#so janus is rushing it

[ask-nico-and-the-sides]

Ooooh boy. This is going to be intense

[where-are-the-spooky-gays-2]

Writer's block is legitimately killing me so I'm doing a whole mini character study on the tss characters in my au. Here's Virgil and Remus.

Virgil is the spymaster. Not the guy cloaked in shadows and riches who directs the spies — oh HELL no. He's the tattered servant that none of the rich people think twice about. He's paid very handsomely by the king (Thomas, in this) to listen in on conversations and gossip and report it back to him. Virgil loves his job. Nobody expects him to be the one who has all the secrets and yet he does. He reports them to Thomas and his advisor (Janus, in this case) and then they are the ones who send out the spies and handle their diplomacy based on the new news.

Think meek and shy man in one room absolutely shedding the facade and going back to confident and scathingly judgemental (like Janus stops pretending to be Patton in that one episode). He's obviously still himself but he's got a sensitive job.

Remus is Thomas' son — one of them, at least. He (along with Roman) are princes who are also training to become knights. Or maybe they're knights already. I haven't decided. But he's known for being the scarier of the two and the one you don't mess with. The rumors about him are WILD. He's truly harmless but there are rumors about him threatening someone for simply coughing in the same room... It's a fake rumor, but one nonetheless. He's really just a sort of interesting guy. He likes the macabre. He's also SEVERELY understimulated doing diplomat work so he usually doesn't. He does a lot of strategy in battles and is known to be quite ruthless. Obviously y'know save the innocent but the people coming against his own army? P i s s o f f.

Also they probably work together. Or the stuff Virgil tells Thomas gets told to Remus by Thomas.

Are they gay for each other in this? Haven't decided! Probably. I still need to iron out relationships and stuff. And everyone's jobs. And roles. And quite possibly the plot. Mostly the plot. Entirely the plot.

Help the writers block is so intense. I wanna throw myself against the wall like wet spaghetti. But like have my sillies^ and tell me what you think

— 👑

Holy shit this AU sounds S O fucking cool oml!!! L O V E how nobody expects Vee to have all the secrets manz has a role to play and he's gonna do it right XD Also L O V E Ree being a man of strategy and ruthlessness in combat he's gonna do everything in his power to protect his people but he does what he does regardless of false rumors he's just a soon to be Knight trying to get by <3 (King!Thomas is a very underrated concept and I'm O B S E S S E D thank you)

[whippedcloudsofcream]

Deus Ex: Mankind Divided (2016)

[pupplaylogan]

Logan loves 2 lick boots & heels

[5am-the-foxing-hour]

So Chaotic family time won the poll on what i should draw and thus this was born.

Patton tried cooking some food..... it did not go well.

Cue Glorious Chaos and Janus rushing in with the fire extinguisher.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Contronyms

Contronym

A word that has two meanings that are opposite or nearly opposite.

Example: Left means both “leave” (two people had left) and “remain” (How many people are left?), which are antonyms.

An antonym is a word that is opposite in meaning to another.

Contronyms are also known as Janus words.

Janus was an ancient Roman god with two faces that looked in opposite directions.

Another term for these words is auto-antonym, or a word that means the opposite of itself.

Technical terms for this phenomenon are enantiosemy, enantionymy, or antilogy.

Examples of Contronyms

Cleave

Comes from two different Old English words, clēofan and cleofian, which is how it got these two opposite meanings.

Cleave: to split, to separate (Owen swung the axe down hard in order to cleave the log into two even pieces.)

Cleave: to adhere closely, to stick (Young beaver pups cleave to their mother in the water until they are strong enough to swim on their own.)

Dust

When used as a verb, is a contronym.

Dust: to wipe the dust from (Every Saturday, he would dust the nicknacks on the bookshelves to keep them clean.)

Dust: to sprinkle with a powder or dust (The baker liked to dust their pumpkin bread with just a sprinkle of cinnamon.)

Overlook

Overlook: to fail to notice, perceive, or consider (I hadn’t finished the last two homework questions, but I hoped my teacher would overlook it and give me full marks anyway.)

Overlook: to look after, oversee, or supervise (The manager was required to personally overlook the transfer of valuable materials every evening.)

Sanction

Sanction: to authorize, approve, or allow (My parents wouldn’t sanction video games in our home because they thought they were too violent.)

Sanction: to penalize (The school said they were going to sanction the students for arriving late to class.)

Weather

The word weather is a contronym, but only when used as a verb.

Weather: to expose to the weather, to disintegrate (The paint on the house was chipped and weathered from the decades of rain and snow.)

Weather: to endure (We weren’t sure that we would be able to weather the storm if we didn’t find shelter.)

Back Up

Back up: to support (Ultimately, the scientists were unable to back up their claims with hard evidence.)

Back up: to retreat (The zebras backed up when they spotted the alligators in the water.)

Fine

The adjective fine has the potential to lead to some real misunderstandings about just how excellent (or not) something is.

Fine: of superior or best quality (To prepare for the Queen’s visit, the household staff cleaned the fine linens and polished the best silver.)

Fine (informal): satisfactorily, acceptably (Sandra thought her performance was fine, but nothing special, so she was surprised when she won second place.)

Original

The adjective original is an example of a contronym.

Original: belonging to the beginning of something (Despite being hundreds of years old, the painting was still in its original frame.)

Original: new, fresh, inventive (While sitting in the bathtub, the inventor was struck with an original idea.)

Pitted

The contronym pitted often causes confusion at the grocery store.

Pitted: having pits; in the sense of “mark or indent” (The sailor’s face was pitted and craggy from the wind and salt water.)

Pitted: having the pit removed; in the sense of “stone of a fruit” (My mom reminded me to buy the pitted cherries, because she didn’t want to take out the stones herself.)

Bound

Bound is an example of a contronym that has two different meanings because it actually has two different etymologies. The first meaning comes from the Old English bindan. The second meaning comes from the Old Norse būinn, “to get ready.”

Bound: tied, fastened or secured with a band or bond (The Mountie rushed to save the woman who was bound to the railroad tracks.)

Bound: going or intending to go, destined [for] (With all of their talents, the band was bound to be a success.)

Source ⚜ More: Basics & Refreshers ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[fourraccoonsinacoat]

The first time Visenya heard Heinrix laugh (actually laugh, not a sardonic chuckle)

The first time either of them saw each other sleeping

Answering these asks.

Anon, I had entirely too much fun writing this little one-shot about the first time Vis saw Heinrix actually laugh. This whole thing got a bit unhinged, but it's so Heinrix x Visenya and their 'idiots in love' trope. Will go up on Ao3 at some point after I do another read over.

I'll have to answer the first time one of them saw the other sleeping in a different prompt.

•·················•·················•

Heinrix walked swiftly down the corridor, a man with a purpose. A knot of anxiety was winding itself tighter and tighter behind his ribcage as he thought about the implications of the Lord Captain’s message. It had been sent via a private vox link to only a select few of her retinue, cryptically reading:

Help required in Lord Captain’s chambers. Do NOT be weird about it, but please come quick!

��Not being weird about it’ was Visenya-speak for don’t cause alarm. Which was why Heinrix was walking. Fast.

The Janus palace was a work of beautiful construction, with large arching open-air windows and breezeways that allowed sunlight and air currents to filter in. Truth be told, it was one of the more picturesque worlds Heinrix had visited during his career – and unfortunately it was infested with xenos.

During their time on-world, Visenya had managed to uncover a cultist plot orchestrated by the former planetary governor, Vistenza Vyatt. And yet, in dealing with one threat, the Lord Captain had foolishly overlooked another and brokered a deal that would allow Aeldari to continue living on Janus, unperturbed by Imperium forces.

Heinrix had shared his opinion with the Lord Captain, and it had gone over about as well as those conversations usually did. Visenya took his concerns in stride, then diverted the conversation elsewhere – usually making some lighthearted comment in an attempt to veer away from what was an uncomfortable disagreement. Heinrix, however, was finding it more and more difficult to keep his misgivings at bay.

The choices she was making, the risks she was taking, consorting with xenos – bringing one into her retinue while allowing them to live freely on a von Valancius world – it was dangerous. These were the kinds of sins that allowed chaos to seep in, that allowed corruption into one’s heart and steered you down a path without return.

His worries mounting, Heinrix began running. Damn her instructions! If Visenya was in trouble…if she was in danger, if she needed him, then Heinrix wasn’t going to waste time with pretense. The doors to the Lord Captain’s quarters were open, the guards nowhere to be seen. He unsheathed his sword, mind running tactics for various situations depending on what he was about to find. Whether it be cultists, Aeldari, daemons or whatever else, Heinrix was a dutiful servant of the Imperium sworn to oppose the Enemies of Humanity.

Rushing through the entryway, sword poised to cut down whatever threat stood between himself and Visenya, Heinrix took stock of the room – and chaos erupted around him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

In Visenya’s defense, she knew absolutely fuck-all about birds.

She’d grown up underground and on the streets of a port asteroid, before the void itself became her primary place of residence – living in the belly of ships and in the bowels of orbital stations. Visenya had seen caged birds at ports and on transports, but they were a rare sight, and she’d only ever seen small ones with dull feathers.

Thus, when Visenya made planetfall on Janus, one of the very first things to grab her attention were the flocks of vibrantly colored birds that made the agri-world their home. And that was before she knew they could talk.

Jae had dangled that little detail in front of the Lord Captain yesterday evening as they sat on the balcony with Idira – drinking, smoking and watching a radiant sunset over shadow-dappled woodland. The first of its kind Visenya had ever seen.

The birds had been attracted by the cheese.

The women had already gone through two bottles of wine.

So, when Heinrix van Calox gallantly burst into the Lord Captain’s chambers, ready to fight whatever horror waited within, what he found was a flock of – suddenly very startled – parrots. They scattered into the air – taking wing from the floor, the desk and the backs of chairs as papers and feathers swirled in the updraft.

“Holy shit!”

“Duck, shereen!”

Heinrix threw his arms up, startled by the sudden assault of screaming, chattering birds and instinctively trying to protect his face. He glanced quickly around the room, spotting Visenya backed up against a wall and Jae hunkered down on the floor with her arms covering her head.

“What are you going to do with a sword!?” Visenya yelled through the feathery din.

“You said you needed help!” Heinrix shouted back, dodging out of the way as two of the parrots swooped past him and out into the hallway.

“I said not to be weird about it! You’re doing the opposite!”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It took roughly an hour to clear the parrots from the Rogue Trader’s quarters and adjoining palace wing. The chamber guards had already been dispatched to find cheese and/or fruit – several different varieties in case the birds proved to have fastidious palettes. Once they’d all been – humanely and politely – lured, and then finally shooed, out of the estate Visenya shut the doors to her balcony and turned to find a bewildered Heinrix looking back at her.

“It was Jae’s fault,” she said, immediately deflecting with all the self-respect of a toddler.

“Wrong. It was Idira who brought the blissweed!” Jae called, before immediately exiting Visenya’s chambers, shutting the door before the Lord Captain could respond.

Now the only people in the room, Heinrix crossed his arms, tilted his head and did something he found to be effective in these situations with Visenya. He silently waited her out.

“Look,” Visenya began, walking to her desk and sitting down in the high-backed chair behind it – after brushing a few downy feathers off the seat. “I was trying to teach a few of the birds to talk, and Jae suggested we use food. Like training them.”

Heinrix, still quiet, sat in one of the guest chairs across the desk from her. He nodded for the Lord Captain to continue recounting the chain of events that led to the incident earlier that day.

“Problem was, they then wouldn’t go away. Probably hoping for more snacks,” Visenya said, shrugging as if she could sympathize. “So, I shut the balcony doors, go to bed, and this morning I’m interviewing one of the Governor candidates and…”

She trailed off, looking sideways for a moment as she considered whether to repeat the phrase or let Heinrix find his way to the conclusion on his own terms. Heinrix, however, apparently wasn’t going to let Visenya respectfully bow out of the conversation unscathed.

“What did you teach the birds to say, Lord Captain?” he asked, the corner of Heinrix’s mouth turning up as he stressed her title in a tone not unlike snark.

He was enjoying this.

“God-Emperor’s immortal ballsack,” Visenya muttered, pointedly not looking at the Interrogator as she repeated the common – though rather vulgar – curse.

Hearing a strangled sort of snort, she glanced at Heinrix who had an elbow propped on an armrest and his fist pressed against his mouth. He looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. And was failing.

“This is what you laugh at!?” she exclaimed, honestly a tiny bit insulted. “Out of all the shit I’ve done, this is what breaks you?”

Heinrix was well and truly laughing now, not his usual smirk or the bark of a laugh he used when trying to keep himself composed. It was genuine and candid, eyes closed and a hand over his face while he leaned forward in his chair – the kind of laugh that shakes the cobwebs from your bones and revives the spirit after a long period of dormancy.

Visenya couldn’t help herself, and soon the both of them were caught up in the absolute ridiculousness of it all. Laughing until tears threatened at the corners of their eyes and they had to take a moment just to breathe.

“Sorry,” Heinrix finally said, clearing his throat as he worked to regain his composure – seemingly hesitant to look her in the eye, as if he were embarrassed about his outburst. “I don’t mean to make light of your…” he hesitated, pondering his wording. “Political setbacks.”

“Political setbacks?” Visenya chuckled, her tone drawing his gaze back to her. “Heinrix, I taught a flock of parrots how to blaspheme. At the very least, that should qualify as a scandal.”

Heinrix gave one of his rarer, real smiles – the one that reached and softened his eyes – and Visenya felt her heart skip.

“How did they get into the room?” Heinrix asked suddenly, brows furrowed curiously.

“I paused the interview to try and chase them off, but they had other plans,” Visenya replied, glancing back at the balcony doors – the chattering of several parrots still chirruping from behind them. “Specifically, raiding the refreshments that were laid out for said interview.”

“Hold on,” the Interrogator said, frowning. “So, the interview wasn’t finished? Is the candidate still here?”

“Let’s go find out!” the Lord Captain said, hoping up from her chair and nodding for Heinrix to accompany her as she started for the exit. “If he’s hung around after all this and still wants the job, I admit I’m tempted to give it to him on the spot.”

Heinrix tried to hold back another chuckle and only half-succeeded as he rose and walked with Visenya out into the hallway.

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Part 24: every color that you are

"Don't let nobody tell you your life is over. Be every color that you are." -Rush by Aly & AJ

Regent Masterlist A03 Mundane Macabre Part 23

Turns out, Danny’s hearing is good enough to pick up the baby’s new heartbeat. 

With an assurance that she did not in fact have a parasitic alien in her stomach, Jazz revealed her tiny bump with a smile and swore him to secrecy.

“But Jazz, this is great news!” 

“It’s not like we’re not going to tell anyone and show up for dinner one day with a newborn in tow, Danny. It’s just until the second trimester.”

“Which would be?” 

“The one after the first.” Jazz deadpanned. 

Danny snorted and rubbed the back of his neck for a moment before a smile came to his face. 

“I’m gonna be an uncle.” He said with what Jazz deemed as the proper reverence for such a statement. 

“Yes, you are.” Jazz agreed, opening up her arms like she used to when they were both so much younger. And as he did them, he now came to her with unmistakable love for his sister plain to see. Tucking him close to her, head under her chin, Jazz spoke again, “And you’re gonna be a great one.” 

After a few minutes Danny pulled back from the hug with a relaxed slump to his shoulders, like a weight had been lifted from them. 

“So you weren’t sick, you were sick.” The emphasis on the last word made Jazz roll her eyes. 

“Morning sickness, yes.”

“At night?” 

Jazz laughed, “Afternoon too.” 

“That sucks.” 

The two stared at the other, warmth in their auras for their sibling, Danny breaking the silence with, “Janus.” 

“What?”

“Danny Janus Nightingale, if you’re looking for baby names.” 

“Danny!” 

“See! It’s a great name! Just rolls off the tongue!”

“I am not naming my kid Danny.” Jazz firmly declares. 

“But-” “Or Dante, or Danielle, or any variations of Danny.” She adds, cutting off her brother’s words. 

He huffs, but seems more amused than anything else. 

“There’s enough Dannies in the world already.” For a moment they both think about their siblings- both cloned and alternate reality born- and shudder. Oh yeah, three people were more than enough for the world. (Considering Dan was technically possessing an empty clone body of the original Danny and was off on another mission from Clockwork to indulge his hatred of the Flash Family’s timeline antics.)

(The weirdest part of that whole thing was that Dan and Danny could pass as identical twins until Dan went ghost- he still retained his brickhouse vampire visage.)

(Ellie had left Gotham to restart her adventuring, promising to be back soon enough.)

(Ellie, the Wrath, was an unholy combination of Vlad and Danny.) (Jazz had been livid when they finally told her that particular tidbit, including how Vlad had gotten enough of his DNA.) (Could she travel back in time to kick his ass again?)

(She had the distinct impression that Clockwork wouldn’t mind doing her that favor, as long as the vampiric halfa ended in his eternal casket all the same.)

“I’m happy for you Jazz.” Danny said, breaking Jasmine out of her thoughts. 

“Thanks Danny.” She replied, “You know you’re gonna have to fight the other batboys for the title of favorite uncle, right?” 

The halfa cackles in manic glee.  “I’m gonna enjoy every second.” 

They continued about their day, though with Danny increasingly obvious with his hovering. 

“I’m not gonna suddenly keel over.” Jazz told him with a bored tone as she organized her and Jason’s bookshelf. “Sorry…just…its really weird hearing a second heartbeat.” Danny admitted with a sheepish expression before he perked up, “Gotta tell Ellie and Dan!” 

“Wait, Danny!” Jazz called, trying to catch his attention as he zipped towards his room, where his Phantom Phone was stashed away. There was no way she could catch him before he started dialing his other siblings, but Jazz managed to reach the doorway as Dante, then Ellie, picked up the three-way call. 

“Danny!” Jazz tried again. 

“Ellie, Dan, good news!” 

“Shit!” Jazz lunged for the phone, barely missing it as Danny dodged out of her reach. 

“Was that Jazz?” Ellie questioned, concern leaking through the phone thanks to the Ecto. 

“What’d you do now, pipsqueak?”“Don’t!” Jazz yelled. 

Danny paused, giving her a confused look as she finally caught his arm in a death grip. “What’s wrong?” 

“Jason and I agreed to wait until its…safer to tell people.” Jazz enunciated the word clearly, trying to convey the severity of her statement. 

“What?” “What’s going on?” Ellie questioned again. 

“Are you alright, Jazz? Do you need us?” Dan asked, brusque voice inflecting with a concern matching Ellie’s own. 

(Thankfully none of the halfas had the ablilty to make portals.)(They’d have been here within the second.)

“I’m fine.” Jazz reasured. “Danny learned something and he didn’t know that I was keeping it secret for a little while longer.” she clarified. 

“You’re not dying, right?” “Template said it was good news, Alt, how would that be good news?” 

“At least we know where she’d be going.” 

“As soon as I can, I’ll let Danny tell you.” Jazz offered before a verbal arguement could ensue. 

“Promise?” “I promise Ellie.” 

“You be safe.”

“I will, Dan. Love you both.” 

“Love ya!” 

“Love you too.” 

WIth that Danny hung up, still quiet and having not bothered to say his own goodbyes. The excitement had been visibly drained out of him. 

“Sorry, Jazz.” 

She sighed, “It’s alright, I know you’re excited to be an uncle.” 

“Yeah…” the halfa trailed off, “I’m gonna go out early.” He transformed and vanished through his bedroom wall without waiting for her to reply.  “Lovely.” Jazz said outloud to nobody. Now she’d worry about whatever made Danny upset. 

Regardless, her and Jason had made the decision as a couple, with the exception of Alfred and now Danny, for the majority to know after Jazz officially entered the second trimester. The next ultrasound, with the pictures in hand, would be a good marker for when they could. Jason would probably want to screw with his adoptive father by making him the last to know, which Jasmine could understand considering the Bat’s obsessive need to know every tiny detail. It would be glorious for him to be left out of the loop. 

Was it a bit mean to delay telling a “loving” father that they’re soon to be a grandparent? Perhaps. 

Then again, Bruce Wayne had spectacularly failed her soulmate in life and in death- she had been the one to avenge him. She had given peace to the angry sprits. It should have never been on Jason’s shoulders, much less Jasmine’s responsibility, to rid the world of the demented clown. (Guess what place has the death sentence?)(Ethiopia!) Batman didn’t have to personally end the Joker. All Bruce Wayne had to do was use his ability of ‘rich white man’ to have Bozo tried and sentenced in a place where he couldn’t use a plea of insanity. Alas, the Bat was always going to write off the Bruce persona. 

Even Jasmine, the Regent of the Infinite Realms, understood the necessity of using every card in the deck to one’s advantage. That’s how she got the regency. 

Jazz didn’t hate Batman. She couldn’t, if only because he was a mere shadow of what could’ve been a good man- a concept turned reality of a hero.  However, Jazz can hate Bruce Wayne. She didn’t, not to the level she hated her parents and the GIW, because she didn’t wish him dead (yet), but she held his many faults against him.

For Jason’s sake too.

Whatever Jason wished for the man, Jazz would stand at his side. For as long as he would have her. 

Jazz, with a wry smile, puts a hand to the small bump hidden under her clothes. 

For as long as he’ll have us.

A/N: Happy New Years!

Shoutout to everyone over on A03 who guessed that Danny was hearing the heartbeat. He's kinda like superman where he keeps track of heartbeats, because of enhanced hearing.

Is this angsty enough for the 'Angst arc'? I can't wait to reveal what this arc was really supposed to be called, but didn't because spoilers. (small reminder that A03 uploads less frequently than tumblr, but with combined chapters for longer length and the Social Media AU.) Thanks for reading!

[sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes]

Working on my own swap au because I thought it'd be fun

In my AU their colors and roles as light and dark will be swapped but their functions will not be, but their titles focus on a different part of their role

Their personalities (as in how the way they act, not DID) will also be a bit different but in some ways the same if that makes sense? Like certain parts of them are magnified and others are minimised (best way to describe it is the canon light sides' flaws are highlighted and the canon dark sides' qualities are too)

(some of the function names here may change if I find better words to describe them)

Dark sides:

Roman - green - Dark Creativity/Pride (egomaniac, uncaring of other sides, very insecure and takes it out on others, creepy and gorey creativity but in a more sophisticated melodramatic way)

Patton - orange - Impulsivity (overemotional and sensitive, very controlling and purist, gullible and naïve, pushes Thomas to be so selfless it turns into self destruction)

Logan - brown (blue is opposite of orange so 2 shades of orange instead of 2 shades of blue) - Obstinacy (super formal all of the time, believes he is always right and has a hard time learning new things that contradict the knowledge he already has)

Light sides:

Virgil - yellow - Anticipation (excitable but also cautious and nervous, sometimes gets lost in an adrenaline rush and has to reel himself in, can be overprotective in times of stress and is often jittery and fidgety)

Janus - purple - Self-Preservation (very kind and supportive but also mature, manipulative but he has good intentions, focuses on self care and helping Thomas to become better for himself and then others)

Remus - red - Light Creativity/Wackiness (silly, kooky, gross but in a more cartoony way, encourages unconventional look-outside-of-your-dumb-tiny-catholic-box thinking)

Unrevealed side - blue - unknown (as orange is theorised to be wrath that could also link to like standing up for yourself when accused and stuff so maybe something to do with that?)

[tipsandtrixx]

Hey so gonna yap bout something real quick. I feel like we just kinda skip over how each of the Sides talks about Nico in 5YL.

Roman being the romance handler ofc is super enthusiastic about it, talk bout how he hates it's going slow and how Virgils not letting him rush things. In the end he also states that getting with Nico is part of his big picture, so he's gonna be a consistent part of the rest of the series, at least I think.

Virgil doesn't voice his particular opinion on Nico, just comments on Roman slighting him. But Roman's lines imply he's trying to take it slow and even though he was the one who pushed for the two to talk he's still not sure

Patton's lines really interest me. He actually seems really hesitant and unsure about him. It really reminds me of a dad who just met his kids partner and is severely untrusting of them. This doesn't really line up with how he acts in WTIT's end card, where he's really enthusiastic about them going on a date. I've stated before on here that I think he's sacred about Thomas dating anyone because he already feels like he can't take care of Thomas, much less be responsible for a relationship.

Logans the most interesting though because he seems excited about getting to know Nico, which is out of character for him the HMO video kinda proves he's kinda asexual, or at least is confused by romance, which same tbh. Seeing as this is after WTIT where Thomas straight up brushed him off to go on their date, so I'm surprised he's being this friendly.

Idk where the Nico subplot is going but I'm excited to see it used to expose how the sides really feel about romance and relationships, I have a feeling Patton isn't being fully honest about how he feels and is trying to hide his worries. I also want to see Remus and Janus's reactions, is Remus going to try and sabotage them, is Janus going to use it against the other sides? I'm also excited to see if Thomas and Nicos relationship is what pushes Logan to the edge, or if it helps? I'm really excited for the last two episodes, The Elements confirmed we're getting more content, specifically the new episode, in not that long.

[tulipanthousa]

how does vampire prinxiety verse Roman feel about his genitals? he uses more femme terms to describe them, so I'm curious if he'd ever get bottom surgery or if he's happy as is

ive got sort of a sliding scle of trans dude here but

vamp verse Roman - like his business the way it is, does get a hysterectomy though, which is like half a reproductive choice half a gender one

pieces Janus - enjoys the sex he's having and had secondary reasons for keeping his starter equipment (children), may change his mind later but not uncomfortable enough to be in a rush

laoft Remy - super variable and does want bottom surgery, im debating inserting a horrified virgil in the process to offer to do it with magic for him (and polly) but im worried thatll hit the wrong note vis-a-vis making bottom surgery seem scary

and then we have ping logan who prefers not to be penetrated vaginally (though he doesnt mind like, oral or digital sex coming into Contact with it, he just doesnt like penetration.

its a fun thing to explore, how different it can be between people.

[choccy-zefirka]

Either way, what bliss

When the Rogue Trader Lumen von Valancius had just returned from Commorragh, she was too frazzled and disoriented, still believing that she was being tortured by xenos. The only thing that brought her back to reality was a bold move by her Seneschal, the ever-reliable Abelard Werserian — who kissed her passionately and, in so many words, admitted that he had developed feelings for her.

The only reason Abelard would ever dare do that was, of course, that he had not slept in days, too preoccupied by searching the galaxy for his Lord Captain. Now that he has rested, however, he is morfitied by his insubordinate behavior. He heads to the Rogue Trader's chambers to explain himself. But instead, he ends up helping her shave her head, as the Drukhari torture has done irreparable damage to her hair... And also kissing her again. And again. And a little bit more.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knockknockknockknock.

The sound ruptures his dreams’ soft, floating cushion like gunfire. Abelard shoots upright in bed, and for a few moments — which ooze slowly out of time and place, like sap that then solidifies into amber — he is a teenage cadet again. Shamefully late to the prayer that always precedes the day's training. But then he blinks once, twice, and the amber encasing him shatters. The centuries come rushing back, making him dizzy.

He runs his hand through his hair — longer and greyer than he envisioned it just a second ago — and remembers.

All of it.

The endless weeks of circling the void, looking for any signs of the Lord Captain, and finding only black, leering nothingness; only silence, which lacerated his tired old heart deeper than any screams of agony would.

The urgent summons from Janus: the Lord Captain's expedition had resurfaced from the Webway gate, found at last, at last, praise the Emperor!

And the reunion — when he forgot all propriety. When he forgot everything except how much he'd ached for her, in that uncaring empty space: not merely for her presence at the helm, her clever plans to guide the dynasty to glory... But for her voice. The spring sweetness of her perfume. The unmistakable beat of her elegant little heels against the ground — enough to make Abelard stand at attention long before she'd come into view. The glint in her golden-brown eyes when she stared down some pompous fool and commanded her faithful Seneschal to introduce her. The hint of almost-touch over a data slate, her hand a hair's breadth from tapping against his.

When he saw her again, when the Emperor brought her back, like He'd never brought back his dear Quatharina — Abelard, regrettably, let all those memories consume him. He should not have been allowed to touch her, after he had failed so spectacularly to keep her safe in the first place. Yet he had the audacity to hold her to his chest: his Lord Captain, his cosmic liege, the woman he'd sworn to serve, body and soul. Tortured by the xenos scum, worn down to a shadow, but alive, here, in the flesh, with her breath so warm, her lips so soft against his...

Throne preserve him. He — he kissed his Lord Captain.

And not only that. He admitted to being... infatuated with her.

He violated every conceivable rule and oath. He gave in to the filthy thoughts that would press against his skull during the voidship's search for the lost Lord Captain. With every warp jump, the whispers of his base desires, laid bare in her absence, would get more and more relentless. Damn it, by the end of those... who knows how many days without sleep, he was ready to chase through the ship's darkened passageways after a woman's shadow.

It would start beckoning him whenever he'd pause his restless pacing around the Astropathic Chapel. Whenever he’d stop demanding that the useless sing-song twats scry the void harder. Whenever he'd slow down enough to let his thoughts wander. He resisted, of course, but the vision still remained, hovering in the corner of his eye. Waiting for his awareness to lapse again.

Whether it was an actual phantom born of Chaos, some vague, elusive shimmer at the fraying edges of reality, or just a waking dream he'd slip into when recaf stopped working, he could never tell. The figure was always blurred, rippling in every shade of the rainbow, like prometheum spilled in water. Sometimes, it would look like Quatharina, sometimes like Lady Theodora, but most often of all, like his current mistress. She who was taken from him, brought back to him, and has now been sullied by his lips' abhorrent greed.

He wishes that kiss on the Janusian coast was part of his visions too. Just another trick of his mind. He had, after all, been scraping desperately for the last ounce of his fortitude, straining to remain at least somewhat lucid after so many warp jumps. Running on a cargo hold's worth of stim syringes, stacks upon stacks of recaf cups, and a single lho stick that Idira had unceremoniously rammed into his teeth out of some misplaced pity; for his own good, she told him — to help him "wind down".

But no. That was no flash in the warp. He distinctly remembers carrying the Lord Captain in his arms, away from the beach where she'd wandered to in her distress, and back to the safety of her Janusian residence. Then, he must have sent her off to the master bedroom, urging her to rest, before he himself nearly collapsed into a bed in one of the guest chambers.

Now, in broad daylight, he can see that his coat has been folded on a bedside chair. Not the way he usually does it, but the way he has seen the Lord Captain put away her own belongings in preparation for a long trek on some unexplored planet. It is his job to take note of every minute detail... At least in this respect, he is not a complete disgrace as a Seneschal.

The knocking on his door resumes.

He winces.

"What?!"

Someone on the other side whimpers a little at the sound of his barking voice. Abelard thinks he can recognize one of the voidsmen he'd hastily grabbed along on the shuttle to Janus. A young, jittery lad, with no stomach for much except for running errands. Which he is apparently doing right now.

"Lord Seneschal, sir, I am dreadful sorry to bother you, but we keep getting vox calls from the ship... The people would very much like to see Her Ladyship aboard again, but she has given us no updates since you brought her to the palace and she retired to bed... Which was fifteen standard hours ago."

Fifteen — fifteen hours?! Has he been asleep for fifteen whole hours?! And with most of his uniform still on?!

Even small babes, who know not their place in the world and their duties to the Emperor, do not sleep for that long uninterrupted. Clementia — the last of Abelard's kin that he personally helped nurse — certainly did not. She was a very strict child that demanded her milk at impeccably measured intervals, always knitting her tiny eyebrows and staring intently at her surroundings before she deduced it might be time to cry.

So. He has less discipline than a newborn. Another appalling transgression to add to the list.

Abelard stretches, shaping himself, with a few pops and crackles, from a groggy blob into a man that can at least pretend to be dignified in front of his subordinates. Having flung himself out of bed like a rock from a catapult, he splashes the entire wash bowl over his face, with the ferocity of tossing a grenade into a throng of heretics; throws his coat over his shoulders — to hide how disastrously crumpled the rest of his clothes are, if nothing else — and marches towards the door.

"Clearly, the Lord Captain does not wish to be disturbed by the rank and file," he snaps into the hapless errand boy's face.

As far as the lad is concerned, the door has just flown open to reveal the same stern Seneschal — not a traitor to his code that, fifteen hours ago, sank to unspeakable depths.

A few tense moments pass by. The errand boy stands wound tight as a string, holding his breath while sweat begins to dew over his round, crimson face.

Abelard sighs.

"But I shall see for myself if she has any orders."

And beg for forgiveness for what I did.

"Dismissed."

"Sir yes sir!"

The errand boy shambles off, and Abelard sighs again, bracing himself for the inevitable judgment.

He finds his mistress' door slightly ajar; perhaps she was too tired last night to lock it (but not too tired to neatly fold Abelard's coat?).

Before disrupting her peace with a knock of his own, he lingers by that gap.

Out of hesitation? Or... Or if he started playing the part of an old lecher, might as well go in?

He is afraid how he might answer that. And before he can even try, he meets her gaze.

She is sitting in front of the massive ornate dresser that once belonged to the former governor... To think that Vistenza must have once used it to get ready for her vile Slaanesh worshipper rituals..! But who is Abelard to cast stones, given what depravities are cycling through his head right now? Like... Like coming up to the Lord Captain from behind and pressing his lips over that delicate curve where her neck meets her shoulder. Or helping her fasten the clasp of any jewelry she might choose to wear today.

Even though her back is turned to the door, she catches a glimpse of him in her mirror — and he of her. Her Ladyship looks well-rested, Emperor be praised. Almost back to the assertive, spirited woman he remembers. But her once-lustrous golden hair is still matted and uneven: the xenos must have ripped some of it out, to mock her beauty, to bring His anointed low. And her forehead, which Abelard has never seen bared, is stripped of the Aquila half-mask, revealing a net of deep, swollen scars, which branch out like cracks in glass, stapled together here and there with small metal plates.

She stares at his reflection for a short while: frozen in place, clutching at the razor that she has raised to her temple (she must have intended to get rid of her curls' mangled remnants, but the razor's machine spirit has not awakened yet).

They both break the silence at the same time, voices mingling and turning into a garbled mess.

"Lord Captain, apologies! I — "

"Why don't you continue staring at me inside the room, dear Seneschal?"

Abelard claps his mouth shut so abruptly, he nearly bites off the tip of his tongue. The Lord Captain did not sound... particularly disgusted with him. Though he dare not hope for her mercy.

He steps through the door and shuts it behind him, quietly but firmly. The Lord Captain swerves around in her chair, her scars now in full view. Her bare shoulders rise and fall in a quiet shudder; criminally, outrageously, Abelard wants to hold her again.

"So," she says, with her practiced nonchalant smile — which never reaches her eyes. "You have seen me at my most undressed, darling. Consider that a sign of great trust."

Abelard bows.

It is true that Her Ladyship had the half-mask on even during the... ablutions incident, when she stood amid the swirling sea of screaming, panicking enforcers, drenched head to toe in mutant blood.

She held herself with such admirable grace back then. She remained calm, cheerful even, and found it in her to tease Abelard for his "primal side coming out" when he growled out orders to find and destroy the Rogue Trader's would-be assassins. Oh, if he were not already crimson with righteous fury, he'd have blushed for much less appropriate reasons.

Now, though, the Lord Captain just looks tired. And the urge to hold her grows ever more.

"My skull fractured during my sanctioning," she explains quietly. "But I pieced it back together right then and there — with telekinesis."

She shapes her lips into another smile, while an unspoken bitterness darkens her golden eyes.

"The pain was... close to what they did to us in Commorragh, but I did not lose even a dollop of brain matter!"

She straightens up and places an elegant hand between her exposed collarbones, the gold of her augmented fingertips glimmering softly. Abelard inhales, quick and abrupt, as the gesture makes his mouth run dry.

"Which is why I am the brilliant and charming Rogue Trader you know today," Her Ladyship concludes, her carefree tone now almost flawlessly convincing. "If a touch more hideous than known to the general public."

Abelard's heart, suddenly a pulsing clot of sickly pain, pushes its way up his throat. In an instant, all fifteen hours he's wasted on sleep are undone, and he is back to the half-delirious mess he was when he kissed his Lord Captain.

Before he himself knows it, he's kneeling beside her again, clasping her hand and pressing his mouth against her knuckles. Thank the Throne the razor she is holding is dormant still; because she is so startled she drops it into her lap.

He should have been more careful. Damn it all, he came here to reassure her nothing like this will ever happen again!

But the words are out of his mouth before he can restrain himself.

"Hideous is the last word I would use to describe you, Lord Captain. And if any worthless worm insinuates otherwise, they shall — "

"Die by your chainsword? How thoughtful of you, dear Abelard!" she finishes the sentence for him, with a soft peal of laughter... Which, at last, sounds sincere.

"But a lady must still be presentable. Especially in front of the subjects that waited for her for so long. These unsightly bald spots just scream 'This is where the Drukhari amused themselves by ripping out bits of my scalp'. Does not quite inspire confidence among the people, does it?"

Abelard clenches his jaw. Next time they cross paths with one of those prowling xenos ships, he will fire every cannon personally.

"I spent the whole morning searching the closets of the unfortunate Mistress Vyatt for a fitting wig, and I think this one will do. Good thing we did not burn the place down after all, hmm my sweet?"

The Lord Captain nods towards the featureless mannequin head on the countertop, crowned with an elaborate tower of little bows and blond curls, close enough to her natural hair color that it might fool the adoring masses.

"But before I bedazzle everyone with my new look, the rest of... this," she waves her free hand in a circle around her head. "...Must go."

"Allow me," Abelard says — nearly pleads — looking up at her.

His hand reaches for the discarded razor, which is lost somewhere among the glossy folds of the Lord Captain's dress... But before he can grasp at it, she catches his wrist and guides his fingers slowly over her knee and up her thigh.

"Oh my darling Seneschal," she breathes out, "I will allow you to do anything."

Abelard starts.

No more ignoring the lacerax in the room.

"Lord Captain," he begins stiffly, withdrawing his hand once he has found the razor. Once he gets to his feet — not without effort; at his age he should really think twice before throwing himself on his knees, even if it’s before Her Ladyship — he takes a couple steps back, maintaining a respectful distance.

"I was not myself yesterday. I may have said and done things that were insulting to your dignity. I assure you I did not intend — "

"I was not myself either," the Lord Captain cuts him off, brow furrowed. With a cold pang, he realizes he has never seen her frown, not with the Aquila wings obscuring everything above her eyes.

"But it was your kiss that returned me to my senses. Whatever you intend or... or do not intend..."

Here, her lip quivers, as if Abelard's words have wounded her. And it is not the affected, theatrical lip quiver she will sometimes use for persuasion purposes, either. Could that mean —

"I will, of course, respect that, but... Please know that I..."

The Lord Captain gathers her skirt up in her hands, clawing at the fabric. Not once, has she been so agitated around Abelard — certainly not during all the times when she'd tease him, tossing around flirtatious quips like she tosses coins at a grateful crowd.

Turning people's heads comes as naturally to her as breathing. But now, stripped of her golden mask, she is struggling for air as much as Abelard himself.

"My — my dear heart, I... I have come to care for you — in a way I doubted I ever could again... Not after my last lovers betrayed me. But you — oh, you..."

She gets up and makes a small gesture, reaching for him.

"For all these months, ever since Kunrad landed me into this... mess… No-one has made me feel as safe as you did. I am not used to that kind of luxury. And like it always happens with me and luxury... I want more."

This time, her searching hands do reach him after all. Just like during Abelard's slip into insanity on the beach, his coat envelops them both, and he can no longer tell whether he kisses her first, or she him. But the bliss once promised by the iridescent ghosts that bled through his mind, becomes reality at last.

He goes further, drinks deeper, than he did yesterday. Soon, his kisses turn to bites, at her lower lip, down her throat, over her collarbone.

He almost stops there, an anguished ache pushing up his chest like a piston. God Emperor preserve him, he has seen Her Ladyship wear... quite scandalous dresses plenty of times — but he does not remember her clavicles being this visible. Her ordeal did not just scar her — it wore her down into a shadow of her former self! Damn the xenos; damn him for lazying about on the voidship, while she —

She moans under his touch, and one of her low-cut sleeves slides even further down, exposing a dark-pink, hardened nipple. Abelards cups her breast in his hand, while his mouth locks with hers again. Her breathing quickens. Her eyes flutter shut, while her knee, freed very purposefully from under her hiked-up frilly petticoats, slides, just as purposefully, between Abelard's legs, rubbing ever so slightly against the underside of his increasingly tight crotch. A practiced motion from someone used to caressing women; Abelard himself used to employ it, quite tactically, countless years ago. In this instance, though, with positions reversed, any sudden jolt of the Lord Captain's knee might send him keeling over in pain... Yet he does not mind in the slightest.

In fact, a low, satisfied growl rises at the back of his throat, as keeping his eyes focused becomes a struggle. There's some force guiding him, dragging him in its wake like a cosmic tide: some feral instinct, which has been lying dormant since those feverish nights when he was an officer on planet leave, eager to come home to his wife, eager to create his fourth child.

...Until a sobering realization hits. In the hand that's not pulling his Lord Captain close, he is still holding the razor.

"Your... Your hair..." he croaks, breaking away from her.

"Ah! Of course!"

In a daze, she sinks back into her chair and turns to face the mirror, throwing her head back. Once again, entrusting herself fully to her Seneschal.

Abelard breathes in and out to cool himself off. He needs a steady hand for this.

Fortunately, the little machine spirit does not seem to have been too deeply insulted by having to witness debauched mortals indulge in frivolous pleasures of the flesh. Upon Abelard's half-whispered request, it graciously sends the blades spinning.

He sets to work, methodically slicing off the old, uncombable knots and cutting away the few locks that yet remained intact. With not a single tremor in his fingers, he must say to his credit — despite the bouts of nausea that overcome him, relentless as warp ghosts, whenever he imagines what his Lord Captain must have endured... When he was not there.

Once more, they meet each other's eyes in the mirror. The Lord Captain — Lumen, he tentatively calls her, in his innermost thoughts, holding her name close to his heart like a fragile flower bud — still unmasked; with her scars even more on display now, free of overhanging bangs; and with her head shaved like Abelard's once was, when he was first called to service in the Navis Imperialis. And himself, her Seneschal, standing behind her back, hand firm on her shoulder.

He is no longer here to seek out the soft hidden parts of her and caress them in a drunken, spinning dance of hungry bodies (like in the heretical fantasies that once plagued him in this very palace). He is here to anchor and to shield. Like he could not shield Quatharina, or Theodora... This might be the last chance allotted to him by the Emperor, and he will do anything, he will kill, he will die, to protect the woman he —

The Lord Captain — Lumen, Lumen, his Lumen — raises her hand to weave her metallic fingers through Abelard's.

"Well," she says resolutely. "Having... so little hair will take some getting used to. But I did get used to my scars."

She glances up at him.

"Hand me that wig, will you, my darling? Time to fly the shuttle home. Once Vigdis and the others bring me up to speed, I expect you in my quarters. You have been so good to me, and deserve a reward."

Abelard leans down to seal the promise with a long, tender kiss on the top of her head.

"I am forever at your service."

[kathrahender]

My Opinion on Trollhunters

Most of the people that watched this show loved it, and although I also love it, I think it has some flaws.

1-. The inconsistencies in the plot. Of course, during the writing of a show, people can make mistakes, and the writers might forget what they showed in previous episodes. However, one of the most important things about writing a show is to be consistent. To point out some of those mistakes, for example, in Becoming Part 1, Blinky and Aaarrrgghh act as if they didn't know Jim was screaming in terror. Yet in Recipe for Disaster? "Oh, humans ran away from Aaarrrgghh screaming".

2. The development of the characters. A lot of characters were poorly written. Some of them only served as love interests— Darci, who most of the times appeared with Toby and that's all, and Barbara because we don't know anything about her besides the fact that she's a doctor, she loves her son Jim and that she eventually dates Strickler. It would have been great to make her a more interesting character. Other characters, like Claire, felt like Mary Sues: How did she managed to control so easily her magic when it took a while for Jim to be a good trollhunter?

3. The development of the ships. I mentioned this in another post, but the show lacked a good writing when it came to romantic relationships too. Some of the ships felt rushed,(Jlaire, Darby) with very few meaningful scenes that showed their love for each other, Stricklake felt incomplete because the writers didn't show Barbara's transition from "I don't like you for what you did to Jim and me" to "I love you", and Staja was badly written because they just gave development to one of the characters involved in the relationship.

4. The amount of episodes. As a writer, you should know how to write a story so that scenes feel beliavable and not rushed or illogical. The first season was awesome because it had 26 episodes, enough to develop the plot well. But the second and third season? 13 episodes each one, which isn't enough to include everything that could have enriched the series even further.

5. The lore. Apart from the Arcadia Trollmarket, the Hong Kong Trollmarket, the Kruberas, and Gatto, we don't know many types of trolls. We know only a few things about their "mythology" (the stalklings for example) and nothing about their traditions. Besides, we also don't know a lot about changelings. They were born in the Darklands, they were the servants of Gunmar, and... Well, that's all. It would have been interesting to go deeper in some changelings' stories, or go deeper in explain how they were created and when.

6. The villains. In Trollhunters, Bular was only "the son of Gunmar who tried to free him from the Darklands", Gunmar was only "the evil troll who wanted to bring the Eternal Night", and Morgana was only "the evil witch who helped Gunmar". Of course, those characters were a little more developed in Wizards, but overall I feel like the writers wasted their potential. Besides, the thing about Gunmar "being born of a corrupted stone" seems like a way of saying "he's pure evil, deal with it" because the writers didn't want to make him more tridimensional. Apart from that, what they did to the Janus Order was awful. They were important in season 2, as they wanted to free Gunmar, but then in season 3... all the changelings are dead. That's a disrespect, because the Janus Order could have been much more relevant.

7. The lack of inclusion. Darci is black, Mary Wang and Nomura are asian, and there's a lesbian kiss in 3 Below. But all of that is almost irrelevant: Darci is black, but she doesn't get development. Mary Wang is asian, but she has the same problem. Nomura appears more times, but it would have been great to have her in more episodes. And the kiss in 3 Below? Between two girls irrelevant to the plot. Almost every human character in this show is white and straight, and although I can "understand" the mainstream media isn't very inclusive, the writers of this show at least could have given depth to these characters (Darci, Mary and Nomura).

[creative-lampd-liberties]

But real talk time I'm loving the fact that they are trying to take care of each other because Thomas is trying to take care of himself, And the way that both Patton and Virgil started off trying to sort of force the good days the way they thought it should work, but also realized when what they were doing wasn't working and switched it up for Logan and Roman had me 🥺💖🥺💖😭😭💖

And can we talk about the fact that Janus knows Remus so well that he actually managed to keep Remus happy AND distracted him from anything he didn't immediately love?? They are friends and they love each other and no one can convince me otherwise

And like even though he rushed through it, all of Patton's choices for Logan were things he'd really actually enjoy and be able to relax doing, like Patton really just pays attention to what makes everybody happy, he's way smarter than anyone gives him credit for

And Virgil specifically picked the kinds of things he and Roman have bonded over before because the whole point was to give Roman quality hang out time and attention, and then at the end he really tried to give Roman the reassurance he needed even though it went against his own instincts, the Protector!Virgil agenda lives

Anyway, I immediately need part two where Patton, Virgil, and Janus get nice days and I *will* write it myself if I have to and that is a Threat™️

[ijustwannadraw0716]

Anxceit: Fight or Flight

---

"Fight or flight, I'd rather die than have to cry in front of you."

"Fight or flight, I'd rather lie than tell you I'm in love with you."

The waves soared, dipping into the warm sand before washing it away, drawing back into itself. Shells of many shapes and colors were left behind, and others swept right back into the waves to float along the shore. In the distance, he could hear the sound of people laughing while they splashed, kicking at the waves. He peered at them briefly before quickly dropping his gaze to the sand.

Virgil buried his toes into the sand, picking at the thread of his jacket. It wasn't the best attire to wear to the beach. His shorts were going to be scratchy later and he'd surely smell like salt, but the texture of the sand against his skin, grainy yet so soft that he sunk right into it, was enough to make it worth it.

A shadow overcame his own, barely lit anyway as the sun was setting, orange and pinks lighting up the horizon, melting together like a nice sorbet. Virgil didn't look at the figure, tightening his hold around his jacket even as they shuffled and sat next to him.

They were silent for a moment, and even though Virgil didn't peer up at them, they knew simply by the soft smell of lemon drops that he was in the company of a familiar face.

"You ran off today," They murmured, tone low and searching.

Virgil clicked his tongue in response.

They gave a small huff through their nose and then a long sigh. "Virgil, please, won't you look at me at least?"

Virgil didn't move, squeezing at his sleeve.

The other sighed again, softer this time.

They sat in silence for a moment, the waves barely crashing in, merely slithering up to the tips of their toes before retreating.

"I didn't know." They mumble, ever so quietly. Virgil frowned. He didn't know their voice could feel so soft. "I didn't know this was going to happen, I didn't know that everything would fall apart like it did, and in the beginning, I should have known. I should have known it would topple over eventually, but I didn't. I wanted to believe..." He trailed off a little, and Virgil finally glanced at him. His eyes... they looked so sad, so full of regret. Virgil chest tightened and looked away again, unable to keep his gaze into those eyes. "I wanted to believe that you loved me."

Virgil tensed every muscle that would, a shot of ice running up his spine and shilling his nervous system at such a confession. He choked a little on air, and his eyes shot to his, watching his lips, God those lips, curl into a frown. It was so odd. He hated that look on him. For ages, he wished for nothing but despair from the arrogant bastard, yet in that moment, he wanted nothing but his sly, charming smirk to appear.

"...and I know now that you don't."

Virgil's heart thundered in his chest. He opened his mouth to say something, anything. But no words would form. He could only watch as the other began to stand, wiping what sand he could off his outfit before turning.

The waves were louder now, it seemed, crashing on top of each other over and over. He looked between them and Janus, watching his footsteps leave an imprint in the sand, and before he could even gasp out a noise, a rebuttal, his hand was on his wrist with a sudden tug. The other stopped in his tracks, sinking his weight into the sand to stop himself from tipping over, his eyes wide in surprise. Virgil panted, unable to breathe properly with how fast his heart was pumping. Blood rushed to his head, and they stared.

And stared.

Virgil pressed his lips together and then opened them again with a soft plea rolling off his lips before he could even think to stop himself. "No...please don't-" He choked out, his eyes suddenly stung. Did he get sand in his eye? Saltwater, maybe? It had to be the latter. He could feel water running down his cheeks, and his eyes blurred slightly, most likely irritated by the salt. "Don't leave."

He watched as Janus pressed his lips into a thin line and then moved so slow, as if approaching a nervous cat on the street. He slowly sunk onto the sand, Virgil quickly dropping next to him, the shake in his knees giving him little choice.

"Okay," He agrees, and his voice, oh his honey coated tone, it shakes a sob out of Virgil, making him well aware the water dribbling down his cheeks wasn't water at all."I won't leave you, Virgil." He assures him so gently, his warm breath fanning his ear and the fragrance of lemon only ascending as he drew closer. He didn't know why he was so close, but he buried himself into the scent anyway, basking in the soured sweetness.

"I'll stay with you."

"Fuck," Virgil chokes, his voice crackling. He lightly hit his fist against his chest, more so out of utter frusteration than any kind of malicious. "I hate you!"

"I love you."

"Stop!" He sobs, dropping further into his arms. "God, please stop saying that."

Janus held him tighter. "I can't lie to you anymore, Virgil."

Virgils body shook, weakly hitting at him again, but Janus didn't flinch. If anything, he held him tighter. "I love you."

"I hate you!"

"I don't think you do, and that scares you."

"I- I hate you..."

"I love you."

"...I...I love you too."

[edupunkn00b]

You Know 'Found Family' Is Only an Idiom, Right?

A standard review of Janus' permanent record reveals a secret his teacher, one Mr. Logan Sanders, was uniquely positioned to recognize.

Written for @fandombead/@icycove for the @tss-camp-and-coffee Camp Cartoon writing event. WC: 2168 - Rated: G - CW: None, essentially fluff and snark. There's inherent angst in adoption and the foster system but it's all left to the imagination of the reader. - My other camp stories

For the fourth time in a single afternoon, Logan quietly cursed that day’s fire drill. Originally scheduled for third period, the school’s lacrosse coach had successfully lobbied to have it moved to fourth so that it wouldn’t interrupt the team's practice time.

The Dean had conceded and moved the drill. Right into Logan’s prep period.

With a bit of schedule finagling—and a rushed lunch of a third cup of coffee and granola bar which Patton would not need to know about—Logan had been able to get back on track. By the time his final period of the day had ended, he’d managed to make it work and fit in nearly everything on the day’s task list.

Nearly everything.

He now sat at his desk, five minutes before the start of his office hours and the start of his senior review with the final name on his list. And he hadn’t yet properly reviewed the student’s file.

Janus Woods was not completely unknown to him. Sly and sarcastic, he was the student most other teachers in the school dreaded to see on their rosters. In his years at the school, the boy's behavior had never quite risen to the level of outright insubordination or disruption. He seemed to have a knack for knowing precisely where that line was.

And he relished dancing along its razor sharp edge.

Despite his spotty grades, Janus was frequently assigned to one Logan’s honors or AP classes. Logan had never expressed that strong of a reaction to teaching him and perhaps that explained his other teachers’ eagerness to recommend him for the honors track. Not to say he didn’t belong there. The boy’s snark all-too-often revealed a sharp wit that no doubt foretold of a strong academic career. If only he’d drop the ‘above it all’ act and genuinely apply himself.

Shaking away his own internal lecture, Logan opened Janus’ file. If this was to be a productive meeting in which to review Janus’ post-graduation plans, he needed to go by more than ‘vibes’ as his seniors liked to say.

Janus’ transcript was much as he expected. Barely passing phys ed the few semesters he hadn’t managed to be formally excused. Attended the honors track but without distinction. No clubs or associations. He turned the page, wincing when he saw the electronic records now even included when students purchased tickets to after school events. Janus had attended a few school plays, but no sporting events. No dances.

His SAT scores were phenomenal but there was no note of which college he planned to attend. There were records of any transcript requests from any of the schools he’d applied to.

Frowning down at the file, his eye caught on Janus’ address.

204 Center Street

That was… Logan pulled up his phone contacts and confirmed his memory. 204 Center Street was the address for the group home where their sons had lived before he and Patton had adopted them.

He checked the parental contact page again. No names, only a phone number.

The same phone number to the central social work line Logan had memorized during Virgil's early years.

Logan flipped back to Janus’ cover sheet. Janus was four months away from eighteenth birthday. It had taken over a year for them to finalize the paperwork for the twins. Virgil, being older and somewhat more complicated, had taken twice as long.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Sanders?” Janus drawled from the doorway. A thick paperback book clutched to his chest, the boy stood stiffly, face a neutral mask. While some students approached their senior planning session with giddiness, others with a blasé case of senioritis, Janus appeared cautious, unsure of what Logan might want with him.

“Yes, please, come in, Janus. I—if you’ll forgive me, I must make a very brief phone call.”

Janus half-shrugged and sat down in the seat closest to the door. And furthest from Logan's desk. He pulled out a battered copy of Les Misérables—in French—and began to read.

Logan unlocked his phone, watching him. There were no French classes on Janus' transcript. He'd fulfilled his two years of language requirement with Spanish and German.

“Well, hey there, Logie! What a nice surprise!” His husband’s cheery voice melted away the icy knot growing in his chest and he smiled. "Hi Daddy!" the twins called from the background.

Janus glanced up at him then quickly looked away.

“Is everything okay?” The sound changed as Patton clicked the call from car speakers to his earbud. Logan glanced at the time. They were likely mid-afternoon pickup, on their way to get Virgil from the middle school.

“Everything is fine, well, it… I don’t have much time, but do you remember what we were talking about over the weekend? About…”

“You mean Virgie joking about getting a new brother to replace the twins?”

He cleared his throat, stifling a chuckle at the tumult his little statement had sparked. And the long conversation that followed. “More what came out of it.”

“Oh,” Patton’s voice went low. “Are you having second thoughts about applying?”

“On the contrary,” Logan said, catching the moment when Janus became absorbed in his book, curling around it as his eyes danced over the words, expression shifting as the tale unfolded. “Pat, do you trust my judgement?” he asked quietly.

“We—well, of course, Logie. Are you okay?”

“I am fine, I am… More than fine. I will explain everything when I get home,” he promised. “See you in a few hours. Love you,” he murmured, cheeks warming when Janus’ eyes darted up at him.

“Love you, Logie,” Patton called, switching the phone back to speaker mode. A chorus of “Love you, Daddy!” poured through from the twins in the back.

Still smiling, Logan ended the call and put away his phone. He looked up at Janus, the boy’s sharp eyes already fixed on him. The book had disappeared.

“You always call your wife after class?” he drawled, drumming his fingers on the desk.

“Husband,” he corrected, noting the flash of surprise. “And, no.” Logan gestured at the seat next to his own desk. “Would you like to sit here or would you rather I join you there?” He looked pointedly around the empty classroom. “Unless, of course you prefer we shout at each other across the distance.”

Janus shrugged and gestured to the seat beside him. Nodding, Logan closed the folder and brought it and a notepad to the new seat. Pose frozen, Janus watched him from the corner of his eye, another lingering spark of surprise in his gaze.

“Most teachers would’ve made me move,” he said as though Logan was somehow dull.

“Perhaps,” Logan admitted. “Am I most teachers?”

Shifting in his seat, Janus looked at him but didn’t answer.

Logan let the silence sit between them for a few beats then opened his file. “When I originally scheduled this time with you, I’d intended it as the standard ‘what are your post-graduation plans’ session,” he began. He turned the folder so Janus could see what was inside.

His hands twitched, peering closely at the thick file, and Logan passed it to him.

“Is that allowed?” Janus said. He didn’t wait for an answer and pulled the file close, flipping through the pages as though searching for something.

“It’s your record,” Logan answered with his own little shrug. He gave Janus a bit of time to review what was inside. “There’s no mention of what college you plan to attend after you graduate.”

Janus’ face tightened and he closed the file. “I’m taking a gap year,” he said. “I thought I might backpack through Europe or some such adventure.”

“A year in Europe,” Logan nodded. “That would be quite an adventure.” Janus remained silent. “What do your parents think of that?”

“They’re thrilled,” Janus lied. “It’s all Dad ever talks about, it’s a bit of a family tradition. You understand,” he said, passing back the file. “So I suppose that’s all you need from me?” he said, beginning to rise from his seat.

Logan took the file but otherwise didn’t move. “And these are your parents at the St. Jerome Foundling Home, yes?”

Janus froze, back still turned. “That’s not what my file says.”

“No, it’s not,” Logan said. “But I recognized your address from when my husband and I adopted our sons.”

Slow clapping, Janus turned with a scowl. “Most impressive detective work,” he spat before quickly schooling his features back into that stiff mask. “I suppose this is where we have a heart-to-heart and you assure me some family out there will be lucky to have me? You tell me not to give up hope, to apply myself and go to college and I skip out of here with renewed purpose and go work at a soup kitchen or something?”

“Is that what you want?” Logan asked mildly.

“What?” Janus sputtered. Visibly taken aback, he sank back down in his seat, bag still hanging from his shoulder.

“A family?” Logan turned in his seat to fully face him. “To go to college?” Emotions flashed over Janus’ face, too quickly for Logan to interpret. “I assume the soup kitchen was sarcasm but you are eligible for service credit if you decide to volunteer.” He pointed to his desk. “I have the forms if you need them.”

“Do you take everything so damn literally?” Janus asked, tone too soft to match his words.

“No.” Logan considered. “Yes. It depends on which of my sons you ask.”

Janus stared at him, mouth twitching with some unspoken comeback. His eyes held the same look they’d had when he’d been reading, though. As much as he wanted to regain the upper hand, it seemed he wanted to know what might happen next even more.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Logan prompted.

“Of course I want to go to college,” he said, crossing and uncrossing his arms. Finally he settled on folding his hands on the desk in a sphinx pose. He jerked his chin at the file still in front of Logan. “I missed the dorm deposit deadline and apartments in transit distance of the school are… prohibitive.”

“Do you drive?” Logan asked. Their high school was over ten miles from the group home. He must spend hours on buses each day.

“No, I usually have Alfred take me wherever I need to go,” he drolled.

“Right.” Logan nodded. “So housing is a major obstacle to attending school next year.”

Janus raised an eyebrow, the silent ‘Duh,’ an expression Logan recognized from Virgil’s snarkier moments.

“You haven’t yet answered my other question,” he said slowly. “Do you want a family?”

“If you ever quit teaching, you could have a career as a comedian,” Janus huffed. “The pay would be just as bad, I presume.”

“I will keep that under advisement,” Logan chuckled. “Thanks to my husband’s family, we do not have concerns on that front.”

Mouth pinched, Janus stared at him. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Do you want a family?” Logan asked again. “If you don’t, there are other ways we can assist you, to help ensure you can go to school once you age out of the foster care system.” He shrugged, palms up. “But if you’d like to be formally adopted before you turn eighteen, we should consider starting the process soon.”

“You’re serious.”

Logan smiled. “Indeed.”

“And this isn’t a ploy to get me to some secondary location and show me how you really want me to earn your assistance?”

Logan’s throat tightened at the flash of fear in Janus’ eyes. “No.” He shook his head and took out his phone. Thumbing through, he opened the photo roll then passed it to him. “This is my family,” he said. Janus stared at him for a moment before looked down at the photos. The most recent set were from the twins’ birthday party, including several of the cake-strewn dining room table, the result of Remus’ proud demonstration of his home-made trebuchet.

“Hate to see what the punishment for that was,” Janus muttered, scrolling through the images.

“We cleaned it up together,” Logan said. “And the trebuchet stays outside now.”

Phone still gripped in his hand, Janus searched his eyes for the lie. He didn’t find one. After another moment, he passed the phone back. “So what do you want?”

Logan pocketed the phone and shrugged. “I would like you to meet my family,” he said after a moment. “And I’d like you to consider joining it.”

“Is this just your kin—thing,” he backtracked, sitting up a little straighter in his seat. “You go around collecting wayward souls like Pokemon? That how you got them?” he asked gesturing toward the now hidden phone.

“That’s an entirely different story,” Logan said. “Would you like to meet them and find out?”

Janus' jaw twitched, eyes distant as he stared out past Logan’s shoulder. Finally, he took a deep breath and nodded. “I think perhaps I would.”