#i think if red was a color of deceit then chuck would be way more red coded

[kaffeebaby]

With both of your posts in mind, I’d like to add on the idea that it’s not just about how the characters are “objectively,” but also how they present and see themselves. It’s more of a device to clue the reader in, not an absolute truth. Longish post with some examples ahead.

Gus and Mike, for example, give very little information out about themselves, and so they have neutral tones like gray, black, and khaki as their main colors. Even Chuck has a tendency to wear a lot of neutral tones, half of his cardigans and sweaters are either some shade of tan or gray. The characters that keep a lot to themselves or intentionally withhold their intentions/true selves wear neutral tones the most. Pretty much every outfit the twins wear are metallic gray shades, despite them being assassins, for this reason.

The most legal and/or moral characters are associated with blue-adjacent colors, and the least legal/moral characters are associated with red and orange, with yellow being the in-between, but it's also relative to their actions and the characters around them. Frequently, it’s about the choice that they’re making in the moment, or what they’re accepting as being okay. It’s not set in stone and is more about the emotional aspect than an objective one. I think it’s also used to show a character’s growth or decay as they slowly shift colors. I don’t want to equate legality with morality, but many of the characters embody both at the same time, so I’m mostly partnering them together, but they are different!

>Nacho has a lot of red coding because (In my opinion) he sees himself as being incredibly immoral, and he also tries to present as a hardened criminal when he’s actually in distress over his actions. In season 1 especially, Nacho and Tuco are the most lawless and immoral people Jimmy has come into contact with besides himself, and so comparatively they are red, despite not being all that immoral over all. It’s less about how they are objectively, and more about the perception and presentation of them, especially in comparison to other characters at that point.

>And when Chuck calls Howard with Jimmy’s phone, he’s surrounded by yellow lights, and the light from the phone is bright blue, representing Chuck being morally dubious and Howard being a beacon of morality in comparison. Though he thinks he’s being righteous, he’s doing something morally questionable in this scene, and the yellow lighting reflects it. Howard isn’t really clued in on Chuck’s intentions, and is just following orders, and so he isn’t morally dubious like Chuck is. No laws are being broken, but Chuck is being deceitful and backstabbing Jimmy.

Add the fact that Chuck’s entire house is light yellow, and... I feel like it’s making a statement about how dubiously immoral Chuck’s life has become, despite him being a more legal character in the show. All of the horrible things that went down between him and Jimmy in that house, I feel like it’s yellow on purpose, and also represents Chuck’s life as an extension. Though he presents himself as both legal and moral (and thus he mostly wears blue), the state of his life overall has deteriorated from the past into a more questionable state.

>Or, in the scene where Lalo gives Hector his bell, the two of them are surrounded with red lighting, and many shots in the scene have Nacho standing there silently with yellow lights behind him. Although he is still immoral in going along with the Salamancas, it’s clear that he’s not the worst person in the room. They’re taking delight in burning down a building and killing tons of people, obviously a red-coded moment, but the Salamancas aren’t always associated with red because they usually stay out of public sight and stick to violence in their own sphere. They wear a lot of black and white or other neutral toned clothing. It’s partially about their presentation, not just the objective morality of their actions.

>If I recall correctly, Mike initially wears a lot of blues with his neutrals because he is presenting himself as a law-abiding citizen, despite his morally and legally wrong actions in the past. Because the audience and other characters don’t know much about him at that point and have to rely on his presentation, he seems like every other random person who is probably more lawful than not. As the show goes on though, his clothes become more indistinct as he both loses himself and closes himself off from others, staying more anonymous outside of work and family.

I also think that the color rule isn’t so strict. It’s not like every outfit or shot is going to clue the audience in on if something is moral or immoral. It’s more of a general guideline. Like, key moments in a character’s storyline will probably have these colors involved in order to paint a specific tone and intention.

hi! I love your takes and I was wondering if you had any on colour in BCS? I've seen some commentary on blue = heroic and red = evil, but I was wondering if some clever person had put together a cohesive system on the colour themes gilligoud put in BCS

Sorry this has taken so long for me to get to - I had to think about it for a while, and color is BCS is a really big subject, so I'm probably going to make separate posts rather than just jamming everything into one. I'll use the tag #bcs color theory.

(Side note: I know that there have been interviews about the use of color, but I'm very bad at remembering them - if anyone has links, I'd be interested in them!)

So first up, let's talk about red. Blue = heroic and Red = evil doesn't really pan out. The two characters who commit the most evil acts and are the most unrepentant criminals, Gus and Lalo, almost never wear red. Mike, another committed criminal, also doesn't wear red. (On the other end, Chuck is most often associated with blue, and he's not exactly a paragon of goodness.) The character most associated with red is Nacho, who I think you'd have a pretty hard time arguing is meant to be the embodiment of evil.

Instead, red is a color of deceit. Nacho's storylines all revolve around deception and backstabbing, sometimes of his own volition, like with Tuco and Hector, and sometimes forced, as when Gus blackmails him into spying on Lalo. And it would probably be easier to make a list of scenes where he doesn't wear red than when he does.

The other character most closely associated with red is...Betsy Kettleman, a character who literally never tells the truth.

In Kim and Jimmy's stories, red pops up when they are being deceitful. The shot in the darkroom from season 6 is pretty explicit with associating red with lies

And here's a shot from season 1 when Jimmy is lying to Kim

Then there's the bright red "LIE" of their alarm clock

Kim also starts to wear red in season 6 when the Ham Scam is in full gear

Pink, which really is just light red, is also associated with Jimmy and Kim when they are dishonest. Kim is wearing pink when the consequences of her lies finally catch up to her

She's also wearing pink when she tells Jimmy she wants to continue scamming

Jimmy wears pink when he's picking up Lalo's bail money, which he lies to Kim about what happened when he gets back

He wears pink when he starts embracing his Saul Goodman persona in earnest in season 5

[carryonmywaywardcaptain]

Imagine...being a demon and hunting Dean down

CarryOnCap’s Masterlist Dean Winchester Masterlist

Summary: When Dean says he knows you better than anybody, you’re surprised to find out that you may have more of a history with the Winchesters than you can remember...

Warnings: very slight Season 15 *SPOILERS* for like a paragraph; mentions of “need to kill”; slight angst and open-ish ending, but implied TFW 2.0 win

A/N: Written for @wayward-mikaelson​‘s #Daily Imagine Prompt and (unintentionally) for @winchester-reload​‘s #Suptober20 day 4 prompt “Brand” (even though I’m working on my actual entry sketches!)  Idk where this came from and it took a weird route. Also, there’s an unintentional...nod? paraphrasing maybe? of dialogue from CA: The Winter Soldier, so credit to the MCU writers for permanently snaking their way into my subconscious because my love for Steve and Bucky apparently knows no bounds.

“If it isn’t the notorious Dean Winchester,” you sneered. “As fun as this little game of cat and mouse has been, you Winchesters are really starting to piss me off.”

They’d been tailing you all across the country and you’d had enough. Sure, you were a demon, but it wasn’t like you set out to hurt anyone. As long as everyone else could mind their own business, you liked to think you were pretty easygoing. 

…aside from a few bloody slip ups here and there but, hey, who was counting?

At least you weren’t one of those crossroad douches in the soul collecting business. You preferred to spend your time topside, having fun and wreaking a little havoc now and again. It had been going just fine until those plaid-wearing pests became obsessed with you. Eventually you’d decided to hunt them down for a change so you could finally get a little peace.

You hadn’t spotted the tall, sasquatch Hunter yet, but you’d caught the green eyed one by surprise and knocked him to his knees. Glaring down at him with a smirk, you kept a firm hold on the pressure point of his shoulder to make sure he stayed right where you wanted him.

“Did the cat catch your tongue? Because, with all of our showdowns lately, I was expecting a little more of that quick wit you always seem to have stowed away.”

If you were being honest, he was a pretty fine piece of ass and you wouldn’t mind going a round or two with him under different circumstances. Even with the dopey look of intensity on his face, laced with...something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Distress? Of course it would make sense for him to feel that way--you were a demon after all. Was there a hint of longing in the way he was staring at you? Maybe he couldn’t help thinking you were attractive despite what you were.

Who cares? You practically growled at yourself, chasing away something nagging in the back of your mind that told you there was more to his reaction. Pretending you didn’t actually care because you were incapable of such feelings anymore.

“D’you remember me?” he asked, eyes darting back and forth between yours.

Fuck, he was gorgeous. And it was really hard not to get caught up in his eyes. Why did that piss you off so much?

“Of course I do. You two meatheads have been on my ass everywhere across this godforsaken world,” you spat. “I know we’ve had a grand ol’ time and all, but listen up because I’m only going to say this once-- Leave. Me. Alone. If I catch you two on my tail again, I won’t be such a ray of fucking sunshine.”

He studied you for a long moment, seemingly unfazed by your threat.

“What do you remember about becoming a demon?”

You narrowed your eyes and tilted your head at his question. “What does that have to do with anything? And why the hell would it matter to you?”

“Because it does. Now I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess you don’t remember a whole lot about what happened to you. That there’s some gaps you just can’t seem to fill in.”

“And let me guess--you just happen to have all the answers to that because you know me so well?”

“I do. I know you better than anybody.”

You weren’t sure what game he was trying to play or how he could possibly know how disconcerting it was that you couldn’t recall a damn thing before the last month or two. Your life as a human, your time in hell-- you didn’t have the slightest idea who you were or what had happened to you.

But there was no way you were going to listen to some Winchester--even if your gut told you he was telling the truth.

“I highly doubt that,” you retorted, seething with defiance.

“You know me--”

“No I don’t,” you snarled, unsure why his words were making you feel so unsettled.

“Your name is Y/N L/N. You’ve known me and Sammy your whole life. You--ngh--”

He flinched and groaned in pain when you tightened your grip, digging your thumb into the hollow area just below the crook of his neck and above his collarbone. With your other hand, you withdrew a large blade from the side holster you’d crafted yourself.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’ve had enough of the foreplay.”

Dean threw a sidelong glance at the weapon. His nostrils flared as he clenched his jaw and fixed his olive eyes on you again.

“I know you’ve been bouncing around looking for answers on that blade. Just like I know that underneath that jacket of yours you’ve got a mark on your arm. And I know from the small trail of bodies you’ve been leaving behind that you’re trying to fight that hunger you have to kill anything and everything around you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice quivered between your gritted teeth.

“It’s called the Mark of Cain. And that right there is the First Blade.” He nodded toward the weapon without a trace of deceit on his face. “I know the calm you feel when you’ve got the blade in your hand. And that power flowing through you? It scares the hell out of you.”

You grimaced, placing the antique blade against his throat as your chest began to heave from the growing rage pulsing through your veins. What gave him the right to pretend he knew a damn thing about you? 

Maybe he was right. Maybe you could admit the power did scare you sometimes. You didn’t exactly give a shit about right and wrong, but the overwhelming urge to kill left you feeling out of control. It was why you were trying to uncover answers about the brand on your arm. Why you were fighting a losing battle with the trembling hand gripping the blade now-- you wanted answers and you needed him to keep talking.

“How do you know all of this?” you demanded.

He swallowed uncomfortably and the blade bobbed against his Adam’s apple. “It was Chuck--uh, God. You’re a Hunter, Y/N. You, me, Sam, Cas, Jack--we’re family. Chuck’s trying to end the world and we were working to stop him. On our last run-in with him...we thought he killed you. But it turns out he sent you to some other universe he’d created. In this world I had the Mark and, when I died, I became a demon. In the other world he tossed you into, we think that’s what happened to you. ‘Bout a month or two ago, somehow you found your way back to this world and we’ve been trying to track you down ever since.”

Furrowing your brow, your eyes fell away from him as glimpses of the events he’d described flashed through your mind. You squeezed your eyes closed, trying to latch onto fragments of the hazy memories emerging from the depths of your subconscious...

Dean screaming your name, face contorted with horror. A small man with graying hair and a wicked grin snapping his fingers. Your hand gripping someone’s forearm, just as his strong hand grasped yours. The deep red energy that flowed from his arm to yours, searing through your veins until the Mark bubbled to the surface of your skin--the scar that was always itching to let the darkest parts of you reign free. 

“We can help, Y/N. Me and Sam can fix this.” Dean’s gruff voice was resolute as he briefly glanced away and begged you to consider his offer. “Just come with us and we can cure you.”

His words stirred something in your chest, making you realize he had triggered the faint prick of some long forgotten emotion. A small part of you longed to go with him, but it was miniscule and insignificant when you considered that “fixing this” might mean getting rid of the Mark. 

Despite the fear and lack of control it brought you, you were unwilling to give up the power or the blade. It was an addiction you had no intention of overcoming.

“Maybe I don’t want to be cured. The way I see it? There’s nothing to fix. Time to say goodnight, Dean-O.”

You raised the blade but, before you could strike, something cinched around your wrist. When the power coursing through you became dull, you turned in surprise to see that Sam had secured your wrist in one end of the cuffs he held. He reached for the blade with his free hand and swiftly dodged you when you lunged at him after releasing your hold on Dean. 

Snarling in rage, you again swung at Sam while he tried to wrestle the blade from your grasp. Dean suddenly collided with your back, circling his arms around you as he pinned your limbs to your sides. You thrashed your head and screamed as you tried to escape, but his cheek was pressed between your shoulder blades, tucked safely away from your efforts of fracturing his nose with the back of your skull.

“It’s okay, Y/N,” he grunted, arms tense as he squeezed you tighter. “We’re gonna fix this. You’re okay, sweetheart.”

“Dean, I still...can’t...she’s too strong,” Sam grumbled.

You continued struggling while you gripped the blade with every bit of strength you had. As you fought the boys, you spotted a young man in a tan jacket walking toward you who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He looked vaguely familiar and you surged toward him out of instinct, knowing he was a greater threat than the men holding you.

His hair was side swept, with a few of the sandy colored strands grazing his forehead. His eyebrows were drawn together over soft eyes, brimming with an array of emotions. The boy raised his hand in greeting, smiling in relief as if he’d managed to find a long lost family member. 

“Hello, Y/N... We’re going to help you. I promise. Sam and Dean will find a way to fix this.”

“Do it, Jack!”

“Any time now, kid.”

The boys shouted in unison and you paused for a fraction of a second as another series of memories flooded you. Before you could make sense of them, Jack reached out and pressed two fingers to your forehead.

Your knees buckled and your eyes fluttered closed as you slipped into unconsciousness.

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[pennie-umbra]

The Last Piece Left

This was supposed to be fluff the first time I had this idea. But then I decided that it could be fluffy with angst in the end. But then I got to actually write it and it became angst with even more angst in the end, so... hope you enjoy

I apologize in advance for any mistakes

Summary: For the first time since he left the Others, Virgil reunites the courage to talk to an old friend, but neither of them seem to know how to feel about each other. Or how to not make things worse. 

Characters: Remus Sanders, Virgil Sanders

Warnings: swearing, mentions to death and dead bodies, angst (does that count as a warning?), fight, sex mention

Word Count: 2287

“I told them my name” Remus looked away from the canvas in front of him, just to see who he once called a friend standing in the middle of his room, with an expression as abstract as the paint Creativity was trying to finish. So many feelings in such a small space it became impossible to understand. 

“Ok? Good for you, I don’t give a fuck” replied, focusing his gazes on anything except Virgil’s eyes, doing his best to keep his emotions simple. We hate each other. He abandoned us. That should be enough. Virgil stayed in silence for what seemed like a lifetime. “What do you want, emo?”

“Thomas painted his hair” he started.

“Yeah, I noticed. Purple doesn’t really go well with green. Unless we’re talking about a wound. Or a dead body. Nevermind, purple and green are awesome together”

“Yeah, I really liked the hair, actually. I was thinking… I mean, you and Deceit have green and yellow. The core sides also have colors. I’m kinda tired of the black” 

“Are you? I think it matches you, boring, quickly establishes that you’re the villain, having been washed in at least some months”

“I just want you to teach me how to sew,” Virgil replied, already starting to lose his temper. Calm down, he said to himself,he may be hard to deal with, but you are here to help, not make things worse. 

“Roman knows how to sew, probably way better than me. Do you think I should add like, blood red or more like a wine red?” He pointed to the canvas, answering his own question before Virgil could do so “Yeah, blood red of course, the classic”

“I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Also, I don’t think Princey’s style really matches mine” Remus wishes he was as honest to himself as he was with other people. He knew deep down it would hurt more to do that. He knew that getting a bite of what used to be their friendship would just make him more hungry for something that didn’t even exist anymore. He knew it would probably hurt both of them even more. But someone wanted his help for the first time in… well. Virgil wanted his help. 

“Ok, get out of my room” said, finally turning to Anxiety, who tried to pretend those words didn’t send a wave of disappointment though his body. 

“Of course... This was a mistake” mumbled, starting to sink out.

“No dude! Fuck, I mean, like, intrusive thoughts and anxiety is never a good mix, let’s go to your room or a neutral room” quickly explained. 

“Oh” Virgil came back, seeming surprised “I can take your room just fine, dude, I’m used to it”

“It got way worse since the last time you were here, trust me, Gerard Gay” Virgil looked around. The view did look messier, if it was possible. The floor felt like skin, but with something off. He could hear whispers in the back of his consciousness, to which he could never identify a source. The smell was less like trash can and more like a trash can on fire where a corpse had been discarded some days ago. But he could take all that. He could take hours in that room, the same way Remus could take hours in his room. 

“I don’t see how”

“As much as I would love to see Thomas hyperventilating because his anxiety can’t stop thinking about how people are going to invade his house and slowely murder him if he doesn’t check all the locks at least five times, I’m pretty sure you don’t want that headache. And it will be a hell of a headache as soon as the room reaches your mind”

“Fine, My room, then?”

“Yeah, I’m in need of some new spiderwebs anyway” 

Virgil’s room didn’t change much since The Duke was there for the last time, except for some new Disney posters, probably from Roman and a drawing on the desk right beside anxiety’s bed. It was terribly colorful and childish, with all the three core sides and Virgil. Patton, then. Of course it was Patton. Anxiety immediately took the gift out of Creativity’s sight. 

“I’m not gonna eat it or anything, y’know?”

“It’s personal”

“Of fucking course it is” He could see how Patton seemed better compared to Janus. But they didn’t need a stupid - and shitty, let’s be honest - card to prove how much they cared for, everything was just so fucking stupid and boring with the core sides, why would Virgil fucking chose to be with them?! What was wrong with him?! What did Remus do wrong?! “It’s really shitty, but I guess daddy has always been bad at everything he did”

“Could you keep it down? For at least thirty fucking minutes?” Virgil snapped, clenching his fists and looking at Remus with pure danger in his eyes. 

“Do you have a… “He looked around, wishing he could just stop fucking talking for at least one damn second “A sketch. For how you want your hoodie to be? 

“I do, actually” Virgil kept his eyes away from his old friend, the tension in the room so heavy it could be cut, grabbing one of the drawings on the same table Patton’s gift was and giving it to the duke. It was… a concept. Remus conjured a pen, turning the paper and using it’s other side to make a more clear image, giving it back to anxiety.

“How about this?” Virgil tried not to smile, but his eyes betrayed him by shining. It was perfect.

"It 's cool”

“Great” he then started to reunite all the materials. One of Virgil’s older hoodies, purple fabric, white and black threads and…

“Why a spinning wheel?” 

"It 's cooler” replied, shrugging. 

“If I touch the needle will I also sleep for one hundred years?”

“Who knows? Now sit your ass down, emo, this will take time”

“Ok, what do I do first?” said, sitting on his bed and waiting for instruction. Remus flinched until the realization struck him. 

“Wait, you actually want me to teach you? Buddy, I’m the worst teacher ever and you know that” And also I’m a selfish motherfucker who knows very well that if you never learn it every time you need to fix it you will have to ask for my help. 

“It can’t be that hard”

“If you actually want to do something decent, it will take at least some days. Do you want The Duke in your room for days? I wouldn’t mind it, we could even have some fun” He smiled maliciously. He was right. Virgil wouldn’t want any of the core sides to know he still talked to Remus. Especially not Roman. 

“Fine. How long will it take for you to do it?”

“One hour” He could do it in a couple seconds, actually, but sshhh. 

“Ok” Virgil looked down, seeming almost… embarrassed. Creativity grabbed all the materials, conjured a bench, sat down and started to work. He tried to stay in silence, but it was almost painful to do so

“How are the core sides doing? Anything interesting, if that’s possible?”

“Are you trying to do small talk?” Virgil almost smiled. The only one of the Others good with that was Deceit and they all knew that. 

“I’m trying to keep it down like you said to protect your now light side ears or whatever” Virgil chucked, rolling his eyes. 

“What was that painting about?”

“Oh… I was trying to do an abstract representation of the emotions decay and rottenness bring”

“Sounds like you. How was it going?”

“Like shit. Not literally, even though that’s a good idea, did you know that when we die our whole body, like, relax, including our stomach muscles and all? And yeah, we shit ourselves, so go to the bathroom before you die, I guess” Virgil flinched with that unwanted information.

“I feel like you told me that before”

“I probably did, it’s pretty basic. I don’t know what the fuck is happening, I haven’t being able to paint anything good”

“I thought it was pretty nice” For Remus’ standards. 

“Sure you did. But really, how are those dorks? Did someone already explained to Daddy what sex it or nobody had the courage yet?”

“That’s what you’re concerned about?”

“Of course!” 

“Nobody did, obviously, but I’m considering, I like Patton, but if he refers to adulthood as adultery one more time I’ll lose it” Remus snorted. 

“He does what?”

“Long story, dude”

“Holy fuck” He laughed “He’s definitely doing that on purpose”

“What would he win by doing that?” A couple of answers came to Remus’ mind but he was sure VIrgil would hate all of them. Still, he had to choose one, that how things work “Maybe he likes fucking with you guys”

“Not everybody finds it funny to manipulate the people around them like Deceit” Oh, here we go again. 

“Patton and Janus are not that different”

“Name one thing they have in common” fortunately for Remus, the first answer that came to his mind was not that bad. 

“Well, if you’re right, they both don’t know where babies come from” Virgil seemed divided between keeping arguing and smiling. He went with the second option. You can do it, Virge. You can not screw everything. 

“I guess so. But Patton is definitely better with hugs” 

“Which one of the light sides would you fuck if you had to chose?”

“Where did that come from?!” Remus shrugged.

“Just curious”. 

“I won’t fucking answer that!” exclaimed, his face starting to get red.

“For me it would be Logan. Or maybe you. Do you count as a Light side already?” Anyway, Logan must be amazing. It’s almost like fucking a teacher and I always wanted to know how it feels like” Virgil was about to order him to shut up, but he knew Remus enough to know it would only make things worse, so he went with a more effective technique.  

“How is Deceit doing?” Remus raised his eyebrows, the question surprising enough to stop his line of thought. 

“Fine? Why do you care?”

“I mean… are you guys good?” 

“As always”

“Haven’t he been… hurting you or anything like that?”

“Janus never hurted me, dude, what the fuck?”

“Except that he did. Except that he does it everyday. You just don’t want to admit it” Remus looked into his eyes, frowning.

“Emo, what is this all about?” 

“What do you mean?” Based on how he focused his gaze on the floor, Remus raised his eyebrows even more. 

“This is not just about the fucking hoodie, is it?” Virgil stayed in a seeming never ending silence.

“They accepted me, Remus.You guys said it was impossible for the core sides to accept us, but here I am. They could accept you too” Oh, so that’s what this is about. Remus went to one of his rare silences, which were always scarier than his loudest noises. 

“We already talked about this, emo”

“But that was before! When we thought they all hated us! But they don’t! Logan is welcoming and Roman is trying and Patton… Patton is willing to receive us with his arms open”

“No, he’s fucking not. Patton hates me so fucking much I’m pretty sure he would get rid of me the second he had the fucking chance and would still convince himself it was the right thing to do” He got up without realizing, putting all his efforts into not crying like a pathetic child. 

“I think you’re mistaken him for Deceit” Virgil also got on his feet.

“Janus, his name is fucking Janus, why can’t you just call him for his fucking name?! He yelled. 

“He’s a liar, Remus! He doesn’t care about you or any of us! He just wants to… Follow his plans or whatever”

“Oh, do you think Patton cares about you?!”

“Actually yes, I know he fucking does”

“Well, yeah, maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t, but if I get there? Not only will he get scared and kick me out, he will also be angry at you for bringing the freak here into his perfect little world of sunshine and rainbows, so thank you so much, but Janus at least was there for me when I needed it, unlike those dicks or you!” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. 

“I should have known this was a mistake” Virgil said, letting his shoulders drop with the height of defeat. 

“Yeah it was. Here is your fucking hoodie” He finished it with a snap of his fingers at threw it at Virgil, sinking out right after. “Have fun with your new friends, Virgil” 

Slowly, anxiety grabbed his new costume. It was amazing, Comfortable, spooky, creative. And it was so… detailed and clearly done carefully, It was… He started crying.Ugly crying, with the tears scratching his throat to came with violent sobs, their warm burning as they fell down his face, wetting his own clothes and the new one in his hands, the pain in his chest seeming like a monster was tearing apart his whole soul, trying to destroy his heart, it hurted more than anything that he ever felt. 

He knew, deep down, it was impossible to have a real famILY like that. But he also knew he was a hypocrite and it was easier to pretend things were simpler. It was easier to pretend he didn’t need Remus. Or Janus, by that extent. It was easier to pretend they weren’t family. But not easy enough for him to not hold on to all there was left from what they once called a friendship.

 He held the hoodie tighter.

[adulttrio-imagines]

“My hand was made to fit into yours. That’s all there is to it.” - for Hisoka;-)

“Label it however you want, I truly do not care.”

Hisoka replies without even looking up from his phone. He’s propped comfortably across your new couch, snuggled under a pile of blankets he stole from your bedroom, head lolling off the armrest as he snacked on your sweets. He spares you no second thought, giggling to himself as he scrolls through the web, thoroughly unaffected as the world around him shuffles in repetitive motions.

You huff, and set your laptop aside. It’s not for the first time he has brushed off your efforts to put a name to your… relationship. To call it difficult would be an understatement, if you could even use such a term to describe whatever it is you had with him.

He chuckles again, and your phone lights up with a beep. It’s a filtered photo of him in a fake mustache with an eggplant in hand. You turn to see him looking up at you, cheeky grin spread ear to ear across his face. He waves and tosses you a familiar piece of candy. Bungee gum, it expired two weeks ago.

You chuck it back at him, he lets it nail him in the head, ear splitting grin never leaving his face.

It was never meant to be like this. Your lives were never meant to intersect, they were tangent lines that ran close but never met. But somehow, you met him in the eye of the storm, a beautiful mess of red and gold who saved you from your assailant one rainy night, followed you home and for reasons unknown, upended your entire life and has stuck with you since. His visits were sporadic but interesting, mind constantly skipping two steps ahead of yours, and you found yourself swept into the deep undercurrents of his torrential downpour with no way of escape.

He was a whirlwind of color, dancing continuously before your eyes, from the tips of his fiery hair to the manicured ends of his painted toes, a flying mustang that stormed through the skies, running faster and faster alongside unseen monsters, soaring through perilous thunderclouds, reaching out to something beyond your existence.

And it scared you.

“Isn’t this enough?” You remembered asking one day as twilight fell, when he barged into your home, thick with bloodlust and doused in blood, staining the walls a dark red as he dragged a clawed hand through them, leaving angry scratch marks in its wake. You should have left him then, you suppose, when he push you against that very same wall and started fucking you hard. You should have cried and screamed for help (it wouldn’t have helped, you both knew that) when he whispered unimaginable threats into you ear, the smell of death lingering in his breath as he ravaged you, leaving bruises that made you limp for weeks on end after that; your knight in shinning armor. He shattered your idealistic notions of him that very night.

But it wasn’t as if he hid who he was. He made that very clear from the start, when he crushed a man’s skull with a single bare hand like rotten fruit on your second date, or when he easily snapped a man’s neck in half just because he was in a weird mood and could do it. You were a fool to believe he could be satisfied that easily, even stupider to believe he could ever be content with what he had in front of him. He was a voracious man with an insatiable appetite for thrill and excitement. There was always something he was chasing after, too far and too bright for you to see, you had to turn away and shield your eyes from its glare, or risk going blind and losing it all.

That was just the type of person he was, standing above the rest on top of the mountain he carved out himself, towering miles overhead, removed from everyone and everything, where nothing but the sun and the howl of the wind could ever touch him.

“Is it lonely up there, all by yourself in your castle of pride.” You said once, it wasn’t a question. He laughs derisively, but his nails dig unnecessarily deep into your arm when he pins you and forces his tongue down your throat, teeth clinking loudly against yours.

It wouldn’t be fair to call him a complicated man, but it wouldn’t be fair to call him an honest man either. He was always clear with his motives, but never his intentions, his actions laid bare before you as he clouded his goal with a shroud of deceit; a walking contradiction who spewed sweetened lies intermingled with bitter truths, showered in layers of secrets and lies,

as if to protect himself.

He didn’t trust you, but he didn’t need to. What could you do against him?

“What are you afraid of?” You’re both drunk of copious amounts of alcohol, faces flushed bright red as you lean against the back alley wall, ignoring the stench of filth rising all around you as his hand creeps up your skirt. Instead, he sings you a story of broken men and angry gods between voracious acts, sweet lies crooning in your ear.

He never speaks of his past, and neither do you offer to divulge into yours.

It was ridiculous to try and get a straight answer from him, a lost cause trying to gain his attention, and a futile effort for trying to maintain it. Yet, even coated with a layer of death is he beautiful for reasons you cannot explain, and you can only stand and wait for the tide to pull you in, dragging you into an endless hurricane.

Somehow amongst all the madness, fate continued to weave it’s interconnecting strands of circumstances, and you both fall into a routine.

He doesn’t officially move in with you, because god forbid he gets tied down, but you were never one to make things official anyway. It’s easy to say he’s more like a stray cat, coming and going as he pleased, snacking on your food or lounging in the living room as if he owns the place.

You don’t know where he actually lives, but the expensive colognes that line your dressing table make known that he’s no traveling pauper.

You get into the habit of leaving sticky notes around the house. Just simple things, like shutting the patio door whenever he left or to take off his shoes before he even thought of entering your house. He responds by sticking his own notes on your various houseplants, naming them obscene words and the occasional crude drawing.

You don’t know who he is, but you do know this. He’s painfully meticulous in his appearance and can spend hours highlighting the slope of his cheeks and the curve of his lips, he has freckles climbing all through his shoulders, his left ear is slightly smaller than his right, he sings in the morning but never at night, and sometimes when he smiles, his eyes are more caramel than amber.

He always finds a way to bother you when it’s least convenient, and disappears whenever you need him most, as if he has a built in tracker of sorts installed deep in that brilliant mind of his.

He calls it magic; you call it being a pest.

Sometimes he leaves for days on end, but he always returns, sometimes with murder in his eyes and bile in his hands, his nen a torrent of poison when he creeps into bed, staining your sheets and shaking you awake, demanding for more (there’s nothing for you to give) wild and unhinged as he tears into you (he gets what he wants anyway).

It’s the quiet moments you like best.

It’s the blissful mornings that smell like coffee and honeyed French toast, it’s the rainy afternoons where you’re both sitting across the other with a deck of cards at hand and the television blares white noise in the background, it’s the late evenings where you sit outside to read and the smell of honeysuckle lingers as you sit and enjoy each other’s company, it’s when you both start laughing so hard at the same time that your sides ache, it’s when he smiles at you when he thinks you aren’t looking; without fuss, without fanfare, without secret codes and hidden meanings, you both just exist, just as everything is meant to be.

It’s so normal, and so pleasant you can almost forget what he is.

When the morning sun barely peaks over the fairway mountains, painting the whole room soft shades of violet and velvet blue, you like watching the way his chest moves up and down like calm seas with each intake of breath, the way he stretches out across the bed, you likes the way his face naturally looks without the usual layer of makeup hiding it all.

You both hide yourselves from the outside world in different ways.

It becomes a fun game to see how long you can get away with tracing the features of his face before he awakens, the curve of his lips, the sharp peak of his nose. Your fingers dance all over his face, planting feather light kisses wherever they linger. The urge is uncontrollable, he looks so human when he is asleep that you finds it difficult to believe that he is more man than beast.

Sometimes your roles are reversed and he’s staring at you instead. He’s difficult to read on the best of days, and by the time his stare stirs you from your slumber, his smirk is the first thing to greet you. Most of the time his lips are twisted into a smug satisfaction, taunting as he smiles patronizingly at you, eyes crinkled into amused crescents. He’ll tap your nose and laugh at whatever expression your grumpy morning self makes, before rushing right in to plant his lips against yours and initiating round two to finish whatever you both started last night.

But there are time when he just stares, unreadable and distant, his eyes taking on a lifeless glazed quality. He doesn’t say anything, or do anything, as if the whole process of breathing is too laborious for him to do anything but. Silence echoes, an unfamiliar drumming sound beating right below your ear as the unnatural quiet stretches infinitely. His stare buries holes deep into your soul, eyes glinting and burning yellow, like cosmic lights, fiery and all encompassing, swallowing you whole and leaving you struggling to breathe, but he doesn’t move. You don’t understand those moments no matter how hard you try, they scramble your head and tear through whatever thoughts you can scavenge, but you understand that he is thinking and rearranging everything in his jumbled up head. He never speaks of these days, but you’ve seen the way he jerks during his dreams, the way his back arches and the odd angles he contorts himself into, silent screams and gasping hands that search for others lost and never found; you recognizes them well. At those times, you go in, resting your forehead into his chest, counting each beat of his heart, reminding him that he is still alive and not six feet below and rotting compost for worms. The constant thumps of his heart are a surprising comfort, the feeling of the warmth generated from his body spread all around you like a soft blanket. Sometimes you remain like that, unmoving until the sun reaches its peak in the everblue sky, glaring into your eyes and you moves away to get breakfast ready, but never does he push away.

There are days where he pulls you in and holds you close, gripping you so tightly your bones crack and ache for weeks after it. Those days his heart races like shooting stars careening off the universe, lost and directionless, fizzling endlessly until they get extinguished from exhaustion. Cotton candy and spiced liquor mingle with the earliest rays of dawn, and you both fall right back asleep, curling into each other like quotation marks, fingers filling the gaps between hands perfectly, a rare moment of tranquility created in your small universe.

I’m here.

You never fail to remind him that during those times. His memory is sharp, and his trust is hard to come, but you do so anyway, for there isn’t much else you can otherwise. He needs to know that, you tell yourself between breathless kisses, hands desperately clutching at each other, even if he cannot find it in himself to believe it.

I’ll always be here.

You close your eyes, darkness flashing momentarily as heat radiating from him in scorching waves burn unseen marks throughout your skin. One day, he will leave; it could be today, tomorrow, the following week, the next year. Through choked sobs you learn that try as you might, you can never tell when would the time he walked out of your door be the last, and you knew better than to try. But you will wait for him, for you were too young, too dumb, too headstrong to stop yourself for falling so, so deeply into him, and he’ll always have a home with you.

You brush his hair aside, the fiery shades of red and pink were soft to the touch, and felt like sheets of velvet in your hand as you fill in the gaps of his fingers with yours.

“My hand was made to fit into yours.” You squeeze your hands tightly together, “that’s all there is to it.”

[donttellthemangosiwashere]

Creativitwins as... (1: Ball Pit)

Creativitwins as things me and my twin brother have done, part one of who knows man

I am remus and my twin bro is roman. no shit, nearly 1 to 1 re-skinning of one of our childhood moments

Tags: Human au i guess? I cast Deceit as dad so there's that, couldn't decide between him and Logan for a while but i think this fits. Sympathetic Deceit and Remus, clearly. Creativitwins fluff, some light violence (like a snowball fight sort of game… i dunno me and my bro were little stupid)

---

     Roman and Remus loved to play in the McDonald's playpen, with all the colorful plastic balls, pretending to themselves that the rainbow orbs were fairies that swarmed inside a bottomless pit. Roman preferred to pretend the fae gathered there to hold children up and keep them from falling forever; Remus liked to think they were evil fey, trying to drag you down to your doom. 

     They turned the two 'theories' into a game -- they would play the meddling fairies, and gather plastic balls to dump on each other in an attempt to bury the other deeper into the pit. Roman was faster and more dexterous, swimming through the pit like a graceful dolphin in a sea of orbeez, gathering armfuls and armfuls to dump on his brother, balancing an impressive amount of toys for someone with no stable feet on the ground.

     Remus was more furious and frantic in approach, easily swept up in the excitement of competition. He settled on grabbing smaller handfuls of the colorful plastic balls around him (not the ones dumped on his head, cause those were Roman's points and fair is fair) and chucking them at his brother so they lightly popped off his shoulders and started to pile around him like a volcano. Roman would dive around to collect more ammunition, ruining Remus's slowly climbing mountains, but he never swam back up farther than he had last been buried, keeping the points between them consistent.

     While Roman could duck around and swim through the pit, Remus had trouble moving through the ocean at all, especially once he started to get buried pretty deep in. His throwing technique and incredible aim for a five year old made up for it, but never quite enough to win. Roman's gather-and-dump method usually just resulted in the rainbow globules bouncing off of Remus's head and rolling far enough away that they didn't count, but Roman moved so fast and gathered so many that he was doing more damage in the long run. Every game would end with Remus, now fully submerged, grabbing Roman's ankles and dragging him down with him into the pit, leaving them both surrounded by colored bubbles that glowed ever so slightly with the light seeping in from the nearby giant playhouse window. 

     It was like standing inside a rainbow, surrounded like being plunged into the deep end of a pool, but perfectly able to breathe, no more than the pressure of a heavy quilt around their bodies. The vibrant colors, cool touch of plastic, and golden sunlight breaking through in streams gave it a magical feel. It was one of their favorite places, despite the number of times other kids had jumped into the pit and landed on one of the buried boys, assuming they had the fairy pool to themself. They would stay there underneath the tide, cackling over their game and how Remus cheated every time by grabbing his ankles, until their vivid imaginations got the best of them and they made their way out, afraid of drifting too close to the part of the bottomless pit that didn't have fairies to save them. (The day they were old enough and tall enough to discover the bottom of the mock-pool was a very boring day indeed.)

     Today, like any other day after being picked up from school by their father, they were taken back to the fast food restaurant, who hoped that they would tire themselves out enough to take naps once they got home. As soon as they were done eating, they dashed for the ball pit, ignoring their guardian's usual joke about how they shouldn't go swimming right after they eat. It wasn't real swimming, dad.

     And so the game began. Remus shimmying madly as he tried to gain some sort of motor function in the mess of colors, lobbing globes at his brother as he ducked around and meticulously gathered one of each color, making sure he had at least one complete rainbow to start the game. They didn't notice when another, slightly older kid joined them in the pit, watching them cavort around and laugh and screech. They did notice when a yellow ball smacked against Roman's neck, catching him off guard and making him swallow his laughter. They both turned and gave the newbie a confused, borderline angry look. He just shrugged, grabbed another, and threw at Roman again. Roman ducked that one easily, then dove down into the rainbow sea, scaring the other boy a little bit. (Remus decided it was, in fact, Roman being freaking weird, and not Remus being unable to swim.)

     Roman popped back up in front of the stranger gathered some orbs into his arms, and dumped them onto the kid's head with a smile.

     "No, you play like this!" He explained with a laugh when the other kid gave him a disgusted expression.

     "That's no fun, I wanna throw 'em, like he does."

     "I wasn't throwing!" Remus grumbled, offended at the accusation, "I was tossing, totally different! See,"

     Remus grabbed a blue globe and 'tossed' it to Roman, and Roman didn't flinch as it softly batted his shoulder and bounced away. Roman turned to the other kid with the same smile still on his face,

     "Like that! You can play, but you can't hurt anybody."

     "Okay." He nodded, and started pulling more toys to himself as if gathering for a snowball fight. Roman dolphined away again, gathering another pile. Roman switched between the new player and his brother, Remus had no trouble picking favorites, his crosshairs never leaving his brother's torso. Unfortunately, the new kid had the same idea, and the notion of "don't hurt anybody" went completely ignored. He kept beaning Roman, plastic orbs whizzing by his head and slapping into him with audible thwacks, and Remus knew they couldn't hurt that bad, but he was still getting more and more furious. 

     Finally, it happened. A red ball, right into his open eye. Roman stopped ducking around, little hands holding the front of his face as it scrunched up, in an expression Remus recognized as him desperately trying not to cry. Fed up, Remus wiggled furiously until he was facing the new kid, and he threw a ball at him to get his attention. He might have been aiming for his head, sure, but that was totally warranted, Remus thought. (Besides, he missed.)

     "Hey! That hurts, stupid! Stop throwing!"

     "Be nice!" Roman managed between his hands, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. They were red and puffy, but his eyes hadn't fallen out or anything, which was something Remus had worried for a moment -- his imagination manifested in strange ways.

     "You can't play if you're going to be mean!" Remus demanded, putting his metaphorical foot down, as when he tried to stomp his feet literally it was incredibly disorienting to not land on anything hard, and did in fact look a little ridiculous. The other boy glared at him and stuck his tongue out, and Remus felt the heat blaze up his cheeks.

     Just as he decided to return the gesture, he felt the soft plips of plastic rain on his head as colored globes bounced off his head, and he saw his smiling brother out of the corner of his eye. Remus elected to ignore the other kid in favor of playfully shoving his brother down into the pit by his shoulders and laughing,

     "Ew, gross, I had my mouth open, Ro!"

     "Eww! Sorry!" Roman laughed, disappearing under the bubbles.

     "They taste like feeeeet! ... You should try one--"

     "EW, Rem, stop!"

     He forgot about the other boy in seconds, his attention wholly consumed by the urge to bury his brother into the fae-swarmed sea of death below their feet. He gathered the little plastic toys, throwing two or three at a time, flailing around with every limb in his fervor to compete. In the chaos of his own disastrous dance, he didn't even feel it when the purple sphere thumped harshly against the back of his head, thrown from just a few feet away. He hardly noticed that he hadn't seen Roman come back up in a while, assuming he was still swimming around, looking for a strategic position out of Remus's throwing range. He didn't even think to look at the floor outside of the playpen, where Roman had climbed up, and was jogging behind him.

     He did hear the screaming.

     His head whipped around, just barely catching the sight of Roman in the air, descending like an unfurled cannonball onto the other kid. He landed on the older boy, and started wailing on him with both arms, punching him and yelling and the kid haphazardly swung back and screamed in return. Remus watched for a few seconds, totally in awe, until he felt the bruise forming at the base of his neck and realized what had spurred this attack on. He started writhing, trying to get over to them and so something -- pull the older kid off of Roman? Maybe. Help Roman punch the life out of him? More likely -- more furious now with his inability to swim in fairies than ever.

     He heard a woman yelling, and turned to look back at the eating area where she was standing, but he didn't listen to what she was saying. He was more concerned with the look on his father's face -- bowler hat pulled down at an angle to subtly hide himself from the mother's vision, other hand clasped over his mouth, a fervent and obvious smile in his eyes as he urgently and unsuccessfully willed himself not to laugh. When she made a move towards the three of them, Dad stood up, beating her to the door as he walked over and stood in front of the still dueling duo. He told Roman to let the other kid go. Roman kept swinging.

     He said it again, more sternly this time.

     Roman kept swinging.

     He crouched down in front of him and grabbed his shoulders, yelling now.

     Roman shrugged him off.

     Remus was grinning madly now, and Dad gave Roman an incredulous look as he continued to beat down on the stranger, his mother still yelling from the doorway. Dad grumbled and stepped into the pool -- an absolutely beautiful expression on his face as he almost slipped, and had to catch himself -- and grabbed both boys by their shirts, forcibly dragging them away from each other. Roman was still struggling, relaxing only when the other boy immediately ran behind his mother's legs as soon as he was released. 

     Dad scolded Roman for a second, then let him go and went to talk to the strangers. Roman trudged through the pit, joining Remus closer towards the middle. They didn't say anything for a long time, a frustrated pout on Roman's face as Remus smiled like he had just been given Christmas early.

     "You're in trouuubleeee~!" Remus sang, shimmying his shoulders as Roman finally cracked a smile.

     "He deserved it, he was a bully!" Roman huffed, but Remus saw him puffing out his chest just slightly.

     "You actually started a fight! Dad's gonna kill you."

     "Wha-- I didn't start it! He started it!"

     "Boys!"

     They both jumped, a shared panic flashing through their eyes as they slowly turned to face their father. He was looking down at them with a painfully neutral face, and gestured for them to get out of the pool. Remus had half a mind to let the bottomless pit take them to Narnia or something, but Roman was already helping him up onto the carpeted floor. 

     The walk to the car was silent -- and thank god Dad and the Lady didn't make them apologize to that kid, or a now mobile Remus would have socked him just to prove a point -- and when they clambered into the back seat, they waited for him to say something. He slowly closed the drivers side door, clicked in his seat belt, started the engine, adjusted the mirror, stalling...

     And then he started laughing.

     Remus and Roman looked at each other, wide eyed, identical grins creeping onto their faces.

     "You two are going to be the death of me. Wait until your father hears about this."

     "So we're not in trouble?" Roman asked sheepishly, a stark contrast to the giddy swinging of his legs. Dad laughed again.

     "You would have been the only one in trouble, Roman. Violence is not the answer to a problem." Dad scolded, and Roman deflated a little, until Dad reached back from his seat, turning to face the boys and ruffling their hair in turn.

     "But, I'm proud of you for sticking up for each other, in your own way... Besides -- don't tell your father i said so -- but he totally deserved it."

     The radio switched on, blaring Disney music as laughter exploded from the troublesome twins.

[ionlyeatcomfortfood]

Together Forever

A/N: Yo! I’m writing again! Hallelujah. Yes, before you ask, I will be continuing the Selection story and the soulmates au. I’m working on both right now, actually. But with the way my brain works, I need to bounce around with projects to get anything done, so here’s my entry to @stop-it-anxiety ‘s writing competition. The prompt was ‘Together Forever’, so here’s my angsty Roman fic because what do you expect?

Here’s a link to the page if you want to participate.

A/N 2.0: Holy shit, this got darker than I thought it would. Like, I planned Delcan being a not so great partner, but I didn’t think it would get this bad. Please, read the warnings and if anything there triggers you, DON’T READ THIS. It’s okay if you just can’t read this. I want everyone to be safe, and if that means you don’t read this, then it’s okay.

Word Count: 1747

Pairings: Abusive Rociet, Prinxiety, Background Logicality

Warnings: (There are a lot, so bear with me) Remus, Deceit (Delcan), abusive relationship, drinking, throwing things, keeping person from friends/loved ones (?), lack of consent, non-consensual... personal activities (only mentioned, not in detail), ace phobia, cheating. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, then don’t read it. It’s okay, I’ll live.

--------

Together forever.

It was a dream Roman had since childhood. To be with someone for their entire lives. For forever.

His twin brother (who was unfortunately older by 6 minutes and 9 seconds) Remus was constantly saying that it was a useless dream. That there was no such thing as true love. That love was a made up fairy tale that adults told to make them be quiet and go to bed.

And he wasn’t wrong to have these doubts about love. The twins parents split when they were five, and their dad left them. Their mom then started drinking to cope with her loss, and she stopped acting like their mom.

Remus had lost faith in love. But all those unfortunate events made Roman even more convinced that true love was what he needed. He just needed to find the right person.

-------

Roman thought that Delcan was his true love. When they met at an audition for Guys and Dolls, flirting back and forth like there was no tomorrow, Roman thought he had found the one. 

After they had both made it into the show, Roman playing Sky Masterson and Delcan playing Nathan Detroit, Roman finally gathered up the courage to ask Delcan out. To Roman’s surprise, Delcan said no. Roman had to ask three more times before Delcan finally agreed to go on a date.

The date went swimmingly. They played off each other, witty banter common. This time, when Roman asked for a second date, Delcan automatically agreed.

They dated for three months before Delcan began to really show his true colors. The first time was closing night. The cast was going out for drinks after, and Delcan and Roman agreed, despite Roman not being a drinker. Turns out Delcan was. He took rounds and rounds of shots, till he was so far gone Roman had to practically carry him out of the bar.

When he dropped Delcan off at his apartment, Delcan begged him not to leave. Roman insisted that he had to get back to his house, and Delcan got angry. He grabbed a lamp and chucked it at Roman’s head. Roman managed to dodge it, but just barely. 

Roman left after that.

The next morning, Delcan texted him, profusely apologizing, saying that he was always different when he drank, that it would never happen again. Roman, being the fool in love that he was, forgave him.

But it did happen again. And things got worse.

Delcan gradually started to ask Roman to hang out all the time. Roman barely got to see his friends anymore. Delcan would ask (demand) to see his phone to make sure that he wasn’t texting or calling anyone Delcan didn’t know, or that Delcan didn’t like.

Delcan asked Roman to move in with him, and when Roman showed hesitation, them only being together for four months at this point, Delcan made a big deal out of the fact that Roman was the first person Delcan had ever asked to move in, that he should feel special. So Roman did feel special. He moved in. Things got even worse from there.

Delcan would drink and get upset, throw things, mostly aimed at Roman’s head. He would always apologize, but Roman was starting to doubt those apologies and how genuine they really were.

He would leave for long periods of time, never telling him where he was going. When Roman asked him about it, he would tell him to fuck off and mind his own business.

Later in the relation, Delcan would force himself on Roman and make him do things he wasn’t ready for. Roman was asexual, which he told Delcan, but Delcan told him he would grow out of it, that he just needed some special treatment from him. Roman grew to believe him.

One day, Roman got the announcement that two of his best friends, Patton and Logan, were getting married, and he was invited. Roman begged Delcan to let him go. “Just this one time, then I won’t ask again, I promise.” 

Delcan agreed, but he was never to ask again.

Roman got dressed up and went to the venue. It was a beautiful. Patton looked lovely in his dress, and Logan looked dashing in his suit. When they kissed, Roman cheered the loudest.

At the reception, Patton came and gave Roman the biggest hug.

“Ro! I can’t believe you’re here! It’s been so long!” Patton squealed.

“Yes, it has been quite some time Pat. It’s great to see you.” Roman hugged Patton back just as tight.

“Logan. How are you?” Roman asked when Patton released him.

“I am extremely happy right now, Roman. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course! How could I miss something this important?” Roman said.

Patton and Logan share a glance before Patton said “Well, we weren’t sure that you were coming, Ro.”

“What?” Roman asked incredulously. “Of course I would come! What would make you think-”

“You have been spending all of your time with your boyfriend, Roman. That’s why we didn’t think you were coming,” Logan interrupted.

“I haven’t been spending all of my time with Delcan.”

“Ro, when was the last time you hung out with us?” Patton asked.

“We... we hung out a couple months- and it’s bad that I have to go that far back,” Roman realized.

“We’re your best friends. We understand if your busy, but spending all your time with one person is not healthy,” Logan said.

“No, I don’t spend all my time with Delcan. I-I’ve just been busy,” Roman’s mind was racing. Did he spend all his time with Delcan? He hadn’t really done anything since Guys and Dolls. Maybe he was spending too much time with Delcan.

“Ro, maybe... maybe Delcan isn’t the best partner for you,” Patton rested a hand on Roman’s shoulder.

“No! He loves me, and I love him! We’re fine!” Roman snapped. Patton drew his hand back.

“Roman...” Logan placed a hand on the small of Patton’s back while speaking to Roman.

“Sorry, but I have to go. It was a beautiful service, and I’m happy for you two,” He couldn’t think. He needed Delcan. Delcan always knew what to think.

“Ro, wait!” Patton cried, but Roman was already out the door.

-------

Roman was thinking all the way back to his and Delcan’s place. Sure, he realized he spent way too much time with Delcan. He would change that. He would spend more time with his friends.

But Delcan wasn’t a bad person, he thought. Delcan just had a temper. He made mistakes. He always apologized.

By the time he got back, he had almost completely convinced himself that Patton and Logan were just paranoid and overthinking.

That all changed when Roman walked in on Delcan making out with a stranger on their couch. 

Roman didn’t remember a lot from that night. Everything was a blur, and all he really remembered was how he felt.

First anger. Red hot, fury of hell anger. Then sadness. The utter sadness that comes with a broken heart. Then, finally, fear.

He broke up with Delcan that night. Roman grabbed his stuff, Delcan’s screams a background sound, and left, a teacup smashed on the door as he walked out.

-------

There were only who people who knew that story: Logan and Patton. He had explained it to them when he begged to crash at their apartment, because he had nowhere else to stay.

That is, until tonight. When his boyfriend, Virgil, made an inquiry about his past.

It had taken Roman awhile to get back on the dating scene after Delcan. Honestly, he didn’t think he would ever mount that great beast ever again. But then Virgil came around. At first, they were enemies. Virgil was sarcastic and rude, always pushing Roman to be the worst version of himself, over-dramatic and egotistical.

But when he found Virgil having an anxiety attack, he shed all his previous grudges against him and helped him get through it. From that, they got closer and closer, till one day, Roman finally gather up the courage to ask Virgil out. And this time, Virgil said yes on the first try.

They had been dating for over a year. They had fallen into an easy rhythm, and Roman had never been happier.

Virgil never pushed him. He knew Roman had some deep shit from his past, but he never pressed Roman to talk about it. And Roman loved him for it. But tonight, he decided that was going to change.

They were having their usual weekend movie night, when Virgil asked a small question. Nothing big really, but to Roman, the question meant everything.

“So, I heard from a friend that you were in a production of Guys and Dolls with Delcan Rose. Is that true?”

Roman paused for a moment. He knew if he started to talk about Delcan, his whole story would come flowing out. Was he really ready for that.

“Ro?”

For Virgil, yes. He was ready to tell this boy he loved with all his heart a story know by very few,

“Yes. I actually dated him for awhile.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. “You dated Delcan Rose? What was it like?”

Roman sighed. “Awful.”

And the story flew from his lips like a murder of crows. All the abuse and heartbreak he had to deal with, all the hurt came out of him.

When Roman had finished, Virgil let out a breath and said “That is utterly disgusting.”

“Yeah.”

“I am glad that you told me about that, Ro. I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me. But holy shit is that dark.”

Roman just nodded.

“Hey. What happened to you is not your fault. I want you to know that. Everything that Delcan did was horrible, but that was on him. Nothing that happened to you was your fault.”  While Virgil was speaking, he rubbed his hands through Roman’s hair, knowing that he would like it.

“I love you.” Roman said.

“Love you too, Ro.”

Roman pulled back for a second to grab something out of his pocket. It had been a year of bliss and happiness. Slowly, Virgil helped him heal, even if he didn’t know it. Delcan had made his life a living hell, but Virgil had changed it into heaven.

So Roman pulled out a little box, and asked the question he had been thinking about for a couple weeks.

“Virgil, will you marry me? Please?”

----------

TAGLIST (Let me know if you want to be added!)

@redistooviolent

@loginceismyjam

@steampunkicarus

@jellopuffs

@hekking-happy-nonsense

@a-trans-ghost

@chaotic-sinnabun

[an-agender-disaster]

Whumptober Day 13 (Adrenaline)

Word Count- 1307

Characters- Virgil Sanders, Deceit Sanders, Remus Sanders

Warnings- Sympathetic Dark Sides, One Swear 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Adrenaline had just about enough of playing the “good guy” in their game. 

Trudging through the Dark Imagination, he looked around. Creativity had spun the tale of the Dragon Witch and Duke long ago. The two sides who were cast into the Darkscape for their crimes against Thomas and the Mindscape.

And now Adrenaline was willingly joining them.

The story always had a tower in it, thanks to Sleeping Beauty, so that would be the first landmark he looked for. The dead forest surrounded him on all sides, with branches as grey as ash. Adrenaline felt like a single touch could make them splinter apart. 

He pulled his dark jacket closer around him, holding onto its warmth. It was a few sizes too large for him, big enough for him to sink into and not be seen again, just how he liked it. The air bit at his face and hands as he pulled up his hood. 

If Creativity where to catch him, which Adrenaline hopes won’t be the case, then it would be his end. Regenerating was not on anybody’s to-do list. 

Even though he was afraid, it didn’t make him any weaker. Quite the contrary. The more fear around Adrenaline, the stronger he got. This power was what let him continue through the forest, even though he wanted to turn and run the other way.

The dark, barren forest soon gave way to a large, grassy hill. Sure, the grass was dead and covered in pungent mushrooms, but it was better than the haunting atmosphere of the forest. After taking in his surroundings, the side continued his search. Walking up the hill, he began to tug at his jacket. 

‘Was this all for nothing?’ he thought, still walking up the well-worn path, ‘Will I never find them?’ Fears bounced through his mind, like a ping-pong ball chucked in an empty stairwell. Again, he found himself fighting the urge to turn back, as if something was telling him to do so. Magic? Instinct? Fear? He couldn’t tell.

Finally, at the top of the hill, he saw it. Wideout in the open, facing the Lake of Terror, encircled by the Forest of Agony, and facing away from the Hill of Whatever-This-Hill’s-Name-Is was the Dark Sides’s tower. The cold bite of the air turned hopeful as he looked upon it and all of its glory. He began to run-up to the structure, a beautiful tower, the same color of the forest’s trees, made intricately out of stone.

Once he was at the entrance, he struck the grey wood door, no doubt made of the forest’s trees, a few times, his hands refusing to stay still. So much had built up to this point. Days of traveling, with little food, water, and rest, had made this journey too long and harsh to turn back from.

It was a few agonizingly long seconds until the door opened with a groan. “Hello, there,” a slow, calm voice said. Looking at the man, Adrenaline made a few quick observations. He matched the description of the Dragon Witch well, with the half-snake face and black and yellow clothing. His one, snake eye bored into the smaller side. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I…” Adrenaline trails off before he even begins, voice raspy from days without use. Clearing his throat, he began again, “I need your help.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t fit in with the Light Sides, I know that, but maybe I will with you. I mean, you and the Duke are considered outcasts in the Mindscape, and if I am too then I should be with you guys. Here, with you guys.”

The Witch pauses, as if collecting his thoughts. “I’ll be right back.” He gently closes the door, and Adrenaline can hear the slight sound of footsteps pattering away, accompanied by…. something else, like a third foot.

He stays just outside the door, until he can hear the feet drawing closer again, now with somebody else. The door cracks open again, now a little more. Two men stand inside the building, one the Dragon Witch, who he already met, and the other, who he can only assume, is the Duke. He is dressed near exactly like Prince Creativity, all except for a vibrant green sash and silver epaulettes, unlike the Prince’s red and gold color scheme.

“Hey.” the Duke greets him with a nod of the head. He tugs at his sleeves, pulling them down closer to his wrists. “What do ya need?”

“Be polite,” the Dragon witch says, elbowing the other man.

With a smirk, the Duke says, “My most humble apologies. My most esteemed friend here asks for eloquence and elegance in all of the words I so choose to utter in his wake. Therefore, I shall ask thee this: how might I serve you on this fine day?”

“You know that wasn’t what I meant.” The Witch says, exasperated.

The Duke chuckles, “You know I take things too literally.”

“Yes, but we don’t just-”

“Well, I don’t see why-”

“Look, just be quiet, okay, Remus?”

“Fine. Fine…”

“Besides, I already told you why he’s here, so…”

“Whatever.”

Adrenaline stood there as the two others bickered back and forth, rocking on his heels. When they stopped, the Dragon Witch turned to him again, “So why do you want to be here? We don’t have the best reputation with the others.”

Clearing his throat, Adrenaline begins talking. “I’ve never really fit in with them, so when Creativity-” the Duke flinches, “-told me about this place, I knew I had to find it. I can’t live in a place where I’m not accepted for being myself.” his voice cracks on the last word, tears trickling down his face. He ducks his head and wipes his tears off on his sleeves.

The Duke’s alarmed expression shifts into one of sadness. “I think we all know how that feels. That’s why we made this place, anyways.”

“I even cast a spell to deter all Light SIdes. If you got in, then you must be one of us.” The Dragon Witch continues. “So your welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“I… I don’t know what to say… thank you.” Adrenaline says, arms wrapped around his sides. The two others welcome his inside, soft smiles on their faces. It is only now that he realizes what the “third step” had been earlier. 

“Why do you have a cane?” Adrenaline asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

The Dragon Witch looks down at it, “Arthritis. It’s a bitch.” Remus laughs out loud at the response, clearly not used to hearing the other man swearing so casually. The group continues down the hallway, into a living room.

“Well, I guess now is a good enough time for introductions,” the Duke says as they all settle onto a couch, “I am the Duke, as you may know, but most people call me Remus, or Creativity if they’re feeling feisty.”

“I am the “Dragon Witch”, although I told the Prince several times that I am not a dragon, I’m a snake. I just don’t get how-”

“Calm down,” Remus says to the agitated man, throwing over a pillow.

Catching it with ease, the Witch keeps it in his lap as he takes a few deep breaths. “Deceit. My name is Deceit, or Eden to a select few.”

“What about you?” Remus asks, looking at Adrenaline.

“I’m Adrenaline. Also Virgil, but most people don’t know about that…”

Remus snorts, “Adrenaline isn’t very fitting for you, is it? Eden, let’s think of something better!”

“I don’t think we-” 

Before Deceit can finish Remus screams out, “Anxiety! Anxiety works!” Smiling at the group, he waits for approval or rejection of the idea.

“I…” both heads turn to face Virgil as he finishes his next few words, “I like it.”

[sidespromptblog]

Prove

Summary: Logan has started to notice a pattern among the others, and unfortunately comes to a startling discovery about not only them..but their resident snake as well.

Warnings: Depression, thoughts of death, angst, knife (it’s not used don’t worry), morally ambiguous Deceit, and cliff hanger. 

Logan only registered the glasses leaving his hand in a crunched up pile of plastic and broken glass as soon as the sound of those very same materials slammed against his wall where the massive poster depicting the elemental table had hung for almost ten years. He registered that sound almost as soon as he registered the boiling heat that scorched itself under his skin, that scorched him so badly that as he looked upon the blurry outlines of his room, looking for the twisted ruined pair of glasses he had just been wearing. And looking at the items in his room, none of them in perfect focus a growl welled up in his throat, a volatile noise that sounded like it had come from a beast rather than the person who was standing among the wreckage of his perfectly immaculate room. Everything was in perfect pristine condition, aside from his glasses that had just tossed away like it had meant less than nothing at all.

Everything was perfect.

And Logan hated it all more than he had ever hated anything in his entire life.

Before he even realized it, his knees that had been wobbling precariously for the past few minutes gave out, forcing him to take a seat on his perfectly made bed. Even as the rush of emotions swept through him like a hurricane wrecking everything in its wake, Logan felt his insides buzz with an exhausting energy that left him feeling both eager to do something..but also far too fatigued to even think about completing something.

Of course. He wanted to weep, as the rage had run its course, looking back on everything now he could almost see how everything had fallen into place. Of course they didn’t want him around, of course, they didn’t want to play their stupid courtroom games with him, of course.

Of course. Of course. Of course.

He wasn’t fun enough.

He wasn’t interesting enough.

He wasn’t worthy enough.

He just wasn’t...good enough.

Even the strongest of facts would falter in the face of those who wished to live in a fantasy world.

He had been foolish to not see it before, to blind himself to the truth of those who he had called his friends, his best friends even. What he did was his job, they were only humoring him because of that, they..they didn’t care, did they? If proposed they’d just leave him in the dust, again and again, benched and on the sidelines because of the pure and simple fact that he..because he honestly wasn’t good enough for them. He never would be.

Pain prickled along his palms as salt stung his eyes.

Fine.

“Fine,” Logan hissed out, that one word becoming strangled on his tongue as his shoulders hunched forward in a display of pure and honest defeat, his eyes burned in tandem with the pain of his nails digging into the palms of his hands. The raw burning emotions that had swept through him just mere moments ago were almost immediately replaced with a deep drowning sadness that threatened to pull him under, to kill him in every shape and form. “Fine then, if they don’t want to then..then…” Logan had to swallow to get the rest of his words out, “Then I’m most certainly not going to force them to continue this charade of a partnership between us, there’s no point in..in beating a dead horse as Roman would say. No point at all.”

Opening his eyes Logan gazed down to his hands as he finally unclenched them, four crescent shapes of deep gutless red greeted him like smirking grins. Truth be told though...it didn’t bother him all that much now that the initial pain was out of the way, he could have spent hours just looking down at the marks on his palms and he wouldn’t have known.

At least not until he was snapped out of his daze by the sounds outside of his room.

It was laughter, pure joyful laughter that could have only belonged to someone that wasn’t heartless and soulless like himself. Patton’s laugh was unmistakable, it carried a light childish light with it that had always washed away their concerns and fears. It was shortly followed by a deep laugh, the kind of laugh that always sounded like it had come from deep inside, the kind of laugh that make even the shiest people want to dance. It made something deep inside of him ache, it made him want to stand on his weak legs just to see what they were celebrating.

His answer though was soon given, as the rarest shriek of laughter filled the air.

They were all having a fantastic time, ignoring the way that Deceit had so tightly worked them up, ignoring how Roman had swung slight after slight against Logan, ignoring..him.

Of course.

Of course, he wasn’t important enough to be remembered.

They had all cuddled Patton the night that Deceit had taken his form. They had all crammed themselves onto the sofa watching every animated movie that had even the slightest happy ending to it, all because they didn’t want to leave Patton alone after such a thing. They stacked snack after snack on the coffee table and eaten until their stomachs collectively ached, they’d all fallen asleep together. With Virgil curled up right as his head rested comfortably on Patton’s soft stomach, Roman resting his head on Patton’s shoulder and his feet on Logan’s lap as they had all slept the night away.

Where was that for him? Did they..did they just not care enough to even pretend to love him anymore? Did they just not care enough to knock even once to see how he was fairing after being consistently brushed off after he had wanted to help them during the trail? Did they not love him anymore?

Or…

A sickening feeling twisted Logan’s gut a patch of thorny roses twisting ruthlessly into his flesh.

Were they waiting for the day that he would just stop trying? Were they waiting for the day that he would become formless, a mere presence in Thomas’ mind, no longer there to bother them with his useless trivial facts about space and the earth around them? That had to have been it, right? They were waiting for the day that he finally kicked the bucket, before they could finally be hap-

“You know,” That familiar sly and buttery smooth voice shattered the nerve-wracking silence of Logan’s soon, “Usually it’s just so fun to watch you all lie to yourselves, this is however where I draw the line.”

Snapping his head up in the direction of the said intruder, Logan felt his mouth go cotton dry as Deceit stood there, casually swiping the broken frames of Logan’s glasses into the trashcan right by his desk. He looked entirely unperturbed for someone who was wearing a black muscle shirt and impossibly bright yellow track pants with his bare feet tapping insistently against Logan’s sparkling wooden floors. Just the very presence of Deceit made the atmosphere of Logan’s room seem just the slightest bit off, the air seemed a little warmer, Deceit himself a little bit more casual, and Logan..that much more of a wreck.

The dishonest side strode forward as he tucked his hands behind his back, “You know, I normally don’t make house calls. But you’re an exception today.” He smoothly drawled, dragging his gloved finger over the shiny smoothness of Logan’s wooden nightstand, his bi-colored eyes darted appreciatively all over the logical side’s room. As if the mere fact that he was standing there was something to be regarded with pure shock and aww, and really...Logan couldn’t argue with that.

For a solid minute, there was nothing but silence as the logical side’s eyes locked onto Deceit, his mouth opened a few times, before closing in a muted silence that only stretched thin between them.

In all honesty, he really didn’t know what he was supposed to say, or how he could defend the state of himself let alone his glasses that had chucked at the wall like they were nothing more than a bouncy stress ball.

So he remained silent as Deceit strolled closer to the bed a soft but acknowledging hum filling the silence that had been thick enough to cut with a knife. His nerves practically fried themselves alive as soon as Deceit flopped onto the bed beside him, and his heart galloped wildly in his chest as the dishonest side laid his hand onto his shoulder. Every move made by the other side seemed so careless and carefree, to the point where it almost seemed like it was done both on a whim but was incredibly calculated all at once.

Needless to say, it was terrifying.

But even so, it took a moment before the dishonest side ever said a word. “You think they don’t care about you,” It was the scorching blunt honest truth, but that didn’t make it any better. It certainly didn’t make it any better when Deceit went on either. “You think that your life is just a stepping stone to their greater happiness, that you’re just getting in the way, that they could care less about you, and that..they’ll be happy once you’re gone. That-”

Every word felt like the jab of spear right through his metaphorical heart, if he even had one at this point. “Is there a point to this consultation that we’re having, or is its only purpose to heighten by feelings of acute depression your only goal at this very moment?” The words came out as sharp as ever, and that most likely would have been the end of it had his eyes not been watering so pathetically. The tears that he had once gotten through were back, with every word spoken by Deceit a new layer of truth fell over him as he felt the hand that had been gripping his shoulder tighten.

A slow and sly smile curled onto Deceit’s face, the kind of smile that one would most accurately associate the devil with.

But Deceit wasn’t the devil, and he wasn’t a fool being tricked into a bargain.

And even so, that sweet innocent smile seemed to linger as Deceit’s clever fingers kneaded the tensed muscles of his shoulder, before he could discern whether or not Deceit’s scales were more green or yellow the harsh glint of something metallic dragged his attention away from Deceit’s face. Looking down at it he felt his metaphorical heart drop into his metaphorical stomach, his mouth felt so dry that he could barely even swallow as he audibly gulped at what the dishonest side held so carelessly and so openly in his hand. He held it as if it were more of an offering than anything, as if it was all on Logan to decide whether or not he wanted to take it.

That sweet and simple smile that more like a lover looking at another lover remained on Deceit’s lips, as he held the knife on the palm of his hand. It glinted horribly, but beautifully all at once.

“Would you like to be proven wrong?”

Taglist:

@snakeboicouldbegayer

@roanoaks

@dailypattondoodle

@thedreamer240

@soijusthavetoask

@hell-or-high-waters

@allthemetalsoftherainbow

[emphoenixcat]

Hiii, not having the best of nights with lots of stress and stuff, would it be okay if I asked for a quick cute logicality one shot? Your writing always makes me feel better, it's so we'll written with amazing imagery, and you portray all of the sides so well. Your transitions from one scene to another are immaculate, and your punctuation and grammar are astounding, I just love your writing so much, and tbh you'll probably always be my go to writer bc of your skills😊 (1/2)

Aww, thank you for the compliment, my friend

Warnings: uhhh, just food mention and sympathetic/tiny deceit. I didn’t think about it til after I already started writing it, but hopefully anon’s not bothered by that character.

Logan walked through the front door, ready to fall face first into his soft warm bed. Today had been horrendously long and all he wanted to do was relax, but he knew that such luxuries had to wait. He still had to help Patton prepare snacks for Ro’s soccer team; they had practice today and it was his turn to provide refreshments.

So the tired science teacher stumbled into the kitchen and found his handsome husband already hard at work, making sandwiches as he danced around the kitchen and hummed along to the radio. Logan couldn’t help but sleepily smile at his partner’s adorable antics.

“You need some help there, Pat?”

Patton turned, smiling sheepishly, “Hey, honeybee! Yeah, I guess I could use a bit of help,” he kissed Logan’s cheek in greeting and ruffled his hair affectionately. “How was work?”

“Exhausting,” the teacher admitted.

“Oh dear,” Patton frowned, “I think you need my pattonted coffee and kisses cure! At least until you can get some well-deserved shuteye.”

Logan chucked, “What would I do without you?”

“You’d be sleeping on students’ desks and trying to skip out on teaching,” Patton laughed.

One of their sons walked in just then, breaking the moment. “Daaaaaad!” their youngest boy cried.

“What is it, kiddo?”

Dee sniffled, his eyes wide and watery, “My cape ripped.”

Patton knelt down to inspect the tear, “Don’t worry, we should be able to repair it with no problem! Just let me and Logan finish up in the kitchen first.”

“Why not now?” Dee insisted, looking up at them with puppy dog eyes.

Before his husband could answer, Logan put a reassuring hand on Pat’s shoulder, “I could repair his cape for you. We both know he’ll refuse to go anywhere unless his magician’s costume is complete, he’s practically as picky as Roman was with his prince costume.”

“I’m not picky,” Dee protested.

Logan rolled his eyes, smirking, “Sure you’re not.”

“Thank you, Lo,” Patton said, accepting his help.

“No problem, Pat.”

It took awhile, but Dee was soon wearing his cape and happily waving his toy wand once more. 

Patton came into the room, and Roman in his red and white-colored soccer uniform was behind him holding a small cooler full of the prepared refreshments. Dee flounced over to the others, flicking his wand at his older sibling, “You are now the bestest knight in all of the kingdom! The other team doesn’t stand a chance!”

Roman grinned at his little brother, “Can’t do it without my best mage, of course! But you know who else might need a little bit of magic right now?”

“Is it Virgil?” Dee tilted his head curiously.

“You got it!” Roman nodded and Dee dashed upstairs excitedly, his cape fluttering behind him.

“That was really nice of you, Ro,” Patton commended him. 

“Yeah, well I could tell that the emo nightmare was getting anxious about his upcoming piano recital.”

The stairs creaked as the aforementioned middle child made his way down the stairs with Dee at his side.

“Hey, kiddo! You ready for piano practice?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Logan could understand Virgil’s nervous energy, after all this was the last practice before his recital. However, Logan knew that Virgil was quite talented; he had a way of getting lost in the music….the hobby really seemed to help clear his worried mind. 

“I have the utmost confidence in you, Virgil,” Logan reassured.

Virgil nodded, his bangs falling into his face, “Thanks, pa.”

Snacks packed, capes fixed, and kids comforted….they headed out to the car. Patton drove to the music place first, dropping Logan and Virgil off, waving happily before whizzing down the street to soccer practice. 

They had a schedule for busy days like this, Logan and Patton taking turns at Ro’s soccer practice and Virge’s piano practice each week; Dee was usually happy to go with either of them, just as long as he was able to dress however he pleased. On game days and recital days, they cleared their schedules and went together as a full family, usually stopping for pizza or something special afterward.

The Sander’s household was normally a rather hectic place, but they still made time for movie nights, video games, and impromptu dance sessions. It was mostly thanks to Patton making sure that no one was overworking themselves. Logan didn’t know how his partner managed to do it, but he loved him so much for it. Logan loved his entire family, he would do anything for them….no matter how tired he sometimes was.

He patiently sat at a table in the piano room, grading a few papers as Virgil’s fingers danced across the keys. At some point, the drowsy science teacher fell into a light sleep, music easing his mind.

“Pa? Wake up, pa.”

“Hmm?”

Virgil giggled a bit, “Dad’s here to pick us up.”

Logan opened his eyes, groggy and confused, “But what about your piano lesson?”

“You slept through most of it,” Virgil smirked.

“’m sorry, your music was just so good that it lulled me to sleep.”

“Now, I know you’re out of it. You’re starting to sound like dad.”

Logan laughed, finally waking up enough to gather his things and head out the door with his son.

Once they finished dinner and made sure that all the kids were ready for bed and tucked in comfortably, Patton and Logan plopped down on their own bed, both agreeing on watching one movie before they themselves called it a day.

Logan was just settling in peacefully next to Patton when the phone rang.

He groaned and let out an exasperated sigh, wondering who could be calling at such a time. Reluctantly, he answered the call and almost instantly regretted it.

It was one of his student’s parents, calling to complain about her child’s grades.

“I just don’t understand how she got a C on her math test, Mr. Sanders.”   

Logan rolled his eyes, mouthing to Patton, ‘This may take awhile.’ 

Patton scooted closer, listening to the lady on the other end of the phone.

“Mr. Sanders? Are you still there?”

“Of Course, Mrs. Ollins. What exactly did you need?”  

“My daughter got a C on her test! I think you need to regrade her paper.”

“I don’t regrade tests, Mrs, Ollins. If I do it for one student, it simply wouldn’t be fair to my other students, you understand.”

“No I DON’T understand. Mr. S, this isn’t fair–”

The teacher pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling completely drained of energy. He really wanted to just hang up on the lady and deal with her later, but that would be unprofessional and impolite, two things that Logan tried very hard not to be. So instead he listened to the angry parent drone on and on about the subject as he uselessly tried to explain the situation.

At some point though, Patton had began to smirk mischievously, leaving the teacher curious. What was his husband up to? 

It didn’t take him long to find out as Patton took Logan’s free hand and began to softly kiss his palm, pressing his warm lips up the length of his arm. Logan shivered in surprise and nearly dropped the phone.

Patton smiled innocently as if he didn’t know what he was doing, but at this point the kisses were up to Logan’s neck. 

His voice trembled slightly as he tried his best to speak professionally into the phone, “Um, uh–”

“Yes, what is it? Will you regrade my daughter’s test?” 

“No, I’m afraid not. If it’s still a problem to you, then I suggest arranging a meeting with either me or another faculty member.”

“What?! This is an outrage–”

But Logan was barely listening because Patton was running his hands through his hair and staring intently into his eyes.

It took him a moment to remember he needed to hang up, “Mrs. Ollins, while I do encourage parents to voice their questions or concerns, I’d much rather you do it at a more appropriate time of day. Have a splendid evening.” He heard her make a sound of protest right before he placed the phone back on the receiver. 

He would have another hectic day ahead of him for sure, but none of that mattered now as Patton pulled him in for a long and passionate kiss.

[crowleyshellhoundspn]

Theory about Lucifer’s Love Child(Spoilers for 12X19)

So after the latest episode, “The Future”, I have become quite curious about Lucifer’s love child in the sense of the bigger question the writers of Supernatural are asking us; are you born evil or are you made evil? The classic Nature v. Nurture argument.  So I decided to investigate specific color choices since in film specific colors are chosen to represent certain emotions and messages. But in television programs this is even more apparent and used more often because they typically have only 42 minutes to get the information in the episode across. 

I am nearly finished with my degree in film production and I have quite a bit of time learning how to look at film and there is one thing that I have learned that has hit me the hardest; not a single thing in TV or film is done by accident. every line of dialogue, every camera angle, every color, costume, action, etc. has a purpose.

So I am going to do a color analysis because I believe the golden eye color that we saw when the baby connected with Kelly and Castiel is not by accident. That color was chosen for a specific reason. So in order to give evidence to my theory I am going to bring up the few other eye colors we have seen over the seasons when we saw certain characters, so lets begin!

Let’s first start off with the baby’s father Lucifer. To go back to my first like quip about Nature v. Nurture I feel like Lucifer proves that one is not born evil, but becomes evil; sort of. I mean he does say in the series his dad made him this way, but if your dad is God and he can make you do anything that doesn’t really count. But he had choices and he always chose the bad path. Anyway back to main point. 

Since his return in Season 11 we have gotten a new feature on Lucifer; red eyes.

So in film the color red can mean many things:  RED – anger, passion, rage, desire, excitement, energy, speed, strength, power, heat, love, aggression, danger, fire, blood, war, violence. Think about when we see Dean wear his read shirt, we immediately relate that to violence and anger, same thing with Lucifer. His read eyes make us feel uneasy and a sense of danger.

Ok lets move on to two Princes of Hell; Ramiel and Dagon; their eyes are yellow, most of the time the entire iris is cover and one time we see Dagon with her iris yellow, but her pupil still visible.

So the color yellow can mean many things in film: YELLOW – wisdom, knowledge, relaxation, joy, happiness, optimism, idealism, imagination, hope, sunshine, summer, dishonesty, cowardice, betrayal, jealousy, covetousness, deceit, illness, hazard. Its obvious to tell that here we see more of the bad sides of what yellow can mean than the good.  Also when dagon was killing the angels the power from her hand was Orange.

Orange in film means this:  ORANGE – humor, energy, balance, warmth, enthusiasm, vibrant, expansive, flamboyant. And since it was seen as a powerful energy to kill with, the color choice makes since here. 

I am getting to my point, stay with me!

Next lets look at Angels and how similar there blue eyes are to the color of human souls: both are a light blue. Their smiting color is also white.

The color Blue in film means this:  faith, spirituality, contentment, loyalty, fulfillment peace, tranquility, calm, stability, harmony, unity, trust, truth, confidence, conservatism, security, cleanliness, order, sky, water, cold, technology, depression. I mean one doesn’t even need to show the connection here, even with souls it makes sense. So what does it mean that their smiting power comes out as white. White has many different meanings depending on the culture so in film it can get a tad confusing.  

WHITE- Yes, protection, love, reverence, purity, simplicity, cleanliness, peace, humility, precision, innocence, youth, birth, winter, snow, good, sterility, marriage (Western cultures), death (Eastern cultures), cold, clinical, sterile. The difference in the energy used here v. Dagon’s is where it comes from. Angels use it for a specific purpose and they themselves can be seen as cold and clinical in the show. But to smite something can almost be seen as an act of purity or protection; not a simple killing for pleasure like Dagon.

So now we come to the golden color. What struck me first was the color and the way the energy moved seemed familiar to me. So I went back to the Season 11 finale; “Alpha and Omega” and realized where I had seen a similar form of this energy. When Chuck and Amara joined hands

and when Amara gave Chuck back his light energy.

Its similar, yet different. NOW I AM NOT SAYING THIS HAS ANYTHING TO DO WITH CHUCK AND AMARA; MORE OF LIGHT AND DARK ENERGY.

So what does Gold mean when it comes to film:  GOLD – precious, riches, extravagance. warm, wealth, prosperity, grandeur. 

So it leaves one to think is this baby really only doing what it takes to survive or is there a deeper meaning? A lot of people believe that Lucifer was manipulating the situation through his child, but from what I saw he could only communicate with Dagon and even then he could only hurt her mentally. It would seem his connection to his son is weak and he can only sense him or he would have told Dagon where his son was or he would have already known. So if Lucifer was not acting through the child then we are left the with question I stated at the beginning; can one be born evil or if raised the right way they chose the right path. I mean Jesse, the Antichrist or Cambian, from season 5 is part demon and he chose to remain good. So while its not odd that us Supernatural fans immediately jump to the conclusion that this baby is bad and Castiel has made the wrong choice, well what if we are wrong. All I am saying is, when you look at the subtext ( folks subtext is everything unsaid;not just what some believe to be unspoken sexual tension) it sends a different message to me.

Anyway just thought I would put this concept out there!