#not to call virgil an enemy

[blue-howlite]

Just a small realisation on my side, who else is like this?

[halfhissandwich]

So what have we learned today?

- drunk Patton is a sight to behold

- Roman keeps a diary that Remus has access to for some reason

- Roman just can’t stop getting items thrown into his eyes, that’s twice now, and Logan tried to lecture Janus about it when he did it first, what the hell—

- Roman and Janus are enemies with benefits

- Patton doesn’t know how depression works

- if Logan makes a pun, he will run away in terror

- orange stress ball

- Roman and Patton appreciate good cows

- Patton gets called Patton a lot

- Logan and Virgil love each other <3

[sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes]

Virgil: This month I'm doing this challenge called "September" which is where I try to make it through every day of September

Roman: seems easy enough

Virgil: enemy spawns are more frequent during this challenge btw

Roman: oh dangit I'm gonna have to deal with two Remuses?!

[part-time-zombie]

you have no idea how much this scene means to me

Roman realized that virgil went out of his way to help him and acknowledged virgils actions, vocalizing his appreciation. Virgil isn't used to receiving such kind words, especially from roman, but he can see them as genuine which throws him off even more.

Virgil again tries to downplay his actions, not even knowing how or why he did what he did to help, but before he can completely ignore this moment of unexpected vulnerability, roman grabs his shoulder. While this would probably normally result in a flinch or a fight, virgil instead is grounded by the unexpected touch, quieting down and focusing back on roman when he started to overthink.

Roman says this so softly, so proudly, and virgil is completely thrown off. Virgil, the facet of anxiety, being called brave by the confident prince? He can't even comprehend the concept, let alone believe that such an admirable trait of roman was apparently found in himself, vocalized by roman of all sides.

Virgil doesn't believe it. He's anxiety, he can't be brave. Romans brave, romans the prince, how can the literal embodiment of anxiety even come close to brave? He tries to deny it, tries to run from this unexpected openness from the both of them, but roman stops him yet again. All the other times before when roman told virgil to shut up or called him names it was known to be taken as a jab, a joke at his expense. But now, here in this moment, they aren't enemies or even rivals, they're friends celebrating each other. This is not a joke, this is a compliment subtly spoken in the same witty banter he has grown used to, even become fond of.

Roman watches the scene unfold, happy at last. Virgil just looks at him, amazed by how far they both had come. Romans hand is still on virgils shoulder, but he can't find it in himself to mind. Right now all he can think of is what roman had said. Bravery. Virgil was brave to roman, brave For roman. And even if virgil himself can't see it yet, or refuses to admit to it, roman saw it. And if roman, the bravest prince virgil knows, can recognize bravery in him, then he supposes it must be true, even a little bit.

[libraryofloveletters]

Behind The Lens

Kostas Tsimikas x Fem!Reader

Warnings: the boys teasing kostas constantly, reader being slightly oblivious to it, sexual innuendos, it gets a little steamy towards the end, kos is lowkey bad at flirting, lots of swooning.

Word Count: 3.2k

Author's Note: I don't really have an explanation of the Kostas kick I've been on lately but here we go. thank you to @curiousthyme for the idea, this ones for you!! <3

---

Despite it being close to 8 in the evening, the humidity was killing all of you. 

Liverpool had journeyed to Singapore for the second half of their pre- season training and for a few friendly matches. 

You had joined the team as one of the photographers. You had worked with the team before, but never in the field. Most of the time, you hung around when they did photo shoots for their new home kits or LFC retail. 

They were comfortable around you, so there wasn't any awkwardness when you decided to join them on the pitch for their first training session.

Klopp was going over the drills for the session, you took a few photos as he spoke. The only two paying attention to you were Andy and Darwin, the two of them making silly faces at the camera. You looked away, holding back your giggling by pressing your lips together.  

“Alright,” the man in the glasses clapped, “you know what you’ve gotta do.” He announces, sending them on their way. 

You were taking photos of the session, watching the boys kick the ball around and do their drills. You were off to the side until they eventually split into groups to run drills. The boys separated themselves into groups of 5 and the one closest to you consisted of Virgil, Mo, Joe, Kostas and Cody. The 5 men kicked the ball back and forth, Kostas stuck in the middle to block it before it got to the next person. 

In this particular moment, you were looking away trying to adjust something on your camera whilst kneeling on the grass. You were all but a few feet away from the boys and the pass that Mo made from himself across to Cody, made it pass both Kostas in the middle and Cody on the other side. 

“Heads!” The younger Dutch player brings his hand up to his mouth to shout to you. 

The camera’s lifted at the last second, the ball bouncing off the thigh the camera was once on. Mo makes a face, “sorry y/n!” He shouts to you and you smile, waving him off. 

Before you know it, there’s a man in a grey shirt running to you to get the ball. “Are you okay?”

Kostas was knelt to your level, his soft brown eyes reflected under the flood lights; they reflected a kindness you’ve yet to see in other people. 

You smiled, nodding. “I’m okay.” 

“You’re sure? Mo has a foot of steel.” He chuckles at his own joke, earning him a smile.

You assured him you were fine as he grabbed your hand to help you up. “I grew up with 4 brothers. A lil’ roughhousing doesn’t bother me, Kos.” 

The nickname caused his heart to flutter; despite hearing it a million times over, it was different coming from you. 

“Kos!” The tall man shouts, “are you coming back?!”

Virgil’s hands were on his hips, you could see the annoyance on his face - he wasn’t one for being in the heat; the Singaporean humidity was his worst enemy at the moment - as was Kostas for having him waiting. 

“Go on,” you reached out to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. 

Kostas tucks the ball under his arm, “sure you’re okay?” 

You smile, nodding once more. “I’m fine, Kos. I promise.” 

Joe seemed to notice the exchange between the defender and the photographer, looking over at his friend next to him. Virgil caught onto what Joe meant from the moment he looked at him, raising his eyebrows in response. The Dutchman earned a chuckle from his friend. 

Kostas watched you walk off in the direction of Andy and Trent’s group before snapping out of his y/n trance as the teammate called it. 

--

They had returned from their mini break, taking a few minutes to rehydrate and stretch out their sore muscles; a sight you enjoyed. Whether it was in a professional manner or an unprofessional one, that was a secret. 

The boys were all goofing around amongst themselves, getting the last of their energy out for the evening. You were sitting next to Jurgen on the bench, the man pointed out something that Joel was doing and you two shared a laugh; a common occurrence when you two were in each other’s presence.

“Alright,” you huffed as you stood, slipping your feet back into your slides. “Back to work.” 

The older gentleman shook his head as he looked down at your choice in footwear. “Aren’t you worried you’d fall? The grass is still damp.” 

“Not really, and if I do, there’s a ton of handsome footballers to catch me.” You raised your eyebrows, giving him a wicked smile. 

“Y/n!” He laughed, wagging his finger at you. “You're trouble.” 

“You like trouble, boss man.” You clicked a photo of him laughing before walking back onto the pitch. 

Making the rounds, the boys pretend you aren’t there as they go about their evening. You already mentioned you get the best photos that way; candid. 

There were a handful of solo shots being taken and you finally made it towards the group at back of the pitch. 

The Greek defender straightens up, his hands on his hips as he watches Cody pass the ball to Andy, who passed it to him. 

Andy knew the boys well enough to know at this point and in this heat, they’re just going through the motions. Hence his shock when he watched his teammate start showing off his tricks, starting his set of kick ups for no apparent reason. 

The Scotsman noticed your presence, the click of your camera catching his attention. He laughed, head leaning back as his hand came up to his chest. Virgil looks over in concern, confused as to why Andy started laughing by himself but when he realizes who was lurking around, he too laughs. 

“Kostas, man!” Ibou groans, “are you gonna pass the ball or not ?” 

“He won’t,” Andy butts in before Kostas can even react. “Don’t you see who’s over there?” He nods towards the woman just two feet away. “He’s showing off for y/n.” 

You can’t help the laugh you let out, rolling your eyes. “Shut up Andy,” you snorted. “I don’t know how Rachel puts up with you.” 

“It’s my wits and charm that keep her in love.” He flashed you a smile, making you chuckle as you shook your head. 

At this point, Ibou had managed to finally get the ball away from Kostas but lost it as he tried to get past Virgil - they called him big Virg for a reason.

It rolls over to you, you stop it by placing your foot on top of it. You pass it back in the same way they’d expect one of their teammates to kick it back to them. 

Kostas’s jaw hung open, shocked at how well you did that. 

“In slides,” Joel nods to himself in approval. “Well done, y/n.” 

You smiled, doing a little pose as you lifted your shoulder. “Got skills for days.” 

“With a Z?” Virgil looks over at you, a smile on his face. 

“Skills and days with a Z, big man.” The two of you shared a laugh. 

After what felt like a million hours in the heat, the boys were wrapping up and the kit men were packing up. You take a few minutes to pack up your camera stuff, a few of the boys were doing interviews and currently, it was Kostas’ turn. 

A few of the players watched him, making him nervous for no reason. “We wanna go, Kos. Hurry up.” Ibou teased, shouting from the little balcony. Trent butts in to say, “come on Kostas, I wanna go bro.” 

Virgil was watching them when you walked over. You peeked over the man’s shoulder who moves when he notices you, putting his arm around you before whispering in your ear. 

Kostas looks over when he hears your laugh and you could swear that you saw a flint of jealousy in his eyes. Surely that’s not it, everyone was just tired and the boys were annoying him.

That must be it. 

Ibou laughs when you whisper what Virgil had said to you.

He starts teasing his teammate once again; “Kostas, are you afraid? On the plane, no one can sleep because you talk too much. Now when you can talk, you don’t wanna talk.” 

You watch from the little balcony as Virgil and Ibou head down one by one, staring down the man doing his interview. Cody joins in on the fun and Kostas is so over them, internally groaning at his irritating teammates. 

They wanted to leave so badly and yet they were the ones that were causing him to take longer than necessary.  

You felt a bit bad about all the teasing, calling to the three troublemakers. ”Come on boys, leave Kostas alone.” 

“Yeah,” the Greek nods, “listen to y/n.” 

Cody snickers, “I bet you’d love to listen to y/n, huh?” 

Kostas is red in the face as Cody falls into Ibou laughing, the two of them in a fit of giggles. Kostas hoped he could blame the redness on the heat and you were getting closer by the second, the man was begging for a breeze to cool himself down.

Thankfully, you had missed the comment with the cheesy sexual innuendo because you were coming down the stairs a few feet away.

Once you made it over, you grabbed both Cody and Ibou by the wrists like school boys, pulling them up from their seats. All you had to do was look in Virgil’s direction for him to follow suit. 

“Let’s leave Kostas to finish his interview in peace, yeah?” 

The man in front the camera smiles, his heart fluttering at the sight of you - as was something else when he noticed the grey leggings you had on but those were thoughts best saved for when he was alone. 

---

The cold shower welcomed you back to the land of the living after the evening in the heat. You were getting ready to go over the photos from the session, your memory card plugged into your laptop to upload as you got ready after your shower. 

A knock on the door interrupts you as you brushed your hair. Setting the brush down, you made your way over to the door to see who it was. 

On the other side of the door stood Kostas, a green tube in his hand as he smiled at you. 

“Hey,” you smiled, confused as to why he was at your door. 

“Hey, I uh.. sorry I didn’t mean to bother you.” 

“You’re never a bother, is everything okay?” 

“Oh, yeah.” He nods, holding out the green tube to you. “You forgot this on the bench, or I guess it fell from your pocket?” 

It’s your chapstick, mint flavoured. Your initials are scribbled on the cap in black sharpie because you and Andy use the same one; this way there’s no confusion. 

“Oh thank you,” you reached over and took it from him. “You didn’t have to do that, I have like four more in my makeup bag. I lose these all the time,” you laughed, tucked it into the pocket of your shorts. 

Kostas shrugs, a smile on his face. The laptop chimed from its spot on the bed, signalling that it’s done uploading the pictures. 

“Wanna see the pictures from the training session? I have to go through them anyway and I got a few good ones of you.” 

The man peeked over your shoulder, “I couldn’t intrude.” 

“You’re not, I’m inviting you in.” 

You stepped to the side, letting him come in. Kostas follows you to the bed, watching as you climb onto it and pull the laptop onto your lap. You’ve got on a pair of black shorts and a red tshirt with a little lfc logo on the top. 

As much as he enjoyed the view, he’d like the outfit much better if it was on the floor. 

“Are you coming?” Your voice pulled him from his thoughts, patting the empty spot next to you. “I don’t bite.”

Kostas slips off his shoes, climbing onto the bed. “What if I want you to ?” His eyes meet yours. 

You assumed he was joking but you answered him regardless. “I will.. but only if you ask nicely.”

His cheeks have a red hue and he clears his throat when he settles down next to you. The man sat so stiff, a statue seemed like jello in comparison. His eyes fixed on the screen as you clicked through the pictures. 

Kostas watched your manicured nails click along the keyboard, tapping the screen as you pointed out things to him. All he could focus on was how good they’d feel if they were being dragged down his back - the red of your nails matching the colour of the marks left behind. 

“Those are really good,” he finally says. “You’re so talented, y/n.” 

It’s your turn to blush, waving off the compliment with a smile. “It’s nothing, really.” 

You sent the photos off to the socials admin, letting them share out what needed to be when your laptop chimed once more, letting you know it was low on battery. The laptop was on the bed when you leaned off the side of the bed to grab the charger. Instinctively, Kostas reaches out to hold your hips, making sure you don’t fall off the bed. 

His touch burnt into your skin, you could feel everything but you ignored the feeling bubbling in your gut. You plugged your laptop in and set it on the nightstand to charge. 

There’s a comfortable silence in the room so you look over at Kostas. “Are you hungry?” 

“Uh.. I could eat.” 

Kostas didn’t get the heads up before you reached over his lap and over to the other night stand to grab the room service menu.

The man’s brows furrowed as you sat back up. “I could have grabbed it for you.” 

“Oh that’s okay,” you shrugged, flipping through the pages. “What are you feeling? I’m thinking a burger, maybe pasta?” 

“Those are two very different things, y/n.” 

“I’m aware of that, duh. I figured I could get both and we could split it unless you want something else?” 

Kostas shook his head, “that’s fine.” 

You called and ordered the food, settling into the pillows behind you as you looked for a movie to put on in the meantime. Kostas’s eyes were fixed on you, you could feel them burning into your skin with each passing glance. 

“What?” 

“I’m sorry,” Kostas blurts, causing your brows to furrow. “You know, if the guys overstepped today.” 

“How did they overstep?” 

“With what Cody said.” 

Now you were really confused. “What did Cody do? He’s a sweetheart, I can’t imagine him saying anything bad.” You chuckled.  

Kostas internally groans, you clearly didn’t hear what Cody had said but now he’s got to explain. “He uh- he said how I’d like to listen to you.” 

You make a face; “what does that even mean?” 

“Well,” Kostas started, clearly a bit uncomfortable explaining the context of said statement. “I guess he meant.. in bed.” 

“Oh.” You pulled your lips together, holding back a snicker. You often forget that despite all being grown ass men and professional footballers, they had the minds of 15 year old boys. 

There’s a moment of quietness before you speak; “and would you?” 

Kostas stops picking at his nail to look at you, “would I?” He trails off. 

“Would you listen to me.. in bed?” 

Your eyes finally met his; there’s a sense of urgency that flashed in his brown eyes, his cheeks flushed red despite the AC running and it’s like you can hear the gears turning in his head. He’s trying to think of the right way to say this without scaring you off.

“Yes.” 

There’s a slight smile playing on your lips, you can’t help but reach out and hold his chin, forcing him to focus solely on you. 

“Good.” 

Kostas isn’t exactly sure what flipped in him but he leans over and into you, chest pressed to yours as his lips meet yours. 

There’s an instant connection between the two of you as if you’d been a couple for years; Kostas’s hands find your hips, pulling you over and on top of him. You straddled the player under you, hands cupping his jaw in an attempt to pull him closer.

The two of you were as close as you could possibly get, his warm hands slipped under the red shirt you had on. 

Your own hands pulled on his shirt, the two of you separating for a second to pull it off completely - a second that felt like an eternity to him. 

Just as he does to pull your shirt up, there’s a knock on the door. The man groans, dropping his face into your chest. 

You grab a handful of his hair, pulling his head back. Kostas groans, a happy one but looks up at you. “It’s the room service.” 

“Tell them to take it back,” he pulls you against him for another kiss. 

You giggled, getting off of his lap. Kostas rolls over on the bed and grabs your wrist, pulling you back to the edge of the bed. “Kos,” you whine, trying to get your hand loose. 

“Whattttt?” He reaches over to give you one more kiss. 

“The food is gonna get cold, let me just grab it.” 

“Then you’ll come right back?” 

“Yes.” 

“Promise?” He held his pinky out to you. 

You laughed, interlocking your pinky with him. “Promise.” 

He lets you grab the food from outside, the hotel staff left the tray outside considering that you didn’t answer the door. You leant down to grab it off the trolley and you could feel Kostas’s eyes on your ass. 

“I can feel you staring.” 

He smiles, waiting for you to put the tray down. “Staring never hurt anyone.” 

“I mean, if you’re a stalker it probably would.” 

Kostas rolls his eyes playfully, pulling you back onto the bed with him. His lips find yours again, the two of you tangled together on top of the sheets. 

You’re on your sides, looking at each other. Your finger traced over his jaw, Kostas turns his head to press a kiss to it.  

“It wasn’t so hard for you to admit you liked me, hm?” 

“You say that as if you knew,” he laughed. 

“Of course I knew.” 

“You did?” He looked a bit shocked. You never give him any signals that you had a clue.

“I told you I got skills for days, with a Z.” 

Kostas laughs, pulling you into him. “Oh shut up.” 

---

taglist: @themandaloriansdiaries @thesnailus @alwaysclassyeagle @lettersfromvenus @mehrmonga @callsignvenus @kmc1989 @valentinehrts @pulpfixion @ironmaiden1313 @candacels

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[nishnormp]

cheavy ramblings

Been thinking about the stinky BLU classic heavy from the comics lately. He's basically the villain of the final issues, and was practically built to be unlikeable from the start so his defeat could be more satisfying; buut since its been years since an update came out and I am slowly going insane, I think it would be funky to explore him more (bonus cmedic feature)

Few disclaimers: I'm not excusing his actions (I myself think hes a bitch) and I do NOT ship him with tf2 medic (also I dont think tf2 medic is unmasked cmedic bc 1)why would he sabotage himself in the issues by acting like That 2)uhh reasons later 3)this panel) also some of my takes aren't original, but I've expanded on em a bit

P1: Medic hater activities

As we all know, cheavy's greatest sin was dunking on + killing tf2 medic

Somehow he and tfc demo got sidetracked by medic's question, but the most hostile he gets towards tf2 medic here is jeering at the fact that they're going to hunt down his old team; which tf2 medic doesn't seem bothered by.

( @number1yisuchongfan actually brought this up before me) This panel pretty much sums up why cheavy is pissed: medic was implied to have a record of being weird with parts (he lost his license bc he stole a man's skeleton), he blew ALL of his budget meant for healing on exotic parts (that he put in cheavy's teammates), AND he revived the enemy (said enemy slips away a few panels later just as cheavy gets informed that three of his mercs died).

(also, the weird p3do tfc scout and soldier arent included in the 'three good men', since they died much later) Speaking of the 'good men' comment-

P2: Good leader at some point?? Not anymore tho

Hes gruff and an ass, but cheavy has a soft spot for his team; the tf2 mercs call each other strictly by their classes, but the tfc ones know each other names (also see cheavy's way of describing his dead teammates and his immediate reaction to go over there rather than curse/assume their incompetence)

He gets curious about australium, and from here on out he gets fixated on it- enough to be more unreasonable than usual. Cheavy is pretty amicable with Bea, and the way he acts with her is probably more in-character for what he was like back in his prime rather than the hot-tempered man that the later panels show.

I mean . He and his team were highly recommended and even took out ALL of the admin's elite teams, leaving the tf2 team for last. He may be a drill sergeant, but I don't think he was a genuine tyrant for most of his career; they aren't purely business-basis with each other (some of them formed close bonds, like fred and virgil), plus- any elite team would be able to capitalize on an overly prideful and control freaky leader (+a constantly demoralized team) sooner.

With three of his mercs dead and his plans failing against a team that he saw as rejects, the mental strain is showing badly. Tfc mercs don't have much personality in their games (or their own comic about them during their prime) but one of the few dynamics mentioned is between the Heavy and the Engineer+Medic. Tfc engie is the one who stepped up to ask about cheavy's plans, and he also gets the brunt of his anger. Earlier, cheavy answered bea's question and encouraged her, but now he's yelling and mocking the capabilities of one of the men he coordinates with the most.

Tfc scout's line may just be him not understanding/underestimating australium (esp since apparently cheavy had to ask grey mann what it even did), but it also reads as him seeing cheavy having officially gone off his rocker; his shaky grasp over leadership might kill the team before being deprived of yellow rocks does. Both scout and engie are thrown off by his attitude, implying that cheavy isn't usually like this (I can't imagine them being coordinated if they all shrimp away like that).

His line of thinking for both of these situations are pretty questionable. For the first one, he knows that the bots extract australium from the body, but he also knows that the mercs likely have nothing in them anyways (note the emphasis on his dead mercs, this is him taking revenge but also he is NAWT going to get any australium for those extra immortality machines which is still a pressing issue for his engie). In the second one, he first tells medic that they'll try figuring out how to stitch the machine on him, which leads to medic stabbing him and cheavy retaliating. Cheavy then goes all the way with attempting to kill him, stating that he'll just gets his answers from the administrator. Its soon revealed that he wants to fight tf2 heavy, but even that is ??? Like cheavy knows that he and his team are old as hell, but he's going to try having a fair fight with a guy in his prime anyways? He didn't even know that he could just slap on the machine at the time, and the unnecessary risk for what seems to be a quest to satisfy his ego is antithetical to his supposed goal of getting the rocks and making his team immortal. At this point, his hatred of medic has completely overridden his rationality; there were many ways for him to have killed both of them, yet he didn't take em.

P3: Cmedic

I saw some posts abt how cheavy is likely coded as homophobic due to how he treats medic (a presumably gay-coded character) bc of the "stay in the kitchen"-esque dialogue, and the way cheavy undermines him in verbal + physical ways. I do not have a very solid defense for this . aside from everything I listed before.

Just to clarify, I think its cheavy's fault for alienating medic from the start: loss of medical license aside, medic's inventions DO work splendidly for healing. Would it have been more concerning since medic is . meant to heal? Maybe. But mercs are literal murderers for hire, personality quirks should be the last of their priorities. The guy is passionate about showing off his stuff, and he was even enthusiastic about getting on the battlefield and healing cheavy. I'm not saying medic was going to be 100% loyal, but he's willing to do his job for the classics as long as he wasn't disrespected so damn much.

The tfc mercs with personalities are ones that oppose their tf2 counterpart; tfc sniper is a sadist rather than a swift professional, tfc pyro is...also a sadist rather than having tf2 pyro's misguided bubbliness, and cheavy does not respect his team's (current) medic. This in conjunction with the complete and utter lack of not just presence but also mention of tfc medic leads to the popular belief that the guy just up and left because of the disrespect.

(Writing inconsistencies be damned I like to cope) so what if it wasn't the case?

These are one of the few lines in tfc that describe a cooperative nature between certain classes. Like I mentioned earlier, tfc has less media compared to tf2 so its easy to slot personalities onto them as villains (tfc sniper's gun blowing people into giblets kinda helps), but I don't think these can be ignored. Fred was the one who represented the rest of the team's opinions to cheavy, and the phrasing in the second pic is even stronger; the heavymedic duo was always a thing, even in tfc.

Sort of. Gameplay-wise, cmedic is more like a roided out scout armed with a medkit that can give enemies and disguised spies tuberculosis, grenades that can send him across the map, and a gun that can destroy sentries (situational). He doesn't need to cling to his more offensive teammates as much as tf2 medic, and while his kit can instantly heal a teammate to full no matter the percentage + give overheal- its strictly melee ranged and has no ubercharge. In a narrative sense, cmedic would most likely oppose tf2 medic as a more 'grounded' healer. He prevents damage to his team by erasing enemies himself, doesn't go too overboard with his biochemical arsenal (his brew is potent but hes stuck with the melee-ranged kit and no crazy mechanic like uber), and can typically run off by himself (provided he isn't jumped by two soldiers or smth). Its a matter of game design, but can translate to the comics in an interesting way.

Medic is the only one who speaks of cmedic, and while the mention itself has no violent reaction- no one else speaks of him. I can't imagine him being easily forgotten since the heavymedic duo is just too iconic, so what if smth exceptionally horrible just happened to him? If cmedic was close to cheavy than everyone else, his loss/disappearance could explain cheavy's immediate dislike for tf2 med; not only replacing his own med, but with the complete opposite in terms of personality as well.

(I could expand on cmedic more, but this post is already long enough as is so I'll probably just make a separate one gah)

[hebuiltfive]

Once Bitten Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End

AO3 link here!

Scott, one of the most excelled vampire hunters for the last century, has one last battle with the vampire who’s claimed him as her arch-enemy.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!

I hadn't been sure if I'd be able to get anything out in time (October has been a wild month) but here we are! The morning of the 31st with a story I'm quite proud of for once!

There is a potential for this to be expanded upon, and I do really want to write more for this AU... I just have many fics on the go at the moment and no real time to get them written, so we'll see!

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

Scott hated a cliché. “Time heals all wounds”just wasn’t true, “thinking outside the box”was just dumb, and Gordon’s favourite phrase of “there’s plenty of fish in the sea” was so infuriating it often had Scott biting back sarcastic remarks in reply. Clichés were old and tiring. They were unoriginal and uninspiring. If he ever became president, an outcome that was unlikely despite his brothers constantly not-so-jokingly insisting that he “should run sometime”, he’d sincerely consider banning the usage of them. 

Therefore, walking into that disused mine and being greeted by sleeping bats had him understandably almost turning tail.

It was beyond ironic that he, a famed and skilled vampiric hunter, happened across such a scene. He didn’t dare count, cautious of losing time or becoming too distracted, but Scott estimated hundreds of pipistrelles, all handing upside down from the rafters. If he hadn't known better, he’d have called it a coincidence, but the tip-off they’d received earlier that morning suggested this was anything but.

Suppressing a shiver, he carefully passed the sleeping bats, ducking low to avoid disturbing them and being weary of where he was stepping. The floor was littered with old bolts and broken shards of glass. Every step he took delivered a crunch or a snap, and Scott winced each time, praying to an unknown deity that he wouldn’t awake the winged creatures. Night had already fallen and Scott was aware they’d be waking up themselves fairly shortly.

He had long since passed through the adit and had entered the mine proper. Tunnels had led him further and further, deeper and deeper, and the darkness was beginning to press in on him. When he had arrived, the sun had already long since set below the horizon. Cloud cover had meant there was no moonlight to help guide him, so Scott had made his way over to the entrance of the mine with the help of his torch. 

There was something about the mine that had him on edge, and it wasn’t purely because he was alone in the middle of nowhere.  His crossbow that hung over his shoulder was tugged closer, fingers biting into the leather strap that connected the weapon to the holster it was attached to. It was his most trusted trade tool and he never left for a mission without it. Scott trusted it so much, in fact, that he rarely brought another weapon out into the field with him, besides his basic hunting knife. Perhaps it was a foolish move during solo missions, but most of the time, on those specific occasions, Scott saw enough sense to carry extra weaponry.

It wasn’t needed tonight as this wasn’t a solo mission.  Virgil was on his way to provide necessary back-up, only Scott, as usual, had simply raced ahead. It was the arrogance of being certain he could handle whatever was about to be thrown into his face that had fuelled that decision, no matter how much Virgil had pleaded with him to just wait for once. If the tip-off was correct, Scott wouldn’t need back-up from his baby brother. It would be a simple retrieval mission. In and out, home in time for dinner…

Oh, he despised clichés! That was almost as good as nothing could possibly go wrong, and Scott knew how dangerous it was to say that line.

The further he went into the mine, however, the more Scott’s confidence waned. There was a niggling doubt in the back of his mind that had him questioning how wise it had been to bolt ahead. He tried to ignore the sceptic thoughts. There was currently no reason to have any worries about the mission, besides the bats perhaps, but even then, it wasn’t so uncommon to find the winged creatures in old mine buildings.

Before he’d left, John had run a full and detailed analysis of the message — once bitten, twice shy and all that. (Then again, in John’s case, thrice shy might have been more appropriate, though the less said about that, the better.) Nevertheless his brother was always thorough with his investigations, so when he returned to him with the licit figure of ninety per cent, assuring him that this tip-off was trustworthy and not a trap, Scott had no reason to doubt him.

He hadn’t doubted him at all… not until he’d entered the godforsaken place.

Scott ducked into a dug out side room. Inches of dust layered almost every surface, and chains and broken bits of wood strewn across the floor. A desk stood on one side of the room. Scott crossed over, examining the mountains of paperwork that had been abandoned when the mine had closed down decades ago. The sheets were tainted, soiled from time and grime. He began to leaf through them slowly, careful not to disturb too much of the dust. His torch shone beams of light onto the various pieces of parchment, highlighting scrawny handwriting and typed up messages. He didn’t read them, merely scanning the words and numbers for anything that might provide a clue as to why they’d been given the tip-off for here exactly.

As far as the data International Rescue had, the area was not known to be a vampire hot-spot. Being in the middle of nowhere, and thus without a steady flow of hot blood, it was not an ideal place for a nest. Experience, however, had Scott batting away the assumptions. It was never wise to lay any claim when it came to the Night Walkers. 

It wouldn’t have been too much to assume that this could be an elaborate trap of some kind. The thought had first crossed Scott’s mind the moment he’d set eyes on the hundreds of pipistrelles hanging from the ceiling. Nevertheless, he kept up his search. The clue had to be around somewhere, he just needed to find it.

The unbound sheets offered him no help and he dropped them to the floor one by one, dust particles rising as he did so. The specks irritated his throat and Scott found himself wishing he’d brought along a small bottle of water with him. He cleared his throat a few times as quietly as possible, still not convinced he wasn’t alone in the mine, but after inhaling a rather petulant granule, he succumbed to a violent coughing fit. His eyes watered and his breathing became erratic, but he soon managed to regain his composure. Scott wiped the tear trails from his cheeks with the back of his hand and continued on his search.

The dirtiest item on the desk was a large ledger. Scott opened it in a more methodic manner than he had dropped the parchment, fearful of breathing in another round of irritant dust. Yellowed paper greeted him, blank ink scrawling out lists of names. There must have been hundreds. Scott scanned them, the tip of his finger brushing against the sheets, collecting black dust. Some names had been crossed out with a simple line, while others had been violently scribbled. On occasion, the pen had clearly gone through the paper. 

“You won’t find the answers you’re looking for in there.”

Scott slammed the registry book shut and whirled around to face the newcomer. The shadowed figure stood in the doorway to the alcoved room, just out of sight, but he recognised the voice; cold, calculating and bitter. The words had been spoken in his head. She never did miss an opportunity to show off her telepathy skills.

“I can’t say I’m surprised that 47 sent you.” He replied, calm and casual. He’d be damned if he let the trepidation get the better of him, and he certainly wasn’t going to let her notice it.

“47 doesn’t know either of us are here. If I’m being honest, I’m hurt you won’t give me credit where it’s due.”

As the realisation clicked, Scott’s lips curved into a lazy smile. He shone the flashlight straight into her face, and Marion Van Arkel hissed and recoiled, momentarily blinded.

But Scott did not move to attack.

“He won’t be happy to know you’ve been planning your own missions.”

“He doesn’t need to know.”

“Still,” Scott continued, gesturing to the rotten rafters and girders, “you picked a nice place for an ambush. A mine? Nice touch, Van Arkel.”

Marion, her sight having returned to near perfect vision, advanced towards him. Her heeled boots clicked across the debris-littered floor and her lips twisted into a smug smirk. Whether they were red from paint or from blood, Scott couldn’t tell.

“I thought it would a fitting location to finally end this game of cat and mouse, no? Full circle, or whatever it is they say.”

God, how he hated clichés.

“Still hurt about your family going out of business?” To his credit, Scott attempted to sound as sincere as possible as he delivered the derision.

Marion, however, sensed his mockery and glowered. She stopped in her tracks, her arms folding across her chest in an overly exaggerated manner. “No thanks to you, I might add.”

He let out a low whistle, clearly amused by her discontent. “An heiress to a dead company. I'd offer you my condolences but I’m afraid I have no pity left to give.”

“You had plenty to give the humans—”

“They were innocent people!”

“They had no idea what was happening to them!” Marion retorted sharply. “Being enthralled means they know nothing.”

“That doesn’t make it right.” He frowned, scowling in disgust at her attempts to defend her family’s actions. “It’s a fate worse than death in some cases. They don’t call it Eternal Nightmares for nothing, you know!”

She caught sight of his altered demeanour, heard how his tone changed from taunting to revulsion, and Marion Van Arkel did what she did best; she pounced on it.  “Does that make you angry? To think about all those humans you’d failed to save from these Eternal Nightmares, as you put it?” She approached him slowly, her eyes glazed over with humour, laughing at his loathing. Some things never changed.

“You lured me here.” Scott changed topic, unwilling to allow her to jump onto his discomfort and use it to her advantage. “You lured me without the go ahead from your boss. Why?”

“I told you.” Marion lowered her voice to a whisper. “To end our game!”

“All you’ve done since you’ve got here is talk.”

“Do you not like talking?”

“Well, I fail to see how it will ‘end our game’.”

“All in good time, hunter. Patience is a virtue.”

Scott bit his tongue. If he heard one more damned cliché—!

His smile returned, easy and warm, without a trace of irritation. Marion’s words had left him feeling uneasy but all he had to do was wait, as she so instructed. Perhaps talking was good. It gave Virgil time to reach them… Not that he needed the back-up! Marion Van Arkel was a slippery vampire, one who Scott had been at odds with on a number of occasions over the last few years, but she was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Still, he’d have been lying if he said he wouldn’t have felt more at ease knowing there was someone else fighting in his corner.

“I’ve never been good at patience, Van Arkel.”

“So I’ve surmised. It’ll be your downfall, you know? You’ll rush ahead, just as you did tonight, so desperate to get the job over and done with, only one day you won’t get out of it. One day, you’ll lose.”

His cocky grin returned, full and flourishing. “And you believe today is that day?”

“I can hope.” Her finger, cold and slender, ran down the length of his jaw line,

Something twinkled in her eyes, something that made Scott feel uncomfortable, like he was left out of a joke and the punchline was soon to come and hit him unawares. 

“I can handle one vampire, Marion, especially if its you.”

He couldn’t let her think his guard was down for a second. Scott tilted his head, observing her curiously. If she hadn’t been a Night Walker, he might have thought her rather pretty. Indeed, he had tried to charm her the first night they’d met, before she’d attempted to eat him. The memory only made his smirk grow wider.

“Remind me again, Van Arkel, how many of our fights have you won?”

Scott paused for her to answer. Of course, she didn’t. He hadn’t expected her too. He watched as her twinkling eyes narrowed into a glare and refrained from chuckling, answering his own question for her. “Zero, wasn’t it?”

“That changes tonight!”

Marion threw the first punch. It was feral and angry, and it carried her forwards as Scott ducked out of the line of impact. She was quick to recover however, and before Scott had the chance to gain an upper-hand, Marion was lunged towards him again. Scott deflected every blow, attempting to land a few himself, but Marion was just as talented a fighter as he was. 47 trained his minions well, and Marion was no exception. She wasn’t as fast as some vampires, but she was still learning.

Legs kicked and bodies leapt, punches struck their marks and blood was left in their wake. Breathless but neither willing to back down, Scott and Marion continued their fight for minutes before she slipped up again, only this time Scott had been prepared.

As Marion stumbled, losing some of her balance after a particularly nasty hit, Scott circled around her. He caught her one of her arms and pulled it backwards, up her spine and into an arm lock. Then, with all his weight, he pushed them both forwards. Within seconds, Scott had her pressed against the rock-face, her second arm pinned at an awkward angle between her body and the wall.

“I don’t think it does.” Scott couldn’t help but smile arrogantly.

Though she was a vampire, and thus possessing vampiric strength, Marion was still classed as, what the hunters called, a Baby Vamp. Less than fifty years old and still learning and developing the traits that often gave vampires the advantages in a fight, Marion couldn’t struggle out of his hold, no matter how much she tried to.

“The night is not over yet, Tracy!”

“You don’t have to be like this. I know you know this is wrong. Marion, please.”

Despite his winning position, and at the risk of sounding like he wasn’t confident in his abilities, Scott had never been above begging. No matter who he was fighting, no matter what harm they had already done, he always gave them the option of redemption. He had seen vampires redeem themselves, albeit very few, and knew it was possible. Being so young, Marion was a prime contender for International rescue’s rehabilitation scheme. All she had to do was say yes.

She never did, however. Tonight was no different.

“You know nothing, Scott Tracy. Let me go!”

Marion struggled against his hold again, desperate to be free of him, but Scott held firm.

“No chance. All I have to do is keep you here until my brother arrives, and then—”

He was unable to finish his sentence. The sound of distant rocks falling echoed through to the alcove. The rumbling became closer and closer.

Marion, still struggling to free herself, began to laugh.

Capitalising on his momentary distractedness, she easily kicked his feet out from under him. To save himself from falling, Scott had no choice but to loosen his hold, but by doing so, Marion was able to finally slip out from his grasp. She delivered a swift kick to his exposed stomach, causing him to stumble to his knees and winding him in the process. As he tried to catch his breath, she sauntered over.

“You make my final win too easy.” Marion lowered herself to his level and pressed her rouged lips to his own. “I’d say let’s try again, go another round, but I’m afraid we’re out of time.”

Scott instinctively licked his lips. He stood to his full height once again, Marion backtracking a few steps. Her grin was wide and wild, not unlike it had been when she’d first entered. It was the smile of a smug winner, although Scott hadn’t bowed out of the fight just yet.

“Who said I let you win?” He slid his crossbow into position. Loaded with a single wooden dart he aimed it directly at Marion’s chest, above her defunct heart. 

To his surprise, she did not attempt to evade his shot.

But she didn’t need to.

In an instant, Scott’s vision blurred, his legs weakening. The crossbow was lowered before he even had the chance to fire it. He blinked, long and hard in hope that it would cure his bleary sight, but when his eyes opened again, Marion had become two fuzzy outlines. 

His fingers reached up to his lips.

His heart sank with dread.

“What did you do?”

“Alright, maybe you didn’t let me win, but don’t think I didn’t notice how easy you let me get the best of you this time. It’s a shame, you know? I had been hoping you’d best me just one more time, that our game of cat and mouse didn’t have to end tonight.”

The crossbow fell from Scott’s grip and dangled at his side. He crashed to his knees as they finally gave out and Marion, assessing it was safe for her to approach him again, did so. She unhooked the crossbow from his baldric and examined it curiously.

“This is such a funny contraption, so outdated. I would have thought you’re genius scientist would have created something more modern for you.” She threw it to the side, wood splintering as it hit the ground. “Still, it’s not like you’ll need it again.”

“What… did you… do?” Scott tried to ask her again but his words seemed to fade before he had the chance to fully realise them.

He started to sag to the side but Marion caught him before he fell. Helping to lower him to the floor, she brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. “It’s just a mild tranquilliser, don’t be so dramatic! You’ll be back to your normal self again in around half an hour… not that you’ll live that long.”

Scott could feel his heart quicken. Her cold, slender fingers stretched out across his chest; of course she could sense his fear.

“What… does that… mean? What… have you…?”

“Shush, now. You know, I am sorry it had to end like this…”

“Marion!” Another voice yelled from the tunnels beyond. Scott barely heard them call out, his senses slowly fading. It was another female by the sounds of it, though one he hadn’t heard before… Or maybe he had? Thinking was becoming a problem.

“Hurry up before you get trapped in there!”

“I’m coming!” Marion yelled in reply.

Scott winced.

“Like I said, it is a shame it has to end this way, Scott Tracy.” Marion brushed her fingers gently across his forehead, causing him to shiver. “We could have had so much fun, you and me, but alas, it was not meant to be.”

She stood, blowing him one last kiss, before she sprinted for the exit.

Scott laid in the silence. His eyes slipped shut and he could feel himself slowly fading away to the darkness. Half an hour Marion had said… but why had she dragged him all this way just to send him to sleep? What did she mean he wouldn’t live that long?

By the time the realisation would have hit, as the mine collapsed in on itself, Scott was mercifully unconscious. He didn’t feel the rubble crash down on him, he didn’t notice the pain from the various injuries the accident had dealt him, and he didn’t hear Virgil calling out for him as he painfully dug through the rubble in search of his brother.

There was nothing, and that, he would suppose, was a blessing.

… Damned clichés!

[zareleonis]

Since all the Oceanids in Genshin are named after real Oceanids from Greek myth, here are some of my favorite Oceanid names that I think could’ve been Furina’s name before she became the god Focalors:

Adrasteia: goddess of “inevitable fate,” representing “pressing necessity” and the inescapability of punishment. scarily on the nose for Furina’s story.

Beroe: mentioned in Virgil’s Georgics as the sister of Clio—“Clio and Beroe her sister, daughters of Ocean both, both arrayed in gold, and both in dappled hides.” Technically all the Oceanids are sisters but I like that Beroe is specifically mentioned alongside Clio, the namesake of the fictional Oceanid whose story mirrors Furina’s.

Calypso: means “she who conceals” or “like the hidden tide”

Ceto: means “sea monster” or “whale”—I like the irony of this being Furina’s Oceanid name when the prophecy is caused by a giant whale monster

Clymene: means “fame”

Eurynome: means “wanderer” or “ruler”

Galaxaura: means “calm” or “the charmer” or “like the refreshing coolness of a shady stream”

Iache: means “cry” or “shout” or “shriek”

Peitho: means “persuasion” or “winning eloquence”

Perse/Persa/Perseide/Persea/Perseis: means “destroyer”

Phaeno: means “appear” or “reveal” or “shine”; I really like the idea of Furina’s Oceanid name starting with F/Ph like her other names.

Philyra: means “linden-tree,” which is a kind of tree found in Fontaine. This tree has symbolic significance in many cultures, even being associated jurisprudence/justice in Germanic cultures. And for some big delusion, in the medieval poem Nibelungenlied—one of the inspirations for Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen, from which the Dragon Sovereign King Nibelung’s name is likely derived—the hero Siegfried gains invulnerability by bathing in dragon blood, but a single linden leaf sticks to him in the process, creating his sole point of invulnerability. A fitting name for the former Oceanid who has a reincarnated Dragon Sovereign with a very big soft spot for her.

Theia: means “divine”

Urania: means “heavenly”; this is actually used in game as the name of the “Hateful Oceanid” enemy we fought during the Legend of the Vagabond Sword event, so in truth it probably can’t be Furina’s name. What makes it intriguing to me is the location on Erinnyes called Loch Urania, which is no doubt named after the Oceanid Urania, whoever she is.

[greenninjagal-blog]

With An Enemy Like You (Who Needs A Lover?)

:) New fic? New Fic.

Summary: Virgil is an FBI agent. Janus is a Mob Prince. Fifteen years ago they were boyfriends.

Words: 9521

Read on Ao3 || Listen to the Podfic || My General Writing Masterlist

To Roman’s credit, he does try to stop Virgil.

It’s almost impressive how quickly Roman catches on. There are so many things already happening around him that even Virgil feels a bit overwhelmed—twenty four tables in the vicinity have unobstructed vision on the VIP table in the middle where the target was sitting, meaning that there were forty eight people with possibly concealed weapons ready to kill whoever walked up to the table; the waiters were attentive and quick moving, so fast it was a miracle they hadn’t bumped into each other and it would take two people dedicatedly watching their hands every second to make sure nothing surprising made it into the food; the grand floor-to-ceiling windows were freshly cleaned and any possible snipers would have perfect views as they sat and waited in their perches in the high rises surrounding the restaurant; Logan is purposely sitting himself across from the target who might at any moment reveal a new method of murder, they couldn’t have possibly accounted for—and yet Roman’s eyes snap right to Virgil when he walks in and he’s standing before Virgil makes it halfway across the open floor.

Roman is a good agent. He’s an excellent actor too. Virgil’s always been privately starstruck by how easily Roman’s good-natured optimism can flip on and off like a switch. One moment he’s an upstanding FBI agent who will always fight to protect people, the next he’s the scheming, skeevy fencer (or forger, or drug supplier, or, or, or) that they need for undercover work. He’s good at everything he tries, and excellent at things he practices.

Virgil thinks it might be a shame that Roman practiced being Virgil’s Friend.

Because Virgil is halfway across the floor and Roman’s calling out to him and everything is moving too fast.

Roman’s fake date, Missy, is complaining about something both mundane and made up, there’s a waiter taking orders for the table next to the target, the woman at the table in the corner has a laugh that sounds like a tea kettle whistling, a man in a business meeting keeps checking his watch and the clock face keeps catching the fading sunlight almost in a pattern, a waitress in the back is carrying a tray of waters to the far side of the room, there’s a sommelier giving a rundown of the wine list to a couple, Logan is asking the target what his goal is. Voices keep bouncing off the walls, the chandeliers sway nearly unnoticeable overhead, there’s a chill in the air that makes everything feel like porcelain against his skin. The fabric of Virgil’s suit is tugging against his frame, and Roman is standing up, and Roman’s wine is all over Missy’s $500 dress, and Missy is swearing in the most unladylike fashion, and Virgil draws his gun and puts it to the back of the target’s head.

And, just like that, everything is completely still.

Even Logan, who’d been in the middle of a sentence cut himself off completely, his eyes piercing into Virgil with a bewildered expression that’s quickly morphing into one of fury as the situation clicks into steady place. There might even be a layer of worry buried underneath, but Virgil can’t bring himself to meet his gaze. Logan would want to see an apology in Virgil’s countenance, or an explanation for why Virgil went directly against his orders, or proof that Virgil holding a gun at the target is just a mass hallucination.

And Virgil has none of that to give him.

“….And you said he wouldn’t be joining me this evening,” the target says. The sudden oppressive silence makes his languid tone spill across the spacious floor, unhurried and as saccharine as honey. “Truly, Special Agent Ackroyd, I feel as though you don’t know the members of your own team quiet well enough.”

If Virgil were a better agent, he would have been listening to the coms, planning this to be as inoffensive as possible to his own team. If Virgil had been a better employee—a better team player, a better subordinate—he would have taken a double dose of a sleeping pill and spent tonight conked out of his mind rather than come here.

If Virgil were a better person, then the safety would have been slightly harder to switch off.

He wonders for a moment if the cameras can pick up on the way his hands shake, the barely perceptible tremble that comes from facing something he’s been running from for fifteen years.

Patton, after all, has control of the cameras and he’s as close to an expert on body language as a human being can get. He would know in a second, if he didn’t already, the reason why Virgil had to come—why no amount of bluffing would work on the target, why no order from his superiors would be enough to keep Virgil from showing up, why Patton’s only chance to stop him had been to tackle him in the parking lot.

Virgil had enjoyed his first two years on the team, this team, their team. He’d never go so far as to admit that they were friends—Virgil was particular and picky about putting a label on people these days—but he’d gone out to drinks with them more often than not. He knew Roman’s coffee order, practiced perfect grammar in his written reports for Logan, helped Patton with a volunteer event on one of his precious days off. He’d even picked up drunk-off-his-ass Remus from a bar after his uber canceled and brought Missy ice cream on the anniversary of her dad’s death. Virgil was prickly at best, but the others weathered his quiet, unfriendly aura and in turn he did his best to curb the worst of his habits and pretend to be a functional human.

They tracked down killers across the country, put a stop to serial arsonists, and reunited families with their kidnapped loved ones. They cracked a human trafficking ring, shut down Bonnie-and-Clyde bank robbers, solved nine different cold cases that brought closure to hundreds of people. They were doing good.

Then one case had a link back to another. A name from the guest list at a previous crime showed up on the witness list for another completely different one. People in the background of security photos started to look familiar.

Then, suddenly, every case had started to weave together, as though someone was pulling on strings and making puppets dance in front of them. Evidence appeared and disappeared at just the right time; key witnesses withdrew statements or provided airtight alibis; large sums of money and dozens of text messages to burner phones linked back to no one at all. Logan had even gotten pressured by his superior to drop a lead and let a prime suspect go.

Half a year ago a criminal had chosen suicide by cop instead of talking to them, several CEOs had gone tight lipped and grey in the face of questioning, and a politician had even been found hanging in his cell less than twenty minutes after requesting a meeting with Virgil’s team’s lead after they caught him involved in an arms smuggling operation.

Someone had started messing with the FBI, and Virgil’s team specifically. Virgil couldn’t even confidently say that they had closed cases themselves anymore, because it only ever seemed that someone let them find the clues left behind. It didn’t matter how far away their cases had ended up being: Virgil couldn’t shake the feeling of being whispered about behind his back.

It felt familiar in all the worst ways.

Then the card invitation had appeared on Virgil’s desk, waiting oh-so-innocently for them to arrive back from their latest finished case, resting on top of the unfinished reports he’d been behind in finishing. The sight of it had drawn him to a stop so suddenly that it had immediately alerted Roman to something being wrong.

The cameras were down, security said, scratching their heads. Scheduled update.

Patton had insisted on sending the card for fingerprinting, even though it would come back clean of prints besides Virgil’s impulsive ones. The cream cardstock was unassuming and unoffensive, the font in black cursive, the border done in a delicate gold foil which shimmered in the office lights as Virgil’s hands shook.

Simple and to-the-point, as if the sender was paying for each word and was short on money: a time and a place. They hadn’t even left a signature. Just a simple “See You There”. Virgil should have crumpled it and thrown it away and done his reports.

Team Lead Logan Ackroyd, obviously, hadn’t wanted Virgil anywhere near this. Glaringly apparent trap aside, Logan had more than enough common sense to see that Virgil hadn’t been on his A-game, or even his B-game, for a noticeable amount of time. While Virgil’s quick reactions in the FBI academy training tests were still record holding, the lingering feeling of being watched and played with had caused Virgil’s distraction twice in the previous mission, and the second time had ended with a bomb getting set off.

But Patton had pointed out that missing an appointment might cause the perpetrator to use more drastic means to contact them. They’d all been aware that someone was setting them up, that money was being exchanged between hands, and shadowy people were making decisions like Virgil’s team were just number statistics instead of living breathing people. If this was their mysterious puppet master reaching out about the shit show of their last mission, then they wanted to be heard and they would keep trying.

And next time they likely wouldn’t be as nice as to give them the option to ignore them.

The threat of the sender showing up at one of their homes when they were alone and off duty was enough for Logan to relent on skipping the invitation all together. The danger they could face together would undoubtedly be safer than the danger they’d have to face alone, but under no circumstances was Virgil allowed to be on the confrontation team; he could have a seat in in the offices finishing up reports or head home with an escort to watch his house all night, but Special Agent Virgil Storm was not to be anywhere close to this location.

Virgil hadn’t said anything as the others decided this.

He couldn’t have said anything as the others decided this.

Every time he opened his mouth it felt like there was sand slipping down his throat, turning his lungs into an hourglass he couldn’t stop. If he’d spoken up, they would have demanded to know why he hadn’t before. Virgil hadn’t been able to come up with a reason—even the most comical take on it all would have been treated seriously by his team, but the words wouldn’t come and now it had turned into him needing an excuse. Virgil had nothing. He didn’t even have an apology to offer Remus.

So, the entire world is horribly silent, and Virgil stands with his gun pointed at the back of the head of the man who was going to wreck his entire life again and wonders why he hasn’t pulled the trigger.

Black suit, Italian silk, two button jacket—Virgil knows the cut from the endless hours of complaining that Roman’s done over magazines instead of doing his reports. His team hadn’t known who they were looking for walking in, but the sheer amount of wealth and prestige dripping from him is exactly enough to tell them that this man is their puppet master; the snake cufflinks with actual diamonds in them are just consolation prizes in case the family name escaped them. His posture is the perfect blend of casual and elegant: he’s sitting at the table with his legs crossed comfortably, and lounging in the way that only rich people could at an establishment where water costs more than a month’s worth of work.

Case in point: Logan is across from him, ramrod stiff and face paled, his plate empty and his silverware untouched, and not even a fingerprint on the water glass to show he moved it out of the way for him to sit. His suit was a business suit, something to wear at the office with enough give to make it practical if a sudden firefight broke out. At an establishment like this, he looked tacky rather than professional, and it was likely plucking at Logan’s irritation nearly as much as the entire situation was.

Behind both of them, past the tables of horrified guests who all froze at the sight of a gun and the wait staff that had been caught unprepared for such audacity, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city and provide an excellent view of the setting sun in Virgil’s face. But Virgil can understand an attempted metaphor when he sees one: as Virgil walked up, he was forced to see the dying sun rays crafting a halo around the target’s head. Even now, it’s nearly painting worthy, and Virgil struggles not to counter with “blood on the white short stemmed rose centerpiece”.

The target has a wine glass in his hand, gently swirling a half-cup of white wine before he brings it to his lips, unbothered by the threat less than an inch from him.

“Hello Special Agent Virgil Storm,” the man says without turning around, barely a head tilt to acknowledge what had the rest of the building suspended in time.

Virgil isn’t exactly surprised that he knows who it is. Virgil hadn’t made any noise as he walked up, his footsteps as silent as every trained agent knows to be in the middle of a mission—even his breathes had been far and few on account of the crushing weight of what he might find waiting at the table for him. The target’s attention had been completely focused on insulting Logan for attempting to trigger a trap that hadn’t been set for him.

But as far as Virgil’s aware, there’s only been one idiot big enough to point a gun at him in his entire life.

There might have been hidden cameras in the lobby, which pinged when the algorithm recognized Virgil walk onto the scene. Or he might have felt the subtle shift of the air when the door had been opened and known that Virgil had decided to accept the invitation left for him regardless of how stupid it was. Or maybe he heard the half shout that Roman had made before he realized it was already too late and felt the relief that his dolls still danced when he commanded it. Or maybe he noticed Logan’s eyes over his shoulder, catching sight of Virgil walking up after he’d been told explicitly to not come, and realized there was only one person who could cause his superior such horror and fury at one moment.

Faintly, Virgil hears his team over the coms, buzz, buzz, buzzing. Each of their voices blurs into one another: he thinks Roman curses at him for being stupid, Missy snaps that Virgil owes him a dress, so he better not die, Patton orders him to hold on a moment because that man is extremely dangerous—

But Virgil doesn’t need that to hear that. He’s known that for a long time.

"Janus," Virgil says darkly.

The man hums in a self-assured, pleased way. “You’re late, you know. I thought you were going to stand me up!”

“The only time I plan on arriving early for you is for your fucking funeral.”

"My, my, such hostilities!" Janus says, tilting his head slightly to look over his shoulder and grace Virgil with part of his smirk, a flicker of those brown-grey eyes alight with mischief, playful and kind and a lie. "What have I done to deserve this?"

Virgil doesn’t rise to the bait. "Why did you ask me here?"

"Is it not enough to just want to see the charming face of an esteemed FBI special agent?" Janus says smoothly. He shifts his weight ever so slightly, swirling his glass in hypnotizing circles. Virgil’s seen the move a thousand times before: with alcohol in a red plastic cup from a drink table he bought, with soda from a plastic bottle from a vending machine, with milk in the cartoons from the school lunches. The graceful elegance of the motion is part of the trick—just like everything else about him.

Virgil says, "If your next words are "please help me Virgil, I'm being framed!" I’m going to make them your last words entirely."

“Virgil,” Logan hisses out. “He’s not—"

Janus laughs, because of course he does. Because he’s an asshole and a bastard and a criminal and everything Virgil hates. "I would never waste your time like that!"

And then he turns around, fully, casually, smoothly, and Time itself stops entirely.

Because it’s Janus. At the end of it all, it’s still Janus. His blond hair is still gelled back in that ridiculous hairstyle he decided on in high school with a whole two strands of hair free to bounce over his forehead, his eyes are still dual colored and sparkling like cider and there are still crinkles by them from the way he’s perpetually laughing at an inside joke, his lips are still thin and pink and inviting, hiding his picture-perfect politician’s smile.

Virgil’s traitorous heart still jumps right into his throat.

“Aw, did you miss me?” Janus asks, “Darling.”                   

“Hardly,” Virgil says honestly and means it.

“Oh, ouch. My feelings are hurt.”

“Good. Are we done here?”

“Why are you in such a rush?” Janus asks. “Slow down. Sit down. Have a glass of wine—on me, of course, I know what the government pays even its most celebratedagents—you’re too tense.”

Virgil almost wants to laugh at the absurdity. His finger is poised over the trigger and one accident away from never having to meet Janus’s gaze again. But Janus smiles with all the warmth of an old friend, inviting and alluring, leaning forward on the chair back to nearly press his head to the barrel. As though Janus Ekans, the mob prince, would be delighted to have Virgil’s face be the last thing he sees.

“I see you haven’t changed one bit,” Janus says fondly. “All work and no play.”

As though he hadn’t been avoiding Virgil as much as Virgil had been avoiding him.

“I don’t play with racketeers.”

And the smug smile on Janus’s face is nearly enough for Virgil to lose his tightly wound composure entirely. The flash of perfect teeth, the flick of his tongue wetting over his shiny lip-glossed lips, before he indulges in another sip of his wine pretending like he doesn’t want Virgil to watch the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows.

“See, I would believe that, Virgil,” Janus says, eyeing the swish-swish of his wine. “But cleaning expenses of my first Lexus say otherwise.”

Somewhere behind him, Virgil hears Roman’s voice choking on a creative take of religious figures. Logan’s gaze snaps up to Virgil’s expression, searching, searching, searching for something to disprove Janus’s words. Patton’s voice whispers in his ear about how that can’t possibly be right, Virgil, that’s not true, is it? You would have told us that you were in cahoots with someone on the FBI’s watchlist, right?

((It was an Audi RS7 and Virgil hates that he can remember, that for a split second he can feel of those leather seats on his bare skin, that he can smell the vanilla air freshener that Janus had his cleaners use, that it’s on the tip of his tongue to correct him, and Janus is smirking at him because he wants Virgil to correct him and prove he hadn’t been able to forget Janus at all.))

“What a terrifying look on your face,” Janus says, conversationally, resting against the back of his chair. “One would think that I took something from you that you hadn’t been absolutely desperate to give me! How vile!”

“I’m surprised you remember anything from those days,” Virgil says. “Considering you spent them so drunk the only way you knew you were in a school building was when someone was telling you to dump out your water bottle of vodka.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” Janus says defensively.

If Virgil wasn’t staring him in the face, he wouldn’t have even seen the twitch of his lips as he fumbles the attempt to appear unphased. The pink flush over his cheeks wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone else, but Virgil could be blind and still know he’d pre-gamed.

“You’re not even sober right now.”

“We all have our vices,” Janus counters, but the warmth of his tone is tepid at best. “Or are you telling me that you would have managed to walk in the doors unarmed even if your team had already reported my corpse, Virge? Do I scare you that much still? I have no weapons on me, and I’ve brought no bodyguards here, and yet you can’t shake the feeling I’m a threat.”

Because you are. Virgil almost says it. Who can look at him, at his pristine clothes, his friendly smile, his mischievous eyes—who can hear his amiable tone and candied words and honeyed whispers– who can go to a magic show and not expect to be duped in some way?

Virgil’s seen him at his worst: blood on his immaculate clothes, and his friendly smile a bit too wild and a bit too sadistic, and his mischievous eyes violent with fury. Virgil heard his tone icy cold and Virgil’s tasted the poison under those sugarcoated words and then he’s heard that tongue of his drip out honeyed whispers as though he hadn’t murdered someone right in front of Virgil.

((Self-defense from a violent mugging, the police called it. Virgil hadn’t been brave enough to ask if they were in Janus’s pockets before or if that was the first time those officers had had the pleasure of meeting the Ekans family heir.))

“Sit down and have dinner with me, Virgil,” Janus says with the same mouth that once tried to tell him that was an accident. “You won’t like what happens to your team if you don’t.”

Logan bristles, and Virgil falls just short of reacting to it. Janus, of course, knows all the buttons to push, all the levers to twist, all the ways to make Virgil so fucking angry that he lets Janus have control of the conversation.

“How many times did you use me as an alibi?” Virgil asks instead. “Was it every date, Janus? Was every time you invited me out just an excuse to check up on your slowly building empire? What will I be questioned about this time? A bank robbery? A weapons exchange? Or the classic physical assault on someone who didn’t pay you back in time?”

“Why do you always assume the worst of me?”

“I haven’t been wrong in fifteen years,” Virgil says.

Janus pouts.

His glass swirls again, gentle and careful, and Virgil spares a thought to what year he was drinking from: did he just pull the most expensive one he saw? Or did he choose a specific year as if he could transport himself back in time with a taste and wake up before Virgil realized exactly why the police kept such a close eye on his boyfriend? If Virgil took his stupid glass and poured it over Janus’s head, would it feel like they were still those kids?

On his worst nights, Virgil wishes he were seventeen again. He wishes that he could have had something real. He wishes that Janus had wished for him.

“You should see a therapist for those trust issues,” Janus decides.

“Every other Tuesday,” Virgil says, because even though its none of his fucking business, Virgil wants to see the shutter of emotion in Janus’s eyes: proof that he can feel something other than confidence and greed, proof that maybe he’s changed, proof that maybe somewhere, somehow Janus Ekans might feel guilty.

But for that to happen, Janus Ekans would have needed to be human and not the personification of a tsunami.

“You get fifteen minutes,” Virgil says even though he shouldn’t. He’s already given him these past five minutes, already given him the satisfaction of seeing Virgil show up like a dog that still responds to the call of an owner that left him at the dog park years ago, already given him all that Virgil had to give and Janus shouldn’t get to ask for anything more. “You get fifteen minutes, and then you get out of my life entirely, Janus, and do not come back.”

“Do you get off on bossing me around?” Janus asks indigently. “This isn’t a food court! I can’t have a four-course meal in fifteen minutes, Virgil! My hors d’oeuvres haven’t even arrived yet!”

It truly sounds like something that is not Virgil’s problem. Janus splutters another two times before he begrudgingly checks his gold-plated watch. He takes just long enough to utter something extremely foul in Italian about Virgil’s mother, then he waves to the nearest waiter and snaps twice.

Immediately, the rest of the room falls back into the steady flow of everything. If Virgil closes his eyes, he’d be swept away in it all: the voices resuming their conversations, the waiters moving around like buzzing bees, the clink of forks on plates and food being eaten. There’s a pause but then the conversation picks up again, an uncanny impression that everyone in the building was part of a script and they’d walked in on the scene. If someone spliced the video footage, it would appear near seamlessly, almost as if nothing had ever happened, aside from Virgil now standing out of place in the middle of the room.

But, of course, it’s the magic of being around Janus Ekans: an illusion that the whole world revolves around him, that the laws of physics would change for him, and he could change them for you too, if you asked. There’s something tantalizing about being able to hold his gaze: it made sixteen-year-old Virgil feel special, unique, and powerful. There’s something addictive about being in love with disaster; something that made him feel like he could do anything in the world that he set his sight to.

But in the end Janus Ekans is just a man, and the acts of pure magic is just money greasing the right hands at the right moment. Virgil glanced behind the curtain and saw too much, and God is dead because Janus stabbed Them fifteen times in the chest when they were still seventeen.

Janus turns back around in his chair, elegantly graceful in the way that he ignores Virgil clicking the safety for his gun back on: as if it was never really a concern that Virgil might go back on his word, as if he never really considered that the gun was a threat, as if he was as immortal as he was immoral and it didn’t matter if Virgil shot him at all. Virgil’s breath stalls in his chest, warmed by the fiery fury that only Janus can draw out of him.

“You can go,” Janus says to Logan, as though Logan were not Virgil’s direct superior and capable of arresting them both at this very moment. Janus, of course, would be out in mere minutes, probably before Logan would be able to handcuff him, but Virgil would more than likely be seeing a night in a holding cell if he were lucky.

Logan’s eyes flick between them. Virgil feels them tracing over him, cataloguing all the things wrong with him. None of his team has seen Virgil dressed in a suit that fits him, never seen Virgil with his hair pulled back into a ponytail, or the bags under his eyes covered up with concealer. No one has ever seen Virgil look like a function human being, and definitely never even seen him try. He looks like a stranger wearing his own face; like a friend possessed by something no one else understands yet.

Remus would have loved to see photos of this, Virgil’s sure. But Logan’s frown just increases with every second Virgil refuses to meet his gaze.

Then, finally, Logan says, “I’d prefer to stay.”

That’s his leading tone, Virgil recognizes. His play-along tone. His we are going to trick this man right now and disarm the threat tone. Virgil remembers getting caught in a bank robbery while investigating a series of white-collar crimes and Logan used that tone to hint to Virgil what they needed to do to get the robbers to drop their guard, save the hostages, and get out alive.

But now it makes something awful twist in Virgil’s lungs for reasons that Virgil refuses to admit.

“That wasn’t a suggestion, Special Agent Ackroyd,” Janus says.

“I didn’t take it as one.”

Janus sneers, because he’s a child, and throwing tantrums is the easiest way to get what he wants.

“If he wanted me dead, he’d already would have done it,” Virgil says, and Logan’s gaze hardens just a bit more when he knows that Virgil won’t follow his lead and let him stay. He feels numb all over, as though Janus’s snake-like admiration had slowly been turning him to stone, but that’s fine.

Stone makes for good walls after all, and Virgil’s been throwing himself in front of his teammates since day one. How could this possibly be any different?

He remembers Logan discussing the plan, yesterday, when he was sitting blankly at his desk while the others talked around him: no more part of the conversation than the chair he was sitting on. He remembers hearing Logan tell them that he would be the one that would take over role that Virgil was meant to play, that Logan would meet their mysterious puppet master and risk walking himself directly into the crosshairs of a sniper’s rifle, that he would rather be the one that got shot than to give their caller the satisfaction of seeing Virgil come.

 “The invitation was for me, anyway,” Virgil says. “He wouldn’t kill someone he invited out.”

And you weren’t invited out, goes unsaid between them. Although Virgil hears Patton’s sharp breath in his ear and Roman mumbles a prayer, he guesses that everyone hears it anyway.

Janus hums again. “That would be bad manners, of course. To kill my guest. Not to mention my favorite FBI agent.”

Virgil tries not to imagine breaking Janus’s very snappable neck. “Trust me,” He grits out. “Logan, just this one last time. I will be okay.”

“Outside of your impending dismissal from the FBI in sixteen minutes, for this…theatrical performance.” Janus offers a conceited smile, leaning forward. “You know, I happen to be looking for a bodyguard—”

“Eat a cock.”

“At least consider it before you deny me!” Janus complains, swirling his wine another time before raising it to his lips.

But right as he tilts the glass, Virgil wrenches it from his hand, ignoring the startled noise that comes out of Janus’s mouth. The wine sloshes around the rim, pale and floral smelling, and it’s still chilled when the droplets drip over Virgil’s hand but he barely recognizes it because then suddenly Virgil is meeting his superior’s gaze head on.

Two years of missions had to be enough, Virgil thinks. It had to be enough to buy him just these fifteen minutes of trust. Virgil who’d never disobeyed, who’d never questioned, who’d done everything for the sake of his team, his friends, his family, better me in the crosshairs than them—

Logan’s eyes are glacier blue, nearly unnatural with the strength of the color. Virgil had seen these eyes pin a suspect in place, nearly scientific in the way that they dissect motives and crime scenes, and yet the ruthlessness still pierces through Virgil. He’s searching for something in Virgil, peeling him apart like an onion.

“Your gun,” Logan says, through gritted teeth, sounding very much like he’d rather get open heart surgery without being put under than allow this.

Virgil swallows down the appreciation, because Logan hates everything to do with gratefulness when his agents are intentionally throwing themselves into danger. His hands tremble as he twists his handgun and offers the handle to his superior. For a moment Virgil’s tongue wants to scream, the words just shoot me clog his throat, and his lungs shudder with the excess air.

Then Logan is holding Virgil’s gun and Janus’s wine and there’s nothing left for either of them to hide behind.

Roman is saying something, but he sounds far away and small, and it makes his worries sound inconsequential. Logan waits another moment, as though Virgil might beg him to stay, but Janus clicks his tongue impatiently as he adjusts his cuffs.

“My fifteen minutes will not start until Special Agent Logan Ackroyd removes his eyesore of a person from my line of vision,” he says. “Go join Prince Charming at the front table and tell him to sit. Both of you look like fools. He at least should be ashamed: ruining that poor girl’s dress with paint thinner like that!”

Virgil’s tongue rolls over his teeth, nearly hard enough to cut. Logan’s vision snaps to Janus, cold and cool and promising a lethal action in Janus’s immediate future. But Janus smiles in a daring way, taunting and bright and Virgil remembers being seventeen and at the movies and on a date and the police just so happen to ask what the two of them are doing.

Virgil hadn’t understood back then what that smile meant.

“And tell your friend that I’ll pay for her dress as well,” Janus adds, over his shoulder, to Logan’s retreating back, as though he found an immense pleasure in treating a high ranking, highly honored FBI agent as an errand boy. “It’s always a shame to see a Duvall original ruined, don’t you think?”

Virgil yanks out the chair and places himself across from Janus and the mob prince raises a challenging eyebrow at him. Despite knowing that Roman and Logan are less than twenty feet away and Virgil can see them, that Missy could disarm a dozen gang members by herself, that Patton’s watching on the cameras, that he has a comm in his ear still so that he’ll know the moment any of them get hurt, Virgil still feels like he’s the safest fucking person on the planet.

Because for a moment he’s sitting across from Janus at a diner and he’s purposely kicking his feet into Janus’s and stealing fries off his plate and Janus’s voice is the prettiest sound he’s ever heard—Virgil blinks and fifteen years haven’t occurred and he’s still in love with his best friend and believes in magic and the world turns in the slow, lethargic way that makes it feel like they’ll live for forever, staying just like that.

And Virgil hates it.

He snaps out and picks up the menu left for him. “If you’re being so damn generous with your blood money, are you going to pay Remus’s medical bills, too?”

“Already done,” Janus waves him off. “I even sent a fruit basket to him. Although at his age he should have known not to get that close to a bomb. It was clearly labeled and everything.”

Far, far away, Roman is still standing, one hand on the back of his seat, that’s suddenly gone white knuckled at the careless words thrown in the air, and Logan’s gait has frozen mid step as he spins to pin Virgil with a swiftly approaching realization of why Virgil has been incredibly distracted during the past mission.

Virgil swallows down the urge to swear about it, to call Janus all the horrible, awful things he wanted to shout when the bomb had first gone off, to ask Janus why he didn’t call or write or even show up at Virgil’s house to get his attention; to ask why Janus had set a trap to kill his team before he could show his face here. His fingers pick at the professional menu cover because if he doesn’t do something with his hands they’ll reach across the table and strangle the blasé expression right off Janus’s face.

“I…” Janus says, and then hesitates mulling over his words. It’s a strange thing to witness: a moment of uncertainty in the man that Virgil once thought the world revolved around. Janus’s fingers dance on the table where his wine glass would have been, tracing the blank space as though it were a precious distant memory. “I really am sorry about that one. That sort of thing will not be happening again. He’s one of my favorites.”

The menu creaks under Virgil’s fingers. “Stay away from them.”

“I cannot.”

Virgil’s head snaps up to glare at him, but Janus is already looking at him. There’s a seriousness in his eyes that Virgil doesn’t care for: they don’t glitter the way they’re supposed to, like gemstones that have lost their luster, like gold that’s been tarnished, like diamonds that no longer glimmer in the spotlight. The shining illusion of his carefree nature melted away, but somehow it makes Virgil feel off-kilter.

Virgil’s seen every side of him there is to see, every inch of him there is to see. Fifteen years can’t possibly make him a stranger when Virgil’s second beer always tastes like cheap Miller Lites at a pool party and Janus’s lips on his own.

But who is Janus when he’s not pretending to be human? When he’s not hiding behind an illusion? When the games are over, and the molasses passage of time is suddenly out of control and Virgil is not seventeen, but he still remembers sitting on the cold sidewalk staring at Janus tearing his switchblade out of the corpse for the third time?

Who is Janus at all?

“As much as I would have loved to have called you out here for a date,” Janus says, “and as much as you have arrived looking the part—thank you for that by the way. Ackroyd is an embarrassment to have been seen with. An oriental knot? Does he think this is prom?— I’ve done all this to...request the help of the FBI. Off the books.”

The laugh startles its way out of Virgil’s throat, acrid and vile. When he breathes in, his nostrils are filled with the scent of smoke and burning flesh, and his mouth tastes like the ashes of the building that came down on Remus because Virgil hadn’t been quick enough piecing together that he was walking into a trap even though Virgil had been looking for it.

If Remus hadn’t been the luckiest son of a bitch that Virgil had ever meant, he’d be attending a funeral right now. He’d be wearing this suit to a cemetery to bury the same guy poured a fresh cup of coffee over the FBI agent who’d straight up insulted Virgil to his face on his first day, the same guy who’d invited himself over and spent the night at Virgil’s so he wouldn’t be alone after the first time he had to kill someone to save a hostage, the same guy who jokingly said what’s the worst thing that could be behind this door? right before he’d gotten blown up. If Remus wasn’t in a hospital being cared for by the best doctors, Virgil would be across the table and his knife would be in Janus’s jugular for putting the bomb there.

“Are you fucking stupid?” Virgil says, damn near giddy. “No- please, Jay, really? This was the best you could come up with? Remus is in the fucking hospital in a medically induced coma because you turned him into a life-sized jigsaw puzzle, and you expect that any of us would be willing to help you?”

Janus’s expression doesn’t change. “It wasn’t meant for him.”

As if that made it alright. As if that made it better.

As if Virgil hadn’t felt that icy cold douse of fear when he recognized the set up and shouted for Remus to stop, and had his words drowned out by the explosion. And if it was that bad for Virgil, he can barely imagine how bad it was for Roman to hear his twin brother’s laughter cut off like that. He can hear Roman through the comm in his ear now: his breathing suddenly shaky and dangerous in all the ways that an actor’s breath should not be.

Virgil doesn’t dare meet his eyes across the floor.

“Allow me to speak on behalf of the FBI, Janus,” Virgil says. “Go fuck yourself.”

Janus’s fingernail scratches the tablecloth. “I thought that having a good friend in such a high place would make me eligible for a favor.”

“I hope to fuck you aren’t talking about me.”

“I would simply adore spending the rest of our thirteen minutes going back and forth, but—”

Virgil is almost disappointed that a waiter appears at the same moment, and Janus’s myriad of excuses evaporates. Instead, Janus’s eyes stay locked onto Virgil, ignoring the presence of the waiter entirely even as he places a plate in front of each of them with bruschetta. The silence holds over them both for an extra second as the waiter wordlessly offers a head bow to Janus and takes his leave again.

But instead of continuing, Janus takes his time to roll out his silverware to lay the napkin on his lap, as if he was worried about ruining the suit when he could buy an entire warehouse of the same suit with just his pocket change. Virgil catalogues the way his shoulders slope, the fine lines of his suit crafting a silhouette that takes a breath, two, three, and contemplates how exactly to manipulate Virgil.

Virgil reaches across the table, sliding a hand carefully under Janus’s lukewarm plate and lifting it. Janus watches him boredly as he exchanges their plates, but otherwise doesn’t make a move to stop him.

“Oh dear,” he says sarcastically. “My crafty attempt to poison you. It failed. Whatever will I do, Virgil?”

Virgil ignores him. “You have enough money to have greased the hands of anyone. You could have a dozen teams at your beck and call, Janus. You could have done this over a phone call, or a letter, or a fucking fax. With your connections you could have gotten the president’s guard to be your secretaries. But you threw together this whole charade and made sure that only my team was here tonight. And since I don’t hear a fucking apology, it’s gotta be something else. So, what’s the angle? Why my team? Why me?”

“Would you even believe an apology from me?” Janus muses, resting his chin on his palm. “You don’t have a decent track record for that.”

The air sizzles between them, simmering with all the contempt that Virgil can manage to convey in a glare. His left hand is resting on the table, his right on his hip where his empty concealed holster rests, and Virgil’s chest is burning with a thousand suns and the waiter is refilling waters at the table to their left and the man in the corner is discussing finances for a company buy out and Patton mentions that another man is going to the restroom and Logan forces Roman to sit down and one of the tomatoes on the bruschetta slips off the bread in front of Virgil.

“Perhaps because your team is the only one that can’t be bought?” Janus suggests, finally as though he’d given up information he hadn’t meant to. “I like a stable investment, Virgil. If your team leader won’t accept money from me, I definitely don’t have to worry about him taking money from other less savory people either.”

“Right. Because there are so many people running around with your kind of money,” Virgil says.

Janus doesn’t respond.

He’s calm. Nearly too calm. And Virgil recognizes the wash of panic through him, suddenly, from that night fifteen years ago in the seconds before Janus’s switchblade had found its way into that man’s chest cavity.

“Janus.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said that the bomb wasn’t meant for Remus. It was not meant for your team at all. As far as I was aware your team had no reason to be at that location.”

“We got a tip,” Virgil says. “Are you saying that the call didn’t come from you?”

There’s a flicker of anger in his eyes, Virgil notes. His hand on the table is paralyzingly still as though he’s holding himself back from striking. The room around them is cavernous and suffocating all at once and Virgil can’t quite remember if breathing was supposed to be a manual action or not.

“It appears as though I have a…. business competitor,” Janus announces, “Who seems to think themselves my rival. Adorable, really. I entertained their shadow business endeavors at the beginning, allowing them to interfere with a few of my plans just to make life interesting, like playing fetch with a puppy. I’m sure you noticed the fall out of a few of my side projects: a few shell companies that you received the accolades for shutting down, the fencer that you arrested that suddenly needed a decent alibi, not to mention that politician was going to be a nice playing piece before his untimely demise. But of course, all games get boring once they’ve gone on too long.”

Virgil’s teeth grind together. “Janus. Where are your bodyguards.”

Janus’s smile is cold and sharp and he picks up his water glass. “Why Virgil! So kind of you to ask! If you must know, they’re in the morgue right now.”

A woman across the hall drops a glass, laughing in tizzy that speaks to having drunk just a bit too much. Virgil’s chair is the most comfortable thing he’s ever sat in. Virgil’s mouth tastes like beach sand.

“You can imagine my shock,” Janus continues, “when I found myself in some interesting discussions about unsatisfactory payments with people I’ve known since I was a toddler! I’d tell you the details of the amount of money that few of them were offered but it would likely send your shack living camera man into a cardiac arrest. So, I’ll just say that I’ve lost several close friends recently, and I’ve grown tired of attending funerals. I’m sure you can fill in the details yourself, darling.”

“Someone put a hit out on you?” Virgil asks, because he nearly can’t believe it, because it’s Janus with his gold gilded magic and silver tongue and dazzling gemstone eyes, because the type of money that it would take to have people dare go after Janus could fund entire countries, because the world is spinning like a top and Virgil is getting motion sick.

“Mhm, yes, I suppose you could phrase it like that.”

Virgil’s instinctively goes to check the fucking exits, but Janus clicks his tongue boredly.

“Yes, yes, I’m in danger, oh dear, I’m quaking.” He puts down his water glass and rests his head on his hand again. “Do you not think that if someone were going to kill me tonight, they would have chosen the moment the FBI agent put a gun to my head? Imagine, Virgil, the internal investigation, the FBI in a tizzy, your team locked down and suspended from the good work you do, the barking dogs that call themselves reporters biting at any news they could get and selling any story someone feeds them, a power vacuum in my circles…. I’m quite content with the knowledge that my mysterious assassin is not watching right this moment as they would have undoubtedly taken the fucking shot if they had been.”

Virgil forces himself to take a deep breath and let go of the knife in his left hand. He remembers suddenly, the cavalier smiles by which Janus had said I’m in need of a bodyguard, and the chill in the air turns frigid.

“I should have shot you,” Virgil says. “I should have just fucking shot you.”

Janus inclines his head in that infuriating way of his that seems like he’s laughing at him, even though there’s remotely funny about this. Virgil picks up his bruschetta and forces himself to take a bite and Janus does not call him out on the obvious attempt to buy himself more time.

He thinks that Logan is trying to coach him on what to say next, that Missy is ordering another glass of wine for herself, that Roman is resolutely snapping they are not going to get in the middle of this, that Patton is reading all of Janus’s body language to see that he’s telling the truth even though that sort of thing used to make Janus break out in hives.

“Do you know who it is?” Virgil swallows. “This competitor?”

“Do you think I would be resorting to requesting the FBI’s aid if I knew that, Virgil?”

He should feel vindicated: a year of uncertainty, of achingly familiar patterns, of not having a single piece of evidence to show his team, and now Janus is handing him everything on a silver platter.  He should leap on this, milk Janus dry for all that he’s worth, destroy his empire bit by bit and make Janus watch because the ultimatum would be his life or his legacy. He should be happy that this could be Janus’s “converse covered in a stranger’s blood” moment.

But the bitter rage in Virgil’s chest blazes, hot and fiery instead.

“You want my team to be meat shields for you,” Virgil says. “You want my team—”

Janus sneers. “What I want, Virgil, is for the FBI to either provide me with a decent bodyguard, or to get their eyes off my accounts so that I can move my money around enough to fund someone to do something about the problem.In a perfect world, I get both, and the FBI gets a nice easy mission that takes care of an unknown bad guy before the bad guy becomes civilian killing type of problem. I’m willing to put up with having someone watch my every move just to get this resolved—I’m willing to play entirely by the book, if that’s what’s require stop this person!”

But Virgil is shaking his head. “Absolutely not. You are out of your mind if you think I’m going to let you put them—”

“Do you really think that your team will be safe if you just stay out of this? I might not be the biggest fan of the FBI and the laws, but at least I have some respect for the balance of society as a whole. Without me in play, who exactly do you think this new player will begin to see as a threat? Hint: it won’t be the local police.”

“Shut up.”

Janus’s lips purse and picks up his water glass again. Virgil watches his hand swirl it on instinct, as if to say a leopard doesn’t change its spots, before he remembers that Virgil took his wine away and the curl of his lips looks pained. He drinks the water, and Virgil almost believes that he’s not trying to shove Roman or Logan or Patton in the way of a sniper for the sake of a business opportunity.

“What will it take, Virgil?” Janus asks, like he can buy his way into Virgil’s good graces. “For you to allow my help in keeping your people safe?”

“Don’t pretend that you care about them.”

“If you’re so concerned about this being a scheme,” Janus says taking a deep breath, “The co-owner of my accounts will be able to access the reports at any point and see exactly where all my money will be moving around to and all previous exchanges. They will be able to reassure the FBI that I’m not doing anything illegal, and that I’m not attempting to set up the FBI in any way. I’ll even give them access to move money how they please if they think I can’t be trusted with it.”

"You don’t have a co-owner."

"I could get one.”

"Yes, I’m sure the person you’d pick would be very trustworthy, Jay," Virgil says.

Janus just smiles at him, as though Virgil had finally said something he was expecting, as though Virgil had stumbled into one of the verbal pitfall traps that Janus loves so dearly. He makes a show suddenly of waving his fingers in the air—nothing up his sleeve— and then he fluidly reaches into the hidden inner pocket of his suit jacket.

((Virgil remembers a switchblade, flicked open and driven upwards into their attacker without room for error. He remembers Janus launching forward, shoving the man away from them both with the force of his knife, and twisting hard before he yanked it out. He remembers flinching and then falling and all the magic in the world disappearing in a spray of red.))

But Janus’s fingers do not bring out a switchblade. Between his pointer finger and middle finger, he holds another cream-colored card, barely bigger than a business card, and he holds it out to Virgil in an amicable manner.

"What’s that?" Virgil asks, stubbornly refusing to actually read any of the lettering on it, refusing to even look down at it when the spark of mischief is back in Janus’s eyes, sparkling like stars he tore from the sky with his selfish greedy hands that wanted everything in the world but Virgil.

"A wedding invitation," Janus says.

"...Why?"

“Because a spouse will be the easiest to add to an account, and the least suspicious thing for anyone who runs in my circles,” Janus says patiently.

“And?”

"Because I'd hope you'd come, Virgil."

Virgil doesn’t respond, chewing resolutely on the piece of bread as he watches Janus’s gaze for answers.

Evidently, Virgil’s quiet for too long, or Janus’s arm gets tired of holding out the card, or he becomes bored waiting for a meteor to crash into the building and kill them both in a hail of fire. Janus places the card on the table in front of Virgil, and withdrawals his limbs back to his side of the table.

"You’re usually much faster on the uptake,” he says. “Must I spell it out, darling? I'm financing a wedding. I intend to get married. I would like you to come. Bring your friends if you must."

"You want to throw a wedding to catch the person who wants you dead. And you want my FBI team there,” Virgil squeezes his bruschetta, until the outside of the bread crunches. “Do I get a heads up on the crime you’ll be committing at this wedding, at least?”

"Ah, yes," Janus says flatly. "The crime of being passionately in love and wanting the bride to show up."

The bread tumbles out of Virgil’s hand and the piece of tomato in his throat grows seven sizes just to lodge itself directly in Virgil’s lungs.

Distantly, Virgil is aware of Janus standing up, his napkin fluttering onto his still full plate, but by the time Virgil manages to breathe again, Janus has already dropped a credit card on the table and buttoned up his suit jacket again.

“Talk it over with your boss,” Janus says, with a fake politeness. “Or don’t. What do I care? If you agree to the terms and conditions, I’ll see you on April 13th.”

“W-wait—” Virgil coughs.

“What is there left to wait for, Virgil?” Janus says, sounding dangerously close to being cheerful. “Either you help me out and we stop this hooligan encroaching on both our lives, or I’m dead by this time next month and you get what you wanted all this time anyway.”

“Janus—!”

“I am out of options and out of time. All I have left is the knowledge that you might be more committed to justice than you are to your hatred of me.” Janus turns around and heads towards the front doors.  His shoes click-click-click on the polished floor, and his blond hair glows in the artificial lighting and the chandeliers sparkle. Virgil’s hands are on the table and he’s standing and there’s an emotion in him that feels like being seventeen years old and seeing a mugger come at his boyfriend with a knife in the middle of the best date of his life. The waiters move around Janus’s unbothered gait, and he tosses a roll of hundred-dollar bills on the table in front of Missy and Virgil should be screaming but he can’t make himself open his mouth again.

“And Virgil,” Janus pauses just once to look back at him, his smile kind and soft and a fucking lie. “If you thought I was even a half decent boyfriend, you should really see what I’m like as a husband.”

[justyourtypicaltuesday]

Can Roman Mythology give us insight into who Orange is?

(Note: To minimize confusion, I will be differentiating between historical/mythological figures and their Sanders Sides counterparts by coloring each mention of a Side in their respective color.)

Ever since the fact that three (or four, depending on definition) of the known Sides have names rooted in Roman mythology was brought to my attention, I've been meaning to do my research and explore how this could hint at the next plot point- and given my recent fascination with WTIT, I thought giving my thoughts on Orange theories couldn't hurt.

If you didn't already know, Virgil is named after the famous Roman poet because Joan and Thomas wanted his name to fit with Roman, like Logan and Patton's go together as Logos and Pathos. In addition to this, Remus was named after the Roman myth of Romulus and Remus, in which two princes disagreed on how to found Rome and Romulus had Remus killed. And most intriguing of all, Janus is named after the Roman god of doors, duality, beginnings, transitions and famously has two heads (which the half-human, half-snake face is reminiscent of).

While this is all very intriguing, I started doing research into these Roman myths to explore possibilities for Orange's character. So, I started by looking at other Roman deities closely related to Janus, and two names came up repeatedly, Juno and Diana. Juno is the Roman equivalent of the Greek goddess Hera, and Diana the same for Artemis. Juno and Janus in particular have a strong relationship, often working together to bring in a new month with a new moon. The epithet Juno Covella- to "oversee, help and protect the moon during difficult labors," and that during these rituals Juno "had the function of aiding and strengthening the moon / when her force was supposed to be at its lowest." Additionally, in Virgil's "The Aeneid"; the protagonist Aeneas has to flee Rome because of a storm Juno created. He's led to Carthage, which is historically Rome's sworn enemy, but he starts to grow an attachment to the people there. While the rest of the story (which I've spared for the sake of brevity) may be a concerning parallel to Virgil's character development, the main character having to flee his home for its rival is a dead ringer for his story, and in this comparison, Rome would be the Others. If Rome was home of the Others, Juno would be one of them, and therefore could realistically be a contender for Orange.

Depending on the source, Janus and Diana (sometimes called Jana) are a pair of deities, or Janus is the son of Trivia, an epithet of Diana. Either way, the two are closely linked. Given Diana's equivalent to Artemis, she is associated with hunting and the wild. However, something particularly interesting about Diana is she is sometimes referred to as a "triple goddess" - referring to three aspects of herself. Diana the Huntress, Diana the Moon, and Diana of the Underworld. Virgil often would call Diana by the name Trivia in his works- referring to three-way crossroads. In legends associated with Diana, she is shown to have the power to assign and rearrange authority, and is heavily associated with a woody grove named Lake Nemi. She was even sometimes worshipped as "Diana of the Wood". Given the WTIT endcard completely centred around a tree, this makes for an interesting observation...

And if you think I'm reading too much into things here, maybe you're right. But during this research, I found that Virgil is an anglicization of what was most likely originally Vergilius or Virgilius. This being Virgil's original name would fit with the naming convention of Janus and Remus, and there's evidence Virgil was mocked for his name sounding like virgin. Sound familiar?

"Shouldn't it be something like Virgin?"

I'm not saying that my theories are flawless, or even likely. In fact, Thomas has no obligation to continue the theme of Roman mythology in characterizing the Sides. But given the current pattern, I wanted to take a stab at what a possible Orange inspired by Roman myth could be. And here's my answer:

- Name beginning with C or D to continue the trend of naming each side with a unique letter.

- A "last resort" - a push of energy to get through a difficult, desperate situation.

- A metaphorical hunter, a "tamer of the wild". A calculated aim and precise with delicately honed skill.

- Assigns authority and place. Possibly responsible for assigning the Duke and the Prince, and who is regarded as a Light or Dark Side.

- A guide through difficult crossroads and a bringer of well-meaning change, often in partnership with Janus.

- Symbols of the moon, lakes, trees, and the underworld.

Take what I've said with a pinch of salt, as this is mostly the result of a few Google searches and internet rabbit holes late at night. I am not a historian and I'll never claim to be one, but it doesn't mean I can't have some fun and learn something in the process.

[not-sure-what-im-feeling]

Sanders Sides as things I’ve said/heard Part Three

part one

part two

As always, use these as inspo for anything, as long as you give credit. Speaking of credit, credit to my friends and students at [REDACTED FOR PRIVACY]. Y’all contribute a lot to this cause.

<<•>>

Janus: I didn’t lie, I just… willingly spread misinformation.

<<•>>

Virgil: Remus is a dirty thief!

Remus: Hey! I may be a thief but I am not dirty. I’m also a murderer, but we ignore that!

<<•>>

Logan: Remus, that is not “fucking around”, that is property damage.

<<•>>

Janus: Pure capitalism… just the way god intended.

<<•>>

[About Logan]

Janus: He’s just so hot when he’s covered in the blood of his enemies.

Remus: I KNOW!

<<•>>

Roman, trying to write: Ugh, what’s it called when someone shuffles from side to side?

Patton: …The cha-cha slide?

<<•>>

Virgil: Stop being queer, god.

Roman: *blows kiss*

<<•>>

Logan: You’re hypocrisy is astute.

Roman: EXCUSE YOU, I BELIEVE IN DEMOCRACY.

<<•>>

Janus: My name… is Janus.

Virgil: Okay?

Janus: Aren’t you going to make some remark and say “Janice? What are you, a middle school librarian”?

Virgil: Nah, you sound more like a stay at home mom.

Janus: Okay that is worse.

<<•>>

Logan, counting money: Four dollars…

Patton: Perry the four dollars?!

Logan: What.

Patton: I was making a Perry the platypus joke!

Logan: Okay,.. Five dollars.

Patton: Perry the five dollars?!

Logan: Stop! Six dollars…

Patton: PERRY THE SIX DOLLARS?!?!

Logan: STOP IT!

<<•>>

Virgil: Dad?

Patton: Yeah?

Virgil: If you were a skeleton, would you play your ribs like a xylophone?

Patton: Obviously!

[This one was a canon interaction between me and my mum)

<<•>>

[On Patton. Unfortunately this was what the original quote was about.]

Logan: His toes are poking out.

Remus: His dogs are BARKIN!

<<•>>

Roman: I’m alone :(

Virgil, creepily: You’re never alone…

Roman: WHAT?!

<<•>>

Logan is enjoying a cup of coffee.

Virgil: AUTISM JUICE

<<•>>

Logan: Oh, my coffee’s really hot right now.

Virgil: Just like you! Ayyy

Logan:

Virgil:

Logan: what?

<<•>>

Patton: Logan! Logan! Can I eat raw cookie dough?

Logan: Well, you can, but you run the risk of E. coli and salmonella—

Patton, running to enjoy the forbidden snack: I DON’T CARE ABOUT E. COLI!

Logan: What do you MEAN you don’t care about E. coli?!?!

<<•>>

Remus: Well piss my pants and fuck me backwards!

<<•>>

Janus, giving business advice (trust me it’s real): There’s two things you need to know about bananas.

1. There’s money in a banana stand.

2. There’s money in a banana ripening warehouse.

<<•>>

Roman: These boots are made for walking, not running!

Virgil: I’m made for walking, not running!

<<•>>

Logan: Alright, twelve nuggets.

Roman: *gasp* A baker’s dozen!

Logan: …You’re pretty.

Virgil: Roman is pretty!

Logan: I was calling him dumb.

Roman: Yeah I got that :(

<<•>>

Logan: Hm. I just killed two flies having sex.

Remus: *laughing* Imagine— imagine if- if god did that *laughing* to two humans *laughing fit that causes coughing*

Logan: Is this too much for you?

<<•>>

Roman: Backflip.

Janus: Evil roman be like. Front flip.

Roman: What?

Remus: FRONT FLIP!

<<•>>

Remus: You’re allowed to be any size, but if you’re tiny, you’re allowed to be discriminated against.

<<•>>

And that’s all for today! I have at least 12 more quote books worth of content, though, so let me know if you want more!

[halfhissandwich]

This is what your favorite sanders sides ship says about you. (This isn’t serious, lol)

Karrot Kings: Your priority is keeping things wholesome, uncontroversial and most likely canon.

Thomas x any side: You will NOT explain how it works, you just make the fanart and have fun with it.

Nico x any side: You like Karrot Kings, but a bit less healthy.

DRLAMP: You will scramble to explain that Roman and Remus are platonic. It’s okay, buddy, we know.

Logicality: You’ve been in the fandom for a long time.

Logince: Your ideal relationship dynamic is not enemies to lovers. It’s enemies AND lovers.

Analogical: Your ideal relationship dynamic is two people with common sense being put up with everyone else’s nonsense.

Loceit: The same joke as analogical, plus alcohol.

Intrulogical: You’re a firm believer in the power of triggering your boyfriend’s anger issues for funsies.

Royality; Your ideal relationship dynamic is best friends to lovers engaged in wacky hijinks.

Moxiety: You want good things for Virgil.

Moceit; Your ideal relationship dynamic is two dads realizing that instead of fighting for custody, they could just get married.

Intruality: Your ideal relationship dynamic is “hi daddy x oh my god how did you get in my house”

Prinxiety: You enjoy the dynamic of two boyfriends talking crap about their enemies.

Roceit: You like the idea of prinxiety, but you like angst even more.

Remrom: You think that since they’re all the same person anyway, it’s not as weird if they call each other brother. It’s still weird. Go take a shower and reflect.

Anxceit: Your ideal relationship dynamic is stalking your ex.

Dukexiety: Your ideal relationship dynamic is stalking.

Dukeceit: Your ideal relationship dynamic is best friends to lovers engaged in wacky hijinks, but like in an Disney villain way.

Loyality (L x P x Ro): You wanted to ship all the light sides, or you shipped Royality and wanted them to annoy Logan.

Analogince (L x V x Ro): You’re a firm believer in the power of two boyfriends with common sense babysitting their boyfriend who lacks common sense.

Royaliceit (Ro x P x J): You don’t understand why all the ship wars exist when Janus has two hands. Technically six.

Intruloceit (Re x L x J): You want Logan to join the dark sides.

Intruloceitxiety (Re x V x J x L): You want Logan to join the dark sides, but you want him to hesitate.

Intrumoceit (Re x J x P); You like the idea of Intruloceit, but you like Patton even more.

Intruanxceit (Re x V x J): You either wanted to ship the dark sides or you’re just… really sad.

Royalixiety (P x V x Ro): Your interest in shipping Loyality is outweighed by you wanting good things for Virgil.

Logicaliceit (J x P x L): You REALLY want good things for Patton.

(Might add to this later by request lol)

[emoprincey]

Ok I'm thinking abt a human au where all the incorrect quotes happen, so here's a little bullet fic based on that:

Patton and Logan are married because I said so.

They have six dogs because one of Patton's friends had a dog that gave birth unexpectedly. The friend couldn't take care of the puppies, and wanted to know they'd gone to a good home, so Patton agreed to take the whole litter.

Patton now spends his time learning dog-friendly recipes for baked goods, and covering the lawn in mugs for the sake of a pun.

Virgil was Logan's roommate in college, and used to beta read his Star Trek fanfiction.

Logan in turn has assisted Virgil with phone calls that make him anxious. It usually went about as well as you'd expect.

Patton is strangely attached to Virgil and is very insistent that they become friends. The feeling seems mutual, even if Virgil is a little overwhelmed by him at times.

Virgil is also friends with Roman. They often play video games together, even though Roman isn't very good at it.

Roman lives with his twin brother Remus, who can often be found doing weird things like eating shaving cream or drinking spaghetti through a straw.

Janus was a bully when he was at school. His best friend, Virgil, ended up ditching him because of it, and the two of them haven't spoken since they were teenagers. (If Janus was extra put out because he'd lowkey been in love with Virgil since they were kids, well... who's to say)

Janus and Remus are spies. They're partners in crime and are absolutely inseparable.

Their line of work often leads them into predicaments, and they have a lot of 'sleepovers' in the emergency room. This isn't helped by Remus' penchant for committing arson.

Virgil ends up becoming a spy too. He works for a different organisation to Janus and Remus, but on one mission they end up working together to steal somthing.

Things are still rocky between him and Janus, but they're starting to put the past behind them and work things out.

Until Janus betrays Virgil and steals his credit card, breaks in and steals the target himself.

This whole debacle leads to Virgil getting stabbed by an enemy agent.

Patton and Logan happen to be passing by, and they find him. Logan has some medical expertise and asks what his blood type is. When Virgil says "B positive" Patton, who isn't used to this situation at all, replies "I'm trying!"

Virgil does end up making a full recovery.

When Janus finds out Virgil was injured, he regrets betraying him.

If I was writing this out as a full fic, this is where I'd end part one, but I think after this point I would have Janus and Remus become double agents working for Virgil’s organisation, as Janus slowly tries to regain Virgil’s trust and eventually they kiss or whatever.

[part-time-zombie]

What's your thoughts on sides & their relationship with each other?

I'm a multishipper when it comes to the sides (except for remrom) but I also love their relationships regardless of if they're romantic or otherwise, since it's the dynamics between the characters that draw me in and they don't necessarily need to be romantic to be compelling in my own opinion.

I especially love the development and arc between Roman and Virgil, and how they grew from being enemies at the start to best friends now. They've both changed so much since the start of the series, and alot of that growth comes from them getting closer to each other over the years.

I also really hope we get to see more of what happened between Virgil and Janus. It's very clear that something had gone on in their past to make Virgil so resentful of the dark sides nowadays, and I can't wait to find out what it was.

A relationship I think deserves more attention is that of Patton and the dark sides, particularly regarding Virgil and Remus.

Patton worked very hard to be accepting and welcoming of Virgil, but by doing so he only strained their relationship further in the long run by overstepping his boundaries and repeatedly downplaying his edge despite his protests. While his intentions were to help Virgil be less of a threat to the others and therefore be accepted into the group quicker, it certainly wasn't appreciated by Virgil with how it disregarded his role. This, coupled with Patton's current readiness to welcome the two sides Virgil distrusts the most, makes for a rocky relationship indeed.

Meanwhile, Patton and Remus is interesting because it almost seems to be heading in the opposite direction. Patton clearly disliked Remus at first, calling him "evil" and rejecting everything about him. However, once he realized that he was hurting Thomas by doing so, Patton was willing to be more accepting of Remus, even thanking him for showing up in lighter asides. I honestly think they'd get along well personality-wise, with their shared love of well-meaning chaos, complicated games/pranks, and general shenanigans. Of course, there's alot for them to unpack before they can get there. From what we've seen so far, it looks like Patton is mostly (if not primarily) responsible for Remus being a separate side from Roman, since his insistence on "good" and "bad" lead to the separation of creativity as a concept to fit into his dichotomy. Patton caused the rift between the sides and some of them (including/especially remus) being tucked away and filed as evil, and it's fascinating to consider how he might try to make up for that now, and if his attempts will work out.

There's so much to look into with how the sides interact with each other and how their roles potentially impact that, and I cannot wait to see more of their relationships with each other.

[muppetable]

incorrect quotes day!

Logan: Are you having another depressive episode?

Virgil: A depressive episode?

Virgil: I'm having a depressive series and we're just on season one.

Janus: I called you like ten times! Why didn’t you pick up?

Roman: *remembers dancing to the ringtone*

Roman: I didn’t hear it.

Remus: Met a dumbass today. Awful.

Janus: You looked in a mirror?

Remus: someday you will have to answer for your actions and god may not be so merciful.

Patton: Self care is stuff like taking a bubble bath or putting on a lot of make up if you like that, or taking a nice warm nap and stuff like that basically.

Remus: Self care is the burning heat when rage washes over you. self care is when you feel the bones crack under your powerful fists. self care is the fear in your enemies eyes.

Virgil: Self care is stealing someones birthday cake just to eat the frosting.

Remus: If you touch my birthday cake I’ll make you eat your hands.

Remus: I got us matching friendship bracelets, and you say I don't care about our relationship.

Logan: These are handcuffs.

Remus: Yeah, 'cause we're partners in crime!

Janus: The only thing keeping me from running away and hiding from society for the rest of my life is spite. I could disappear forever, but there are some bitches whose downfalls I have yet to witness, and I wanna be around when that happens.

[artzychic27]

Would that mean they took the school field trip to Gotham instead of New York and if so how would Zoé first meet them exactly? Would they save them from a super villain when one of them could transform or accidentally bump into them during a mission because if that the case that second one would be hilarious?!

Mme. Bustier: Students, welcome to Gotham.

*Cue clown-mask wearing guys driving crazily down the road with dollar bills flying on the breeze as gunshots are fired*

Akuma Class: …

Science Kids: …

Jean: Well, I like it here.

The first few days start off fine with the students hanging out at shops, avoiding villains, eating at cool restaurants, avoiding villains, and going to the parks

But one evening, while at the hotel, the Riddler and his men break in and hold the students hostage unless they can solve his riddles (Y’know, like most Maribat fics)

Lila (Remember, this is her canon self) urges them not to say anything until she can call Batman, to which the Science Kids roll their eyes and start answering each riddle correctly while also subtly coming up with a plan to neutralize The Riddler

Jean whispers spells which cause reflective surfaces in the room to move slightly, and Marc, with his hood over his head, uses his eye beams on Reshma’s compact mirror, which bounce all across the room until they nail The Riddler in the back, knocking him out

Right at that moment, Batman and a blonde Robin arrive on the scene, and Lila takes the credit for using a “special taser” to incapacitate The Riddler

Yeah, they ain’t buying it

Anyway, they knock out The Riddler’s henchmen, avoid the press, and head off onto the night, not even bothering to keep Lila from blabbing and getting herself killed because of her “connections”

Cosette: I’ll just say what we’re all thinking… Robin was kind of hot.

Reshma: But they wore a mask.

Cosette: Hush… They were hot.

Meanwhile in the Bat Cave, Robin is going over the securty footage from the hotel when they notice something odd about the way The Riddler was taken out

They also can’t help but notice how familiar some of the Science Kids look

Batman: Huh. Does that kid with the braids remind you of Virgil Hawkins?

Robin: Other than the outdated slang? Yes. Also, that one with the red hoodie has the same color eye beams as Starfire. And tell me that brunette doesn’t have Zatanna’s eyes.

Batman: … Well, I know some people who have some explaining to do.

One night while the Akuma Class is asleep, the Science Kids decide to go out and blow off a little steam due to Lila’s non-stop talking about knowing the Bat-family and the Justice League

The city’s overrun with all sort of criminals, so who’s going to notice some superpowered teenagers?

Here’s an answer, Batman and Blonde Robin who have been keeping close tabs on them since the hostage

Ismael: *Nervous laughter* You must be wondering how I’m flying, why her skin is suddenly magenta, and how he broke the sound barrier just by running. Funny story-

Batman: You’re all coming with us.

Science Kids: Yes, sir.

After being served tea by Alfred, Batman questions them about their parentage

Lacey: That’s it? Okay, my godfather is Beast Boy since he transferred some of his blood to me after an accident, Aurore’s bio dad is Aquaman, Marc’s mom is Starfire, Denise’s… I guess, creator is Wonder Woman, Simon’s godfather is The Flash. Same deal as me. Ismael’s dad is Superman, Reshma’s mom is Poison Ivy, Cosette’s dad is Static Shock, Jean’s mom is Zatanna, and Mireille’s mom is Black Canary. This tea is amazing, by the way.

Aurore: So, is that all? Was dragging us to your brooding lair really necessary? What happens now?

Robin: I told him it was excessive.

Batman: Look, you kids can’t go out using your powers out in the open. You’re in Gotham; one of your parents enemies could make the connection.

Marc: Most of my mother’s enemies are either back in Jump City or on Tamaran.

Cosette: Ebon and Heatstroke are way out in Dakota, so I’m good.

Robin: … You single?

Cosette: What?

Robin: Nothing!

When they head back to the hotel, they discover that Robin somehow got all of their numbers and set up a group chat between the eleve of them, because they need to be around decent people their age and not those snobs at Gotham Academy

Well, they don’t mind. Now Robin can keep them up to date on any villain attacks so they can avoid it… Or help out from the shadows. Who’s gonna stop them?

When news gets out about hooded vigilantes with superpowers assisting Batman and Robin, Lila uses it to her advantage and says that Jean of all people is her boyfriend

Jean: *Loudly laughing* Oh, God! Oh, God! Please, stop it!

Lila: *Tearing up* What’s so funny? What my boyfriend and I have is beautiful!

Jean: *Rolling on the floor and crying while laughing* Stop! I’m gonna fucking bust a gut if you don’t stop!

Don’t worry, those who believe Lila aren’t complete and total assholes like in MariBat stories, so no one gets left behind on purpose when a villain tries to kill everyone in the room or steal a room key so someone has to spend their vacation in the dangerous part of Gotham… (That has happened in fics)

They just glare or tell them to knock it off because they know better than to make a scene in Gotham of all places. When they’re not doing that, they’re trying to keep Lila from telling so many people about her connections to the Bat Family

When taking a tour of a museum, it couldn’t be on a worse day when Scarecrow decides to show his face and spread his toxin throughout the building

Jean uses his magic to manipulate the air around him and the others so the toxins can’t get to them, Marc and Ismael zap any security cameras so no one sees them using their powers, and they go to kick Scarecrow’s ass while the rest are under the effects of his toxin

He didn’t exactly account for ten superhuman teenagers and became bound by a mint green cobra, punched into next week by a short guy in a cardigan, had his eardrums destroyed, and electrocuted

Batman/Robin: *Barge in wearing gas masks and crying the antidote for the Fear Toxin* What the-?

Science Kids: *Playing cards on Scarecrow’s limp body*

Aurore: And just what took you two so long?

Robin: I quit. I wanna join their team.

Batman: Not in the middle of the semester.

Just one more week until they head back to Paris. And as a special treat, the sponsor for the contest Marinette won and Lila claimed she won has surprised them all tickets to the Wayne Gala, because that’s also a thing in these fics

The Science Kids spend the day finding some fancy outfits, doing each others hair and makeup, and trying so hard to ignore Lila until she tries to get her classmates to buy her an expensive dress becuase she “left her wallet at home”

Cue Simon grabbing her wallet without anyone noticing

Simon: Here, Lila. I found this on the floor at the hotel. You should be more careful. Well, at least now Rose can buy that gorgeous dress.

Then Cosette prevents Lila from messing up Marinette’s hair dryer at the salon

Aurore keeps Nathaniel dry when Lila tries to push him in a puddle for some petty reason by diverting the water

And just to be petty, Reshma throws a few pollen bombs at Lila

Anyway, it’s the evening of the Wayne Gala, and everyone is looking gorgeous. It’s all going well, Marc musters up the courage to ask Nathaniel for a dance, Alya’s talking with Lois Lane, Robin managed to snag a dance with Cosette, no high-ranking people are buying any of Lila’s lies… Then The Joker makes an appearance

The Akuma Class start wondering if they’re cursed to just be followed by super villains no matter where they go

Since they can’t exactly sneak off without one of The Joker’s henchmen noticing, the Science Kids have no choice but to use their powers in public. And they expose Lila’s lies a bit, so that’s a bonus

Jean: Hey! Girlfriend of mine, there’s something I should tell you… *Seizes Jon Kent by the waist, dips, and kisses him for ten second* It’s not me, it’s you. Or, rather, it was never you, because I’m not dating you. *Rejoins the fight*

Jon: … Damn.

Ismael: Dude! That’s my brother!

Then, at the last second, when a bullet is about to pierce Marc, it suddenly stops in mid-air, surrounded by a black aura

The Joker’s henchmen are rounded up and bound by an unseen force while the Joker is forced into a portal leading to Arkham Asylum

Everyone’s just wondering who did that until Nino points out Nathaniel floating and surrounded by a black aura

Alix: NATH?!

Jean: I knew there was something up with him.

Kim: He’s magic?!

The fight ends with the Akuma Class crowding around Nathaniel and trying to get answers out of him until he freezes time so he can talk to the Science Kids, Batman, and Robin

Nathaniel: I always had a feeling I wasn’t the only superhuman at school.

Batman: That magic of yours. Are you-

Nathaniel: Son of Trigon, devourer of a thousand souls, conqueror of a million universes. Nice to meet you; can I have your autograph?

Denise: Uh, real quick. What about your classmates? We can’t exactly have them all knowing about us.

Nathaniel: Don’t worry. By the time I unfreeze time, they won’t remember anything within the last hour.

And they didn’t.

Long story short- Lila gets exposed, Cosette and Robin have been texting outside the group chat, Batman relented and took a selfie with the Science Kids, and that’s about it