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bots-basket · 3 years

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Safety in numbers #6

Balan had Placed the girl down in a more comfortable position as the Tims crowded around her to keep her an eye on her- And also keep her from toppling over. He couldn’t imagine what kind of trouble she had gotten into to cause her to be in such an exhausted state.. But then again- There has been some strange thinking’s going on lately...

— Earlier —

The bout tunnel Balan had been stuck in was filled with the Black crystals and they were getting more aggressive by the minute- growing in every direction and trying to strike down the magical maestro. He might’ve not been able to destroy them, but he could definitely dodge them without much difficulty.

He flipped and spun out of the way with ease and avoided getting hit by the ominous crystals.. but even Balan knew he needed to find another way to deal with these troublesome growths before there wasn’t any room to dodge anymore.

And then, The crystals suddenly stopped growing. That’s strange.. And when Balan decided to get a closer look to the crystals, the color faded the moment he touched them.. and a few moments later they crumbled into dust. Even stranger still. But now that they aren’t attacking him, he could finally get out of the tunnel.

Glancing to the main crystal that was still blocking his exit, Balan Raised his Fist and simply smashed into it, watching the pieces fly without much resistance. He would probably wonder about what made these crystals so strong than weak in the first place- but now was not the time. That and he didn’t want to get stuck again.. talk about embarrassing.

But as soon as he entered the Stage.. He wished he has stayed within the bout tunnel. Everything had completely warped way more than Balan could've imagined..

Everything that José had loathed had come to be.. The entire area was dead and withered.. no a single crop in sight. The dirt was a pale dried out color and the sky was a deep dark purple.. And he couldn’t sense anything or anyone. Nobody was here. What could’ve happened here..?

— Present —

Balan gently placed his hand onto the now sealed off door that lead to the once beautiful and luxurious Farmland turned wasteland... He had no idea where José..no.. Barktholomew could’ve gone. Usually once they’ve turned into a Negati Boss, they’d stay in their mindscapes to protect them... so why would He leave, Especially when his scape had turned into.. That?

Balan frowned as he traced his fingers over the outline of the doors Handles securely sealed together... He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all. As if On cue, a Familiar Voice broke him out of his wonderings. Whipped his head around to see another standing beside him.

“ For Once, I Too don’t like the looks of that Door.”

It was Lance. At Once Balan got into a defensive position incase The Negati Master wanted to try and throw down, but was slightly surprised to see him hold out his hand and shake his head.

“ I’m Not here to fight.”

“ Then why are you here?”

Balan raised an eyebrow to him as Lance held up his other hand to show something to him.

“ I want to know what’s going on.. starting with this.”

The Negati Master was holding a strange little Orb between his fingers, and it was giving off its Soft and Steady green pulse glow. Seeing this little orb slightly confused the wonderworld Maestro as he looked onto it with a lowered Guard.

“ what is it?”

“ Something Powerful. While you were off Lallygagging, Something Happened within Barktholomew’s Mindscape.”

“ I wasn’t lallygagging! I- just wasn’t able to come right away. Speaking of Barktholomew, What happened? I saw his Mindscape in complete ruins when I arrived.”

“I’m Not completely sure. But What I do know is that Barktholomew went completely out of control-if I hadn’t stepped in, She would’ve been no more. Where were you?”

“ I was stuck in one of the bout tunnels, no thanks to you.”

“ What are you implying Balan?”

“ Your Negative crystals had sealed me in, and then started to ATTACK me. Since when did they get so powerful?”

“ crystals..? That wasn’t me.”

“ What?”

“ I couldn’t even enter the bout tunnels, let alone create crystals to stop you. Whatever you saw, it wasn’t me.”

“ Then what could’ve possibly done that?”

“ Whatever sent Barktholomew into frenzy, and then ruined his Mindscape.. It’s a mystery. And then there’s this thing.”

Lance moved the little orb between his fingers before glancing over to the girl.

“ And Her.”

“ Her?”

“ Before anything happened, she had a few of these little things. She talked to them and was always carrying them. And When Barktholomew went wild, This particular Orb Leeched off of my power-”

“ It wHaT-“

“- and summoned a Beast. It was nothing like anything I’ve created before, and yet in a way- it felt like it was like me.. Not A Negati. I want Answers as to how and why that thing appeared, as well as to what’s going on.”

“ I might not know what’s going on.. but I can explain the orbs.. for starters, The one your holdings name is Bass.”

The two turned to see the girl sitting upright and rubbing her eyes slightly as she made her statement. She had woken up a little bit ago, but decided to remain quiet and listen, as she did best. She Readjusted her glassed before petting one of the Tim’s that had excitedly bounced into her lap.

“ Your awake! Thank goodness your alright”

Balan let out a sigh of relief as he headed over to help her up with his usual big ol grin on his face.

“ Bass?”

Lance murmured as he looked to the orb that Glowed significantly brighter than it did before.

“ His Name’s Bass... And He can hear you. He’s one of my Guardians.. they’re all my guardians.”

Rosie replied as the little orb glowed a Brilliant green as brightly as it could whenever she said his name. It was obvious that it was very attached to her. The girl reached into her hoodie pockets and pulled out three more orbs, the ones she had from before.

“ This is Zephyr, Roxas or Rox for short, and Onyx. And you already know Bass... And um.. I’m Rosie..”

Each had their own steady glow of color that brightened whenever she said their name out loud. Balan leaned in to get a better look at them, now completely interested in whatever these strange things could be.

“How Curious! And you say they are your guardians, Rosie was it?”

The magical maestro mused as he reached out to touch one of them, Only to get aShock to his fingers. He cringed back a little and shook his hand, not expecting the sudden electric jolt. The Action made A small Laugh escape the girl as she looked to him with a small smile.

“ Sorry...Roxie just gets Excited. His core has a small crack in it- so his power tends to leak out when he gets too emotional... Yeah- Well.. Um.. they’re my guardians Cores at least. They used to have bodies to go with them-! Until they didn’t...”

Rosie began to become a little more uneasy the longer she spoke, gently tugging on her braids with her free hand. She’s wasn’t so used to talking too much around others.

“... I hope I’m not prying, but What happened to them?”

She felt a twinge in her chest when she heard Balan’s Query.. Her mouth felt kinda dry and choked up as she remembered the unfortunate events that happened to cause them to loose their original forms.. She began to tremble as She started to get scared again..

“..I- T..They-..”

Lance watched Quietly as not only the Tim’s, but the Negati aswell began to also get closer to her in attempts to calm her down. Balan however recognized this reaction, as she had reacted the same way once before. His expression changed from a worried look to a slightly more serious one.

“ It’s because of those men from before, wasn’t it?”

“......mmhmm...”

“ What Men?”

Lance interjected, his attention to this conversation now apparent. Now they were making some progress within this mystery. Balan turned from the girl to make eye contact with The Negati Master, his expression unchanging.

“ Some unsavory characters were trashing the theatre lobby searching for her. And judging by their rude behavior, their intentions weren’t well intended. It got to the point I had to politely remove them from the premise.”

“ Hmm.. that reminds me of something, I had found this when examining Barktholomew’s area.”

Lance reached into his coat with his other hand and pulled out the capsule he had found inside Barktholomew’s Mindscape thanks to the Negati. Once it was shown, their reaction was the same as before, Hissing and growling at it. But The Negati weren’t the only ones disturbed by it. The Tim’s themselves curiously glanced over at it- only to suddenly cringe away from it and Lance as far as they possibly could. None of them liked it.

And When Rosie herself headed over to see what it was, She Nearly stumbled backwards and dropped the cores if Balan hadn’t of caught her. A look of pure terror filled her eyes as she began to hyperventilate once more, shaking uncontrollably as she slipped into a panic attack.

“Rosie? Rosie! ROSIE! Hey- Hey! It’s Okay, it’s okay.. Your alright- Breathe! just Breathe.. We’re right here.. Nothings going to happen to you, I’m right here.”

// I Didn’t expect Something like this little capsule could set her off so badly ... What happened to you..?//

Lance thought as he stood there examining the capsule while Balan did his best to calm her down.. but it wasn’t working.. She just clung onto the now dimly glowing cores and stuttered out a Name as the cold realization hit her like a Winter freeze.

“T..T..Tobais.., Tobais is Here...We’re all gonna die..”

#{ daydreaming; drabble }#{ safety in numbers; balan wonderworld!verse }#{ shy but sweet; rosie }#{ follow your heart; balan }#Balan #Lance #balan wonderworld #balan wonderland #( Yep. it’s him. )#( my veteran followers may scream now )

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spicycreativity · 3 years

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Soft-Shoe Shuffle - Ch 1

Chapter: 1/12 Rating: T (for language) Content Warnings: Canon-typical Remus content. This chapter only: alcohol use Characters: All Pairings: Moceit, background Prinxiety, background Intrulogical (yes I played a little game of "pair the spares") Additional Tags: Hey it's the fic I published on Anon because I was embarrassed of how utterly pretentious it is!, post-PoF, sickfic, dirty poetry, humor interspersed with philosophy and Janus-typical pontification, this is VERY speculative and will get Jossed in the future lmao Summary: After claiming his place in the Light and coming face-to-face with the consequences of his actions, Janus finds himself unwillingly re-calibrating his moral compass. For selfish reasons, of course. But one apology snowballs into several, and soon he's running around the Mindscape with a low-grade fever and a guilty conscience as he desperately tries to regain some sense of self. Oh, and he's definitely not falling in love with Patton, so don't even bring it up. One Last Note: I wrote this in an ADHD fugue state. It is HEAVILY influenced by Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment, but there are also references to poetry and various other works of literature. I also deliberately used symbols, themes, and motifs. Most of them are pretty in your face except for the recurring ouroboros, which is used as a symbol of rebirth. ...Told you it was pretentious.

When you wake up to the promise of your dream world comin' true With one less friend to call on, was it someone that I knew? Away you will go sailing in a race among the ruins If you plan to face tomorrow, do it soon

Janus appeared in the Dark side of the Mindscape, elation swelling in his chest. Even the ringing headache and bitter taste in his mouth couldn't hollow the unfamiliar triumph that warmed him to the core. Caught up in his own thoughts, it took a moment for him to register the sight before him: Remus, upside-down on the couch, his brow furrowed and face an alarming shade of purple.

For a moment, Janus stood stock-still as he tried to get his bearings. He must have been more flustered than he'd realized-- He'd been aiming for his bedroom.

But here he was, staring down at Remus, who was definitely going to burst a blood vessel (or several) if he didn't flip over soon.

"That's not horrifying at all," Janus said, thinking it would be rude to dismiss Remus, especially since he had probably been eavesdropping. He had likely heard everything. Everything. Even the ugly parts.

"Do you remember when Thomas read that post about Nutty Putty Cave?" Remus asked in a strained, strangled voice. "That spelunker who died because he got stuck upside-down?"

"No," Janus said, before realizing his mistake. "Yes." He definitely wanted Remus to remind him of the gory details.

"That's what I thought," Remus said with a wicked grin.

Janus sighed through his nose. Remus, though he thrived on attention, seemed content enough to continue his experiment by himself. On the other hand, if Janus didn't bring up a certain insult he'd levied at Roman, Remus most certainly would, and at a time where it would cause the most upset and turmoil. Better for Janus to deal with it now, even if he would have to fight the tension pulling his muscles taut. He wanted to dance. He wanted to scream.

Hesitation proved to be Janus' downfall, and by the time he'd opened his mouth to broach the subject at hand, Remus had beaten him to the blow. "You're not usually this quiet, Oralboros. Snake got your tongue?"

Janus, again, sighed. Rather than answer, he doffed his hat, set it on the coffee table, and clumsily arranged himself upside-down next to Remus. The change in position immediately made his head throb. He ignored it. "I definitely meant it when I called you 'evil'."

Remus' eyes widened in faux-shock. "You called me evil ?" he shrieked, voice ringing out high and clear. "Me? How dare you. I'm an angel!"

At least Remus was taking it well. "Sarcasm is my thing," Janus said, realizing that he might make it out of this without having to properly apologize.

For some reason, Patton's face flashed into his mind, and a subsequent twinge of guilt made his tongue go sour. Fine. If there was ever a time to start telling uncomfortable truths… "But I am sorry I said that."

"Wow!" Remus laughed. "You must be upset." A red stain began to spill across his left eye. "You don't apologize."

"It’s not like I care about your feelings or anything." Janus would have liked to have drawn himself up to his full height, but it was impossible to do while upside-down. "As much as I'm enjoying watching your blood vessels slowly burst, would you please turn over before you hurt yourself? I've suffered enough psychological trauma for today."

"Oh, fine." Remus kicked his legs and landed neatly on his toes like a gymnast.

Janus, by contrast, got his arms tangled in his capelet and nearly folded himself in half before he found his balance again. "I meant to do that," he said, turning to grab his hat so Remus wouldn't see the blush on his face.

The sudden sensation of blood draining from his head made the room whirl. He steadied himself against Remus' shoulder until it slowed somewhat, but nothing could dampen the horrible ringing in his ears.

"Well," he said, adjusting his shirt. The sudden appearance of his conscience had taken the wind out of his sails more than he cared to admit, and all thoughts of dancing bled out of him along with a good deal of energy. "I'm not going to go scream into my pillows until I tire myself out."

"Being an agent of chaos is hard work," Remus said with a sage nod, "but that doesn't sound very relaxing, Mr Self Care."

"It's a form of meditation, if you think about it," Janus said.

Remus made a face. "You know I don't do that."

"...Meditate?"

"No, think."

"Ah. Well." Janus made only a token attempt to hide his fond smile. "Good night, Remus. Please stay up late and injure yourself."

"Can do, Snakeypoo.”

Janus turned. It was close enough, he might as well walk to his bedroom, especially considering how well his last attempt at appearing in it had gone.

The reason why that had been so difficult became apparent in mere moments. Janus froze in the hall and dropped to his knees at the giddy wave of horror and delight that made him too light-headed to stand.

He knelt in front of the empty stretch of wall where his door had been previously. Heat flooded his face.

"Jay?" The rounded toes of Remus' boots appeared in his line of sight. Janus zeroed in on them, the mud splatters and stains on the soft leather. "You have an aneurysm or what?"

Janus, unable to speak, motioned for Remus to turn around. He couldn't deal with this right now.

"Ohhh," said Remus. "Well. Good luck with that ." He hauled Janus to his feet. "So you're a boner fide good guy now, huh?"

Janus stared over Remus' shoulder at the empty stretch of wall where his door used to be. "That depends entirely on who you ask."

Remus shrugged and rose up on his toes. "You can scream into my pillows instead, if you want."

"As tempting as that is…" Janus trailed off, his eyes still fixed on the wall. It was tempting, despite the constant chaos in Remus' room. But he'd have to face the Light side sooner or later. It wasn't like he could move his room back, not without psychologically damaging Thomas and undoing all the work he'd done. "I'm really looking forward to getting insulted some more."

"Alright," Remus said with a shrug. "Try not to throw me under the bus this time, alright? Unless it's a real bus…" His gaze became dreamy, unfocused. "And it's doing 50 in a school zone and there's a whole pack of screaming kids in the crosswalk--"

"Goodbye, Remus." Janus turned and left.

The barrier between the "dark" and the "light" sides of Thomas' brain had been a joint venture. It would have been there in some form no matter what, but it was Janus and Roman (with Patton's tacit blessing) who had worked to put up something more physical between them.

Janus ducked under the red curtain, trepidation percolating in his stomach, but what he found on the other side was anticlimactic to say the least: It was dead silent on this side of the barrier.

Janus wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. He knew by now that the so-called "Lights" had issues working out their interpersonal issues, and this most recent conflict wasn't the kind of thing you just got over. It did follow that they would all go off to lick their wounds for a time.

Hesitantly, toe-to-heel, Janus crept down the hall. It felt for all the world like he was sneaking around a vast hotel, right down to needlessly ornate design on the plush carpeting. That was probably Roman's doing.

Janus focused, trying to call the Mindscape to work for him. He wanted to go to his room.

The Mindscape listened. Janus turned a corner and found a row of doors stretching down yet another brightly-lit corridor. His eye was immediately drawn, not to the brilliant yellow of his own door, but to the figure huddled in front of it: Patton sat with his arms wrapped around his legs, forehead resting on his knees.

"Looking for someone?" Janus asked, slightly louder than necessary.

Patton jerked his head up. "Oh! Janus!" He plastered an unconvincing smile on his face. "You sure pop star-tled me."

Scaring Patton hadn't brought Janus nearly the level of schadenfreude he'd thought it would. He crossed his arms over his chest, extending a third to help Patton up. "Take your time getting to the point.”

"Oh." Patton accepted Janus' proffered hand and got to his feet. Warmth spilled from him, permeating the fabric of Janus' glove and gently heating his palm. "Well, it's just…" He took a deep breath. "I noticed your door and I thought-- Well, I wanted to make you feel welcome!"

A high-pitched tone resonated in Janus' skull. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from wincing at the mounting pressure-pain-exhaustion in his temples. "Aren't you just a saint ." Patton's face fell. Janus fought the urge to swear aloud. He usually had a better handle on himself, and he knew better than to alienate potential allies. "I mean, thank you, Patton. Truly. I appreciate it." Patton had proven himself useful. Janus should at least cultivate that relationship, even if it meant a little discomfort.

"Have you eaten?" Patton asked. "It's a little late, but I could make something if you wanted." He paused. "Maybe we could play cards or something." Another pause. "O-only if you want to, I mean."

Janus let his face remain impassive even as he internally cringed at the idea of staying awake for even another second. It would be so easy to brush Patton off with a few honeyed words and disappear beyond the barrier of his door. But Patton had stood up for him today, or at least he'd tried to. Janus sighed. Quid pro quo. "That sounds like an utter waste of time."

"Are you… I'm sorry, sometimes I can't tell when you're…"

"Yes, Patton. That sounds lovely."

Patton actually hopped in place, an adorable little jig that absolutely didn't send a confusing little shockwave of fondness through Janus' ribcage. "Really?"

"Really," Janus lied.

He followed Patton down the hall into the living room, which opened into the dining room and the kitchen. Janus studied his surroundings, trying to take in as much as his exhausted faculties would allow. Even in the absence of other Sides, the living room felt warm and welcoming. All the lights were on, and they bathed everything in gentle golden light .

"You're awfully quiet," Patton said.

Janus shook himself. "I was just getting my bearings."

"I guess you've never really been over here, huh?" Pattton opened the refrigerator. Was he actually going to cook , instead of just manifesting something? How quaint. "Do you like grilled cheese?"

It had been a long, confusing day. Doublespeak came to Janus as naturally as breathing, but he was obviously running circles around Patton even when he wasn't trying to. "Yes," he said, hoping to telegraph his sincerity by not emoting at all.

It seemed to work. Patton studied him for a moment before turning back to the fridge. "Then that's what I'll make."

Janus took advantage of this temporary distraction to clamber onto one of the barstools. The slick velvet of his capelet tended to disagree with surfaces like wood and vinyl, and he needed a moment to arrange things so he didn't look as unbalanced as he felt.

He watched Patton work in the kitchen, a detached coolness washing out the scene. Quid pro quo, he reminded himself when he felt his facade begin to slip. He owed Patton this.

He certainly didn't feel the slightest twinge of guilt, that he had been the one to orchestrate this breakdown. Yes, the Light Sides had loaded the gun, but in the end it was Janus who had pulled the trigger.

He shook his head and thought about playing cards, good Bicycle playing cards with holes punched through them like they'd come from a casino. "What should we play?" he asked, pulling the deck from his breast pocket.

Patton looked up from the stovetop, his eyes flicking to the cards in Janus' hand. "Do you know Kings in the Corners?"

"Not personally, no."

Patton laughed, but there was something cold about it. "It's really simple," he said. "I'll show you how to play and you can tell me if you like it."

It was nearly impossible to cheat at Kings in the Corners. Janus doubted this had been a calculated measure on Patton's part, doubted he had the capacity for that kind of foresight, but he respected it just the same.

They played in funereal silence, staring each other down across the light wood of the dining room table. Janus, ill-inclined to take off his gloves, utilized a napkin to keep from staining them with melted butter from the grilled cheese Patton had made. Neither one of them smiled. Neither one of them spoke.

Janus pulled a card from the deck to indicate the end of his turn and glanced up at Patton. His face was somber, almost sorrowful, and it clashed against the gentle domesticity of the dining room, with its floral table runner and mismatched placemats.

Janus started to laugh.

"What is it?" Patton asked, cheeks darkening. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

Janus swallowed down another peal of laughter and cleared his throat, unable to wholly restrain the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You look like I’m holding you here at gunpoint." It was somewhat ironic, considering Janus was the one who felt like he couldn't leave.

"What?" Patton smiled, but it was more akin to an offering than an expression of joy.

"It’s not really funny. " Janus wasn’t quite sure how to make Patton understand.

Patton sat back with a sigh, placing his cards facedown on the table. "But I guess it is pretty funny, huh? In a really sad way."

Janus almost asked what was sad about it before realizing that Patton probably missed his friends. Instead he said, "Yes" and stifled a yawn behind his free hand.

"I'll make coffee!" Patton leapt to his feet and was off to the kitchen before Janus could so much as blink.

The newfound solitude made it that much harder for Janus to ignore his headache, which had only worsened in the hour or so he'd been playing cards with Patton. Despite the nonchalant facade he'd tried so hard to project, he'd been holding himself tense.

Maybe the night (or morning, at this point) would be easier to tolerate if he had, say, a bit of gold rum.

The corner of a flask dug into Janus' hip. He smiled.

"Just how late are you planning on staying up?" he asked Patton when the latter returned holding two mismatched mugs.

"Oh, I don't know," Patton said. Lied. He set a mug down in front of Janus and then resumed his seat, the cards forgotten by his elbow. "I'm… A little scared of what tomorrow will be like."

Janus eased the flask out of his pocket. "Rum?"

"Oh, um," Patton said, staring at the flask. "I don't know…"

Janus raised an eyebrow, working something out. He landed on it a millisecond later: Patton wanted to be convinced. Easy enough. Janus opened the flask and poured what he hoped was a shot into his own mug. It was black, he noticed, except for the yellow snake that wrapped around it, its tail firmly in its own mouth. Ouroboros. "Surely you don't intend to make me drink alone?"

As Janus had expected, Patton buckled the second he was pushed. "I guess not."

It was funny, Janus mused as he carefully tipped rum into Patton's coffee, how lying was only off-limits when Janus suggested it. Hilarious.

But now wasn't the time for bitterness, now was the time to repay the debt he owed Patton. "Cheers," he said, pocketing the flask once more.

"Cheers."

Janus sipped his coffee. "You put milk in this," he observed.

Patton's smile was surprisingly sly. "I know you want me to think you take it black. Virgil did too, at first. I know you ‘Dark Sides’ have an image you like to uphold."

"And how does Virgil take his coffee now?" Janus asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"With Snickers-flavored creamer."

"Well, I do take my coffee black," Janus lied.

Patton's smile never faltered. "We'll see, kid-- Uh, Janus."

"Patton," Janus said, before he could start thinking about the implications of Patton wanting to call him 'kiddo,' "you are planning on sleeping tonight, aren't you?"

"Maybe eventually," Patton said, suddenly unable to look Janus in the eye. "At some point."

"Tomorrow will come whether or not you sleep. It's definitely better to pull an all-nighter and feel like garbage instead of facing everything with a clear head."

"I know." Patton leaned forward so he could rest his head on his hand.

For a moment, Janus was tempted to mirror him. Sitting up straight was becoming quite the chore. "I know how the others love a calm, rational discussion."

"Oh, I wish." Patton's expression turned wistful.

Janus stifled a yawn behind his hand. He had half-expected the coffee to counteract the depressant effect of the alcohol, but all he had to show for the combination was a racing heart.

"I'll be fine out here if you want to go to bed," Patton said. Without seeming to realize he was doing it, he brought his hand to his mouth and bit down on his thumbnail.

It was a tempting offer. A day ago, Janus would have taken it. After all, it wasn't like he cared about Patton outside of professional courtesy. They weren't friends. But guilt nagged at him and wouldn't let him entertain the idea of abandoning Patton for longer than a second.

"That's a remarkable impression of a window," Janus said, waiting for Patton to look confused before elaborating, "I can see right through you."

"You got me." Patton smiled sadly. "That's something I've always admired about you, Janus."

Now it was Janus' turn to be confused. "What?"

"You're so… clever."

Janus narrowed his eyes. "Please do keep trying to change the subject."

"It's just… I don't want to have to lie there and, and think about today and everything I did wrong. I hurt Thomas. I hurt my friends." Patton's eyes were shiny behind his glasses; the unshed tears sparkled in the light when he locked eyes with Janus. "Aren't you going to think about the same thing?"

Anger flared, perhaps prematurely, in Janus' chest. "About what you did wrong today?"

"About what you did wrong," Patton said timidly.

"I," Janus said icily, "didn't do anything wrong." He stared Patton down across the table, jaw set, daring him to push back. Let him lecture and nag, let him prove that he hadn't changed no matter what he said.

But Patton only nodded, his face lined with misery. "Okay," he softly. "I think you're right, Janus. We should go to bed."

Janus thought about how much faster he could get to bed if the table was cleared, and all the dishes and cards vanished in a blink.

"Um, Janus?" Patton said.

"Yes?"

"I don't regret everything that happened today."

"Oh?"

Patton only nodded and sank out.

Janus made a beeline for his own room; better to find his way there on foot rather than risk appearing in the wrong spot.

Once inside, he looked around to ensure nothing was amiss, eyes roving over the dark wood of his bookshelves and desk, his mirrored closet doors, the leather armchairs across from his bed.

Everything was exactly as Janus had left it. He nodded, satisfied, set his hat on the nightstand, and sprawled out of top of the covers without bothering to further undress.

One hazy thought crawled to the surface of his mind before he fell asleep: At least he wouldn't be one of the regrets haunting Patton tonight.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #janus sanders #moceit #spicywrites soft-shoe shuffle #song featured is: race among the ruins - gordon lightfoot #pics are free to use from unsplash and wikimedia commons

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el-gilliath · 4 years

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the way you make me feel part 2

Well it took me a while, but here it finally is. @lambourngb I hope you enjoy part two <3 And before you ask, yes I did indeed give you a happy ending. With a bit of a redemption arc, and a tiny bit of pointing out Isobel’s white privilege. Because I can.

Part 1

“Flint switched the bomb?”

“Yeah,” Alex replies. “Helena switched it to the Manes DNA bomb, and then Flint switched it back. But it was a third bomb, one that makes it seem like Michael was dead. It made his heart beat so slow that there was no way for me to know he wasn’t dead, and it’ll keep it like that for 24 hours.”

“But after that?”

“If I don’t find him, he wakes up and they kill him. After experimentation, pain, and suffering, probably.”

“Thank you, I don’t need the details,” Isobel replies. She’s worried, the way they all are. “I just need to know how you’re going to find him.”

Alex steals a glance at Maria. She looks back at him, giving him an encouraging smile. “We’ve been soulmates since we were 17. We might not always be good, or even great. But our bond is strong, has been since it formed. With your help, I can find him.”

“So what do you need me to do?”

“Influence the bond. Make it stronger so that I can feel him again.”

“I can do it too, if you need it,” Maria says. Alex smiles at her. She deserves an explanation, deserves to hear it from him why he hid it from her, even when she was dating Michael. And he will give her one, just not now. He loves that she knows that and that she’s willing and capable to put it aside, even if he knows she’s hurt.

“Keep that bracelet on for now grand-niece, I’ve got this.” Isobel smirks. “Besides, I know Michael’s brain and you don’t.”

He knows Isobel doesn’t quite believe him, probably because Michael didn’t tell her either. But they didn't tell anyone. Knowing Isobel, she’ll suck it up until the worst possible moment and then she’ll lay into them in any way she wants. He’s kinda looking forward to it. Even though he knows they’re gonna have to make it up to everyone.

“You okay to start?” he asks Isobel, walking over to a booth and sitting down. He knows he has a slight limp, can feel Kyle and Max eying his leg as he walks but he doesn’t really care. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“I’m ready when you are, Princess.” He gives Isobel a look, watches her flinch as much as Isobel Evans can flinch. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“If anyone’s the princess here, you are.”

“Excuse me, I’m a queen,” Isobel says with a sniff.

“Yeah well, so am I.”

Maria snorts. “I thought you were a king?”

“I can be both.”

“Hell yeah y-“

“Okay, have you forgotten about Michael already?!” Max interjects loudly, throwing his hands up like a kid having a tantrum. Alex is really happy he’s not on the other side of the icy glare Isobel, Maria, and Liz throw his way. By the full body flinch, neither is Max.

“Thank you for your delightful comments, brother dear,” Isobel says, dry as the deserts of Bahrain as she joins Alex in the booth. “It’s almost like we needed or wanted your opinion.”

“Is-“

“No. We haven’t forgotten him. You should know better than to ask.” Isobel shoots him another glare before she turns back to Alex. “You ready to start?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be. You?”

“No need to worry about me. I do this for a living.”

Alex huffs. He’ll never admit it because he knows it will go to her head but he does admire the easy confidence Isobel has. “Take us away Queen Isobel.”

They’re in what he assumes is the mindscape before he can blink. He looks around in shock, as does Isobel.

“I did not expect you to let me in that easy.”

“Probably because I want you in here,” he replies. He’s not shocked that he’s telling the truth, he knows he can’t lie in here. “I can’t feel him, I know I need your help.”

“Good. If you prefer it to look different than the Pony just think of a place and it’ll take us there,” she says and the visual changes from the Pony to the shed before he can think about it too much. “Is this…”

“The shed where my dad crushed Michael’s hand? Yeah,” he sighs. “He ruined my safe space out in the real world that night. And yet in my head, that night with Michael is still the happiest I’ve ever been. Our bond started right here, you know.”

“That night?”

“Yeah. It started when we kissed in the museum, grew when we were here. My dad cemented it with his hammer.”

Isobel nods. “Your bond locked with the shared trauma.”

“That it did.” Alex looks around. “I can still feel it in here. Always could. I just feel close to him here, even in the real world when I’m close to the shed. Like our bond has a physical connection to it. Worst and best day of my life.”

“Why did you never claim it? It’s cemented and clearly in space,” Isobel asks. Her eyes are curious, full of wonder. It’s quite sweet to see.

“Couldn’t. Between the Air Force, distance, our own issues, Caulfield, and… Maria. We would’ve burned ourselves out trying to keep it healthy. So Michael ended it. A few times, actually,” Alex replies. “It was for the best. We needed a new start.”

“How did you feel about my brother and Maria?”

“Pain. But he was happy for a little while, so I lived with it.” He sighs. “I love both of them, Isobel. Nothing changes that.”

“You’re a stronger man than I would ever be, Alex Manes. I don’t think I could watch my soulmate with someone else.”

“Luckily for you, you don’t have to. According to my research, Charlie is single and ready to mingle.” Isobel’s eyes widen in shock, and Alex can’t help but smile. “I feel like I should apologize in case you didn’t know.”

“I did. I knew the first time I met Jenna that someone close to her was my soulmate, meeting Charlie when she first came to town just solidified it. I’m just not used to someone being as observant as me though I’m not surprised, you are a hacker after all,” Isobel says, smiling in return. “We’re going to be the most antagonistic of friends one day, you and I.”

“That we will be. I guess we have to be.”

“We do if you’re going to be with Michael. I’m possessive when it comes to my brothers, I don’t see that changing.”

“Neither do I, but I need to find him, first,” Alex says. The bond has been subtly reaching all through their talk, Isobel’s mindscape helping it search in a way it hasn’t before. He can’t really feel Michael, but the remnant of the bond is all around him, spreading out slowly but surely as he talks about him. As his mind brings him back and remembers ten years of hurt, sure. But also of quiet moments, of loving and tender touches, of hungry mouths and bruising fingers. “Did you know? About him and me?”

“He did tell me, eventually. I called his closet flimsy after everything with Noah.” She grimaces at the obvious disapproval in his eyes. “Yeah I know. To my defense I had just figured out that my husband of years had been using my body and raping my mind.”

“Still doesn’t explain how you could turn around and do it to Rosa.”

“It doesn’t. And I don’t have an excuse. Call it white privilege if you want, it’s fucked up regardless. But I apologized, she cursed me out and tried to punch me. We’re good. I still have issues I obviously need to work on, but I am working on it.” Isobel sighs. “One day I’ll be free of him, and all of it. But that day is not today, or tomorrow.”

“Good for you,” Alex says, completely sincere.

“And how will your own tour of apologies and explanations go?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t decided if anyone is owed either, right now. I think Michael and I need to decide that together, after we actually talk.”

“Guess you gotta bring my brother back then,” Isobel answers. “Or I’ll never get my explanation.”

Alex can’t help it, he laughs out loud at her audacity. “You’re something, Isobel.”

“I’m aware,” she says with a wink. He just shakes his head and opens his mouth to reply, instead he inhales sharply as something in his stomach yanks. Their surroundings change around them, morphing from the shed, to the Pony, to the Airstream, to Alex’s house. It stops there for a moment until it morphs again. Roswell High, the UFO Museum, Crashdown, the Junkyard. Every place that’s meant something to them, regardless of the situation, regardless of the love or heartbreak. He feels himself getting nauseous as the images and surroundings spin, Isobel gripping his hand tight and yelling for him to hold on as she presumably concentrates on what is making his head spin. Alex squeezes his eyes shut to stave off the nausea for a second.

They pop open a second later as he sees Michael in his mind.

The images and their surroundings settle suddenly, focusing on the field base just outside the ruins of Caulfield, the green tents surrounded by military jeeps and research trucks. He sees Michael clearly in his mind, laying on a table in one of the tents, surrounded by medical equipment and military personnel. He looks completely still. He has no cuts or bruises on him and his skin isn’t actually blue. Even the blood has been wiped away. He looks like he’s sleeping peacefully. Alex fears it won’t last.

“Is that where I think it is?”

“Caulfield. He’s in Caulfield,” Alex answers.

The world sharpens around them as the mindscape falls away and the actual Pony comes back, Liz, Maria, and Kyle hovering nervously around them, Rosa, Max, and Jenna standing in the background as if not to be in the way, even as their worry is evident.

“You back with us?” Kyle asks, walking in close and examining both of them with his eyes. “You were in there for a while.”

“Michael’s in Caulfield, Deep Sky or whatever their name has built a small base right outside of the ruins there,” Alex answers, ignoring Kyle and getting to his feet as Kyle protests. “We need someone who can get us in.”

“No need, we already have someone,” Jenna answers. “Charlie’s a part of them, or used to be. She can get us in.”

Alex sneaks a look at Isobel at the mention of Charlie but her face betrays nothing. Only her eyes sparkle with curiosity.

“Then you better call your sister, we need to leave now. Before it’s too late.”

-----

An hour later they’re on the road, Charlie driving one car with Jenna, Kyle and Alex with her. Max, Isobel, Liz, Maria and Rosa following in another. Alex is having the worst time sitting still in the passenger seat after he was denied driving the car. He knows Kyle was right, his knee is not up to driving for two hours after all the running he did earlier but it still pisses him off. He can feel the bond slipping in and out of his brain, like Michael is alive, there and constant one second, dead, gone and broken in the other. It swoops him into the last feelings of intense love he felt from Michael, he hears the repeat of ‘I love you’ clear as day. It pushes him out with the abrupt feelings of gone.

He hears Kyle trying to talk to him, hears Jenna and Charlie discuss something of a battle plan. But he can’t follow, his hyperfocus lasered onto Michael and the brief glimpses of him. It’s weird, how he’s seeing him from the outside instead of through his eyes the way he usually does. But with the strengthening that Isobel did he figures that’s the reason. Any other reason isn’t something he’s willing to think about.

He stays in his head for the entire ride, sliding in and out of the bond, sending Michael good feelings whenever he feels the bond respond on the other end. It’s rare, rare in a way that it was during the ten years they were more or less parted and not in the way it’s been for the last few days. Like something is there that he’s been missing. Something that he’s supposed to know well. A truly important part. It reminds him that he never wants the bond to be that closed again.

“Alex.” He refocuses as he hears his name sharply spoken by Charlie. “We’re gonna be there in 30 minutes. You ready?”

“Yes. Can you get us in?”

“I’ll try.” Charlie gives him a wry smile. “You might need to use your last name too.”

He nods, much too used to throwing the Manes name around. “I will. I’ll use Flint’s name too if needed.”

“Good.”

He fades out again, not really listening as Jenna, Kyle and Charlie discuss something. He hearsDeep Sky being mentioned but he doesn’t care right now, he’ll worry about them later. He’ll worry about them when he starts worrying about his dad, who’s back in the hospital after the pistol whipping Alex gave him. Hopefully he’ll stay there for a long time so he doesn’t have to deal with him any time soon. But knowing his luck that won’t happen.

Regardless of what happens, Michael is his priority now. The way he should have been a long time ago. They’ve grown and worked on being friends this past year, something they’ve needed to become a better them. Maybe he wished Maria wasn’t part of that, but at the same time he understands. Michael couldn’t be good for him, with all the shit between them. At least he got to be good for someone else.

“We’re here,” Charlie says, stopping the car not far from the ruins of Caulfield. Alex focuses on the fence and military green base tents instead of the ruins, so he doesn’t have to think about what happened there. He knows it would devastate Michael if he knew he was here, so close to the remains of his mother and her prison. “Jenna, you and Kyle stay with the car. We’ll call you if we need you.”

“The rest of them?”

Charlie gives him a look as they get out and walk towards the gate. “Wow, you really were out of it. Parked about half an hour back, they shouldn’t be too close.”

“Jenna and Kyle?”

“Both read in, Jenna because she’s my sister, Kyle because he’s a Valenti and part of Shepherd.” Charlie gives him a reassuring look, and he’s thankful he’s not alone. “They’ll be fine. And so will we.”

He nods. He does believe her, but this close it’s taking most of his concentration not to get lost in the fluctuations of the bond. It flits in and out of existence in his brain and it’s making it hard to focus.

Afterwards he can’t tell you how they got into the makeshift compound of Deep Sky. He can’t tell you that Charlie used her connections as a former member, he can’t tell you that he put emphasis on the Captain Alex Manes, he can’t tell you that a call to Flint was the last piece of the puzzle.

The only thing he can tell you is how the visual of Michael’s body on a cold metal table almost made him puke. How the vision he had when in the mindscape with Isobel was Michael looking healthy and like he was asleep, it’s not the one he sees on that table. Michael looks cold, blue, like a sunken in version of the healthy man he supposedly was.

He can tell you how it hurt when he tried to breathe. How he had a physical pain in the pit of his stomach, a psychological pain in the back of his mind, tearing through him as he looked at the body on that table. How that body was no longer Michael, even though it looked like him.

He can tell you how it devastated him.

But standing beside the man he loves, the only thing he can do is cry. Silent, deep tears that run down his face as he hears Charlie talk to the commanding officer behind him. He doesn’t know what she’s saying, or what she’s doing.

He knows now why the bond is flitting in and out.

-----

An hour later they’re back in the car. Charlie is driving, Jenna is in the passenger seat, Kyle is in the back seat. And Alex… Alex is safe in the warm embrace of Michael’s arms as they drive back towards Roswell.

He meets Charlie’s eyes in the mirror. For now it’ll stay a secret between them, what happened in that compound.

-----

A day later Alex finds himself walking out of his house just as Flint parks in front of it and gets out of his truck. Both of them are apprehensive, but all the same determined. Like Manes men are.

“He was dead, wasn’t he?”

Flint walks towards him, an apologetic smile on his face. “Yeah.”

“Then how the hell is he alive, Flint? You sent me after him even knowing he was dead. Why?”

“You remember Uncle Tripp?” Flint huffs at the look Alex sends him. “He did the same thing once. The scientists at Caulfield killed an alien and he brought her back. Just laid his hands on her, cried, and suddenly she was alive again. Turns out they were soulmates. I figured if it worked for him, it would work for you.”

Something inside Alex tells him that he knows exactly who that alien was but for now he just smiles, a small smile, unsure yet happy. “Thank you, Flint. He’s alive because of you.”

“Yeah well. I might not be the best at it, but you are my brother, Alex. After kidnapping you I guess I owed you that much.”

Alex can’t help it, he laughs out loud and drags Flint into a hug. “You’re an asshole.”

“I love you too, Alex,” Flint replies, hugging him back. Alex tilts his head even closer as Flint does the same, both of them having no doubts that the other means it. Their relationship might not always be the best, both of them being who they are, but they’ll always be brothers.

“I’m going to take them down, Flint. I have too much at stake not to,” he whispers in Flint’s ear before he pulls away, looking back towards his house where Michael is resting peacefully.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” Flint replies. “Dad can’t hold anything against me anymore. And Clay’s been against this whole thing for years.”

“Greg is in too. I guess the Manes men are going to war.”

Flint grins, his grin and Alex’s matching both in intensity and in the joy of fucking something up. The way they learnt not only from Jesse Manes, but from their mom as well.

“Hoorah.”

They part after that, quick goodbyes before Flint gets in his truck and drives away, Alex walking back into the house and into his bedroom, laying down beside Michael. They still have so much to talk about, so much to figure out. But for now the bond soars as Alex gathers Michael close, the intensity of both their love and adoration wrapping around them like a blanket.

It’s warm, safe. It’s just enough.

Authors note: No, Michael wasn’t really dead in the beginning. But you kept talking about me killing them all the time, so he became dead for you.

#roswell new mexico #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #malex #i hope you like part two #oh and i'm sorry for lying #i didn’t actually mean to lie #it just happened

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fiive-second-cookies · 5 years

Text

(Un)Welcome Company

@tinymeowser chose the prompt “Why? Since when did you care?” from this prompt list by @faintblueivy, so here ya go. The “Nag-ini” nickname came from @really-sleep-deprived-nerd so thank you!!

Too many italics? Maybe, but who cares

Summary: Deceit just wanted to escape the chaos of the Mindscape. He didn’t expect to find Roman in the Imagination doing the same thing. But, hey, since he’s already here, may as well help the prince sort out his problems, right?

Pairing: it’s meant to be implied pre-Roceit, but that’s not extremely obvious so you don’t have to read it that way if you don’t want

Word Count: 2000 (yes, I did change sentences around to make it stay perfect like that)

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit, Remus is mentioned a few times, one curse word, tiny bit of crying at the very end, not a 100% happy ending, please let me know if there are more!

It was not an uncommon occurrence for Deceit to find himself in Imagination. Between Roman’s quests and battles, the realm was typically left as a peaceful meadow or forest, and served as a good place to escape from the rest of the world.

Today, the Imagination has taken the form of the latter. Deceit walks on a dirt path, with the dark trees towering high above his head, casting most of the forest floor into a shadow. Birds chatter overhead and animals rustle the nearby bushes. The sounds serve as calming background noise and all the tension leaves Deceit’s shoulders after just a few minutes of walking.

And all that tension promptly returns less than a minute later when Deceit makes it to the end of the path and discovers that he is not alone in the Imagination.

Roman stands on the bank of a shallow river, watching the water flow downstream. Deceit makes sure to move as quietly as possible. His presence probably wouldn’t be appreciated.

He stares at the normally-flamboyant side, frowning. His eyes rake over the other side’s hunched soldiers and down-turned head. That posture didn’t exactly scream “local dramatic, theater-loving side.”

“You know,” Deceit starts, taking a few steps forward. Roman’s head whips around, hand flying to the hilt of his sword. “You’ve done a wonderful job with this place.” Deceit gestures around them with a gloved hand.

Roman lets go of his sword and crosses his arms. “What are you doing here?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

“There’s no need for such hossstility, my dear prince.” Deceit pouts. “I’m definitely here to plot a malicious scheme and ruin your day. I obviously don’t have better ways to spend my time,” Deceit says, rolling his eyes.

Roman stares at the deceptive side for a moment, eyes traveling up and down, before letting out a breath and dropping his arms. At the very least, Deceit doesn’t look like he is about to attack, and that’s good enough for Roman. “Alright, sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have snapped at you, but I was just… surprised. Why are you here then?”

“Well, your brother can be… quite the handful, as I’m sure you’re aware. It is such a pleasure having to live with him all the time. It totally isn’t exhausting at all, and this isn’t the perfect place to escape from the chaos on our side of the Mindscape.”

Roman’s eyebrows furrow. That was surprising to hear. “Really? Wouldn’t you prefer to be, like, in your room, rather than here with all my ‘frivolous’ creations, as Logan once called them?”

“Roman, I wasn’t lying when I said that you’ve down a good job with this place. Your creations may be”—he tries not to grit his teeth—“‘frivolous’, but that doesn’t make them any less admirable.”

Roman ducks his head and rubs at the back of his neck. “Well, I—thank you,” he stutters, a smattering of pink covering his cheeks.

They fall into silence—well, as silent as a forest littered with animals and a river could be. Deceit steps up beside Roman, looking into said river. Colorful fish dance around the bottom, pushed along by the current. They clearly have a bit of “Roman flair” to them.

“I must admit, I, too, was surprised to find myself in company,” Deceit says, looking up at Roman. “Is there any particular reason you’re in here rather than with your… family?” He spits the last word as if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

Deceit doesn’t miss the way Roman’s shoulders tense up at his question.

“N-no, of course not,” Roman stammers out. “I was just, uh, in a creative mood and came here to release, uh, some… energy?” Very convincing.

Deceit hums, hiding a chuckle. “Yes, you sound so sure. I totally believe you.”

“You know what, Deceit?” Roman snaps. He really doesn’t want to deal with this right now. “Just… leave it alone, leave me alone. I don’t want your pity or whatever it is you’re aiming for by pretending to care about me. If you wanna stay in the Imagination, that’s fine. But I’m leaving, so you can drop the act, or whatever, alright?”

Roman turns around and starts to stomp away, shaking his head. Before he can get more than a few steps away, Deceit grabs his wrist carefully.

“Wait.” Roman looks back at Deceit with a glare, but doesn’t make an effort to release his wrist. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll leave if you want me to, since this is your realm. But you should know that I’m not acting. Tell me what’s wrong and I can try to help.”

Roman narrows his eyes. That seems very unlike the Deceit he’s used to. “Why? Since when did you care? When have you ever cared about me or how I feel?”

“Since when have I—? Roman, I’ve always cared about you! Admittedly, I may not be the best at showing it, but I care about you. All of you—you and Patton and Logan and Virgil. Hell, I even care about Remus, despite how much of a hassle he and the others are to take care of. It might be hard to believe, but I care about Thomas.” Deceit lets go of the other’s wrist and begins to pace.

Roman stands still, staring at the other with his mouth hanging open. “Deceit, I—”

Deceit cuts him off. “And I don’t just care about you because you’re part of Thomas’ creativity and he needs you. I… I need you, Roman!” Deceit freezes. He hadn’t meant to say that, but he got so caught up in the moment that his brain couldn’t keep up with his mouth. Breathing heavily, he looks at Roman.

“Deceit, I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—just… sorry.”

They both stare at each other for a moment. Neither of them ever expected for their day to end up here.

Deceit breaks the heavy silence by letting out a long breath. There’s no reason for them to dwell on his sudden moment of vulnerability. They need to get their focus back on Roman. Deceit adjusts his cape and brushes imaginary dust off his shoulders.

Clearing his throat, he plasters on a nonchalant smile before speaking. “No matter.” With his hands clasped, he strides back over to Roman. Wearing a sly grin, Deceit stops not even a foot away from him. “Back to the matter at hand.” Smirking, he leans up, stopping inches from Roman’s face. “What has the great and noble Prince Roman in such disssstress?”

A blush returns to Roman’s cheeks. The sudden closeness is surprising, but, for some reason, not entirely unwelcome. He averts his eyes from the scaled side in front of him and clears his throat. “Oh, well, I’m just feeling a little... under the weather.”

Deceit takes a step back, causing Roman to let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. Deceit crosses his arms and raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

Roman huffs. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’ve hit a slight creative roadblock as of late.” Deceit just stares at him. Roman groans. Deceit isn’t as easy to convince as Patton usually is. “And it might have something to do with a certain deodorant-eating brother of mine.”

Deceit raises his eyebrows when Roman fails to continue. He’s not going to let Roman get out of this. “Oh, is that all? Are you quite sure there’s nothing else?” he asks, examining his gloved fingers. “That perhaps you don’t feel a bit… underappreciated, or, dare I say, unwanted?”

Roman sucks in a breath. He really doesn’t like where this conversation is heading. Deceit just looks up at him with a bored expression.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Roman replies, puffing out his chest and turning his head away. He doubts Deceit will be fooled so easily, but it’s worth a shot.

“Oh, sweet Roman,” Deceit coos. It was a cute attempt, but, unfortunately for Roman, to no avail. Deceit reaches out to pat Roman’s cheek. “You know I’m a master of deception. I can tell when you’re lying to me.” Deceit drops his hand to lay atop Roman’s crossed arms. “And, if you haven’t noticed, I pay attention to you, probably better than any of those buffoons you live with.”

“Don’t insult my family,” Roman snaps with a glare.

Deceit holds his hands up in mock-surrender. “Sorry, my prince.” He bows slightly. “Old habits die hard I suppose.” He leans back up with a mocking smile.

Roman glares at Deceit for several moments before letting out a dramatic sigh. If Deceit isn’t going to drop it, then there’s no point beating around the bush.

“Okay, so maybe you’re right, but it doesn’t matter,” he says, throwing his hands up. “I will defeat this mental beast just as I do with any physical beasts! I am a prince, and princes do not have time to dwell on battles as silly as this! There are Dragon Witches and evil beings out there that must be slayed!” He finishes with his arms up in his usual princely pose.

Deceit reaches up to push Roman’s arm down a little. Now is not the time for malevolent declarations. “Yes, because it definitely isn’t important to take breaks sometimes, and refusing to acknowledge your mental state will make you feel utterly fantastic,” Deceit comments, rolling his eyes.

Roman drops his arms with a pout. “Okay, Nag-ini, what exactly are you suggesting I do instead? What, talk to the others about how I feel?” he asks, laughing.

Deceit stares at the other with wide eyes, jaw slack. “You have to be joking.” He’s beginning to wonder if Roman’s gorgeous head is too full of brilliant ideas and there’s no room left for him to actually think. He rubs at his temples with a soft groan. “Roman, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting you do!”

Roman’s eyebrows furrow. That’s not what he expected. “What? Why would I do that?”

“Oh, I have no idea,” Deceit says mockingly. “Maybe because they’re your family? Because they care about you? Because they want you to be happy? Do I need to keep going?”

Roman shakes his head. “Deceit, these issues are mine. I don’t need to—to… to burden them with my problems!”

“Roman, I can easily say you are the opposite of a burden. Can’t you see that they want to help you? That’s what family is for!”

“What do you know about family?!” Roman shouts.

Deceit freezes. The comment stung, though he’d never admit it. He staggers back a few steps.

Roman’s mouth and eyes are wide, shocked at his own outburst.

The silence between them is heavy and loaded. Even the animals in the forest seem to be holding their breath for whatever happens next.

Deceit turns his face away from Roman. When he speaks, it’s just above a whisper.

“Apparently, more than you.”

Roman watches as Deceit turns around, head lowered. Roman slowly shakes his head, reaching a hand out. The words had just slipped out! He was too caught up in the heat of the moment! Deceit was bringing up stuff he didn’t want to talk about, and making an absurd suggestion! He didn’t mean it!

“Deceit, I—”

Deceit shakes his head to silence him. He’d tried, but if Roman won’t listen to him, then he isn’t going to waste his breath.

Glancing back, his eyes are narrowed as he speaks. “I’m so sorry for invading your space. I’ll make sure not to offer my help next time. Talk to them, or wallow in your self-hatred. I definitely don’t care anymore. Good luck, Roman.”

With that, Deceit walks away, back down the path. Away from Roman.

Tears well up in Roman’s eyes, and one manages to slip down his cheek. The whole day has gone horribly wrong. He wishes he could take those words back.

“Deceit, wait! I didn’t mean to…” but Deceit is gone, and Roman is once again alone with only his thoughts for company.

If you see any “/”s around words, please let me know because that means I forgot to italicize it lol. This is my first time writing Deceit, and I think I did pretty well! I hope you enjoyed! Don’t be afraid to reblog :)

#sanders sides #roceit #deceit sanders #roman sanders #sympathetic deceit #i wrote a thing #ts roman #ts deceit #thomas sanders #remus sanders mention #cursing #swearing

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mars-barssss · 5 years

Note

heya, it's me again! ((I still dont know why people dont ask on this)) I saw your reblog and wanted to ask about your fav sanders sides headcanons? also, I ADORE your sticks and stones fic! 😁😁

Oh! Thank you! I’ll probably be updating that fic and my first fic on here soon. Either way, it still means a lot that you like my stuff.

And for my favorite headcanons? I’ve got a few- sorry if this is long-

One, I love the headcanon that Virgil is like really protective. Just because of the nature of his side being so overly protective of Thomas, I’d think he’d be just as protective of the other sides. (EX, If they are all having a sleepover thing in the living room, he’d probably wake up naturally at like 1 AM, just to slip away and look around for dangers. Then he’d always slip back so he didn’t worry them.)

Also, another thing to say about that one, Virgil would notice little changes in someone if they’re trying to hide an emotion/stressed/lying. Anxiety is all about over-thinking and reacting to dangerous stuff, and at least for me, over-analyzing other people’s actions. (EX, If Patton was trying to put a fake smile over his problems, he would notice the tiny clues about it.)

---

Two, Logan used to be a lot more better off than now. When Thomas was younger, he used to get listened to a lot. Whether because of just school, or the major Thomas was supposed to go to, either way Logan was heard. Sometimes he’d be unheard, but not often. Logan always could go on and on about the stuff Thomas loved, that was more educational. Like stars, science, anything along those lines. He could go on and on about stars, especially! But one day, somethings just became more realistic. Gushing about stars wasn’t enough anymore in the real world, and his own logic had to shift. His excitement and smiles when he ranted about stars disappeared one day, the other sides say. The other sides also used to say, he was a lot more fun back then.

---

Three, I love the idea of Spider!Virgil. The spider legs on his back and other eyes as his animal trait. I forgot who exactly came up with the headcanon, but I love it. Also, the idea of Patton having to get over his fear because of his dark strange son is cute, and the idea of Roman not believing all people who look like villains are villains is nice too.

---

Four, it’s about the whole issue with the dark sides and Virgil. I believe that Virgil was happy with them originally, but they began to get ambitious. Like, eventually, Deceit was a like, “We totally couldn’t change the tables, right? We shouldn’t even try.” Once the idea was out, after all of their time locked beneath the light side’s common room, the dark sides could only talk about it.

Except Anxiety. Honestly, Virgil didn’t like it, since while he knew his dark!family was excited for a chance to help Thomas, even Virgil knew it’d be a bad idea. When they tried to excite him about it, he just grew more recluse. Eventually, they told Virgil to go to the light sides and cause some problems. If that was all he had to do to keep them from bugging him about the idea, he would gladly do it. However, he slowly began to like the sides. And then Accepting Anxiety happens.

He becomes a part of their family. And the dark sides are not happy at all about it. When Remus specifically calls him into his room, Virgil already knew it wouldn’t be good. He was already wearing his new purple hoodie, although this one is different than the one we see in the video he reveals it. It’s like his original with the plaid, but it’s just a brighter purple and clean. But a few moments after he rose into Remus’s room, he saw Deceit there as well as few other dark sides. Moments later, the hoodie was torn off of him and ripped, by the decency of Remus. After getting beaten a bit, Deceit is the last one in the room. He tilts Virgil’s head up, and asks if he’s going to return to his “family”.

Virgil says yes, because you can’t lie to the embodiment of lies. Deceit kicks him in the leg, before leaving him by himself in the room. Virgil stumbles up, looks at his ruined hoodie. (This was before the harry potter houses video.) He takes a few pieces of the hoodie that was completely ripped off. Pieces of purple plaid fabric. In his room, he tries again, sewing these pieces to a black hoodie, adding large stitches and his symbol this time.

And this time he wouldn’t let it get destroyed.

---

Five, dark sides again, between each other and others, dark sides seemed to have no names. They were born with them, but they never said it. They believed that it was a weakness, to have or use them. That’s why Deceit never had his name revealed. Remus, he revealed his name, to try to fit in with the light sides. Because maybe it’d have them trust him more. Virgil, well, he only said his name when he trusted them, after being saved. His hesitancy was just a mark from being a dark side. Deceit, in later ones, called Virgil by his name as more of a taunt, as well as Remus, because after he betrayed him, Virgil’s actual name got around the mindscape.

---

Six, it’s about the whole creativity split thing. Morality believed he genuinely was doing good at first. He was ignorant at what his actions would do at the moment. Thomas was just a kid, and a drawing from Creativity got Moralitys attention. Thomas’s brother being electrocuted. Morality knew that wasn’t a good thing, and it sent him a bit off-guard. Later, Creativity had been slowly changing. He was muttering to himself, almost a full-conversation. He kept having both pure and wonderful ideas, and the most questionable that the other sides have ever seen. The conversations slowly got even worse as days passed. Creativity was being heightened and almost insane, but completely stable. Like the two entities were fine with being together, but screamed for their ideas to be heard.

Anxiety remained on the sidelines, watching the creative side curiously. At this point in time, Dark and Light sides weren’t formed yet. Although, Anxiety still kept to himself, besides a few conversations. He wasn’t hated, he was just a bit of an outsider. Thomas’s anxiety wasn’t the worst in these years, so it was more like he was Fear/Caution. Deceit also watched from a distance, as Morality began to approach the side, which was now freaking out between drawing a gorey drawing and a drawing of a prince. They turned to Morality when he approached. “Yes Padre? What does he want- I don’t know. Will he tell us- yes of course, just shush-!”

That sentence that came quickly out of the creative side’s voice made Patton stiffen. When Creativity looked back up at Patton, Patton could see his eyes were two different colors. Green, and Red. It used to be brown.

Morality’s powers tingled at his fingertips. He ability of judgement, the ability of morality. The knowledge of bad and good. Right and wrong. He had never used it before, and never even felt his power until now. He didn’t even know what would happen if he used it. But Creativity was slowly becoming catatonic, and he already moved to reach at the side. It almost felt natural, but he reached forward, gripping at where the side’s heart would have been. And in a bright light of red and green, two new sides were formed, laying on the ground.

And immediately, both sides rung out in a confused, “WHO ARE YOU-?!?”

Morality stumbled back in shock of everything, staring at his hands. The power was gone, and his eyes raised to the two new sides. One was green, and one was red. “H-Heya kiddo- kiddos!” Morality backed up nervously, glancing to the under sides. Both Red and Green looked at him curiously. Each had one eye that matched their colors, the other was still brown, like the original creativity. “D-Do you remember me? C-Creativity?”

They looked at Morality confused. They both tilted their heads at each other. The differences soon became obvious to all sides involved. The strange ideas that came from Creativity were in Green now, and Red had all of the nice ideas.

The two twins were seemingly inseparable. They held hands, played make believe with each other, etc... (They even got Anxiety to play with them both at one point. As the damsel in the distress, actually. Back then, Anxiety wasn’t the villain.)

Morality didn’t like the strange ideas that came from Green. It made him nervous, for Thomas. And honestly, Green was the only one of the twins that caused harm to the other sides. Red seemed okay. Green kept hitting people and laughing. It never seemed to hurt Logic, but it hurt Morality.

Anxiety was even getting nervous, the poor kiddo.

So, Morality went to Deceit. Asking for if he could hide that aspect of Thomas, fearing it would mean more to Thomas than anyone would thought. Besides, Adults were suddenly giving Thomas more strange looks when he brought up ideas.

Deceit said he could hide them, but that could cause more problems.

Eventually, the deal came down to Deceit taking and hiding Green, since Deceit honestly liked him more, and Morality taking Red. Logic remained by Morality, but Anxiety was more or not taken. Deceit convinced Anxiety to come with them, without the Moral side knowing. Anxiety didn’t know why.

But that was the beginning of the great split between the sides.

---

I hope that’s good! I might actually write something based on my last headcanon! I’ll be updating some older fics soon!

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team-free-squiggle · 6 years

Note

I have a sanders side idea. Sorry if it sounds bad. But what if the other sides were making Virgil feel bad. And like they didn’t mean to but they were planning something for him or they were just trying to keep a secret that would make him happy. That they wanted to surprise him with. And he thinks they’re upset with him or that they hated him so he leaves and goes back to living with the dark sides So the others go to find him and convince him to go back home.Prince/Anxiety if you need a ship.

This is actually perfect, oh my goodness, thank you so much for sending me this prompt! @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl! Sorry it’s taken me so long to get to it, though!

A Present Different From the Past

~~Fandom: Sanders Sides

Prompt: above

Characters: Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, (sympathetic) Deceit Sanders, Thomas Sanders, OC Disinterest Sanders, OC Pride Sanders, OC Greed Sanders

Relationships: None, just platonic super good friendships!

Warnings: Deceit as a character (sympathetic though), Virgil thinking self-depricating thoughts, Anxiety (both as a character and as an emotion), Virgil angst because he misinterpreted stuff

~~Virgil loved his FamILY. He and the others were long past the point of considering Anxiety as a villain, were long past the point of making Virgil the outcast.

He was at every dinner (Patton’s cooking was amazing), did every adventure he could with Roman (the Prince was so reckless and needed someone to look out for him, I mean honestly. Virgil did enjoy the time they spent together, though). He always helped Logan when the logical side would study the stars, finding out that mapping constellations never failed to calm him down.

Even Deceit was a good guy, in Virgil’s book. And in the other’s. They had originally bonded over being the only two Sides to wear any form of Black, and their friendship had evolved ever since. Deceit was Deceit; Virgil knew that; but he also knew that Dee, like himself, was there for self-preservation. The two of them would often sit down in comfy beds, put on Netflix or some music, and would knit (or in Deceit’s case, crochet) or something similar.

Virgil loved all of his FamILY. All the Sides.

They were all good to each other, and all cared about each other.

Then things started to change.

First, it was Deceit.

Virgil was always the latest down to breakfast, to most meals in fact; he had never once, in his life, not been last to the breakfast table.

Then, all of a sudden, Deceit came last. Every day, for about a week.

At first, Virgil had chalked it up to the snake staying up later to talk with the Figments more and more. Then Roman acted differently.

Whenever Virgil walked into the room, he looked like he had just shoved something behind his back. He would smile, make a grand gesture, and Virgil would always forget about it until later.

Next came Patton.

Patton could often be seen whispering with Deceit, and the two of them sitting with Roman, clearly hunched over something and talking secretivly.

Virgil knew something was wrong. There were almost questioning glances thrown his way, as if asking what he was still doing there. There was hunched over whispering that abruptly ended when he walked into his room.

By the next week, even Logan had joined in. No one invited him to anything anymore.

Virgil still came down for meals, but was told that the other four needed movie nights for something. They needed Virgil to not be there.

Logan was the one who told him that. He said he was sorry.

Virgil didn’t believe him.

That wasn’t what broke him, however.

No, it was when Virgil came down one time. He was fully intending to ask them what exactly was going on, what had made them all change their ways so suddenly around him.

He went into the living room, and paused. The four others were on the couch. And then suddenly, Patton and Deceit were cowering together, with Roman and Logan standing in front of them.

“Guys…? What’s going on?” Virgil was worried, for them, for himself.

“Go away, Virgil! You can’t be down here!” At first, Virgil thought it was Roman who spoke. Then his heart broke.

It was Patton. Patton wanted him away, didn’t want to be near him.

“Deceit, what - Patton, please - guys, what is happening?!” Virgil desperately tried not to cry out, confused and terrified. Terrified that they didn’t want to be with him anymore.

Deceit spoke up. “We don’t want you around, Virgil.”

The problem is, Virgil didn’t hear that it was Deceit. No, he thought it was Patton saying it again. So he ran.

He ran to his room, conjured a bag, and grabbed all of his stuff. He made sure his door was locked, so that he could make his escape without any of the others seeing him.

He walked over to his window, quickly crawling out of it. He had made it so his window was on the first floor of the house (even if the room itself was on the second floor), just in case of emergency. He was grateful for his foresight now, as he ran.

Thomas noticed it when Anxiety ran. He felt his Anxiety dripping away, running.

Virgil was gone.

Thomas sunk down. “Guys, where the hell is Virgil?”

Deceit, Patton, Logan, and Roman looked up. “He ran to his room, why?”

“Because I don’t fear Death.” Thomas smiled, looking around. He saw something on the coffee table.

“Oooo, were you guys doing a thing? Those look cool!” He pointed at the object.

Roman smiled. “Yeah, we were working on a present for Virgil actually. But he was always around, and it’s a surprise, so we had to send him away.”

Patton glared at Deceit. “Still, it was cruel to pretend to be me and say that ‘I’ wanted him gone.”

Deceit sighed. “I don’t know what you mean, I just wanted Virgil’s surprise to be ruined.” Logan sighed.

“Nonetheless, I think Virgil might have taken it the wrong way. Why else would he have ducked out again?”

“Quack.” Patton said. Roman’s eyes widened.

“Oh no, he would have - oh Roman, you dunce…” the Prince began to mutter to himself.

“Let’s go find Anxiety!” Patton declared, and Thomas tried to transport them all to Virgil’s room.

No one moved anywhere.

“It’s unlocked, clearly.” Deceit murmured. Logan looked at the yellow side in surprise.

“How would you know that?” The logical side was confused.

“Because I totally don’t keep mine locked all the time.” The Side pointed out.

Logan was still confused. “But Thomas is the Host, he has to be able to go anywhere. He has to be able to find all of his Sides, to have them all.”

“But only if the Side is there.” Patton spoke up, looking up at Thomas with widened eyes.

“He has to be able to find all of his sides - so the room is only gonna be unlocked if the side in question is in there.”

Deceit shook his head, showing that he agreed.

“Thomas, focus on Virgil. Take us to him, you are the only one of us who can find him.” Logan was saying.

‘Thomas took a deep breath, trying to remember exactly what he felt like whenever he was around Virgil. He found that feeling, and tried to throw it through his mind, to see if he felt anything similar anywhere in the mindscape. And he did.

He focused on the small response, that felt like Virgil, and sent himself and the others there. Lo and behold, Virgil was there. But there were others there too. Others that Thomas had never met.

Deceit stepped in front of Thomas protectively.

“Disinterest, Pride, Greed. What the fuck do you think you are doing.” The Lying Side’s voice was low and dangerous, and sent shivers down everyone’s spine.

Anxiety was back in working order.

“He was running, crying! How could we not bring him back here, to care for him!” Greed smirked. Deceit glared.

“Lying is my department. You just want to collect another little toy, don’t you, Greed?”

The green side stepped back indignantly.

Roman stepped up by Deceit, surveying the situation.

Virgil was surrounded by the Dark Sides. Disinterest, Anxiety’s opposite, was in a corner standing lazily. Not a threat.

Greed - Roman’s own opposite - had just been taken care of by Dee.

Pride was Logan’s opposite, the only one left.

Roman decided to take charge, literally.

Pride opened his mouth, but he never got a word in edgewise.

The Prince ran up to the orange side, pulling out his sword, and hit him on the head with the hilt of the sword.

Disinterest still watched casually from the corner, staring at his nails halfheartedly.

Roman helped Virgil, who had been on the floor, up.

“Anxiety. Come with us.” Deceit’s voice had a hard edge to it that made them all shiver, because they knew that he was telling the truth for once.

Thomas transported them, wide-eyed, back to the Light Side’s house.

Virgil was shaking, and though Patton tried to hug him, the Anxious Side shied away.

“Virgil, what happened?” Thomas’ voice was soft, sad. Virgil flinched.

“I ran to them. They crowded around me, asking me to tell them how they could take you over. Greed, remember. But then you came in and saved me. Thanks for nothing, by the way.” Virgil glared at them, taking the other Light Sides aback.

“Virgil… what? Why would you go… to them?” Patton’s voice was soft, saddened. Virgil whirled on him, fight starting to kick in now that flight hadn’t worked.

“Because of you! Because for the last month you all have been acting weirder and weirder around me! Because you’re my FamILY and I love you and I don’t think you love me anymore! Because I came down to ask you what I had done to make you all hate me and I couldn’t get a word in, even, because you - you, Patton! My Best Friend! - said you didn’t want me here!”

Virgil wasn’t crying like he had been when he left. Flight was gone. Fight was in.

Until Thomas stepped in.

“Virgil… I can’t speak for what they did or did not do… but what I do know is that there is a very good reason for their behavior. And it’s not my story to tell, so I shall leave. Just don’t duck out again?”

Virgil saluted Thomas, who nodded and smiled back as he ducked out.

“Quack.” Said Patton.

Logan decided to speak up.

“Virgil. First off, I must apologize. For whatever we might have made you think or feel. We just… we wanted to do something for you.”

“For me?” The anxious side repeated, stunned.

“Yes!” Patton spoke up eagerly. “Can we give it to him, guys?!” The others nodded, so Patton bounded up and handed a wrapped package to Virgil.

“Oh, and Virgil?” Deceit spoke up as Virgil sat on the couch.

“Yeah?” He paused before opening the present, looking up at Deceit.

“Patton didn’t say those things - it was me. We really really don’t want you here.”

Virgil smiled, still confused. And then he realized - they had made something for him.

That’s why they had been avoiding him - not because they hated him, but because they were doing something for him to show that they truly cared about him!

Virgil felt more than slightly stupid.

“I’m sorry guys, I didn’t think, I… I’m sorry I assumed the worst.” He finished quietly.

Roman grabbed Virgil’s wrists, letting the Anxious side look at him as he smiled.

“Why, Panic! at the Everywhere, we love you for that. You are what keeps Thomas - and therefore us - safe. You are supposed to assume the worst, and hey, we know your fight - or - flight reflexes work!” Roman smiled.

Virgil giggled, Roman somehow managing to cheer him up with those few words alone.

He nodded, finally opening the present. He pulled out the handmade cat ear wireless headphones, smiling widely.

They were black, with purple accents, and each side of the actual headphone had a handmade version of Virgil’s logo on it.

He slipped them on his head, smiling.

“I love them so much, thank you!” Virgil was happy. The others were glad he liked it, and were admittedly slightly upset that they hadn’t thought of the potential of Virgil having an adverse reaction to a surprise.

But as they all cuddled that night happily watching Tim Burton movies together, they knew that they wouldn’t trade each other for the world.

They were a FamILY. And they would always be there for each other, no matter what.

Fight or Flight, am i right?

I hope you enjoyed!

Tag List

(Sanders Sides)

@astraastro

@madly-handsome

@amber1594

@lie-lie-birdy

@thebaagelboy

@justanotherpurplebutterfly

@ravenclawunicorn1

@ako1209

@princessbelix

@water13girl

@romanasanders

@deathshadowrules

@virgils-jacket

@fandomsofrandom

@cochroachkappa-blog

@zoeyheys

@chipminkle

@6tick6tock6

@maizieandbirds

@panic-at-theeverywhere

@not-my-patton

@cookieturtleart123

@confinesofpersonalknowledge

@generalfandomfabulousness

@thegirlofwolvesandfangs

@toujours-fidele

@light-it-on-fire

@ghostmaster83

(All)

@birdybabybird

@awesomelissawho

@funsizedgremlin

@surviving-an-ocean-of-fandoms

@teacupfulofstarshine

@am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell

#prompt #virgil centered #lamp sanders #symp. dee #angel writes #thomas sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fics

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dubsdeedubs · 6 years

Text

An Outreached Hand [4/?]

Summary: On a cold winter’s day in 1982, Stan Pines shows up at his brother’s door with two cats tucked in his jacket and no heartbeat in his chest.

Notes: A sort-of Ghost Trick AU, but requires no previous knowledge of that whatsoever to read. Not exactly for Stanuary anymore, but started as something for it!

feat. mistakes, miscommunications, and misunderstandings

[AO3]

Additional things for comprehension’s sake:

the ghost world shows up in ghost trick - it's a place outside of time where spirits hang out, where they're visible and can communicate with each other or with living creatures/people through thought. they can also choose their appearances based on their personal image of themselves.

(to people who have played through ghost trick: had to change it up a bit because no one has the power to go back 4 minutes before death in this verse. not yet, at least.)

i'll be in japan for the next two weeks, however, so it might take a while for me to get the next part written ;; wish me luck!

Ford lays his brother's body down, gently on the single battered couch of the living room.

After a long moment of hesitation, he leans over and shuts Stan's eyelids with two trembling fingers. Something about the cool waxiness of the contact makes Ford's skin crawl and his stomach twist sharply.

He glances up slightly, force of habit, and his brother's face is right there. That's when he realizes with slow-mounting horror that Stan's expression is still contorted in agony, frozen into a final silent scream.

you did this

- and Ford jerks away, staggering back a few steps with his eyes shut tightly, as if he could physically block out what he had just seen.

His foot slips, and he lands painfully on the wooden floor. The room is quiet except for the sound of his own ragged breathing, and it is as Ford sits there - eyes still clenched closed, heart hammering in his chest - that he remembers the book he still held tightly in his shaking hands.

The book he had killed his brother for.

When Ford looks down at his journal, he sees his own horrified expression reflected back at him.

Despite himself, he's reminded of the furious betrayal that had contorted Stan's face, back during their fight. When he had reached out for the journal and Ford hadn't known what to do, when Ford had said the first thing that came to mind that would make his brother stop - something he had more or less meant, to some degree and in some circumstances and maybe with a few dozen stipulations.

That he had ruined nonetheless.

Because he had said it, but he had also used it.

that was low

And now his brother was -

Was.

He hadn't shed tears because of, for Stanley since the night it all began.

There are emotions that Ford has been building up for ten years now, all dammed up in some deep and distant part of him that - he tells himself - doesn't need to regret. Every ignored uncertainty and suppressed thought, of where is he and is he alright and could I have done something, slipping and sliding over each other for an entire decade. He's avoided them for so long that he has wondered if they were even still there.

He's not wondering that anymore.

Sitting on that dusty wooden floor, clutching the journal so hard he thinks his fingernails leave dents on the cover, Ford begins to cry.

He recalls the night Stanley left, the desperate hope in his eyes until Ford shut the curtains on him in more ways than one. He remembers being so desperately happy to move into his first college dorm even though there was no privacy at all and his roommate claimed to be able to speak in tongues, because it had become impossible to sleep in his own room without the rumbling snores of his brother slumbering in the bunk bed below his.

And then, even before he realizes it, he's thinking about the months of paranoia and fear. Of waking up one day splattered with blood he hoped desperately was his, and deciding finally that he couldn't take anymore.

That there was just one person who would understand, who would realize what he was really asking. Who could help him in this one final way.

And, how wrong it had all went.

He doesn't know how long he's there, just that the tears coming down his cheeks don't seem like they'll ever stop. It's difficult to find a reason to do anything else.

And then, he hears a quiet mew.

Ford looks up, and his heart breaks.

With everything that had happened downstairs, he had almost forgotten about Stanley's cats.

But there they are now, padding over with a strange kind of synchronity, staring between him and the body of their owner with innocent, oblivious curiosity.

Before Ford can think to do or say anything at all, they lie down at the foot of the couch. One - Mabel, he thinks numbly - bats playfully at the limply hanging hand, entirely unperturbed by the lack of reaction.

They didn't understand.

Of course they didn't, Ford chides himself.

For all Stan had doted on them, they were still just animals.

"Hey," he says, and is startled to realize how rough and gravelly his voice has become from his earlier breakdown. "Come over here, kids."

They turn to look at him at once, and for the first time he notices their slit pupils, how their green eyes glint so vividly yellow in the shine of the light.

Ford scrambles backwards, terrified despite himself.

don't even think about it

He stops, rooted right there to the spot, and watches nauseously as the cats clamber easily onto the couch with their nimble feet and then, to perch on Stanley's unmoving form.

The cat, Dipper, settles in right on top of Stan's chest, inches away from where his face is still contorted in pain and fear, eyes open and staring into nothing. It blinks down at Ford, its large eyes flickering.

Then it lets out a single mournful wail and - Ford knows it's not at all logical, that the animal mind is limited, but he thinks it knows what he did.

He doesn't know what to do. Some entirely senseless part of him wants to beg for forgiveness.

Instead Ford says, "Kids, I'm right over here."

Before he can even begin to process his own words, the cats turn to stare at him as one.

A beat later, Mabel leaps down, and there's something very deliberate about the way it pads over to Ford, with a searching look that did not belong in the eyes of a cat.

Ford's mouth goes dry. He wants to crawl backwards and away, to get up and run, to do anything so he does not have to be here. But he's rooted to his spot by a potent mixture of guilt and terror, and even as the animal nudges him with its furry head, he can only stare.

That's when his hand reaches out of its own accord and scratches behind Mabel's ears in a smooth, familiar motion.

The way the cat reacts to it, with a satisfied purr and a languid stretch of its back, it's clear it has happened many times before.

"Sorry about the scare, pumpkin," his own mouth mutters. His expression is twisted into a wry grin that feels alien on his face.

Ford's breath hitches in his throat.

It's familiar, this nauseous sensation of being a passenger in his own body, the startling loss of control that came with being used.

All at once, he understands what's going on.

He jerks his hand away and scrambles back before landing painfully onto his own elbows, gasping for breath. Ford turns his head rapidly, up and left and right, as if he could find what - who he was searching for through sufficient repetition.

He isn't sure how he didn't notice earlier, but the world looks different, as if every shade of color had been drained from it to be replaced by a flat monochrome filter.

you've really scre - messed things up this time, huh sixer?

There is something strange about the Mindscape as it is now, with an odd blue tinge that infused every part of his surroundings. But there is nowhere else this could be, this place between physical reality and the incorporeality of thought and dreams.

And with that, there is only one possibility for who this is.

Ford pushes himself onto his feet and stands up, back straight and defiant.

"Bill."

There's a long, almost offended pause.

yeah, nope

and guess what

"That was low, Ford," his own mouth says out loud, in a voice that isn't his. "What you pulled back there, bringing up Dad. That was real da - arn low."

And just like that, it becomes hard to breathe.

Oh. Oh.

He knows that voice, knows it better than his own.

He - he hadn't expected this. His thoughts muddle up like oil paints, impossible to turn into coherent words.

"Stanley," Ford croaks, slow and disbelieving. He feels at his own chest frantically, as if he can find some evidence there of what is currently happening. "But you're - you're dead."

"I've been dead, you dingus."

"You - you're a ghost," he stutters, horrified realization spreading through him slow and raw. "You're possessing me right now. Speaking through my body."

"Yeah, well. Not like mine is an option now, considering what you did to it."

Ford flinches at the reminder.

"I didn't -" he tries, takes a deep breath. And another. "Stanley, I didn't mean to -"

"- You didn't mean to fake that apology?" Stan retorts acerbically, using Ford's own mouth. It's an odd sensation, cutting himself off. "Or you didn't mean to brand me?"

"No! Yes! I - I wasn't lying, Stanley. I meant what I said, I just -"

"- used it to get the upperhand?" His brother laughs, and the unhappy sound of it ricochets around Ford's eardrums like a bullet. "Look, Ford, if ya wanted me to actually believe that you meant what you said, you really shouldn't have gotten that kick in."

Ford goes quiet for a long moment. When he finally opens his mouth it's to say something he has needed to say for a long time.

Stan beats him to it. He stretches widely in Ford's body, lazy and long. Like he's trying to get comfortable.

"But I get it," his brother says casually. "You did what ya had to do, right?"

No, Ford can't say.

"So now, I'll do what I have to do."

There's a darker tone to his brother's voice now, one that makes his heart sink. "You cost me a body, Sixer. Seems like you should give me a hand." He wriggles Ford's hand to demonstrate his point.

"...Or, y'know, a bit more than that."

There's something familiar about what Stanley is saying, that twinges at some part of his memory that he had long tried to forget.

And just like that, it clicks.

Then it's a deal. From now until the end of time, Sixer!

"No," he says immediately, staggering backwards despite himself, unable to hide the fear in his voice. "No."

Stan takes over, easy as anything, and stands their feet flat and still on the wooden floor.

"...See, Ford," he says, all matter-of-fact. "The thing about that is, I'm not asking."

The worst thing is, Ford knows that.

With the level of control Stan could already exert over his body, even against his own direct will, there is no doubt that... if his brother wants to take over entirely, he can.

There iss nothing Ford could do about that, not without anyone else's assistance, not with nothing in the house with anti-possession powers - other than the sigil that had started this entire mess in the first place.

And maybe - it would serve him right, he thinks guiltily.

His actions had damned Stan to a short, miserable existence. It was only a matter of time before he was driven into mindlessess by an obsession with whatever he desired most in life, as all ghosts did.

And once that time came, Ford would have much bigger concerns than just being possessed by the spirit of his dead brother.

(Because he remembers easily the glinting anger in Stan's eyes back during their fight, the barely suppressed menace his brother had emanated from the moment he had arrived on Ford's doorstep.

He has a sneaking suspicion he knows exactly what Stanley wants - and what's more, who he wants it on.)

At least, those are the clear, logical thoughts he wants to have.

Right now, Ford is nowhere near them.

Instead, he's thinking - remembering - about the months of fear and regret, the experiences that had taught him how it felt to have his body puppeted by a sadistic force of nature.

(What would make this any different?)

Despite himself, he starts to tremble.

That's when he hears a voice - high, indignant, and... scolding?

Stan, stop messing with Uncle Ford! Can't you see he's high... hype...

The speaker breaks off sheepishly. Uhm, breathing really hard?

Just like that, Ford's body is his again.

He turns around slowly, hesitantly, and freezes.

Because - he's losing his mind.

He has to be, because there are two children sitting on the floor of his living room who certainly were not there before.

A little boy and a little girl, their cheeks round with baby fat, neither of them looking a day over twelve years old. They are... not identical, but close, enough so that they had to be directly related. The two have the same nose and face shape and build, and most of all, the same unruly brown curls that stuck up in gravity-defying tufts at the back of their heads.

...The same Pines curls. There is no ignoring that, no matter how much Ford tries.

Because there's an obstinate expression on the girl's face that is entirely, painfully familiar. There's a distinctive gap in her teeth.

For a moment, Ford thinks he's looking at Stanley Pines, age 10, from a reality in which his brother had embraced glitter as a fashion accessory.

She must had been the one who spoke, he realizes.

(Even though he knows that is not quite the right word for it. There is no sound transmitted from any point to another. It's... all thought and emotion and intent, in a way that he knows what has been said without hearing it.)

And the boy, with his oversized square-framed glasses and bomber jacket, looks just like himself as a child - eerily so. The only difference he can see is an odd pattern on the child's forehead, what looked to be a particularly prominent birthmark. He's staring at Ford with wide disbelieving eyes, as if Hanukkah had come early.

Ford wants to cry and laugh at the same time, because this is exactly what this day needed to become even stranger.

Kids, that - that was a joke, I swear, Stan says just a bit petulantly, in that same not-quite voice.

There's something about him now that feels entirely different from earlier, when he had been speaking through Ford's mouth. Softer, looser.

A bit more human.

We all know you have awful jokes, Stan, the boy grouses.

Yeah, don't think we forgot about the ketchup rat!

...Point taken. But trust me, I really don't want to stay in here any longer than I have to.

He can practically see the grimace on his brother's face. Feels like it's been two weeks since this body's last had a shower.

There's nothing wrong with that! Sometimes I don't groom myself for two weeks, the boy offers, in what seems to be an ill-thought attempt at defending Ford.

His sister scoots away from him immediately. Hey!

You're a pre-teen boy. End of story.

....Ford is entirely, uncomfortably lost.

At the very least, it seems his brother did not have immediate plans to co-opt his body and/or murder him in any particularly painful ways.

Perhaps, given his shift in personality in the presence of the children, not even at all.

And, the strange thing was, he knows he has seen this before. Not exactly, not even close. But the easy way that his brother had relaxed, his cold, violent anger dying down to something he could almost call grumpiness, and all because of the presence of those -

Kids.

That's the realization that sparks everything else. The pieces are all there, even if reality and logic is standing in their way.

But what place did sense and reason have in the events of the past few hours? How did they hold here?

"You're Dipper," he says blankly, eyes locked on the birthmark on the boy's head. "The cat, Dipper."

The boy fidgets. Um, yes?

"And - " Ford turns, even though most of him is currently undergoing a mental breakdown. "You must be... Mabel?" Even his own words sound ridiculous as he hears them. "You were the one that - nuzzled my hand, when we first met -"

Aww, Uncle Ford, you remembered me! The girl beams brightly.

Then her eyes widen in realization. Hey, I got, uhm, 'fine motor controls' now! I can shake your hand for real!

Even with the unreality of the current situation, Ford flinches automatically at the suggestion.

"I," he begins, taking a hesitant step backwards, already instinctively moving to hide his hands behind his back, "I don't know if that's a good idea -"

Mabel reaches out a small hand excitedly.

Six-fingered handshake? She asks, wiggling her fingers. All six of them. Ford can't help but stare. They're the best kind!

His words catch in his mouth.

"How do you have -" Ford says weakly, and changes his mind. "Why do you have six fingers?"

The girl blinks. Why not?

There's something about the matter-of-fact way she says it, that makes his mouth goes dry.

Shake your niece's hand, you dork.

Slowly, dazedly, he shakes her hand.

Their fingers slot together perfectly, in a way that Ford had never experienced before. But then again, he had also never shaken hands with another person with six fingers before. With the strangeness of the circumstances, however, he has to wonder if this particular situation counts.

He can't help but stare down, at how her small hand is so entirely enveloped in his slack grip. It feels entirely, terrifyingly solid.

See? The girl says excitedly.

Ford does. It means more to him than he's comfortable admitting.

Despite that, or much more possibly because of it, he lets go and withdraws his hand hastily.

"Stanley?" He asks frantically, looking around and then to nowhere in particular.

Yeah?

"Why - how are your cats human?"

Easy. They're not.

It is possibly the worst answer his brother could have given.

Ford sits down. Takes a breath. Covers his face with his hands.

"Explain."

#gf #gravity falls #ghost trick #gravity falls fic #stanley pines #stanford pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #my fic #return of the cats!!#they're the light of my life #(and of stan's unlife)#ford is both terrified and confused

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punkakess · 7 years

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Medieval royalty AU - Natray

Heyyyy, late I know!!! I’m not sure this fit into the Medieval category, i got excited and my fingers slipped. I’m not sure this is considered a drabble bc it’s over 2k words. Anyway, enjoy^^

Also, this is for Day 4 of the Gratsu AU Week

The Web Valley smelled of death. Thousands of bodies littering the ground, which had absolved so much blood to the point the crimson liquid overflowed the battlefield. Screams and cries of both courage and begs for pity resounded on the natural walls that climbed up high and surrounded the armies.

His armor, incrusted with rare gems, was heavy and ruined his equilibrium. His shield seemed more of a nuisance than protection, it impeded his movements. His helmet, decored with the crown, limited his vision, it made difficult to properly aim at his enemies’ hearts. All his attire obstructed his technique. However the king refused to take them off, even if all he needed was his sword. The ancient writing on its smooth surface was hidden under blood and gore, the hilt was slippery under his strong hold, drenched in sweat, yet it didn’t slip and never faltered. The weapon was made to the king, it loved him as much as he loved it.

They worked together, as a team. The magic was on the sword but the hero was the one who wielded the blade. Waving it with measured movements, slicing at metal and leather, flesh and bones until the foes before him bowed in bloody defeat. Nothing could stop them, together they were invincible. Together they could protect what was most important to them.

At least that’s what they thought.

A shout of his name, carried over the battle screams, caught the warriors’ attention. The voice was incontestable and a shiver of fear as well as excitement made the little hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. The king’s eyes darted around, frantically searching for the one destined to help him achieve victory. Every hero needed a lover, someone to share an invincible love. Despair filled his mind when the search ended with empty results.

Where was his lover?

“Are you searching for this little fly?” The dark sorcerer questioned with sarcasm.

The silence that settled over the battlefield was quelling and made the fear flooding his body all the more clear. Never before it had clamped its claws so tight as at that moment, when his eyes fell on the scene of his love struggling to breath as the dark sorcerer lifted him from the ground by his elegant neck. The lord of dark magic squeezed a little bit more, digging black painted, enlogated nails on olive skin and the king’s fiancé chocked on a whimper.

The painful sound made the king’s heart sink and his hold on the sword tightened. Maybe if he used more magic than usual, he would be able to reach both his enemy and lover before anything drastic happened. Several men separated him from the duo but they were nothing but insects compared to the power the sword possessed.

For a moment he locked eyes with his destined rival and immediately regretted for he caught the dangerous glint in those charcoal orbs. He hesitated. The dark sorcerer smiled insanely. A black blade teared through abdominal muscles. His lover’s scream of agony lasted only a few seconds before his slender body fell to the ground like a rag doll.

The wail of fury penetrated the hearts of all the warriors there present. It embed in them the pain in which the king was drowning. Red hot anger invaded the very soul of the hero who surged forward with a feral howl, slashing away and at random, disposing of who dared to stand between him and the one who murdered his reason to live. The king went berserker, his consciousness faded as his self retreated into his mindscape. The magic of the sword, which took form of a powerful, blood-thirsty dragon took over the body. It didn’t differ foe and ally.

Yes, his armor was heavy so he unceremoniously discarded it, baring his torso, showing the dragon like tattoo on his shoulder. The shield had been dropped even before. The helmet supporting the crown, also heavy in so many ways, was thrown far away, freeing his vision. Now, with unlimited mobility, the king crouched in a fighting position, presenting the dark sorcerer a challenge. Only one chance. Only one blow. Only one survivor. The corrupted man crouched in a similar position, accepting the challenge.

They both gazed into each other’s eyes, expressions expectedly different, giving away their thoughts and emotions. A sadist smirk for a mad man and an animalistic snarl for a revengeful man. Not a word was said. Bodies sprinted ahead in a run, swords raised, movements calculated. A black blade arched low and missed for mere millimeters. A silver blade arched high and with a clear swat detached head from shoulder.

Perhaps it was a nervous reflex or a ghostly action, either way, before the head could slide and fall to the ground, the dark sorcerer smiled in awe for a bratty king defeated him with a single blow.

Only one was dead but two bodies hit the dirt together. By the time the dark sorcerer’s corpse fell, the king was already by his lover’s side, lifting him into his lap and nurturing the unresponsive man into his chest. Navy blue eyes stared vacantly into his very soul. Their natural glow had faded, much like the color of his skin and the warmth underneath it. The young man was nothing but an empty shell made of pale, paper skin, cold and oh so fragile.

Squeezing the corpse against his own body, feeling his heartbeat but missing his lover’s heartbeat, the king screamed. Screamed in despair and angst, in anger and pain, in fear and sadness. The hero howled like a lonely wolf left behind by his pack, until his throat failed and his lungs burned in need of air. Until there was blood in his mouth and he could not breath anymore-

••

Natsu shot out of the bed gasping for air, his hand reached for his chest, clawing at the skin, hoping to somehow tear the feeling of despair, which gripped his heart. A shin layer of cold sweat coated the expanse of his body and made pink locks sticky to his forehead. Tears welled up and spilled from green eyes like a waterfall, running down his face and creating dark spots on the white sheets.

It had been too real, it always was, but this time the level of intensity had blown the charges. This time the final was what he dread the most.

After ripping the swords out of the rock, as the months had passed the dreams had turned a constant occurrence, narrating the stories of each incarnation of the hero. They were always different but the end never changed: the dark sorcerer was defeated and the hero and his lover lived happily ever after. However, Natsu had noted something, in each reincarnation the lover grew closer to death, until it finally arrived.

It was the last dream/memory. Natsu was sure. Their confront with Zeref was only a few weeks away and the last battle had happened over one hundred years ago. If the story repeated each one hundred and fifty years, that meant there wasn’t anything more to remember.

Fear made itself present as his body trembled in dread. Did that meant Gray would die?

Natsu could still feel it, the darkness crawling under his flesh, the deep grief in which his mind was lost during the dream. A feeling so overwhelmingly obscure that brought the impression that part of his spirit had been stolen away. It was suffocating and, once more, Natsu found himself having difficulty to breathe, the air refusing to enter his lungs and making his chest heave.

He closed his eyes, desperately trying to control his body, reign in the panic building within his mind. It was pure agony the mere thought of losing his lover.

Suddenly a hand touched his back right between his shoulder blades. Natsu felt the coolness emanating from the familiar palm and immediately relaxed, for the difference in temperature, the cold against his overheated skin did wonders to calm him down. In no time, Gray had his arms around his broad shoulder, whispering assurances into his ear and caressing pink locks. Long fingers snaked between his soft hair and the feeling was soothing enough to make the king sage, stiff back curving in a tired position.

“Was that another memory?” Gray asked once Natsu’s breath evened out, brows furrowed in obvious concern, “I’m assuming it was intense.”

Natsu merely nodded, still too emotionally affected to speak without his voice breaking, and he couldn’t have that. When the king first noted the terrifying pattern on the memories, he immediately reached for Gray, not knowing what to do. His lover had looked alarmed but manage to hid it well enough for Natsu to catch on it only a few days later, but once he did, he instantaneously realized his mistake. Telling Gray he might die had being a wrong move and although there was no going back he promised himself that if in one of the memories it actually happened, he would keep his mouth shut.

And that’s why he cleared his throat rather loudly when Gray opened his mouth, just about to say something, more likely to question about the content of the dream. His lover’s pink lips remained separated even if his words had being held back. Natsu stared at them for a second, willing his body and mind to calm down before he could assure with false confidence everything was all right, when it clearly wasn’t.

“It’s okay, Gray. It was just too real and overwhelming.” To make his statement believable, Natsu grasped onto one of the arms holding him and brought it to his nose, deeply breathing in, taking in the fading smell of mint.

Gray looked unsure, suspicious at most, “Nothing out of normal?”

The words of denial tasted like acid in his mouth, but Natsu forced them through chapped lips nonetheless, try his best to keep the strain out of his voice. Gray could not discover the truth about the dream. Panic and fear weren’t the answer nor would be of too much help during the battle. One could argue, saying it would serve as a motivator to sharpen Gray’s attention, but Natsu doubted it. The raven couldn’t possibly be more focused.

“Let’s go to sleep. Tomorrow we’ll discuss war strategies and we can’t be tired.” The king stated, laying down and dragging his lover with an arm around a strong torso.

Gray settled on his wide chest, chilly hand caressing the valleys of muscles on a hard belly. Natsu treaded calloused fingers through silky, charcoal locks of messy hair, once in a while scratching blunt nails against sensitive scalp. Soon enough the warm, safe atmosphere encompassing the room lulled Gray into a sleeping state, his breathing evening out and leaving Natsu to his own rumpled emotions. His mind, a whirlwind of thoughts, wouldn’t shut down or rest until a solution had presented itself on the forefront of his brain.

Hours passed and no ideas were conceived. The darkness finally started to recede, giving way to the light of the sun and Natsu cursed mentally as he hadn’t been able to sleep. For sure, dark bags would support his eyes during the day. Gray moved around, bring a leg to rest on top of Natsu’s, who held his breath until the raven settled down again. It was comforting to hold his lover so close, feel his moving chest, the warmth emanating from pale skin, life filling his form. The young king tightened his hold just a little bit more as intense love took over his very been. He wouldn’t let his lover die. Screw fate. Natsu would protect Gray with all his strength. A dream would not define their future, because they build their own destiny.

Did you liked it?? Did I scared you?? Did you thought I had killed Gray…again??

#day 4 #natray #gratsu #medieval royalty au #gratsuAUweek #gratsuauweek #gratsuauweek2k17

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