#as well as the Rookie and Virgil

[hathorik]

I replayed Halo recently. Like the whole fucking series. And I couldn't help but remark that basically, the very foundations of the setting are that Humanity is on its last leg facing an alien threat more numerous and technologically evolved... which is essentially how you make fascism justified in-lore. We don't have a choice, this is an existential threat, we must be tough to survive.

Halo: Reach shows that 1) the Spartan project was NOT about the Covenant Threat, but about creating Übermensch to end the revolts in the Colonies to the benefit of the central Imperial Power (even though it's not openly stated), and 2) that beside ONE FUCKING GUY, the others are all treating the locals like shit.

In Halo 2 and 3, you deal with the de-facto military leader of Humanity, who happens to be a British Aristocrat.

The Covenant is a Religious hegemony of several alien races led by Prophets.

There isn't a single marine who isn't either white or black. Sure, there's a Mendoza who speaks Spanish and Jun has a strong unidentified east-Asian accent, but I haven't seen a single Arabic character despite one of the main places in Halo 2, Halo 3 and Halo: ODST being a megalopolis in Kenya. Like I don't know I'd expect at least some people to be, you know?

Kat in Reach has been voiced by an Israeli actress.

And in Halo 4, the Covenant threat has been defeated, Humanity a progressed a lot technologically and... The central government and intelligence agency look a lot more like bad guys. But again, New Existential Threat Unlocked, so let's just roll with it, okay?

I love Halo. It's been my comfort game for my very, very troubled teenage, but returning to it came with some realization about it and the underlying message it carries. I will still keep playing it, and I'm not calling out the devs as like pro-fascists or anything (tbh if there's a dev company you should boycott for their FPS' content it's Activision, so), I'm just... realizing how the cultural background in which the games were made affected the content and, therefore, the message it must have carried to young players back in the 2000's and 2010's.

So no matter what game you play out there, stay sharp, stay alert and keep your critical thinking edge sharp. You fucking need it in this world.

I rly hate the Satanic Panic & the moral panic surrounding violence in video games in the 90s, coz it's now impossible to talk about the social implications of violent video games in a realistic sense.

No, violence in video games does not create serial killers in the way most people imagine it would.

However, it's very important to notice how after 9/11, a lot of violent video games pivoted their content from silly gratuitous cartoon gore to more realistic military shooters set in the Levant from a US American lens. It's also important to notice the connection of these games & their toxic online multi-player voice chats to Gamer Gate in 2014.

It's obviously not as black & white as it was presented in the 80s & 90s, I dont think everyone who played early Call of Duty games is a white supremacist who wants to join the military to kill people in the middle east, but I think it's dangerous to pretend like video games or any media can't have an impact on the way people think about violence.

I think what makes all the difference here is how that violence is portrayed, what the message behind it is, what the motives are behind the people who crafted that message, who the victims of that violence are, how they are portrayed & the greater cultural context that surrounds it.

[alemonyoyo]

No Country for Young Humans - Chapter 5!

Hi guys! Got this chapter out a little earlier than expected. I am going overseas tomorrow, so I assume my upload schedule of every 2 days will get a little slower. Sorry about that.

Also, I would really appreciate any feedback on my writing if you have any. I've found myself a little unhappy with the way I write recently, so any tips to improve are wholly welcome <3!!

This one's a bit more lax than the previous chapter, hope you enjoy!

Missed the previous chapters? Check out the Masterlist!

Words: 2969

Tags: GN Reader, No use of YN, Flirting, Forbidden Romance (????)

Summary: A morning mission with your new trio goes down as well as you could hope for. But a stunning victory is interrupted by some concerning news.

Chapter 5 - The Search: Undertale Yellow OST: 066 The Train Problem

You pressed your back firmly against the wall of the building, feeling the warmth that its bricks held onto seep into the back of your shirt. Peeking your head around the corner you saw that familiar green tint. You still felt Ed’s presence by your side so you turned back to him, giving him a short nod. You both readied your guns, the air dry and crisp, not carrying a single sound with it as you rounded the corner of the building.

“Hands up, Virgil!” You screamed, getting into character. Ed was by your side, his larger pistol, more suited for his huge hands, was pointed directly at your prey.

“This is the last time you get away with stealin’ Mooch’s gold.” Ed’s voice commanded throughout the Wild East, if only you had such confidence. He played the role of the tough guy very well.

Vengeful Virgil, like the vermin that he is, scampered from side to side to get around you two, but was met with the fellow swoop of one of Ace’s cards slicing a shallow cut in his cheek.

“Not so fast, V.” Ace cut in, blocking Virgil’s only way to escape. “We’re not leavin’ till we get what’s ours.” Virgil panicked against the wall, trying to hide his fearful glance under the brim of his hat. But his snout was too long, and his grimace was extremely apparent.

“Y-you don’t understand, Feisty Three.” Well- you supposed that was correct. There were only three of you right now, but the others would be here with backup any minute! 

After agreeing to stay in the Wild East, North Star had given you the highest of privileges; to join the Feisty Five as its newest member! This was to Ed’s dismay as “The Feisty Six” did not have the same ring to it that the alliteration of “The Feisty Five” provided. But alas, you were happy to be a part of whatever game they were playing, title be damned.

“I think we understand just fine.” Ace said, taking a menacing step towards Virgil.

“She- she stole it off a’ me! Mooch stole *my* gold! I was just stealin’ it back!” He squirmed against the wall.

“Aha! So you admit to stealing Mooch’s gold then?” You smirked, the loophole in his words falling carefully into place. This was a confession! You could have him imprisoned! Your first bandit capture while on the team! “I oughta lock you up for just that. But running away from the law, trying to shoot our dearest sheriff? I think you might get *life* in jail!” You hammed up your accent, really getting into character.

“Sounds good to me, rookie.” Ed responded with a nasty smirk.

“Agreed, give him what he deserves.” Ace continued. With that, you pulled out a lasso you had been gifted by Ace, who had stepped you through Lassons 101 for the past couple of days. Virgil squealed pathetically at the sight.

As you readied your throw, you kept in mind all he had taught you. You whirled the lasso around your head, feeling the loop tug and pull against itself. Keeping your hand in position you threw the lasso with all your strength. It soared across the air gracefully, and you watched in awe at your own technical prowess.

“Um.” Virgil responded, watching as your lasso landed in a pathetic heap in front of him,

“That’s okay.” He started as he bundled up the coil of rope and handed it to you, returning to his frightened position against the wall of the building. “You can try again.”

You repeated the same steps in motion, though this time with far less confidence and much more embarrassment. Your loop flopped against the side of the building with a thunk, before tripping on itself and falling to the floor once more.

“No no, you have to twist your wrist! That’s what’ll keep the loop horizontal!” Ace insisted, picking up the rope from the ground. “One more, Virgil.”

You felt your face grow hot. You were lucky North Star wasn’t here to watch this pitiful display. He’d probably still be proud of you nonetheless, but the thought was highly embarrassing.

You held your hand at the base of the loop in the lasso. Swung it round; one, two, before lifting it above your head and allowing the loop to slip from your grasp. It launched forward, nicking itself over Virgil's hat. The lasso lightly fell around his shoulders.

“Okay, okay now pull!!” Ace whispered eagerly. You pulled the lasso taught, and suddenly the menacing Vengeful Virgil was captured! The three of you cheered as Virigil remained still against the building. Face blank and clueless.

“Let’s take this guy to where he’ll be stayin’ the night.” Ed offered.

“Sounds like a plan!”

You walked off happily, Vengeful Virgil in tow.

“Wow, can’t believe you caught him just like that! Those lasson’s are really coming in handy.” Ed gave you a light pat on the back, but due to his strength it felt like a poor-man's heimlich manoeuvre. “I’ve never even captured a bandit with a lasso! My hands are too big to hold those tiny ropes.”

“That’s because you lack class, Ed. A real Cowboy, a *refined* one let’s say, would use the standard traditional methods.” Ace replied, “*I* for one have captured all of my prey with a lasso.” Though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel the smugness of his expression dripping throughout his tone.

“And how many’s that?” You ask, feeling Virgil tug at your rope.

“... Three.” He mumbled. You tried not to giggle, but Ed took charge, his roaring laughter was infectious.

“Seems we all suck at this a little.” You chuckled out, finding all your embarrassment dissipated.

Eventually you made it to the jail in the heart of town. Ed walked up ahead and held the door open for you. Ace walked inside and unlocked the door to one of the two cells the jail held. You stepped inside, a momentary respite from the harsh rays. You pulled the rope to guide Virgil into his cell. It felt like having a dog on a leash. Virgil voluntarily walked into the cell, seemingly forgetting he was supposed to be the struggling criminal, captured by the mighty Feisty Three! You loosened your rope, coiling it up as Ace locked the cage. 

“See you later Vengeful *Vermin*.” Ace spat.

“Ooo good one.” You teased, chuckling at him.

“Oh shush. As if you could do any better, rookie.” You both laughed and left Virgil to rot in his cell for your predicted sentence of a lifetime.

“Good job team!” You congratulated the other two, beaming with the newfound confidence that a successful mission brought. “I think we’ve done some good today. We should find Star and the others and tell them to stop the search! We’ve already caught the bandit right?” The other two nodded, satisfied with the morning’s mission.

North Star, Mooch and Moray had been assigned to patrol the West-most side of the Wild East after Vengeful Virgil had escaped from the clutches of your group. It wouldn’t be too hard to find the three of them. 

You had been a little disappointed at first when you hadn’t been assigned a team with North Star, though he insisted it was necessary, you were sad nonetheless. You liked hanging out with him more than anyone. He’s what made this game of Cowboy truly exciting. Ace and Ed were great, and you were honestly becoming closer to them than you had anticipated this morning, but they didn’t have the capriciousness, the risk, that Star did.

The three of you had barely started walking down the road to the western section of town when you saw the rest of the gang walking back empty-handed. At your appearance, Mooch ran over excitedly,

“Oh, oh! Did you do it? Did you find him?” She scurried along the sand, looking up at the three of you.

“We sure did!” You said triumphantly.

“That’s great to hear!” Said Moray as they approached.

“All thanks to our newest recruit.” Ace butted in. You gave him a thankful nod.

“Oh, gettin’ the hang of the ol’ lasso already, are we sweets?” North Star inquired, catching up with the other two. You prayed that Ed nor Ace would speak of the pathetic display earlier today to save your ego. 

“I- I guess you could say that.” You mumbled, feeling yourself fluster at the other nickname Star had given you.. He was quite relentless with them; “Darlin’”, “Sweets”. All of which were spoken in his delicious accent and you happily drank them up.

“So, did you get my gold back?” Mooch asked. Your stomach dropped.

Shit, you had forgotten Mooch’s gold- The whole reason you were hunting this guy down in the first place! What sort of heroes were you?

The three of you fell silent, your expressions each uniquely blank. Embarrassment filled the silence in the air.

“You forgot, didn’t you.” Mooch responded flatly, highly disappointed.

“Ah, Mooch. You don’t understand. Today's mission wasn’t about gettin’ your gold back it wa-”

“It wasn’t?!” She interjected, stomping a foot down in the sand.

“Well- I- It was about *heart*!” Star tried to pull together some sort of moral, “Our team has stopped Vengeful Virgil from stealin’ from *more* vulnerable pockets. Thanks to your gold pouch, we were tipped off to that.” 

“It was a noble sacrifice, Mooch.” Moray responded from behind them, trying to push the conversation along. You all nodded with a melancholy facade, mourning the loss of Mooch’s most-likely-stolen gold. Her expression scrunched up and she crossed her arms but didn’t say anything.

The group was silent for an awkward moment, before North Star suggested;

“How about we go celebrate this victory of Justice over a round of drinks?” To that, the rest of them cheered, except for Mooch, of course. She remained disgruntled.

You followed the group as they bumbled along the path back to the saloon. Another great morning in the Wild East! And, you had a whole afternoon of adventuring to look forward to! This time as a group, so you wouldn’t be away from Star for too long. 

You were right outside the saloon, the relentless rays of the Dunes pounding down on your skin. The wind washed around your ears, and in the crashing of its waves it carried a small sound. A chant, maybe? Someone was yelling, but for fear or for joy you couldn’t tell.

“Uh, who is that?” Moray pointed out beyond the limits of the town. You all turned your heads to see a tall, blue figure kicking up sand as they ran.

“Martlet-” You let out in an astonished whisper.

“Who?” North Star inquired,

“She’s a friend of mine. From Snowdin.” You reply, confusion littering your tone. You hadn’t seen Martlet since the day of the duel. What was she doing here all of a sudden?

You fumbled down the saloon patio back onto the sand, meeting her halfway. Her run became a tumble as she nearly tripped over her own legs trying to stop herself from crashing into you.

“Oh my gosh!” She squawked out as she screeched to a halt. “They-They’re coming. You have to leave, they’re coming!” Martlet placed two feathered hands on your shoulders and shook you violently as she repeated herself. However, after a day out in the hot “sun”, it had your head spinning. North Star hurries himself across the sand in response to the violent jolting you’re receiving. He steps in between the two of you.

“Hey, hey, stop it!” His yell seems to snap Martlet out of her panicked stupor, she stops shaking. Now she seems frazzled, her eyes whizzing around the Wild East looking for a comfortable place to land that isn’t you or the man giving his all towards intimidating her. Star puffed out his chest, his eyes shooting daggers into Martlet. “I don’t care who you are, you have no right to treat our deputy like that!” He continued. The title of “deputy” rang in your ears like the bell in the centre of town. He hadn’t let *that* slip before.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” She started, holding her feathered hands up in defence. “This is just really important!” Martlet insisted, trying to get around North Star to face you. She scrunched up her face in annoyance when he wouldn’t budge.

“It’s okay, Martlet. Anything you can tell me, you can tell him.” You hoped this would placate any worry of hers, but instead it simply seemed to feed further into Star’s confidence, as he flashed a knowing grin to Martlet. Though, there was an evident light blush on his cheeks.

“Ah yes, me and the deputy are as tight as the knot in a lasso!” He crossed his gloved fingers. Martlet crossed her arms.

“Okay, sure. Look- You need to get out of here.” She said, turning to you. Her tone was deathly serious, a far departure from the dorky bird you had known previously. “The Royal Guard got wind of your little “duel” and they’ve decided to do a search of the entire Dunes!” 

“Shit-” You heard Star mumble under his breath. “How long do they have?” He inquired. 

You were too stunned to speak. You had been here for quite a while with no issue, and now you just had to get up and leave! You tried to get out any words but your throat held them back. Too panicked to say anything, you remained paralysed in silence.

“About an hour. I’ve taken a head start but they’re heading over from Hotland.” Your head starts to spiral, it’s getting hard to stand. Your mind is overwhelmed, waterlogged with the idea of your own capture. Possibly the Feisty Five’s capture for treason too- 

You were lucky that your run-in with the Royal Guard went so smoothly. But you got the feeling that the rest of the Royal Guard wouldn’t be as forgiving as Martlet. This was not good- This was horrible. This was the worst thing that could happen! Where could you even go from here?

Something pulled at your hand. Looking down you could see North Star’s hand slip its way into your own. Looking up at him, he gave you a smile. You felt your mind clear itself at the feeling of his fingers intertwined with yours. It was a small gesture, but it was more than enough to ground you to your senses.

“...I think it’d be best for you to head to Waterfall. It’s in the opposite direction to Hotland, and it’s far more cavernous and easy to hide in.” Martlet advised.

“I’ll come with you, sweets.” Star reassured you, his thumb running over your knuckles, “You ain’t never been to Waterfall, have you?”

“No.” You shook your head. Looking back at Martlet who met you with a worried expression. 

“I would love to come with you, but I have to join the search.” She turned away with a pained expression, “I’ll come find you at Waterfall when it’s over, but until then, stay in Waterfall.” She had quite a demanding tone. Perhaps she was more fit for the job of a Royal Guard than she thought.

You sighed, trying to let out all of the worries that fizzled in the base of your stomach, leaving you nauseous.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be like one of our adventures!” Star turned to you, “Exploring new places, hiding from the bad guys!” Though his voice was cheery, his expression was dampened with hesitation.It was clear that he was trying to quell your anxieties, so you attempted meeting him with a grateful smile.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You squeezed his hand.

“I gotta head off now. Good luck!” Martlet said before flapping her wings and setting off, soaring through the sky as if the ground never held her. You wished you had such freedom, to leap from gravity’s clutches at will, escaping from all those who sought you harm. But as soon as the thought crossed your mind, it left, ashamed. You had your freedom on the surface, and you let it go- This was your punishment; getting hunted down like meat.

“You okay, deputy?” Star let go of your hand, instead resting both of his arms on your shoulders. He looked right into your eyes, his gaze analysing every feature of your face, digging for any sort of apprehension. He wouldn’t have to look hard to find it.

“I- No, I’m not okay.” You sigh, “But I will be. I hope.” You look away from his unrelenting gaze, feeling judged.

“Well then, rookie. Pack as much as you can for the both of us and meet me out here in 10. I’m going to alert the others, okay?” You nodded with a huff.

“It’ll be alright, darlin’.” He brushed his knuckles on the side of your face. “I know this is scary. *I’m* scared.” His hand turned to cup your cheek, “But if we lay low, like real bounty hunters, I’m sure it’ll be just fine.” He ran a hand through your hair, brushing it out of your face. He turned and reluctantly walked off towards the saloon.

Fuck, you were scared- But the look he gave you, mixed with the feeling of his fingers against your cheek was a feeling worth fighting for. You turned away from the saloon, heading off to get some supplies.

You weren’t going to let the Royal Guard win.

***

“The locals around here say they haven’t seen anything, boss.”

“Keep trying. We need this soul more than anything, understand?”

“Y-yes.”

“Continue your search. I’m going to make a head start eastward.”

“Rumour says there isn’t much around there. Just an abandoned old town.”

“We’ll see about that.”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Heya! I've been a big fan of your writing for a long time. Your works and characterizations are fabulous! Question though, I see you are both a fan of Sanders Sides and Resident Evil. Have you ever considered writing a crossover with them? Perhaps where the sides are in the RE universe? I'd love to hear any thoughts you'd have about such a thing. 😊

Oh god what a fucking crossover idea jfc

I don't think i have it in me to turn it into a full-fledged fic but i am being entertained by the ThoughtsTM

Logan working for Umbrella and/or the Connections? Remus being a mold person like Ethan or Eveline? Truly the fucking chaos that would abound from Remus being able to psychically throw people around oh no what have we done

Or Leon meeting Remus and being so fucking done with him--truly incredible

I'm torn between whether I wanna stick Roman with Leon in RE2R or RE4R because a.) him and rookie!leon would be so fucking fun to watch but also b.) him and Luis????? are you kidding??? wait roman's color is red just replace ada with him hmmm no i'm just kidding ada wong my beloved

for the love of all that is good in the world never put janus and wesker in the same country together yes that's all okay bye

ooh but roman with the redfields would also be fun as shit, i feel like roman and patton in the mansion in RE1 would be...interesting

oh no have roman and remus meet chris and claire oh no have that be so much fun but also the WORST thing ever

i feel like patton and ethan would get along pretty well, though, so that might be nice :) obviously in a timeline where ethan's life doesn't go so spectacularly to shit

OH NO WAIT RE8 AU WHERE INSTEAD OF IT BEING THE DUKE EVERYWHERE ITS THE SIDES

so like it's all of them in the village square first then roman in the dimitrescu castle then logan with the infodump then janus near the beneviento house then remus near moreau and then virgil in heisenberg's factory and then patton takes him to fight miranda at the end

virgil is in hunnigan's boat being endlessly anxious and frustrated with these agents ruining his blood pressure constantly send tweet

the thing is i feel like all the sides would just be so in awe of claire and jill and rebecca because they chug the respect women juice??? so it's just they have a bunch of puppies trailing after them all the time now

oh god remember what i said about letting janus and wesker be in the same country apply that to janus and ada too

aight those are my thoughts! god this was such a thing to think about thank u for asking

[thal-ent]

TW : Violence, character death, blood, objectification and unwanted sexualisation (nothing happens dw), dysphoria, body mutilation, (self) amputation

"Stay focused."

They still treat him like he's a child. Not that he really blame them, they've been doing that for most of their lives, next to them he's just a rookie. Still, he knows his strengths, knows his weaknesses. He knows what to look for before they attack, when the woods are silent and the air full of static.

His eyes look on the left, the right. He's with two older hunters, Ioan and Bogdan. They've been hunters longer than he's been alive, he knows he can rely on their experience and knowledge. Yet, something doesn't feel right tonight. Even for a hunt, everything is too calm, too silent. Vampires naturally make the living creatures around them run away, the stentch of death noticable to most animals.

The smell is stronger that night.

Left, right, still nothing. Had one of the other groups found a nest, they would've, should've informed the rest of them by now. Feral vampires stay close, hunt as a group and fight for the food later.

A sound, barely noticable hasn't it been for the silence that's envelopping them. Virgil raises his sword in the direction of the sound, eyes locked to the shadows. Ioan looks in the other way, makes sure it's not trying to trap them and strike from the back. Bogdan is silent but his grip is firm, his scared jaw tense. Wait for it to strike first, let them think you're the hunted.

Then show your own fangs.

Barely a sound is heard when it strikes, claws first, towards Ioan. Barely human anymore, probably didn't have a good feast in weeks. Yet it stands, not a sound from its mouth as its left hand is severed, limp on the ground.

It doesn't even bleed anymore.

One strike is all it takes for Bogdan to end its fate. One swift mouvement through the heart of the creature, black ooze covering the blade rather than the crimson blood of a living thing. It doesn't slowly disintegrate into ashes or fade away with grace. No, it just ceases to be, what was its knees touching the ground first. It'll go up in flames once the sun touches its corpse, in just a few dozen of minutes.

Ioan mumbles something, Virgil guesses it's a prayer. For the lost soul maybe, maybe for Bogdan who's using a part of his vest to clean his blade. But the three men all feel something wrong.

"The smell is still here."

He barely speak, barely whispers, but it's enough for the older men to agree in silence. Something not right, something's missing, something's-

There's blood on the grass before Virgil hears anything.

There's blood on his boots. On his coat. On his face.

Warm, crimson blood.

And standing over Ioan's body, a vampire. Tall, silent. Perfectly healthy, short haired and smiling with blood on its gloves.

How did they miss it. How could it hide from them.

Bogdan reacts first, sword flying in the creature's direction. Kill first, before it kills you. You'll grieve once safe.

More blood stains the grass as Bogdan's arms fall on the ground, the sword still gripped tightly in his hands. The man doesn't have any time to scream in pain when the vampire's hand crushes his throat, his cries reduced to a pathetic noise. Yet Virgil sees what he wants to yell in his eyes.

"Run."

But something tells him it's exactly what the vampire wants. For him to run, to be scared. For him to become the pray he pretends to be.

So he stands. Sword in hand, heart beating so loud he almost doesn't hear it speak in a soft spoken voice, too sweet and delicate for its nature and the blood on its hands.

"You're not running sweetheart ?" He wants to vomit, but he stands. Stares at it until it laughs. "Well, that's unusual."

It goes toward him, letting Bogdan's barely conscious form fall to the ground, letting it whine as he's loosing too much blood. He'll die soon.

He'll die too, Virgil realises. That vampire is well fed, its cheeks almost pink with warmth, his form too human. Its well fed, not looking for a meal. Its looking for amusement.

A bloody hand sets itself on Virgil's right cheek, slowly caressing the three scars that sit here. Just a bit closer and Virgil could strike its heart, kill it and avenge his compagnons but-

"One move and I'll rip your jaw apart." Virgil knows it means it. The red eyes in front of him cruel and curious. "You're very pretty... How old are you darling ?" He stays silent, but the feeling of claws in his jaw makes him awnser.

"Twenty."

"My, my, so young and yet so hurt already..." It smiles, a fake cry, an apology that doesn't try to be convincing. "Tell me, what did you think you'd do here ?" It takes the cross that sits around Virgil's neck in its hand, staining it with blood as well. "Hurt some ghouls ? Clean the mess ? Really, a shame."

"We're hunting."

"You're saying this like I'm not hunting too. What, it true ! I hunt for fun. Just like any human could."

It drags its hand lower, its fingers meeting leather strong enough to stop any teeth from piercing it, no matter how sharp, around the boy's neck.

Just a few minutes. The dawn is near. He thinks, at least. It should be.

"You hunters and your idiotic "bite-proof" outfits..." It rolls its eyes and smiles, its fangs shining in the darkness. "Should I tell you where it is not ? I feel quite hungry looking at you."

A shudder pass through Virgil's body, his nausea coming back stronger than before. He knows what it means, sees how it's looking at his chest, his legs, his arms, his hips. Feels the familiar way his body yells to rip everything out, or to rip what's looking at him.

But for now he can only wait to strike.

Maybe the vampire thinks it has already won and that's why it lets Virgil keep his sword, steady in his left hand.

He feels a fangs caress his right hand before he moves, more like a reflex than real though.

Maybe he thinks about something.

A tired smile. Eyes that are just as tired behind glasses.

I can't die yet.

The pain in his hand is burning as black ooze falls on his blade and blood runs from his palm.

It bit his hand.

He pierced its heart.

It laughs, eyes wide, unbelieving. The wound does not close, the silver of the blade burning the creature as if it was the sun.

Virgil rips his shirt and quickly creates a tourniquet above his wrist. His veins turn to ooze under it, the venom stopped where the blood stops flowing.

Barely a second pass.

The vampire launches towards him.

He's covered in black liquid as the vampire's head roll on the ground.

But he cannot rest yet.

He rips another part of his shirt, the leather underneath his only shield as the sun slowly rises. His blade is clean, sharp as always.

Another part of his shirt is ripped, a clean one, and he stuffs it in his mouth. He plants his blade to the ground, and put his arm under where it should cut.

He doesn't have time.

He barely scream behind the gag.

Blood and onze come out of the severed limb.

He has no time.

He gets his sword back. Get the gag out.

The sun is out.

The vampires burn quickly. His limp arm does slowly.

He needs to go home.

He feels the blood on him.

He needs to go home.

He's barely conscious when the day patrol finds him stumbling in the forest.

I need to go home.

He's brought to his father's house. He hears whispers, cries, panic.

I'll be home, Bastien.

It's his only though, as the dark claims him.

He swears, to whoever will hear him.

He'll go back to him.

[greenninjagal-blog]

Dead Men Break No Codes pt1

I've been playing too many escape rooms recently. Fic be upon ye :D

Summary: Rookie Fbi agent, Roman is a certified genius who's time to shine is right now, while a serial killer's taken up taunting the police with puzzles leading them to the bodies of their victims! Someone should probably warn him about being so good at his job.

Word Count: 12020

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Chapter One: Odd Man Out

The letter found at the latest crime scene isn’t directly addressed to Roman but based on the entire crime scene team’s reaction, it might as well have been.

Roman had barely held onto the card for more than a few minutes, just enough that he could gage the type of paper, the ink color, the number of pages, the smell—all the nitty gritty details that might help them solve the riddles before someone else died—before he sent it off to the labs for further testing. Roman’s notes along with photos of each of the three pages of the banal opinions were displayed through a projector on the wall of the conference room they were in so everyone could see them, but the longer Roman stared at it all, the more he thought that he might have been going slightly stir crazy.

“I stand by what I said,” Virgil says from the corner where he’s strangling a stress ball to the point of it disintegrating in his hands. “Someone needs to get this guy a fucking hobby. Who even uses the word “effulgent” anymore?”

“I think murdering people is his hobby,” Roman comments as he scribbles through yet another code breaking attempt that led nowhere and provided nothing but a hatred for the English alphabet.

It’s obvious there's some type of code in it: previous crime scenes and puzzles aside, no one uses the words Verisimilitude and Brummagem without it being intentional, and certainly not the guy who’s killed ten people in the past three weeks. There are underlined words that spell out "your year of creation is key" and bolded words that read out “From Capitals to Rome” and all of it was tied together with a stunning, swooping bit of calligraphy that's left him with a headache after staring at it so long. Perfect punctuation, no extra doodles or dots: the letter itself talks scathingly about modern adaptations of Sherlock Holmes and detectives and what it means to be a genius in a world that doesn’t appreciate geniuses. Roman’s done the math: thirty-three sentences, averaging ten words across all of them, no direct address, but signed off with a cute “Plex”.

Which was short for “Perplex” because their serial killer thought they were clever.

If Roman had come across this guy in any other situation, he might have grown a grudging respect for him. Might have asked him out for drinks, even! Some of the puzzles that they’d come across are downright dazzling and ingenious and challenging and reminded Roman of his childhood so much they were nostalgic. If Roman ignored the code and read the letter as it was, he was left with a strangely twisted form of sick sympathy: he’d been a genius in a small town where everyone knew everyone else and trying to connect with people there had been like trying to squeeze himself into a pair of shoes he’d outgrown when he was four.

He’d been bored by schoolwork, already outpacing the teachers, too curious to wait until the next class to find answers which left him ahead of his peers. There weren’t thrilling enough mystery books in the library and every movie had ended in the most predictable way ever. He’d received the scorn of his own friends when he breezed through assignments that they struggled with at the same rate he’d received their adoration in any sort of academic competition or group project. Reading the letter in front of him, which was, at its core, someone else’s observations when they rang that close to Roman’s own internal laments, left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

What a horrible thing,—Roman thinks throwing his pen across the room to where the trashcan had been at one point and reaching for another— to have found more fucking kindship with a murderer than with the rest of his team.

He’d only been with this FBI team for a few months, and Roman’s ability to deftly stick his foot in his mouth had already put him at odds with most of the people he was supposed to be working with. The habit of thinking far too fast wasn’t a new thing for Roman to be dealing with, but Roman still forgot that not everyone was aware of just how fast he thought until he was blurting out a harmless comment he forgot could be taken as an insult.

His team leader—a man by the name of Logan Ackroyd—had bluntly told Roman that if he couldn’t keep his mouth in line there wouldn’t be a place for him on the team come the next week and Roman almost quit on the spot to avoid having to go through the utter embarrassment of being fired for his inability to play well with others, when he’d gotten multiple recommendations from high profile FBI agents who’d guaranteed Logan that Roman lived up to the rumors.

Logan had told him that he didn’t bother accepting fresh academy graduates usually, but the sheer volume of letters from colleagues had won Roman a chance to prove he was good enough to stay on permanently. And after six months, Roman is still standing with that Damocles sword over his head, with no sign of Logan changing his mind.

Logan’s right hand, Patton Hart, assures him that Logan means well, even if he doesn’t say it in so many (or any) words.

Patton radiates the gentle air of a tired, but well-meaning father although Roman’s never heard of him having any children and sometimes his existence is all that keeps Roman from crying the moment he home. He’s never been afraid to cut Logan off in the middle of a lecture or remind everyone they’re supposed to be fighting the serial killers not each other…as long as he’s paying attention.

Roman’s no stranger to getting caught up in his thoughts, but Patton is exactly like those cats who meow at dark corners when there’s nothing there; his crystal blue eyes soften with a distant gaze, seeing something that no one else can see for so long that once an actual gunfight broke out around them and Patton didn’t notice at all. Each conversation with Patton left Roman feeling as though he was being seen through instead of being looked at, but that was a small price to pay since Patton won’t take his words the wrong way no matter what he says.

In comparison, Virgil Storm is the person that Roman clashes with the most. Roman had been through enough Psych classes to hazard a guess that Virgil takes Roman’s entire existence as a threat to his own position: Roman is younger, prettier, healthier, smarter, and he had come with heralds of recommendation letters from the FBI academy professors. The only thing Virgil has over him is two years of field experiences that never quite seem to be enough for him to feel secure. Thus, every time Roman disagreed with him, Virgil had bitten back like it was a personal attack. Roman had nearly been written up twice because of their arguments when Virgil got to walk away with barely even a glance.

Janus Ekans, the last member of the team, is approachable in the same way that a live grenade was approachable: he’s a press liaison who sweet-talked reporters and consoled victims and made children laugh with funny faces while the adults talked, and then he turned around threatened to cut Roman’s brakes if he hummed another bar of the catchy pop song that was stuck in his head.

((Jokes on him though, the catchy pop song that had been stuck in his head had been the key to the code for the fourth victim.))

Janus’s brand of kindness always came with strings attached, or a manipulative ulterior motive. Roman had learned a healthy dose of skepticism of early morning coffees and a casual offer of finishing a report for him; the result was not worth having to sit through another workplace conduct seminar for Janus.

But for all of the conflicts with them, Roman wants to be part of this team, wants to be part of this mission, wants to know them and be known by them. It’s just… hard. Roman’s used to the feeling of distance between him and other people, compared it idly to a glass wall that he couldn’t figure out how to break, but something about how Janus and Virgil toast shots at the bar after a case, or how Patton always knows what to say to someone, or how Logan always predicts accurately what route an escaping suspect will take—something about how Roman got shot on his last case with them and woke up to find that the rest of his team had been taking turns watching over him so he wouldn’t wake up alone and it made Roman burn with the desire to be better for them.

And well…since Roman hasn’t been any good at the talkingpart of it, he figured that being a stellar coworker might be a better angle to go for.

((Remus laughed so hard at the idea on a call last month while Roman was working through his physical therapy exercises that Roman had hung up on him.))

It’s been….an attempt. Roman hasn’t exactly had the time to focus on it with the current case going on.

The police had called for help after the very first body, which was rare. Logan had explained on the way to the crime scene that there had been a letter sent to the local police that contained a grid of numbers and a warning that someone would get hurt if the police didn’t solve it in twenty-four hours. An identical copy had appeared at the crime scene, which had linked the two events together in a way that local police didn’t get paid enough for.

Logan had told Roman to focus on photographing details of the scene, but Roman had frozen the moment that his viewfinder had focused on the note, his mind recognizing the pattern from the billions he’d created in middle school.

Roman and Virgil had both spoken the same address at the same time: Roman because he had solved the cipher in the letter after reading it the first time, and Virgil because he’d pulled a long piece of paper with the address written on it out of the victims strangled throat with a pair of tweezers.

The address had ended up being an empty building with a “For Lease” sign in the window a few blocks away, and their arrival had revealed nothing except for another puzzle with a pinned note asking if they were going to actually try this time.

Roman had solved the next one, before Janus had even finished reading it and they had arrived at the next location before the next kidnapped victim had even been aware she’d been kidnapped, dazed and drugged and barely able to tell them her name. The murderer hadn’t been there, and Logan had ordered an evacuation with a posted discrete perimeter, with the hope that they could catch the murderer when they returned to kill their victim, but all ten officers hadn’t reported seeing anyone.

Instead, three days after that, the next letter had been delivered to the precinct via mailman who had no clue where the envelope had come from and hadn’t thought too much of it before making his next delivery. The killer seemed to have taken Roman’s quick solving as an offense or a challenge considering each of the puzzles had gotten harder and harder with the deadlines steady as ever. Roman had run up the clock trying to solve them fast enough to get his team to the scene before the victims were too injured to be saved, forget getting them in time to catch the perpetrator. The last woman had coded in the ambulance on the way to the hospital from her sustained injuries and still they hadn’t gotten any more of an idea who this killer was.

Brown hair, blond hair, long and groomed, a buzz cut, bearded, scarred, mole, green eyes, brown eyes, black eyes—every person that Roman managed to save had a different, conflicting description to offer. Every abduction had happened conveniently on corners were there weren’t cameras and none of the victims seemed to have anything in common: they were mostly young women with two cases of being young men, of various ethnicities and social classes, from all seven nearby counties. Had a gun, had a bat, didn’t see anything before the attack, was drugged, was knocked unconscious—even the corpses that they had recovered didn’t have any more information: there was no sign of fighting back, and every method of death was arbitrarily chosen as if the killer was spinning a wheel to decide how the next victim was going to go out.

Virgil, Patton, and Janus’s working profile was: “knows the area well”, “knows the police and FBI really well”, “easily overlooked”, and “desperate to prove they’re smarter than everyone else”.

Any event hosting riddles, puzzles, or trivia had received a visit from the FBI, but most had never seen anyone sweep the games as outrageously as the profile suggested nor had they had any unhappy customers that had caused a scene as much as a disgruntled, embarrassed genius like this would have. The narrow list of names all had accountable alibis and the team had been shoved back to square one until the next puzzle had appeared.

((They shared a music type, and a fondness for certain poets. Roman wouldn’t have solved half of the puzzles as fast if he hadn’t dabbled into the same extracurriculars of photography and art appreciation. He’d babbled to Virgil about the history of jigsaw puzzles when he put together a fifty-piece puzzle with nineteen pieces missing just so he could use the picture to identify the wharf area where they would find the next victim.))

It had felt like, at first, Roman had been assigned a task that would help, something that he excelled at that would do something to alleviate the stress of the situation and help people. While he’d gone through the programs and passed his tests with flying colors, Roman is still the youngest on the FBI team and his experience with catching serial killers is a laughable compared to the others—but after the third puzzle where Roman’s bizarre wealth of knowledge and prompt, problem-solving processes came in clutch, Logan had assigned the puzzles as Roman’s main task and refocused Janus, Patton, and Virgil on profiling the killer and victims and the area.

Roman thinks there’s a bit more to it as well, but Logan hadn’t deigned to share it with him and Roman just can’t afford to devote any of his brain to things other than finding codes at this point.

He hadn’t actually been back to his apartment in a week. He’d slept in this very room with blankets Virgil had dragged from his car, eaten take-out food grabbed by Patton, forced to shower by Janus with his bag of emergency toiletries until Logan had made the trip to Roman’s to pick up new clothes for his extended stay.

Roman was certain there were rules against all of this, policies and whatnot for the amount of overtime he was pulling and the clearly unhealthy sleep schedule and eating regime, but every time he closed his eyes, he remembered that first crime scene and the bulge of paper being delicately pulled from the strangled throat of a dead woman who deserved better and—

Even if it means his bed is gathering dust, even if he can’t remember what he last watched on TV, even if it means that he’ll been able to charge rent to the new life forms growing out of his fridge when this is over. He’d give up everything just to make sure that no other victims died without hope of being saved. All nine of the people he hadn’t gotten to save in time deserved at least to have their killer stopped.

That being said, the only member of his team keeping pace with his puzzle solving work still is Logan: Patton had run to the lab to check on the results of fingerprints (there hadn’t been any on the letters before, but Patton is an optimist at heart); Janus went to talk to one of the victims family after a call stating they thought they remembered something from the night before the victim went missing, and Virgil had tried his hardest for the first three hours before Roman had to break it to him for the nth time that Roman had already tried the codebreaking technique he was suggesting. He’s nearly jittery with the eager to have something to punch by now.

Logan is sitting primly in the seat across from Roman, his dark eyes tracing the calligraphy of the words looking for patterns that Roman hasn’t already tracked down and tried.

The digital clock at the head of the table is steadily counting down, and every time Roman blinks he sees the bloodied crime scene again: the lifeless eyes, the clinically broken bones, the bruises and the gashes and he thinks of the new missing girl who might be suffering the same fate if Roman doesn’t figure this out.

"There's thicker ink on the word Capital," Logan says, drawing Roman’s attention back to the first page of the letter. Roman had noted it briefly on his fourth review, even written down a list of capitals in the states and used the date of their establishments, their "year of creation" to identify words in the letter but nothing had come of it. Roman had moved off from it hours ago hoping that something else in the letter would circle back to it with more directions on what it meant.

"Let’s return to the concept that it refers to the capital letters," Logan says.

"Which spell out nothing, forward or backward or anagrammed," Virgil says from his chair in the corner towards the back of the room where he’d insisted he was sitting to get a better look at the “whole picture.”

"And we tried all possible Caesar shifts?” Logan says.

"I’ve run them through every Caesar shift 1 through 26. Then I tried the established years of all capitals in the States." Roman says combing through his papers to find his work. "It came up with nothing. So, I tossed them through a Trimethius Tableau, which also got me nothing, so then I tried the Trimethius Tableau with a key word, and uhm…”

Roman trails off as he scrambles through the stack of papers next to him and then gives up and offers the entire stack to Logan.

“You tried it with the word Capital?” Logan says.

“I tried it with every word that appears in the letter,” Roman says. “I didn’t bother writing down half of them so please don’t ask for proof. When that didn’t work, I tried all the Capitals from the entire world and then I tried the missing woman’s name first and last, the killers self-proclaimed name, and the spelled-out number of all our individual ages including the victim’s and the age range that the profile suggests for the killer and Sherlock Holmes. Nothing.”

Logan accepts the papers to analyze it himself or double check the numbers and letters, which Roman would find offensive if he had the energy to feel anything other than dread and defeat. Theres a girl’s life on the line and Roman’s matched wits with a piece of paper and failed at the only thing he’s been good at recently. The clock hits hour twenty-two on the killer’s timetable and Roman feels a burn in his eyes as he rubs them so hard he witnesses undiscovered colors on the back of his eyelids.

“Patton just texted,” Virgil said, waving his phone. “The ink is Speedball India Ink which you can get at any art supply but it’s for those fancy calligraphy pens. The techs think the nib was a… Bruase Steno, whatever the fuck that means.”

“Beginner’s nib,” Roman says, tiredly. “It holds a lot of ink in it, pretty sturdy, and good for downstrokes. Allows for a bigger font size than some others.”

“Is there anything you don’t know about?” Virgil says blandly. “He also says the paper from one of those Canson Mix Media sketchbooks you can buy at basically any retail store. I doubt by now that has any bearing on anything, but I figured I pass it along.”

Logan and Roman both nod to show they heard it. Roman predicted as much in his notes, although he’d been more of the idea the nib was a Nikko G based on the size of the font. It’s been a while since he had the time to work on his calligraphy, since Remus “borrowed” his pen set last year.

“I checked for a Rail Fence and a Playfair," Roman says. “Tried both Horizontal and Vertical Two-Squares.”

“I mapped out all of the ‘I’s in the letter to see if they spelled out something in dot-only morse code,” Virgil says.

“Did they?” Logan asks with the tone of a very tired parent.

“No, but you’re welcome that I at least tried it.”

Roman tunes out Logan’s responding sigh-and-lecture bit. There’s a girl missing probably already fighting for her life against injuries that had killed ten others before. Roman could be the only spot of hope for her, and he’s staring at the word ‘Mélange’, wondering if “year of creation” refers to the year that the word first came to use.

Janus had sniffed distastefully at the letter when he’d first read it, claiming that the murderer’s vocabulary was just another attempt to show them that he was smarter than all of them. Janus, who’d studied language profiling and had two papers published on the topic, had begrudgingly affirmed that all the words were being used in a sensible way.

Roman twirls his pen between his fingers reading over his notes again.

He’d been so sure on his second read of the letter that Sherlock Holmes was going to be part of the answer. “Your year of creation” had sounded so much like a bid for the year of publication, which had meant he only needed to figure out what media form it was based on. “From Capitals to Rome” hadn’t spurred anything exciting in his memory: he didn’t recall any of Author Canon Doyle’s original writings putting Holmes in Rome, although he’d jolted down a few books he knew of by other authors, and none of the TV show or movies had been filmed in the iconic city.

If it meant the distance between a capital and Rome, well, London was the only place that Roman was confident in writing down, but 1873km didn’t even match up with any other years and certainly nothing further in the letter that would give an address.

But then Rome could refer to a Caesar Cipher, like Logan had said. Which had inspired a whole other rabbit hole of possibilities and Roman had fallen down it with much less fun than Alice.

Why use words that no one else does conversationally? Roman, as a certified genius, already struggles with having those around him keep up with a conversation so throwing in uncommon words was a waste of breath or, in this case, paper. So why is their killer risking the message of the letter not being understood? Is it really just to prove that this mystery killer was smarter than them? Or is the meaning of the letter as of little value to the killer as the lives of the victims they were snuffing out?

Roman had studied killers with a superiority complex. Most of them could have continued killing for decades and never been caught if they hadn’t felt compelled to have others be aware of how much smarter they were.

But then Roman stares at this letter talking about Sherlock Holmes and he doesn’t see someone who was overconfident and riding the high of the chase. They’re creative and clever enough that each of his letters are multitasking: sharing (supposedly inconsequential) knowledge about himself as well as acting as a code to lead them to where the missing girl is. But Roman’s decently sure that Logan’s already figured that one out. After all, how much help is the fact that the killer likes Sherlock Holmes going to be in finding out their real identity?

It isn’t Roman’s task to profile the serial killer. It’s not his problem and it shouldn’t be his worry and Roman doesn’t have the time to focus on the undertone of loneliness and isolation when there’s a girl’s life on the line.

“I see things here are going admirably,” Janus says as he flounces into the room. He’s dressed in black dress pants and a pale-yellow button down that looks tasteful and elegant. His usual grace accompanies his movements as he drops into a vacant chair and helps himself to a coffee cup that someone left on the table hours ago. He has a ring on his fourth finger, although he’d confessed in a drunken stupor after their first case that he’d never even kissed a prospective partner. ((And then the following day Janus had cornered Roman in the station bathroom and told him that if he told anyone about that Roman’s body would never be recovered, but whatever. Drama Queen.))

“Have you cracked the code yet? Solved all our problems?” Janus asks.

“Oh, yes,” Virgil answers him. “We were waiting for you to get back in order to figure out world hunger, though.”

“Eat the Rich,” the man wearing a $900 suit says without a trace of hesitation.

“Did the victim’s sister give you anything?” Logan asks, pushing away Roman’s stack of failed attempts.

Janus clicks his tongue. “I’m going to assume you remember that the sister told us previously that she’d been communicating to her sister via SnapChat the night she disappeared. She said that she saw someone in the background of the pictures that she didn’t think too much of it at the time, but now she’s wondering if it was our killer stalking his victim through the store. I made a pit stop to the grocery store and took another look through their footage, and found the person in question—black hoodie, black face mask—but it was just another shopper. According to timestamps, he checked out before our victim and went straight to his car and left.”

“Presumably to go home,” Virgil extrapolates, extremely helpfully.

“And we suspect that the killer grabbed her before she got to her car,” Logan hums affirmatively. Which Roman guessed was about as close as he got to announcing his approval.

Janus picks up one of Roman’s papers and scans it with faked interest. “So? How is Encyclopedia Brown doing? Has he come up for air in the past hour?”

“Do you even know what an encyclopedia is?” Roman asks, distractedly.

“Of course,” Janus says. “I found reading them to be quite riveting in my childhood. Didn’t you?”

“I was more of a phonebook, yellow pages type of kid,” Roman says.

“What’s a phone book?” Virgil cuts in.

“It’s a phone directory with the phone numbers of everyone in a certain area. The yellow pages were reserved for businesses, listed by category rather than alphabetical. Why don’t you know that?” Logan says. Then he frowned and turned back to Roman. “Why were you reading those as a child?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, old man.”

"I turned 49 this year, Roman," Logan says blandly.

Roman had a really good response to that, he did. Something snippety about how Logan acted like a professor double his age, or asking how his birthday party of birdwatchers went, or if he's picked out an adult day care he wants to be sent to once he reaches the big five-oh. Just for the sick pleasure of seeing Logan physically leave the room to go print out the official papers to fire Roman on the spot.

"What’s going on at 15 Maple Street?"

Virgil startles like a cat, nearly flipping out of his chair at the voice right behind him.

Remus—dressed in a biker jacket, spiked boots, and gunmetal piercings—grins with all his teeth unflinching even when Virgil’s fist brushes by his cheek in an aborted attempt at throat-punching Roman's twin brother.

“Is it some kind of orgy? Y’all gonna invite me?” he asks, raising a Slurpee cup to his mouth and taking a sip.

“Who the fuck?!” Virgil says, snapping his neck to look at Roman as if he thought Roman had gotten up put on a fake mustache and then tried to jump scare him. “Wh-wha…?”

When they were younger, Roman had described Remus as his funhouse mirror reflection: they shared the same nose, the same face structure, the same dark brown eyes and the same untamable brown hair; but where their appearances had been identical inverses of each other—Remus’s cowlick rolled to the left and Roman’s went to the right—their personalities had a drastic split. Remus is also a certified genius, same as Roman, but where Roman had gotten banned from the local escape rooms for solving them in under five minutes, Remus had gotten banned from them for brute forcing answers until something clicked.

If Remus had to break something to get the answer, he was having fun. Replay-ability was never a thought in his mind growing up and turned their childhood home’s game closet into a graveyard. He talked faster than he thought, often blurting out answers or questions or impulsive thoughts before someone else had finished talking.

Nine-year-old Roman had loathed most of these things about Remus, but it had only taken a year for Roman to realize that in their small town, Remus was the only one who could possibly keep up with his wits. Remus had been the one to tell him to take up the codebreaking classes hosted by an ex-FBI agent who had ended up being so impressed with Roman that the man had sponsored him through all his subsequent courses and written him three recommendation letters personally to Logan to get him his current job.

The job had taken Roman nine states away, but Remus and him had kept near weekly calls where Remus offered him feedback on Roman’s newest attempt at writing a novel, and Roman play tested the clues for puzzles in Remus’s escape room games.

Near weekly had turned into a stretch of silence though, when cases came up. Remus had just told him to call him whenever the cases were over instead of stressing over finding time to talk. His schedule was always more flexible.

But it shouldn’t have been flexible enough for Remus to be standing in the FBI headquarters.

“Remus,” Roman says, standing before Virgil decides to enact his shapeshifting alien emergency plan. “What are you doing here?”

“Learn to pick up your phone sometime, asshole,” Remus says, flicking his neon yellow visitor badge to the left of Virgil’s body for everyone to see. “If I had known that you were going to leave me at an airport for three fucking hours, I would have just canceled my flight and spent my vacation mapping out the sewers back home.”

“Vacation?” Roman repeats. “OH FUCK! What day is it?!”

Roman dives for his phone, only realizing when he frantically taps the screen that it’s dead and probably has been dead for a while. Remus rolls his eyes flicking a lazy salute at Logan and Janus and welcoming himself into the room.

“Name’s Remus,” Remus says, “I’m this dipshit’s twin brother. Currently single, but I charge five for a hand job if you want one.”

“Charming,” Janus says, running a finger around the rim off his coffee cup.

“You mentioned Maple Street.” Logan says. “Ignoring that you are not supposed to be in here and this is confidential work, where did you come up with that?”

"I mean, I assumed it’s a Maple Street," Remus says. "Every state has a Maple Street, right? I stopped doing the conversion at the P."

“Elaborate.”

“Buy me dinner first, Daddy,” Remus says and Janus chokes on his coffee so hard it almost comes out of his nose and Roman can feel his employee termination paperwork being drafted up mentally in Logan’s mind.

Still Remus shrugs, waves a hand towards the projector, and obliges. “The letter is about Sherlock Holmes, right? Its pretentious as all shit so the writer is only going to care about the original Arthor Canon Doyle characterizations. “The year of your creation” is a snob’s way of saying publishing date. So, you’re looking for a Sherlock Holmes book and you’re going to care about the year it originally came out. Still with me? I can walk you back if you got lost, old timer.”

“Remus,” Roman says, which sounds remarkably like please shut up before you get me fired.

“Damn, you got boring in FBI school. Fine. You care about ciphers, right? There’s only four from the original books that actually appear, even though Holmes is said to be a gifted codebreaker. This ain’t the Dancing Man code, and it’s not the flashing lights from Red Circle. Your other two options are The Book Code from Valley of Fear in which you’d be fucked six ways to Saturday with an unlubed corkscrew and not in a way that you’d enjoy or—”

Virgil makes a sharp disgusted noise form the back of the room, and Remus grins with satisfaction at getting a reaction out of him. He tilts his head back to look the agents, mouth open to make things as bad as he can.

“Wait! Gloria Scott,” Roman says catching on to what he did. “Fuck! You’re right! It’s Gloria Scott. But not whole words. Did you go by letters?”

Remus tsks and swirls his drink. “You’re a genius, Ro. You tell me.”

“That’s why it says to go ‘From the Capitals!’”

“Tell me you didn’t think it meant actual capitals. Did you list them all out? I’m disowning you.”

“Get bent,” Roman says on instinct as he scribbles out the letters of importance.

“Get laid.”

“I have. Jealous? And then a Caesar with 1-8-9-3?”

“Did you know that off the top of your head? Fucking nerd.”

“That’s an E, V, I—”

“It’s faster to start it from the end,” Remus sings.

“Did they screw up on the eighth sentence or am I doing math wrong?”

“I told you go from the end.”

“I don’t like going backwards!”

“It’s already backwards, bitch.”

“Dick.”

“Geek. You used to be good at this. Why is it taking you so long?”

“Shut up. Did you get Mom gaudy heels she wanted for her birthday?”

“The ones with the cat faces on them? Fuck no! I got her a candle like I do every year.”

“Son of the year award.”

“They were over a hundred fucking dollars! —That’s an F, dumbass, not a G.— And I can gift her a whole litter of cats for that amount!”

“Agreed. I’ll get the accessories; you get the cats?”

“Deal. I want naming rights.”

“PG-13 rated at the max. Mom will kill us otherwise. So, it was a mistake on the eighth sentence.”

“Yeah! A goddamn embarrassment. This is already a cringe ass attempt to seem good at encoding—”

A humming uhhhh? cuts through the rest of Remus’s statement and Roman is relieved to see Remus also does a mental reset as he remembers where they are. Namely, standing in the conference room in the FBI headquarters shooting comments back and forth at each other in front of Roman’s team.

Virgil is staring at both of them, head on a swivel that leaves him looking hopelessly horrified, as if he just watched them give birth. The last time Roman saw Virgil look so nauseated, he’d gotten a major concussion after being jumped by three gang members in the back of warehouse they had thought a bioterrorist was renting.

There had been a bubbling excitement in Roman’s chest that felt right in the way that all his conversations with Remus always feel so right. He didn’t have to slow down or reword or even watch his wording because it was Remus and Remus always knew exactly how to take anything Roman said. Twin Telepathy and all that.

But the moment he sees the utter bafflement on Logan and Janus’s faces that part of him shrivels up and dies, an embarrassed, awful death.

Virgil, however, finds his voice before Roman can apologize. “Hardy Boys! Wanna explain that in English? Where are you getting Maple Street from?”

“Fifteen Maple Street,” Roman corrects. “Come to Fifteen Maple Street, Detective.”

“Do-tective,” Remus says. “I’ve met kids with better spelling!”

Roman doesn’t outright elbow him in the side but it’s a close thing. “Doesn’t matter. The point is, I know where that is. Its two blocks from my—”

“Is the Gloria Scott referring to The Adventures of the Gloria Scott?” Janus cuts him off sharply and Roman blinks. Remus frowns and takes another sip of his Slurpee, until the resulting slorpppp nearly drowns out Roman’s response if Roman hadn’t reached out and snapped it out of his hand.

“Yeah,” Roman says. “Published in 1893. It’s the short story where Holmes claims to have first realized that his deduction hobby could be used professionally. The code in it—spoilers—is that every third word is taken and spells out its own sentence. But in this case ‘From Capitals’ is referring to the third word of the sentence instead of every third word. Then if you take the first letter of each of the word and put it in a Caesar shift, with the first one being a one-shift, the second letter being an eight-shift, then nine-shift, then three, then back to one….”

Roman holds up the paper where he wrote down the final product. “And then you read it backwards.”

The Conference room is slightly too quiet for Roman’s taste, but his hands are shaking with nerves he didn’t know he had. The clock in the corner still reads an hour and thirty minutes and Roman feels like he’s taken his first actual breath for the first time in years.

"Did you do that in your head?" Logan says, looking at Remus. "As you walked in here?"

“Well, not really,” Remus says, casually swinging his badge around one of his fingers. “I’m not wearing my glasses, so I didn’t see it until I got halfway across the floor. And I had to look up the year of publish for it because I’m not the type of freak who knows years like that.”

Roman flips him the bird under the table where Logan won’t see it.

"Holy shit,” Virgil says. “You both are fucking insane. Actually, fucking insane. How did you even think to do that?”

Remus laughs. "That’s just a party trick. We used more advanced ciphers when selling test answers in seventh grade."

"There was no "we" in that!" Roman says quickly. "I was not involved in that!"

Remus glances at the papers next to Virgil raising an eyebrow at the penmanship. "Did you try to map out the dots over the I's like it’s a dot only morse code? That’s so cute!"

Virgil crumples his paper into a ball and throws it across the room. "Can I punch him for real this time? I’m going to punch him."

Roman doesn’t bother explain that comments like that just fuel Remus on. The bullies in their small town had learned to leave both of them alone, because Remus laughed when they broke his arm. Remus liked the sharp taste of pain and the metallic smell of blood and the way that his vision blurred and blacked out.

Instead, Roman reaches for his jacket. “Come on. There’s still two hours on the clock. We can beat rush out traffic and make it there in ten minutes!”

“No,” Logan says and Roman mentally stumbles over a chair and then down a flight of stairs. “I want you to stay here. If for some reason this location ends up being wrong, I want you and your brother both to be here already looking for another answer. Do not argue with me on this.”

Roman’s voice dies a little in his throat, shriveling up and itching like a cough that he doesn’t want to admit to having. Logan doesn’t even grace him with an actual full glance, as if Roman’s compliance is expected just as much as his acceptance. Janus and Virgil share a look that Roman can’t quite read, although from the pursing of Virgil’s lips something about Logan’s decision doesn’t sit right with him.

Janus, however, looks relieved before he can school his features into a neutral expression.

“I’m certain this is the location,” Roman says tentatively. “Sir.”

“I do not like placing all of my figurative eggs in one figurative basket,” Logan says, already halfway out the door. “Safety is my priority. Virgil, Janus: with me.”

Both of the other two agents scramble after Logan; Virgil not even bothering to put his jacket back on as he bolts out the door and Janus clicking his tongue in that way that speaks of his loathing for being told what to do.

Roman drops his coat back on the chair and flops back down. Remus frowns at the doors for a second longer, but Roman can’t imagine what he’s thinking—or if it’s anything different from what Roman himself has already thought about this FBI gig.

Roman can appreciate how Logan is looking at the bigger picture, covering all his bases, leaving little room for the killer to add to their kill count, but at the end of the day those words still sound a lot more like “You’re still not good enough, Roman, and I’m still considering if you deserve a place with this team.”

***

“You’re seriously still not going to tell him?” Virgil hisses as soon as the elevator doors close. “He deserves to know at this point! We’re seven incidents into this!”

“There’s actually only been six that can’t simple coincidence,” Janus corrects, even though that is not the fucking point that Virgil meant and he knows it. Six is still Six-Too-Fucking-Many and the fact that Janus is even making the argument has Virgil’s skin crawling. He meets Virgil’s eyes in the reflection of the stainless-steel elevator wall and Virgil sneers at him while Janus raises an elegant middle finger.

Logan, although he must have seen it, doesn’t bother to reprimand either of them. He stares at the ticking digital screen detailing the floors as they race towards the garage and keeps his face in a stern neutral expression. Virgil isn’t trained in micro expressions, so the fact that he notices the crease in the corner of Logan’s lip is probably very telling for how stressed he is about all of this.

“Call Patton. I want him to meet us at the location with whatever police he has contact with. No sirens. If this killer is there, I don’t want to alert him anymore than we already have.”

“You’re changing the topic,” Virgil says. “Sir.”

“Agent Storm. As of right now, his best use is solving the puzzles where we can keep an eye on him. He doesn’t need to know; it will only cause him to panic, and we cannot afford that at this stage. He’s too… instrumental.”

Instrumental. Virgil almost laughs at Logan’s fucking audacity. Instrumental.

“Are you going to tell his brother?” Janus says, boredly, scrolling through his phone for Patton’s number. “Twin brother. Did anyone know he was a twin? I didn’t and I believe I’m offended.”

Virgil did know. Although knowing is an entirely different beast from seeing Roman’s face with a mustache and his body with a grunge aesthetic and his voice with a proficiency for the absolute worse strings of words in the human language. He almost looked like Roman-in-a-Halloween-Costume, expect for the part where he opened his mouth. But the worst part of it was how when Remus and Roman had been standing next to each other shooting back and forth completely at ease, Virgil had felt as though he was seeing doubles and neither version of his friend was the right one.

Something about Roman so easily relaxed into the conversation, a lightness to his words, a brightness to his eyes—something about how Roman looked comfortable as if a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders when his twin had shown up….

It threw him off and Virgil doesn’t think he’s found his balance again yet. And the whole “Unspoken Agreement” was not helping matters at-fucking-all.

“I want a background check on him, emphasis on his whereabouts in the past three weeks. If he’s not involved, then I’ll consider reading him in. Although, there’s a high probability he already suspects it,” Logan says. “You were not subtle about cutting Roman off at all.”

Janus feigns an offended scoff, as he puts his phone to his ear and the line starts ringing. “I didn’t see you saying anything.”

Virgil digs his nails into the strap of his bag. “If Roman were a civilian, you wouldn’t be treating him like this. You know you wouldn’t. You would have read him in and—”

“Virgil,” Logan says sharply.

“How long are you going to keep punishing him for something that wasn’t his fault?!”

Logan’s hand snaps out and he knocks the safety switch into activation. The elevator jerks to a stop so suddenly that Janus fumbles his phone, and Virgil has to grab the railing to keep himself steady. When he looks up again Logan’s eyes are trained on him with a fury that Virgil’s never seen before.

Still, he forces himself to raise his chin in defiance, meeting that gaze head on even with his brain shrieking at him to backdown.

“Do not accuse me of confusing the safety of my agents for a petty grudge,” Logan says. “I will have your badge, Virgil. My reluctance to tell him comes from the need to have our smartest agent focused on these deranged puzzles instead of whether or not the rest of us are capable of doing out jobs, not from my irritation over being blackmailed into taking him onto my team. He will do his job, and you will do yours and when this is over, I will personally debrief him. Am I clear?”

Virgil’s jaw creaks from how tightly he’s clenching his jaw, but he nods.

For a second, barely a blink, Logan’s expression softens again. “Thank you, Virgil, for being concerned about him. I know you don’t appreciate withholding information from your teammates.”

It’s hard to feel like he’s doing anything good when they all saw how Roman’s face dropped earlier. Logan turns back to the doors and flips the safety switch again, allowing the elevator to continue its descent. Virgil lets out the quietest breath he can manage, but based on Janus’s uneasy glance back at him, it wasn’t quiet enough.

“Well! I guess that means that Roman solved the letter!” Patton’s voice chirps from the phone in Janus’s hand.

“Yes,” Logan says loud enough for Patton to hear him. “Janus will fill you in.”

“Aye-Aye Captain!”

The elevator dings and the mechanical voice reads out the basement floor, but Logan doesn’t wait for it to finish speaking. He’s already shoving his way out of the elevator to the BMW registered to their team, with all the confidence and authority of someone who would leave them both behind if Virgil and Janus didn’t rush after him.

Virgil turns to Janus, but Janus is greeting Patton with his particular brand of waspish backhanded compliments that Patton likes to laugh at. He pretends he doesn’t see Virgil’s look at all, stubbornly facing forward marching after Logan. His voice bounces off the underground parking lot concrete, updating their other senior agent on the details and plan and the request for a background check as if Virgil’s very real concerns about Roman was just another instance of him blowing the situation out of proportion. Virgil lets out a shaky breath as the elevator doors roll close behind him.

“He can handle it. He’s Roman. Of course, he can handle it,” he repeats as a mantra and hitches his bag over his shoulder.

Despite that, Virgil sends a soft, silent prayer to whatever might be out there watching, that they aren’t running into as much of a trap as it feels like they are.

***

When the call comes Roman nearly lunges across the table to accept it.

Remus is, per usual, a very interesting and ambitious conversation partner: he does not and has not ever required an actual person to respond to him. Roman tested it once when they were younger and he wanted to have a whole ten minutes of silence—put a hoodie over a pile of clothes while Remus is speed running a video game, gradually stop answering with more than a few hums, and then dip out. It had been hours later when Remus woke him by jumping on his bed in revenge.

That’s not to say that Roman isn’t thrilled to talk with him! But Roman is the type of person who would rather catch up with his brother’s endless thrilling tales of research and experimentation in the comfort of his own home, take out on the coffee table and a stream of true crime YouTube episodes on his TV in the background. Roman had been excited to ask him about where he’d gotten his inspirations for his 1920’s speakeasy parlor escape room because Remus had never really dipped into history themes when he could have haunted houses and murder movies instead.

The oppressive atmosphere in the FBI headquarters, with empty conference room chairs, stacks of papers to recycled, and a projector showing the ramblings of serial killer, paled in comparison to the thought of Roman’s crappy couch and greasy pizza from across town.

And now small part of Roman is worried that maybe they did miss something in the letter. As certain as he is about this, there is a part of him that keeps whispering Logan’s right to hold you back, you failed, you were helpless until Remus showed up—

So, when the call comes, Roman is nearly vaulting the table to answer it via the conference call.

“You would have told me just to shut up!” Remus says with no real heat.

Roman doesn’t bother responding to him. He’s sure that Remus already knows what Roman was thinking anyway; it wasn’t like Remus was a fan of a conference rooms after the amount of time he spent in them with Mom and Dad on either side of him as his teachers tried to explain that just because Remus was bored out of his mind in their classes, it didn’t mean he had the right to start dismantling desks or doodling on the walls with sharpies or designing paper airplanes with precision that most aviators couldn’t claim.

“Roman Sanders, speaking,” Roman says, as soon as he hits the answer button. “Remus is in the room.”

“Are you or your brother familiar with one Andy Clupeidae?” Logan’s voice says.

“Uh,” Roman glances towards Remus but he also just shrugs chewing on his straw. “Not that I’m aware of, sir. Would you like me to start a background search on them?”

“Not necessary, I already have Janus on it.”

“Weird ass fucking last name,” Remus comments. “I would have remembered it. What’s their deal? Or are you on Tinder? If he’s got a picture of him holding a fish up, you can guarantee that he’s been lying about length sizes for a whi—”

“It’s the name of a man that we just apprehended in the middle of strangling the victim,” Logan says, dry tone scathing even through the phone speaker. Remus has the rare decency to cringe slightly. “I trust that you can keep that information to yourself, Remus.”

“We got him?” Roman says, hope swelling in his chest like a balloon throttling his voice box. “Like—we actually caught him? Red handed and everything?!”

“We have a suspect in custody,” Logan says. “There are…a few things that don’t settle correctly into the profile. But when we arrived, he was already inside the building, hands on the throat of the victim, and he had in his possession a letter that contains what appears to be the next puzzle for you to solve. The victim is already on the way to the hospital with Janus on standby for when she regains lucidity. Patton will be taking the letter to the labs, and while Virgil and I get ready for the interrogation.”

Roman swears the air tastes ridiculously sweet, too sweet, in a way that’s making it hard to breathe. Remus is staring at him worriedly, but all Roman can think is we did it, we got him, we stopped him.

“There are still several things that need to happen before we can declare this case closed,” Logan warns. “I’ll see you both in half an hour.”

Roman nods although Logan definitely can’t see him. He’d probably be embarrassed if Logan could see him and his stupid dopey grin.

“And Roman? Remus? …you both did a good job.”

Roman doesn’t even hear the telltale click of the call ending. He’s too busy covering his mouth and trying not to scream at the top of his lung. Pure relief washes through him, rushing through his trembling fingers and weak knees until he’s nearly lightheaded with elation.

“Are you okay?” Remus asks steadying Roman with a hand on his arm. “Are you going to orgasm right now?”

“Shut up,” Roman says with half the amount of annoyance he means. He gets a grip of a nearby chair to ground himself and takes a deep breath to refocus. The hope in his chest tastes like a victory, like he’s done something great, even though all he’s done is his job.

Remus is still staring at him suspiciously and no amount of Roman’s smile is reassuring him apparently. His eyes are lined with that brand of eyeliner that he’s been using since they were tweens, making his hickory eyes even darker than usual, and more worried than he’s ever been. He makes one suspicious sweeping look around the room, as if checking for someone else despite the fact it’s been just the two of them for a while now, then he leans in to say something.

But before he can get it out, the conference phone rings again.

“Hardy Boys!” Virgil’s voice calls through the speaker, a little distorted. Roman grimaces at it, tapping his pen on the table a few times.

“Hey, Dark and Stormy,” Roman says, “Heard you caught the guy!”

“Is there anything you don’t know about?” Virgil says blandly.

“Well, I was going to congratulate you, and offer to buy drinks, but if you’re going to be an asshole about it….” Roman says.

Virgil might have responded but there’s a crackling on the line that cuts over whatever thing he’s going to say. Remus fake-gags out of the corner of Roman’s eye.

“Whatever,” Roman says. “Logan called just a minute ago and told me the news.”

“He also says—you’re welcome—to go home—”

“What the fuck type of phone service do you have?” Remus asks. “Dial up? How do you have any type of phone sex with this shit going on?”

“—I’m going to punch him."

Remus grins delightedly. “We’re gonna need to decide a safe word—”

Roman immediately bats the back of his head and Remus yelps, ducking away from the receiver and rubbing the spot that Roman hit with a pout. Roman sends him scowl, and Remus sticks his tongue out and mouths something that looks like its was a joke, dickwad! And Roman returns it with an appropriate middle finger.

“Hardy Boys!” Virgil’s voice says again, and Roman drums his pen on the table.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry about Remus. Please don’t complain to HR again. I don’t want to be written up for this one—”

Remus shoves Roman out of the way to get closer to the speaker again. “Who cares about that! Did Lead Agent DILF actually say it’s cool if Roman and I cut out of here? Cause if so, go ahead and tell him to approve Roman for a week vacation, too, because if you don’t, you’ll have to file for kidnapping. I have a list of places I’m going to make Roman take me to and it requires a minimum of three days off.”

“Remus!” Roman says. “You can’t just—"

“Someone needs to get this guy a fucking hobby— you’re welcome—to go home—”

“Alright, bye, Virgin!” Remus shouts and hits the end call button. He throws most of his weight back in the chair, stretching out his spine and arms in a wild chaotic movement that Roman couldn’t help but fondly roll his eyes at. He’s sure that the Virgin comment will come up again, likely in the form of a summons to the HR to talk about workplace harassment, regardless of the fact that it wasn’t Roman who said it, but all in all he can’t really be all that worried about it at the moment.

Roman sighs out, rubbing his aching neck.

“That was weird right?” Roman says. “You thought that was weird, too?”

Remus yawns so loud that his jaw cracks. “Who cares? I want pizza on your dime, and shitty ghost hunter videos on your TV. Your job is boring as fuck! Come on, I’ll drive! You can micronap in the passenger seat.”

“With you at the wheel? No chance,” Roman says, but he fishes his keys from his jacket and tosses them towards Remus anyway. Remus grins with all his teeth, the exact way that everyone would expect someone who frames all of their speeding tickets to smile. Roman yawns and waves for Remus to follow him towards the office desks where Roman’s stuff would be, pausing only long enough to switch off the projector and the clock and the lights.

Admittedly Roman doesn’t remember a lot of what happens after that. The adrenaline crash comes down pretty hard on him and the exhaustion swirls around him, the moment they get to the lobby and Remus chats up the receptionist and returns his visitor’s badge and compliments her hair. Roman focuses more on keeping his duffle over his shoulder and standing upright as this goes on.

He didn’t recall Logan bringing him all that much stuff from his apartment: he’d scribbled out a list of clothes that he liked and tried his best not to cringe too much at the idea of his superior officer seeing his uncleaned apartment.

Even when Remus was coming over, Roman made an effort to take out the trash and have the sheets in his guest room cleaned and fill the pantry with healthier snacks. Roman had put off doing the cleaning for a few days after he and Remus had confirmed the date, but then the case had come up and Roman had literally forgotten what month it was.

But he wasn’t too concerned with Remus making fun of him. The way that Remus was already side eyeing him and chatting away about the details of their hometown and his trip to visit Mom and Dad last weekend was telling Roman that Remus guessed just how tired Roman was at the moment.

The drive is a blur at best. As far as Roman remembers Remus obeyed the laws and parked legally. They argued over music for a few minutes, and then argued over if Remus could have made a light that he stopped for because Roman yelled at him. Then, on the way into Roman’s apartment building their argument turns into which YouTube ghost hunter series to watch while they ate dinner.

“Race ya!” Remus shouts, as he hits the platform for Roman’s level.

“Remus!” Roman hisses, “Wait, Remus!” He slings his bag over his shoulder and rushes the last few steps and catches the door before it closes but by then Remus is already charging down the hall.

“Remus people can hear into the hallway! Remus!”

“You’re just mad because you owe me ice cream now!” Remus calls and then proceeds to knock on Roman’s door several times over as if Roman is going to magically open it from the other side when he’s slowly trudging his way over.

“What was the point of running all the way down here just to have to wait for me to open the door?” Roman huffs. “You have a key anyway!”

“Had a key,” Remus shrugs, pressing as close as physically possible to Roman as he jiggles his key through the lock until it relents. “I don’t anymore!”

 Roman lets Remus push through the door the moment it’s open, rolling his eyes. “Down a sewer grate, off the metro platform, confiscated by the TSA, or forgot it in that dumpster fire you call an apartment?”

“Got knocked overboard on a ferry ride I took a couple months ago! Right along with my house key and my mailbox key. The process to get a new one of both of those was a bitch and a half, by the way. Would not recommend.”

"Wait," Roman says, flicking on the lights to his apartment. It feels a bit like defeat doing it after Remus has made himself at home on the couch with his disgusting shoes up on Roman’s upholstery. But Roman finds himself a bit too tired to care about all the cleaning he has to do. "If you lost the keys to my apartment, what did you do with your bag? I know you didn’t come here empty handed— Please tell me you didn’t pick the locks; I have to pay out of pocket for those repairs."

But even as he says it Roman frowns at the lock. There are signs of tampering: a few scratches on the outside cylinder casing of the deadbolt that are too thick to be from Roman’s own key and exhaustion. But Remus almost sounds surprised by the idea, as if this was the first time, he’d ever thought of breaking into a place he may or may not have half permission to be in and even if it weren’t, Roman’s only mostly whining about the repairs because Remus’s lockpicking skills have been at a master level since they were in middle school.

"I just stood outside your place and hit the buzzers until someone just opened the door,” Remus says stretching out on the couch and cracking his neck with a poppoppop. “And then when I got to your apartment, I just knocked, and your wacko roommate let me in."

Roman laughs sardonically as he closes the door behind himself and tosses his bag at the shoe rack he needs to reorganize later. He’s untying his laces when he realizes that Remus hasn’t congratulated himself on his witty joke and told him the actual truth about how he got in. He glances up at his twin and catches the minimal silhouette of Remus plucking at something from Roman’s mess of a coffee table.

"Remus….I don’t have a roommate."

"Well, she wasn’t your fucking girlfriend, you gay fuck," Remus says. “Hey, what are you doing with one of these? You always said that you hated the way your recorded voice sounds.”

“Huh?”

In response Remus waves whatever it was that he picked up and experimentally clicks a button on the side of it.

“—I’m going to punch him,” Virgil’s unmistakable voice crackles out into the otherwise silent apartment.

Remus’s head snaps to the side looking at the recording in his hand with wild eyes and he scrambles back to his feet. Roman’s heart is pounding in his throat, his blood is rushing in his ears, and a whole lot of things are making sense in a way that Roman really, really did not like them making sense.

“Wha….What did you say that my roommate looked like?” Roman says. “Remus, what did she look like?”

"I don’t know! I wasn’t paying attention! I was pissed off that I had to pay for an uber and demanded to know where you were! She said you were at work and that you would be back soon. I tossed my bag in here and nearly knocked over the laundry she was folding…. My bag’s gone. Fuck, that had my favorite jeans in there. And my Switch!”

“Remus,” Roman says, trying to swallow back the panic in his throat.

“She was wearing your sweatpants,” he says. “Motherfucker, she was wearing your sweatpants and eating one of those personal tubs of Cherry Garcia ice cream that only you like while folding laundry... and she smelled like bleach. A lot of bleach.”

The walls of Roman’s apartment suddenly seem to be closing in on them both.

"Out," Roman says, strangled and pleading and reaching for his sidearm. "Out of my apartment! Wait outside and use my phone to call Logan and tell him everything. I’m going to see what else she touched—"

“Your phone’s dead dumbass andI am not going to leave you alone in this apartment where a serial killer might have been hiding out!” Remus says and it sounds remarkably like he’s also panicking. Roman doesn’t think he’s ever actually seen Remus panic; Remus had always been a little too excited about his own lack of self-preservation, and there hadn’t ever been a situation that Remus hadn’t been able to handle and Roman decides that right here, right now, is a horrible time for him to learn to be scared.

Roman’s mouth opens to say something brilliant and focused, something that would make the dozens of FBI instructors he had proud of how calm he could be and how rational he could think, something that would convince Remus to listen to him and go outside away from possible dangers, something that would slow the rapidly building tidal wave of fear in his chest.

What comes out is a partial scream as one of the shadows in his apartment lunges at Remus from behind and slams solidly against his skull. Remus’s eyes go wide, then unfocused, and then his entire body drops like a concrete block in a pool.

Roman jolts towards him, but the sight of the person standing there stops him short: a young woman in black leggings and a pink Princess Peach T-shirt that Roman recognizes from his own closet, and Roman’s high school letterman over her shoulders. There’s Ruger LCP in her manicured hand, barrel pointed right down at Remus’s unmoving head, and she wedges her boot heel directly on his back, like a cat showing off the baby bird it’s killed.

Except the baby bird is Remus’s twin brother and Roman might be next.

He can’t think straight, can’t think at all; every time he tries to remember what protocol is for this, his brain takes a detour to how Remus crumpled like a soda can. Roman can’t tear his eyes from the gun at his twin’s head, not even to look at the intruder enough to memorize her features to tell someone if he makes it out of this. Remus is still as stone, as concrete, as a corpse and Roman can’t even tell if he’s still breathing, or if Roman’s already lost the person who’d always had his back in everything.

“I didn’t think you would be so quiet,” the killer says. Her tone is soft and warm and all the things that serial killers shouldn’t be. Oh, is that why all the victims had been younger and smaller? So that she could get control of them easily if they fought back? “Are you just so happy to see me? Surprised?”

"But….Andy Clupeidae," Roman says, voice trembling, his hand hovering over his gun holster, still not close enough to draw before she would get a chance to fire. "Clupeidae…. Fuck, that’s—That’s a family of fish, right? That’s why it sounded familiar.”

“Sardines, shads, and…herrings," the murderer says, wistfully proud of Roman. "The fact that he was wearing red today was just luck. Isn’t that funny?"

Roman chokes on his urge to laugh because it’s not and his wheezing, twisted, cramped lungs are fighting off hysteria. For someone who was a genius, who thought faster than most people could imagine, who passed every test the FBI threw at him with perfection, Roman can’t remember what he’s supposed to do.

He’s not even sure of what he can do.

His phone hesitates in back pocket, long dead, and as far as he knows no one would even think to check on them tonight. Even if he yelled for help, what would his neighbors do? Call the police? Come running to save him? Get murdered by the person in front of him who’s taken ten other lives like it was a game? Even if Roman ran, what would she do? Chase him? Or just kill Remus and make Roman live out the worst version of his life that he can imagine?

“I’ve been waiting for a long time to meet you, Roman,” the killer says, before he can get a handle of any of his thoughts. “Your team is so annoying, don’t you think? Every time I thought I would have gotten to talk to you alone, one of them always appeared….and then that awful man Logan Ackroyd made you stay at your office! I knew if I tried to visit you there, they wouldn’t understand! They would convince you I was wrong just like how everyone has always said I was wrong and bad!

“So, I stayed here, waiting for you the whole time…thinking you would be able to sneak back here and meet me like you’re supposed to! But your terrible team couldn’t even let you do that!”

((“Is the Gloria Scott referring to The Adventures of the Gloria Scott?” Janus cuts him off right before he says where he lives.))

((“No,” Logan said, “I want you to stay here.”))

((The look that Virgil and Janus shared before they left.))

“They knew.” Roman swallows hard. “They fucking knew and didn’t tell me—”

“It’s okay! I know it wasn’t your fault….” She says mistaking his horror for some other emotion Roman doesn’t even think he can fake. “I realized they just needed a reason to let you come home to me! You did so good solving my code! Even after this bitch showed up and started making fun of you and it!” She presses her boot down on Remus’s spine and Roman jerks reflectively forward before he can stop himself.

“Remus wasn’t—he didn’t—!” Roman stutters. “He wasn’t doing it maliciously! He’s just like that! Okay? You don’t have to hurt him!”

His eyes flick up to her face, hoping that maybe if Roman stops looking at him, Remus will shake off the hit to the head the same way he shook off water after Roman shoved him into the pool when they were kids: miraculously unhurt and smug in his movements, you really thought that could get me to shut up? HA!

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to defend him anymore. You’re never going to have to worry about anyone not taking you seriously ever again. I won’t let them, my detective.” She smiles at him, softly, so softly, as if she really believes she’s doing him a kindness.

Roman takes a step backwards, his back bumping against the closed door. The killer crowds forward, humming happily. “I’m so, so happy to finally meet someone just like me, Detective,” she says. “We’re going to be so happy together. Just you wait.”

[Chapter 2]

[lyranova]

Children of the Future: Shadows of the Past

Chapter 4: Get Along, or Else!

Hiya guys! Chapter 4’s already here hehe, I’m thinking (for now) that I’ll try and update this series once a week since the muses, and you guys, are really enjoying it! This chapter is very OC centric with the canon characters showing up at the end so I hope that’s alright. But there is a…hint at something to come in this series at the end hehe! And it’s something totally new 👀. I hope you all enjoy~!

Word Count: 4,406

Warnings: Mild Flirting, Name Calling, OC Centric

———

Alistar’s mind raced as he and his squad members flew towards the village of Aramore. It was a small village surrounded by woods that sat between the Common and Forsaken realms. Usually a small bandit case like this would be given to the closest squad, but since the bandits were former Magic Knights the Wizard King decided to send in his best squads; The Golden Dawn and The Black Bulls.

But the young man's mind was elsewhere. His mind was still back in the Golden Dawn base, more specifically in the Golden Dawn’s graveyard, where his father had just dropped a bombshell:

“ Consider this your first real mission as the newly appointed Captain of the Golden Dawn.”

His first mission…as the newly appointed Captain of the Golden Dawn? Did, that mean his father was retiring? But why? His father was completely fine and was still one of the strongest mages in the Kingdom! So…why?

“ V-Vice-Captain! W-We’re here!” Ulla Lunettes, eldest daughter of Klaus Lunettes, shouted at him so she could be heard over the wind that whistled past their ears.

Alistar quickly snapped out of his thoughts. He nodded as the group landed just outside the village, the didn’t want to accidentally surprise the villagers or be mistaken as the bandits. Alistar placed his broom against the tree before turning around to look at the Golden Dawn members that he decided to bring with him.

Firstly there was Ulla Lunettes. She was very similar to her mother in personality and had even inherited her mothers Letter Magic, she was very shy and had very little self-confidence, but she was a hard worker and very powerful despite what she tried to tell others.

Beside her was her younger sister Celeste. Celeste and her other siblings had just recently joined the Golden Dawn a few months ago so this was her first ‘serious’ mission. She had Paint magic but her personality was very similar to her father Klaus’s. She was serious and could be stern, but she was truly soft hearted and kind. She was a hard worker and powerful like her family, which was why Alistar had decided to bring her along.

The next person to land was Virgil Sandler, Alecdora’s eldest child and only son. He was also a rookie and had just joined the Golden Dawn as well. He had Mud Magic and his personality was…very similar to his father, he could be very judgemental and prideful, but he was also very loyal to Alistar and his father William. He was a capable warrior and Alistar felt that he would be very stupid to not include him on this mission.

Finally the last one to land was Lunaria Vermillion, the eldest daughter of Mimosa Vermillion’s twin girls. She was also a rookie who had just joined the squad this year. Lunaria was a very sweet and kind person who never had a bad thing to say about anyone, unless she was talking about her twin, then you would hear her sass and say something under her breath. But her twin could throw it right back, it was their love language. She inherited her mother’s Flora magic and was mainly a healer and support mage but did have a few attack spells as well.

Alistar nearly laughed as he looked at his small group, everyone was rookies except for him and Ulla.

“ Lord Vangeance,” Virgil said loudly as he saluted. Alistar nearly sighed, no matter how many times he had instructed Virgil to just call him by his name instead of his title Virgil just didn’t seem to listen “ Should we go inside the village now and begin questioning witnesses?” Alistar shook his head.

“ Not yet. We need to wait for the Black Bulls to arrive.” He told the young man who wore an annoyed expression when Celeste suddenly stepped forward.

“ But sir, the Black Bulls tend to…hinder missions and investigations more then help them. So I think it would be better if we went ahead and began the investigation before they arrive.” Celsete suggested seriously as Virgil nodded in agreement.

“ Celsete, Virgil, while I appreciate your thoughts and opinions I’ve already decided we’re waiting. And despite the rumors that the Black Bulls are the ‘worst’ squad who causes only chaos and destruction, that’s far from being accurate.” Alistar said seriously as he looked at the two. He watched the two’s faces grow red and they bowed their heads in embarrassment. Alistar smiled gently at them, they were young and still learning.

They only had to wait a few minutes before they heard a whirring noise come from above. The group of five looked up and saw what appeared to be a ship in the shape of a young Bull head, and Alistar instantly knew it was the younger members of the Black Bulls.

The ship landed a few feet away and after a few minutes a small group of people walked out and came towards them. He instantly recognized Hikari leading her own small group an when she noticed him standing there she waved at him with a bright smile on her face.

“ Hey Alistar! So your dad sent you out on this mission too, huh?” She asked as she stood in front of him, she then began to look around him. “ And he gave you nothing but rookies I see.” She added bluntly, Alistar smiled at her, knowing her words held no malice in them. But Virgil didn’t seem to understand that as he became very offended.

“ Hey these ‘rookies’ are a lot more powerful than you, a foreigner, and your little band of lab rats and kids of ex-convicts could ever dream of being.” Virgil said angrily and in a cold tone, the Bulls immediately grew angry at the young man's words.

“ What did you say you punk?” Aloys Adlai growled as he pulled out his grimoire and Virgil pulled his out as well.

“ I mean, Virgil isn’t wrong. We are more powerful then all, or most, of you. Being descendants of nobles already gives us a lot of mana, but we also get an extra boost because our parents were possessed by elves and were able to retain a small bit of those elves power.” Celeste pointed out in a matter of fact tone.

“ If that’s the case,” Ezio Roulacase, son of Finral Roulacase and Vanessa Enoteca, said in a slightly unsure voice. “ Then Hikari and Aloys should both have an extra ‘boost’ of mana since their parents were also possessed and are from nobility.”

Celeste’s face immediately turned red and Virgil growled.

“ And even with all of that you were still only accepted into the worst Magic Knight squad!” Virgil argued and Alice Legolant, daughter of Henry Legolant, suddenly pipped up.

“ That’s not true. Most of us joined the Black Bulls because they’re our friends and family, and we feel more accepted there then anywhere else!” Alice defended strongly despite her tone being soft.

“ And if we’re all in the same place we can protect all our precious friends and family better!” Wendy Agrippa, daughter of Gordon Agrippa, said quietly as she crossed her arms.

“ And you wanna call us lab rats, kids of ex-convicts, and foreigners when your Captain betrayed his squad and kingdom, is the bastard son of a nobleman, and his own kid loses control of his powers on whim!” Aloys threw back at them angrily and the two Golden Dawn members growled in anger.

“ DON’T TALK ABOUT OUR CAPTAIN AND VICE-CAPTAIN THAT WAY!” The Golden Dawn members shouted angrily.

“ THEN DON’T TALK ABOUT OUR VICE-CAPTAIN THAT WAY!” The Black Bulls shouted back.

The two groups all had their grimoires out and were about to fight when Hikari and Alistar both looked at each other apologetically before sighing.

“ That is enough!” The two shouted and each of their squads.

The groups immediately froze, looked at each other for a moment, and then reluctantly put their grimoires away. They may not listen to each other, but they would certainly listen to their Vice-Captain’s.

“ Now, you all may not like each other, but you need to learn to at least be civil with one another in order to complete this mission successfully. If none of can do that then speak up now, grab your brooms, and go back to the base.” Alistar told his squad seriously, they all looked at each other with a bit of shame in their eyes before they shook their heads and saluted him.

“ We can do it sir!” They all said in unison, and Hikari looked over at her squad, who all were kneeling in front of her just as their parents did with Captain Yami.

“ Did you hear that you brats? You gotta play nice with these Goodie Two Shoes just until this mission is over, if you can’t do that, then Taxi Jr. can open a portal and take you back to the Hideout. And when you get there you get to explain to the Captain why you left and why you decided to let another squad take care of this.” Hikari said seriously as she glared down at her squad mates, in that moment she looked and sounded identical to her father. Which was funny yet terrifying. “ So, are you guys gonna at least try and place nice? Or do we need to go back to the Hideout?”

“ N-No ma’am! We can get along with the Goodie Two Shoes!” They shouted in unison, causing Alistar to chuckle, Hikari to grin, and the Golden Dawn to glare.

After being scolded by their Vice-Captains the two groups walked towards the village to begin their mission.

—-

As the two groups walked through the small forest the eventually came upon the tiny village of Aramore. Despite it’s small size it had quite a few homes in the center and spread ou through the area, in the center of town there was a small church with a tall steeple. It reminded Hikari of the one in Hage except larger and made of wood instead of stone.

The squads looked around as they noticed there wasn’t a single soul in sight. They villagers were probably too scared to come out of their homes due to the bandits and their actions. Hikari and Alistar looked at each other for a moment before they nodded.

“ We’re splitting up. Each of you pair up into groups of two and start knocking on doors and asking any person you see for information. Got it?” Hikari asked as she looked at the squad members, The Black Bulls nodded and began to take off in separate directions as the Golden Dawn just stood there, awaiting their Vice-Captain’s orders.

“ You heard her. Go.” Alistar told them and eventually they nodded and went their own way. Alistar sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before looking apologetically at his friend.

“ I’m sorry about earlier, I’ll properly scold them all when the mission is over.” Alistar said softly as a apologetic smile appeared on his face. Hikari shook her head a bit before rubbing the back of it.

“ I’m sorry about my brats too,” She began to apologize. “ They should’ve just let it go.”

“ They were protecting themselves, their Captain and Vice-Captain, and their families honor. So don’t apologize” Alistar said quickly but Hikari shrugged.

“ Too late, I already did,’’ She told him with a grin before turning around and walking towards the church. “ C’mon, let’s see if the village leader’s here.” Alistar nodded before quickly following behind his friend.

The two walked up the small steps before Hikari pushed open the two wooden doors. They walked inside and noticed that the church appeared to be abandonded as well.

“ Did they all leave? If so why did they call us out here?” Alistar muttered as he looked around the room, he wouldn’t think that someone would call them out here just to waste their time and resources. Hikari walked into the center of the room, took a deep breath, and then spoke loudly and in a commanding tone.

“ You can come out now old man! I know you’re in here hiding behind the altar!” She said so loudly that it echoed throughout the church and caused Alistar to even jump. After a few minutes Alistar watched an older man pop his head out slowly from behind the altar and looked from Hikari to Alistar and back again.

“ Are…you with the Magic Knigths?” The man asked hesitantly as he tried to look at their robes. After the two confirmed that they were indeed Magic Knights the older man sighed in relief and stood up and walked around the altar, down the small steps, and towards them.

“ Oh thank goodness! For a while there I wasn’t sure if the Magic Knights would ever show up!” The man said happily as he quickly grabbed both their hands and held them gently. “ You’ll help us with the bandits won’t you?”

“ Of course we will,” Hikari said firmly and confidently as she squeezed his hand back gently. She could be rough like her father, but at times like this she could be as gentle as her mother. “ but first you need to tell us everything you know.”

“ Right, right, of course. Firstly my name is Father Dareau and I’m the leader of this church and this village. Everything’s been peaceful here for as long as I can remember, but then suddenly we started getting attacked by bandits.”

“ How long has this been going on?” Alistar asked with a frown and Dareau tilted his head in thought.

“ At least six months, it started shortly after the new Wizard King was announced.” Dareau said and Alistar and Hikari frowned.

There had been quite an exodus of Magic Knights after Asta had been announced as the Wizard King, mostly because nobles hadn’t wanted to take orders from a manaless peasant despite him having saved the kingdom multiple times over. So maybe these bandits were Magic Knights were some of the ones who had left?

“ When do they usually attack? Is there a pattern or is it mostly random?” Hikari asked and Dareau tilted his head.

“ I’m not too sure, I think there’s a pattern to it. They usually attack at night when everyones asleep, or are trying to sleep, and then they just break into any homes they first lay their eyes on. I also noticed that they really don’t attack the church, but they’ll attack the homes surrounding it.” Dareau said after a moment of thought, Alistar couldn’t help but snort and roll his eyes.

“ Bandits with morales? How ironic.” Alistar muttered under his breath before speaking loudly. “ Do you happen to know how many there are? Or where they come from?”

“ There’s about a dozen or so I think? And they usually come from the woods, but not from the same direction.” The older man explained and Alistar and Hikari looked at one another, it wasn’t much, but it was a start.

After talking with Dareau a bit more the two walked out of the church. They instructed him to gather all the villagers into the church, since it seemed to be the safest place for them at the moment, and to convince them to let the Magic Knights stay in their homes and lie in wait for the bandits.

Alistar and Hikari saw the members of their squads waiting outside of the church for them.

“ Got anything?” Hikari asked and her squad shook their heads.

“ Nothing, the villagers are all terrified. A few of them even thought that I was a bandit!” Ezio said with a sheepish laugh as he rubbed the back of his head. “ I may steal the hearts of beautiful maidens everywhere, but I don’t steal their material property.” He added with a bit of a smuggish grin, Aloys frowned.

“ Isn’t those ‘maiden’s hearts’ also their property?” Aloys asked causing Ezio to blush and cross his arms at his friend.

“ I was trying to sound romantic Aloys!”

“ Did you guys find out anything?” Alistar asked his squad members, cutting off Aloys and Ezio’s arguing. The Golden Dawn members all shook their heads.

“ No sir, the villagers wouldn’t talk to us either. Even when we knew they were inside.” Lunaria said with a sheepish laugh as she scratched her cheek with her index finger. Suddenly, Ulla spoke up.

“ U-Um…I found something.” Ulla said sheepishly as she stepped forward, admittedly she didn’t like having all their eyes on her, but when she saw Alistar’s gentle and patient smile she couldn’t help but become a little more confident.

“ I…I was able to talk to one of the villagers. She said that they start their attack around midnight and that they only take stuff that they can carry, like Yul or smaller items like silver candlesticks. They also start out in the furthest parts of town before working their way in. They attack every three days and the last attack was exactly three days ago so…that’s why the villagers are all so nervous, because they’re going to attack again…tonight.” Ulla said, her voice full of nervousness and hesitancy. Everyone stared at her with wide and surprise eyes, but Alistar just smiled.

“ Good work Ulla, that’s very helpful information.” Alistar said warmly as he walked up to her and gently patted the top of her head. Ulla’s face turned a bright red but a sheepish smile appeared on her face as well. Hikari watched them with a grin on her face.

“ And you wonder why so many girls fall for you,” She muttered with a chuckle and Alistar turned to look at her with a confused look on his face.

“ What’d you mean?” He asked with a tilt of his head, he almost looked like a confused puppy. Hikari shook her head but didn’t eleaborte further.

“ Alright brats listen up,” Hikari began in a commanding tone. “ Alistar and I talked to the village leader. He said he’s going to gather all the villagers up and bring them to the church, since the bandits don’t attack the church, and that he’ll convince a few of them to loan us their homes for the evening. Once all that’s done we’ll split up into teams of two and try to get as many of the bandits as possible, understand?” She asked and th Black Bulls nodded.

“ Yes Vice-Captain!”

Alistar looked at his squad and gave them a look that said ‘Do you all understand?’ and they each reluctantly nodded before saluting him.

“ Yes Vice-Captain!”

—---

Later That Evening

Alistar and Hikari waited patiently inside the small and dark room, their only light source being a single candle. Dareau had managed to do as he promised and secured them a few houses to use in order to bait the bandits. Alistar’s mind was supposed to be focused on the task at hand but instead it kept wandering back to his fathers words.

“ So, why did your dad send you here instead of coming himself?” Hikari asked quietly, Alistar was pulled out of his thoughts at her question.

“ Why did your’s?” He threw back at her quietly, Hikari shrugged and let out a dramatic sigh.

“ He said he didn’t feel like going and that he was tired, so he gave it to me and told me to gain some more experience and told me to bring Alice, Wendy, and Ezio along so they could gain some too. Aloys just volunteered so he could get away from his dad.” Hikari answered bluntly, and Alistar chuckled. Captain Yami wasn’t a dumb man, if he felt that this mission was too serious or too dangerous he would have come on it himself. So he must’ve believed that Hikari was strong enough to handle this mission on her own and with a group of rookies.

“ Now back to you, why did your dad send you out on this mission?” She asked with a raised brow and Alistar couldn’t help but smirk a bit.

“ Maybe because he knew you would be on this mission and wanted to give me the opportunity to try and woo you without your fathers interference?” Alistar asked with a flirtatious tone to his voice. Hikari snorted and shoved his shoulder a bit.

“ Don’t dodge the question by trying to flirt with me, you know it doesn’t work on me.” Hikari said with a chuckle and a shake of her head. Alistar chuckled as well before he sighed dramatically and in a disappointed fashion.

“ A man can only hope.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence, just as they tended too. He remembered when he and Hikari’s quiet moments were full of awkwardness and slightly tense conversations, but luckily after that event seven years ago the two had grown more comfortable around each other and the conversations flowed with ease and their silences had become comfortable. Alistar closed his eyes for a moment before another sigh escaped his lips.

“ ‘Consider this your first real mission as the newly appointed Captain of the Golden Dawn.’. That’s what my father said after he gave me this mission, he then called me ‘Captain Alistar Vangeance’.” Alistar admitted softly, his eyes still closed. “ I think…my dad’s retiring.”

Alistar opened his eyes and looked at his friend, her blue eyes were wide and her mouth was slightly agape in surprise. She blinked a few times before she shook her head to clear her thoughts.

“ Your dad’s retiring?! When did this come about, and why didn’t my dad tell me?” She asked a little louder then she had intended. She quickly quieted herself down before giving Alistar a serious look. “ Does anyone else know about this?”

“ I don’t think so, if I had to guess I think only the Captain’s, the Wizard King, you and I know about this. I doubt any of the Golden Dawn knows, otherwise I’m sure there would’ve been a big stink about it.” Alistar muttered, and he watched as Hikari’s eyes softened.

“ Between that comment and your Ki I can tell how your feeling about all of this.” Hikari muttered as a soft and tender smile appeared on her face. Alistar smirked at her before he moved closer to her and turned to face her.

“ And what is my Ki telling you?” He asked curiously.

“ That you’re scared and worried, that you think there’s more to your fathers retirement then just him ‘getting old’,” Hikari started softly. “ You’re scared that your father’s making a mistake by giving his squad over to you. You’re worried that the other’s will feel the same and so they’ll argue against your appointment as Captain, and you’re scared of losing control again.”

Alistar wasn’t sure why he was feeling so bold at the moment. Maybe it was the way the soft glow from the candle illuminated her beautiful face, or the way her rose scented perfume seemed to mesmerize him, or maybe it was simply the way she seemed to understand him and his feelings better then anyone. But right now, at this moment, he wanted to confess his feelings and kiss her.

But before he could dwell on his thoughts Hikari suddenly snapped her head to the right, and Alistar did the same.

The Bandits were there.

—---

Back in the Capital

Yami walked quietly, but hurriedly, through the Magic Knight Headquarters halls. He already hadn’t been able to sleep due to his nerves about the mission he sent his daughter and the rookies on. But after he got a concerning call from Marx, telling him he was urgently needed at Headquarters, he was more awake then ever. His mind began to race, fearing the worst had happened to the brats. When he walked into the Captain’s meeting room and saw the same expression on William’s face that he knew the slightly younger man felt the same as him:

Terrified. Terrified that they had sent their kids and a bunch of rookies out on a dangerous mission that either seriously injured them, or worse, killed them.

“ Thank you all for coming so late,” Asta said between a loud yawn. Apparently Marx had woken him up as well. “ I told Marx we could just leave it until morning but he said it was urgent.”

“ It is urgent Asta,” Marx said with a sigh. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Magical Device. He set it down in the center of the meeting room table and hit the side of it, after a moment of static a pair of face’s appeared before them.

Hikari and Alistar’s to be exact.

Yami and William both sighed in relief as they kids looked unharmed, and in the background stood their other kids, who all were unscathed as well. In between the group of kids, on their knee’s, were the former Magic Knights turned bandits. All tied up and looking a little worse for wear.

“ Hey Papa! See? I told you I could handle this!” Hikari boasted cheerfully as Alistar turned to smile at her for a moment before looking at his own father.

“ The mission was a success, so, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about things anymore, father.” Alistar told him confidently, and William smiled knowingly.

“ So you decided to give Goldie Guts and I a heart attack in the middle of the night to tell us our kids mission was a success?” Yami asked Marx, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. Marx rolled his eyes a bit before shaking his head.

“ Of course not! I’m a father myself to a pair of Magic Knights so I know good and well how worried you must’ve been when I called you!” Marx said with annoyance in his voice as well. He quickly regained his composure, cleared his throat, and looked from Yami to Hikari.

“ Show them what you all found.” He instructed, and Hikari nodded.

She pulled out a long dark cloak from behind her. It was similar to the ones that the Magic Knight squads wore, except different colors. It was dark, had a grey trim around the edges, but what really stuck out to them was the emblem.

It was of a Three headed dog, or more commonly known as Cerberus. The Captain’s all looked at each other for a moment with confused yet concerned looks on their faces.

“ What the hell is that?” Yami asked as he looked from the emblem to Marx, who only shook his head.

“ That’s the problem; we don’t know.”

———

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you all have a good day~!

[lboogie1906]

Lloyd Michael Warren (born March 5, 1946) is a retired television actor and former college basketball player, best known for playing Officer Bobby Hill on Hill Street Blues. He attended Central High School, whereas as a senior he was class president. He was twice named to the Indiana all-state team. He graduated as the Bears' career, season, and single-game scoring leader. He was inducted into the Indiana Basketball Hall of Fame. He played college basketball at UCLA, where he was a three-year varsity letterman and starting guard. Led by Lew Alcindor, the Bruins posted records of 30–0 in 1967 and 29–1 in 1968. Both teams captured the NCAA national championship. He was named to the NCAA All-Tournament team and was an All-American. The team is considered one of the best in college basketball history. He earned the award as the Bruins' best defender and he won the award as the Bruins' best "team player". He was inducted into the UCLA Athletics Hall of Fame. He played the role of park ranger P. J. Lewis on Sierra and went on to play a rookie officer in Adam-12. He starred as police officer Willie Miller in Paris. He guest-starred in In the House. He guest starred on Living Single as Khadijah's father and later portrayed Joan's father on Girlfriends. He played Darrin Dewitt Henson's boss on the show Soul Food, in which he played hustler-turned-entrepreneur Baron Marks. He had a recurring role on Lincoln Heights as Spencer Sutton, Eddie's father. He played Pete Bancroft in the Tales from the Darkside. He appeared as Virgil Tibbs' former longtime police partner. He was on the Early Edition episode Hoops. He played Wells in Sliders. He appeared in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, as a psychiatrist. His film work includes Norman... Is That You? and as basketball player Easley in Drive, He Said. He was in Fast Break as Preacher. He played Officer William Henderson in The District. He appeared in the independent film Anderson's Cross. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence https://www.instagram.com/p/CpaGqmUrCeA/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[darthvxd3r]

I can safely say that Halo:ODST is by far my favorite Halo game. Instead of being this kick ass 7'2" Beef cake. I'm a silent man who's just wondering a dead city who later befriends a pet floating turtle like thing? Not to mention the beautiful soundtrack.

[derelictheretic]

Say, with that whole Youth Center AU, would it make sense for the deputy to act as some sort of Resource Officer for the place? Rookie getting assigned the duty due to being good with kiddo’s and because shes a rookie who needs ‘breaking in’ so to speak, get the rookie used to the job and such? RO assigned in the first place because the county government [pretty muhc just Virgil and Whitehorse] were worried about the kids getting hurt by someone? Sorry if this is stupid and i hope u hav gr8night

Hi sorry for taking so long to get to this i've been super busy!

But yeah I could absolutely see any of those working for them! (I have a very limited understanding on American police work and was struggling to find how the deputy would fit into this au so this is all actually really interesting and helpful info thank you for sharing these ideas w me!)

I really like the idea of them being there to teach the kids about police work and firearm safety like you said! I think that would really fit in well and it would be really cute to see maybe dep and Jacob being able to give joint talks about army stuff together (if dep has an army bg) and the dep could even help in Jacob's self defense classes for the kids!

The youth shooting/archery club idea sounds amazing too and I am now obsessed with the idea of the deputy coaching a baseball team of young kids that is too adorable I am absolutely finding a way to incorporate that into the au now thank you lmao But yeah any of these could totally work, having the deputy heavily involved with the centre was always the plan and these make for interesting ways that they could work in/around it!

[snowdice]

Finding the Time to Study Fic 2 [Day 18]

Here is my starting post for today’s study break stories session. See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far! I will reblog this post with the story as I write them today. I’ll be constantly looking for ideas of times and places for Janus to have missions, so feel free to send in any you can think of at any point!

If you are a new follower or just don’t want all of these posts clogging your dash, please feel free to block the tag “study break stories” as all posts and voting about it will go there. You can still see the finished product of the story even if you are blocking that tag as I will not tag the edited chapters with “study break stories” but with the tag “folds in paper.” See edited chapters below. Chapters 3-8 and what I have of Chapter 9 are under the cut.

My Masterpost Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted). It’s short, and not really for serious listening, but I had fun with it.

I have homework due tomorrow, so let’s go.

Arc I: Finding Cinderella

Chapter 4

Janus was frozen in surprise for a few long moments after Pat disappeared. Which had been, admittedly, his mistake, because, while their window had technically been until 11:17pm and it was only 11:10, the loud crack that whatever Pat had been using for time travel made, garnered the attention of someone else.

“Uh oh,” Remus said, likely hearing footsteps. “Hide.”

That snapped Janus into action, but instead of hiding immediately like a sensible human being, he chose to go for the only link to the man who’d just stolen time travel tech and waltzed away, the mask.

Which was why he ended up getting arrested.

 Remy tsked the moment they were all alone in the police car having come to ‘transfer Lee to another facility.’ Remus was already waiting in the front seat, and flashed Janus a smug smile. If Janus wasn’t still handcuffed, he’d slap him.

“Well,” Remy said. “At least you didn’t shoot anybody like I asked. I was joking by the way. I didn’t really want to pick you up from a 1920s police station period.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Mmm, nah, ‘cause Remus managed to not get arrested this time, so you defiantly screwed something up.”

“Oh, he defiantly wanted to screw something all right,” Remus said joyfully.

 “Remus,” Janus hissed.

“What?” he asked. “I’m not the horny one for once. Well, no, that’s a lie, but it didn’t affect the job this time.”

Janus groaned and leaned his head back against the seat.

Remy pulled into a seemingly random garage around 20 minutes later. “Alright,” he said. “Here we are.” He got out of the car and then helped Janus out before uncuffing him. “Here’s your ‘watch,’” Remy handed him the timepiece that had been confiscated when he’d been arrested.

Janus put it on and activated it. “Shit,” he said.

“What?” Remus asked.

“An appointment with cultural outreach has already been downloaded to my calendar for once we get out of decon.”

 “Oof. Going to baby jail,” Remy laughed. Remus was cackling.

“This,” Janus said, “was not a cultural faux pas. I did nothing that indicated that I was not from this time. I am not some rookie.”

“Don’t forget cell phones don’t exist in the 1920s,” Remus sang.

“The real question is whether or not my foot exists in your…” Remus disappeared before he could finish, a smirk on his face. Janus growled. “By Remy,” he gritted out. He selected the decontamination chamber from his queue, ignoring the appointment that came after it for now.

He knew exactly where Remus would be standing when he landed, which was why he stepped forward on reentry to ram into him.

 He yelped in surprise. “Sorry,” Janus said pleasantly. “I must have also forgotten landing procedures.

Remus laughed good naturally. “Aw, come on Jay,” he said, bumping Janus back, albeit much gentler than Janus had been. “It’s not a big deal. You just go talk with some crusty old college professor who is far too interested in spoons and then everything’s fine.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” he growled. “They’re treating me like I’m an idiot who accidently invented disco in the 1920s when I was conned by some free agent time traveler.”

“‘Conned,’ Remus said. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

 “I know where and when you live Remus,” Janus said.

Remus gave him a dopey smile as the decontamination cycle finished and the door unlocked. Janus’s wrist buzzed telling him that the coordinates to the cultural outreach office were now unlocked. Instead of pulling them up, Janus walked to the door.

“Um,” Remus said, following him. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to your appointment?” Janus just kept walking towards their office. “Uh… Jan?”

“It’s absolutely ridiculous that I have to go to cultural outreach,” Janus said. “In fact, no one can make me. If they want me to go have a discussion about the definition of ‘bushwa,’ they’re going to have to have me dragged there.”

 “Mmm, I feel like The Boss won’t be too happy about that, and I have a feeling she’d be 100% down to dragging you there herself.”

“Well, then, let her,” Janus said, stalking through the door to his office. “I’m not going to…”

“Ah, Agent Picani,” the woman standing next to his desk, clearly waiting for him, said when he came through the door. “Dr. Picani was informed that there were complications with your last mission and wishes to have a conversation with you and asks that you meet him in his office at the AMO.”

“Oh, um,” Janus said, stumbling a bit before plastering on a regretful half smile. “Unfortunately, I actually have an appointment right now at Cultural Outreach. It’s mandatory and very important, and I have to go now. So, I’ll have to take a raincheck on that.”

 “But-” she started, frowning.

“Remus, work on the report!” Janus said quickly as he waved his hand to bring up his timepiece display and jammed his finger at the glowing appointment card in his queue. A few moments later, Janus was at Cultural Outreach.

Cultural Outreach was not part of the TPI, though it often worked very closely with them. It was a collaboration between the government and multiple universities to help government workers, politicians, and other citizens understand and bridge cultural gaps. It had existed before time travel was invented but had expanded to also teach people who needed to time travel how to behave in unfamiliar times and cultures.

 After it had to be expanded to provide for the TPI, it had been moved to Silver Mountains University. The building had once just been a museum, but it had been thoroughly renovated and there had been add-ons for office space and some classrooms. It was still a museum, however, its purpose had expanded greatly and there were many areas that were off limits to the general public.

One of these areas was the fourth floor, where Janus’s timepiece had dumped him. This was the floor that was almost exclusively for TPI agents and staff of Cultural Outreach who worked with them.

 He immediately turned away from the reception area, hoping that he could escape and go sit on the university’s quad or something of the like for the next hour or so in hopes the woman his brother sent to fetch him would give up and go back to the AMO. Yet, the receptionist apparently saw him.

“Janus Picani?” he asked.

Janus grimaced and turned back towards him. “Yes,” he said.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You’re 5 minutes late for your appointment and seem disoriented.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Is your timepiece malfunctioning?”

“No.”

“Uh… okay. Well, if you sign in here, I can take you to your appointment.”

“…Fine.”

 He begrudgingly stepped forward and touched the screen he’d gestured to sign with his fingerprint, and then let the man lead him down the hall.

The door they stopped at was propped open slightly, but he still paused and knocked. “Professor Eran? Your 2:30 is here.”

Janus had just a moment upon hearing the name to think that maybe there was actually some sort of intelligent design of the universe and whatever being of ultimate power had crafted it was a dick.

The door opened and Virgil Eran’s eyes immediately narrowed on him. “Janus.”

“Virgil.”

“I see you’re still late for everything.”

“I see you’re still a bastard.”

 Janus saw the receptionist slowly back away in the direction they’d come.

“Why don’t you come in?” Virgil said faux pleasantly.

Janus did, because he really didn’t have much of a choice at this point unless he wanted to jump out of a window… or push someone out of a window.

Virgil turned back into his office and took a seat behind his desk. Janus unhappily followed him in and sat across from him.

He took his time pulling up whatever the TPI sent him and reading it over. “So, I see you failed your recovery mission and were arrested in 1923.”

 “It wasn’t like that,” Janus said. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Virgil gave him that same suspicious look he used to give Janus whenever Janus claimed to have not eaten his hot pockets out of the freezer in the middle of the night. He’d only been lying 80% of the time. Virgil had a tendency to forget what he’d eaten in a half-conscious state at 3 o’clock in the morning.

“I shouldn’t,” Janus snapped defensively. “Nothing went wrong with anyone from the time period. An illegal time traveler screwed up the mission details.”

“Well, it is still protocol to make sure nothing slipped when agents go off script. You weren’t prepared to be in a jail cell, and it is possible that you screwed something up.”

 “I didn’t screw anything up,” Janus growled.

“Alright,” Virgil said pulling up a document on his desk. “The mission started on July 27th, 1923 at 9:58pm, correct?”

“Oh, god, we’re not really going to fill out a time sheet. I don’t have time for that today.”

“It is protocol and best that the information is documented when it is still fresh in your mind. Besides, your schedule has been cleared for the rest of the workday.” The bastard was enjoying this. He knew how much Janus hated this stuff.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Janus said, “it was the damned illicit time traveler.”

“And I will be the judge of that,” Virgil said. Janus should have just bit the bullet and had coffee with his brother. “If you truly did nothing wrong, your supervisor will see that when I send this to her.”

 Yet, despite the fact that Virgil clearly relished in his suffering, he was charitable enough to do most of the actual filling out of the forms. He’d read out the questions and write down what Janus said instead of making him do it himself. Janus really only had to do a quick quality check and sign it at the end.

He still was an asshole about the details, but really he’d been like that about stupid thing like the settings for the dish washer and how the pantry was organized during their college days before they’d had their falling out, so Janus wasn’t particularly surprised. When they were finally done, Virgil sent it off to get filed by the TPI.

 Then, they were left staring at each other with nothing between them but almost a decade of radio silence and a whole lot of awkwardness.

“I should go,” Janus finally said, standing up.

Virgil tilted his head slightly to the side and gave him a half smile. “Don’t lock the door behind you,” he said. “Not that I’d expect you too.”

Janus took it for the clear attempt at a joke it was intended to be and puffed out a breath of amusement with a head shake. “No risk of that,” he said. Then, he turned and walked out of the office.

 Chapter 5

Janus stepped back into the reception area and booted up his time piece. Instinct said to go back to the office despite the fact that it was late enough that most people had gone home, but he hesitated. Surely Emile had given up by now, but considering he’d sent someone to ambush him in his office, Janus wasn’t sure if he should trust that. He could just go home, but he already knew his mind was racing too much to sleep tonight so he’d probably just end up staring at the lake for the next 6 hours. So, he decided on the only other legitimate option he had. He pulled up Remus’s home coordinates and selected.

 The home that Remus had chosen (after his long line of rejected requests) managed to somehow make no and absolute sense simultaneously to anyone who knew him. It was a small farm in the United States just west of the Mississippi in 1842 in what would be ratified as the state of Iowa in a few years. When asked why he would choose that time and place, Remus always responded with “I thought it was funny,” whatever that meant.

Unlike most time agents who simply used the identities assigned to them by the AMO as a cover, Remus actually lived his part time.

 Janus was… fairly certain he was cheating a bit to get everything done, but he maintained his small farm all on his own, growing most of his own food. The neighbors he had lived very far away, but he still spoke with them far more than Janus did his own.

Janus appeared inside the small home, his eyes already shut. “Are you hear and dressed?” Janus called. Something bumped lightly into his legs.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Janus peaked his eyes open and squatted to pet the cat at his feet. “That doesn’t answer my question!” he called back to Remus.

 “It’s a surprise!” Remus said.

“Remus.” Diesel Fuel the cat flopped to her side on the ground as Janus continued to pet her ears. He heard Remus’s footsteps, and saw cloth covering his legs, so risked looking up. He was currently not only dressed, but wearing an apron that Janus was fairly sure was not time appropriate judging by the fabric and cat pawprint design. He had a bit of flour on his hands, and it may have been a bit too white for the time and place, but Janus couldn’t be completely sure.

“What’re you doing here?” Remus asked.

 “My day has been an endless series of frustrations,” Janus said. “So, I have come to see the only tolerable being in the history of the universe.”

Remus snorted. “Since I know that isn’t me, I’ll assume you’re talking about the cat.”

“I still don’t understand why you tolerate this creature,” Janus addressed Diesel Fuel. She blinked slowly up at him. “To be fair, he was assigned as my partner. I didn’t have much of a choice in it. You could go always run away and become feral in the woods if you’d like.”

“So could you, technically,” Remus pointed out.

“I’m thinking about it after today.”

 “Would you like some bread?” Remus asked. “That’s all I’ve been making this afternoon. Some fresh should be coming out of the oven in a few minutes.”

“Do you have anything stronger made out of wheat?”

“Ew, no, but I do have vodka.”

“Vodka works.”

“Want me to mix it with something?”

“No.”

“One of those night then,” Remus said, easily. “Let me finish up the bread, so I don’t burn the kitchen down. You can go get the alcohol from the cellar while you wait if you want, or you can just flop down on the couch.”

He was going to just flop down on the couch.

 He did just that as Remus disappeared back into his kitchen. The cat hopped onto his stomach, proceeding to purr loudly and kneed at chest. Janus petted the cat and listened to the noise of Remus moving around in the other room, letting his mind drift. His mind drifted to Virgil for a bit and he steadfastly did not allow it to drift to his brother. Yet, the thing that most was on his mind was the strange man who had flirted and charmed Janus all night before mercilessly screwing him over. ‘Pat’ he’d said his name was, but surely that was not his real name.

 Janus sighed and scratched the cat’s ear. “He certainly wasn’t an amateur,” Janus mused to the cat. “With that amount of precision to get in before we did, he must have someone not on the ground feeding him information. Perhaps more than one.” He was part of a group of time traveling thieves perhaps or something worse. “I didn’t get a good look at his face since he was wearing a mask,” Janus said, “but I spent a lot of time with him, and I’m sure Remy swiped the mask from the police since it had been on me when I was arrested. It’s a good lead.”

 He continued to pet Diesel Fuel. Eventually, Remus came back in, noticed Janus hadn’t bothered to get the alcohol and went outside to the cellar. “I’m going to find him,” Janus told Diesel Fuel. “I’ll stop whatever it is he’s doing, and I’ll bring him in.” Diesel Fuel mewed her support, and Janus patted her on top of the head.

Remus came back in with the bottle of vodka and handed it to him without a word. He sat down on the couch near Janus’s feet and patted his lap so Diesel Fuel would come over to him and allow Janus to sit up.

 The bastard waited until he was approximately 3 shots in (he didn’t have a shot glass and was just taking drinks from the bottle) to ask the questions Janus really didn’t want to answer. “Are you mad at Emile?” Remus asked.

Janus groaned, trying to wash out the bitter taste of shame and grief with the sharp sting of vodka. It didn’t work. “No,” he said to Remus.

“Then why have you been avoiding him?”

“Shit, I’m here because I didn’t want to think about it. Can’t we just not.”

“Don’t want to think about what?

“It’s none of your business, Remus.”

 He could feel Remus frowning at him, but Janus stared resolutely ahead. At least, he did until a foot poked his face. He slapped it away, but it did the job of getting Janus to look at Remus.

“It is my business,” Remus said, foot still in the air. “I’m your partner and your friend.”

“If I’m your friend, you’ll drop it.”

“So, you’re not mad at Emile,” Remus continued, contemplatively. “Did you do something to him, then?” Janus bit his lip and looked away. “What?” Remus asked. Janus didn’t respond. “Look, I’m sure he’ll forgive you for whatever it is. He’s a good guy. Just talk to him about it.”

 “I can’t,” Janus said.

“Whatever it is, it’s probably been long enough that he forgives you. You literally just have to have a conversation, say you’re sorry, and everything will be A-OK.”

“I can’t,” Janus repeated.

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know about it.”

Remus paused. “So, as far as he knows, you just cut contact with him all of a sudden for no reason and have been avoiding him ever since?”

Janus looked at his shoes. “Yeah.”

“That…” Remus said, “is not fucking fair Janus.”

“I know.”

“Then why the hell are you doing that to him? He’s like… soft and feeling-y. He’s probably really upset.”

 “I know, Remus.”

“Tell him. Whatever it is.”

“I can’t.”

“Look,” Remus said. “You tell him and he either forgives you or he doesn’t. If he does, everything’s fine. If he doesn’t… well, it’s not like it would be any different from you two never being in the same room the last few years. Either way, you can’t just do this to him. He’ll probably forgive you. He’s your brother. Brothers don’t… brothers would forgive each other.”

Janus laughed softly and met Remus’s eyes. “That’s the problem,” he said. “He’d definitely forgive me.” He turned away and opened the vodka bottle again. “Now, if you’ll shut up for a few minutes, I’m going to drink until I black out.”

 Chapter 6

“Really, Khalid,” Janus said, storming into his boss’s office. “A yellow?” It had been about a week since the 1920s incident, and his incident report had finally been cleared. Sure, it wasn’t a red or a black and he wasn’t facing any reprimand, but it should have been a green.

She looked up at him, clearly unconcerned. “There was an incident,” she said. “You handled it well, but there was one. Therefore, yellow.”

“It wasn’t a time travel incident! It was a rouge time traveler.”

“Janus, you helped me make these rules,” she said impatiently.

“Which is why I know this is bullshit,” he snapped.

 She rolled her eyes. “If it was anyone else, you would agree with me. While you didn’t go against protocol and had no time related incidents, the fact of the matter is, you were still distracted by this ‘rouge time traveler,’ didn’t complete your mission, and were arrested.”

“He was good,” Janus said. “You can’t fault me for that. He also could be dangerous and you’re busy handing out yellows instead of working to track him down.”

She raised an eyebrow. “We are working on tracking him down,” she said. “We have done an analysis on the mask and found fibers dating to the 2010s and some DNA. Though it isn’t exactly a high priority.”

 “We have no idea who he is or what he’s planning to do. Why is that not a high priority thing?”

“At the moment?” she asked. “Because we have reports of a time bomb being activated.”

“What?” Janus asked sitting up. “When?”

“New Years Eve going into the year 3,000 in Brazil,” she said. “Which you’d know about if you’d bothered to check your integration port this morning before storming into my office.”

“It’s my mission?” Janus asked.

“The incident investigation is over and your active again despite the dreaded yellow,” she said, clearly making fun of him a bit. “So, yes, and it’s a high priority mission, so I’ll be running it.”

 “Who all is going?” he asked.

“Other than the two of us, Remus, Lena, and Fred,” she told him. “We leave in three hours, so, you might want to run off to Rhi before Fred gets to her and ties her up for an hour on details.”

Janus nodded and got to his feet. He turned back at the door. “I still don’t deserve the yellow,” he hissed.

She waved him off. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Picani.”

He ground his teeth a bit about the dismissal of his worries, but his resentment was slightly soothed by the fact that she’d assigned him to go on such a high priority mission and with only senior agents.

 He took the advice and grabbed Remus from the office, noting Lena hadn’t been able to wrangle Fred yet as she was still at her desk, and they both headed off to see Rhi.

A few hours later, they were all in decontamination together, decked out in truly god-awful costumes. The turn of the third millennia had been a wild event, and the best way to fit in was to look like you’d grabbed something from every century in recorded human history, dyed it in neon paint, and rolled around in a vat of glitter.

Remus had opted to stick his head in a vat of glow in the dark green paint that costuming had offered them, and it wasn’t even going to be slightly disruptive to their covertness.

 In fact, costuming had frowned when Janus had insisted he not get his hair dyed and instead wore a bowler hat. They had required him to have flowers made out of glitter on it.

There were five people waiting for them when they landed 6 hours before the turn of the millennia. Three were touchdown agents, including Remy, and two were on location tech support. Usually it would be overkill to have that many people there just for support even with five agents in the field, but today the TPI needed to be cautious because they were planning on instituting a time lock.

Time bombs were dangerous things that would ripple through time if not contained. Even if it did end up going off (killing everyone in its reach), the time lock would serve to prevent most damage outside of the city and, more importantly, the year it was planted.

 Janus had only been in two time locks before, and he was one of the most senior agents in the TPI, outranked only by the founder: Lia Khalid. Time locks were designed to keep all time linear in a certain fixed time and geographical area as well as prevent any time travel in and out. Once it was engaged, all forms of time travel would not work for the duration, bar the pin device. Khalid was already switching out her regular timepiece with the slightly bigger one that was designed to support the time lock.

There was a failsafe back at the TPI that could be engaged in an emergency, which was why tech support was here, but other than that, the only thing that could break the time lock was that timepiece, and it would break the moment the time lock ended.

 As soon as it was on Khalid’s wrist, she looked up at them all. “Our information says the time bomb was planted in the costume of one of the ‘Millennium Birds’ who are the organizers of the different events,” she said. Janus had seen a photo of the identical costumes in the mission details. They were all robe like garments with giant fans of feathers coming from the neck that coalesced in a peak a foot above their head to hold a fake bird egg. At least they’d be easy to find. “There are 25 of them throughout the city. We need to find each of them. So, we don’t double count, you’ll need to subtly,” her eyes touched on Remus, “scan each one you find for the bomb and tag them with a tracker if it’s not on them. You can view the already tagged ones, as well as the rest of us on your timepiece even once the time lock is engaged. When you find the bomb, call it in.”

 They all nodded, and Khalid looked over at one of the techies. She nodded at her and then the techie flipped a couple of switches. “Three, two, one,” the techie said. There was a slight shift in the air that most people would disregard, but Janus as a seasoned time traveler could feel the change even before his wrist buzzed. He glanced at his timepiece to see it had a big red ‘X’ across its display. He tapped it and was still able to bring up the map of the city with 10 green dots on it all clustered together in their current location.

 After that, he tested the scanner on his timepiece that he would use to search for the bomb, just to make sure the time lock hadn’t messed anything up with his equipment. He glanced up to see everyone else was doing the same.

“Keep in contact,” Khalid said before everyone split up. Janus and Remus started by going North while Fredrick and Darlene were to go South. Khalid was a floater who would tag any Birds she saw but was mostly there for backup and orders.

Janus and Remus stepped into the chaos of New Years Eve before the turn of the third millennia. The streets were already swamped with people and it would only be getting worse the later it go.

“Where should we start?” Remus asked.

 “Let’s go all the way North to the games area,” Janus said. “We can work our way back here.”

“Okay!” Remus said. “I wonder if they have those fun little genetically modified goldfish as prizes. I’ve always wanted to eat one and see if I end up getting whatever design was on the fish on my body.”

Janus gave him a disgusted look.

“What?! People eat fish all the time!”

Janus shook his head. “We’re not playing the games anyway. We have work to do. Important work.”

“Boo,” Remus replied. Janus chose to ignore him as he spotted one of the Millenia Birds letting people into the gaming area.

 They walked over towards the entrance. Janus got in range first and moved to subtly scan the Millenia Bird, Remus doing the same the next moment. After a second, Janus’s timepiece buzzed and lit up red, meaning the bomb was within range. “Well, that was easy,” he said. “It was on the first one we found.”

“Uh…” Remus said. “Jan.” When Janus looked, he was holding up his wrist to show his green lit time piece.

“What?” Janus asked. He quickly moved to rescan the Millenia Bird, and his timepiece came up green as well. Which, meant the bomb was not in range, even though the Millenia Bird had not moved. “But…” He and Remus’s eyes met, and they quickly both started turning in a circle to look at the crowd around him. No one looked like they’d just stolen a time bomb off the Millennial Bird, but then Janus’s eyes caught on a man. He blended in perfectly to his surroundings. He was wearing the disgusting garb of the times, a large light blue piece that bubbled near his hips, and had most of his skin covered in rainbow neon paints. Yet, something about him, the curl of his hair or the way he moved, drew Janus’s eyes to him. He recognized the man immediately even in a completely different dressing style. Yet, what cinched it was the moment Janus’s eyes met his and they seemed to sparkle slightly in the afternoon sun. The next moment, the person Janus knew as Pat, turned to disappear into the crowd.

 Chapter 7

“Him,” was the only thing Janus said before taking off after the figure who had just disappeared into the game area.

“What?” Remus’s voice followed after him. “Janus! What?!”

Janus did not pause, just continuing to run after Pat, hopping over two barricades as a shortcut. Janus cursed when he lost sight of the man for just a moment near the prize table filled with colorful goldfish, but he was able to spot him once again walking into one of the tents. Janus blasted into the tent. It was a game where they raced rats, and when Janus entered, Pat was cooing at one of them.

 “Who’s a tiny little squishy precious baby?” he was asking one of them, wiggling his pointer finger at it.

“You,” Janus growled stepping up to him.

He turned and tilted his head at Janus with a frown. “Um, me?” he asked, pointing to his chest, all sorts of innocent, but Janus could see a spot of hidden amusement in his eyes.

“Where is it?”

His eyebrows drew together, but it was an act. It was clearly an act! “Where is what?”

“The…” he glanced around them at the people surrounding them. “Thing you just took.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Pat said with a frown.

 “Oh, no,” Janus said. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fooling me twice is not an option.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Pat said. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bull. Shit.”

Just then, Remus jogged into the tent. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s him,” Janus said pointing. “He took it. He has it.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about,” Patton said. He looked over to Remus with a confused frown.

Remus looked at Janus. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Janus said. “It’s him. It has to be him. He’s the mask guy.”

Remus squinted at Pat. “He is?”

“Whoever you think I am, I’m not. I haven’t worn a mask all night. I just did the face paint,” he pointed to his cheeks.

 Remus raised his wrist and his timepiece lit up green. He looked at Janus.

“I lost sight of him for five seconds. He must have stashed it somewhere,” Janus said. He turned on Pat. “Where did you put it?”

“…Are you,” Pat asked, his eyes going back and forth between Janus and Remus, “… the police?”

“We are, actually,” Khalid said as she stepped into the tent. Remus must have called her. She inserted herself between Janus and Pat. “Agent Khalid,” she said, offering a hand with a smile. Pat looked at it in surprise and then smiled back hesitantly as he took it. “Apologizes, one of the big game prizes was stolen by someone matching your description. Would you mind coming down to security for questioning? Just to clear it up.”

 “Oh,” Patton said, hesitant. Janus expected him to refuse outright, but then he said. “Uh, sure.”

“Thank you very much, Mr…”

“Jonas,” Pat told her earnestly. “Do I need to be handcuffed?”

“No,” Khalid said. Janus frowned at her, but she ignored him. “It’s just a talk for now.” She gestured to the tent entrance. “Come with us.”

He did without argument, and Remus and Janus followed behind the both of them. Khalid did not lead them back to the base, but to a little spot that said “security” near the center of the event. Remy was already there waiting for them at a desk.

 “Remy, would you please take Mr. Jonas to go sit down?” she asked.

“Sure, boss,” Remy said, standing up. He led Pat away.

Khalid turned to Janus and Remus once they were out of earshot. “What is going on?”

“It’s the mask man,” Janus said, “the one from 1923, and my scanner said the time bomb was on the Millenia Bird outside the games entrance, but then it was gone the next second, and I saw him, and then he ran away.”

“So, does he have it on him?”

“No. I lost sight of him, and he must have stored it somewhere, but I know he took it.”

10264

“He’s the man from 1923?” she asked.

“Yes! Remus, that’s him, right? You recognize him.”

“Well,” Remus said thoughtfully. “He was in a mask, and it was dark in the room with the necklace. Other than that, I only really saw his back, and he was wearing pants. Mr. Jonas is wearing a dress, so I can’t really tell if their asses match.”

“Okay, but I was with him for hours. I swear it’s him, and I swear he took it,” Janus just about shouted.

“We’ll question him,” Khalid placated, “and Fred and Lena will keep looking in the meantime.”

 “He knows where it is,” Janus insisted. “I swear.”

“Okay,” Khalid said, before leaving to follow where Remy and Pat had gone. She stopped Janus with a hand on his shoulder. “I think Remus and I will do the interrogation.” He opened his mouth to argue. “You know the most about him, so observe from the sidelines and see if he makes any mistakes that indicate you’re right.”

“That’s just to placate me and you know it.”

“Observation’s over there,” she said pointing.

He got a thumbs up from Remus as he walked by, and Janus glared at his back before walking off to the indicated location.

 He watched as Remus and Khalid entered the room, and Remy left it. Remy joined him in the observation room after leaving and leaned against the wall.

Pat was sitting at a table and watched Remus and Khalid with that same rubbish placid confusion that he had before. “So,” Khalid said, “Mr. Jonas.”

“You can call me Nick,” Pat interrupted.

“Lia,” Khalid replied. He smiled at her happily. “So, are you enjoying your day?” she asked.

“I am!” he replied. “It’s a big day. You only get to see the turn of a millennia once in your life.”

“Ah, yes,” Khalid said. “Doing anything special for it?”

 “Um, not really,” he said. “Other than the party. I’m going to meet up with my roommates after dinner. Kevin doesn’t like this sort of thing, and Joe couldn’t come.”

“Your roommates,” Khalid said, considering him. “Do you live around here?”

“Uh huh,” Pat replied.

“Do you have any ID?”

“I do, want me to get it?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Pat unzipped one of the bubbles on his waist and handed her a chip. “Remus, would you mind going out and getting the ID scanner?” she asked, even though her timepiece would be able to read it.

“Ah, shit,” Remy said. “Props. What do those things even look like?”

 As Remy scrambled to find something that would pass for an ID reader so “Nick” didn’t get suspicious of Khalid using her timepiece, Janus watched the two alone in the room like a hawk.

“I see you’re wearing a dress inspired by the 2770s,” Khalid noted, as Remus came to stand next to him.

“Yeah!” Pat replied. “Joe made it for me. He’s really good at fashion design!”

“Can I see?” she asked.

With a happy smile, he reached over the table to let her get a look of the sleeves. Janus saw her subtly scan the fabric, probably to make sure it was from the 2990s and not actually from the 2770s. Considering she didn’t mention it, Janus assumed it checked out.

 Remy came back with some sort of device then and handed it to Remus who saluted and wandered back into the interrogation room. Khalid pretended to scan the ID in her hand. She handed it back to him without comment. “So, you said you live with your roommates: Joe and Kevin?” she asked.

“Yep!” he replied. “We’re practically like brothers.”

“Would you mind calling them?”

“Erm,” he titled his head like he was confused by the question. “Well, like I said, Joe is a bit busy, but I could definitely call Kevin.

“Here,” Khalid said, “use my phone.”

“I have my own,” he said with a frown.

“Humor me,” she requested.

“Uh, okay,” Pat agreed. He took the offered 2999 phone and dialed a number on it. Khalid reached over to put it on speaker.

“Hello?” a voice asked after a few seconds.

“Um, hey Kevin, it’s Nick.”

There was a sigh on the other end. “Hello Nick, is something wrong? Why are you calling me from someone else’s phone?”

“I’m fine, I think.” He looked up at Khalid. “Why am I calling him exactly?”

“Hello, I’m Officer Khalid,” Khalid said. “I just wanted to confirm that you are Nick Jonas’s roommate, and he does live in Manaus.”

“Yes, we live together with our other roommate,” the man replied flippantly. “Officer? Is something wrong?”

“I believe there was just a case of mistaken identity,” Khalid said.

“Bullshit there was!” Janus hissed, though she could not hear him.

“No need to worry,” Khalid continued.

“I’m good Kevin,” Pat said.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Kevin asked.

“Don’t be Paranoid, Kevin. I’ll see you Tonight for the New Years Celebration. You know I Live to Party.”

“I am hanging up now,” Kevin said.

“No! Comeback.” The line went dead. Pat handed the device back to Khalid.

She took it and smiled at him. “Give us just a couple of minutes,” she requested. He nodded easily, and she and Remus exited the interrogation room. “I… think we’re done here,” Khalid said.

“No, he’s lying,” Janus insisted, and got a dubious look in return. “I know he is! Remus!”

“The alibi is pretty solid…” Remus said, “and he doesn’t have the bomb on him.”

“Oh, come on,” Janus said. “You can’t say there is nothing fishy going on here.”

Khalid and Remus shared a look. “Janus,” Khalid said. “I respect your intuition. It is usually very good, but you have been a bit intense about the man from the 1920s, and I think that may be blinding you a bit...”

“I am not imagining this!” Janus said. “That’s him and he took it.”

“You only met him once while he was wearing a mask,” Khalid pointed out with a frown, “and you didn’t see him take the bomb, did you?”

“No, but he looked at me and I knew,” Janus argued. They both gave him a skeptical look. “Oh, come on!”

“You know that’s a little weak, Jan,” Remus said.

“Let me talk to him,” Janus requested. “Just give me five minutes to talk with him.”

Khalid raised one eyebrow. “Fine,” she agreed. “You have five minutes, but after that, you have to let it go. We can’t waste any more time.”

 Chapter 8

Pat looked up as Janus stepped into the interrogation room. “Hi,” he said with an innocent smile that could cut steal.

Janus didn’t say a word as he took a seat; he just watched him intently. He leaned slightly over the table and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “So, your name is Nick this time?” Janus asked.

“Nicholas Jonas,” he said. “Always has been.”

“Stop it,” Janus said.

“Stop what?”

“Cut the crap. I know.”

Pat leaned forward, mirroring Janus as he leaned closer, interlocking his fingers and laying his chin on top of his knuckles. “What did you say your name was again?” he asked, pleasantly.

 “Janus,” Janus replied.

“No, I’m Jonas,” he said, pointing to his chest.

“Not Jonas,” Janus spat. “Janus.”

“Um,” Pat said, eyes alight with amusement. The bastard. “Those are the same words.”

“No, they’re not. It’s Janus. J-A-N-U.-S.”

“Well, that’s confusing,” Pat said with a frown, but his nose was crinkling. “It’s close to my name. You should go by a nickname instead.”

“What?” Janus said. “No.”

Pat hummed. “How about Love Bug?”

“What! No!” Janus sputtered, almost flipping the table, as Pat winked at him.

“BB Good?”

“What does that even mean?!”

“Mandy.”

“No!”

“Okay, okay, how about Macy Misa.”

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Janus stared at him for a moment. “Fine. Whatever. What was I even talking about?”

“Hmm. I Believe we were talking about my name and how you think it’s not my name.”

“Right,” Janus said. “So, Nick. That was your roommate, Kevin on the phone, right? He seemed a bit unhappy with you. Any reason?”

“Nah, we’re Cool” said Pat. “That’s Just the Way We Roll.”

“Not because you’re messing up a mission right now?”

Pat’s eyes crinkled together. “A mission?” he parroted. “I’m not messing up a mission.”

“Oh, really?” Janus growled. “Because you’ve been captured by the TPI, and I know who you are and what you’ve been doing.”

“I have no idea what the TPI is,” he claimed.

“Yes, you do!” Janus said, standing up. “You obviously do! Or you wouldn’t be playing this game!”

 “Game?” Pat asked. “Macy I ask you what you’re talking about.”

“This is all just a game to you isn’t it!” Janus said, slamming his hands down on the table in front of them.

“Whoa,” Pat said, putting his hands up. “Calm down. Your face is getting all red. You must be Burnin’ Up.”

“I’m not sure what, but something about what you just said pisses me off.”

“And that is five minutes,” Khalid said, bursting into the room. He felt a tug on the back of his shirt and glared back at Remus who was putting his own body between Janus and Pat.

 “There was no way that was five minutes,” Janus growled.

“It was five minutes,” Khalid gritted out. “Remus, get him out of here.”

“Come on Jay,” Remus said, dragging him back towards the door.

“Remus, I swear to god.”

“Just chill, Janus,” Remus said, slamming the door closed behind them.

Janus shrugged him off. “You chill!” he snapped. “He’s playing you all for the fool.”

“Wow, Macy,” Remy drawled like an asshole. “I’ve never seen you so fired up.”

“Oh, my gosh. No one is going to believe me, and he’s going to get away with this.”

“You’re not really helping your case, babe,” Remy said.

 Remus grabbed him by the shoulders again. “Here, let’s go get some water.”

“I don’t want water,” he said even as he let Remus lead him to another room to get a glass of water.

“Look,” Remus said. “I know the Mask Guy thing really sucked, but you have to look at the facts.

“I am looking at the facts,” Janus insisted, “and the facts are, he’s fucking with me.”

“You don’t know what mask guy looks like,” Remus said. “You didn’t see Nick take the time bomb, he has an ID from this time period and a roommate in this time he called on the phone, and he legitimately seems to not know what any of us are talking about.”

 “Did you even listen to our conversation?” Janus asked. “He was screwing with me the entire time!”

“Janus…” Remus said.

“What?” Janus said, narrowing his eyes at Remus’s tone.

“I know you recently had a bad experience, but not everyone who flirts with you is doing it out of evil.”

Janus’s mouth hung open for a few seconds. “That’s what you got out of our conversation?”

“He called you Love Bug.”

Janus felt his face heat a bit at the reminder. “That’s not… I. I’m stealing your cat and then never speaking to you again.”

Remus laughed. “Ah,” he said. “Young lust.”

Janus elbowed him roughly in the side. “No!”

“Yes!” he crooned, pleased.

 “You are the worst partner,” Janus hissed. “When I’m right you owe me 10 loafs of your fresh bread.”

“Branching out from poptarts?” Remus asked.

Janus shook his head. He still wasn’t happy about the state of things, but he could feel himself cooling down a bit.

Khalid came out of the integration room after a few minutes, leaving Pat with Remy. “What was that?” she asked him.

“He got under my skin,” Janus said.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said. “For now, we’re letting him go and then going back to looking for the bomb like we’re meant to be.”

 “Fine,” Janus relented. “Just do me the favor of tagging him before he leaves. Just that. I beg of you.”

“Sure,” she agreed. “If it will calm you down.”

He nodded.

“Then, let’s go,” she said. When they met back up with Remy and Pat, he saw Khalid make the subtle gesture that would tag Pat like they would have for the Millennium Birds. Pat sent him what could pass as a sweet smile if Janus didn’t know better. Then, they walked him outside, leaving Remy on clean-up duty for the make-shift security office.

“So, I’m free to go?” Pat asked. His bemused expression edged far too much on the side of amused verses confused for Janus’s taste.

 “You are,” Khalid said. “Have fun at the festivities.”

His hands went flapping about. “Oh, you too!” he said. “Well, I guess you’re working, but you can have fun anyway, I’m sure.”

“We’ll do our best,” she said.

He gave her a blinding smile and reached forward to shake her hand enthusiastically. Janus rolled his eyes and looked up at the heavens. “It was nice to meet you!” he said, “and you too, Remus!” He turned to meet Janus’s eyes. “Macy Misa.”

Janus pressed his lips together.

Then, Pat turned and walked away.

“Well, now that we’re done with that,” Khalid said, turning to them. “We have only a few more hours before midnight and we really need to find the time bomb.

 “Oh,” Pat called. He’d paused a few yards away and turned back to them. “Thanks for letting me go so easily by the way,” he said, “and just in the Nick,” he winked, “of time too.” Janus narrowed his eyes at him. He smiled back. “Wrist check,” he said holding up his arm to show off the timepiece there. Khalid immediately looked down at her own wrist just to see that the one timepiece that could move through the time lock was no longer there. Pat made a gesture and disappeared.

All three of them stared at the spot he’d been for a long moment.

Janus was the one to speak first. “I want. The yellow. To be erased. From my record.”

 Chapter 9

Khalid immediately called everyone back to base.

“What happened?” asked Fred when he and Lena arrived. The tech people were already scrambling to get through to the TPI and get the time lock broken from the outside.

“Remus, Remy, and Khalid got played by Pat or whatever his name is. It certainly isn’t Nick. He was just setting up a joke,” Janus told him.

“Stop being smug,” Remy said. “It’s not a good look for you.”

“Pat is…?” Lena asked.

“They guy who fucked me over in 1923,” Janus said, “and is currently in the middle of fucking us all over because he stole the pin timepiece, and by extrapolation, probably the time bomb too.”

 “It will be fine,” said Khalid, “because what he doesn’t know is that timepiece has a tracker on it. Wherever and whenever he went, we’ll have his coordinates.”

“Speaking of,” one of the techies said. “It’s about to break. You might want to hold onto something.” Janus grabbed for a support beam next to him as the techie put a device on the ground in the center of the base. It blinked once, twice, and on the third blink the ground rumbled. There were sounds of panicked yelps outside. The fail safe for the time lock was not nearly as gentle as ending it correctly.

 Everything settled after a few moments, and they all straightened themselves out. Janus’s timepiece buzzed to indicate it was now functioning normally. Khalid had returned her usual timepiece to her wrist and now used it to open a display they could all see. “The pin timepiece’s closest time/space coordinates are…” she trailed off. “Right outside?” She frowned. “That’s strange. Why would he still be here?” She turned to march outside, following the coordinates to a trash can. She pulled the pin timepiece out and stared at it. “Fuck,” she said.

“What just happened?” Remy asked.

“He ticked us,” Janus said. “Again.”

 “He was stuck in the time lock,” Khalid said. “That’s why he got our attention. He couldn’t leave with the time bomb unless he had the pin timepiece or we broke the time lock. Apparently, he’s smart enough to know that if he took the pin timepiece away from here, we’d probably be able to find him, but he knew we’d break the lock as soon as the pin went missing. So, he must have stashed his own timepiece and went back in time within the time lock to grab it while we were distracted with the past version of him. As soon as the time lock went down, I imagine he left.”

 “Probably with the time bomb,” Janus said.

“Probably with the time bomb,” she confirmed.

And everyone knew the only thing worse than a time bomb was a time bomb you didn’t know the location of.

They evacuated after that, of course, and time locked the location once they were out just in case they were wrong, but midnight 3000 struck without thousands of people dying in Brazil, so the time bomb had defiantly been removed from then.

The, they initiated a time travel lockdown for all nonessentials, not willing to let random history students get caught up in an explosion if Pat decided to set the thing off somewhere.

 Then, it was a matter of figuring out everything they could about ‘Pat.’ First, they checked the tracker data as Khalid had tagged him with one of the Millennium Bird trackers. It wouldn’t work outside of the zone they’d set up that day, but the record would show his behavior during the time lock after he’d escaped with the pin timepiece.

There had been many little green dots on the map that day as Fred and Lena had actually been doing the job they’d set out to do, but most of those were running around in the south. There had been one green dot, however, that appeared suddenly in the game area about 10 minutes before the time bomb had been stolen.

 They could see Janus’s yellow dot almost brush his when he’d been chasing the earlier Pat down, around when he’d lost him briefly. The earlier Pat must have all but handed it off to his future self.

“He doubled back,” Remus commented when they watched the recorded data. It was a ballsy move and one that most people balked at, because there were inherent dangers any time you interacted with yourself from a different point in the timestream. It was ripe for paradoxes. It made everyone at the agency even more worried, because if he was willing to risk that, then what else was he willing to do?

 Because of the lockdown of all nonessential time travel, people working for the TPI were not allowed to go home for the night. They were allowed to pick up anyone or anything dependent on them for care like kids and pets if there wasn’t someone in their home time to care for them, but other than that, they were unfortunately all sleeping in their offices for the foreseeable future.

“You are the only tolerable one,” Janus told the cat who upon being let loose in the office by Remus, immediately jumped on Janus’s lap.

“I have literally done nothing to you,” Lena said, but then added. “Yet.”

 “You exist. In my space.”

“Can’t we just all get along?” asked Fred. “It’s only been an hour past when we’d usually go home. I went and grabbed milk and I have my giant thing of different flavored hot chocolate under my desk. We can try them all and vote on which is better.”

“Fuck your hot chocolate, Fred,” Janus growled, having been one of the three who had chipped in to buy it for him on his last birthday.

“Don’t go after Fred, jackass,” Lena spat.

“He’s just testy because his boyfriend escaped,” Remus contributed.

Janus’s lips turned down into a frown and he cupped Diesel Fuel’s face. “We agree we’re eating him first, right?” he asked her.

 She purred her agreement.

“I’d have it no other way,” Remus replied.

“There is plenty of food,” Fred said, sounding stressed. “In fact, I was thinking we should all chip in on ordering take-out soon. “What does everyone like on pizza?”

“This is not a slumber party, Fred,” Janus pointed out.

“Shut it,” Lena snapped and turned to Fred. “I’m fine with almost everything, except…”

“Bananas and tuna salad!” Remus interrupted.

“…whatever Remus is about to say.”

Janus rolled his eyes as that started a debate about whether or not fruit and/or fish belonged on pizza. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, which was when there was a knock on the door.

 He froze when he heard the familiar voice. “Hello, hello,” said Emile, cheerfully. Janus looked up to see Emile standing at the open office door. Shit. Apparently, the man had decided to give up on sending lackeys to come fetch him and had decided to track him down himself when Janus couldn’t even escape without breaking a time lockdown. They met eyes briefly and Janus could see irritation if not anger in his eyes despite his otherwise cheerful expression and tone.

“Janus,” he said when he’d gotten their attention. “I’d like to have dinner with you.” The word choice told Janus everything he needed to know. Usually Emile was careful with how he said things to make sure people knew they had a choice. Typically he’d say something like, “I was wondering if you’d have time to have dinner with me tonight,” or “I’m about to go get food, would you like to come?” Today, there was no choice in the statement.

 Janus still dried to dodge anyway. “Uh,” he said. “We were actually about to order pizza.”

“Go ahead,” said Fred kindly. Janus wanted to strangle him. “We can order pizza with olives if you’re not here.”

“I…” said Janus. “Guess, I’ll be going with you.”

“Great!” Emile said. “Let’s go.”

“Oh,” Janus said. “Uh, now?”

“Now,” Emile said a bit of uncharacteristic steel to his tone.

 Well, Janus was screwed. He swallowed his nervousness and got to his feet, taking Diesel Fuel with him. He turned to hand her off to Remus with a plea in his eye, but he just got an eyebrow raise in return. Traitor.

Then, he followed Emile out of the office door. “What would you like to eat?” asked Emile.

“Uh,” Janus said. “I don’t know. You asked me to eat, don’t you have any ideas?”

“I don’t actually,” Emile replied. Right.

“…Noddle Bar?” Janus threw out the nearest restaurant he knew.

“The one noodle restaurant? Sure,” Emile answered simply. They walked side by side out of the front doors of the TPI building. Janus actually couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken these stairs. He usually used his timepiece to get in and out.

 The noodle bar was only moderately busy at this time. They were quickly able to find a table near the back and Emile pulled his menu up in front of him. Emile hummed as he flipped through the different displays. “What are you having?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Janus said, only then pulling up the menu himself, but still not quite looking at it.

“What about the fortune noodles,” Emile suggested.

Janus shook his head. “I don’t like those,” he said.

Emile glanced at him through the menu displays. “You used to.” Fortune noodles were a bit cheekily named. They didn’t actually indicate anything about your future. They were just supposed to taste like what you wanted from your future. A grad student might experience a feeling like they’d just aced a paper. A child that they got to stay up an hour later that night. Janus had liked the experience when he was younger, but in recent years, he’d begun to taste the underlying chemicals in the dish until that’s all he could.

 “Well,” Emile said lightly, eyes on his menu. “That makes me even more worried for your mental health than I already was because of the almost three years of you avoiding talking to me.”

“No small talk, huh?” Janus asked.

“Forgive me,” Emile said, eyes now focused on Janus, and tone much darker. “How has your life been since I last saw your face 5 months ago during a business meeting and you refused to look me in the eye? Anything interesting happen? Shave your head and let it all regrow? Develop an allergy to peanuts? Join a convent and take an oath of silence that you only just broke today?”

“No,” said Janus quietly into the table.

 “Great,” Emile said clipped. “Small talk over. Order your food.” Janus reached up blindly to select the first thing that came up on the food and drink menu as Emile punched something into his own and both menu displays disappeared, meaning there was nothing between their faces anymore. “You know, I was willing to give you a year,” Emile said. “I was willing to let you deal with it on your own because I thought eventually, you’d come talk to me about it, but apparently I was mistaken. The next year, I thought maybe you thought I didn’t want to talk to you, so I subtly made myself available, and you never took me up on the offer. I thought maybe I was just not being clear, and I should make my desire to talk to you more explicit, but as you have been routinely, clearly avoiding me at every single turn, I’ve decided I’ve had enough. So, let’s lay it all on the table. Is it me or do you need help?”

 Janus closed his eyes. “It’s not you.”

“Then you need help,” Emile concluded.

Janus shook his head.

“Yes,” Emile snapped. “Whatever this is has gone on far too long.”

Janus stood up and slammed his hand down on the table. “And it’s going to keep going on!” he said. The food popped up at that moment. It appeared Janus had ordered lasagna and bubble tea, and Emile had ordered something with spaghetti and a fizzy drink.

“So, you’re just planning to go on being miserable then?” Emile asked, and Janus wasn’t sure if it was worse or better that he didn’t sound angry anymore.

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Janus slapped his hand down on the “To Go” button and his dinner was insta-wrapped by the table. “Yes,” he said.

“What exactly do you think you’re paying penance for, Janus?” Emile asked.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Janus said, paying for both of their meals with his fingerprint.

“That’s a cop out and you know it,” Emile said. “All you’d have to do is talk to me. Or even just talk to someone else. Please.”

“Just…” Janus said, grabbing his bag of food to avoid looking at him. “Just, leave me be.” He walked out of the noodle shop without another word.

 Chapter 10

“And I thought Remus was going to be the most disgusting roommate in this equation,” Lena grumbled. Janus and Lena were apparently the earlier risers in the group as Fred was still curled up around a pillow and Remus was sprawled out under his desk.

Janus flipped her off.

“Protein infused Poptarts and caffeinated orange juice for breakfast?” she asked. “Just eat an energy bar and have a cup of coffee like a normal person.”

He took another pointed bite of his Poptart.

“You’re a horrible roommate. This is why they gave us different partners.”

“Yeah, well you snore, asshole,” Janus said after finishing off his meal.

 “I’d tell you to go eat shit, but you already did that once this morning.”

A pillow flew across the room and somehow managed to hit the both of them. “S’op fighting,” Fred mumbled. “It’s sleep time.”

“It’s morning Fred,” Lena said.

“No,” Fred mumbled.

Janus ignored them, turning back to his integration port to continue to keep plugging in phrases of interest, but he kept getting nothing.

“What are you doing?” Lena asked after a few moments of him huffing at his screen reader.

“Trying to do anything that may change our current living arrangements.”

She puffed out an amused breath. “Can I help?”

 “Can you see any connection between these words and phrases?” he asked, pulling away his screen reader and tapping at the words he’d typed out.

“Paranoid, tonight, I live to party, comeback, love Bug, BB good, Mandy, Macy Misa, I believe, cool, that’s just the way we roll, burnin’ up,” she said. “What are these?”

“They’re things Pat said when we interrogated that struck me funny,” Janus explained. “I feel like he was saying something more than what he said.”

“Hmm,” she said. “PTI for the first three?”

“Maybe,” Janus agreed, “but what about the rest of it? I feel like I’m missing something.”

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“Millennia,” Remus mumbled from under his desk. Janus hadn’t been aware he was awake. “He said something something about it being the only time he could see the change of the millennia.” He turned his head to look at Janus. “Considering he’s a time traveler, that’s definitely a weird thing to say.”

“Millennia,” Janus contemplated. “A different turn of the millennia. Oh no.”

“What?” Lena asked.

Janus sighed, and rubbed his temple. “I know someone who studied the 1700-2200s.”

“Isn’t that good?”

“No,” Janus groaned, “because now I have to go talk to him.” He stood with a sigh and then paused. “How do I even get to Silver Mountains University without my timepiece?”

[phantasmofimagination]

Fic ideas: Dukexiety

Remus and Roman are the Princes, however no one in the village has ever seen there faces. Remus takes this as the perfect opportunity. He dresses in peasent robes and goes out on the town looking for some “Fun”. When he meets this stubbern, angsty, and very hot villager named ‘Virgil’ he toys with him for months pretending to be a stable boy who works at the palace, under the alias “Dukley”. Though as time goes by, it stops being a game as he realizes he’s fallen in love. (Royal AU)

Remus Kingsley is not related to his brother Roman by blood but rather the bond of family. Remus is a changeling who replaced Romans true brother but was kept in the family due to the kind nature of his mothers. He’s always been treated like a freak, or an abomination, by the people of the town. But when a citizen of the town comes back with her two sons to live with her family, he’s finally treated like a person by the shy boy with grey eyes, and dark purple hair. (Fae AU)

Virgil worked at the small cafè that his half-brother Remy build up from the ground. It was a good buisness. They certainly didn’t get as much traffic as the Starbucks on Western ave. But they had plenty to keep them afloat. However, none of the other customers had quite caught his eye like the man with the handle bar moustache, dressed in leather and spikes that came in every Friday at various times. With the most vibrant green eyes he had ever seen. (Coffee shop AU)

The King’s were the most netorious crime bosses Logan had ever seen, and he was determined to get them off the streets. Even with the minor inconvenience of being handed a new partner. He and the Rookie -Virgil- we’re going to get those two behind bars. Well, if his new partner could stop Oogaling the ‘Bartender’ at the Royaltin bar. (1920’s AU)

—-

Well hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed these ideas! They are some stories that I hope to work on sometime but if any of you want to create anything with them please feel free! Just be sure to tag me in it!

Have a great Day/Night and remember to be the You that You want to be!

[tsarisfanfiction]

Long Way From Home: Chapter 2

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

Well, the first chapter certainly got some reactions, so I’m back again to either answer the questions from last chapter or make things more confusing.  Or both, because why not?  I’m planning weekly updates, but we’ll see what actually happens.  Thanks, uni.

<<<Chapter 1

Logic screamed that he was actually facing the Hood, the twisted man adopting his own appearance for some scheme or other that Scott really didn’t want to know about.  His gut told logic to go take a hike – there was no way the Hood would be standing there, barely two feet from his uniform, and not raiding any and all technology he could get his grubby little paws on. Nor would the Hood leave him unrestrained when he’d had plenty of opportunity to secure him during the gap in his memory.

Besides, the Hood was a perfectionist.  His disguises were flawless, a product of technology Brains rolled his eyes at but acknowledged was an engineering masterpiece, if sadly in the wrong hands. This Scott in front of him was not a carbon copy.

For starters, much to Scott’s chagrin, the man’s hair was a healthy brown all over.  No grey traitors wormed their way along his roots, signs of stress he desperately tried to ignore even as his brothers taunted him for their existence and pulled stunts that felt designed to increase their number. The brown was also slightly lighter than his own, although that could just have been a product of more washes and less gel.  Despite the lack of grey hairs, he also got the impression that this man was actually older than him, if only by a year or so.

“How did you get here?” His voice was different, too.  The pitch wasn’t the same, nor was the tone quite right.  Virgil could give a better summary of the nuances, he was sure.

The words, though. Those were all Scott, right down to the sharp delivery and clear expectation of a prompt answer.  Skipping pleasantries, and heading straight for the heart of the matter because they didn’t have time to dance around the issue.

“I might have a better idea if I knew where ‘here’ was,” he challenged.  “What is this place?  Where am I?” Where were his brothers?

The Other-Scott (Fake Scott? Hood-Masquerading-As-Scott?) locked gazes with him.  What he was looking for, Scott didn’t know, but he refused to cower away from his doppelgänger and met his steely, searching look with one of his own. Logic still insisted that the Hood, or at least the Hood’s technology, had to be responsible, but he’d learnt to trust his gut long before he’d even heard of his father’s dream of International Rescue and that was adamant that Kayo’s miserable excuse for a family member had nothing to do with the man in front of him.

What it couldn’t tell him was who the man was, aside from an imperfect clone of himself.  The unusual technology surrounding them – alien, Alan might call it for lack of a more rational explanation – was another piece to the puzzle that wasn’t slotting together.

Puzzles were more of John’s thing, not his.  There were many times his ginger brother had rescued the poor pieces from his hands as he tried to force them into the wrong places.

Why had John not made contact yet?

“Who are you?” he demanded when it became clear that the other man wasn’t intending on answering his other questions.  “Why am I here?  Where are my brothers?”

“Brothers?” Other-Scott repeated, frowning deeply.  “We found you alone.”

“Found me?” Scott spat.  “Where? Last place I remember was the securest part of my own home!  There’s no way you got near me without passing my brothers!”  His brothers, sleeping soundly in the belief that they were safe in their own home.  Even John had gone to sleep, secure on Five, but if they’d reached Thunderbird One’s hangar they’d have reached the space elevator docking system.  “So where.  Are. My.  Brothers?”

“You were in our home,” Other-Scott bit back, hands briefly balling into fists before being forced to relax again.  “Alone. Wherever your brothers are, it’s not here.”  Scott didn’t like the emphasis on brothers.

“Don’t lie to me!” he roared, temper fraying.  His brothers had to be with him, otherwise John would have made contact asking where he’d gone.  Otherwise this man – and others beside him – had invaded their home and taken him whilst leaving his brothers but that made no sense.  Why take only one member of International Rescue when you could have all five?  Why take only one Tracy – even if it was the eldest, the one with the most access to all their assets – when you could take more for additional insurance?

They hadn’t tied him down, and the wires hooking him up to the bizarre machines had long since lost their hold on him from his earlier movement.  A rookie mistake.  With years of Air Force training behind him, Scott launched himself at the other man.

Blue eyes widened just before a fist made contact with his cheek, and Other-Scott staggered backwards before catching his balance, his hand tenderly brushing over the injured area. The movement had put him to one side, no longer between Scott and the door, and Scott took full advantage of that. If this man wasn’t going to admit where his brothers were, he’d find them himself.

It was his turn to receive a punch as he jumped towards the door, putting him off-course and allowing Other-Scott to block his way again.  This time, his curiously wary look had changed to an angry one, and as they met in a flurry of blows Scott couldn’t tell which of them moved first.

“Let. Me. At. My. Brothers,” he spat between blows, gasping as an elbow caught him in the solar plexus just as Other-Scott doubled over from a fist to the gut.

“They’re not, argh, here!” Other-Scott insisted, hooking their ankles together and bringing them tumbling to the floor, where they pushed and shoved at each other, trying to get the upper hand.  Something fell off a table as Scott’s back slammed into it, shattering into many glass fragments and dousing him with a cool liquid.  Another bottle hit Other-Scott’s shoulder on the way down, before smashing on the floor and adding to the mess.

They were equally matched, neither able to get the upper hand as they rolled around on the floor, fists flying, heads clashing, and elbows jabbing whatever fleshy body parts they could reach in all the chaos.  Broken glass dug mercilessly into bare skin wherever it was visible, the liquid contents of the former bottles oozing through their clothes. Other-Scott’s head slammed against the bed, but he barely paused before Scott found his own head colliding with a metal table, darkening his vision for a split second.

“What’s going on here?” an unfamiliar voice demanded.  Scott ignored it, and Other-Scott met his latest attacks with equal fervour. “Scott, stop!”

Scott had no intention of stopping.  He didn’t recognise the voice, but Other-Scott had flinched so he did, which meant they were working together.

Strong arms grabbed him, hauling him away from Other-Scott with a grunt, and he kicked out at the warm body restraining him.  Other-Scott had been captured too, a shorter brown-haired man built like a tank firmly hooking him under the shoulders and frowning furiously as he fought to keep hold of Scott’s doppelgänger, who was as determined to get free as Scott himself.

“BOYS!” the voice thundered right in his ear, no doubt belonging to the owner of the arms restraining him.  “What is this nonsense all a- oof?”  Scott threw his head back, clashing with what felt like a nose, from the way it gave.

“Where are my brothers?” His demand came out almost as a scream, all his frustration at the situation pouring out of him as at least two more hostiles made themselves apparent.  Other-Scott was stopping short of causing any damage to his own captor in his bids for freedom, suggesting that while the man was breaking up the fight, he was still on Other-Scott’s side.

“I told you!” Other-Scott shouted back at him.  “They’re not here!  We only found you!”

“They must be here!” Scott insisted.  “Don’t lie to me!”

“E-nuff!” the man behind him joined in, the imperious tone ruined by the clear sounds of a broken nose. “Shedate im!”

Scott fought harder as a ginger man entered the room, looking at him with wide brown eyes before surveying the mess in front of him with trepidation.  He picked his way across glass-strewn floor carefully, but Scott was more interested in Other-Scott, whose attempts to get free had reduced to a token effort as his attention was briefly stolen by the ginger man. He recognised that look of concern too well, far too used to seeing it in the mirror.

“Oh my!” a frail woman’s voice sounded from the doorway.  “Oh, what a mess.  Jefferson, what are you doing to that poor young man?”

Jefferson.  The name was so familiar it hurt, but at least he had a name for Other-Scott – or so he thought until the man holding him responded.

“He’s quith ou o conthrol, muffer.”

Unable to help himself, Scott tore his gaze away from Other-Scott, who had now stopped resisting capture entirely in favour of looking in the direction of the doorway almost sheepishly, to catch a glimpse of the man holding him.  Silver-grey hair and a receding hairline weren’t immediately familiar, however, and the hold he was in preventing him from seeing much more. He could, however, see the elderly lady who had interrupted the fight.  Rosy cheeks, a slightly bent back and a quiver in her hands all pointed towards a particularly advanced age.

“Where are my brothers?” he asked again, reigning his voice in to an almost-level, if still intense, level.

“I told you-” Other-Scott started forwards again, only to be brought up short by the man still holding him tightly.

“Your brothers, dearie?” the old woman interrupted.  “Oh, I’m afraid I don’t know.  Jefferson, why don’t you help the young man find his brothers?”

“They’re not here, Grandma,” Other-Scott said, and Scott flared up again.

“Well then, dearie, it seems to me that instead of all this fighting, you should be looking to find out where they are,” Other-Scott’s grandmother pointed out.  “I’m sure their absence is terribly distressing him.  I know you’d be terribly distressed if your brothers were missing.”  She pottered towards him, the ginger-haired man sweeping back to her side and nudging broken glass out of the way with a foot before she could tread on any. “Jefferson, let him go.  Are you hungry, dearie?  I’ve got an apple pie that’s just finished baking.”

“Muffer!” the man holding him protested, but the woman was no longer paying her son any attention, bespectacled eyes homing in on Scott.  He looked around the room; Other-Scott was still held by the brown-haired man, and the ginger was hovering awkwardly by the elderly lady but shooting him assessing looks.  The grip on his arms was slackening, and it became clear that no-one wanted to fight with her in the midst, Scott himself included.

“Well, dearie?” the woman prompted, and he slid out of the other man’s grasp.  The instant he did so, a hand, just as frail and delicate as the rest of her, came to rest on his forearm.  “If apple pie doesn’t meet your fancy, I have an orange tart, or some banana bread.  Oh, if none of those tickle you, I’m sure I can find something,” she wittered as he found himself being coaxed from the room.

“Uh, apple pie would be… fine,” he said haltingly.  Behind him, he heard a noise of protest.  “Thank you, er, Mrs..?”

“Oh dear, I didn’t introduce myself.”  She sounded mortified at the omission.  “I’m so sorry, dear.  It’s Mrs Tracy.”

It shouldn’t have bothered him.  Tracy wasn’t an uncommon name, for all that there was only one family famous for it. The elderly lady looked nothing like his grandmother – either of them, even if his recollections of his mother’s mother were faded – but her grandson still looked like him, to the point he still didn’t trust the other man, or indeed anyone in the house.  In light of that, having his own surname thrown around startled him.

“Is there something wrong?” Mrs Tracy asked him.  “Oh, you don’t look well at all, dear.  Let’s sit you down.”  He found himself ushered into a seat as they reached what was clearly the kitchen.  A young woman was already there, pulling the promised apple pie out of a bizarre contraption that vaguely resembled an old oven. “Tin-Tin, would you be a dear and fetch your father?” the elderly lady asked her.  “This young man doesn’t seem very well.”

“But of course, Mrs Tracy.” Tin-Tin had a slight lilting accent to her voice, somewhere south-east Asian if Scott had to guess.  “I’ll find him now.”  She placed the apple pie, which smelled absolutely heavenly to Scott, compared to his own grandmother’s regular offerings, on the table and left the room.

“Eat up, dearie,” Mrs Tracy insisted, placing a plate in front of him.  “Help yourself to as much as you want.”

The apple pie smelled good, and despite his misgivings at the entire situation, a homemade apple pie was far too tempting and he found himself tucking in to a healthy slice.

“What would you like to drink, dear?” she asked.  “Tea, coffee? Oh, I have some juice somewhere, now where did I put it..?”

“Water is fine,” he answered between mouthfuls.

“Oh, are you sure?” she queried.  “It’s no trouble at all.”

“Perfectly,” he replied, only to blink as a steaming cup of tea appeared in front of him.

“You called, Mrs Tracy?” An older man had entered the kitchen while he wasn’t looking, an impressive and concerning feat considering Scott was still on edge about the entire situation.  His accent was the same as Tin-Tin’s, implying that this was her father.

“Oh, Kyrano,” the woman greeted.  “This young man, oh, silly me, I never asked for your name, dearie…  Dearie?”

Scott barely heard her, the cup of tea he’d started to lift falling from startled fingers to smash onto the table, spilling the liquid everywhere.

Kyrano. Another familiar name, if not a familiar face.  First, Other-Scott, who could have been his identical twin.  Then, Mrs Tracy, a name he knew all too well even if she didn’t look like his own grandmother.  Now, Kyrano, another name albeit one whose owner he hadn’t seen in too long, with a different face but the same intensity about him.

“Dearie?” Mrs Tracy asked again.  “Oh, what a mess.  He’s as white as a sheet, Kyrano.”

Something reminiscent of smelling salts wafted under his nose and he spluttered.

“You’re bleeding, sir,” the man said matter-of-factly.  “Allow me.”

Scott had forgotten about the broken bottles he’d been wrestling amongst with Other-Scott, but now the man had mentioned it, he could feel the sting of glass embedded in his arms. No permission was sought before a gentle yet firm hand wrapped around a glass-free section of his arm, holding it in place as a pair of tweezers were produced.  He was no stranger to medical attention, and while he didn’t know the man – Other-Kyrano, apparently, for all that he clearly wasn’t English, and probably couldn’t trump Scott in a fight – he did at least know the procedure for removing foreign bodies from open wounds and watched like a hawk as the man more or less followed the methods he would have expected.

“Please, drink your tea,” Other-Kyrano asked once a nasty, stinging liquid – disinfectant was horrible stuff and Scott would never like it – had been applied and bandages carefully wrapped around the worst of the wounds.  “You might find it helpful.”  A second cup of tea replaced the smashed remains of the old one, as Other-Kyrano efficiently cleaned up the mess.

How was tea supposed to help?  Lady Penelope might insist as such sometimes, but Scott would much rather a strong coffee chock full of caffeine.  Still, Mrs Tracy was looking at him with a worried look on his face, and Grandma would murder him for defying or otherwise offending an elderly lady who had done him no harm.  He cautiously pulled the cup closer to him, and was startled to discover it wasn’t an ‘Assam Blend’, or whatever other fancy teas Lady Penelope liked to serve up. It was herbal, and surprisingly delicious, he discovered after his first tentative sip.

“Kyrano serves wonderful tea,” Mrs Tracy told him, sitting down across the table from him.  She had her own cup of steaming liquid in front of her, and sipped at it delicately.  “Now, dear, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name?”  Scott paused, taking another tentative sip of the tea to buy himself another moment to think.  Should he give them his name?  He didn’t know what they already knew.  Was it worth a lie?  No, he’d never be able to keep it up.

“Scott,” he admitted.

“Oh my,” Mrs Tracy said. “What a coincidence.  That’s the name of my eldest grandson.”  Scott’s gut churned unpleasantly, and he put the cup down before he dropped that one, too.  “Oh, you even look the same.  Isn’t that strange?”

Strange was one word to describe what was going on.  Suspicious was another.

“You’re the fella that punched Scott?”  A young man barged into the room.  He had pale blond hair and light blue eyes that should have made him attractive, except he seemed to have a permanent frown etched into his face.  “What gave you the right?”  Scott matched his glare with one of his own as the young man – barely an adult at all, if he had to guess an age – stormed up to him.

“Alan!”  Tin-Tin was there, resting a hand on his arm.  “Please, calm yourself.”

Another familiar name, and now that he’d heard it Scott found himself instantly drawing parallels between the man and his youngest brother.  There must have been at least five years between them, but Scott could see Alan looking like that man in a few years, although hopefully without the frown.

“But, Tin-Tin!” Other-Alan protested.  “Scott’s face is bruised.  I can’t just let that go!”  He even had the same personality, a rigid sense of right and wrong with little ability to see the other person’s side, and a reluctance to acknowledge that black and white was joined by a large span of grey.

“Your brother can fight his own battles, Alan,” Tin-Tin soothed.  “I’m sure it was all just a misunderstanding.”

“What about Dad’s nose?” Other-Alan demanded.  “You can’t expect me to…”

Scott tuned out the argument at that.  Dad. He tried not to be a petty person, but there were times when he couldn’t quite prevent envy bubbling up when he heard other people taking about their Dads, taking them for granted as though they’d always be there.  Over the years he’d got better at smothering it, but this was a man named Alan, with a brother named Scott, and a grandmother called Mrs Tracy, and they had their Dad.

He’d broken their Dad’s nose when he’d tried to stop him attacking one of his sons.  If that had happened to his Dad – if Dad was still around to break up fights on their behalf, no matter how unwelcome the gesture would have been in the moment – he’d be fuming, too.  He wasn’t going to apologise though.  Not now, when he didn’t know where he was, who he was with, or where his brothers were.  He didn’t even know what these people planned to do with him, regardless of whether or not his presence in their home was intentional on their behalf.

“Leave it, Alan.”  The blond man’s tirade was cut off by none other than Other-Scott – now confirmed to actually be a Scott himself – as he walked into the room.  “Is there any apple pie left, Grandma?”

“Oh, yes, dear,” Mrs Tracy assured him.  “Take a seat and I’ll bring some over.”

“Thanks,” Other-Scott said, pulling up a chair a couple away from Scott.  His face was bruised, as Other-Alan had said, a beautiful darkening along his cheekbone and narrowly missing his eye.  Other-Kyrano set a cup of tea in front of him, which he accepted gratefully and drank without hesitation.

“But, Scott!” Other-Alan complained, and his brother sighed.

“That’s enough, Alan,” he said, tearing into the plate of apple pie his grandmother placed in front of him.  “Leave it.”

Other-Alan caved, albeit with obvious bad grace, and stalked out from the room.  Scott watched him go.  Part of him was glad that the younger man was being openly hostile – at least he knew where, exactly, he stood with him.  Other-Scott was less clear, patched up from their scuffle and now sat at the same table, devouring his grandmother’s apple pie.  Suspicious glances remained, but there was no open hostility.

The door opened again, and Other-Alan re-entered followed by the two young men from the infirmary, and-

A second teacup smashed onto the table.

“Oh dear!” Mrs Tracy cried, hurrying over to him.  Other-Kyrano quickly swept up the remains as she took hold of his hand.  “Scott, dear, are you alright?”

“Scott?” one of the men asked.  He thought it might have been Other-Scott.

“Oh, Jeff, are you sure there’s nothing wrong with him?” Mrs Tracy was asking.  “This is the second turn he’s had in as many minutes!  Oh, look at him, he’s gone as white as a sheet again, Kyrano.”

Scott barely heard them. The man who had just entered the room had the obvious signs of a broken nose, identifying him as Other-Alan’s Dad. He also had salt and pepper hair, more salt than pepper, and a receding hairline.  Steel eyes fixed on him sharply, hard and unforgiving, and a five o’clock shadow did nothing to hide the dimples in his cheeks.  This was the same man that had restrained him, and while a glimpse in his periphery hadn’t been enough to cause recognition, now that Scott could see him properly he looked like Dad – an older version of Dad, but then he hadn’t seen Dad since he was nineteen.  No doubt, if Dad was still with them, he’d look very similar to the man in front of him.

This had gone beyond simple words like weird and suspicious.  Impossible sounded more like it.

“His medical results all came back clear, Grandma,” the brown-haired man from the infirmary assured her, squatting down in front of him and shining a penlight into his eyes.  He recoiled from the bright light, tearing his gaze away from Not-Dad – it couldn’t be Dad, Dad was gone – to frown at him.

“Did you call him Scott?” the ginger man asked, walking over to the table and slotting himself in a chair between him and Other-Scott.

“That is my name,” he said before anyone else could speak up.  A hush fell over the room, broken by Other-Kyrano setting a third cup of tea in front of him.

“Drink,” the man said. “It will help.”

“Your name is Scott?” Other-Alan demanded.  “But-”

“That’s enough, Alan,” Not-Dad interrupted.  The blond frowned, but obeyed.  “Scott, is it?”

“That’s what I said,” Scott retorted, taking a sip of the fresh drink.  As Other-Kyrano said, it did help.  Somehow.

“Scott..?”  Not-Dad trailed off expectantly.  Surrounded by too many familiar names, Scott decided against answering.  He took a longer drink, ignoring the patriarch of the family in favour of assessing the rest of the room.  Other-Alan and Other-Scott he already had some measure of, the former more so than the latter.  Mrs Tracy was a kind enough lady, and Tin-Tin seemed of a similar temperament. Other-Kyrano was difficult to read, but his focus was the two men whose names he had yet to hear.

The ginger noticed his scrutiny, returning it in kind.  There was something familiar about him, but Scott batted away the notion.  He was simply off-balance at the number of familiar names and faces already – that was no reason to start looking for more connections where there were none.  No matter now much the warm brown eyes of the two as-yet unnamed men reminded him of two of his brothers.

Not-Dad bristled when it became apparent that he wouldn’t give his name.

“I’d like to know, who, exactly, is trespassing in my home,” he said.  Clearly the man was used to being obeyed.

“I’d like to know how, exactly, I got here, and where my family are,” he retorted.

“You don’t know how you got here?” the brown-haired man asked, surprised.

“Virgil,” Not-Dad warned. The third teacup was spared the fate of the previous two purely by being on the table when Scott’s grip slacked.

“No,” he said firmly, powering through the unpleasant sensation dousing him again before Mrs Tracy commented on another ‘turn’.  “I don’t. I don’t know where ‘here’ is, either.”

“But how could you get here without knowing?” the newly dubbed Other-Virgil asked.  “None of us brought you here.”

Scott didn’t bother responding, draining the cup of tea before any more unpleasant surprises could befall it and standing up.

“Thanks for the tea,” he said to Other-Kyrano, “and the apple pie,” he continued to Mrs Tracy, ignoring Not-Dad as he pushed the chair under the table.

“Dear, are you sure you’re alright?” Mrs Tracy fussed.  He wasn’t, but he didn’t tell her that.  Instead he gave a short nod before choosing a door at random and walking through it, ignoring a protest from Not-Dad.

A corridor greeted him, with a neat row of doors on one side and a branch off to the left leading to who knew what.

“Now look here.”  A hand clapped down on his shoulder, and he was halfway to removing it forcibly before placing the voice.  Having already broken Not-Dad’s nose, thereby earning the wrath of at least one member of the family, it was probably not a good idea to injure the man further.  It didn’t stop him shrugging him off, however.  “I don’t want you walking around our home unsupervised, young man.”

“Then supervise me,” he retorted.

“I intend to.”  A hand returned to his shoulder – lightly, this time, Not-Dad clearly learning his lesson – and steered him towards what now looked a lot like an elevator from those old, vintage films Grandma occasionally put on even though they were from before her time, or so she claimed. Neither he nor any of his brothers were brave enough to dispute it.  “Gordon, I want everyone in the lounge.  Let’s start from the beginning.”

“Yes, Father,” the ginger man said – Scott hadn’t even noticed him behind Not-Dad – and tried very hard not to react to the name, even though the situation had flown past anything anyone could classify as a coincidence at this point.  Scott, Virgil, Gordon, Alan… all they were missing was a John.

Not-Dad gestured for him to enter the elevator, ignoring what seemed to be a perfectly serviceable flight of stairs, and he did so with trepidation, watching metal shutters slide across sharply before a jerk beneath their feet had them rising.

“Jeff Tracy,” Not-Dad said suddenly.  Scott glanced at him as the elevator stopped moving and the metal shutters opened with a clatter.  “Call me Mr Tracy.”  His cool, unpersonable approach was nothing like how Scott remembered Dad, and that helped, a little.  He didn’t intend on calling him anything, though.  Not until he knew why there was a clone of his father, and of himself, in this strange house.

Chapter 3>>>

[iwrestlenow]

"You are not allowed to write a professional wrestling Sanders Sides AU. You’re just not."

Please tell me about it, also may you please spoil the entire magic system for the Necromancer AU. <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

OMG, BLESS YOUR FLAWLESS HEART. *forever anime eyes* I'm working on the last chapter of the AU right now, which is gonna be...enormous, 'cause I wanna finish it and write endless shippy interludes, I HAVE NEEDS. XD

If you and anyone else is interested? I may do a write up guide to the universe after!

As for the wrestling AU...get ready, 'cause I did see you ask about it and I have been writing shit, so....

*deep breath*

For anyone who knows anything about pro wrestling/is remotely smarky, this will be written from the perpsective of kayfabe, or the world of the storylines, as if the athletic aspect of wrestling isn't scripted. That said?

Thomas Sanders is a newcomer to [INSERT BIG TIME WRESTLING PROMOTION HERE]. He’s a gifted talker, a very talented cruserweight...but he’s struggling to find his way as the new guy, and needs a foot in the door. He finds it in two tag teams that are floundering horribly, but could pull together into an amazing group of singles stars with just a little guidance and the right figurehead...

Enter the promotion’s newest manager/hype man, Thomas Sanders, and wrestling's hottest new stable, the Sanders Sides.

Logan Crofter and Patton Heart worked...okay as a tag team. Logan, a talented heavyweight (BUFF LOGAN RIGHTS) and a former greco roman wrestling Olympic hopeful with seemingly zero personality and no skills on the microphone, was complimented by the earnest and enthusiastic Patton, a fan turned pro with pretty acceptable ring skills but a passionate talker with no dearth of things to say.

Logan is now Logic, a master technician with perfect emotional control who makes his stoicism a key element of his character. Patton has become Morality, the literal heart and soul of the stable whose unfiltered love of the business and personability make him less cliche and more reliable--and a perfect foil to Logic’s straight man when he serves as the naive target for the heels (bad guy wrestlers) attempting to trip up the Sides in competition.

Roman Prince, a descendant of the legendary Prince wrestling dynasty, is as gifted and knowledgeable in terms of the business as any could hope from the next generation of one of professional wrestling’s most prolific families--but could never truly sell himself as a heel alongside his twin brother and tag team partner, Remus. An equally gifted performer, Remus was a truly believable heel, but grew frustrated with the limitations imposed on him by his booking (the storylines he was written into).

Now, they are the core team and connective tissue of the stable as the tag team Creativity, the Prince and the Duke. The Prince, a romantic hero, compliments the madman antihero of the Duke, who can barely be controlled, much less kept on the straight and narrow in competition.

And it's good for a while, it's GREAT. Everyone is doing well, getting closer to real title opportunities. Even Remus is really happy, because Thomas understands his character, what he wants to do...

But after a while, it's still not enough. Enter Janus [STILL NEEDS A LAST NAME].

Janus, who trained with Thomas. Janus, who came up the ranks with Thomas. Janus, who suffered a career ending injury around the time Thomas got the call up to the big leagues, leaving him feeling betrayed, embittered.

Janus, who has been working his way up as Thomas finds his place in the sun with the Sides. Developing a character, managing a deeply creative and impressively gifted rookie by the name of Virgil Storm. The young man's struggle with mental illness has become his signature--Anxiety doesn't speak, often attacks by ambush, and heavily paints his face for the ring so he can move through the world with relative anonymity.

Janus barely has to try in order to draw a parallel between Thomas's Sides and the dark avenger of Anxiety--with his trusty manager, Deceit, to speak for him.

It's almost too easy for Janus to start whispering in Remus's ear when he and Anxiety make it to the big time--to convince a dissatisfied wild card to turn on his friends, on his own brother, with the promise of pushing the envelope of sports entertainment storytelling.

It's far too easy to bring the Dark Sides together, to pit them against Thomas and his Sides...but it get a little bit harder when Virgil ends up sharing a car with some of the Sides on the way to a gig, and realizes that all the things he's heard from Janus about what arrogant pricks they are may not be the entire truth....especially when it comes to Remus's twin brother...

...aaaaand so far that's all I got. XD There's gonna be Princexiety here, but the other ships I'm deciding--and there's every chance I'll end up with at least ONE poly ship here, so. :P

[lover-i-lover]

what a lovely night

waring : food mentioned, kissing

Ship : intruanalogical (Virgil,Logan and Remus)

To almost everyone in logan’s class he’s just the nerd in the back.

But when the new student from Itay called Virgil came in and sat beside him like they knew him, people started to spread rumours. 

The rumours went away the second Virgil picked their first fight, with Logan’s bully of cousre. He had been teassing Logan about their rumoured relationship. 

Everyone expected for Virgil to just willingly go to the office, but what happend was far from it. 

Virgil cussed out the vice principal and pulled Logan away by his upper arm, but Logan didn’t resist he went with Virgil without complaint 

The next day Logan came in alone, truns out Virgil was suspended for a week.

when they came back a week later, they sat down like nothing happend no one spreads rumours about them anymore. 

Untill Remus showed up and tried to teasse Logan infront of Virgil. That was Remus’s first mistake. 

Virgil picked over a 1000 fights with Remus therefor they all 3 end up in detention together, and slowly they become “friends”.’

Now let me show you a typical day for them now 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Logan closes his locker and turns to Remus “Have you seen V? Their class ended 10 minutes ago” He says worryingly 

“clam down Lo, they probably just got pulled aside like aways” Remus says putting a hand on Logan’s shounder. 

The bell rang again and Remus was right, Virgil walks out books in hand, “Sorry for the wait, miss jackson pulled me aside again”  Virgil mumbles opening their locker and putting their books in. 

“Again what’d you do this time?” Logan questions  “i corrected her in front of the class” Virgil laughs 

“Jesus V you get in more touble then the nerd” 

“of course i do Mi amor, i’m the shcool rookie, the controversial foreign exchange student” Virgil jokes

 “stop being silly you two, we have a moive to see in” Logan checks his watch “20 minutes or so. So go home and drop off your bags” Logan says walking off

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remus throws his soda in the trash “well that was disappointing” Logan says sipping his soda, “Yeah” Remus and Virgil says in unison 

“Virgil didn’t you say that there is a carnival downtown?” Remus asks taking Virgil’s and Logan’s hands 

“there is”  Virgil anwers “Wanna go?” Logan ask squeezing Virgil's hand 

“Sure i didn’t see why not”  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil holds on to the octopus plushie Logan had won. While Remus and Logan went on the ferris wheel. 

They both loved the ferris wheel, Virgil doesn’t like the fact that it stops so much so they passed 

Virgil likes the experience just not the rides. The ride ends, Remus and Logan come out. 

Virgil gave Logan his octopus plushie back, he hugs it to his chest 

‘god he’s cute’  They both stare at Logan in awe 

the dark green octopus plushie stands out like a sore thumb against his blue button up “V?” Logan asks lovingly 

“Yeah?” Virgil questions “you good?” Remus asks taking Virgil’s hand, “yeah i just spaced out why?”  V asks taking Logan’s hand 

“you just looked out of it i guess” Logan mumbles leading his head on Virgil’s shoulder  

“your really cute right now Lo” Virgil says squeezing Logan’s hand, Logan blushs as they all begin walk. “What next?” Remus asks practically buzzing with excitement

 ”fun house maybe” Logan says sleeply “i’m getting a little tried can we head home after” 

“of course lovebug” Remus says settling into a calm walking pace, they others follow suit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the car comes to a stops Logan looks over at Virgil “See you at shcool”  Virgil says kissing Logans forehead.

Remus leads forward “see ya” Virgil mumbles kissing Remus on his forehead

Virgil gets out of the car and waves as they walk to they door 

Logan drove Remus home, and went home. The octopus phushie still in his lap 

That sure was a lovely night

[lboogie1906]

Lloyd Michael Warren (born March 5, 1946) is a retired television actor and former college basketball player, best known for playing Officer Bobby Hill on Hill Street Blues.

He attended Central High School, whereas as a senior he was class president. He was twice named to the Indiana all-state team. He graduated as the Bears’ career, season, and single-game scoring leader. He was inducted into the Indiana Basketball Hall of Fame.

He played college basketball at UCLA, where he was a three-year varsity letterman and starting guard. Led by Lew Alcindor, the Bruins posted records of 30–0 in 1967 and 29–1 in 1968. Both teams captured the NCAA national championship. He was named to the NCAA All-Tournament team and was an All-American. The team is considered one of the best in college basketball history. He earned the award as the Bruins’ best defender and he won the award as the Bruins’ best “team player”. He was inducted into the UCLA Athletics Hall of Fame.

He played the role of park ranger P. J. Lewis on Sierra and went on to play a rookie officer in Adam-12. He starred as police officer Willie Miller in Paris. He guest-starred in In the House. He guest starred on Living Single as Khadijah’s father and later portrayed Joan’s father on Girlfriends. He played Darrin Dewitt Henson’s boss on the show Soul Food, in which he played hustler-turned-entrepreneur Baron Marks. He had a recurring role on Lincoln Heights as Spencer Sutton, Eddie’s father.

He played Pete Bancroft in the Tales from the Darkside. He appeared as Virgil Tibbs’ former longtime police partner. He was on the Early Edition episode Hoops. He played Wells in Sliders. He appeared in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, as a psychiatrist.

His film work includes Norman... Is That You? and as basketball player Easley in Drive, He Said. He was in Fast Break as a Preacher.

He played Officer William Henderson in The District. He appeared in the independent film Anderson’s Cross. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[skeletonsloverockcandy]

When will my Reflection show who I am in Sides

Summary: Thomas gets home late after a day of recording videos with his friends. While walking up the stairs to his bedroom, he sees something strange in the hall mirror. Was that? No it couldn't be, he must be imagining things. He goes to bed only to find himself looking back in the mirror, only it isn't the Him he's supposed to see. Because Thomas isn't wearing glasses. Or an AU where the Sides only appear as Thomas's reflection, at what seems to be the most inconvenient times ever.

Warnings: Thomas fears he’s losing his sanity and Virgil causes him to be anxious but I think that’s it, Oh wait no, there’s some arguing too, but it’s pretty mild, also Remus and Janus are in this but I don’t know if they count as warnings or not.

Fandom: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders

Characters: Thomas Sanders/Character!Thomas, Logan/Logic Sanders, Patton/Morality Sanders, Roman “Princey”/Creativity Sanders, Janus/Deceit Sanders, Virgil/Anxiety Sanders, Remus “the Duke”/Dark Creativity Sanders

Word Count: 6,540

Author’s Note: I don’t generally do one shots, but this is getting me back in my writing groove, so I guess there’s a first time for everything. Also I don’t have a general writing taglist yet, so I’m just going to tag the people who are on my Hitchhiker taglist if that’s okay.

Ao3 Link

***

Thomas closed the door to his apartment, sighing as he set his keys down on the counter in the kitchen. He’d just had a long day of making videos with his friends. Gosh he loved his friends, he thought as he reminisced on the videos they were making today, remakes of old vines. It filled him with a sense of fondness and nostalgia that his little ragtag group of pals was willing to entertain his silly ideas even way back in the vine age.

He sighed again, good times.

He rubbed his eyes as he let out a yawn, it was well after dark by now and he was looking forward to going to sleep…which is what he’s going to tell himself as he gets in bed, opens up his laptop and plays video games until 2 AM. But, well, he’s working on it.

He slips off his jacket while dragging his feet towards the stairs, trying to kick off his shoes at the same time.

Now no longer encumbered by his laced nemeses, Thomas can feel confident that he’ll tooooootally put his pajamas on before just flopping into bed. Totally. Yep. Definitely won’t sleep in his clothes.

Not a chance, is what he tells himself as he climbs his way up the staircase towards his room.

He passes the mirror in his hallway between his bathroom and his bedroom, mid yawn when he sees it, just for a moment.

Thomas does a double take, looking back in the mirror, and…yep, it’s just him. 

He could’ve sworn for a moment there he saw scales, and a caplet. But no, it’s just him, Steven Universe shirt in all its glory, and not a hat to be found.

He got quite a jump there, wow his heart was beating fast, was he breathing heavy? It was just because he’s tired...he didn’t actually see...did he? No, no, that wasn’t possible. He just needed to make his way to bed, actually go to sleep on time for once, maybe not play video games until 2 AM. Yeah, that sounded good, he’d do that.

He opened the door to his room, very pointedly not looking at the hall mirror again, and set to go to sleep. Feeling that as long as he was actually going to sleep, he might as well put on some pajamas.

He slipped on a sleep shirt and some pajama pants stretching his arms out a little before climbing under the covers.

He checked his alarm clock, 10:02 PM. Wow, he never usually goes to bed that early. It’d be fine though, he could actually be a functioning human being for once.

As he went to turn off his lamp, he caught sight of the full-length mirror on his now-closed door. And he saw him standing there, another him, one wearing a tie and glasses and looking approvingly back at Thomas instead of the Thomas in pajamas and about to turn out the light that was supposed to be there.

“Ah! What the heck!” Thomas shouted, completely calmly and reasonably, he told himself.

He, however, would not deny that he completely uncalmly and unreasonably fell off the bed and took all the blankets with him, as he now lay in a sprawl on the floor.

Consequences of getting spooked while half leaning out of his bed, he supposed.

He carefully peaked up over the edge of his bed and thankfully only saw a normal looking, if rattled him staring back at himself like he was supposed to.

Thomas gulped and took a deep breath to settle his nerves. He was either seeing things, or he was being haunted, and he wasn’t sure either of those two options made him feel any better. Well, at least if it was the first option, it might be remedied by getting some rest. Surely, if he was seeing delusions of different Hims in the mirror, it was a sign of sleep deprivation? Yeah, yeah, that sounded right. But just in case…

Thomas grabbed the thin sheet that went under the heavy blankets and draped it over the bedroom mirror, feeling himself relax a bit.

Now maybe he could finally get to sleep…

***

It had been a little over a week since Thomas’s little doppelgänger encounter of the third kind happened, and he had not had an incident since going to sleep that night. He kept the sheet on his bedroom mirror up for a couple of nights after, but eventually reasoned with himself that whatever had happened that made him hallucinate, or whatever that was, was clearly a fluke of his exhausted mind since it hadn’t happened again, so keeping the sheet up was unreasonable. He had woken up early the day after and had been now coping with a weirdly adjusted sleep schedule. It felt odd waking up early, but whatever he had done to trick his body into going to sleep early that one night had clearly had lasting impacts, because he had woken up early and gone to bed on time every day this week. Well, hard to complain that he was finally getting his body’s act together, and it was a good thing too. He had an audition coming up soon that he was really excited about, and though he knew it was cliché, and like, rookie theater kid mistake 101, he was looking forward to singing a Disney song.

He knew he could audition for pretty much any part, but Thomas had really debated on whether he wanted to audition for the hero or the villain, as that would determine which song he picked and the range of emotion he showed, though in the end it wouldn’t really matter because the director got final say in casting.

He had decided he would audition for the part of the love-struck hero, and was quietly singing the lyrics to “Won’t say I’m in love” as he grabbed a towel to dry off after taking a shower. He pulled back the shower curtain, toweling off his hair with a series of “No chance, no way”’s, before wrapping the towel around his waist and grabbing his hairbrush. He hummed while he fixed his still-wet hair with one hand and went to wipe the fog off the mirror with the other.

Then it happened again.

He had cleared off a big slice of fog from the mirror and went to run his brush through his hair more carefully, when Thomas realized he wasn’t looking at himself in the mirror.

They certainly looked like him, but he wasn’t wearing a prince outfit, nor was he jamming out and singing at full volume to “Won’t say I’m in love” because he had been humming. Humming.

But now he could hear his own voice with full bravado singing the lyrics back at him, head thrown back, eyes closed, and dramatically leaning on the wall opposite the mirror.

Thomas was also leaning against that wall, but more out of shock and fear than anything else.

He shook his head and closed his eyes. This wasn’t real. He was dreaming. Dreaming. This was just because he was spooked about what happened the other day, he was not seeing himself perform Disney songs in full prince regalia in the mirror because he wasn’t in prince regalia, and he is not singing at the top of his lungs in the mirror, so he couldn’t be seeing his reflection do that, because he wasn’t doing that.

He peaked open one of his squished shut eyelids, to confirm that he was definitely not seeing those things, only to discover prince him, definitely still doing those things and singing in place of where Thomas’s reflection should be.

The Other Thomas was mid-note, when he too opened his eyes, caught sight of Thomas and abruptly cut himself off with a small “eep”.

He looked awkward for a second before looking at Thomas and speaking, “Too much?”

Thomas stared back at the other Him who had just spoken to him. He felt lightheaded. His voice felt weak, but he managed to squeak out a small “...yeah, a bit”.

“Oh, well, I know you need to put a lot of passion into your performance in a few days, best to practice on the regular! Thanks for auditioning for the hero by the way, I don’t think Remus would have ever shut up about it if you had chosen to go for the villain, but brothers will be like that, am I right?”

Thomas was so very confused at the information being thrown at him right now, but, due to circumstances, he found himself feeling kind of out of it at that exact moment. So instead he just thought of his own brother and said “...yeah, brothers are like that.”

“Oh don’t I know it, he has no idea how hard it is being the hot, popular one, and all he talks about is gore and garbage and other gross stuff. You should’ve seen the time he filled our room with feral cats, I had to take care of them for weeks, and he knows we have a cat allergy, but he said the excess of snot and puffiness ‘added to our complexion’, said I could use a bit of mucus to ‘put us on an even playing field since he was the better looking one after all’, can you believe him! The indignity of it all! If he ever does that again I’ll...uh, Thomas, doing alright there, superstar?”

Thomas, who had been slowly sliding down the wall and clutching his head, was now sitting on the floor and very much not doing alright. “...yeah, great, never better, fantastic. Just…dandy. I just...need a moment.”

“Oh certainly, then by all means-” the reflection spoke before Thomas blinked and he was staring back at regular old him again. Thomas exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His head was pounding with his heartbeat in his ears. His brain began trying to process the things he just saw and the words he just heard. Because he had heard words. His reflection had spoken to him. He must have finally cracked. There went his sanity, whoosh, out the metaphorical window. This just...this just didn’t make any sense.

What was the other him even talking about? None of what he said had made any sense. How could his reflection have a brother? Who was Remus? Scratch that, more importantly, how was his reflection talking to him?!

Thomas thought in that moment how he very much needed to lie down, and just as he was thinking that, he blinked and his reflection changed again to that of him in a prince costume, now very close to the glass and looking down at him on the floor.

“So like, how long is a moment for you because that felt pretty long to me, aaaaand you’re still on the floor. You sure you’re doing okay Tommy-Salami?”

Thomas jolted back again and banged his head on the back wall.

“Gah! Quit doing that! Also...ow.” He said as he rubbed the back of his head.

“You good amigo? That looked like that caused a bump large enough to knock out the dragon witch.”

“The what? Nevermind, just, how are you doing that?”

His reflection looked around, looked behind himself, even patted himself down before turning to Thomas with a puzzled look.

“Uhh...doing what?”

“That! All of that! You’re my reflection, how are you...not reflecting me? I’m not wearing a prince outfit, I didn’t say what you just said, and I’m not doing what you’re doing, so how are you?”

His reflection laughed, laughed, at that. Even shook his head a bit as if this was trivial and there was some big misunderstanding. As if it were funny.

“Oh Thomas, I’m sorry, I believe there may have been a bit of a misread of the situation. Of what’s going on here. See, one as beautiful and talented as myself can not be limited to a mere reflection, be contained in something so simple as a mirror. No, there are too many adoring fans, too many stages to perform on, too many lovers to woo and hearts to break,” he paused for a dramatic faux sob, “No, what would I be if I were a mere reflection. A mere copy, nay! A clone. Why, I would not be nearly as complete, not nearly as rich and interesting a person! No Thomas, I am not a reflection of you, I am you. A part of you anyway, and I embody your passion and creativity. It is I, Prince Roman, at your service!” He finished with a dramatic pose.

There was silence for a bit after that, where Thomas just stared at him blankly.

Roman dropped his pose somewhat and cleared his throat, “Eh hem. Thoughts?”

“So you’re...my creativity?”

“Part of it, yes.”

“How does that even work? And that still doesn’t explain why my creativity, I guess, can physically manifest in my mirror, as me in a prince costume. And don’t even get me started on the why part of that question!”

“Woah woah woah woah, what made you think I was physically manifesting, I can’t physically impact the world at all, aside from my dashing good looks that is.”

“So what? This is all just in my head? None of what’s happening right now is real? I’ve finally cracked?!” Thomas said standing up and clutching his towel for dear life.

Roman went still for a second, getting a serious look on his face before responding, “Of course this is all in your head, but why on earth would that mean this isn’t real?” before cracking into a wide giddy grin, “I have always wanted to say that! But seriously yeah, this is in your head, but you’re not going crazy, I’m just as real as you or any of the others.”

“The others?”

“Oh yeah, you didn’t think I was the only one, did you? I’m part of your creativity, but you’ve got other sides to your personality: your morality, your logic, the...other ones, etc etc. I’m hardly the whole packaged deal. Though I totally could be if we were measuring in terms of charm. I mean, I am almost quite literally Prince Charming.”

“Right...sorry this is just, a lot to process. I’m still not sure I’m not going crazy, and...if we’re going to continue this conversation (which I seem to be having with the mental projection of a voice inside my head, wow), I would like to put some clothes on, please.”

“Oh shoot, right sorry, forgot about the whole ‘shower’ thing, go get dressed and I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

Thomas gave him a strange look and blinked, expecting him to disappear like the last time that he ‘gave him a moment’. He didn’t.

“Uh...okaaaaay? I’ll just...go do that then.” Thomas said as he opened the bathroom door, checking behind him every couple of seconds to see if Roman was still there (he was) and sped into his bedroom, closing the door and throwing on a T-shirt and shorts as quickly as he could. Then he sat on his bed and waited. His full length mirror still had his normal reflection in it. Could Roman see him through it? Or was he still waiting at the other mirror? Was the fact that he could see himself in the mirror a sign that Roman had disappeared from the other mirror? Did...did he have to call out to him? Let him know he was dressed? It was worth a try.

“Um, is anyone there? Roman? One of the...others he mentioned? I’m-” well he wasn’t ready, but, “I’m dressed, if you still want to talk, and you know, explain to me what the heck is going on. I’m here.”

He expected it this time when he blinked and his reflection changed, but he didn’t expect someone that wasn’t Roman to show up.

“You! The guy in the tie! Teacher dude!”

“Yes, hello to you too Thomas. I overheard Roman giving you the ‘lowdown’, I believe is the correct terminology, and thought I should give my assistance in the explanation since this matter requires objective facts and knowledge, and I do encompass your logic.”

“Woah, slowdown, you’re my logical side? What were you doing last week with the whole ‘peering at me before I try to go to sleep’ gambit? And (I can’t believe I’m saying this because he’s probably just a figment of my imagination) where is Roman?”

The him with a tie and glasses, who Thomas was beginning to think of as the ‘Teacher Him’ in his head, sighed and adjusted his glasses.

“I...apologize for startling you last week, Thomas. I was just checking in because you finally, finally, had been planning on correcting your sleep schedule. Which is something that has been quite a lofty goal of mine for quite some time. I was proud to see you finally start to follow through, especially after a...discussion I had had with Janus regarding the situation. So I ‘slipped up’, if you will, and may have been an iota too excited to see you succeed, which, unfortunately resulted in your mental distress, but did conclude with the desired results. Though I apologize again Thomas. I did not intend to frighten you, that is not my primary function.”

“So...What is your ‘primary function’ then?”

“As I stated previously, I am your logical side. I am your common sense as well as everything you’ve ever learned. My main goal is for you to become a more functional, healthy, and productive human being. I have had...mixed success trying to complete these goals.”

Thomas let out a bitter laugh.

“You don’t say? ‘Healthy’ and ‘functional’ while I am seeing personified portions of my personality whenever I look in a mirror?! What part of any of this seems normal? Or okay!? Or remotely like sane human behavior?” He finished with a half shout, growing increasingly more distressed. The teacher him let out a slightly exasperated sigh before softening.

“Thomas, you need to breathe. You are going to be okay. I know it may not seem it right now, but you are perfectly sane. If a bit...eccentric at times. But I can tell you are-” he pulled out some notecards from his back pocket, “‘going through it’ right now, but I promise things will be-” he shuffled through the cards again, “‘5 by 5’ in the future.”

Thomas looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Do...do you have flashcards that have slang words on them?”

“Yes, I find it best to be informed on all modern advancements in the English language, and having a list of all new vocabulary helps me keep track of such advancements.”

Thomas blew a slow breath, “Wow, this is uh, this is a lot. That is ah, certainly something I didn’t know about myself. (Glad to know I’m a huge nerd in every iteration of me). But wait, can um...can, uh, other people...see you? In the mirror I mean. Or does this just look like I’m talking to myself?”

“As far as I am aware, I do not think other people can see us. I don’t know that for sure though, because you don’t know that for sure, and I’m your knowledge, Thomas. I only know what you know.”

“Right, great, so there’s no way to confirm I’m not crazy, great. Look, sorry, I keep calling you ‘Teacher Dude’ in my head, but like, the other guy had a name. Roman? He said he was in charge of my creativity. Do you also have a name? Just...What do I call you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry Thomas, it completely slipped my mind. Yes, I have a name. You may call me Logan.”

“Logan...right. Thanks, I guess.”

“It’s no problem Thomas I simply-”

“Ah- Tah- Logan! I was going to explain things to Thomas!” Roman could be heard exclaiming before stepping into view behind Logan in the mirror. Logan let out a long, exasperated sigh before stepping back so there was room to view both of them within the frame of the mirror.

“If he wanted to hear from the Microsoft Nerd he would have asked for you.”

“I find that unlikely since until very recently he didn’t know our names or of our existence. Besides, Thomas only asked if anyone was there, including, and I quote, ‘One of the others mentioned’, and since I am in that category, as someone who is not you, I had full reason and responsibility to show up and explain things to Thomas. And! He clearly needed my assistance, because someone wasn’t doing a good job of explaining things.

“You. The someone is you.” Logan finished.

Roman gave an offended scoff, “Well I-! If anyone would be bad at explaining this to Thomas, it would be the person who scared him so bad in the first place! Guh huh yeah! Don’t think the rest of us have forgotten that little stunt you pulled the other day.” Roman said with a sneer.

“First of all, I already apologized for that, and Thomas understands now, don’t you Thomas?”

“I uh-”

“Great, see? And second of all, you’re one to talk, seeing as you just scared him in the shower just now. Or could your sonorous serenade of Disney lyrics not wait, hm?”

“Guys-”

“Oh I’m sorry, are my rehearsals not important to you? You know Thomas has a big audition coming up. His vocal cords need to be practiced and ready for when he’s on stage! Or did you forget to mark it down in your little calendar?”

“Uh guys-”

“Of course I didn’t forget to write it down in my calendar. I’m insulted you would even suggest such a thing. I just don’t know why we have to waste so much time preparing to prance around and play make believe on a stage when, historically, Thomas has done well on average for other auditions, but that is still no guarantee on whether or not we get the part. That is not up to us, it’s up to the director.”

“Guys!”

“Tch- guh- Prance around? No guarantee? Excuse you but Thomas has done well on those past auditions because he practiced! And while the final say may be in the hands of the director, that say is influenced by how well we perform! We cannot simply settle for letting ourselves be second best, Nay! We must strive to go beyond what we have before and reach new heights!’

“Well you’re just-”

“GUYS!”

“What?!” They both shouted back in unison.

“I get that you two are having what I’m sure is really important and serious discussion, but to me it just sounds like you’re arguing over something kinda dumb. And also I have, like, no idea what’s going here, so if you guys could stop for a moment that would be great, because along with everything that’s been going on, you two fighting is just making me more anxious.”

Roman looked up in alarm at that. “Wait, anxious? Then that means-”

“Sup guys.”

   “Gah! Virgil! You’re here! Heeeeeeey...”

   As soon as Thomas had blinked while Roman had been talking, another him, (apparently named Virgil) who was brooding, wearing dark eyeshadow, and donning a patched purple and black hoodie, had shown up. Thomas would be fooling himself if he thought he still had dignity left after falling off the bed for the second time, but at least he had only knocked loose a few pillows and didn’t bring the whole blanket with him this time. Logan was more composed, only flinching a small bit when the new mirror man appeared.

   “Ah, hello Virgil. What brings you here?”

   “Seriously? All this unease and unrest, you couldn’t not expect me to show up.”

   “Wellllll, I think you’ve made your point, Thomas is more than spooked about the situation, Sweeny Toddler, so I think you can be going now.” Roman interjected. Virgil gave him an unamused eyebrow raise before turning to address Thomas.

   “Are you sure you’re not going crazy Thomas? I mean Prince Stink Face and Teach here have already made it pretty clear this is all going on inside your head. How do you know this isn’t you just talking to yourself in the mirror right now, confirming your worst fears?” he said with a slight drawl of the lips.

   “Okay, Virgil, that’s enough, he already has enough anxiety as it is.” Logan cut him off before he could go further, “You know as well as any of us that Thomas is not going crazy.”

   “Do I know that Logan?” Virgil said in a low voice, still looking at Thomas, a slight smirk on his lips, “all I know is that we seem to be figments of some guy’s imagination, and those figments seem to be really stressing him out,” he said, finally breaking eye contact with Thomas (who had been backed up against his bed on the floor in fear) to look at the other two.

   “So I think I, as well as Thomas, would appreciate it if you two would cut it the heck out.”

   “Ugh, fiiiiiiiine. Sorry Thomas, and I guess sorry Logan. I got a little toooo...passionate? Back there, and I uh, didn’t mean to upset you Thomas, really.” Roman said while tugging on his sleeve. Virgil then turned to look at Logan, clearing his throat slightly and giving him a pointed look.

   “I...suppose I should apologize as well,” Logan said with some disdain in his voice, “Thomas. Roman. I am sorry.”

   “Anything else you wanna say Teach?” Virgil said under his breath.

   “No, I believe that covers it.”

   “Well, I tried, sorry Princey. Okay, well, I think my job here is done. Maybe next time don’t argue like babies and I won’t have to work so hard next time, okay? I’m gonna head out so one of you can explain to Thomas what’s going on, because honestly, being the productive one around here sounds exhausting. Oh and Thomas?” Virgil said, making eye contact with him again.

   Thomas looked up and gulped, he didn���t know what to think anymore, “Uh- Uh huh?”

   “See you in your nightmares.” and with a final wink, he was gone.

   “Ugh he’s so dramatic.” Roman declared with an eyeroll.

   “You’re one to talk, but yes, that last bit was rather unnecessary. I don’t think you have anything to worry about Thomas. Virgil is just like that sometimes.” Logan said with an adjustment of his glasses.

   “If by ‘like that’ you mean ‘completely terrifying’ then yeah, I can see that.” Thomas said with a shudder.

   “Well that does make sense seeing as he embodies your anxiety.” Logan supplied.

   “Oh,” Thomas said in a weak voice, “good. Nice to know I’m such a rich and complicated individual that even my anxiety becomes personified. That’s just...peachy.”

   “I’m not sure how the flavor of peaches has anything to do with-”

   “It’s an expression, Professor Literal,” Roman said exasperatedly.

   “Ah, I see.”

   Thomas took a moment to run a hand down his face and compose himself, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

   “So let’s review so I can get this straight,” Roman snorted at that but Thomas pressed on anyway, “You all embody facets of my personality? And for some reason that means looking like a bunch of different Me’s in costumes, and only appearing in my mirrors when I least expect it.”

   Logan cut in here, “Hmm, well yes and no. We do embody different sides of your personality, yes, but we hardly appear when least expected. Mirrors have somewhat intrinsic qualities to them that make it easier for us to appear in them, but whether that is due to unprecedented scientific phenomenon or simply to a mind’s long winded metaphor for ‘self reflection’ I can’t say. But I can say as to why we show up when we do.”

   “Okay then, why’s that?”

   “We are tied to certain parts of your personality, are we not? And what is a personality but a collection of feelings, thought processes, motivations, etc. So what happens when you feel particularly strongly about something or when your mind leads down a particular train of thought is that those things are linked to each of us. What I’m saying is, your mental state influences how we show up sometimes, and when we appear to you. Sort of like how you did with Virgil a minute ago. You were feeling very anxious, so then the embodiment of anxiety shows up. As straightforward as 1+1=2.” Logan finished.

   “So...when I am in a certain mentality I, what, summon one of you?”

   “Not quite. We are facets of your personality Thomas, we are always with you, so we cannot truly be summoned. However, when you enter these specific mental states, it makes it...I would say, ‘easier’ to show ourselves in a more visual manner. Sometimes even...unintentionally,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “but that’s neither here nor there.”

   Roman coughed a little in what sounded like “nerd” but Logan simply rolled his eyes. Thomas continued to ask questions about the other Sides to himself in the mirror (they had apparently taken to calling themselves that) while Logan and Roman tried their best to explain things.

   He still wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t lost his mind, but the more they talked and he was around them, the less freaked out he was by their presence there in the first place. He learned the names of the other Sides he had yet to properly meet as well as their functions. He learned that he had a Side named Patton who apparently encompassed his Morality and his Heart, so to speak, though Logan seemed to have some trepidation about him and Thomas meeting because of what Roman referred to as a ‘long suffering battle against an assault of Dad Jokes and puns’. He learned who Remus was, apparently being somewhat symbolically Roman’s ‘brother’, as he encompassed what Logan called the ‘dark side of his creativity’, and Thomas’s intrusive thoughts, (which he was not thrilled about) but Logan insisted it would be fine as there were easy ways to deal with him should he become a problem in the future. There was also Janus, which Thomas remembered having an encounter with before after Logan explained what he looked like, what with the snake aesthetic and all. He supposedly embodied Thomas’s self-preservation, deceitfulness, and denial, which...made sense given he had shown up before when Thomas had been lying to himself about when he was going to go to bed. Thomas still wasn’t sure if he could make heads or tails of what was happening to him, but he felt he now had a better understanding about what he was seeing, even if he still couldn’t grasp the why.

***

   It was a few days after his audition and Thomas thought he had done well. He saw Roman on the lobby mirror give him a thumbs up and mouthing the words ‘Let’s do this!’ before he went on stage, which weirdly enough helped in its own way, and now he felt pretty good about his performance. To make things better, he had gotten a call earlier today that confirmed he would be in the play, so he was just waiting to see if he got the roll he auditioned for. Feeling pretty happy and confident, Thomas decided to make himself some celebratory pancakes for dinner with lots of chocolate chips and a mountain of syrup.

   He was mixing the batter and looking at the recipe on his phone when the screen faded and turned to black before he could tap it to wake it up. He sighed as he sat down the bowl to pick up his phone and pull up the recipe again, when he saw his reflection wearing glasses.

   “Oh, uh, hi, Logan. What’re you doing here?”

   “Oh sorry Kiddo, not Logan! Though I get the mix up with the glasses,” he chucked, “I’m your happy pappy Pop, Patton! And yes, the title is...Patton Pending,” he said with a wink.

   “Oh right! You’re Patton, my morality right? I was warned about your dad jokes,” Thomas said with a laugh.

   “Yeeeah, Roman told me you all did introductions a while ago, but I was just checking in on my favorite Kiddo to see what you were cooking up! I’m so proud you’re learning how to cook Thomas, you batter believe it,” Patton said, grinning from ear to ear.

   Thomas snorted through his nose and shook his head at that.

   “Well, it was nice to meet you Patton. But speaking of batter, I really should get back to these pancakes.”

   “Of course Kiddo! I’ll be right here if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” he said with a smile.

   “Uh, sure. But uh, if you don’t mind me asking, how um, how could you help? You’re in my phone right now.”

   “Oh um,” Patton looked puzzled for a second, “I guess if you need help with the instructions or if you just need a friend to talk to, I’ll be right there to help with that,” he said, picking back up that same enthusiasm.

   “Okay Patton, thank you,” Thomas smiled in return, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

***

   Over the next several months Thomas continued to see the Sides of himself occasionally, usually in mirrors or other reflective surfaces. At first he was freaked out and would get a little jump every time he saw one, but eventually he grew used to them just popping in whenever he was doing or thinking about something that ‘summoned’ them, even though Logan didn’t like him referring to it as that. Thomas got used to seeing them while brushing his teeth, or making breakfast, or in his dressing room before going out on stage, and he wasn’t bothered by it anymore, not as much at least.

He would pass idle conversation with them on occasion, sometimes arguing with Logan about his health habits, brainstorming ideas with Roman, having a small debate with Patton in his computer screen about what was the best ‘nice dialogue’ option in a video game.

Virgil would show up pretty regularly when Thomas was feeling anxious, and it was kind of a mixed bag on how he would react to Thomas when he showed up. Sometimes he showed up and just made Thomas more anxious, but on a couple of times when Thomas had it really bad, Virgil actually helped him calm down a bit with a breathing technique Thomas remembered Talyn teaching him once. So he actually wasn’t so bad, though it was a bit annoying when he was trying to sleep and he would look in his bedroom mirror to see either Virgil or Remus.

The first time Remus showed up in person was not pleasant and Thomas had had some pretty vivid nightmares after, but thankfully the next morning, Logan had helped diffuse the situation and put Thomas more at ease.

Janus liked to show up in the reflection of his phone screen whenever his friends texted him wanting him to do something for them when he already had a prior commitment, or if he was particularly stressed out about a dilemma. He would tell Thomas that he would be busy that day, to which Thomas would often reply something along the lines of ‘busy with what? I’m not doing anything that day,’ to which Janus would say something sarcastic but which always led back to the central theme of self-care. Thomas was pretty wary to listen to Janus at first, given Logan had said that he encompassed Thomas’s deceitfulness, but after Janus had gotten him out of a couple of jams that had almost led to near mental health crises, he had given him a shot and started to listen to his advice on occasion. Not too much, because who knew where that would lead, but sometimes, on instances when Janus’s warnings and advice were too pertinent to ignore.

All in all, Thomas began to like his Sides, not minding talking to them and spending time with them. They helped him out in a lot of areas of his life, and hindered him in some others, but that only seemed to happen when he was either ignoring one of them or listening to another too much. Patton had started referring to all of them as a family, emphasis on the ILY, and it was he who suggested Thomas take a family portrait in front of the hall mirror with all his Sides. Thomas wasn’t sure how much that would work, given it would probably just look like a selfie in front of his mirror, but seeing how excited Patton was, he decided to humor him.

Patton had called everyone to meet in the hall mirror while Thomas sat up the tripod for the camera. He ended up standing in the middle while his Sides stood to the left and the right of him. Roman was posing dramatically with a dashing smile while Logan muttered about how unnecessary it was, what with the logistics of showing up on camera. Virgil pulled his hood up and got teased by Remus for being ‘camera shy’. Janus wore a mischievous smirk and was flourishing a cane he had gotten from somewhere, rivaling Roman in who could be the most dramatic. Remus was somehow hanging from the top of the mirror frame upside down and was making a crude gesture with his hands while sticking out his tongue, and Patton was nearest Thomas, debating whether to make a heart with his hands or give Thomas bunny ears, and ended up going with the heart after Logan had made an unintentional pun about it. Finally Thomas finished setting up the camera while all his Sides got ready behind him, and he set the timer. He moved to take his place in the middle and told everyone to say ‘Cheese’.

“Romano-” “Cheddar!” “Nooo-” “Fermented milk solids-” “Rat Bait!” “The worst salad topping, I’m sure-”

And with a Click and a bit of laughter from Thomas at everyone’s replacement for ‘Cheese’, it was done.

Thomas was checking on the film to make sure everything had worked okay, and Logan was already preemptively warning him that it was likely Thomas had done nothing more than take a nice photo of himself in front of the mirror without the others being visible. Thomas turned and nodded at Logan saying he knew and he wouldn’t be too disappointed since that was what he thought was most likely.

Thomas continued to check the camera while the others chatted in the background. Then he scrolled through the photos to look at the most recent one taken. He reeled back in shock before breaking into the widest grin.

“Guys, I have the best news.”

“Ooo what is it Thomas?” Patton asked.

Thomas tried to bite back his excitement and his Sides turned to look at him with various levels of anticipation and curiosity.

“You all can show up on camera.”

***

Author’s Note: I'm not going to continue this, but after that ending imagine Thomas sets up a bunch of glass panes in his Livingroom with a great idea about what his new YouTube series will be. I guess could also be considered a "the sides are real but also actors for the Sander Sides series" AU if you want. Tag me if you write anything with this idea in the future because I'm interested in reading it.

Taglist: (sorry it’s the same one for A Hitchhiker’s Guide For Androids)

@enby-phoenix

@farflypants

@callboxkat

@skruffy901

@lefaystrent

@ianasha

@delimeful

@scared-ghosthunter

@equations-of-logan

@hiddendreamer67

@alexa-is-fangirl-trash

@momolinia

@thecipherfox

@sweet-razz-tea

@noah-shite

@mothdaemon