part-timer, decked in the unofficial uniform of all black and a hundred emo-band pins. “I think I’m dropping by more often.”

Clay gave him an evil grin. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

---

From there it escalated; Todd coming in multiple times a week just to annoy Dwight. Well, that’s what Dwight assumed until Todd asked for his phone number.

“What? Why’d you want that?”

Todd looked at him like he was an idiot. “Because I’ve been flirting with you this whole time? Were you not…”

Clay, unknown to the two of them, was watching with Robin and Jake from behind the t-shirts. They were supposed to be executing the planogram; but why do that when there was drama to observe?

“I was not.” Dwight said robotically. “Uh, okay, that’s…”

“I literally looped a tie around your neck and pulled you in, and you didn’t realize I was into you?”

Clay, who remembered that exchange, had to be smothered with a Haven shirt but Jake to stop him from making noise.

“In my defence, I’m not used to people flirting with me.”

“If you’re not interested, that’s fine. I just thought-”

“I’m not not interested?” Dwight interjected before Todd turned away and walked out. “I’m just, uh, not used to … this?”

“I can work with that.”

It somehow progressed, in spite of Dwight’s inherent awkwardness. Jake, Robin, Jasper, and Clay respectively waving the pair off whenever Dwight took his lunch break now.

“They grow up so fast.” Clay said dramatically while Dwight gave him the finger. Todd just smiled at his conspirator and told them to take care of the store. Not that he worked there. He was there often enough he’d take to reminding Dwight about stock orders, schedules, and that Jake had a family dinner coming up so someone had to get it covered. The store had never run so well as it did when Todd started dating their assistant manager.

---

“Where did you guys put the Manic Panic?” Ryan Cobb, actual manager of Hot Topic, called out from the stockroom. “There should be a packing slip for a 3 pack of each colour, but all I see is overstock of those short-shorts!”

“I don’t know, ask Jake,” Dwight said, standing on a step ladder with Jasper spotting him. “He was in last night when the delivery came in.”

“I’m asking you. How can you be my assistant manager and not know where the hair dye is? We have that Chang girl coming in later and I promised her we’d have her order in!” Ryan called. “I’m going on break, that dye should be on the shelf when I get back.”

Ryan left, once again for supposedly fifteen minutes- but the entire staff knew he’d be gone for the rest of the day downstairs to play with the parakeets Pet Co. just got in.

“Oh, you’re in trouble.” Robin said, amused.

“Shut up.” Dwight muttered. “I bet Jake just put them somewhere weird. Call him and see what’s going on.”

“I’ll call him. He told me nothing came in last night though.”

“Perfect, just fucking perfect.” Dwight groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Todd asked, coming in with a cardboard tray of drinks. “I just saw Ryan go by, if he’s actually in the store for any minute I’m scared the place will burst into flames.”

“Once in a blue moon, it happens I guess.” Dwight admitted, climbing down the ladder to receive his kiss on the cheek and the green tea Todd brought for him.

“What’s happening?” Todd asked, taking his own coffee off the tray and pushing the sugar-laden third and fourth cups to the part-timers he’d been subtly converting to his side. Jasper particularly grabbed his eagerly, gushing thank yous.

“Jake might have lost a delivery.” Dwight paused, “Or not? I don’t know about the warehouse, but they’ve been fucking up recently anyways. I swear I can’t find last night’s order but the stockroom does look like shit…”

“You have a computer? There should be a record of orders received and rejected? I know not everyone still does things hard copy.” Todd suggested.

“It’s in the manager’s office!” Robin volunteered. “Not that we’re allowed in there. It’s for Ryan and Dwight only.”

“Well, they can’t fire me so I don’t care about that rule.” Todd said, taking a sip of his coffee and beelining to the back room.

Dwight scrambled to follow him. “No! No! No customers in the back!”

“Oh come on, if Ryan’s going to get mad at you about it then I might as well try to help.” Todd said, finding the tiny room easily and placing himself in the desk chair like he owned the place. “Password’s hottopic123, very creative, not hacking proof at all.”

“It’s a formality, that’s why it’s on the post-it.” Dwight grumbled, reluctant to admit he was grateful for the help.

“Okay, well according to your emails it’s right there. They’re not sending it because of the USPS strike. I don’t know why Ryan didn’t notice that.” Todd said after a few open tabs and a control+f.

“Oh that’s why.” Dwight grumbled, pointing to the open tabs on tanks for tropical fish. “He was distracted.”

“Why is he in charge of a Hot Topic if he doesn’t want to even work here?” Todd asked, looking through the pages. “Like, if you’re desperate you could work for the raptor sanctuary; they’re hiring.”

“Wait, you know the raptor sanctuary?” Dwight asked, intrigued. “I have an owl there.”

“I’m sponsoring Rowena, the prairie-”

“Merlin.” Dwight finished. “Yeah, she’s the one who the workers are teaching how to do the flight tricks right?”

“Yeah.” Todd paused, “You’re Castiel’s sponsor? I thought that name was stupid.”

“It’s not stupid! It’s a good name!” Dwight said before realizing Todd was joking with him. “Oh, okay.”

“So, if Ryan is going to ignore the email in his inbox in favour of spending all his time at Pet Co. I propose we do something to get him back.” Todd said, spinning around in the chair and closing the door to the office. It was more like a cupboard with how much room there was.

Dwight looked at him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

Todd locked the door, “You’ll see.”

---

Robin wasn’t sure what was happening until he went to knock on the door and heard it. Shit. Maybe Dwight was cool.

First thing he did was tell Jake over the phone, who told Jasper, who told Clay- who told literally the entire mall by the time he’d made it in for his closing shift.

“Who knew the dude had it in him.” Jake said, punching in, careful to give the office door a lot of room. “I mean, I would do that but Dwight’s always struck me as a bit of a-”

“A nerd?” Jasper supplied.

“I’m so proud of my dads.” Clay said, already on the top of a stepladder switching out t-shirts. “Like, I can’t use that office so I don’t give a shit- but it’s also hilarious. How long do you think it takes Ryan to notice?”

“First, they’re not your dads.” Jake said.

“Todd gave me a gold star for my pins last week, they’re my dads.” Clay said, half joking, but mostly trying to annoy Jake.

“Okay, fine. Secondly, Ryan isn’t going to notice shit. If he hasn’t notice you’ve been stealing lip rings to wear while at work he is not going to notice Dwight’s boyfriend fucked him in the office.”

“Or did Dwight fuck him?” Jasper asked.

“I don’t care.” Jake dismissed the comment. “Either way, it’ll be, like a year before Ryan realizes something is up.”

Clay grinned, “Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

“You’re on.”

The pot, by the time Pet Co., Barnes and Noble, Starbucks, and Radio Shack got in on the action, was somewhere around $400. The only ones unaware, were the couple in question and Ryan Cobb.

---

“Shit, Clay! This isn’t what it looks like.” Dwight said hurriedly, Clay pulling open the curtain to the change rooms enough to poke his head in.

“Really? Because it looks like you’re just passionately embracing Todd.” Clay shrugged, “I could be wrong.”

Todd would have normally made a quip back, but he was too close to reply. “Uh, not a good time.”

“Well, you’ve got almost no time at all for this quickie because Ryan is on his way back. AKA, he’s on the elevator and if you’re here balls deep-“

“I will curse you so hard-”

“You’re already hard, I get it. Put some pants on, wrap it up.” Clay said, flipping the curtain closed. At least the two of them were polite enough to not make any of the part-timers do cleaning duties on these occasions.

Either way, Clay has a vested interest in not alerting Ryan right now. The pot was up to $800 now, and he would need that for next semester’s books. College was expensive.

---

In the end, it wasn’t Ryan who caught them; it was the night security guard who got them outside in Dwight’s ridiculously out of date Chevy. With an ‘indecent exposure’ strike on his record, Ryan had to let Dwight go. The betting pool wasn’t sure if this meant the bet was on, or off.

The next week, when he found Todd wandering past the Hot Topic to the men’s bathrooms with one lanky, gothic boyfriend in tow- he shot Todd a thumbs up and informed the rest of the mall the game was still on.

Ryan Cobb still didn’t know about his desk chair, so money was still up for grabs. Nice.

#daltonficbigbang2020 #daltonfic #mat #lols #otp #dwodd #dwight houston #todd hendricks #derek siegerson #bailey tipton #clay rizzo #jake paige #ryan cobb #jasper miller #robin woods #oneshot #artemiswrites

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dotthings · 6 years ago

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SPN 14.20 HOLY F*CKING I AM BOUNCING OFF THE WALLS HERE THAT WAS A GOOD. And a great set-up for S15.

*SNAPS FINGERS*

Let me try for some coherency. I scribbled watching notes.

Cas. :( Well I am not a bit surprise he’s not own with this. I don’t see how else he’s supposed to feel. Or how else Dean would feel. Or how Sam would feel. Sorry if TFW is so inexplicable to some people but they’re all making perfect sense to me. It’s sad but they make sense.

That Dean and Cas argument with Sam in the middle like :0 :| poor Sam, poor poor Sam, imagine having to watch all this intense Dean and Cas, he hates it when they bicker, and this is a real argument.

“I know how much he meant to you. He meant a lot to me. But that isn’t Jack any more.” So there it is, the truth beneath Dean’s walls he put up. None of this is because Dean is cold or uncaring. He is, however, still very angry and still (thinks) that he has to kill Jack. The place Dean lands with Jack in this ep also doesn’t surprise me because I been knew and that makes sense too but it also makes sense that right up the line, he’d think he has to kill Jack and follow that anger. This is an extraordinary situation in fact. Even though TFW have been faced with not-versions of themselves before, they’ve never killed another family member while in that state. And I think Jack’s escalating danger levels in this ep pretty much vindicates why someone might think he has to be killed...even though Jack isn’t evil or malicious still (more on that in a moment).

“Nerds.” “Takes one to know one.”

I was just talking about this about Dean. About his facades and how he used to mock nerds and geeks--still does even now--but is actually the biggest geek and I love that Sam calls him on his nerd qualities. His nerd traits. WHAT HAVE I BEEN SAYING.

So nobody at all can lie any more and the world, as a result, starts tearing apart at the seams. Look SPN, when I said I wanted more emotional honesty...lololol that’s not what I meant. Some lies are necessary.

Oh my god it’s God. Hi, Chuck. (I was spoiled for this, it was still really fun when Chuck just popped up in the alley).

“Jack. He’s a problem.” NO REALLY I HADN’T NOTICED YOU DON��T SAY

Cas was going to see about the cage in Hell. Was he thinking he could put Jack in it?? Was that his alternative to just killing him?

Jack visiting his grandmother and she calling Jack out on the fact that he lied to them. Oh snap, Jack. You’re sick of all the lies but you told one (for a kindness). Some lies are necessary. You lied to people too.

This episode has some realness here about what holds society together and different types of honesty. Lying is wrong...except 100% blunt honestly all the time would be a complete disaster and there are some lies we need to tell for the sake of kindness, for community, for forgiveness, or it all will fall apart. Which lies are too far and which are necessary. Can a lie hurt but also be for a kindness and be necessary? SPN has had its main characters lie for years. They lie with credit card scams so they can pay for gas and food and lodging. They lie about who they’re secretly working with behind each other’s backs. All of Team Free Will has lied to each other. Kept things from each other. It doesn’t go well for them. Yet here’s an ep showing that some types of lies are necessary as part of the fabric of society.

Dean is sooooo done with God’s bullshit I am laughing. This is also really subversive because yes we love Chuck and his guitar. Chuck singing Fare-thee-Well. Chuck as a likeable (if irresponsible deadbeat dad) figure on SPN. But how benevolent is he actually? And they don’t have time for a song right now, they just don’t.

Team Free Will are still speaking to each other after Cas stormed out. That’s a good sign!

“I built the sandbox. You play in it...but when things get really bad that’s when I step in.”

Uh...kinda. Sometimes, Chuck. Yes he’s intervened a few times. He put Sam and Dean on the airplane. He put Cas back together more than once. He stepped up when he needed do about Amara at the end of S11. So maybe a C+ on actually being there in a pinch.

“Jack is apocalyptic.” Which--self-evident right there in the ep, thanks, Chuck. Oh and can we stop pretending Jack isn’t incredibly dangerous at least? Oh he’s not just dangerous he is world-endingly dangerous. Note I rooted for Jack to be okay, and want him to be saved, but the situation is what it is right now.

It made a lot of sense to spec based on the ep title Chuck was going to show up to intervene and stop TFW from having to kill Jack, and I’m sure with a reference that blatant in that title, Dabb knew that would be the assumption. It made sense. The overturning of that is interesting here. Chuck didn’t show up and didn’t show up and when he finally does it’s to hand them the weapon to destroy Jack. Which at this point in the ep I’m still wondering--but it could be a test. Let’s see what happens.

Oh. Whoever shoots the gun, what happens to the target, happens to them. Aaaand we’re back to Dean with a self-sacrificing plan.

Damn Cas is so damn salty still about the Dean-in-the-box plan I love it. He hates that plan. Now he’s extra special plus cranky because he’s looking now at losing Jack and losing Dean simultaneously. I’ve talked a lot in my posts about Cas’s big love for both Jack and Dean. This is diabolical. Cas could lose them both with one gunshot. Of course he doesn’t want his son to die...but he doesn’t want Dean to die. Save Jack...means saving Dean too.

I really loved this Sam and Dean scene and while Cas doesn’t get to verbalize what’s going on in his head, Sam certainly gets to vocalize what Sam’s thinking. “I’m the one who brought him back. He burned his soul off to save you and me. You want me to say I’m okay with losing you and losing him all at once. I can’t do that. I’ve already lost too much.” MIC DROP SAM WINCHESTER.

“I don’t feel anything.” There’s the crux of the Jack Problem. He intellectually understands what’s “good” and what’s “bad” but he doesn’t, in his own words, feel it. He’s the most powerful being on the planet and he’s completely hollow inside, lacking true empathy, lacking instincts, strong attachments, an innate sense of right and wrong. That’s...really terrifying. It’s really not at all hateful to Jack to comprehend how scary that combination is. “I want to love you back, it’s just I can’t.”

This is. Damn. We saw AU Cas in ep 300, what happens when Cas never learned to access his emotions. As an angel, our Cas was taught that emotions were bad, they were a weakness. He was taught not to heed them. To control them. To never be led by his heart or his feelings. But instead of heeding that, Cas led with his whole heart, he often drowned in his own emotions, overwhelmed by them. He has intense attachments and pain and loneliness and fear and even moments of peace and joy. He feels it all. He’s the most feeling angel to ever feel, and how painfully on point is it that his son is now...emotionless.

“You’re my favorite show.” Wow it got super meta in here, Chuck.

“Why does it always have to be on us,” wonders the tormented characters. “Because you’re my guys!” gushes the enthusiastic Winchester fan, God.

I feel so called out right now. I do. While I am certainly in the camp that feels that too much torture porn angst without hope is a weaker story, like many fans, there is a certain catharsis and satisfaction in watching our favorite characters suffer and triumph and keep on going and not let the suffering defeat them.

In this ep Dabb is taking that idea and expanding it out to a walking talking metaphor, embodied in Chuck, who turns out to be a toxic wielder of suffering for his own amusement. Tying to Jack’s lack of emotions, Chuck seems okay with others suffering. It’s not that he lacks feelings, because he gets something from watching these “characters” suffer, but he’s lacking in empathy because he doesn’t seem to care that they’re suffering and in the world of SPN these are not characters, these are real people he’s jerking around making them dance to his angst-buttons for his own enjoyment.

Cas still is clinging on to hope that Jack can be fixed and my heart hurts for him. At this point, I’m still hoping Jack can be...but it’s not looking good.

Jack kneeling in front of Dean to be killed. Because while he’s dangerous, no he’s not evil or malicious. “I understand. You were right all along. I am a monster.” This is just...really sad. I’m sad.

Oh, SPN, you tried so hard, but I never thought Dean would be able to pull that trigger. Also the tragedy of Dean--he didn’t hesitate because Dean had a sudden revelation he wants to live so he’s not going to seppuku the problem after all. No, it’s because he just couldn’t do it to Jack in the end, to his son, who had earned his love and his trust after a rough start. Dean understands that this Jack isn’t the Jack he recently knew and Dean also understands how far gone Jack is and how dangerous. Yet he still can’t do it. This makes perfect sense to me. I could also see how he might have pulled that trigger (and that would have been horrible and it would have hurt Dean so much...and I don’t just mean because of the magic ricochet of that gun...it would be too much. And...it looks like this ep agrees with me on a textual and meta-textual level. Uh-huh.)

"This isn’t how this story is supposed to end.” Chuck, our author, isn’t enjoying the fact that his characters are doing things he didn’t plan on and didn’t intend (which happens during the creative process).

“Pull the trigger and I’ll bring her back,” Chuck offers. “No.” says Dean. “My mom is my hero and I will miss her every day of my life but she wouldn’t want this.”

And then Sam goes OFF. “over and over and over again...losing people we love.”

“This isn’t just a story. This is our lives.”

I am LOVING THIS. I actually clapped my hands with meta-ish glee.

THE CHARACTERS ARE REBELLING AGAINST SPN’S OWN RELIANCE ON MISERY PORN AND I AM LIVING.

This is so self-critical. On a story/character level, this is amazing for Sam and Dean, who are defying fate, refusing yet again to be jerked around by a cosmic puppetmaster. Sam goes as far as defying the idea that they don’t deserve to be happy. Not in so many words. But he is flipping off the concept that all they are good for is suffering AND I AM SO PROUD and I think Dean gets it too but oh my poor Dean was just willing to commit seppuku and while Dean is rejecting being puppetted around, not for anyone, not even to save Mary, I don’t know if he’s at the place where he sees it how Sam does--that screw you, I don’t deserve to suffer like this open defiance.

So Sam shoots God. lololol for a hot second there I thought Sam was going to kill God and welp that would have been a plot twist but no, just a flesh wound so Sam is wounded too.

Chuck’s not thrilled his favorite human pets aren’t playing along for his amusement.

“Story’s over. Welcome to the end.”

LIGHTS OUT.

Well. God was the big bad all along. GOD WAS THE BIGGEST BAD OF SPN ALL ALONG.

I was hoping Jack wouldn’t have to die. At least none of his dads had to kill him and the set-up with Jack landing in The Empty seems like he’s not gone forever. WHAT DID BILLIE MEAN “WE HAVE TO TALK.” About what. What is going on.

WHAT IS HAPPENING

IS THAT LA LLARONA

THAT’S BLOODY FREAKIN’ MARY

HOLY CRAP THE SOULS OF THEIR EARLIEST CASES ARE RISING FROM HELL

ALL THE SOULS ARE RISING FROM HELL

WE ALL SPECCED HEAVEN WOULD BREAK AND THE SOULS IN HEAVEN WOULD GET LOSE AND INSTEAD IT WAS ALL THE SOULS FROM HELL THIS IS AWESOME

SAM AND DEAN AND CAS!! TEAM FREE WILL ARE BACK TO BACK TOGETHER IN THE DARKNESS SURROUNDED BY ZOMBIES I WISHED FOR A MOMENT LIKE THIS FOR YEARS. TEAM FREE F*CKING WILL. ALSO A FINALE THAT HAD ALL THREE OF THEM UNITED. THANK DABB.

#Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Jack Kline #Chuck Shurley #spn #supernatural #spoilers #meta #Team Free Will

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dragonsaphirareads · 5 years ago

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I Am Creativity (Chapter 2/5)

Crossposted on AO3 under the same name! A/N - This fic includes my theory/hc for what the orange side will be (Passion/Obsession). I don’t elaborate too much on him, but just to clarify, that’s who he is.

The spectators watched as a bell rang and the timer started counting down. The twins sprinted to their respective towers, creating things out of thin air as they went. As they would expect, Roman’s army consisted of knights dressed in shining white armor and various mythical creatures. They couldn’t see Remus’s side as clearly, but what they could see was eldritch abominations with too many eyes and too many limbs.

Patton had curled his knees up to his chest, covering his eyes and peeking through his fingers to block out Remus’s creations, which made him sick to his stomach. Virgil and Logan were both leaning forward, fixated on the viewing screens for very different reasons.

“This is bad, this is bad, this is bad, this is bad…” Virgil kept repeating, breaths coming quicker. Logan leaned over and put his hand over Virgil’s, tapping out a 4-7-8 rhythm to try and keep him calm.

“He will be fine, Virgil. He’s Creativity, he’s stronger than any of us are here. This is his domain – I’m confident he will be victorious.” His voice was calm, but Virgil knew his heart was racing just as fast as his own.

“Don’t lie to me. You didn’t live with Remus, Logan, he’s… demented. Just look at what he’s coming up with!”

“And Roman is doing the same. They both operate on the same rules, Virgil, and one of those is that the Imagination is just that – imaginative. It’s not real.”

A wet roar echoed across the field, as well as a high-pitched laugh from Remus’s side of the field. Three minutes had already passed.

“Oh god oh god oh god!” Virgil felt his heart jump into his throat and he quickly covered his ears and closed his eyes, blocking out all images and trying to keep his own imagination under control. He needed to calm down – Thomas would have a panic attack at this rate, and considering his host wasn’t actually doing anything to deserve it, he really didn’t want it to come to that.

He felt arms around his shoulders and a chin resting on his head. When he opened his eyes, Virgil saw light blue and looked up to see Patton standing behind his chair, hugging him from behind. He was smiling, but his eyes were watering and lip quivering.

“It’s ok, Virgil. Roman’s so strong, he’ll win this without even a scratch!” Patton’s voice cracked at the end, and he swallowed and pushed his smile wider.

“Patton…”

“So don’t worry, ok? Remember, he’s just as powerful as we think he is – if we believe in him, then he can win!”

Virgil looked back at the field. Five minutes left, and there were now dozens of different creations on both sides. He changed a look at the viewing screen and saw Roman inside his tower, fortifying the doors with metal bars and hulking, armored guards. He was concentrating, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth, but what really confused Virgil was that Roman seemed to be… smiling?

“He looks like he’s having fun.” Logan remarked calmly. “Perhaps we should just sit back and enjoy the fruits of Roman’s hard work.”

Patton sighed, nodding. “You’re… probably right.”

Virgil’s hand shot out and grabbed Patton’s before he could return to his own chair. “Um… stay?” The anxious side tapped on the chair and it shifted into a large, plush bean bag more than big enough for two. Patton smiled and plopped down beside Virgil, wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulders.

“We can cheer him on together.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“And you didn’t know this before?”

Deceit sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I thought there was still a little common sense left in that twisted head of his. I was clearly wrong.”

Obsession tilted his head, glancing over at the field and surveying the multitudes of disgusting creatures that were standing on Remus’s side, growling and slobbering everywhere. “And we both know how well you take to being wrong.”

Deceit glared at him out of the corner of his eye. “And you do?”

“I don’t sulk in my room for days when I don’t get my way.”

“No, you just throw yourself into the next show and fill your brain with garbage.”

Obsession just laughed, stretching his arms high into the air and laying back on the blanket, blades of grass tickling his arms through the thin material. “Just ‘cause you don’t see the genius in what I do doesn’t change the fact that Thomas loves it when I do my job. Unlike someone else I know.” He closed his eyes against the bright sun, soaking in the warmth that never made its way into their corner of the mind. Deceit growled and said things Obsession was sure were very pleasant words for him under his breath.

“Besides, who said you were wrong?”

“What? Have you been paying attention?”

“Have you? Deceit, as much as you love to think you’re the only one who can plot and plan… you’re not.”

Deceit stared at his fellow dark side, unconvinced. “When has Remus thought about or planned anything? He does whatever he wants, when he wants.”

Obsession sighed, rolling his eyes. He propped himself up on one elbow and stared at Deceit. “What would you call this, then?” The orange clad side waved towards the field, where they could see Remus ducking behind various barricades and creating new monsters.

“What’s your point?” Deceit narrowed his eyes. Obsession shrugged.

“Just that, maybe you shouldn’t underestimate him so much. Don’t forget, I’ve known him a lot longer than you have, and I knew him as a kid. Let me tell you… he’s a lot smarter than you seem to think he is.”

“If you’re so smart, why don’t you tell me what he’s really planning, then?” Deceit asked sarcastically. “Since you can clearly read his mind and all that. What’s the point of fighting a battle you know you can’t win?”

Obsession yawned, glancing at the clock. Thirty seconds to go. From what he understood, as soon as the timer hit zero, it would be an all-out battle royale. They couldn’t create anything past the time, relying only on their current creations. On Remus’s side was a huge, fleshy dragon with eyes all over his body, two heads and two sets of wings curled up on the top of his tower, puffing out black smoke from its nostrils. The rest of his army seemed to follow a similar theme; nothing that Obsession could see had the correct number of limbs.

Roman, on the other hand, had gone with a strength in numbers strategy. There were hundreds of white knights covering every inch of his side. The side himself was standing on the roof of his tower, head tilted up to watch the timer count down to zero.

“Maybe… winning for Roman, and winning for Remus, means two different things.”

Before Deceit could ask what he meant by that, a sharp bell rang out over the field, and the real fight began.

~~~

Looking over the battlefield as the fight began, Roman felt confident. Sure, the monsters his brother had come up with were disgusting, and the dragon on his tower was terrifying, but he outnumbered his brother’s army 5 to 1. They were smaller, yes, but that meant they were faster and quieter. Not to mention they could hide.

His hand hovered over his own sword hilt, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice. He had guards stationed around the tower and within the stairs themselves, but he couldn’t trust that to protect him.

There was an ear-splitting screech from above him and he drew his sword just as a multi-headed falcon dived at him, effectively cutting itself in two as it attacked. It fell to the ground with a plop, and exploded into black dust.

Like he was saying, he had to be on guard. He glanced at the screen he’d conjured to monitor his own troops. Most were engaged with monsters triple their size, and there was white dust covering the grass. He pursed his lips as one of the creatures, something that resembled an armadillo if an armadillo had metal plating and was the size of a small house, grabbed one of his knights and threw it in its mouth, chopping down like it was a savory snack.

He hoped his friends would be able to handle watching this. Logan would probably find it fascinating, but all of this would be distressing for Patton and Virgil. He only hoped they knew that this was completely fake – if the dust their creations exploded into when they died didn’t make that clear. It was no different than a movie. The only person on his team who could feel any pain or get hurt was himself.

Maybe that was what they were worried about.

Roman tensed as he heard a ferocious roar split the air and saw the two headed dragon lift off from Remus’s tower. The beat of its wings flattened the grass underneath the tower, and as it took off the left head unhinged its jaw and sprayed a battalion of his knights with a thick, inky black substance.

“Ugh, leave it to him…” Roman muttered, gagging. Then the right head opened its maw and fire came spilling out. The black liquid covering his knights caught, and within moments they were nothing but dust, mixed with the oil-like substance to create a nasty gray goop.

Roman sucked in a breath through his teeth, and then saw the dragon turn its body towards his tower. “Nope, nope, nope!” He chanted, sprinting to the edge of the tower. Going down the stairs was too slow and too dangerous. Thankfully, the prince knew to always have an alternate escape route.

The creative side ran to a parapet where there were thick lengths of vine tied to the stone, dangling all the way to the ground. He grabbed the gloves he’d conjured for this very situation and slipped them on, then swung his leg over the edge and gripped the vine tightly. The dragon flew overhead and nearly blew him away with the strength of its wings, but he held fast. It made another pass as he was sliding down, and more oil spilled out of the left head’s mouth. It splattered all over him and steamed on his skin.

Worst of all, the oil got onto the vine and underneath his gloves. He started sliding faster, his grip faltering, and as the dragon got ready to torch him, he lost it altogether.

Roman landed hard on his back, and his lungs seized at the impact. The prince forced himself to his feet, gasping for air as the oil on the tower was lit up and he was forced to run to avoid the same fate.

He clutched his side as he ran. He didn’t think he’d broken a rib, but he certainly would have a nasty bruise. One of many to come, he’d wager. Roman ran to the side of the tower where he’d created a small oasis to house one of his secret weapons.

~~~

Remus had a wide, manic smile on his face. God, he hasn’t had this much fun in forever! He watched the flames consume Roman’s tower, and sent his dragon after him. He couldn’t see which direction his brother had run off in, but that didn’t matter too much to a fire breathing dragon. He’d burn the whole area down if he needed to – he would just return it to normal after the fight.

Then he caught something on the wind. A sound floating in the air - a song. He could barely hear it, but Remus noticed that his dragon was shaking its heads in confusion, trying to get away from whatever it was hearing. He tried to call it back, but his control had lapsed and it wouldn’t listen to him. The creature raged, spewing oil and fire into the sky before crashing against the force field surrounding their arena and exploding into dust.

Silence fell over the field, and the twins realized that this round was over, with both left standing. They reconvened in the center after they cleared their areas of all leftover debris.

Remus crossed his arms and looked Roman over smugly. “You’ve lost your touch. You didn’t even manage a single hit on me!”

Roman huffed, keeping a hand on his hip to try and subtly keep pressure on his side without letting his brother know he was hurt. “Neither did you. Are you even trying? That was such a boring round, I nearly fell asleep!”

“Oh, alright, then let’s make things quick! Ten minutes, and this time it won’t be a warmup!” Remus cheered, pointing at the clock above them and resetting the time, which immediately started counting down. Roman squawked in protest but Remus just laughed and ran off, leaving the prince standing there with his side aching and the clock ticking down.

“What are you doing, Princey? Move!!” He heard Virgil’s voice scold him in his head, and that jolted him enough to head back to his own tower, newly reformed, and come up with another plan of attack.

~~~

“He looks tired...” Patton said quietly, watching through the screen as Roman went about preparing for the second round. “He’s holding his side... do you think he’s hurt?”

“He did fall a distance when escaping from the tower, it’s possible he’s injured one or more of his ribs.”

The moral side let out a strangled cry, cupping his hands over his mouth to try and keep it in. Virgil stared at the back of Logan’s head with wide eyes. “Logan, do you even care?!”

“Of course I do. But Roman did very well in that last round. He ended it with a tie, and now he surely has a better idea of Remus’s strategies. Now he’s able to incorporate that knowledge into this next round.”

“That’s all good in theory, but look at him! He doesn’t exactly look like he’s up for another fall from the tower!” Virgil pointed at the screen, where Roman was leaning up against a tree, eyes closed and chest heaving.

“Creating takes energy. But the same goes for his opponent. I’m sure Remus is just as tired as Roman is.”

“Yeah but, Logan, he might hurt himself if he’s too tired. Can’t we just... stop this?”

“I doubt either of them would allow that at this point. We simply need to... ride it out, so to speak. And provide him support from here.”

Patton whined, shifting to bury his face against Virgil’s neck. Virgil patted his shoulder awkwardly, watching in silence as Roman ducked in and out of view on the screen. Instead of a relatively open field like he’d made before, now he was growing a thick forest with a canopy so thick it cast dark shadows across the creative side’s face.

“What is he doing? Remus literally made a fire-breathing dragon last time, that forest is just going to burn!” Virgil said, crossing his arms. As he said it, Roman stumbled and fell, to loud gasps. There wasn’t sound from their viewing screens, but as the creative side stood back up they could hear him shouting and cursing in his Disney way as water dripped down his face and his clothes were soaking wet.

“I believe he’s already thought of that, Virgil.”

Despite himself, the anxious side couldn’t help but snicker.

“Idiot.”

~~~

Remus shifted his weight back and forth, tapping the handle of his morningstar impatiently. The time was nearly out, but he hadn’t seen his brother emerge from the dense forest he’d created.

He cocked his head and the corners of his mouth twitched into a devious grin. So, he wanted to play hide and seek? That was fine with him – he’d just have to smoke him out.

The timer hit zero and the signal blared. Remus raised an arm and shouted, sending his misshapen, vaguely humanoid army running forward. He heard cries of shock and disgust from the sidelines and smirked – they just didn’t appreciate the human body in its most natural form!

Remus put his fingers to his mouth and let out a shrill whistle, and after a moment the buzz of huge insect wings echoed from behind him. Without even looking, he hopped onto the giant dragonfly and lifted into the air, leading the charge towards the forest.

An unstable laugh ripped its way from his chest and Remus relished this feeling, of the adrenaline rushing through his veins and the wind tearing his hair every which way. He pointed down at the center of the forest and his mount rained fire onto the lush greenery below. The trees caught instantly, and Remus laughed as they turned from green to pure black, fading into dust and ash in their air. His brother was down there somewhere, and he would find him, and finally…

There was an explosion, and Remus nearly lost his balance as a geyser erupted right next to him, showering him with freezing water. His dragonfly mount dodged to the side, its wings damp and heavy. He looked down at the forest to see his glorious fire had all but disappeared, drenched by the multiple streams of water that had exploded into the air.

Remus sneered. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He shook his head and let water droplets fly before commanding the dragonfly to hover over the forest, jumping into a tree and climbing down to the forest floor.

It was quiet. The duke took a few steps forward, trying to see around the thick tree trunks. He snickered quietly to himself. That would be a good one for Thomas later.

His boots squished into a puddle of something and Remus lifted his boot to examine it. There was a watery black liquid seeping into his shoe, and the dark side realized that it was the dust of his creations that had mixed with the water from the geyser.

He looked around again. What had happened? He’d made his own army fireproof, so they couldn’t have burned from him, and there was nothing around here that explained what could have destroyed them.

The duke set his jaw. Well then, maybe his brother was capable of playing a little dirty. He grabbed his morningstar and rested it over his shoulder, following the faint buzz of insect wings to find his way out, using his weapon to whack any tree branches or loose brush out of his path.

Instead, Remus found his way into a clearing of trees, with a fake mesh of leaves cast over the top to disguise it from above. The trees surrounding the area were twisted together, branches forming a protective barrier to keep people out. But then, it also meant that it could keep people in.

“Oh Roman!~ I know you’re here! You’re just too predictable!” Remus called out, swinging his morningstar back and forth. “Come on, let’s just get this over with, you’re clearly not fit to be Thomas’s Creativity if you’re hiding from little old me!”

There was a laugh from across the clearing, and Remus saw a poorly defined shadow sitting in one of the trees. “I thought you were a little smarter than to just walk into something like this! I mean, come on Rem, this is obviously a trap!”

Remus heard a strange creaking from behind him and a tree branch suddenly snaked its way around his waist and lifted him off the ground. His morningstar clattered to the ground and he cursed wildly, flailing his legs to no avail. Of course, moving trees! That must have been what the whole forest was made of!

The prince hopped down from the tree and strutted over, hands on his hips and a triumphant smirk on his face. “I can’t believe that worked as well as it did. Seriously? I pulled this same trick when we were kids!”

Remus winced in pain, though he tried to hide it with a wide toothed smile. “Who says this isn’t exactly what I wanted to happen?”

Roman rolled his eyes and drew his sword, ready to end this fight.

Remus winced again, gritting his teeth. He kicked his feet forward and caught Roman’s shoulder, shoving him back. The momentum loosened the branch’s hold on his waist and he dropped out of its grip.

The dark side grinned, rolling and grabbing the handle of his morningstar. Roman stumbled, head snapping up just as Remus swung upwards, upper cutting his chin with the heavy weapon. Warmth blossomed in his mouth as he bit down hard on his cheek and blood poured onto his tongue.

Roman fell onto his back, head spinning. He blinked stars out of his vision and was met with a maniacal smile aimed down at him. Remus raised his morningstar above his head, and Roman willed his leaden limbs to move. He couldn’t let this happen – He was Prince Roman, he could not be defeated like this!

The prince twisted his entire body, using the momentum to throw his arm up and swipe at Remus with his sword. His grip was terrible, but it would do. Remus jumped back and dropped his weapon behind him, but he wasn’t fast enough as the blade’s edge ripped through him.

Literally, through him. Roman, expecting resistance and finding none, was carried by his momentum and rolled onto his stomach. He pushed himself to his knees and spat red into the grass, staring wide-eyed at his brother. “You just… I hit you! That’s not fair!”

“No you didn’t!” Remus laughed, dancing away and laughing. Roman stood slowly, unsteady on his feet and using his sword to stabilize himself.

“Yes, I did. How did you do that? My sword went straight through you!”

Remus shrugged, retrieving his morningstar. “You didn’t hit me, Roman, what can I say?” He smirked, slinging it over his shoulders.

The prince shook his head, prodding at his sore chin and checking for blood. “You can say that you cheated!”

“I didn’t cheat, there’s nothing in the rules about dodging an attack!”

“That wasn’t dodging, you went full on ghost mode! I didn’t even know we could do that!”

“You can’t…” Remus said under his breath. Then he huffed and rolled his eyes. “Fiiiine, if you really think I cheated, we’ll call this one a draw. And you know what? I’ll even let you take a break, you look like you’re ready to crawl into a hole and die.”

Roman growled, straightening his back despite his body’s protest. “Oh yeah? What’s the matter, scared that I’ll beat you like this?”

Remus just laughed and turned on his heel, waving an arm over the forest around him and making it disappear into dust that glittered in the wind. “Third times a charm, Roman, but who’s charm will it be?”

The prince watched his brother dissipate his creations, feeling weight lift from his body as the strain of keeping it up lightened. He sighed in relief, turning to go back to his friends and sit for a moment.

“Roman!” Worried voices called as he approached the pavilion, and he subtly tried to spit another mouthful of blood into the grass before he got too close. Patton ran up to him, checking over his face and wiping away the blood dripping down his chin with the edge of his cardigan sleeve.

“Pat, your sweater-“

“That’s not important! Roman, don’t ever do that again! I nearly passed out!” Patton scolded, though its impact was lessened slightly by the crack in his voice and tears in his eyes.

“Is your chest alright? I saw you holding it earlier.” Logan asked, stepping forward and pulling Patton away from his fussing calmly. Roman gently prodded the sore spot and nodded, wincing.

“Just a bruise, I don’t think anything’s broken.” Not that he would tell them if it was. He had to finish this, but if Patton knew he’d gotten hurt that bad, he’d drag Roman to his room and make him stay there for a week. Logan nodded, not fully convinced.

“And your head?” Virgil interjected. “I saw you spit blood, Princey, you’re not ok!”

“Yes, I am! That hit just made me bite my cheek and it bled a little, ok?” Roman opened his mouth to show them that the bleeding had already stopped. “I’m fine. I just need to sit for a minute and then I’m gonna kick his butt into next week!”

The other three shared a look.

“Roman, you... don’t have to do this alone.”

“I know I’m not as good with the Imagination as you are, but if I could just do something to help!” Patton pleaded. Roman shook his head, then groaned at the action.

“No... No, I can’t risk you guys getting hurt. Besides, this is between us. This is what everything’s been leading to, all these years. It’s the only fitting end for the two of us. Ever since we were kids...”

He trailed off. Patton bit his lip, glancing at Logan who sighed quietly. Virgil looked between the two of them, confused.

“This is my fight. I appreciate you guys wanting to help me, I do, but... this isn’t something you can really help with. We need to settle our differences, and this... is really the only way we know how.”

“Violence should not be the answer!”

“There is no other answer with Remus. What I need right now is to come up with a plan. A strategy. Logan?”

The logical side adjusted his glasses, taking in how battered and exhausted Roman looked. He was struggling to even stand - Logan doubted he was up for creating much more.

“Leave it to me.”

~~~

“You hesitated.”

Remus tilted his head at Obsession, who was staring at him evenly. “Whatever do you mean?”

“When you were standing over Roman. You could have finished it right there. But you didn’t.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact. Deceit nodded, eyes narrowed as he tried to search Remus’s face for answers he was not going to give.

The dark side of creativity threw his head back and laughed. “I think you need your eyes checked, Obsession.”

The orange clad side adjusted his glasses. “I may be blind, but I’m not stupid. I know you, Remus, and I know what you’re capable of. You’re going easy on him.”

Remus just rolled his eyes and looked over at Deceit with an amused smile. “Can you believe him? Have I ever gone easy on anyone?”

Deceit smiled. “I’ve never seen it before. Tell me, do you have a plan for this round? You know, it’s cruel to keep dragging it out like this.”

Remus pursed his lips and shrugged. “I’ll just do whatever I feel like!”

“Nothing new then. Come on now, Obsession and I are getting incredibly bored over here, can’t you do something interesting?” Deceit leaned forward, chin in his hand. Remus tapped his morningstar against his hand, thinking, but as the other dark sides watched, the handle missed his hand and swung down to the ground. Remus stumbled, planting it on the ground to regain his balance and leaning against it.

No, Deceit realized. He didn’t miss catching it. It had gone straight through his hand. And now, Remus’s face seemed to be glowing. It took a moment to realize that it wasn’t his complexion, but rather the sun shining down and somehow through him.

“Well, I should get back to it. This will be the last round, so you two just sit tight, alright? This’ll be quick.”

“Are you sure this is what you want, Remus?” Obsession asked quietly. The dark side chuckled, turning away from them.

“You couldn’t have asked that a bit sooner? It’s a little too late to back out now. I’m out of time, we’re finishing this now!” The creative side turned and shouted to his brother in the pavilion, pointing back at the field with vigor. There was a call back, and Roman started back towards the field.

Deceit watched him walk away, morningstar swinging at Remus’s hip, and sighed. “Looks like you were right.”

Obsession stifled a snicker. “I think I just heard your ego shatter, Dee.” He then grew somber, watching Remus walk away. “That was it, wasn’t it?”

The lying side nodded, picking at the edge of his gloves. “We’re not going to see him after this.”

He hummed in agreement, pushing up his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. The side glanced at Deceit. “You gonna miss him?”

Deceit smiled. “Absolutely not.”

“Hmph. Liar.”

~~~

The twins agreed on fifteen minutes to prepare, and the onlookers noticed a distinct difference between their strategies. As soon as the timer started Roman had darted onto his own side and into his tower, hiding what he was creating from his brother.

Meanwhile, Remus was leisurely wandering around his side, absently growing a wall or creating a gruesome creature every so often. He carried an air of indifference, a change from his eagerness from before. He stood tall, but the dark sides sitting on the sidelines knew, perhaps instinctively, that something was off.

The former dark side sitting with Logan and Patton noticed it too. While his friends’ eyes were glued to the screen, watching Roman put his plan into action, Virgil kept his eyes locked on Deceit and Obsession.

He couldn’t tell exactly from where he was sitting, but the look on Deceit’s face almost looked… disappointed? Upset, even? It had to be an act, Virgil had never known the lying side to show his emotions clearly. Has Remus said something during the little break?

Deceit’s head turned towards the pavilion, and Virgil’s head snapped back to the screen, heart racing. Did he know he was being watched? No, it must have just been a coincidence.

Still though, he didn’t look back over after that. Just in case.

“Is he gonna make it?” Patton’s voice brought Virgil back to the present, and he glanced up at the screen.

“It’s going to be close... as long as he followed the structure I set, he should be fine. He should have created his most important pieces first. The rest is additional support.” Logan tapped his chin, eyes locked on the screen.

“Thirty seconds left...”

Roman looked up from his work and clapped his hands, smiling.

“He’s done!” Patton cheered, leaping from his seat and throwing his hands in the air. Virgil saw a small smile grow on Logan’s face.

“He’s still got to actually do the fight, you know, he’s not done yet.” Virgil added.

“Everything will be alright, Virgil.” Logan reassured before the bell rang out over the field, and they all leaned into the screen. This was it.

~~~

Roman’s chest was heaving. Even though he hadn’t created nearly as much as he had the past two rounds, his entire body was screaming at him to stop, to let it go and rest. He leaned heavily against the parapet, commanding his knights to march forward onto Remus’s side.

His brother’s side of the field was suspiciously barren; even with Roman’s lack of energy, he’d managed to create dozens more than his brother. Yet, the dark creative side wasn’t showing any signs of exhaustion or pain that Roman was feeling. He wasn’t even barricading himself in his tower!

Instead, he wandered around his side of the field casually, his morningstar stuck through his belt. Roman kept a careful eye on him as he sent his knights forward, taking out the few monsters blocking the way.

The dark side didn’t seem worried, and as Roman’s front lines advanced, he realized why.

An ear-splitting explosion rocked the Imagination, and both Roman and the spectators alike slapped their hands to their ears. The only one unbothered was Remus, who merely started laughing as he saw Roman’s first line of troops reduced to white dust.

The prince’s eyes widened. Shit, he had explosives planted? No wonder he didn’t have monsters above ground - the real danger was below!

His knuckles went white from gripping the stone of the tower. Logan had taken a lot of things into account but landmines hadn’t been one!

Roman closed his eyes, willing his army forward. He refused to split them into smaller groups, even though it would mean he would lose less to an explosion. As long as he could just get one group through, that would be enough.

Another explosion shook the field, and Roman winced at the puff of white smoke that rose into the air. Two down. It was fine, he mumbled to himself. His secret weapon was still in play.

A grotesque creature that looked to be part snake, part tentacled monster slithered up behind Remus. The dark side glanced back at it for a moment curiously. Roman’s heart was racing. Just a little more...

Remus turned away as another, smaller explosion shook the ground. As his eyes turned towards the horizon, the monster shifted into one of Roman’s white knights holding a morningstar high above its head.

Even if the dark sides had wanted to warn him, there wasn’t a moment to cry out before the knight swung, clocking Remus on the side of his head. The dark side’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed onto the ground, unmoving. A bell rang out after a few moments.

It was over. Roman had won.

The wall around the field dissipated, and the rest of the twins’ creations crumbled to dust, leaving Remus curled up on the ground and Roman bent over, breathing hard but still standing.

The light sides ran over to him, with Patton tacking Roman in a hug and lifting him off the ground. Roman groaned, his ribs screaming in agony.

“P-Pat! Easy! Chest!”

Patton gasped and let him down, hands moving to grip his arms carefully. “Sorry, kiddo! I’m just so proud of you!”

That nearly made Roman burst into tears right then and there, and he ducked his head to hide his face. “Thanks, padre. I... I’m... I did it.”

“Yeah, you did. Don’t do it again.” Virgil warned, hands in his pockets. Roman just laughed, slinging an arm around Virgil’s shoulders and bringing the anxious side into a one-armed hug.

“Aw, you can say you were worried about me, storm cloud!”

“Of course I was...” Virgil mumbled into his chest, returning the hug quickly before stepping back. Logan put his hand on Roman’s shoulder, a rare smile on his face.

“Well done, Roman.”

The creative side blushed - it was high praise from Logan. “Thanks, teach.”

“So, does this mean you’re Thomas’s only Creativity now?” Patton glanced over to the other side of the field, where Remus was lying. His voice was quiet. “What... what will happen to him?”

Logan pursed his lips. “It will not be good for Thomas to only have ‘good’ imagination,” he put air quotes around the word good. “It will be up to Roman to take over Remus’s responsibilities as well as his own.”

“But... Roman’s Thomas’s good creativity! How is he supposed to do that?!”

The logical side huffed. “Patton, I’ve said this before, but things are not that simple. Life is not black and white and although it might be a difficult task for Roman at the beginning, it will be dangerous for Thomas if he doesn’t!”

“Logan, Roman’s not going to be able to do that!” Virgil piped up.

Roman tuned his friends out, eyes darting between the dark sides still sitting on their blanket, and his brother lying on the ground. Somehow, it didn’t surprise him that Deceit and Obsession hadn’t moved from their spot, and seemed to not even be bothered that Remus was still unconscious on the ground.

Roman huffed, and held his head high as he walked over to his brother, who was staring up at the sky with a glassy expression. Roman leaned down and offered him a hand.

“Come on, get up.”

The dark side blinked. “What?”

Roman rolled his eyes, reaching down and grabbing his brothers hands, trying to pull him to his feet. “Would you rather lay there and get your outfit dirty? I’m trying to be nice.”

Remus allowed himself to be pulled into a sitting position, but refused to go any further. “Why?”

The light side huffed, hands on his hips. “Because that’s what a prince does, got it? It was a close game and I wanted to thank you. It was... fun.”

Remus blinked. “You... thought it was... fun?”

“Well, not all of it, but... well, it’s like you said. Old times, right?” Roman scratches the back of his neck, looking away as Remus got onto his feet unsteadily. “You fought well.”

The dark side stared at him, chest heaving. “I...”

Roman grinned, meeting Remus’s incredulous stare. “I can’t believe this, you’re actually speechless. You haven’t stopped talking since you showed up.”

“Roman...”

He opened his mouth to respond, but Remus suddenly threw his arms tightly around Roman’s shoulders, and the prince tensed.

“What are you doing? I swear to everything if you stab me in the back I will...”

A faint laugh echoed in Roman’s ear, and Remus tightened his hug. “Not this time.”

After a moment, Roman relaxed and gingerly returned it. After several more tense moments, another whisper, this time so faint Roman barely caught what was said.

“Take care of Thomas.”

It took a moment for the words to register in his mind, but as soon as they were uttered, Remus’s steadfast grip disappeared completely and Roman’s arms closed in on himself, going straight through the side he’d just embraced.

“Remus, what—!”

The dark side smirked, stepping back despite Roman’s desperate attempts to grab him again. “It’s time. Have fun being Creativity.”

Then, as if he were simply one of Roman’s own creations, he disintegrated into shimmering white dust, carried away from Roman’s frozen form on a gentle breeze.

“R-Remus? Hey, this isn’t funny! Get back here! You can’t just... that can’t be... that’s it? All that and you just leave?! Remus, show yourself!”

Roman shouted into empty air, grasping at the dust that floated lazily around him, desperately hoping that his brother would reform if he could just gather it all.

His eyes and chest burned. For years he’d been dreaming of this moment, when he would finally vanquish the evil within Thomas and bring peace. But this felt nothing like those daydreams, where he touted his victory and swore that the other dark sides would be next. He didn’t feel happy or excited by this.

He felt devastated. His breath started coming faster until he was hyperventilating. Roman’s legs were jelly and he collapsed into a heap on the plush grass.

Remus was gone.

Half of Thomas’s Creativity was gone.

His brother was gone.

As soon as that thought hit him, he found he couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, and he sobbed freely, crying and pleading for the world to please just bring his annoying, crude, selfish brother back.

~~~

Patton and Logan sprinted to Roman’s side as soon as he collapsed, Patton offering a shoulder to cry on for the distraught prince. Virgil, on the other hand, had a bone to pick.

The anxious side stalked over to the tattered picnic blanket where Deceit and Obsession were chatting amongst themselves, as if they were out and about on a stroll rather than being moments after their supposed comrade and friend was turned to dust. Virgil stopped in front of Deceit, glaring down at him with hate in his eyes.

“What’s wrong with you?!”

Deceit glanced up casually, pursing his lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I knew you were a cold hearted bastard but even you have to feel something about all this! You just lost Remus! He’s gone! Why are you just sitting here!?”

“Crying and screaming about it isn’t going to bring him back.” Deceit answered.

“Besides, Remus knew what he was getting into when he challenged Roman. If anything, he got what he deserved.” Obsession added, pushing his glasses up. Virgil’s chest was about to explode from rage.

“Got what he deserved!? God damn it Obsession, I knew he was a cruel asshole but I thought you were capable of some goddamn empathy!”

Obsession shrugged. “He got what he wanted. I don’t see why I should feel sorry for him.”

“Oh, I believe he got even more than what he wanted, if you want my honest opinion.” Deceit was smirking now, hand over his heart. Virgil took a step back, suddenly on guard.

“What do you mean?”

Obsession gestured behind Virgil. “See for yourself.”

Virgil was loath to turn his back on these two very large threats, but when he heard a scream not of anguish but of pure agony, he whipped around and his blood ran cold.

Roman was curled in on himself, hands over his ears, mouth open in a scream that he couldn’t force out. Patton tried to touch him but Roman jerked away as if burned by the touch. Virgil couldn’t move, until Deceit hissed from behind him.

“You were just calling us cruel for standing by while our friend died, but look at you. Frozen like a deer in headlights while poor Roman is in absolute agony. That’s not a very friendlike thing to do, Virgil.”

Virgil swallowed nasty words that he wanted to hurl at both of them and took off in a sprint, ignoring the laughter behind him.

“Roman!!” The anxious side screamed as he ran, forcing himself to go faster. When he reached the prince, his hands flew to his mouth in shock.

On the creative side’s pure white back, there was a stain of oily black over his heart. And before Virgil’s very eyes it began to spread out, edges blurring as it consumed the creative side entirely.

Roman seized, sucking in a breath before his eyes rolled back into his skull and he crumpled into a heap in Patton’s arms, the pain becoming too much.

“Roman!!!”

#sander sides fanfiction #remus sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #obsession sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders

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