#which is why the kingdom never considered him a threat / never knew he even existed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

codevassie · 4 years

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i've got a request! prinxiety fantasy au. roman became a prince after making a deal with a magical creature (that can be a side but also can remain unnamed, whatever works for you). the deal was: roman would become prince but in exchange, the creature would take his true love when roman would meet them. so roman was always careful not to fall in love with anyone. that worked until he met virgil. aaand i leave the rest up to you! i hope this makes sense lol

CV: Sorry it’s so long and also not long enough and also really late. Thank you so much for your patience! My mind would not stop coming up with ideas for this fic but I wrangled it in enough to get this out. Hope you like it, An!

CW: Weapons, Trauma, Injury [Edit: Angst, Unhappy Ending]

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Prince Roman was kind and fair to all who knew him. It was uncanny to his citizens how Disney their prince was. He glowed in all ways–always smiling, exceedingly handsome, eyes gleaming with pride.

He was also a bachelor, sworn to it almost like a monk. He loved to flirt and would dance with many a handsome man; Roman was no stranger to romance and collected kisses like precious stones. He was not one for staying with one person, sweetly turning down those who came back, wanted more. There was guilt in his eyes, but the prince never wavered.

He was determined to rule on his own, with only advisors to lean on and citizens to give his love. This was something that had never happened before, but their kingdom had also never had a prince like Roman before.

Since the day their prince had been crowned heir to the throne by the childless king and queen, things had been very different in their kingdom. Royalty did not have to be blood, and a king did not need a queen, or any spouse at all.

Roman did not want to marry. And no one would have batted an eye at this–but the prince did not seem to want anything at all. Full of love, he had no one to give it. Friendly, but lacked friends. It was a constant source of gossip around the castle–why their beloved prince insisted on being alone.

But the prince knew what he was doing. Roman knew well the dangers of growing close to others.

He didn’t regret the decision he made. As prince, he could make a difference; he had somewhere he belonged. A mother and father who cared. Citizens he adored, and adored him in turn. People to care for, to fight for. Roman now had more than he ever hoped in his once hopeless life.

Most importantly, Roman had his brother back. That was worth more than anything Roman could have gained or given. Worth more than his very life.

So, no. He didn’t regret it. If he had the choice, he’d always go back and face those wild eyes, those scales and wicked lies for the chance to have this.

Whoever he’d meant to love one day would have to find someone else.

-/-

“How are you today, Remus?“

Remus hummed. Roman knew that translated to ‘not very well.’

“Okay,” he said calmly. He moved over into the brightly lit room to where his brother sat at the window. Roman sat across from Remus and said nothing else. Today wasn’t a talking day.

So Roman sat and let his nerves calm, his mind wander like his brother’s must have been. He couldn’t imagine what sort of things Remus saw–flashbacks from the hills and the caves and the fear. Roman grew restless, and he couldn’t imagine how Remus did it for days on end, jolted into another reality that existed in his head, in the past.

He passed a lot of his days like this, sitting quietly by his brother’s side. Probably not enough though. Never enough to help. But it was hard to balance his time now that he was prince, always something more to do, something he could do to help, to plan, to sign, to consider. It was a lot.

But at least they weren’t terrified every day would be their last.

At least Remus was with him again, safe.

“I miss Dee,” Remus surprised Roman by speaking up. Roman looked over, but his brother hadn’t moved. His gaze was towards the hills.

There was nothing Roman could say to that. He stood reluctantly, taking a glance towards the horizon himself, before stepping back. “Sorry I can’t stay very long today.” It had only been twenty minutes Roman noted by the clock on the mantle, but Remus didn’t seem phased. “I’ll come eat dinner with you tonight, though,” Roman offered. Still, nothing. “Alright. Bye, Remus.”

Roman stepped out, careful to not make any loud noises as he shut the door. Days like this were the reason Remus’ room was far away from the hustle and bustle of the castle. The noise was too much for him. There were still plenty of people around to attend to him though, to make sure he didn’t get up to too much trouble during the times he was lucid.

That didn’t stop Roman from stepping away and quietly knocking his head on the opposite wall. Forehead supporting him, Roman sighed, trying to piece himself back together. Once he had built himself up, able to give a winning smile and a confident gait, Roman picked himself up and squared his shoulders.

A prince had very little time to spare already, and he had used what he had to visit with his brother.

Winding through the halls, Roman made his way back to the front study, where his advisor and a handful of guards waited. When he opened the doors, he shot them all his winning smile. “Are we all ready?”

It took them no time at all to get to town, then just a little further to the square, which was under construction. It was a smaller project, but one that Roman loved: a park, with room for community gardening, a playground with outdoor instruments, a couple pieces of exercise equipment, and a small stage for community theater.

It was important to him, but it was something he rarely had the time to see into fruition. There was more pressing matters in the kingdom that Roman had to oversee.: discussions to meditate, economic policies to study, corruption to dig into. When Roman became a prince, he’d known it would be a tough job, but he had never expected what seemed like such a nice kingdom on the outside to have so much else on the inside.

It was exhausting, but this park was where Roman hoped to make a positive influence. He barely had the time for it, but he made the time for it. It was usually what kept him awake at night in his office, going over budgets and blueprints.

He hadn’t been to the site for a month.

When the carriage pulled up, Roman jumped out, guards already on his tail. He didn’t wait for them, though, striding straight towards the ring of architects and construction crew at one side. A quick glance around told Roman they were making decent headway on the tiny amphitheater.

Looking back, he took stock in what he would be dealing with. The kind architect was there, so he’d have to do his best to steer clear. Roman was a sucker for nice guys. The smart one was there too. Damn it; double the threat.

“Hello, Shelby, Logan, David, Patton, Christie,” he greeted the ones he knew by name. “How is everything going?”

Shelby, the team leader, stepped forward, giving a kind smile. “Moving forward at a considerable pace, my prince,” she said, and, from there, they dived in. The architects pointed to blueprints and talked about estimated times for finishing different aspects, as well as possible obstacles and needed materials. They talked for half an hour before they were talking in circles again, and Roman knew he needed to draw a line and make a retreat.

“It sounds like you all are doing splendidly and have things well under control. I would say continue forward with how you’re doing. I trust you to make the right calls.” His smile was wide, and he was beginning to feel the line of business and friendly failing.

All Roman wanted to do was share jokes with Patton. Listen to Logan tell him about the book he was reading. Even hear about Shelby’s family–though she was hardly a threat to the curse inside Roman. Still, Roman felt wrong for staying around, for getting near anyone with the danger he posed.

Roman needed to get somewhere safe. He needed just a breath of fresh air–somewhere without pretense, where he wasn’t constantly tottling between unnecessary rudeness and letting his traitorous heart do what it does and fall far too quickly.

He had always fallen fast and hard, always one for all or nothing. Never at a mere glance, no. He may be a romantic, but love at first sight simply wasn’t real. Deep longing at first sight was something Roman was prone to, though.

But Roman was careful. Never would he let an innocent soul pay for his deeds. If the price he had to pay was his love, then he would simply never fall in love.

And, since love at first sight wasn’t a thing, Roman could simply stay away from anyone he might have liked. If Logan’s smart words made him blush, if Patton’s puns made him giggle-

Off Roman went. If he didn’t stay around them, he couldn’t fall in love with them. Easy enough.

That may have been a reason Roman rarely made his way to the park construction or spent too much time at any of his projects. He cycled through advisors. He exchanged polite greetings with guards and nothing else. He was an amiable prince, who reached out to his citizens, but he couldn’t afford to be too friendly, to get attached.

He knew he could be better. Without this fear, he could be so much better. He’d be friends with everyone he knew, not acquaintances. He’d be a personal ruler, not a distant one.

He couldn’t risk the lives of his citizens though.

So, at the nearest chance, Roman ducked away. The others invited him to coffee, but he declined.

Instead, he went somewhere he’d normally never go. He marched into the library, waltzed straight up to the most infuriating person he knew.

Not even Roman was hopeless enough to fall for Virgil.

“My prince,” the librarian greeted lazily, not even standing from his slumped position across the desk. “What can I do for you today?“

He picked up a pen and scrawled across a paper, deigning to not even look Roman in the eye. Whatever pleasantness Roman had felt upon seeing a familiar, unexpectant face, soured at the blatant rudeness.

This callousness was what had sealed the deal for Roman in the first place though. The absolute zero percent chance that Roman could like, much less love, this man. Roman never thought he could hate one of his own citizens, but this guy… He was the worst.

Roman could have never fallen in love with someone so… Virgil. So condescending and sarcastic and pessimistic. Virgil brought with him a stormy cloud of hatred everywhere he went. The mere thought of being around him was deplorable.

Which made him perfect.

“I just came to see your lovely face, my chemical woe-mance,” Roman said breezily. He had taken to maliciously flirting with the library assistant. It satisfied both his need to flirt with someone and his abhorrence of the man’s face.

And tone.

And personality.

And the way he pointed out every security detail his guards had missed by walking in there.

And how he always pointed out the measures Roman was slow to take with his policies, and ones that he missed, redirecting Roman’s attention to needed areas.

And when his hair fell in his eyes because, damn it, Roman wasn’t blind.

And when he laughed at something because he wasn’t horrible all the time and those were the times Roman panicked the most because shit did he mess up by letting himself talk to Virgil so much-

And his fashion sense was also horrible, so there.

But, of course, Roman was above such things. If the gloomy broody wanted to stoop, Roman would not-

“Forget how to say your own name again?” Virgil asked, and Roman stopped in his tracks, shooting him a confused look. “Hate to break it to you, but Roman doesn’t have a W.”

Roman’s face lit up red and he straightened faster than a cat struck by lightning.

“I am your prince,” Roman said, hands curling into fists. The guards behind him didn’t react, however. By this point, they were all used to Roman and Virgil’s arguing.

They thought it was ‘banter.’ Roman often reminded them it was a verbal battle of wits. They asked why he kept coming back.

He never answered that.

“I don’t need reminding every time you’re here, my prince,” Virgil rolled his eyes. It was ironic how the honorific fit in his mouth, like a bad taste.

“Don’t call me that,” Roman snapped. Virgil raised a brow.

“What do you expect me to call you then?” he asked. “Your excellency? Your highness? General pain in my ass?”

“You make all of those sound like ‘general pain in my ass.’” Roman shot back with fire.

“Then what?” Virgil crossed his arms.

Roman spoke without thinking. “My name.”

One of the guards coughed behind him. Virgil looked stunned.

“You want me to call you…” he said, and all anger had dissipated. If Roman had known this was all it would take to knock Virgil off his high horse, he would have done it so much sooner.

“Yes,” Roman said, feeling awfully proud of himself. “Call me Roman.”

Another cough behind him. What was it with the guards today? He hoped no one was coming down with anything.

“Roman?” Virgil asked, and it was said quickly, like he was still shocked at everything going on. This, however, is where Roman realized his mistake.

His name on Virgil’s tongue did not, in fact, sound like ‘general pain in my ass.‘

His name sounded….

Softer.

Sweeter.

Like a melody he’d never heard,

And one he’d kill to hear again.

Roman was suddenly hit with a sadness so unmistakable it was as if it had always lived in him. Something that felt lonely, something that felt like… goodbye.

Goodbye to this. Goodbye to the only person he had left that saw him as something that wasn’t a prince, or a stranger.

Oh gods, not Virgil too.

Roman straightened up, clearing his throat suddenly. “Um, yes?” he said, voice coming out squeaky. He cleared it again. “I mean, yes. Yes. Of course. If you’re going to insist on butchering everything else…”

“Might as well butcher the real thing?” Virgil asked, and he finally broke out of his shock to snicker. Roman’s heart thumped.

Fuck.

“Yeah, well. I actually have to go now, but it was nice seeing you and-”

“Nice seeing me?” Virgil asked, thrown off guard by Roman’s sudden departure. Roman hadn’t been there five minutes, but he had to get out of there.

“As ever. Terrible to see you as always, hot topic, and, if you’d just excuse me-” Roman was backing away, making his way to the door. He assumed the guards would follow.

“Hot topic…” Virgil seemed to be asking, but Roman didn’t give an answer.

“See ya!” were his final words before he ducked out.

Roman paid no mind to the knowing glances his guards shared behind him as he rushed off to the carriage.

He could only think of the heart in his chest.

And the noose it could lasso around Virgil.

-/-

“It’s not Virgil, right?” Roman asked pacing around his brother’s room. “Anyone but Virgil, surely.”

Remus continued to look out the window, mind probably elsewhere.

“It wouldn’t be. Virgil is… Virgil.” Roman shook his head. “He’s Virgil.”

“Virgil?” Remus spoke up, but he didn’t look at Roman. Maybe he was present, just a bit.

Roman nodded, pacing again to the other side of the room. “I can’t see him again. That’s it. It’s too dangerous. Even if there’s absolutely no way I’d fall for that guy, I can’t risk it.”

Remus turned Roman’s way, eyes looking troubled. Roman’s mind was spinning out of control.

“But it couldn’t be Virgil. I wouldn’t fall for him. I can still talk to him. It’ll be fine, right?”

Roman paused, thinking through his words before groaning.

“Oh my gods, I want to talk to him!” he lamented, then sat down heavily on his brother’s bed. Remus continued to watch him, looking for all the world like there was a puzzle in front of him, very close to being solved.

“Remus, what am I going to do?” Roman asked, covering his face. “I like Virgil.”

“Virgil,” Remus mumbled.

“I can’t ever see him again. This is the end. We were never even friends! He was the asshole in the library. That’s it. That’s all he’ll ever be. And, somehow, I like him. What the fuck, heart? What the actual fuck?”

“Virgil,” Remus repeated, brows furrowing. Something was there, but Roman was too distracted to consider it.

“Gosh, but I can see it now. He’s got the warmest brown eyes to go with his shit personality. He’s so sarcastic. He actually makes me laugh. How dare he?! How dare he make me like him and all his assholeness?”

Roman stood from the bed. One look Remus’ way and he immediately regretted everything.

“Rem? What’s wrong?” he rushed to his brother, who had the most distressed look on his face, fingers sparking green. Roman folded his hands over them, not minding the slight sting. It was better than someone walking in and seeing the magic. “Remus?” Roman asked again, kneeling before his brother.

Remus blinked. Looked down at his hands and frowned. “Sorry, Ro,” he said, then looked back at the window. Whatever he’d been thinking, it was gone. Roman couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him.

One second of lucidity and Roman was glad it was gone. What kind of brother was he? Watching Remus look out the window again, lost to everything but the hills past the kingdom, Roman felt a deep sinking loss in his chest.

But, with that look that’d been on Remus’ face… how could he not be relieved?

He sighed again. Roman did that a lot in this room. He wished he could help it, for Remus’ sake.

But Remus probably didn’t hear it anyway.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he breathed, words lost to his brother. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Roman retracted his hands, absently noting the singe marks across his palms. He’d wear some gloves to cover them.

“Sorry,” he repeated. The word rang in his head, begging to be said again and again, until his sins were carried off with them, somewhere far away in the wind of those words. “Sorry.”

-/-

The next time Roman visited the park, he didn’t go to the library. However, it seemed he didn’t have to.

“Thank you so much, kiddo!” Roman absently heard from Patton as he scanned over some of the construction plans. “I can’t believe I forgot this.”

Roman heard one of his guards cough, stifling what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Funny, they usually only did that when-

“No problem, Pat,” a deep, vaguely uncomfortable sounding voice replied, and Roman shot straight up. There was another noise that was definitely a laugh this time, but he didn’t pay mind to it. His eyes shot to the interaction happening not five feet from him.

Virgil.

He was standing a bit slouched, hands stuffed into his pockets and nodding along to Patton’s excited gibbering. It was sort of adorable, how patient Virgil was, the way he hid his smile when Patton punned, how out of place he seemed to feel, but comfortable around his friend.

Roman hadn’t known Virgil and Patton were friends. That was adorable.

Okay, Roman should really stop thinking of Virgil as adorable. Soon. Now.

But his eyeshadow was slightly smudged–probably from wiping it on accident–and that was adorable too.

No. Stopping now.

Roman dipped his head back down, boring his eyes into the blueprints. He absorbed none of it, but he acted the part like a champ. Looking busy sure came handy when a prince wanted to avoid people. You couldn’t argue that a prince wasn’t doing important work.

Well, perhaps a lesser prince. But everyone knew how seriously Roman took his job (whether he lived up to expectation or not. Virgil saw past that. Virgil pointed out exactly where Roman lacked…. but he also commented on the good things too. He’d said how much safer it was to walk home lately–how the children were excited about the park–how some patrons of the library complained about the tax increases, but Virgil argued with them about the necessities of the kingdom; all the community works, roads paved, safety measures).

“Ro?” Patton asked, and, even if it weren’t for his voice and bubbly nature, Roman would have known it was him. Patton was the only one on the construction crew that had taken him up on his offer to not use ‘my prince’ every time they referred to him.

“Hm?” Roman asked, pretending to be busy. He saw Patton from the corner of his eye, dragging another person by his side–no doubt Virgil. Roman swallowed harshly.

“This is my friend Virgil. Sorry to interrupt work and all, but I try to introduce him to everyone around here. He doesn’t get around too often and-”

“Pat!” Virgil hissed beside him, and Roman couldn’t help it. He looked up.

And they locked eyes.

Virgil’s cheeks were a dull pink, furiously trying to escape the bounds of the pale foundation he’d applied. For a moment, they were suspended there, Virgil and Roman just looking at each other.

Then, Virgil looked away. “Patton, you can’t just drag me around everywhere.”

Patton, the dear, had the good grace to look sheepish. “I just thought you’d want to meet the prince is all.”

“We’ve already met,” Roman said, against the wishes of his panicked nerves. It felt like something he wanted to keep for himself, something he could hold secret and close to his chest. He forced the words out though. Surely there was no valid reason to keep it secret.

Virgil flinched as Patton whipped around to face him. “Really?!”

He shifted a bit on his feet, and Roman noticed how considerably less confident he was outside the library. Maybe it was the new space, or the unknown gazes, but it worried Roman how much smaller Virgil appeared outside his familiar walls.

While Patton excitedly talked to Virgil about this new development, Roman was able to take a second to himself. It was Roman’s first time around him knowing how he felt about Virgil–without the panic of last time, mind spinning with Do I like him? Do I like him? Do I like him? Roman could examine those feelings up close here, scrutinizing them for what they were. He definitely liked Virgil, that much was definite by then, but how much? Roman fell quickly, but, as long as he was even still a bit afloat, it was fine. Virgil was safe.

And Roman understood with relief that this was indeed the case. He wasn’t in love with Virgil. It was still frightening how easily he’d fallen in deep like with the man, but Roman could remedy the situation. It just… took a bit of… severing of their relationship. Just a dash of distancing, a pinch of avoidance and rigid politeness.

It was less than a minute that Roman had to think on this, Patton and Virgil’s conversation ending abruptly when Virgil started to get visibly overwhelmed. That worried Roman too, but it only seemed to embarrass Virgil.

“Virge? Buddy?” Patton asked, but Virgil’s red face shook back and forth.

“It’s fine, Pat. Let’s just moveonrightnow,” Virgil spoke without a lot of breath, words coming out quick. He was different outside the library, like he was constantly afraid of… something. He was jumpy, and Roman was sure that if someone were to sneak up on him right now, purposefully or not, they would be socked in the jaw.

“Yes,” Roman spoke up, seeing his opportunity. “I’m afraid I’ve actually ran out of time here, but we got a lot done here today. Great job, all of you.”

“You’re leaving?” Patton asked, looking disappointed.

And Roman realized what he’d tried to avoid for so long. Patton was cute. He was funny and kind and made Roman feel like the world had light. But Roman really had nothing to be scared of. He looked at Logan too, clever and full of passion for his work and interests, and thought the same. He’d been avoiding all the wrong people–people who could’ve been his friends.

So to Patton Roman gave a sad smile of his own. He gave his excuses–the many duties of a prince, how busy things have been lately, that he really should let them get back to work instead of hovering over their shoulders so often–he was just a prince, after all.

It all paled to the real reason, nestled deep in his chest where he hoped no one would look, see his obvious lie.

Roman couldn’t be near Virgil.

Too risky.

-/-

The thing with falling for someone–it doesn’t stop when you don’t see them.

What was the saying? Distance makes the heart grow fonder?

That saying existed because days without those you’re infatuated with just make you think about them more. And Roman, the chronic dreamer he was, could not stop thinking about Virgil. He dreamed in his sleep about pushing the hair from Virgil’s face, curling it around his ears and leaning down for a gentle kiss. He day-dreamed about Virgil in his library, slouched over his desk, waiting for patrons and passing the day in boredom.

Roman thought of his snarky quips, eyerolls, insistent gestures when he was trying to tell Roman something. Those milliseconds of a softer look that Roman would ignore, trying to convince himself he loathed Virgil, so he wouldn’t have to go away.

He realized now how too late it was.

Virgil’s laugh was stuck in his ears–Virgil’s nervous voice outside the library–Virgil’s stories of friends he’d never see again, growing up in a distant place.

And Roman hadn’t realized how much of himself he’d given as well. Virgil had been an ear to Roman’s rants, a backboard to spring off horrible ideas. Virgil could be ruthless, and Roman could be idyllic, but, somewhere in there, it actually worked. He’d told Virgil about spreading himself thin, about the demands of a prince he hadn’t expected when the king and queen had adopted him. He told him about how much he cared, cared so much, about the people of this kingdom, even while he’d only been there for three years himself.

There was so much, now that Roman considered it. And still so much he wanted to share. He’d never told Virgil about his brother–no one knew about Remus. He wasn’t fit to be in the public eye. That much scrutiny and pressure, after everything he’d been through, would destroy him.

But he found himself wanting to tell Virgil. Found that he trusted him with the information.

And he wanted to tell Virgil about where he and his brother grew up, about the night he woke up and Remus wasn’t by his side, and it took two years of searching and loneliness to find him and save him. Roman wanted to tell Virgil his favorite color was red, that his favorite stories as a kid were about knights, not princes, that he spent his free time–or what freetime he used to have–writing poetry, and he had a secret love for theater that he’d never had the opportunity to explore.

Roman felt his heart pulling pulling pulling. It wouldn’t rest, wouldn’t relinquish the hold it had over him, would not forget him- him-

Virgil.

His heart was a selfish thing. It stuck like glue to those who didn’t want it. It kept its love in a cage, never to let go.

But Roman had to stop thinking of him. It would only lead to heartbreak. It would only lead to Virgil’s doom.

That should make it easier on his heart–knowing the person it longed for was at risk for its choice–but nothing did sway it. It was up to Roman to wrangle it in, suppress, push it down down down.

A sound at the door of his office snapped Roman out of his thoughts–spiralling, an hourly occurrence at this rate, sending him straight to a world far away, spinning in purple irises. The door creaked open, and there stood an odd sight.

“Remus?” Roman asked, concerned. He was already standing, walking around the desk and across the room. “Is everything alright? Why are you on this side of the castle?”

Remus was very far from his room, and the castle was pretty confusing. It was a surprise his brother had found him at all.

“Virgil,” was all Remus said, like it held all the answers he’d ever been looking for. Roman paused, eyebrows furrowing.

“What about him?”

“It’s him.”

“What?” Roman asked, and Remus reached out, grabbed his hand. Before he knew it, Roman was being pulled along. Remus was leading them down the corridor, looking more sure of himself than Roman had seen since they were kids. “Remus, what are you doing? Where are we going?”

Remus didn’t answer him. In fact, Roman was thrown into even more confusion when he was steered into a random room at the end of the corridor, his brother huffing as he shut the door behind them. “Walking takes too long,” he seemed to be realizing. His hand was glowing and, when he reached out for Roman again, it was a blink of an eye before they were standing somewhere completely new.

“Remus, what the hell?” Roman asked, retracting his hand. “You shouldn’t use your magic like that! Anyone could see you.”

But Remus wasn’t listening. Was he ever? Instead, he was looking around. “Not where I would have picked.” He was sounding… like himself. Roman stared, wide-eyed. If he wasn’t so confused, he’d be elated. He’d long since thought getting his brother back to any normalcy–or whatever was normalcy for Remus–was impossible.

“Who’s there?” a voice interrupted his thoughts, carrying across the library stacks. Roman recognized it and cursed internally. Why had Remus taken them there?

Slowly, Roman put up his hands and crept out of the small alcove Remus had taken them to, ready to come up with an explanation for their sudden appearance on the fly. “Do not be afraid,” Roman said, as any prince would. He stood in the open and found Virgil’s gaze. All Virgil had to protect him were his own fists–not the best tactic, Roman thought. Then again, it was only the other day that Roman had been afraid Virgil would sock the nearest person.

Still, just his fists didn’t seem like a great defense against swords or knives or any number of weapons a burglar could have. There was a pang in Roman’s heart as he thought of what might have happened if it wasn’t just him and Remus in there. Virgil would have been defenseless.

As realization dawned on Virgil’s face, they stood at a stand still, both almost afraid to move. When Virgil’s eyes drifted to his raised fists–loose, not really fists at all, who had taught Virgil to fight?–he dropped them like hot coals, stuffing them in his pockets.

“Fuck, Roman, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Virgil said, and Roman knew he shouldn’t be focusing on this–but Virgil had said his name again, and his heart was singing.

“My dearest apologies,” Roman bowed, and, going by the weirded out look on Virgil’s face, that was not of norm between them. He supposed they had never been quite civil with each other–even at the beginning. “I wanted to show my brother the library and you weren’t at the front desk, so we just came in.”

“I’ve been at the front desk this whole time,” Virgil said, not defensive, but confused. Well, at least Virgil wasn’t in a bad mood.

“Funny. We didn’t see you.”

“Wait wait wait,” Virgil said, backing up a second. “You said brother?”

Shit.

Looked like Roman would have to explain that sooner than he’d thought. Or, really, at all. Wanting to tell Virgil and telling him had been on two separate lists entirely. Roman wasn’t actually supposed to be talking to Virgil at all.

“Okay, so-” Roman went to start, but he was caught off by a twin set of gasps, one shortly after the other. The first had come from behind him, so that’s where he looked.

“It is you,” Remus said. Roman’s eyes widened, finally catching on to what his brother had been trying to tell him.

“Wait, do you know each other?”

“Remus?” Virgil’s reply answered that question well enough. Roman turned back to him, eyes darting between the two. Virgil sputtered, “What- How-”

“It’s too late,” Remus mumbled. It sounded a bit more like he had over the past year–less like himself, but his eyes were present; he looked to be considering something–something he didn’t seem to favor. “It was a trap.”

“A trap?” Roman asked. “What do you mean? A trap for who? Who’s trapping?”

“Remus, what the fuck? How are you here? How did you get away?” Virgil asked, walking closer, but not too close, like there was still a part of him that couldn’t believe what was in front of him.

“Get away?” Roman said, pieces further slipping into place. He didn’t like where this was going.

“What about Dee?”

“Dee…” Roman mumbled, the name familiar in his ears. I miss Dee, Remus had said. I miss Dee I miss Dee I miss Dee…

“It’s too late,” Remus repeated. “Of course it was you.”

Then, the room erupted into chaos.

-/-

Books flew, shelves rocked, windows clattered. From the corners of his eyes, Roman could see flashes of purple and green. Past the wind in his ears, he heard vague shouts from Virgil and a round of fuckfuckfuckfuckfucks from Remus. He couldn’t recall if he was saying anything himself, but he knew what he was feeling. Scared.

Roman had no idea what was happening, but, from the flashes of light, he deduced it must have been magic. This made him turn toward his brother, suddenly scared that all of this had gotten to him. Being outside the castle, some place unfamiliar, not to mention Remus had always been kind of a loose cannon with his magic–it could have caused Remus to panic.

But one look at him and Roman knew his brother wasn’t the one doing it. He turned to Virgil, remembering what he’d been saying, how he’d known Remus, how he’d raised his hands in a stance that made no sense in traditional fighting–but, with magic?

Purple sparks flew across Virgil’s skin, like they were doing on Remus too, but his eyes weren’t aglow. He wasn’t doing it either.

What was happening?

Then, abruptly, it stopped.

Shelves balanced back to their places and books dropped to the floor, lifeless. It was all they could do to just stand there before movement caught Roman’s eye at the top of one of the shelves.

Someone sat there, legs folded elegantly over one another where they balanced precariously. Roman recognized the one glowing eye peering down at them, the scaly hands, the knowing smirk.

“What a lovely reunion,” she purred. Roman was stricken, fear clenching his gut. Instinctively, however, he stepped forward in front of Remus and Virgil. He watched as her eyes traveled over each of them, finally landing behind Roman’s left shoulder, lips curling further into her face. “I was hoping it would be you.”

“How- How did you-” Virgil stuttered, but his voice died out. Roman narrowed his eyes, something protective overpowering his fear.

“You should not be here,” Roman stated.

“But, my prince,” she said, “We made a deal.”

“A deal that hasn’t come to fruition,” he said.

“I see someone’s still in denial,” the woman leered. “A witch’s curse knows all, though. You can’t scam the Dragon Witch of her hoard, my prince.” The way she said ‘my prince’ infuriated him, but nothing like Virgil’s had. The Dragon Witch said it like it was nothing, like it was delectable and sweet and hers to keep.

“What is she talking about?” Virgil asked, and Roman turned. Instead of scared, he now looked confused. He was watching the two of them, apprehensive, but ready to fight. His hands were up again in those loose fists, purple sparking off of them. Magic. Virgil had magic. “You made a deal with the witch?”

“Not that he had much choice.” The witch shrugged. It seemed casual, despite the manic glee in her eyes. “I was going to kill him and keep Remus. But he wanted his brother, and he got to be prince of a kingdom! Fair trade, if you ask me.”

“It’s not fair,” Remus said, and the witch seemed to remember he was there. “You can’t take him-”

“Shut up, Remus,” she said offhandedly and Remus flinched. Rage filled Roman, and he stomped further toward the witch.

“Don’t you dare-”

“Don’t I dare what, sweetie?” she asked, folding her legs up onto the bookshelf with her, where Roman couldn’t reach. He was ready to topple the whole shelf when her words caught him. “I’m only here for what I’m due. I was hoping you’d choose Virgil.”

“What?” he asked, and his voice echoed. He turned around and saw Virgil’s ghostly face, mouth open, having spoken at the same time.

“There’s so many possibilities, you know,” she said and sighed like she was bored. “There’s some realities where you fall for the architects, but there were quite a few where we’d end up here and that was certainly a risk I was willing to take. So glad it paid off.”

“But I’m not-” Roman protested, and when he was cut off again he felt ready to pull his sword. It would do nothing against her magic–something he knew well–but she was really getting to him.

“Not in love? Please,” the Dragon Witch scoffed. “It’s not my problem you haven’t realized it yet.”

“Wait!” a voice suddenly tore through their conversation, and Roman looked back at Virgil, something tightening his gut. Virgil looked simultaneously angry and afraid and lost. “Hold on for a second. What the fuck is going on?”

With a grace that shouldn’t have belonged to someone so wicked, the witch floated down from the bookshelf, jumping right over Roman and landing in front of Virgil. Virgil seemed to have masked everything in those few seconds, standing defiant and tall before the woman. It mystified Roman. It was nothing he had ever seen before–nothing like Virgil’s comfortable confidence in the library. Virgil lowered his hands, appearing defenseless and unafraid under her manic gaze.

“Long story,” she said, tossing her head side to side. “But I’ll tell you the ending if you want. My little happily ever after… minus dear Remus over there. I’d rather have all three of you but Remus turned weak. This. This was the outcome I was betting on.”

She leaned in, centimeters from Virgil’s face and anyone else might have missed the minute flinch in the man’s body, but Roman saw–tuned into it. Virgil’s eyes were hard. He said nothing.

Even as he was sentenced to his doom–to a doom brought to him because of Roman–because of a heart he couldn’t control–because Roman had signed away another’s life–a life that wasn’t Roman’s to give–a life Roman hadn’t yet met–that he was destined to love and hate and damn forever.

And it’d been a trap.

“Virgil, my long lost terror, you belong to me again. The End.”

#sanders sides #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #ts creativity #ts anxiety #ts #tw weapons #tw trauma #tw injury #minor edits: realized the italics didn't copy over #but that's fixed #also i'm going to lose my shit if people don't stop walking behind me while i have writing on my screen #i have an allergic reaction to people seeing my writing when i'm not ready for them to #which for irl people is next to never #requests #tw angst #tw unhappy ending #ahhcc

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iceshard1011 · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton Characters: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Additional Tags: Eventual Romance, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Non-Human Humanoid Society, (said society is The Worst), Sympathetic Sides (Sanders Sides), Mild Language, Discrimination, Flirting, Polyamory, Asexual Character, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Picnics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Play Fighting, Fallen Angels, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Angst, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Teasing, Blood and Injury, Violence, Grief/Mourning, Protective Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Aftermath of Violence, Kissing, Threats of Violence, Deceit | Janus Sanders Needs a Hug, mentions of (heavily) implied transphobia, extra warnings in the end notes, please read them if you're uncertain or uncomfortable, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, Morality | Patton Sanders Angst Summary:

“You are a demon,” he realised.

Patton tilted his head, and it reminded Virgil of a wild animal.

“Yes,” he agreed, “and you are an angel without a halo, in a world looking to destroy your wings.”

19k fic below the cut, too :)

please mind the trigger warnins in the tags here on tumblr, and in the end note on ao3.

note: the italics don’t carry through copy and paste, so if i have missed some on this tumblr post i apologise. in that regard, the story may be more accurate on ao3.

Janus and Virgil had been fighting.

Unfortunately, these current days, this was not an uncommon occurrence. It was not a physical battle, as that was forbidden within the city, and most other parts of the Angelic Kingdom, but any angel in the general radius of the pairs’ shouting matches knew to subtly evacuate as quickly and quietly as they could. Neither brother was pleasant to be around when agitated, and it seemed recently that they only frustrated each other.

After all, no other angel was going to pick a fight with the lead Angel of Diligence.

Remus yawned, leaning back to admire the drawing he had completed. He almost wished he could add some details, like a ruffle to the wings of the angel, or a scar or two along their skin. The sketch for the to-be mural just seemed so… bland. (At least he did not have to write, like Virgil did. The kid had a real knack for story-telling, but some of the things he was required to write for the ‘good of the reputation of the Angelic Kingdom’ was so boring and so much wasted potential that Remus had considered using the scrolls as snacks, if angels ate snacks — which they did not.)

He supposed that was what he signed up for, when becoming an artist. No single hair out of place. No negative interpretations. No misrepresentation of the angels in any way.

It was not too much of a loss. Nobody knew about his secret stash of personal sketches, decidedly not positive interpretations, in his room.

Remus, an Angel of Liberality, was one of the very few individuals who had the… Remus would think balls, Remus would say ‘bravery’ to be around Janus and Virgil during one of their fights.

Not much scared him. (Anymore, at least. He had faced the worst of his nightmares and come out simply fine. Not that he would voluntarily tell anyone this, though.)

Even when the walls shuddered with Janus’ bellow of, “ENOUGH!”

Remus strained his ears but did not hear Virgil reply. He put his scroll and quill down and ventured into the common area. Both Janus and Virgil’s faces were flushed red, their shoulders heaving.

After a moment, Janus visibly composed himself. He set his shoulders and folded his hands behind his back. He lifted his chin and did not meet Virgil’s eyes when he said, “You are dismissed.”

“Dismissed?” seethed Virgil. “This is my home—”

“It is ours, if not mine,” spat Janus, and Virgil recoiled, not looking any less angry. “You will not disrespect me.”

Virgil opened his mouth.

“I am older than you,” said Janus, because angels did not growl, even though Remus was quite sure that was almost a snarl. “You will follow my orders. You may leave.”

Virgil stared at him, his fingers twitching. Remus wondered if he was itching for a scroll. That usually happened to him when he wanted to sketch something down. Then he whirled around, his face twisted hatefully. He froze when he spotted Remus in the hallway, watching with rapt interest, but then squeezed passed him to the open archway of the house and shot into the sunlight.

Remus looked over at Janus. “What was that?”

Janus looked exhausted as he rubbed his eyes. “A mild disagreement about robes.”

Remus tilted his head. “These?” he asked, lifting a handful of the white robe he was wearing. Janus sighed.

“Yes.”

Remus waited for him to elaborate, but he did not. Remus shrugged. “They are a little gaudy.” Janus shot him a warning glare, but Remus was not fazed. He never was. “He will come around. He always does.”

“I do not know,” Janus said softly, because angels did not mutter. He sat at the table and heaved a quiet breath, leaning against the back of the chair, because angels did not slouch, even if they were emotionally drained. “It seems we will fight about anything, these days.”

Remus shrugged again. He did that a lot. He did not have an answer for the Angel of Diligence, so he moved to sit across from him. He did not know how to help; dinner was not for a few hours yet, and angels did not eat out of time.

“Sorry, Remus,” Janus said quietly, which was surprising, because angels did not apologise unless it was only very extremely necessary. Janus’ eyes were far away. “I doubt either of us mean to make you upset.”

“I am not upset,” Remus said, because angels did not lie. “I find it funny how you forget that the entire city can probably hear your little spats.” Janus did not even send a disapproving look in his direction, though Remus did not use the most... approximate angelic language. “You brought me in here. The least I can do is tolerate your dynamic.”

“This is not our dynamic,” Janus disagreed. “At least... it should not be our dynamic.”

Remus thought about that. “I am not the cause of your fighting, am I?”

“Certainly not,” Janus said vehemently. “Virgil is... tolerant of you, but not fond. He is not, however, jealous, nor unhappy with your presence.”

“Then why are you fighting so much?” Remus asked. He was aware his questions could start to become exhausting, but Janus did not seem to be getting tired of him.

“I do not know,” said Janus, and his voice was... strangely unstable. Like the verbal version of a wooden board wobbling. “I do not know, Remus.”

The two sat like that until it became time for dinner to be made, faces neutral and eyes blank.

Angels did not cry, no matter how much they might want to.

Virgil was not returning to the house.

He did not care what Janus thought, or what Janus wanted, or whatever the hell the Ancient Laws instructed angels to do. He was fairly sure angels were not supposed to yell, and yet his throat was strangely raw.

Angels also were not supposed to curse, but Virgil had already decided: fuck his brother, and those pretentious assholes who wanted to keep him stuck to a strict, pointless schedule for the rest of his life.

Virgil could not care less about speeches and presentation and perfection — he was not perfect. No one up there was, and the sooner they realised that the sooner he would find it in himself to return and maybe apologise.

But in the meantime, he was not going to sit around and be scolded for wearing ‘the wrong kind’ of clothes around his own house.

Maybe he was not supposed to be an angel. Maybe somehow, somewhere, the universe had fucked up and given him feathers and a bracelet instead of a tail and a pair of horns.

Branches whipped at his face, and he stumbled. He had gotten to the In Between faster than he thought he would. Maybe he had been flying faster than he realised.

He looked around at the strange, warped world, and swallowed the lump in his throat. Nothing lived here. Nothing could live here. A long time ago, the angels had chosen what gorgeous, superior beings they wanted to gift access into their kingdom, and the demons had been left with all the other unwanted creatures. The world In Between the two kingdoms was desolate, and empty, and still just as dangerous as a demonic fire ring with prancing hyenas.

Because any being, holy or not, sentient or not, spending too much time between worlds, without the source of either kingdoms’ power, would waste away until they were nothing but the still air.

Virgil wondered if that was what he wanted. If he wanted to cease to exist. If the kingdom was better off without him. It certainly did not seem like he was making much of a difference.

He did not growl, because angels did not growl (but was he even an angel anymore—?), but he made some sort of noise as he ripped his halo from its position as a bracelet on his wrist.

It dissolved when he threw it to the ground, but he did not feel any different. He wondered if he was supposed to, or if he really was as defective as he thought he was, no matter what Janus had ever tried to argue otherwise.

He sunk to the ground and found that he did not actually care if he was snuffed from existence.

“Oh, goodness!”

Virgil’s eyes snapped open.

“What in Lucifer’s name are you doing here—?”

Something touched his shoulder, and Virgil’s veins were shot through with panic.

Virgil reared back, shooting to his feet, and flaring his wings.

“No, no, hey, I’m sorry!” the voice yelped, and from where he was struggling to stay aloft in the air, Virgil stared at the speaker. They were small, at least smaller than Virgil, and he was considered short by angel standards. They held themselves oddly, like they were ready to bolt at any second, despite looking very intrigued with Virgil. Their sandy hair was either so curly that it covered the sides of their head completely, or they had no ears, which was too odd of an option, really. At least, it would have been if... Their... well, their legs were normal enough, apart from the strange elongation of their foot, and the fact that they had no toes, and only the hoof of a deer, or maybe pig.

“Calm down, kiddo,” they were saying, holding their petite hands up. “Just breathe. I’m sorry for startling you.”

Virgil scowled but dropped to the ground, finding it too hard to remain suspended in air. He eyed the newcomer dubiously.

“My name’s Patton,” they said, and Virgil felt his lip curling into what would have been a grimace — if angels grimaced, which they did not.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

The stranger looked surprised. “I just saw you curled on the ground. I was worried.”

Virgil stared at him, bewildered. Patton, it seemed, was undeterred, and smiled brightly.

“What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Virgil.” The correct answer was, I am Virgil, as angels were instructed to respond, but... Virgil was not feeling like much of an angel at this moment.

Patton practically swooned. “That’s such a nice name!”

Virgil stared at him, baffled. What sort of answer was that? He did not have a nice name. He just had... a name. Like everyone else. It was neither nice nor not nice. Some names held more power than others, but his name was bland. Bland and boring and useless.

“You are very weird,” he decided.

Patton thought about that. “Um... Thanks!”

Virgil was getting more and more confused. “That was not a compliment.”

Patton frowned, and for a moment he almost thought that Patton may have been a big brother, because it was almost identical to the little pinch that Janus got between his eyebrows. “Virgil, buddy, that’s rude.”

It was then that Virgil noticed that the lack of normal looking ears was because of the pair of pale, flopping ears on either side of Patton’s head through his curls, and Virgil blanched.

“You are a demon,” he realised.

Patton tilted his head, and it reminded Virgil of a wild animal.

“Yes,” he agreed, “and you are an angel without a halo, in a world looking to destroy your wings.”

For a moment, Virgil was confused, but then he glanced back and saw a handful of white feathers fluttering to the ground. The In Between was taking its toll on him faster than he thought it would.

He shuddered, and more feathers floated down.

“Come with me,” Patton said, and Virgil’s head snapped around to glare at him. The demon smiled carefully. “It’s alright. My home isn’t far, it’s on the edges of the kingdom. You’ll be safe there.”

“I am an angel,” Virgil pointed out. He shifted uncomfortably. “I do not belong with demons.”

“What are your other options?” Patton asked. If Janus had said it, it would have been rhetorical; sarcastic, scathing. A tactic to make Virgil consider how stupid he was being. When Patton spoke, it sounded like a real question, like he genuinely wanted to know what else Virgil could do.

Virgil looked away and did not answer.

“Come with me,” Patton said again, beseechingly. “I promise, it’ll be alright.”

Virgil’s gaze darted around the landscape, then down to his shedded feathers. “Very well,” he muttered, because he did not feel like following angelic rules.

Patton beamed, turning. “Great! Follow me.”

Virgil followed him through the strange rock and twisting not-quite trees. The uneven ground bit at Virgil’s bare feet, who was used to gentle, cloudy floors. The world around them got darker, but Virgil was not sure how. It all became muddled, cloudy, but more like a night thunderstorm than tufts on a sunshine-lit day.

When Virgil squinted, he realised it was because the grey sky had morphed into a cloudy night sky. The underside of the clouds had a red hue, like reflecting a sunset, but Virgil could not see the light of a sun anywhere. There was a strange haze around the area, like the smoke of a fire. It was nothing blinding, but enough that Virgil had to squint to see anything in the far distance. Craggy mountain tops lunged for the dark, velvet sky, not anything more than dark silhouettes in the gloom. The ground was littered with natural rubbish, in the sense that it was far more cluttered than the In Between, where while the ground may have been uneven, it had no loose materials adding to its character. And of course, the Angelic Kingdom never had anything out of place on its perfect pathways. This place looked like it was constantly ravaged with tremors.

Virgil wanted to ask where they were, but he had a feeling that he already knew.

He followed Patton over the strewn ground, picking his way over the loose rocks and barbed shrubbery. There was a dark river cutting through the ground along the path they were walking, but Virgil did not want to look too closely. He could not tell if it was water or not, and whatever it was, was certainly not holy.

After too-long of Virgil trying desperately not to trip, a house of sorts cut through the odorless smog.

It looked ordinary, the closer they got. If Virgil was going to go for brutal honesty, he would call it closer to a hut than a house. Maybe a mound of somewhat sturdy dried mud and twigs pressed up against the base of a cliff. Or maybe those walls were just incredibly old, dirty bricks. He could not tell.

He wrinkled his nose. Was he going to be expected to say here?

An image flashed through his mind, of a haughty group of pompous angels frowning down at him from their palace in the white clouds, and Virgil decided he was happy with anything this strange little demon was going to offer.

“Is... this your home?” he asked, as politely as he could.

“It is!” Patton said.

Virgil looked between the demon and his home. “It is... nice.”

He obviously didn’t sound as convinced as he wanted to because Patton giggled, and said, “What? Did you think we all lived in gory, dark caves and castles?”

Virgil’s cheeks heated against his will. “I did not exactly... learn much about you.”

Patton’s gaze softened with sympathy. “Well,” he said, moved up to the blocked off entrance of the house in that odd, animalistic gait of his, “let’s try and change that, shall we?”

He opened the wall of the house and darted in. Virgil followed, having to duck slightly in the entranceway.

“I’m home!” Patton called out. Virgil looked around. It was... extremely cluttered, in the house. There was a hollow shelf, holding scrolls, like it was a very, exceedingly small library. There was a table with a thick, open tome with unintelligible scribbles across it, a small black stick resting beside it on the wood. A fireplace was positioned off to the side, with gathered crockery, looking as if they were washed with black water. Virgil thought about the river outside and wondered if that was not far from the truth.

“You’ve returned earlier than usual,” a new voice said, and a demon with dark, sharp lines staining the corner of his eyes materialised from the side wall. Wait, no, he had just done the same thing that Patton had done to get in... What were those strange, moving wall-parts? (And was he wearing eyeliner? Or was that natural?)

“Is everything— Oh.” The demon’s dark, gorgeous eyes found Virgil, and the angel suddenly felt very scrutinised. “Patton, this is an angel.”

“This is Virgil,” Patton corrected, and Virgil felt something in his chest react. “And he’s going to be staying for a long as he would like.”

The other demon blinked, and Patton turned to Virgil. “Virgil, this is Logan.”

The demon dipped his dark head, and Virgil wondered if all demons had strange skin colours like Patton’s dusty brown and Logan’s dark navy.

“Welcome,” Logan said, albeit a little stiffly. “I would say that I hope your stay hospital, but I have reasons to believe that this place is already... less than stellar compared to what you are used to.”

What Virgil was used to? Virgil was used to being judged. He was used to being yelled at. He was used to always being in the wrong, to being scolded for not being presentable enough, for being stared at and murmured about when he was thought to be out of earshot. He was used to not belonging — and while he had never felt more out of place than in this wrecked land of fire and brimstone and dark atmosphere, these demons were looking at him expectantly, like they cared about his opinion, like they cared about what he was going to say next.

His lips hedged on the beginnings of a smile.

“It is appreciated,” Virgil told Logan, and the unfairly pretty demon looked like he was preening. Something shifted behind him, and with a jolt, Virgil realised with a start that the long tailfeathers of a peacock were protruding from beneath his clothes.

Patton giggled and thumped Virgil’s hip with his own. The angel stumbled, and looked at Patton, perplexed. Was that some sort of greeting, in demonic language?

Patton did not notice his confusion, though, and looked around the house. “Where’s Roman?”

Virgil swallowed. How many demons lived here?

“Last I saw him, he was upstairs,” Logan said, moving to the table to peer down at the open book. “He was taking a break from writing.”

“Oh.” Patton’s odd ears dropped sympathetically. “Poor kiddo. He works so hard.”

“I doubt that anyone in the city will be even remotely interested in this novel, either,” Logan muttered, sounding mutinous. “No one cares for a grounded demon’s talent.”

“Grounded demon?” Virgil asked before he could stop him. The other two looked over at him.

“That’s what we are,” Patton said. “I’m sure you’ve always thought of demons with whipped tails and big bat wings, huh?” Virgil nodded. “Not all demons are like that. You angels have categories, right?”

Virgil stared at him blankly.

“The Seven Deadly Sins, and the Seven Heavenly Virtues,” Logan elaborated. “Humility, pride. Kindness, envy.”

“Oh.” Virgil’s wings shuffled with his shrug. “Yes. We called them Traits.”

“Well, some demons, like ones of pride and anger, tend to be more high ranking. They live in the centre of the kingdom, where most of the rich demons reside. They... uh...”

“Have superiority complexes,” a third voice said, and Virgil whirled around to see a demon descending the stairs that he had not previously realised were there. Where were those stairs on the outside of the house? Where was the second floor?

The third demon blinked sleepily at Virgil before yawning. “You’re new,” he said mildly.

“I am visiting,” Virgil said. The demon bobbed his head.

“You’re cute. You can stay.” He brushed past Virgil and headed over to the fireplace.

“Roman,” Patton said in a scolding voice. “No hitting on the guest.”

Roman shook himself, his wild hair flinging in all directions. From a distance, Virgil peered curiously at the little horns poking up through his wavy locks. Did all demons have animalistic features?

“As long as the guest doesn’t ask for it,” Roman said without looking back.

“I would not want to find endearment with a demon,” Virgil snapped. Roman glanced over his shoulder, and Virgil realised that his pupils were horizontal. The demon smirked, and it could have been hot, if Virgil was not already deeply unimpressed by his behaviour.

“You’re talking to a Demon of Lust, darling,” he said. “You don’t know what you want.”

“Roman,” Patton said in a warning voice, and Roman sighed heavily. Virgil had not realised his eyes had been glowing red until they dimmed to normal.

“Fine, fine, whatever,” he grumbled, and the silk in his silky voice switched out for a grumble. “Food, anyone?”

“Oooh, I’m hungry,” Patton said, bounding over. Virgil felt utterly lost. He looked over to Logan for help.

“Patton is a Demon of Gluttony,” Logan explained quietly, which was not really what Virgil had been silently asking. They both watched Roman and Patton rummage around in the fireplace. Virgil wondered if it was the demonic equivalent to a kitchen. “He often can’t help when he feels hungry, which is one hundred percent of the time. Indulging him is the best course of action.”

Virgil nodded carefully, considering that. “How are you… categorised?”

Logan kept his eyes on his demon friends. “I’m a Demon of Pride.”

“Should you not then be in the heart of the kingdom?” Virgil asked.

“I was born without wings,” Logan said plainly. “It happens, in some family lines. Genetic mishaps, mutations, so on and so forth. I did my best to live up to the standards of being a Demon of Pride, but quickly found it illogical to attempt to be someone I physically could not be.”

Virgil ducked his head. “I know the feeling,” he did not actually say.

“I am an Angel of Patience,” he murmured softly instead. Logan looked over at him, and nodded, once.

“Thank you for trusting me with that,” Logan said. Virgil shrugged. He did not know why he had. For all he knew, these demons were going to sacrifice him to their gods and eat his flesh and bone. Maybe Virgil was so apathetic at this point that he did not care what these demons wanted from him.

He pulled away from Logan’s side, looking around the room. His gaze landed on the desk and book. “You were saying that Roman... writes?”

“As a pastime,” said Logan. “His tales are slightly too romanticised, and gaudy, but I can appreciate the artistry to them. He... has yet to achieve the same praise from anyone outside of me and Patton, however.”

“May I ask...” Virgil trailed off, but Logan waited patiently. Virgil pointed at the long black stick. “What is that?”

“Charcoal,” Logan said. He crossed to Virgil and picked it up. He pushed it to the corner of the page, and it left a blackened, dusty spot behind. When Logan put it back down, his hands were tinted that same dark colour. “It’s what we write with. Do you not?”

“Quills,” Virgil answered faintly. “The end of cleaned feathers and pots of ink.”

“Ah.” Logan shook his head. “I can’t say that we are as... sophisticated.”

“You don’t have feathers to use as quills,” Virgil reasoned.

“Quite right.”

“Virgil!” Patton bounded over. “Do you eat?”

“Of course he eats,” Roman said, prowling over with him, licking his lips. For a moment, Virgil thought he was being suggestive again, but then he realised he was eating... some clump of fur and meat in his hands. Virgil looked away before he could be sick. “Angels are notorious for being fed purely on bullshit and assholiness.”

“Roman!” Patton snapped.

“Just as demons are grovelling, snarling creatures of grime and spit,” Virgil retorted, lifting his chin to frown down at Roman.

For a moment, the Demon of Lust looked mildly surprised, and maybe impressed. Then he frowned, looking confused. “For an Angel of Patience, you’re not the nicest individual I’ve ever come across.”

“Roman!” Patton chided again, but Virgil was already feeling the fight leaving him, making way for the resigned depression.

“Perhaps some of us just do not belong where Fate claims they do,” he muttered.

Roman perked up at that, looking excited. “Ooo, bad-mouthing Fate? That’ll get you somewhere where you don’t want to be.”

Patton planted himself between the two of them. “Roman, that’s enough.”

Roman grumbled but subsided obediently.

“How did you hear me?” Virgil asked, changing the topic. “About my Trait.”

“Heightened hearing,” Patton answered with a sunny smile that looked a bit too forced. “Goats and pigs have it. Peacocks, too.”

“Goats and pigs?” Virgil echoed.

“The animals representing lust and gluttony?” Roman said from where he was now sitting at the desk. “Do you not know anything about culture?”

“Not yours,” Virgil said, and he did not mean for it to be an insult.

“Well, anyway,” Patton not-so-subtly interjected, “I got you something to drink. I hope it’s okay.” He handed a mug that did not have a handle over to Virgil, who took it and sniffed the warm contents inside. It smelt like chocolate, with hazelnut, and maybe milk. But the mug itself was so dark. Virgil wondered if it had even been washed.

“What do you wash the bowls with?” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Patton looked slightly confused as he answered slowly, “We wash them with water, kiddo.”

Virgil looked at the mug in his hands dubiously. “They are black.”

“Oh, that’s just made of obsidian,” Patton answered. Virgil had no idea what he was talking about.

“It’s a type of stone you can get from volcanoes,” Logan explained, like he was explaining the existence of demons and angels to a human.

Virgil whirled on him. “There’s volcanoes out here?” he demanded.

Roman tilted his head. “Did you not see the huge mountain right next to our home?”

“Your home is built on a volcano?” Virgil cried.

“Beside,” correct Logan, “not on.” (Virgil was not reassured.)

He looked between the three demons and took a sip of the drink. It was sweet, almost syrupy as it went down. He waited for the burning, or the pain. For his airways to close and his brain to shut down and the demons to laugh as his vision faded.

“Is it good?” Patton asked expectantly.

“I like it,” Virgil answered honestly. Patton smiled.

“You let me know if you want any refills,” he said. “Would you like to eat anything?”

Virgil glanced over at where Roman was licking the blood his snack had left on his fingers. He froze when he found Virgil’s gaze locked onto him, and almost apologetically, said, “We have more than raw possum, if you wanted.”

Virgil was not sure what his face was doing, but it got a smile from Patton before the gluttonous demon darted back to the fireplace.

“Don’t you think you could have eaten that with slightly less mess?” Logan asked Roman.

“Hey, a demon’s got to do what a demon’s got to do. I’m hungry; I eat.”

“Yes, but you’re not exactly setting a great first impression to our guest,” Logan said, as if Virgil was not standing right beside them.

“Oh.” Roman looked over at Virgil. “My apologies, Patient Angel.”

It sounded more like a mockery of a nickname, and Virgil wrinkled his nose, but he had something else on his mind.

“You all speak strange,” he said honestly.

Roman’s eyebrows arched. “We’re the ones who talk strangely?”

“Roman.” Logan frowned at him.

Virgil thought about how to word what he was thinking. “Angels do not… shorten words, like you all do.”

Logan and Roman stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“You guys don’t speak in apostrophes?” Roman asked.

Virgil frowned. “Apostrophes?”

“Lucifer’s pitchfork...” Roman muttered under his breath with a shake of his head.

Patton arrived back with them, pushing a slate of what looked maybe like cream or yogurt into Virgil’s hands. “It’s got blueberries in it,” he said, also handing him a small, bent spoon.

Virgil looked at the little tub, to Patton, and back. Cautiously, he ate a spoonful. It tasted just as good as the drink, and did not kill him. He nodded approvingly. Patton beamed, and moved to hand Logan a platter of an assortment of foods that Virgil could not identify. The Demon of Gluttony darted back to the fireplace and returned with a bowl of what looked like crushed dragon fruit and maybe dried bread, but truly, Virgil did not have much clue as to what the food really was. He was about to ask when Patton and Logan both promptly sat on the ground.

The angel paused, startled. He looked around for a chair, but besides the one Roman was sitting in (backwards, now, as to see the others) at the desk, there were not any chairs. Slowly, Virgil lowered himself to the ground with them. He slowly ate through the meal Patton had provided him.

“Do you not have a schedule of meals?” Virgil asked finally.

Patton tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Angels cannot eat outside of the times on their schedules,” Virgil explained, and Patton looked horrified.

“We have no such rules,” Logan said. “No one moderates what we eat.”

“Bleh.” Roman made a face. “Imagine eating at the same time as everyone else. Gross.”

“Yes, the whole demonic kingdom would be covered in bloodied fur and splattered organs,” Virgil agreed sagely, and Patton burst into giggles. Even Logan looked like he was hiding a smile. Roman fumed in his seat.

“You’ll regret that, angel,” he growled, crouching on the seat.

For a terrifying moment, the demon launched from the chair, and Virgil waited for his throat to be ripped out.

But then Patton collided with Roman and the two thumped heavily to the floor, growling and snarling.

Virgil shot to his feet with a yelp, spilling the cream from his bowl. “Patton!” he shrieked, waiting for hot blood to spray onto the floor and Roman to go for Logan next.

But Roman only twisted, rolling Patton onto his back, and pinning him to the ground with a triumphant but breathy, “Ha!”

“Oh, very good,” Patton said, sounding frustrated and proud at the same time. “I could never beat you, anyway.”

“You certainly can’t,” Roman agreed. “You’re only small, Pattycakes. And you never had littermates to practice on.”

“Fair enough.” Patton sighed defeatedly. “You can’t always fight fire with fire.”

“Right.” Roman tossed his head importantly, so he missed the sly smirk creeping onto Patton’s face moments before his arms shot up to dig his hands into Roman’s sides.

The lustful demon shrieked, twisting to roll off Patton, who pounced on his friend, tickling him into the ground.

Still screaming and laughing, Roman hooking his arms over Patton’s waisted and dragging him down to be flush against his own body, preventing him from having the height advantage. Virgil was wondering if this was a common occurrence when Logan stepped in.

“Alright, alright.” The prideful demon moved towards them, his meal carefully placed to the side. Virgil glanced guiltily down at his spilled snack with a twist in his stomach. “That’s enough. We—”

Roman and Patton both lunged for Logan at the same time, dragging him to the ground into their cuddle pile.

Virgil tilted his head, almost trying to study them.

“Are you siblings?” he asked abruptly, and attention turned to him. For a moment, he felt guilty for interrupting their moment and cutting off their laughter, but then Roman’s returned, tenfold, and Virgil was pretty sure the only reason the demon had not curled into a ball yet was because of Patton and Logan’s weights pinning him flat to the ground.

“He thinks we’re littermates!” the Demon of Lust howled, tears forming at the edges of his eyes. Patton giggled with him. Logan did not laugh, but he did smile. Virgil was feeling far too out of place.

“No, we are not related,” Logan said to Virgil.

Virgil thought about Patton putting his hand on Virgil’s shoulder the moment he met him, and bumping their hips, and his spat with Roman, and now looked to where Logan was trying to explain further but was being distracted by the other two, and how he looked pretty far from professional from where he was squeezed into the snuggle pile.

“But you are so... touchy.”

Finally, the laughter died down again.

“I think demons are just like that,” Patton said, then drooped. “But... yeah, even for demon standards, I’ve been told I’m a bit much.”

“Not for us,” Roman said fiercely.

“You also live together,” Virgil went on. “Yet you are not related?”

“Is that an angelic rule?” Patton asked. His voice was gentle. Virgil nodded.

“As far as I am concerned, it is very common here for demons to live in family groups, but it is not a rule.” Logan pulled himself from the demons, despite Roman’s unhappy scowl. “It is, however, quite uncommon to contact and reside with demons outside of one’s category. Our group is... a bit of an anomaly.”

“I don’t know what that means but I bet it’s something super!” Patton chirped. He wiggled off Roman, who was looking more and more put-off with his cuddle buddies leaving him. “So... you’ve never been hugged, Virgil? Or touched, or anything?”

“I mean... sometimes,” Virgil mumbled. “When it was... really important.”

“Hugs are really important!” Patton said. “Would you like one right now?”

Virgil shuffled. “No, thank you.” He looked forlornly down at where he tipped over his food and guilt curled around him again. “I ruined your floor.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Patton said, waving his hands like he was waving away the issue.

Roman looked between the two of them, inquisitive, then yawned. “I’m tired.”

“You had a nap,” Logan said.

“I want another one,” Roman snapped. “Anyone care to join me?”

Virgil blanched, but the others did not react badly.

“Not tonight, kiddo,” Patton said. “We need to get Virgil sorted for where he’s going to stay. Wouldn’t want him to feel left out, now, would we?”

Roman grumbled under his breath and shot Virgil a dirty look, as if it was all his fault (and maybe it was) before stalking up the stairs like a prowling cat more than a grumpy goat.

“If you’re not siblings, are you partners?” Virgil asked. Patton and Logan shared a glance.

“It’s complicated,” Patton said carefully. “For... different reasons.”

“For starters, Roman is asexual,” Logan said, and Patton yelped and slapped him across the side of the head. The prideful demon instantly realised his mistake and ducked his head.

Virgil stared at him, trying to pick that apart. “An asexual Demon of Lust?”

Patton’s expression turned into something slightly more guarded and careful and utterly alien on that friendly face.

“It’s not unheard of,” he said, like he had to defend Roman.

“It’s possibly partly the reason he doesn’t belong anywhere but on the outskirts of the kingdom,” Logan said, and Virgil wondered if he had any tact.

Patton hissed at Logan, and he ducked his head, effectively ridiculed.

“I’m sorry, Virge,” the gluttonous demon said. “It wasn’t our place to tell you.”

“Roman has always been open about this,” Logan pointed out, and Patton frowned at him.

“That’s not quite the point, sugar,” murmured Patton, and Virgil tried not to wrinkle his noise. ‘Sugar’?

“Is everything okay?” Logan asked, and Virgil realised he’d been staring at the ground.

He looked up. “Is... is that normal, here?”

“Is what normal, kiddo?” Patton tilted his head.

Virgil did not know how to explain his question.

“There was... an angel I knew,” he started, slowly. “And... they did not like it when angels called them... a girl.” Patton’s eyes flooded with understanding, though Virgil was not sure how because he had not yet finished the story. “But... being who you are is something gifted to angels by Fate. It is a crime to think about changing it, and for anyone to agree. For that reason, angels are not to have makeup, or jewellery, unless it is for something like a theatre performance. So... this angel wanting to be called... ‘they’... was... shamed, and ignored, and eventually they just ran away, and they— she— ugh.”

Virgil made a very unlike angel noise and buried his face in his hands. He did not know why he was saying this, why he was asking these questions. Perhaps he had nothing left to lose. Maye he was just too tired to care anymore. Regardless of the reason, he was exposing himself to these demons — his kind’s sworn enemy — and he could not find it in himself to feel scared.

“It is hard to wrap my head around. Does that— Am I bad?”

“No.”

Surprisingly, the fierce answer came from Logan. Virgil looked up. The Demon of Pride was frowning, a flame in his eyes, but Virgil instinctively knew he was not the one in trouble.

“It is not your fault for being ignorant in a kingdom of arrogance,” Logan said firmly. “You are trying. You’re not ignoring us, like those other angels. Nor did you ignore that angel, just now, like anyone else did. That’s commendable.”

Virgil shook his head in disagreement but did not verbally protest.

“Did you ever hear from that angel again?” Patton asked with round eyes.

“No. Everyone thinks they just wasted away in the In Between. Their sister didn’t even care. She boasted that she was glad they were gone. My... my brother...”

Truth be told, Janus had followed along with just about everything the other angels had said. He had nodded along to their angry rants, and scowled in disgust, and tutted disapprovingly, all at the right points.

But when Virgil had stopped and looked, really looked, he had seen the tightness in Janus’ jaw. The tortured look in the back of his eyes. The way he would walk away from the conversation with clenched fists and tense shoulders.

He had not agreed with what the kingdom had been saying, but he had not had the bravery to say otherwise. Virgil was not much better; he was just as much of a coward.

“Angels have always been... close minded.” Logan spoke carefully, like he was stepping on glass.

“Not all of them.” Patton said with a smile in Virgil's direction, and if he was not so emotionally drained, Virgil may have blushed. Logan hummed in agreement, and then disappeared upstairs.

Patton led Virgil upstairs to a room at the end of a hallway. It was scattered with mink blankets and camel skins. The bed was long and low to the ground. The only light source was the hazy light from outside, hovering into the room through a window to cast the room in a red glow. It was a strange bedroom, far more different than Virgil’s back in the Angelic Kingdom.

“Was this... a spare room?” Virgil asked.

“What? No, silly, it’s my room!” Patton said brightly. Virgil blanched.

“I’m— I’m not staying in your room,” he said.

“Of course you are!”

“No!” Virgil cried. “I could not do that! It’s your bed!”

“Oh, I’ll just sleep on the floor downstairs.”

“No!” Virgil cried again, feeling more and more distressed. Who did he think he was? Invading the demons’ home like this, eating their food, ruining their carpet? Stealing Patton’s bed?

“No, no, it’s okay,” Patton was saying, rubbing his hands up and down Virgil’s bare arms. His skin burned under the demon’s touch. “It’s alright, sweetheart, breathe.”

“I do not want to steal your bed,” Virgil said through weird pants that were ravaging his body. “I do not... I...”

“Alright, honey. Okay.” Patton’s breath warmed Virgil’s cheek, and Virgil wondered distantly if Patton was standing on the tips of his toes to reach him. “No bed-stealing here. Okay?” Virgil nodded. “Okay. Come on, then.” He started to pull Virgil towards the bed.

“Hey, hey, no,” Patton said when Virgil jerked away from him. “It’s okay. You’re not kicking me out.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” Virgil offered. “I can leave—”

“No, no,” Patton insisted softly, crawling backwards into the bed, and gently pulling Virgil in with him. “Relax, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

“We—” Virgil swallowed. “We are sharing the bed?”

“I will not have a guest of mine sleep on the floor,” Patton said vehemently. Virgil tried to hide his smile. “And I don’t want to freak you out, so... this is a compromise?”

Virgil looked around the dim room, and then down at the demon, curled beside him, looking worried. He did not hide his smile that time.

“It is a good compromise,” he decided, and when Patton smiled that smile of his, Virgil found himself falling asleep easily.

Virgil awoke to the sounds of chatter and the smell of cooking meat.

He sat up, first confused at his unfamiliar surroundings, before remembering Janus, and the In Between, and Patton... And he was out of bed in quite a hurry.

He looked down at his wrinkled tunic. He thought about the near-rags the demons had worn yesterday, and how different their society was to angels, and wondered if they would care for his... unimpressive appearance.

He descended the stairs, found the three demons sprawled out around the floor, and decided they really would not.

“Good morning,” he said quietly, and Roman jumped three feet in the air. Virgil was seriously starting to doubt he was not a cat.

“Oh. You weren’t a fever dream,” he said blandly.

Logan sighed pointedly. Roman ducked his head but did not apologise.

“Good morning, Virgil,” Logan returned with a nod.

“‘Morning!” Patton chirped. “Here, we tried cooking some food for once. Um. I hope it’s okay.” He scampered over to pass him a plate of something that was almost burnt.

“Thank you,” Virgil said. He peered closely at it. “Angels do not have... whatever this is.” Roman gave an indignant squawk. “What is it?”

“Meat,” offered Patton.

“Food,” grumbled Roman.

“It is crocodile,” answered Logan.

Virgil almost dropped the plate. “What?”

Patton’s shoulders drooped. “It was the freshest meat we could get. Only a little bit! And we skinned it, don’t worry!”

Virgil wondered if he was turning green. “I-I do not think that I am very hungry.”

Patton’s face fell. “Oh.”

Something inside Virgil twisted at his crestfallen expression. “Uh—” he stuttered, which was odd because angels did not stutter. “Do you have cutlery?”

Patton instantly brightened and darted away to bring back a single fork. He moved around a lot, Virgil thought.

He held up the fork. “What... I...”

“You eat with it,” Patton said.

Virgil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I am to pick up this entire slice with a fork and... what, eat it in one gulp?”

“Do it, coward,” egged Roman. Patton and Virgil whirled to glare at him, but as Patton opened his mouth to scowl him, Virgil took the challenge head on and shoved what he could of the meat into his mouth.

It was chewy, and embarrassingly too much, and Virgil made a mess, but he managed to chew and swallow the whole piece in one go, and the demons looked thoroughly impressed.

“I rescind my ‘coward’ comment,” Roman said faintly, and Virgil would have smiled triumphantly if he was not so busy trying desperately to wipe his mouth clean. Patton giggled, and a moment later he was in front of Virgil, wiping his lips with the end of his torn sleeve.

Virgil blinked down at those sparkling blue eyes, so bright compared to his dark skin. If all demons were this gorgeous (which Roman and Logan were not, but they were still close) Virgil figured he would struggle to stay here much longer.

He ducked away before anyone of them could see the heat rising in his cheeks.

“Well, that was disappointedly uneventful.” Roman stood up and stretched. “I’m going to head out for the day.”

“Whatever for?” Logan asked. “You were out all of yesterday.”

“Inspiration, Bird Brain!” Roman said brightly. “There’s bound to be inspiration somewhere out there, and I just have to find it!” He padded over to the blocked entrance way and promptly... unblocked it.

“May I ask something?” Virgil blurted, and the demons looked back at him, surprised.

Patton inclined his head. “Something on your mind, kiddo?”

Virgil moved from Patton’s side to Roman’s and stared at the strange entranceway. He pointed at it. “What... what is this?”

“A... door?” Patton asked slowly.

Virgil looked between the demons and the door. “Angels do not have doors.”

“Satan, are there anything that angels do have?” Roman muttered.

“A good sense of who is an unnecessary dick,” Virgil said imperiously. Roman gaped at him. Virgil was not sure if he was more offended or impressed.

“Why don’t we all go out for the day?” Patton suggested abruptly. “We can help Roman look for something to write about and have a picnic at the same time!”

“Demons have picnics?” Virgil asked.

“I’m sure it’s not nearly as appealing as your sunlit, wind-filled ventures,” Roman sniped with a vicious smile, “but I’m sure we can find some place that will be just as dazzling.” Virgil wrinkled his nose sceptically. Roman grinned merrily over his shoulder. “Come on, then!” He disappeared out the door.

Logan rolled his eyes. “He’s damn hopeless,” he muttered, moving after him regardless. “Are you two coming?”

Virgil followed the trio of ambling demons out into the wasted landscape of red rock and hazy smoke. He eyed the burned-up shrubbery and shallow craters dubiously. Did Roman really think he could find a place that could rival a picnic area like those they had in the Angelic Kingdom, with a gentle breeze and clear air and brilliant sun? Maybe the real reason he could not write something good enough for the city’s attention was that he was just delusional.

After almost tripping over multiple loose rocks, having his robes caught on several spiked, burnt shrubbery and having a particularly scary, too-close encounter with a suddenly bursting geyser, Virgil was ready to end the adventure and drag the demons back to the house — or at the very least, trudge back on his own.

It was entirely unfair that the demons seemed to move much easier than him.

Roman, at the front of the group, had a pounce in his step. He leapt over boulders with ease and almost pinged off the ground each time he moved. Logan stepped lightly, delicately, but still with so much more grace than Virgil could manage. Even Patton, who supposedly was a Demon of Gluttony, totted pleasantly along, having no trouble with the difficult terrain.

It was an obvious given, but Virgil was not built for this hellbent place.

“Ready, you angelic pain?” Roman called, bringing Virgil from his thoughts. He looked up to see that they were approaching a strange wall of thorned bushes. Virgil was not sure there were even any flowers or leaves on the branches. He scowled.

“Ready to walk back to the house accompanied with thorn-sized divots covering my body? It’s a hard pass from me.”

Roman threw his head back and laughed. Without another word, he reached forward and brushed a portion of the branches aside, the thorns scraping harmlessly against his rough, dark skin, and Logan ducked through the created entrance.

Patton wiggled with delight and bounded right after, but Virgil hesitated. He could not see what was beyond the thorn wall. He glanced between Roman and where the other two had disappeared.

The Demon of Lust only smiled toothily. “If I were you, I wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.”

Virgil scowled again and brushed passed him, carefully avoiding stray branches.

Now, Virgil grew up — literally — in the light. He was used to bright days and no cloud cover. Houses were always lit with sunlight and extra candles and orbs of brightness. Even nighttime had sparkled with stars and the overhead moon.

Fair to say, Virgil’s eyes were used to intense, beaming displays.

Virgil was not prepared for the blazing light that assaulted him the moment he crossed through the thorn bush wall.

He might have actually staggered (which angels were not supposed to do under any circumstance) because he felt far too unsteady on his feet until a warm hand pressed to his back. His hands had risen automatically to shield his face, and he squinted desperately to see through his fingers at the blinding light.

“Oh, bad luck!” Roman’s voice said, just behind him. “Don’t worry, it just pulses sometimes. The blindness will recede eventually.”

“Eventually?” Patton squawked, somewhere at Virgil’s side. Virgil could just about hear Roman rolling his eyes.

“Fine, fine! Here, keep your eyes closed.” A pair of warm fingers pushed down on Virgil’s eyelids, and he fought against the urge to pull away. The hands were gentle and careful, and it almost felt like they were rubbing the light from behind his eyes.

After a moment, Roman retracted his hands, and Virgil’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked, then blinked again, trying to find something to focus on.

Patton’s bright blue eyes and curious expression and careful smile, it seemed, were mighty fine things to look at.

“Are you okay?” the gluttonous demon asked.

“He’s fiiiiine,” groaned Roman. “Come on, come on! I want to show you around!”

Virgil shook his head to clear it, took a step back, and gaped at their surroundings.

There were in a crater, but one that must have been thousands of years old, because the ground was regrowing its strange plant life, with some new additions including startling coloured blooming flowers and huge leaves. There was no life within the crater, as much as Virgil could tell, but the plants themselves looked like they were sentient lifeforms, waving in a non-existent wind and snapping at air.

Above them, the cloudy haze had lifted, at least a small bit, to reveal an obsidian sky above, so much darker than Virgil was used to. There was no moon, and no visible stars.

In the centre of it all, most likely the thing that had caused the crater to begin with, was an enormous, glimmering rock.

Virgil felt, frankly, quite faint.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Roman boasted. “I tried jumping on it, but it was way bigger than I anticipated. And I did NOT fall on my ass, before any of you say anything, because you can’t prove it!” No one was paying attention to him, though.

“A dying star,” Logan breathed, somewhere off to Virgil’s side. Virgil turned on him, startled.

“What?” He glanced back at the glowing stone. “That doesn’t make any sense! It’s solid, it’s not gas — that’s not possible— and there’s no stars around here anyway! What— i-it’s glowing, it’s— what?”

Silence followed him, and he looked around at the others.

“That’s the nerdiest thing I’ve experienced since Logan,” Roman said, flabbergasted.

Virgil ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “It just... took me off-guard.”

Patton giggled. “It’s okay.” He touched Virgil’s arm, only lightly, so Virgil would later wonder why it felt as if little pricks of lightning were shooting through his nerves. “It was cute.”

“Oh my GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD,” Roman complained. “I’m going down to find a spot to sit before you guys make me sick.”

Before Virgil could pick that comment apart in his confusion, Logan said, “You knew this was here,” in an astounded voice.

Roman threw a grin over his shoulder. “Yep.”

Logan sighed, raising his eyes to the starless sky above. “Unbelievable.”

It was only after the four of them settled onto a smooth section of rock, away from any hungry-looking plants, that Virgil realised they had not grabbed any food for the ‘demon picnic’. He must have had a look that spoke his confusion as much, because Patton tilted his head in his direction.

“What’re you thinking about, kiddo?” he prompted.

“When... what do you do on picnics?” Virgil asked. “There’s no... wine, or cheese, or... anything.”

“I thought angels didn’t eat out of time,” Roman said, only a little snidely.

Virgil met his eyes with a challenge. “Angels have designated picnic schedules.”

Roman’s eyebrows rose. He rubbed his face. “When do they make these rules?” he muttered. “Before or during your stages as a minor?”

Virgil lifted his chin, ready to reply... but why was he defending that kingdom? What did he care what these demons, who demonstrated more care and welcome than an entire lifetime of being with the angels had provided?

He lost his assertive posture. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, some of the rules are pretty dumb.”

Roman laughed, but there was something, deep in his eyes, that looked pained, and forced. “They certainly are.” He stood. “Better go find something to eat. Any requests?”

Strange tradition aside, Virgil offered, “Not crocodile.” Roman laughed again, and this time Virgil’s lips twitched in amusement. The sound was contagious.

“Very well,” the Demon of Lust said. “I will endeavour to find the best but crocodile for our angelic guest.”

It was after he left back through the thorn barrier that Virgil said, “For a lustful demon, he is very... enthusiastic about things that don’t involve... romance.”

“He’s showing off,” Logan said.

“He’s always been like that,” said Patton at the same time. The two glanced at each other. “It’s a bit of both,” Patton continued after a moment. “He insists on doing the hard work, like fetching water and food and anything else hands-on for us. It’s sweet.”

Virgil frowned. “Why?”

Patton ducked his head.

“It could be to do with the derivative views of Demons of Lust,” Logan explained slowly. “They usually aren’t the most... proper of demons. They live in the heart of the city, but from their nature you can guess what majority of their occupations entail.” Virgil grimaced and Logan nodded empathetically. “Demons of Lust tend to be... uh.” He cleared his throat. “Good with their hands, and Roman intends to prove that he can be useful in other ways.”

Virgil gaze down at the smooth ground beneath his legs.

“He's been through a lot,” Patton said, his shoulders drooping. Virgil wanted to wipe that sad look off his face, but he did not even know what to say, let alone how to act.

Logan hummed in agreement. “Yes, especially—”

Patton’s head shot up to give him a dark look, and he promptly stopped talking. Virgil looked between the two of them. “What?”

“Nothing,” Logan said, too quickly. He eyed Patton uncertainly before lowering his gaze. “It’s... nothing.”

“I have food!” Roman’s voice sang, and a moment later he was bouncing back through the bush towards them, in that cheerful gait of his. He trotted over to dump the gathered food before them. A group of collected berries, some weird, thick leaf-things, and a carcass of a dead animal about the length of Virgil’s arm.

“Why didn’t you just bring food with you when we left the house?” Virgil’s wings fluttered as he picked up a dark berry and squinted at it.

“Food doesn’t keep. Well, meat doesn’t,” Roman said, and Virgil had a hard time listening to anything he said when he talked as if he knew how food in the Angelic Kingdom kept. “Got to eat while it’s fresh!”

Virgil politely declined the meat, and focused on the variety of berries, and a couple of the strange leaves. They were filled with a weird substance, almost tasting like mince of sorts, and if Virgil was not sure weirded out by them, he probably would have eaten far more.

As it was, he had never had much of a big appetite, and he sat back after only a few minutes of eating.

It gave him a chance to study the others while they were distracted. They ate like ravenous wolves, and Virgil was half glad he had finished, because he probably would have lost his appetite even quicker.

Patton ate like he had not been fed in years, and Virgil’s eye roamed over his lean figure and exposed ribs and wondered distantly if he was constantly starving. Roman ate with all the grace and poise that Virgil expected from a Demon of Lust, and that was the same amount as any other demon — that is to say, little to none at all. He had gone quarters with the other two with the meat, and was tearing into it, muck and blood splattering from his lips and staining his knuckles. Logan focused more on the neater foods, but even he managed to look like he was fighting the food more than eating it.

Needless to say, it was a strange, mildly frightening experience.

Once they were finished, though, and had wiped the evidence from their lips and hands, the trio were back to their normal, grinning states. Virgil wondered if all demons went feral over meals and would not have been surprised by a positive answer.

“You didn’t eat much,” Patton said, almost mournfully. Virgil shrugged, and gifted him a hint of a smile.

“I could not have let you guys go hungry,” he said with a glimpse of mirth in his eyes. Patton clearly saw it and beamed back. God, that was almost as blinding as the dying star. He glanced back at it. “How did you find this? What science could possibly be behind it? You will have to explain it to me.”

Roman fell onto his back. “Oh, great,” he bemoaned. “Now we’re going to have to listen to Tail Feathers preen and gush about the stupid science behind a fallen, dying star. What’s so interesting about the logic of it? It’s a giant jewel from the sky! Cool enough as it is.”

Patton lightly whacked his knee. “Hush. You like listening to him.”

So the pair of them — and Roman, though it was obvious he tuned in and out — listened as Logan talked about the Demonic Kingdom and it’s landscape and surrounding atmosphere, how it tied into the world and kingdoms around it, and why it was so special that a dying star landed there of all places.

Logan talked quite a bit, Virgil quickly found, as he was still babbling even as they began to leave the crater. Virgil was not getting bored of listening to him, however, and was not about to complain. Roman obviously did not have the same opinion.

“OKAY WE GET IT,” Roman hollered after Logan had gone off on a tangent about the nonexistence of a sun and moon in the Demonic Kingdom. Virgil was unable to smother a snort of amusement, and Logan shot him a sly smirk. Virgil hoped Logan had kept talking just to bother Roman. “YOU’RE SMART AND ALL OF YOUR SMART, SCIENTIFIC WORDS ARE GOING OVER OUR HEADS, LET’S TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE NOW.”

“Actually, ‘nerdjacking’ is neither a smart nor scientific word,” Logan correctly mildly. Roman stared uncomprehendingly at him. Logan’s lips twitched. “It’s made up.”

Roman shrieked furiously, and Virgil burst out laughing as he lunged for Logan and widely missed, causing him to tumble across the dusty ground.

“Wow, able to catch crocodiles but not peacocks?” Logan said, mock-curiously. “You have an interesting skill set, Roman.”

“YOU FIEND!” the lustful demon screeched, and the pair darted off in the direction of the house, leaving Virgil and Patton a giggling mess in their dust.

Well, Virgil was giggling, and at first, he thought Patton was too, until he realised the demon was staring at him with a blank expression and wide, round eyes. Laughter died on his lips. “Is everything okay? Did I do something?”

Then Patton’s face split with that incredible smile again, and his eyes may have honestly started watering.

“Your laugh is... is...”

“Oh.” Virgil ducked his head, feeling his face heat up. He smiled, a little. “Yeah. I... I haven’t laughed like that in... a long time.”

A pair of hands cupped his cheeks and brought his gaze to meet Patton’s. “I hope we can keep that,” he said, voice quiet and lips soft and do not think about it, Virgil, stay strong. “I really, really hope we can keep you laughing like that.”

“What?” Virgil straightened, becoming too tall for Patton to reach, and smirked. “Does it fuel your ever-constant hunger for angel blood?”

Patton giggled and shook his head. “No. It just... makes me happy.”

Something in Virgil’s heart shifted and oh, that was not fair.

“Should we try and catch up?” he said, nodding to where Logan and Roman had disappeared off to. “Just to make sure Logan hasn’t actually been eaten or something by Roman.”

Patton chuckled. “Or that Roman hasn’t broken anything with his misplaced attack attempts.”

In agreement, the pair walked hand-in-hand after the other two, and Virgil prayed Patton wouldn’t look up and see the blush on his face.

It must have been a week, or maybe two, when Virgil woke up and his daily routine was interrupted by a particularly disturbing new variable.

Virgil often slept in far longer than the demons. He had come to find that this was because demons slept twice, throughout night and day, preferring to have two long naps that broke up their day instead of sleeping all in one period. It was strange, but Virgil learned to adjust (especially after he realised that they had been neglecting their second nap during the first few days to accommodate for him.) He’d gotten used to their routine, like how Roman was the one who often got food but Patton was the one who dished it out, or how Logan often zoned out when he read, or Patton’s daily wandering walks out of the house, which Virgil had learnt was how he had been found by the demon in the first place.

So, Virgil often woke up from his shared bed with Patton alone, and could go about getting ready by himself. His robes now were dirtied and torn from the toll adventuring would take on his outfit. At first, he was concerned that they would see him as improper, and dirty, and hate him and order him to leave, but they had barely batted an eye. They didn’t care for his tattered clothes, and frankly if they didn’t, neither did he.

He could merely dress, splash his face with fresh, warm basin water, and would go downstairs. He could resort to combing his hands through with his fingers. The demons didn’t use hairbrushes. Virgil could get used to all of this.

Except as he moved his hands through his hair, he brushed against something — a pair of soft, fuzzy somethings that moved with his touch — and he shrieked.

Virgil staggered downstairs at the same time as the demons lunged up to him, worrying over him, demanding to know what happened, why he screamed.

Babbling uncontrollably, Virgil grabbed Logan’s wrists and shoved his hands in the direction of the weird new appendages growing from his head.

Logan’s fingers gently glossed over them, and he relaxed.

“Ah,” he said, as if everything made sense. “Don’t panic, Virgil. They are simply ears.”

“I have a pair of perfectly good ears on the sides of my head!” Virgil cried. “Why do I have these?” He yanked at the fuzzy ears and ignored the pain that shot up his skull. Patton yelped.

“No, no, don’t do that!” He darted forward to try and ease Virgil’s hands from his head. “Don’t pull on them, honey, it’ll just hurt.”

“Easy, city slicker.” Roman grinned. “That’s normal. See, check these out.” He bent his neck at an awkward angle to expose his goat horns, and Patton gently moved Virgil’s hands to feel them cautiously. “Everyone has animal traits.”

“Demons have animal traits,” Virgil corrected.

The three demons glanced at each other.

“Yes,” Logan responded slowly, “and so can Turned Angels.”

Virgil blanched. “W-what? Angels can... can turn into demons?”

Logan glanced at the other two, who weren’t giving him any help. He nodded almost uncertainly, like he didn’t want to say the wrong thing to set anyone off. “It’s... possible.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Virgil cried, and the three of them recoiled from him as he began to pace. His wings flared open and shut, agitated. “There’s no— that— Really?”

Roman, suddenly snappish, growled, “Are you going to take our word for it or are you just going to keep blabbering all day?” Virgil paused, and waited for Patton or Logan’s reprimand. It didn’t come.

He turned away, hugging himself.

“Oh, baby.” Patton’s soft voice and warm breath reached his arm as the demon wrapped his arms around his torso. “It’s scary, I know. If you returned to the Angelic Kingdom now, your demonic traits wouldn’t be permanent. You could go back and return to normal if you’d like.”

And somehow that was even more horrifying than the idea that he was turning into a demon.

Virgil suddenly realised how silent it was around him, like the others were too scared to even breathe in his presence.

“No.” He let out a long breath. “No, it’s okay. Well. It’s not okay, but it will be. I will be okay.” He turned in Patton’s arms and pulled the little demon to his chest. He looked over Patton’s head to Logan and Roman. “I’m sorry for scaring all of you.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Patton said. “You could never!”

Logan and Roman didn’t interject, but Logan inclined his head in mute acceptance and forgiveness. Roman didn’t meet anyone’s gazes.

“I’m going to look for inspiration,” he muttered finally, and pushed past Virgil and Patton to disappear out the door. Patton half reached for him, protests dying on his lips. He drooped, defeated, in Virgil’s grip.

“Sorry,” Virgil said again.

“It was not entirely your fault,” Logan assured him. “Roman...”

“He’s not sensitive,” Patton defended quickly.

“I wasn’t going to say he was,” Logan assured him. “It’s a bit of a sore topic for him.”

Virgil fidgeted with his hands. Patton stilled them when he clasped their fingers together. “I feel like there’s more to him than you guys are ever going to tell me.”

“He has a brother,” Logan said, and wasn’t that just a proving point to Virgil’s statement? “He doesn’t live with him because it is forbidden.”

“I thought demons could live with whoever they like,” Virgil said.

“Demons can,” Logan confirmed.

“Angels can’t,” Patton said softly.

When the reality of what he’d just been told, Virgil stumbled back. He sat on the ground, staring at the carpet. There was a dark stain there, made by a spilled tub of blueberry yogurt.

“He’s an angel,” he said faintly. The demons’ silence answered his unasked question. “He’s an angel.”

“He was,” Patton corrected, moving to sit before him. “He’s a demon now, kiddo.”

Virgil shook his head. “But— he was so confused! About angel rules, and me, a-and...”

“He left a long time ago,” Logan said. “Times change.”

Virgil rubbed his hands over his face, his mind racing. Lust, his mind said, quietening the other thoughts, and he looked up, realising he had said that aloud. “Chastity. He was an Angel of Chastity.”

“Indeed.” Logan dipped his head.

It explained a few things, at least. Roman’s mutinous comments about angels, his lack of sexual preference, why he liked exploring the demonic world.

“Why did he leave?” Virgil asked. “Was he sick of the pretentious rules, too? But... he had a brother. Why would he leave his brother?”

Patton and Logan exchanged looks.

“That’s not our place,” Patton said softly. “We’ve already been telling you far too much.”

“You know he wouldn’t mind.” Logan moved to massage his nimble fingers into Patton’s tense shoulders. Virgil felt a spike of jealousy curl in his gut. Why didn’t he think to do that for Patton?

“Should I go after him?”

“Why don’t we draw something?” Patton suggested, glancing up to Logan. “Roman got those new blank scrolls the other day.”

Logan smiled. “Good idea.” He moved the bookcase and brought back a thick, empty scroll that he laid out in the middle of their small circle. He set the charcoal pencil beside it.

“I’m not very good at drawing,” Virgil admitted quietly.

“That’s no issue.” Logan waved a hand, like he was physically dismissing the apology.

Patton smiled, and shuffled over to lean into Virgil’s side. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured, and pressed a chaste kiss to Virgil’s cheekbone. “I’m not great at it either.”

Virgil’s mind was so busy malfunctioning that he completely missed the first half of the demons’ drawing game. When he eventually tuned back in, face still aflame and heart still thumping madly, he found that Patton and Logan were taking turns in drawing on the scroll’s canvas. So far, they had created a flat landscape with a single silhouette of a tree positioned on the side.

“Ready to play?” Patton asked with a sly look in his direction. If he had been in his right mind, Virgil would have cursed him. As it was, he could barely reply with a ‘thank you’ as Patton passed him the charcoal piece. He looked uncertainly down at the half-drawing and tried to think about anything but the way his cheek was still on fire. The charcoal rubbed against his pale skin.

Slowly he leaned forward, picked a spot where he wanted to draw, and carefully, he began to sketch.

It was sloppy, and too bulky, and not the right shape, but once Virgil pulled back from his attempt at a moon, both Patton and Logan seemed floored.

“That’s gorgeous, Virgil!” Patton said. Virgil shrugged.

“It’s...” He was aiming to say ‘nothing,’ but he found he couldn’t push down Patton’s praise as easily after that kiss. “Thanks.”

Patton grinned and leaned against him, resting his head on the edge of his shoulder. Virgil didn’t tense like he wanted to, but fire still ran up the skin where Patton touched him. He wondered if that was normal but didn’t want to interrupt Logan as he frowned and drew what looked like cloud cover over Virgil’s moon.

It was beginning to look like a beautiful landscape (with a far-off ocean, a setting sun blanketing the surrounding area in rimmed darkness, an overhead moon peeking through some clouds with its star brothers and sisters) when Roman arrived back.

“Got dinner,” he mumbled, and dropped a sack of grain, meat, and salt rocks next to the fireplace.

“Oh, thank—!”

Roman slammed the front door closed when he left again before Patton could finish.

For a moment, the three of them glanced between each other.

Then Virgil sighed quietly and stood. “I’m going to go talk to him.” Logan nodded, once, and Patton attempted to smile but Virgil could see the force behind it. He turned quickly so Patton wouldn’t have to keep up the act and moved to the door.

He knocked on it experimentally, but got no reply, so he opened it and slipped outside.

Roman was sitting to the side, leaning against the house. He didn’t look mad, or even sad. His eyes were worryingly blank.

“Sorry for snapping, earlier,” he said dully.

“It’s alright,” Virgil said, almost instantaneously. He sat down beside Roman, mirroring his position. “I... must have done something wrong, so—”

“No.” Virgil swallowed, glancing at the demon, who was slowly shaking his head. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

The pair sat in silence. Roman still looked slightly dazed. Virgil fidgeted with his hands.

“So...” he said after a minute, “you have a brother?”

Immediately he wanted to screw his jaw closed, but Roman didn’t react badly.

“I do,” he simply confirmed. Virgil took it Roman also understood that he now knew his past of an ex-Angel of Chastity.

“Did you leave because... you weren’t happy with having a brother?” Virgil asked softly, that mystery still unsolved.

Roman shook his head. “I was fine with it.” He didn’t offer anything else. Virgil felt a little out of his depth, to be the one trying to keep conversation with the usually loud, energetic demon.

“Was your brother not happy with it?” he asked instead.

“He was also fine with having a brother,” Roman said, and Virgil was at a loss. Roman finally raised his head, but instead of looking at Virgil, stared off into the distance. His eyes were the same discoloured red as the bricks behind them, as opposed to the bright blood that had locked onto Virgil the first time he stepped into the house. “It was... the Ancient Angels who had issues.”

Virgil’s eyebrows twitched. “That’s odd,” he mused thoughtfully. Had he ever experienced something like that? Had he ever even heard of something like that? “You can’t help who you are related to.”

Roman’s voice was quiet when he responded, “That’s not entirely the point, Virge.”

Virgil’s shoulders drooped. He was still confused. “Oh.”

Roman looked over at him from the corner of his eye, and when Virgil glanced over at them, there were hints of mirth returning to his gaze, his lips curling the tiniest bit upwards.

“You know, if you’re going to be sticking around, I think I need to think of some new nicknames.”

Virgil scoffed and rolled his eyes. “What, names like Angel Ass and Featherbrain weren’t good enough for you?”

“To be fair, Featherbrain is Logan. He’s the peacock.”

“And what do you think I am?” Virgil challenged.

Roman shrugged. “Who knows? With these little suckers.” He reached up and tugged — gently — on Virgil’s ears, and he laughed and batted him away. “How does a hyena sound?”

“A hyena?” Virgil squawked.

“You laugh like one,” Roman said with a grin. “And you are quite greedy when it comes to Patton’s attention.”

“Hey!” Virgil shrieked. “No! I am not!”

Roman hooted with a laugh, scrambling away as Virgil lunged for him.

“Maybe you're a pig, like him!” he guffawed. “And you just need to wait it out until they grow more! It’s simply meant to be!”

“Shut up!” Virgil was laughing too hard to make an effective opponent, and Roman kept scampering out of the way of his grabs. It took a minute for Virgil to realise that Patton and Logan must have heard their ruckus and emerged from the house to watch the two of them scuffle.

Roman noticed them, lit up, and was bowled over when Virgil finally managed to catch him off-guard.

“Ha-ha!” He grinned down at Roman. “I win.” Roman pouted for a moment before smirking.

When his fingers tug into Virgil’s side, the angel merely raised an eyebrow. Roman’s face fell.

“Wait, what? Why aren’t you— That’s supposed to work!”

“I’m not ticklish,” Virgil announced with an air of victory. Roman groaned and squirmed indignantly.

“Damn it,” he muttered, and Virgil grinned toothily.

Roman startled, then, and peered closely at him. He reached up and his fingers just barely brushed against Virgil’s bottom lip. He jerked back, startled, and Roman, bashed, blushed.

“Sorry. Just, uh... pointy.”

Virgil frowned. “What?”

Roman pointed at his mouth, and Virgil ran his tongue over his teeth to find that, horrifyingly, there were indeed pointed.

“Everything okay?” Patton had moved up beside them, and Virgil shuffled off Roman. He swallowed.

“I really am turning into a demon, aren’t I?” he said quietly.

Patton’s eyes flooded with sympathy.

“You don’t have to,” Roman said, sitting up, before Patton could speak. “You could leave.” It wasn’t the same snappish tone he had used before fleeing the house. It wasn’t even remotely annoyed. Roman looked at him patiently. Empathetically. “It would fix everything. You wouldn't have to live like this.”

“Whatever you do,” Logan added, moving to Virgil’s other side to squeeze his arm, “we will help you.”

“Yes,” Patton agreed, though his voice was subdued and mournful. Virgil looked down at the small demon and his forlorn features. He glanced at the pain flickering in Roman’s eyes. He saw the tension coiling in Logan’s muscles.

He huffed and stood up. “I... have to think about it.”

“I’d love to tell you to take your time,” Logan said, rising with him. “But there’s an uncertainty around how much time you have before the power of the Demonic Kingdom take over your angelic senses.”

Virgil swallowed. “Can you give me an estimate?”

Logan glanced at Patton and Roman. “A day,” he choked out finally. Virgil’s heart dropped.

“Oh,” he said faintly.

“I’m sorry,” Logan said, and his voice trembled. “Maybe if I could have found out sooner, I would have been able to tell or, or fix it, or—”

“Hey, Big Bird, calm down.” Roman stood to press against Logan’s side. “Breathe.”

“It’s okay, L.” Virgil gave him a small smile. Patton bustled up to hold his hand, and he squeezed reassuringly. “We’ll work it out.”

Logan sighed dejectedly but didn’t protest or argue any further.

“I wonder if I’ll still have my wings,” Virgil mused, but then caught himself with a brief glance in Roman’s direction and his very obvious bare back, void of wings despite being an ex-angel. “Oh— sorry.”

Roman blinked before laughing. “Oh, don’t be sorry!” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe you will! I didn’t lose my wings to demon transformation.”

Virgil caught himself. “You... didn’t?”

“No.” Roman went sombre. “When I ran, I was unlucky enough to be intercepted by a patrol.” He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck nonchalantly, but Virgil felt sick.

“They...?”

Roman nodded. “Made sure I couldn’t change my mind once I left.”

Virgil’s gut twisted and he looked away. “God, what’s wrong with my people?”

“They’re not your people,” Patton injected softly. His hands were warm against Virgil’s palm. “You’re not like them.”

“What good am I doing down here?” Virgil whispered. “Running away from my problems, thinking I’m the only one with issues?”

“You didn’t know what else to do,” Patton reasoned. “From what you’ve told us, you couldn’t have known there were others like you.” In the corner of his eye, Virgil watched Roman tilt his head inquisitively at that, but Patton elaborated, “Oppressed and outcasted by those stupid rules,” and the lustful demon seemingly lost interest. Virgil tried not to squint at him. Curious.

Virgil shook himself, and Patton dropped his arm. That was enough niceties. Virgil could get ill with all the affection.

He nodded to the house. “Well, we don’t want to let dinner go off.”

“A man after my own heart!” Roman sang, already jumping forward.

“Wait.” Logan’s voice was firm, but deadly still. The others paused too, glancing back at them. His gorgeous eyes were narrowed at the ground as he concentrated, troubled. He looked up at them and asked, “Does anybody else hear that?”

Both Roman and Patton immediately stiffened. Virgil opened his mouth to ask what they were talking about.

“Patton look out!” cried Roman, lunging from the shelter of the house doorway to collide with the other demon.

Then two angelic sentries landed and slit Logan’s throat.

Roman’s bellow may as well have made the ground shake. Virgil would have almost believed that he was a cat instead of a goat, but then the second angel grabbed him by his horns and shoved him face first into the ground and held him there.

Patton was crying, huddling backwards, and quivering against the ground. His eyes were as wide as dying stars, flickering between his family.

“LOGAN!” Roman roared against the dirt smudging against his beautiful face. He struggled against the angel but couldn’t budge. It didn’t look like Logan had heard him, anyway; his eyes — those striking, dark eyes — were already glassy. Blood the colour of amethysts was pooling around his head as it flooded from his neck. His stained lips might have been twitching, trying to move, but all that came from his mouth was a trickle of that violet blood.

Virgil’s head spun.

He should be doing something. He should be moving. He should be screaming or crying or defending his friends or something, but he was standing there uselessly, and Logan was dying— Logan was dead— Why? What did the angels want? They couldn’t be here for him. He was a nobody. He didn’t matter.

Don’t tell me they killed Logan for me. Please, please, don’t tell me this is my fault. Logan can’t be dead because of me.

A third angel landed, glorious wings extended to their full length, glittering golden eyes narrowed, smile sharp as he straightened and readjusted his spotless suit.

“Hello, Virgil,” said Janus. “I thought I had told you not to mess with demons.”

Virgil had to throw up. He was going to throw up.

He couldn’t speak. He wanted to say Janus’ name, to curse him, to demand he leave, to help Logan, anything…

He couldn’t speak.

Beneath the feet of the second demon, Roman was cursing up a storm, expletives spitting from his snarled lips as he— glare wasn’t even the right word — as he blazed at Janus. Virgil's brother ignored him in favour of approaching Virgil, who quailed back. Roman snarled viciously, struggling to stand, making the angelic guard buck, unbalanced.

Janus paused and sighed. He didn’t even look in over his shoulder, but it must have been enough incentive for the angel because they drove their sword through the Demon of Lust’s back.

Virgil’s breath rushed out of him. He heard Patton screaming.

The angel stepped aside, taking their sword with them.

Patton shot forward, and a cry tore itself from Virgil’s throat.

“Go away!” Patton wailed, stumbling to Roman’s side, and pushing his hands to where the blue blood was soaking through his back. “Get away, you horrible, horrible, winged monsters! Leave us alone!”

Roman groaned, and Patton’s voice broke and he stopped shouting. He started talking quietly to Roman, who responded dazedly, but Virgil couldn’t hear either of their voices, even as he stared at them from his frozen position.

“Virgil.” Janus sounded tired. He was standing in front of him. Virgil could see him in the corner of his eye. He kept his gaze focused on Patton and Roman. “Oh, dear, you are trembling.” A hand gripped his elbow. It was cool, and smooth, and his brother’s, and not a demon’s.

“Don’t touch me.” Virgil ripped from Janus, skittering back to stare furiously at Janus. “What are you doing here?”

Janus blinked, and Virgil wondered where the hell he got the audacity to look shocked.

“I am taking you back,” he said slowly, as if he were explaining angels and demons to a youngster. As if he were explaining why angels were good, and holy and perfect, and demons were feral, disgusting scum not worth wasting time on.

“You are not coming anywhere near me,” Virgil snarled. Janus looked at him like he’d grown a tail and started talking in tongues.

“I understand we have had our disagreements,” Janus said slowly, holding up his hands. Patton was bent down to Roman, now, pressing their foreheads together. “But that is no reason to pick a fight with demons to air your frustrations. They could have killed you.”

Virgil gaped at him. He glanced over at Logan’s corpse, and Roman’s blue-soaked body and the tears rolling down Patton’s cheeks.

“Pathetic creatures, really,” Janus mused sadly. “It is almost a shame that they had to die because of you.”

Virgil choked on his curse, unable to get anything past his clogged throat.

Janus sighed again. “Come, Virgil. We are going home. Now.”

He turned and flared his wings. After a moment, he glanced back and found that Virgil hadn’t moved an inch.

Virgil glowered dangerously at him. His voice was steel. “I am home.”

Janus started.

Patton lunged.

Virgil jolted, as shocked as Janus while Patton clawed and bit and scratched and growled and cried and whimpered and sobbed.

The world swam around Virgil when he looked over to find Roman’s eyes dull and colourless. They didn’t even reflect off the shimmering pool of cobalt surrounding him. Virgil distantly wondered if the lump in his throat was not anxiety or emotion, and just his heart, trying to push its way out of his body, knowing that would be far less of a painful fate than what was happening around him.

Janus hissed, twisting away from his attacker, but the little demon only launched a second time, fastening the bone of Janus’ wing in his jaw and crunching it between his teeth.

Janus’ shriek spurred the other two angels into motion, and they darted forward.

Virgil got there first.

He lashed with his wing, the sharp ends of his feathers striking through both eyes of the first angel. She reared back with a shriek, clawing at her own face. He ignored Janus’ stunned cry of “Virgil!” and threw himself at the second angel, bowling them over and crunching their leg beneath his weight. He blocked out the screams as he dug his fingers — and sharpened nails, when had they grown so long? — into their thigh, digging and clawing until white blood was gushing from the gaping wound.

Firm hands dug into his shoulders and tore him from the angels, whirling him around and throwing him into the side of the house.

“What are you doing?” Janus’ eyes were wild, his hair crazed. His suit was flecked with small spots of white blood. Yet his voice was terrifyingly quiet, barely disturbing the electrified air. Virgil bared his teeth, and Janus paled. “You...”

Patton tackled Janus again, but the angel was ready for him this time, and the little demon was thrown to the ground with a brutal thump. Janus turned on him, his fingers twitching, like he was planning on twisting Patton’s neck in his grip.

And Virgil wasn’t going to have that.

He snarled and met Janus with a fire in his eyes and blood on his hands.

Janus ate dust when he crashed to the ground, metres from where he had been standing.

“DON’T TOUCH HIM,” Virgil ordered, his voice unnaturally deepened with fury.

Janus flipped to his feet. “Virgil—”

Virgil bared his fangs. “No.”

Janus’ eyes narrowed. “You are being reckless and—”

“No.”

Janus sighed. “I do not want to fight you, Soft Wings.” His voice was soft, and for a minute it seemed like the ever-present-since-childhood nickname would break through to Virgil. He hesitated. He looked at his brother and thought about what he was planning to do.

And then he caught a side of the blue and purple blood, sinking into the ground.

Soft Wings.

Kiddo.

Patient Angel.

Honey. Sweetheart.

Coward. City slicker.

Kiddo.

Angel of Practice.

Kiddo, kiddo, kiddo.

“Don’t worry, boss.” The first angel’s voice cut through Virgil’s inner mantra. He looked over to see her stagger, hand still covering her face, her lip twisted hatefully. “While you take care of your wayward brother, we will deal with the final demon.”

Virgil erupted with anger.

Literally.

At first, Virgil didn’t know what was happening, or where the blinding light, bright enough to rival a dying star, was coming from.

Then he felt something tugging at his skull, and his teeth and nails groaning in protest, spiking pain itching up through his spine.

When the light died down, Virgil raised his head to glower at Janus with elongated pupils.

His brother was frozen in place, like all the breath had been squeezed from him. The other angel had been knocked onto her back, and now one of her wings was twisted at an awkward, unnatural angle.

“Virgil.” Janus held out his hands beseechingly. Virgil fought the instinct that told him to bite off his fingers one by one. “What can I do?”

“What, still want me around?” Virgil snarled around his new fangs. “Want a demon for a brother?”

“I want you,” Janus breathed. “How do I get you back?”

Virgil raised his chin, power thrumming through his still-present wings. His long tail lashed. “You can’t.”

He knew he shouldn’t have been hurt at the heartbroken expression that flickered across Janus’ face. He had chosen this when he had ignored Virgil, when he had ridiculed him, when he had arrived at his new home where he was safe and happy and protected and slain his friends in front of him.

Janus smiling proudly down at him. Janus straightening their halos before leaving the house, his smooth hands making sure his bracelet wasn’t crooked. Janus laughing as his young little brother tried to do the same for his anklet, and only fumbled with it until he tripped. Janus introducing him to an angel with bright green eyes and toothy grin, announcing that he was their new roommate. Janus gently explaining that Remus had no family anymore, and the Ancient Angels had allowed him to live with them. Janus nodding approvingly when Virgil offered his hand to Remus, out of politeness and not joy.

“But.” Virgil spoke before he realised he had. Janus looked up, and Virgil suddenly saw how ragged his brother was. His feathers were matted from the blood that Patton had spilled, but they had been ruffled before he had even landed. His eyes were haunted, and tired, shallow shadows hugging the bags of his cheeks. He was tired, and stressed, and now gutted.

“But,” he said again, his voice more level. “If you can prove that you can fix your mistakes — if you find angels that are being outcasted, help them, give them a home and a safe place and somewhere where they aren’t suffering purely from the rules of the Ancient Angels. If you fight for angels who can’t fight for themselves. If you fight against injustice. If you make sure angels like him never find the same fate...” He pointed to Roman’s limp body and tried not to burst into tears. “Then maybe then, and only then... will I consider forgiving you.”

Janus visibly swallowed. “And then—”

“And then,” snarled Virgil, and Janus fell silent, “you will see how merciful I’m feeling.”

Janus clasped his hands behind his back, and Virgil saw how badly he was shaking. “It would have been more effective if you didn’t speak in apostrophes,” he said in a weak voice.

With a roar, Virgil striked forward, dark claws slashing along Janus’ face.

His brother staggered back, but he didn’t look betrayed or hurt. It was almost pitiful, how he looked like he understood Virgil’s behaviour.

“If you leave now, maybe I’ll let your little soldiers live,” he hissed. The other two angels were quaking as they stared at him. Janus, keeping his gaze locked with Virgil, waved at them with one wing, and they scrambled into the air, beating their wings furiously.

Janus opened his mouth. Virgil stared him down and he slowly shut it again. He didn’t say anything, only dipped his head — in understanding? Acceptance? Fear? — and turned, following the soldiers in a much more graceful manner.

Virgil watched with sharp eyes until they disappeared through the oppressive cloud cover above.

“Virgil?” a painfully quiet voice whispered. Patton slipped his hands into Virgil’s, and he promptly broke down. “Virgil!” Patton, alarmed, followed him to the ground, wrapping a warm arm around his back.

“I’m sorry,” rasped Virgil, his voice fading to barely above a hoarse whisper. “I’m so sorry, Pat, I...” In the corner of his eye, he saw Logan’s vacant gaze and Roman’s blue blood, and he broke off with a shuddering sob, his shoulders shaking. “I’m sorry.”

He heard Patton audibly gulp and wondered if his senses had been heightened or Patton was just remarkably close.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, warm lips pressing to Virgil’s temple. “It’s not your fault, honey.” Virgil choked, turning to bury his face in Patton’s shoulder. “They’ll be okay.”

Virgil didn’t protest. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He wasn’t in the mood for empty reassurance, or blind faith or hopeless dreams or misguided illusions. He’d had enough of lies.

He didn’t voice any of this. All that came from him when he opened his mouth was more sobs.

Patton continued to rub his back and press warmly at his side and gently hush him, which was all ridiculous because Patton was the one who was supposed to be sobbing and ripping up the ground and yelling at the sky.

Virgil trembled in Patton’s arms as the demon — though they were both demons, now, weren’t they? — stood them up and guided him — not towards the house, but to Virgil’s horror, Logan’s cooling body.

“I need you to help me get him inside,” Patton said softly. “Can you carry him?”

Virgil stared down at the blurry image of his friend through his tears. God, those beautiful eyes were not supposed to be that lifeless.

“Yeah,” he croaked finally. “Yes.”

Patton nodded, and for a brief moment, pressed his head to Virgil’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Virgil,” he promised emptily before pulling away and creeping over to Roman’s body like he was a startled animal and not a dead demon bleeding the colour of the Angelic Kingdom sky.

Virgil, after steeling himself, sunk to his knees and worked his arms under Logan’s body. He tried not to think about the warmth seeping out of his skin, and the wetness of his blood, and the way his chest wasn’t moving and eyes weren’t sparkling and mouth wasn’t moving in some random ramble about some vague scientific fact.

He swallowed another sob and stood, lifting the other demon easily in his arms. He wondered if he had always been so strong. (He doubted it.)

Something lashed behind him, and when he glanced down, he saw the tail — his tail — whipping back and forth for balance.

With another swallow, Virgil ignored it and moved to the house. He prompted the door open with his hip and Patton bustled passed him, walking awkwardly with Roman’s weight. Virgil averted his eyes and stared at the ground as he followed Patton up the stairs.

“Logan’s room is that door further down, just next to Roman’s,” Patton said, his voice still low. Virgil glanced over at him helplessly. Patton looked like he didn’t have the energy to even fake a smile. “Just put him in bed, kiddo. I’ll come and help when I can.”

Virgil tried not to frown in confusion. He wasn’t one to question demonic rituals, or ceremonial acts of a culture different to the one he was used to.

My culture now too, I suppose, he thought glumly. He trudged into Logan’s bedroom and looked around. It was far barer than Patton’s, or maybe just neater. Interesting looking scrolls were stacked in a corner. A map of what was presumably the Demonic Kingdom was hanging on the wall.

Virgil moved to the simplistic-looking bed and gently lay the prideful demon on the sheets. He was glad they were black, and the blood that would stain them wouldn’t be very visible. He wondered if demons didn’t bury their dead, but he couldn’t remain on that train of thought for too long because the idea of keeping Logan and Roman’s still, blood-soaked bodies in the house, just rooms from where Virgil slept, made him feel very, very ill.

Shuddering, he turned from the room and crept out. He peered into Roman’s room, where Patton was laying a red blanket over the lustful demon’s body, talking softly to him. Virgil remained silent as Patton sniffed and sat on the bed, almost curling up next to the body.

When Patton looked up without looking surprised, Virgil realised with a jolt that he had sensitive hearing.

“Sorry,” he murmured. Patton finally smiled, then, but it was small and still seemed a little forced. “I just, uh...” He growled under his breath, annoyed at how clumped his throat felt. Patton’s expression went impossibly soft and he stood, moving over to wrap his arms around Virgil’s ribs.

“It’s okay to feel things, sweetie.”

“I should have done something,” Virgil cried. “Logan even heard them coming — you all did! I could have stopped all of this if I had just—”

“Just what, love?” Patton interjected. “Taken the hit for yourself? Tried to explain to a trio of furious angels why they shouldn’t attack a group of scary-looking demons?”

“You’re not scary.” Virgil’s voice hitched. “None of you are.”

Patton’s smile widened, only slightly. Virgil rested his chin on Patton’s hair. “I’m glad you think so.”

They stayed like that for a while, leaning against each other, Virgil trying to calm himself and Patton trying to keep them both grounded.

“Well, I suppose we should get things ready,” Patton said finally, pulling away. “Once we’ve fetched some water, could you go and look over Logan? I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

Virgil stared down at him, all bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks and clogged nose and throat.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, exhausted. “Patton, they’re—”

“Oh!” Patton cried, hands flying to his mouth, and Virgil sighed, waiting for the demon to delve further into his denial. “Virge, I— I’m so sorry!”

Virgil frowned.

“We’re demons,” Patton said, as is that explained every question in the universe. “We can’t die.”

Virgil suppressed a groan. “Patton—”

Patton waved his hands, shaking his head furiously. “No, no! Really! We regenerate, it just takes longer depending on the injuries.”

Virgil blinked, then blinked again.

“Logan and Roman will be fine, really! Their bodies just need time to heal themselves!”

Virgil’s breath vanished from his lungs.

“It’s okay, Virge,” said Patton. “They really will be alright.”

Sudden heat flooded back into Virgil’s eyes. “Oh,” he said in a small voice, then again, breathlessly, “Oh.”

Patton smiled, laughing quietly. “It’s okay, Virge,” he said again. “I’m sorry, I should have told you, or explained it, I just forgot that there’s some not-very-common knowledge between our kingdoms and I—”

“But— but you were so upset!” Virgil gripped the sides of his head. “You went ballistic!”

Patton winced, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you try watching your family die in front of you and see if you act so chivalrous.”

Virgil let out a final, whooshing breath and fell forward, pulling Patton and crushing him to his chest.

“God fucking damnit, Pat,” he said with a wet laugh, then quietened, pulling back to stare at Patton in the eyes. “This is the truth, right? You’re not in denial or going delusional from grief?”

“No,” Patton promised. “I’m telling you the truth.”

Virgil nodded several times, processing the information. “Okay.” He narrowed his eyes. “What do we need to do?”

Over the course of the next day and night, Virgil wiped the blood from Logan’s skin, finding it already knitting itself back together as time went on. He wrapped bandages around Logan’s neck (and then was able to remove them not a few hours later, the blood having stopped flowing) and washed the bed sheets until the water no longer ran purple.

Patton did the same, although multiple times Virgil caught him having another breakdown while he tried to help Roman. Virgil (privately, of course) cursed Fate for making him fall for such an emotional demon. On several of these occasions Virgil’s mind started to race, telling him that something had gone wrong, or Patton had broken from his illusion of a happy ending, or Roman’s wound had been too great for his body to recover from.

But then Patton would smile and reassure him that it just got a bit much sometimes, and Virgil would sigh, return his smile, and send him downstairs to take a break while he took over.

Most of the night was filled with this sleepless routine.

At one point, they managed to catch some quiet time together in Patton’s (their, Patton would correct him) bed.

Patton reached up to run careful fingers through Virgil’s hair and finger at his new ears, giggling when they flicked under his touch. Virgil allowed him to run his new tail through his hands, too, watching with amusement as the gluttonous demon beamed at this new development.

“A tiger,” he whispered, and Virgil’s eyebrows arched.

“What?”

“You’re a tiger,” Patton repeated, looking up. “Your eyes— your reaction when it all happened... and of course! The opposite of patience: you’re a Demon of Wrath.”

Virgil fumbled, a little, at this revelation.

“I don’t feel angry,” he mumbled. Patton smiled.

“Does Roman always seem to feel lustful, to you?”

“He did try and hit on me the first few minutes I walked through the door,” Virgil pointed out. Patton rolled his eyes with a laugh.

“That’s just Roman,” he said. “But it’s because you’re not a pureblood. You are a formed demon, not a birthed one. There’s nothing wrong with that. In our house, at least,” he added with a sly wink.

Virgil flushed. He blew a raspberry at Patton, who giggled and wiggled up to cuddle him.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said quietly. “A very pretty tiger.”

“I think sleep deprivation is getting to you,” said Virgil gently, guiding Patton’s head down to rest on his collarbone. “Try and get some rest. I’ll look after the menaces.”

“Alright, kitto,” Patton murmured sleepily and closed his eyes. Virgil didn’t have the heart to wake him up to demand what sort of pun that was.

That next morning, Virgil walked into Logan’s room to find the Demon of Pride trying to stand from his bed.

“Hey!” he barked, darting forward to grab Logan’s shoulders and shove him back onto the bed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Logan had the audacity to give him an incredulous look. “Standing up?”

“After taking that sort of damage, fat chance,” Virgil snarled at him. “Lie back down.”

Logan blinked, then squinted. Virgil paused, feeling vulnerable under the scrutiny.

Though, then he suddenly realised his tail was flicking with anticipation and his ears had folded backwards in confusion, and he realised.

“I’m uh... I suppose I ran out of time,” he said, only a little sheepishly. “I’m a demon, now.”

“I can see that,” Logan said mildly, but Virgil could tell he was pleased. “I can’t exactly stay in bed all day, Virgil. Can you help me up?”

Virgil scowled down at him. “Do you promise to take everything slow and easy for the day?”

Logan sighed. “If that’s what it takes.”

Virgil thought for a minute, but seemingly satisfied, Vigil gripped his (now warm again) hand and helped him stand. To Logan’s complete credit, he barely even swayed. Still, Virgil couldn’t force himself to relax. He kept his grip firm but gentle on Logan’s arm and circled him. Logan stood still, looking mildly amused, and let Virgil finish his examination.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Virgil asked, leaning forward to squint at Logan’s face, thoroughly inspecting his smooth throat and bright eyes.

So when their lips knocked together, at first Virgil assumed it had been his fault, but then Logan’s expression morphed from dazed to horrified, and he took a step back.

“Apologies,” he said quickly. “I— that’s—”

Virgil didn’t know what his face was doing until his cheeks started to ache, and he realised he was smiling so wide his dimples were probably on full display (ugh).

He reached forward, sharp fingers lightly trailing the edges of Logan’s lips, which had previously just been pressed into a thin line.

“Feeling okay?” Virgil asked. Logan visibly swallowed, then nodded. Virgil pulled his hand back and Logan adjusted his shirt primly.

“Quite.”

Virgil grinned, and the tip of his tail twitched happily.

“Again, Virgil, my apologies, I—”

“Hey,” Virgil, fixing him with a patient look. “Do I look mad?”

“But— you and Patton—”

“Eh.” Virgil shrugged. “You’re all pretty likeable, for demons.” He shared a grin with Logan, who finally relaxed.

They both heard the thumping on carpet and the excited babbling long before Roman careened into Logan’s open doorway and stared, gaping, at Virgil.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, and Virgil was almost confused before Patton came up behind Roman. “Oh my god, you really weren’t kidding.”

“I told you I wasn’t!” Patton laughed.

“Unholy SHIT,” Roman cried. He shot forward and circled Virgil, who glared at him challengingly and dared him to say something. He paused in front of Virgil and bit his lip, looking abashed. “Can... Can I...?” He gestured to the top of Virgil’s head.

Virgil relaxed and ducked his head compliantly. Roman attentively brushed over his ears.

“How does it feel?” Logan asked curiously. Roman pulled back and Virgil straightened. “Being a demon?”

“Yeah,” scoffed Roman, not unkindly, “you’re not the superior being anymore. How does it feel to be longer above us? I have to know, it’s for science.”

Logan shot him a bemused look. “How on earth does that have anything remotely to do with—”

“SILENCE, GUINEA-FOUL,” Roman interrupted. “Let the Siberian Forest Cat talk.”

Patton frowned disapprovingly. “Ro—”

He was cut off by a chortling snort, and with a surprise, they turned to see Virgil covered his face with his hands, laughing into his palms.

“S-sorry,” he gasped out, waving his hand, and shaking his head. After a moment he composed himself and smiled down at Roman. “That was terrible.”

It seemed it was a day of unusual behaviour: Roman didn’t act offended at this. He only grinned brightly.

Then his face dropped into a scowl and he crossed his arms.

“God, that’s so unfair,” he muttered. “You got to be a tiger. I’m just a goat.”

Virgil tilted his head, thinking about his previously private conversation with Logan. A smirk creeping along his face, Virgil decided: fuck it.

He leaned down and planted his lips firmly on Roman’s.

“I don’t know,” he said as he pulled back, grinning smugly at Roman’s stupefied face. “I think they’re pretty great.”

Roman’s breath shuddered as he inhaled. His smile was a little star-struck when he said, “R-right.”

Patton giggled and looped his elbows through both Roman and Virgil’s arms.

“I have to admit I am curious as well,” Logan said slowly, and Virgil wondered if they just weren’t going to talk about any of… ‘it’. “About your certainty of your decision — staying here, beneath the rest of your people?”

“They’re not my people,” Virgil said, and it sounded familiar to something he’d already heard. He shook his head. “They’re not even my family.” Patton looked horrified at this, but Virgil grinned and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him into a side hug. “You guys are.”

Patton and Logan smiled. Roman made a face. “That was cheesier than Patton’s puns.”

“Or sappier than your nicknames,” Logan countered, and Virgil sighed. Sentimental moment over, he supposed, as Roman bleated in outrage.

“Hey!”

Six months later

Virgil, realistically, wanted to ask for a single day of normality.

A relaxed day, maybe an uneventful one. Maybe where he could take a nap without the anxiety of the house falling to pieces without him around to keep the order. (Honestly, how had these morons survived this long without him?) A day of bliss.

Not one where Roman wanted to try cooking for a change and forgot about it, causing the fireplace to explode and almost burn down the house, or where Patton tried to cheer Logan up after his feathers were burnt from Roman’s food mishap with an endless stream of puns and bad dad jokes that made even Virgil groan.

So of course, it was on this particular disastrous day that Fate decided to mess with Virgil personally some more.

He was reading over Roman’s most recent work, having successfully achieved attention from some in-city demons after some of Virgil’s tweaks to his work. (When Roman had found that the potential publishers had disregarded their groundedness because of how much the work had improved, he had hugged Virgil so hard he was fairly sure at least two ribs had popped out of place.) The story wasn’t bad; Roman was obviously trying some new avenues, now that he was more confident that demons would consider looking at what he made.

He was just circling a word and suggesting a better alternative when he heard it: the flapping, signifying approaching wings, too large to be an animal, yet not big enough to warrant panic. Although, the fluttering around the edges of the sound, indicating wings made of feathers made a small pit of anxiety grow in Virgil’s gut.

The others heard it too, but Virgil was already standing and making for the door before they could say anything. Patton tried to call for him to stop, but he exploded out of the house just as Janus landed.

He looked as formidably professional as ever, not a strand of hair out of place, his wings perfectly folded at his back. Face an expressionless mask. Eyes carefully blank and unreadable.

The only thing different this time around, was the gashed scars slicing down the side of his face, trailing over his eye running down the side of his cheek to reach the edge of his lip.

Virgil glowered at him, hunching his shoulders. He unfurled his wings, the feathers unkempt and so dirty the white was almost black, now, but still as glorious and empowering as ever. He blocked the entrance of the house with them, keeping both his possessions in, and Janus out. (He could hear impatient bustling as Roman paced at his back, wanting to get past.)

“What do you want?” Virgil demanded. He heard shuffling behind him, and the sound of Logan’s tailfeathers brushing in alarm. Distantly, he remembered that he and Roman hadn’t heard his tempest tongue before.

Janus visibly composed himself. “You told me that once I had done as you required, I would-”

“I told you I would consider forgiving you,” Virgil spat. “Not that you could return here.”

Janus seemed to be at a bit of a loss at this, closing his mouth and blinking.

“Ah,” he said finally. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Should I... I suppose... I’ll... be leaving, then.”

“Good.” Virgil snarled, baring his teeth for good measure.

“Wait!” a little voice cried, and Patton burst between the doorframe and Virgil’s wing. The Angel of Anger gave him a chagrined look. “Wait, maybe— maybe we can hear him out.”

“Sure.” Roman scrambled out behind Patton, and Virgil sighed, exasperated. What was the point in trying to protect them if they didn’t get the hint? “Right after I dig something sharp into his back.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Patton, distressed, grabbed Roman’s arms.

“Let’s see how he likes it!” Roman snarled. “What if we slit his throat as well, while we’re at it?”

“Perhaps we should think this through,” Logan piped up. At least he was being sensible and staying behind Virgil, where it was safe. “I doubt he came here for a fight.”

“No,” said Roman fiercely, and he almost shaking, “but we can sure give him one.”

“Stop it,” Virgil growled, his voice losing its unnatural tone. Silence fell and he tried to swallow guilt. “Go inside.”

“What?” Roman demanded, whirling on him. “But he—!”

“Roman.” Virgil stared him down, unwaveringly. Roman growled.

“We’re not helpless, Virgil,” he said.

Virgil sighed and moved from the doorway, cupping Roman’s face in his hands. “This is less of me being worried about what he’ll do to you, and more of me being worried about what you will do to him. You are quite a formidable foe when you want to be.”

Roman squinted suspiciously. “Flattery isn’t going to get me to relax.”

“But it’ll make you listen,” Virgil countered smoothly, and Roman finally relented. He shuffled back, but Patton slipped his hand into Virgil’s and peered up at him.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked in a whisper. Virgil smiled down at him.

“I’ve got it,” he reassured him. Patton nodded and stepped back. Virgil’s palm burned as he strode forward.

It was strange. They were... together, now, all four of them. Apparently, the trio of demons had been before Virgil had even arrived, but despite Virgil having been head over heels for Patton first, the pair of them still hadn’t exactly... made moves. Virgil wasn’t sure why. He hoped it wasn’t something he’d done to make Patton second guess anything.

He shook those thoughts from his head. That wasn’t what he needed to focus on.

The glare he fixed on Janus made him blurt, without pause, “I came to see you.”

Virgil’s eyebrows arched. His blackened wings twitched. His tail swished warningly behind him.

Janus looked like he understood the unspoken message clearly: you see me, and I am a demon.

“I... wanted to inform you that—” Janus’ voice became a little uneven, and he cleared his throat and straightened himself — “that I did as you asked.”

Virgil glowered.

“Started to do as you asked,” Janus corrected himself. “It’s... a work in progress?”

Virgil tried not to let his surprise show on his face. Janus was smug, and cunning, and insufferable, and he didn’t ever show any sign of weakness, and he certainly didn’t act so unsure of himself.

“I approached... many other angels, and... the majority of the Ancient Angels have been confronted about the community’s... opinions.”

Virgil’s lip twitched in disgust and Janus winced. “They... have considered my suggestions of changing a select number of rules. I... have the heads of Humility and Abstinence aiding me. And Remus, too, of course. I think I can sway Head of Kindness with a little more time, too. Emile does not like me very much.”

Virgil realised with an inward jolt that his face had gone slack from his tight scowl.

He resisted the urge to clear his throat. There were countless things he could say. He could growl a deep, “Good.” He could bare his teeth and snap a sharp, “Get out.” He could snarl and slash at the other side of Janus’ face, give him a matching set of scars, and roar that he didn’t care what Janus had done or would do.

The truth was: Virgil could say a lot.

The truth was: Virgil said nothing.

Virgil stared at this angel and refused to admit that he really did just want to see him as his brother once again.

He stared at Janus and nodded once.

“You can... always return,” Janus went on. “There are rules about demons and angels coexisting, and I doubt I will be able to change those ones as swiftly, though... I believe I can be convincing enough for an expectation to be made.”

Virgil’s ears flicked.

“Remus misses you, I think.” Because of course, Janus wasn’t going to admit to any weakness, and missing someone was certainly a weakness. “You... know that you can return to your family, no matter what, right?”

Virgil narrowed his eyes as he said, “I am with my family.”

Janus’ face didn’t betray any emotions, and Virgil wondered if he had seen that coming, and had been prepared. For a long moment of silence, he said nothing. His eyes darted over Virgil’s tensing shoulder. Virgil’s ears swivelled to listen as Roman shuffled on his feet anxiously, and Patton’s hands brushed over his shoulder, and Logan’s feathers fluttering as he strained to overhear their conversation.

“So you have,” Janus admitted faintly.

Virgil lifted his chin. Similarly, Janus lowered his gaze.

“I... will return, now.” The angel stepped back.

A quietly cleared throat made Virgil glanced over his shoulder. Patton, between Logan’s curious eyes and Roman’s deep frown, made a face that Virgil couldn’t make out. He blinked uncomprehendingly, and Patton gestured, a little wildly desperate, to Janus, who had turned to leave.

Virgil almost ignored him. Almost said nothing.

But then he was blurting out a jumbled, “Wait.”

Janus went rigid, but he paused. He didn’t turn, and didn’t speak up, obviously waiting for Virgil to speak.

“You... you may return,” Virgil said haltingly. “Once... once there are... more developments.”

For a long time, Janus said nothing.

When he turned, it was only a slight tilt of his head. The scars on that side of his face glistened in the heat of the Demonic Kingdom’s landscape.

“Only for updates,” he agreed without a hint of bitterness or malice. “Understood.”

With that, he flared his wings and shot into the sky. Virgil watched until the clouds swivelling around his disappearing form and he vanished.

Well, Virgil thought in a voice that was almost painfully reminiscently Patton’s. That could have gone worse.

“Are you going to stand there all day, you striped shorthair?” Roman called, still obviously impatient.

With a jump, Virgil turned and returned to them.

“How did it go?” Logan inquired.

Virgil tried to think on that, but all that his mind provided was static.

Logan smiled and rubbed his arms reassuringly. “That’s a perfectly normal reaction, Virgil. Don’t worry.”

Virgil nodded. Another warm hand brushed against the side of his face, and he looked down at Patton.

“Are you okay?” Patton asked with that soft, light voice of his, those gorgeous, caring eyes staring up at him. Virgil decided that after a long time, he really was.

In answer, Virgil grinned, and kissed him.

22 notes · View notes

delicatelyherdreams · 5 years

Text

Pragma(tic) 10: She Sees the World in a New Light

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 4272

Warnings: Language

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 9: The Past Comes Back to Haunt Her

It’d been years since you’d actually gone out into the Mortal World and stayed for any amount of time. You used to make trips daily to reap your own souls before Pierce came to work for you and Clint agreed to help you out. But that was during the time of the Ancient Greeks and Romans; way before any of the modern technology came out.

Back then, people went to sleep right as the sun went down. They were quiet, reserved, timid, and shy. You were free to roam the streets of the villages, hardly a soul to join you. You’d enjoyed the silence of the Mortal World.

But now?

You couldn’t believe how much the world had changed.

The city was set ablaze with neon lights and lamps. You could hardly tell that it was nighttime anymore. People bustled around, talking to each other, talking on their phones, or not talking at all. Some walked with friends, others alone, but all were awake and lively. The colors from the street lights and glowing signs bounced off their skin, turning them different shades and making them ethereal and strange. You hadn’t seen anything like it in a long time.

Sure, Olympus had mimicked these mortal cities, but there was something unique about the Mortal World that Olympus simply didn’t have. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it was beautiful and comforting and it made you happy.

The atmosphere was warm despite the piles of snow on the ground. White fairy lights were strung from lamppost to lamppost. People talked with animated gestures, a smile on everyone's face.

Sipping on your frappuccino, your eyes traveled from person to person, taking in their clothes, their hair, their facial expressions, everything. You were able to gauge what kind of a person they were within moments and garner a bit of insight into their life by mentally scrolling through the registry of souls and taking a peek at their file (that was the good thing about being the Queen of the Underworld—because every single soul was technically your subject, you were able to access every bit of their information).

A hand squeezing yours drew your attention away from the people, and you turned your eyes to the man beside you.

Bucky smiled down at you, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. “You enjoying yourself?”

Pulling your lips away from the rim of your drink, you nodded and smiled up at him. “I haven’t had a night like this in forever. I think I was in my early five hundreds the last time I got to roam the Mortal World. It’s changed so much.”

“It has, hasn’t it?” Bucky took a sip of his latte and looked forward. “I’ve been coming here for decades, and every time I come, I find it astonishing.”

“Here? As in New York?”

“Heh, yeah.” He paused as he slowed to a stop at the corner of the sidewalk, a red stop hand commanding pedestrians to halt. “Steve and I love coming to Brooklyn. We practically grew up here. My mom spent a lot of time here before it got built on, tending crops and stuff. She moved away when the city sprang up, but I still love it here.” A happy sigh escaped his mouth. “It’s a beautiful city. I love coming here, especially in the winter.”

“Do you come here often?”

“At least once a week or so. I’m considered a regular at some shops.”

The stop hand turned into a walking man and you and Bucky followed the crowd across the sidewalk. Your voice quieted as you asked, “Isn’t that dangerous though? Won’t the mortals realize you never age and get suspicious?”

He shrugged. “Some might, but they hardly pay attention enough to realize that I still look the same as I did years ago. And the ones that call me out on it, well they deserve to know the truth.”

Your eyes bulged out of your head. “You told them?”

He laughed. “Relax, (y/n). I don’t tell everyone, only some. I think I’ve maybe told five people the truth in my 1,385 years of existence, and most of them are elderly at that. In fact, you’ll be meeting one of them tonight.” His grin was sly as he tugged you across the street by the hand. “He runs a pastry shop I’ve been dying to take you to. His cinnamon rolls are the absolute best.”

You followed Bucky down the street, eyeing the path ahead warily. “So, he knows about you and what you… are?”

“Yeah. I told him a few years ago when he called me out on not aging.”

“So then he knows you’re the real ‘Persephone,’ as the mortals call you?”

He breathed a laugh. “Yes, he does. And the first words out his mouth were, ‘I knew you were a flower child,’ and the second ones were, ‘Wait, you’re not a lady.’ Gods, it was mortifying to try to explain to him that the myths were wrong and that I was, indeed, not a woman despite the feminine name given to me by the mortals.”

“So am I to assume that he knows about me too?”

Tilting his head from side to side, he pursed his lips in thought. “I think he probably knows you exist, but I’ve never had reason to tell him about Hades, the goddess of the Underworld. I didn’t think it was important or necessary until I befriended you. But I’ll introduce you tonight. He’s a cool guy, and I think you’ll like him.”

Gods, you hoped you would; but you hoped he’d like you more. Mortals were not very hospitable to the gods that resided in the Underworld and dealt with death. They were afraid of you and that made them abrasive, hostile even. The last time you told a mortal you were Hades, she blanched with fear and ordered you (the best she could with her trembling voice) out of her house.

Bucky led you through the city, down another block or two, and stopped outside an old fashioned pastry shop. The red and white awning had faded to a salmon above the store, but the gold lettering that read “Pop’s Pastries” on the window was still crisp and neat as if it had been painted on yesterday. Bright lights illuminated the shop from the inside, casting a glow over the endless display cases of pastries and cakes as well as an elderly man sitting behind the counter on a stool with a book in his hand and reading glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

“Come on,” he said, tugging you in by the hand. A little bell over the door jingled as Bucky pushed the door open and passed through the threshold.

The old man behind the counter looked up, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well well well. Look who it is.” He fit a bookmark in between the pages of his novel and set it down so he could give his undivided attention to the pair of you. “If it isn’t my favorite celestial being. And who is this you’ve brought with you, Persephone?”

Bucky chuckled. “It’s Bucky, not Persephone, Arthur. We’ve been over this.”

“I know, but I don’t care.” Arthur’s eyes glistened with amusement. “Now answer my question: who’s the pretty lady. A goddess perhaps? She’s pretty enough for it.”

You giggled and shook your head. “I don’t know about pretty, but yes, I am a goddess.”

“Ah-ha! I knew it! Now, which one are you? No no, wait, let me guess.” He leaned back in his chair and eyed you, scrutinizing your entire figure. “You’re… Aphrodite.”

The laugh that tore through your threat was louder than you had intended and you quickly slapped your hand over your mouth. “Oh gods. I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to laugh. But no, I am not Aphrodite. That name belongs to the lovely Pepper.”

“Artemis then.”

“Nope. That’s Wanda.”

He hesitated. “Hera?”

Your lips curled up in a grimace. “No, that’s my sister’s wife Maria.”

“Your sister’s wife… You mean your sister is Zeus?”

“Carol, actually. But yes, the mortals call her Zeus.”

“So then, if your sister is Zeus, then you’re…” You could see the gears turning in his head.

You smirked. “You’ve got a fifty-fifty shot at this, mister. If you get it wrong, you’ll hurt my feelings.”

“Alright… My guess is…” He sprinted and turned his gaze up to the ceiling. “Oh, lord; you’re wearing black. You are… Hades?”

A smile took over your lips. “Ding ding ding. We have a winner.” Bowing to him with an ounce of flounce, you said, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am (y/n) Aidoneus, the unseen one, eldest daughter of the titans Kronos and Rhea, goddess of the dead and wealth, and Queen of the Underworld, at your service.”

Arthur whistled in appreciation. “Those are some pretty impressive titles, your majesty. I am honored to be in the presence of one of the big three. Just, one question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why you hanging around with a minor god like Bucky here?”

“You know, I’ve been asking myself that for weeks.”

“Hey!” Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You love me and you know it.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that, Springy.”

Arthur snickered, his voice ringing out through the otherwise empty shop. “Oh, to be young and in love. I swear you two act like an old married couple already.”

Your head snapped towards him and you lost even more color if that was even possible. “In what? No no. We’re not… I mean… No. We’re not a thing.”

“Oh, my mistake your highness,” Arthur said. “I only assumed that you were together cause Buck here has never brought anyone here unless they were special to him.”

“We’re just friends, Art,” Bucky said, holding up his hands. “Nothing more, nothing less. Believe me, I just barely got to be friends with her; she almost had my head the first couple times I broke in and she only just gave me the keys to the kingdom.”

“Ah, that is right. You were a little trespasser up until a few months ago, right?”

“Mhmm. He was.” You shot Bucky a glare. “However, I have learned to tolerate his presence in my kingdom. There are still places he’s not allowed to go, but he can come into my house so long as he has my permission first. Now.” You rolled your shoulders back and sauntered over to the display cases of baked goods. “Bucky tells me you have the best cinnamon rolls in the world and I’m curious to see if he’s right.”

Arthur popped off his stool and walked behind the cases, pulling a small plate out of seemingly nowhere. “I sure do. It’s an old family recipe, dating back to when the first cinnamon rolls were created in Sweden. I sell nothing but the best here.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Arthur pulled two cinnamon rolls from behind the case and set them on two small plates that were just the size for the pastries.

Mumbling your thanks, you took your plate over to one of the tables that stood in the vacant shop. You took your seat elegantly, sitting up straight with the posture that only royalty seemed to have. Ever so carefully, so as to not dirty your hands, you wrapped your fingers around the roll and lifted it up to your lips. As soon as the sugary icing touched your tongue, you were hooked. “Oh my gods, this is amazing!”

Arthur bowed his head. “Thank you, milady. I’m glad that they have your seal of approval.” He moved back over to his spot and plucked his book from the counter. “Well, I’ll leave you two youngins to it. I’ll be in the back reading. Holler if you need anything.”

“Will do. Thanks, Arthur!” Bucky sat down at the table across from you and smirked. “So what did I tell you? Best cinnamon rolls in the world, am I right?”

You bobbed your head as you chewed. “Yeah, yeah. I guess you’re right.” As you swallowed your bite, you dragged the back of your hand across your face to wipe away the crumbs that had undoubtedly made their home in the corners of your mouth. Smiling down at your roll, you couldn’t help but feel satisfied with your current situation, though a bit saddened. This place—as quaint and lovely as it was—felt like one you should be sharing with a lover. Naturally, the only lover you’ve ever had fell into your mind. You could just barely imagine the naiad sitting in the chair across from you, his brown eyes sparkling as you covered his nose with frosting. It would be the perfect date. You would’ve loved to have brought him here. A mellow sigh left your lips and you murmured, “Gods… Brock would love this.”

“Who’s Brock?”

You blinked. Holy fuck, had you really said that out loud? Welp, shit. Time to roll with this. You gulped. “He’s my… Uh...”

“Boyfriend?” Bucky’s voice was timid, cautious, perhaps a bit scared. He spoke the word like it was bitter on his tongue.

You breathed a laugh. “No. I don’t know what he is to me.” Your lips formed a thin line as you averted your gaze.

His brows furrowed. “How do you mean? How can you not know?”

“Well, our relationship… It’s complicated, you know? Like, we obviously have some sort of feelings for each other. He’s been there for me for centuries and he’s loved me for that long too. But it… It doesn’t feel like love exactly. I don’t know what it is.”

Bucky’s lips pursed, but he let you speak.

And you spoke. You told him about how Brock was the only one who treated you like a queen and goddess in the beginning, going so far as to pledge his undying fidelity to you and vow to serve you with his life. You hesitated as you started to get into your relationship with him, talking about the late nights you spent together with only the vaguest detail. You didn’t know why, but it felt wrong talking about it in front of Bucky, and you were almost ashamed of it. No, scratch that, you were ashamed of it. You felt like it was almost betraying him to admit what you and Brock had done in the dark. But, swallowing the lump in your throat, you continued with your pathetic tale, telling him about how in recent centuries, Brock hardly ever came around anymore unless it was to satisfy his own desires. He never stayed for the morning after or to actually talk to you anymore and it left you confused and hurt.

Bucky listened with solemn interest, staying silent until you finished. He frowned, his brows pinching together and his lips turning down with an agitated air. “Permission to speak freely?”

“Always.”

He took a deep breath before starting bluntly with, “It sounds like he’s a dick.”

You snorted.

“No no no, hear me out! From what you’ve told me, this asshole is using you and doesn’t seem to care about your feelings. All he wants you for is someone who will give him what he wants and someone whom he can just take and take from.” He shook his head with a growl that surprised you. You’d never seen the god of spring so… angry and dark. “He sounds like a dick who only cares about himself and he’s hurting you in the process. He’s using you and it’s not right. Who does he think he is to abuse a literal goddess such as yourself. You don’t deserve that shit. You don’t deserve someone who will use you and leave you. You deserve the world. You deserve all the stars in the heavens. You deserve love—not that fake lust—true love. You deserve someone who will take care of your emotions and treat you with respect and adoration. You deserve someone who will stay with you through thick and thin, treating you as if you’re a precious gem. You deserve someone—”

“Someone like you?” The words were gentle as they escaped your mouth; hopeful, sincere, begging. They surprised you, but their implications that you wanted him surprised you more. How could you imply that? You hadn’t even known each other for a year yet, and you were insinuating that he wanted a romantic relationship with you and you wanted one with him. What the fuck were you thinking?

How could you think such? You didn’t know him. He didn’t know you. He was just a friend and hardly even that. He’d only been down to your domain a handful of times.

But then again…

Each time had been more blissful and lovely than the last. Sitting with him in the garden… Strolling through Elysium… Picking flowers in the Meadow… Each time he visited drew you closer and closer to his light until you considered him close to your heart.

He turned to you, his astounding blue eyes looking at you with an ounce of surprise and, for a second, you feared you overstepped. But then his gaze turned kind and he smiled a smile so kind, so genuine, and so real that you lost your breath for a second. And he reached for your hands—both of them—and took them in his. His hands dwarfed yours, but they fit together perfectly. Holding one, he brought the other up to cup his face, to hold his cheek. He turned into you and pressed his lips against the palm of your hand.

You could feel his breath ghosting over your skin and it sent shivers down your spine in the best way.

And then his lips moved, and even the slightest twitch was enough to take over your senses. “If you’d have me,” he said softly, his voice just barely above a whisper. He turned away from your hand to gaze into your eyes. “I know I’m a young god—naive, stupid, innocent to the world—but I also know my feelings. And I do have feelings for you, (y/n). I know that we don’t know each other the best, but that’s the great thing about immortality, right? I have all of eternity to get to know you.”

You gaped at him, your mind on red alert as the meaning of his words kicked in. He wanted a relationship with you. Suddenly, your thoughts went on autopilot.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

He was less than half your age. He was a young god. You didn’t know him. He didn’t know you. He doesn’t know what he wants.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

What were you thinking? You’d just met him. You couldn’t possibly be interested in pursuing a relationship. You would be insane. You couldn’t take advantage of him like this, no matter how badly your subconscious wanted him. And even then, he was the god of spring, of life, and you were the goddess of the dead and Queen of the Underworld. There was no way that those two things mixed. How could they? They were polar opposites.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is…

But what if it wasn’t? What if he wanted you just as bad as you wanted him? What if he wanted to know you like you wanted to know him? What if?

This feels right. This feels nice. This feels right.

Maybe there was a reason you felt safe and secure around him. Maybe there was a reason you called him instead of Brock when you had your nightmare. Maybe there was a reason he stayed in your mind, always lurking in the corners no matter the time of day.

This feels right. This feels nice. This feels right.

Your eyes traced his face and your heart hammered in your chest. If you were being honest, you wouldn’t mind trying to pursue something with him. He was kind, sweet, and genuinely wanted to know you. That was more than any other man had been in years.

But there were other factors than just what you and he wanted. What about the age gap? You more than doubled him in age. And then there was also the fact that you were practically ostracised by most of the gods and immortals on Olympus. Would he join you in exile from the others if he associated himself with you? And then what about his mother? She despised you with a passion, and there was no way that she would approve of you two dating. And what about…

Brock…

There were just so many fucking factors to it, way too many for you to work out in one day. You might’ve been a goddess, but that didn’t mean you weren’t without responsibilities that had to come before your love life.

You hung your head, removing your eyes from his body. “Bucky, I just… I don’t know…” you whispered, your voice cracking with strain. “How could we work? How could the world let us work? There’s just so much that needs to be accounted for and I… I just don’t see how it’s possible.”

“So long as we try, so long as we both want it… Anything is possible, really—even us being together.” He gave you a lopsided smile. “The Fates would not have had us meet if it wasn’t.”

You barked a bitter laugh. “The Fates could not be so cruel as to interweave our futures, Bucky,” you said in a shallow whisper. “It’s a curse to be stuck with me.”

“See, you view it as a curse, but I would see it as the greatest blessing they could give me. To be so lucky as to spend all of eternity with you who cares so much about people and who gives so much of herself so selflessly is all that I can ask for. You are so much more than what you give yourself credit for, (y/n). Let me be there to remind you of your value.”

“But what about Brock?”

He sighed and tightened his grip on your hand. “You can let him go. You don’t need him. He’s abusing you, (y/n), I know you can see that too. Just let him go.”

“I… I just… I can’t let him go that easily, Buck.” You hung your head. “I think that, deep down, I know the words you speak are true, but I… He’s been there for me—with me—for hundreds of years; I can’t just let him go. I know I should, but I can’t…” It was toxic, what you had with him; you knew that, but he had planted his weeds so deep in your heart that you could not tear them out so easily.

“What if I helped you?” he asked, his voice lifting an octave as he thought aloud. “I can be there for you, occupying your time so that way you wouldn’t have to see him. I have no obligations or responsibilities other than bringing Spring to the Mortal World once a year, and so I could be down there for you. No one says that you have to cut him from your life all at once; you can do it little by little and I will be there to help you every step of the way.” He bit his lip as he let go of your hand and reached up to hold your cheek.

You closed your eyes at his touch and leaned into him. His hands were worn and smooth and filled with warmth that filled you to your core.

“I can help you, (y/n), but you have to tell me you want this. I won’t make you decide one way or the other; this is your life, you’re in control. I am but a tool for you to use to help you along. You tell me what you want and I will help you make it happen. Okay?”

What you want…

You had virtually everything you could ever want: a kingdom, loving family, millions of subjects who respected you, power, wealth, good friends, the best dog ever, and security. But that wasn’t everything you wanted.

You wanted love. You’d never admitted it before, but you really wanted love. Not the stuff Brock gave you, but real love. If you remember correctly, the Greeks had given a name for the love you craved.

Pragma: long-lasting love.

You knew that you were never going to get that with Brock. You were chasing him down a one-way road that led to a dead end. There was no future of growth for you, no practicality whatsoever, only the same for years, decades, centuries to come. There was nothing more he could offer you, nothing he could give to you that you didn’t already have.

But with Bucky? Gods, there were so many options; he’d already proved to you time after time that he was invested in you and more than willing to stay with you. He’d risked getting flayed alive by his mother and his own safety just to get closer to you. With him, there was a chance that you could find what you wanted. No matter how minuscule the chance was, it was still there; a single thread hanging in the middle of the room that you were going to hold onto and climb until it either turned into rope or disappeared.

You had nothing to lose, so why not take a chance on him?

Next 11: She Takes a Stand

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky series #delicatelyherdreams #pragma(tic)#hades & persephone #hades and persephone #hades & persephone au #persephone!bucky x hades!reader

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cicada-bones · 4 years

Text

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 2: Hunting

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Rowan soared out, over the turrets and bridges, and towards that faint pulse of dark power he could still sense within the palace.

He shifted and landed lightly on the pads of his feet in a small interior courtyard with a central fountain, then turned quickly down the hall to his left and pushed open a plain stone door that sat halfway down the passage. Inside, he was greeted by a bare space that held only an immaculate bed, a cold fireplace, and a wooden desk at which sat a tall, dark, brooding figure facing away from him, studying a worn piece of paper.

“Whitethorn,” Lorcan said without turning to look at him. “What in rutting hell do you want.”

It had been nearly a year since Rowan had seen the male, and yet there was no greeting, no warmth from him. Not that Rowan expected anything else.

In earlier years, when he had first encountered Lorcan, Rowan had pitied the male. Had wondered what had happened, what had been taken from him as a child on the streets of Doranelle, for him to be this way.

Now…he no longer needed to.

Rowan and Lorcan were the same. Two sides of one coin, black granite and solid ice. Perfect killing tools. A match made in hell.

Exactly where Lorcan got his magic – straight from the fiery pits of hell. Blessed by Hellas, god of death, Lorcan’s power was that of will – of death and thought and destruction. Perhaps that was why he was so attracted to a queen who collected the wills of others as if they were her own.

When Rowan did not reply, Lorcan turned around, revealing features hewn from granite and piercing onyx eyes. “What.”

Rowan hesitated slightly, unsure how to ask the questions he harbored. Lorcan would not take well to questioning their queen. “I assume you know why I was called back from the east.”

“I didn’t even know you were in the east. But yes, I know why you were called to Doranelle. What of it.” The words were blank and empty, and Lorcan’s features barely moved from their cruel cast as they escaped his mouth.

Rowan’s voice was hardly any warmer. “Why.”

Lorcan finally seemed to actually see Rowan. “Gavriel is in the north, Vaughan off with another garrison on the other side of the world. Fenrys is already in Varese, and Connall is upstairs somewhere doing gods know what, and isn’t allowed to leave.” Lorcan’s voice was hard.

“I have been called to the fleet, heading south along the coast and then east through the southern inlets, to send aid to the Erriagti people. I’m set to leave in the next few days, but I should be back before the end of the season. I do not have time for other errands, and you are the next in line.”

Rowan pursed his lips slightly. “There’s still something different about this one. It feels almost as though Maeve is…hiding something.”

Lorcan’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What are you insinuating.”

He sighed. “Nothing specifically. This just feels – off.”

“I assumed it was a roundabout method of punishing Fenrys. He’s been pulling at the leash even more than usual lately.”

That explanation didn’t sit well with Rowan, for some reason. “She didn’t reveal anything to you indicating why she wants the girl so badly?”

“I’m sure you remember tell of her power.”

Rowan’s silence was answer enough.

“Well then, there’s your answer.”

Rowan clenched his jaw. “She really seeks to recruit?”

“So it seems.”

“A fire gift for the Queen of the Rivers.” Rowan’s statement was wry, almost skeptical.

Lorcan narrowed his eyes again. “And why would you say that?”

“Maeve built this city of stone and water. She fears fire.” Rowan was almost surprised at his daring for voicing these thoughts aloud. “Why would she covet it so?”

Lorcan’s words were merciless. “Perhaps, all those millennia ago, if our queen had acquired Brannon, we would not watch over a kingdom but instead an empire.”

“So she seeks to conquer.”

“I do not know, Rowan. And frankly I don’t understand where this sudden desire to question our queen’s motives is coming from.”

Rowan didn’t know either.

So he moved on. “What do you know of the girl? I was in the north, fighting in that useless excuse for a war, but you were here when she came to light.”

Lorcan sighed. “She’s demi-Fae. As far as I remember she had shifting abilities – human and Fae forms. Rare, but not unheard of. We don’t know how well trained she is in her powers.”

“So they could be formidable.”

“They could be. Another reason for Maeve sending you.”

Rowan turned his head and narrowed his eyes slightly, considering. Magic had been absent from the western continent for nearly a decade, meaning that the princess wouldn’t have been able to train her powers in her homeland. But her master, Arobynn Hamel, could easily have sent her to a foreign nation to do so.

“And what about as the assassin.”

“Not much had been known about Celaena Sardothien, other than that she was a col-blooded killer. Ruthless and arrogant. Rumors were rampant, and if our queen could divine fact from fiction, she isn’t sharing.”

“But obviously proficient?” Rowan pushed.

“At least against mortals.”

“But she isn’t fully mortal.”

“No she is not. And we do not know if the assassin’s guild trained her in her Fae form.”

As Fae, the princess’ speed and strength would rival even theirs. But only if she had been trained to use it. Rowan’s blood thrilled. “This could be quite the fight.”

Lorcan’s answering smile was brutal. “I’ve never known you to shy from a challenge, Whitethorn. Don’t disappoint me now.”

Rowan’s grin was small and cold as he responded. “And what about you? What are you going to face in the southeast?”

“A royal has turned, and the people have revolted against him, burning wherever they go. Maeve sends aid to the foolish king, setting the price of winning his kingdom back for him that he must lay much of his authority at her feet.” Lorcan grimaced. “At least its more interesting than an errand run to Varese.”

“We’ll see.” Rowan goaded, even though he knew Lorcan was probably right. The princess would likely be as much a pain in his ass as Fenrys was. All royals were the same – spoiled, selfish, and entirely useless. Especially the powerful ones.

Lorcan just huffed a laugh. “Sure. We’ll see.”

“Who knows. Maybe the princess will be so completely useless that Maeve disposes of her the moment they meet at Mistward, and I’ll be able to join you in the southeast.”

Lorcan’s brow furrowed slightly. “Mistward? The western outpost?”

Rowan nodded.

“Maeve is leaving Doranelle?”

“Yes.”

Lorcan’s lips tightened as he turned his head to face the wall. Their queen did not leave her city lightly. Rowan hadn’t been wrong, something had shifted. This meeting was more than just a formality.

Lorcan turned back to face him, and they reached an understanding.

The male’s eyes were dark. “Regardless, your mission remains the same. Go, collect the princess, and leave the future to the oracles.”

Rowan just nodded, and left.

···

The dawn sun stretched its comforting hand out to brush Rowan’s feathers. He hadn’t bothered to transform back into his Fae form to sleep, choosing instead to perch on a convenient branch until morning.

The trip would normally take him three days. Now, with Fenrys waiting for him in Varese already, he’d hoped to half that. So he’d flown through the previous day, pushing his body to its limit. But he hadn’t had even a moment to rest while in Doranelle, meaning he couldn’t move as quickly as he wished. No matter how it irked him, he’d had to sleep last night.

Rowan opened his eyes quickly, jerked from sleep by the sudden warmth while his nightmares slowly faded, the familiar images leeching from behind his eyelids. He sat on the oaken bough, waiting for the screams to dissipate. Lyria.

Rowan sighed into Mala’s embrace. The sun goddess had always favored him, and now she seemed to smile lightly upon his skin, a promise of some kind. Tomorrow, he would reach Varese, and begin the hunt.

Rowan let out a screech of anticipation. He could be walking into the fight of his life, and his blood thrilled to the challenge.

Aelin Galathynius very well could be a considerable threat, one trained in both Fae combat and fire magic. Whose power at nine years of age had people across the world worried about their borders and their futures.

Even in Doranelle they had feared that the princess would one day take her magic beyond Terrasen's borders and across the sea to the city of water and stone. Where she might be powerful enough to pose a threat. But then the world had twisted, and Terrasen fell, like so many other kingdoms in the west this past decade, and Terrasen’s heir was no more. Or so he had thought.

Now the princess was nearing her second decade. She was still young, but a child no more. And her power will only have grown with the passing years. Then, somehow she had come into the service of Adarlan’s King, the man who had overthrown her country, who had murdered her family. And she was in Wendlyn to kill for him.

The princess of Terrasen had abandoned her nation and become a killer. Had become Adarlan’s assassin, Celaena Sardothien.

Even on the other side of the world, rumors of that girl had reached him. She would disappear for a time, and then violently resurface, carnage and destruction in her wake. Rowan had never paid much attention to the stories, rejecting them as fanciful tales. But now he wished he’d paid them more heed.

The girl was obviously proficient in combat. Just the fact that he had heard of her, had noted her existence, attested to that. Even if her strength as a mortal couldn’t hold a candle to any well-trained Fae. But would he be facing her as a mortal?

As it always did before a test, his blood spiked with adrenaline. But this time, the eagerness was tinged with something else. A thought he couldn’t contain. Particularly as the date, the dreaded anniversary, loomed over him like a guillotine blade.

Perhaps today he would see her again.

Rowan violently battered at the hope that yawned its tiny head with the unwelcome thought, a futile attempt to strike away the agony that followed surely after. Lyria.

He shook himself, shuttering the pain away behind walls of ice, and took off into the light of the rising sun.

As Rowan flew, he calculated.

His quarry was a princess of Terrasen, descendant of Brannon and gifted with his fire magic. Once Rowan was in close proximity to her, he would probably be able to sense her power just as he did with any magic wielder. But from a distance, he wasn’t familiar enough with her to sense a gods-damned thing.

Her scent could possibly mark her as Terrasen royalty, but she had spent so many years as another person, in foreign nation, that he couldn’t rely on it alone to track her down. Her scent might not have any traces of Terrasen left.

She would most likely have an Adarlanian accent, or perhaps a Terrasen one. But then again, she had been trained as a spy and assassin, she could be adept at disguising her accent, as well as her distinctive appearance.

But the spy’s information had been predicated upon the princess’s golden hair and turquoise-and-gold eyes; meaning Rowan could be assured that at least within the last week the princess had retained those features.

He couldn’t easily ask around after her either. With the name Aelin Galathynius, or Celaena Sardothien for that matter, she wouldn’t provide any names that would be recognizable at bars or inns. He had to rely on description alone.

There was also the chance that she had found sanctuary with her relatives, the Ashryvers, and he would have to spirit her away under the noses of royal guards.

This was proving to be even more of a challenge than he had originally supposed. From a distance, he would be forced to use that which she could not easily change about herself. Namely, her eyes, her age, and the feeling of her power.

···

The day waxed into night, the miles dissolving beneath his wings. Then the sun rose once more, bringing with it the promise of contest.

Where to look for a princess in the city of Varese? Rowan mused.

The city’s sprawl came into view beneath the clouds, a hilly expanse of red terracotta tiles and white stucco walls. The sun had fully risen now, and was baking the city streets and its many colors into a white-bright haze. In the evenings, the streets would glow golden, falling into lovely streaks of yellow and orange. But during the day, the capital scorched and blistered under Mala’s heavy gaze.

The vegetation that survived the sun’s glare was hardy and tough, but still a dark and vibrant green, contrasting well with warm tones of the capital. Outside the city walls, the evergreens gathered into a thick forest that spread towards the distant mountains and the city of rivers hidden among them.

The buildings were all piled on top of each other, climbing onto each other’s shoulders and resting on each other’s backs, a pile of limbs. It was haphazard and chaotic, a mess of noise and color and scent.

A perfect hiding place.

He swooped down low, heading past the centrally located palace and towards the northwest section of the city, making sure to avoid the gazes of keen-eyed castle guards. Varese was a city of magic, housing a substantial Fae population in addition to the many Fae nomads that regularly came through the city. The palace guards would know how to recognize a Fae in animal form, and he had no desire to be spotted and stopped.

The northwestern part of Varese was the oldest part of the city, and underneath all of the carelessly stacked additions you can still find the original ancient courtyard that the capital city was built around. It now housed a small market that teemed with magical trinkets, potions, fortune tellers, spells and tools, as well as gifted street performers and defected mercenaries that now traded their powers for a few coins.

This district held the highest concentration of Fae, and unsurprisingly, it was the area of the city Rowan was most familiar with.

He remained in hawk form, soaring high above the market stalls and avoiding any watchful eyes. In his Fae body, his presence would be noted wherever he went. He was too powerful, too recognizable, and far too memorable.

Rowan swooped down a familiar alley and towards a secluded doorway. Without hesitation, he soared through the open curtain and transformed, moving to sit on a plain wooden chair. The space was painfully small and almost entirely bare, the consequence of so much time traveling.

The apartment was one of many spread throughout Wendlyn, all inconspicuous, tiny, and sparse. Kept by Maeve’s blood-sworn warriors as outposts, ready to be used whenever needed.

Rowan could feel a familiar presence in the only room adjoining the main space.

Good, he was here.

Rowan let out a grunt of annoyance. There was no way that his presence hadn’t already been sensed. He was being ignored. But before he could break down the door and pull the male out by his teeth, it opened and Fenrys lurched out, a wild look in his eye and a short dagger in his hands.

Rowan snorted, his eyebrows raising. Or maybe not.

“Pleasant sleep?” Rowan asked, his voice laced with derision.

Fenrys only grunted, and sat in the only other available chair. The male was disheveled; there were heavy bags under his dark eyes, his golden curls were matted, and his bronze skin was ashen. Rowan had obviously just woken him after a late night.

Rowan’s jaw tightened. At least the male was where he was supposed to be – even if he hadn’t actually achieved anything other than debauchery in the days since his arrival.

But Fenrys just frowned back at his icy glare. “Took you long enough.” His words were muddled with sleep and leftover drink.

Rowan’s eyes narrowed still further. Barely anyone in the world would dare to speak to him like that. Unluckily for Rowan, Fenrys was one of those very few. “Have you done anything other than drink yourself to death since you got here?”

“No. And I promise, I did it just to annoy you.”

Rowan blinked, while his muscles tensed.

“Now now Rowan don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m not that stupid.” Fenrys’ grin was wicked, his eyes bright enough to set the apartment on fire.

Rowan just sighed, leashing his anger and dredging up that well of patience hidden beneath it. It wasn’t particularly deep. This time of year, early spring, was always the hardest for Rowan. He wished he could just leave, could fly into the waiting winds and rage at the waning sun. Instead he was trapped here with this male and his infuriating mouth.

Fenrys spoke up. “I’ve been here nearly a week now. I wasn’t expecting you so soon – you must have hauled ass from Doranelle.”

Rowan just grunted.

“I’ve spent the past three days and nights almost entirely in the palace. Galan Ashryver, the crown prince, is honorable – he will be a benevolent ruler. He spends most of his days in council, or with his army. Adarlanian forces venture closer every day – threatening outright war. And he’s become a blockade runner.”

Fenrys grinned at that, his eyes warm with respect for the young prince. Rowan nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“The people love him for it. Maeve will probably have a hard time with him in the coming years – he’s intractable. Stubborn. And righteous to a fault. The king however is different story – you’re familiar with him, I’m sure.”

Rowan grimaced.

Fenrys cursed. “Bastard. Can’t shine his shoes without checking in with at least three advisors, and even then, he’d probably still avoid going through with it. Her majesty has wrapped him utterly around her finger. There is no way that he is knowingly hiding Aelin Galathynius under Maeve’s nose, absolutely none. And with the princess’s eyes and age…she’d probably be discovered within days if she tried to infiltrate the court.”

Rowan agreed with the assessment. “But?”

“But there’s a chance that Galan Ashryver is hiding her. A small one, but still a chance.”

Rowan nodded again.

“His patterns are very regular – and much of the time he is in company. He only rarely has time alone, and even more rarely is he out of the palace grounds. Their security is fairly tight – enough so that even Adarlan’s Assassin couldn’t easily slip through.”

“The princess was ordered to assassinate the Ashryvers – ”

“Yes,” Fenrys interrupted, causing Rowan’s frown to deepen, “and that is why my focus these past few days has been on the palace, and not on tracking the girl down.”

“And?” Rowan spoke through his teeth.

“Nothing.”

“No threats, no attacks, no one scouting them out?”

“Absolutely nothing. I’ve mentioned the possibility of a threat to his guards, and they are planning on upping his security. Not that the assassin is likely to get a shot at him before we track her down.”

“Not that that is going to prove an easy task.”

Fenrys’ eyes glinted. “You doubt our ability to overpower a teenage princess?”

Rowan scowled. “I am cautious when that teenage princess has a power great enough to attract the attention of our queen, and of nations across the world.”

“Oh Rowan, what a worrier you are turning into in your old age.”

Rowan’s anger pulled on its leash. He sighed. “That wasn’t what I meant anyways. The girl has every reason to stay out of sight, and as an assassin, she must have been trained to disguise her appearance. She could prove very difficult to track down.”

Fenrys frowned, and nodded.

Rowan shifted in his seat. “What did Maeve tell you before you left?”

Fenrys cocked his head, his eyes dancing once again. “What? Are you thinking I may have received more information than you, oh-great-immortal-warrior?

“Just tell me.”

The male relented. “Only the princess’ description, her purpose in Varese, and her identity as both Celaena and Aelin.” Fenrys’ eyes darkened slightly. “Maeve also said that she was sending for you, and you were to collect the girl and ferry her back. I was ordered to stay away from her, which I’m sure was intended as a punishment. Instead I have to stay in Varese to ensure that the Ashryver prince doesn’t get any ideas about attacking Adarlan before Maeve decides it’s necessary.”

“From what you said, that might also prove a challenge.”

Fenrys nodded. “You know how these royals are – still upset about Maeve ignoring Terrasen’s call for aid all those years ago. Slow to trust. Just got back from a long night of ingratiating.”

“If that’s what you call it.” He eyed the undergarments strewn through the apartment.

Fenrys grinned wickedly. “Nothing wrong with enjoying a few nights of freedom.”

Rowan’s lips tightened slightly. No matter how infuriating the male was, Rowan still sympathized with Fenrys. He bore the brunt of Maeve’s attentions, shielding his twin from her. Fenrys was still young by Fae standards, but the twin wolves had still served Maeve for nearly a century. And all that time, Fenrys protected his brother from Maeve.

Fenrys hadn’t sworn to Maeve out of devotion, or desire for power, or even out of desperation as Rowan had. He had sworn out of his love for his brother, and his need to protect him.

Maybe as a result of that, out of all of them Fenrys chafed the most under Maeve’s rule. He never betrayed her, never undermined her, but he was the only one of Maeve's blood-sworn who perhaps truly regretted taking the blood oath.

But it didn’t matter – now that it was done, he would serve for the rest of his life or die in dishonor. There were no other options.

Rowan shook himself from those pointless thoughts. “How long will you be here?”

“Her majesty bade me stay till the end of the month.”

“Good.” Rowan paused. “Well you'd better not have any other plans for your day – we’re going hunting.”

Rowan waited for a rebuttal, but none came. Fenrys was just nodding his agreement, a wicked light gleaming in his eyes. “Getting worn-out, old man? Need some assistance on your little chase?”

Rowan growled as the words cut through him. He pushed the fury away through sheer force of will, snarling, “You know why I asked.”

Fenrys grinned wide. “What, the ancient, all-powerful warrior needs my help interrogating barmaids?”

“You’re less conspicuous than I am.”

“Friendlier, you mean.”

“A bigger pain in the ass.”

“Better at flirting with the barmaids though.” Fenrys laughed outright, ducking to avoid Rowan’s swipe at his left cheekbone. “Don’t worry Rowan, I’ll ask around for your missing princess.”

Rowan closed his eyes briefly, strangling the fury that threatened to break through his icy walls.

“Aww I’ve got you all hot and bothered now – care for cool drink little birdie?”

Rowan’s nostrils flared warningly. If he could manage to avoid slaughtering Fenrys, this male would put him in the ground one day.

Fenrys just laughed again, letting go for the time being. “I’ll start by checking the tabernas in the old parts of the city, see if anyone’s spotted someone that fits her description. Maybe she’s more comfortable around other Fae. Then I’ll check the slums. Easiest place to hide in a city of this size.”

Rowan nodded.

“You?”

“I’ll scout from above.”

“I knew you’d be useful someday.”

···

The day passed slowly, dully.

The rhythms of the capital had not changed since Rowan had last visited, and were unlikely to change for centuries to come. It was peaceful, and the city guards were calm, collected, and reliable. There were no threats to be uncovered, no spies lining the rooftops or assassins in the shadows. Nor was there any scent, any hint, of wildfire.

The fight he had anticipated, had almost longed for, did not materialize.

Still, Rowan catalogued every unusual figure that passed below, marking every person that could conceivably fit the princess’s description, and many others besides. Even so, there were not many.

When dark fell and the streets began to empty, Rowan returned to the apartment to meet with Fenrys.

He stewed in silence, forced to wait for the male to reappear. The walls of the apartment were close, confining. He was claustrophobic in the tiny space. Even so, the anxiety was less to do with the apartment and more to do with the thoughts trapped inside his head. He couldn’t get away from them, had no escape. The date loomed over him, a clock running out in his head, an anvil waiting to drop.

Even after all these centuries, his grief was still the weight of the world on his back.

The burden of his anguish and his guilt, his endless shame, had not lessened by one single drop. He could still feel the rough wood of the shovel between his fingers, still taste the copper of her blood on his lips. Could still sense the heat of the mountain home burning before his eyes.

And the images rent him through just as thoroughly as they had that first day.

He longed to move, to escape, to allow the wind and moonlight to coat his body in ice until he no longer had to breathe – no longer had to think. Until his very bones were made of ice. But he couldn’t, so he sat and waited. Not for his brother to walk through the door, bearing news of the princess they sought, but for the foe who would finally best him, and send him back to his love.

It was late into the night when Fenrys finally reappeared.

The moon was full, and a soft white light illuminated the space through the open window. Pale blue curtains ruffled as the front door clicked open and shut.

Fenrys moved through the room efficiently, grabbing a dirty bottle of some amber liquid and collapsing into the chair opposite Rowan. He took a long draught, then handed the bottle over to Rowan, who drank without hesitation.

“So I asked around.”

“Hmm.”

“And I’m not sure how reliable the information I managed to get is.”

Rowan grunted.

“It’s not that people were unwilling to talk – its more that the description we have to give is so sketchy. In Varese, Ashryver eyes are common enough, even when paired with golden hair and aristocratic features.”

“Bastards.”

“Yep. It seems that over the years the Ashryvers have managed to spread their line pretty far throughout the city.”

“So, nothing.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Rowan waited.

“I managed to find a few possibilities. All new to the city, all young women, traveling alone, matching the description. One is staying in a wayhouse in a southern section of the city, arrived three nights ago. I visited her earlier this evening.”

“And?”

“Beautiful. Great taste in furniture. But unless your princess is planning on marrying a merchant’s son and eloping to Fenharrow anytime soon, she’s not your girl.”

Rowan raised his eyebrows.

“I take it no dice.”

“Just keep talking.”

“Another was just passing through, heading for a ship to the southern continent. I managed to catch her before she left. Not her. Great flirt though.”

Rowan frowned at the cocky male.

“There were a few others, all shaky matches, not really worth checking up on unless we get desperate. And the last one was a bit of a mystery. Apparently, there’s been a young woman showing up each night in tabernas around the western edge of the city to gamble. Always keeps her face covered.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah. I ended up talking to a few guards and barkeeps, and last night a city guard finally got a good look. She’s young – at the latest in her mid-twenties, with light hair and the right eyes. Stood out to him – she’s quite pretty apparently, but the man didn’t want to pursue any of his bosses’ cousins.”

Rowan frowned.

“She’s a shit gambler though, plays dice all night and ends up robbing back what she loses. Started a few big fights the past couple nights. The guards are looking for her, but she doesn’t seem to have an address in the city, and she isn’t renting a room anywhere. She’s a ghost.”

Rowan’s lips twitched.

"Doesn’t sound much like royalty – but since she’s successfully hidden from Adarlan’s soldiers on her own all these years, I wouldn’t put anything past her.”

“Any leads?”

“Nope. Whoever she is, she’s good at hiding her tracks. But I can give you the names and locations of the bars she’s been spotted at the past few nights.”

Rowan nodded as Fenrys relayed the information, then asked, “Would you purchase a couple of horses for me in the market tomorrow? Whether or not this girl is the princess, once I do find her I don’t want to let her out of my sight. I’m going to need a way out of the city, and I would prefer it not to be on my feet.”

Fenrys frowned, but agreed, and Rowan nodded his thanks.

Then the male’s eyes seemed to shift, and he hesitated for a moment, considering something. His lips pursed, brow furrowed. Worried. Rowan found himself automatically tensing in response.

Fenrys shook his head as he said, “Why this girl Rowan? I was in Doranelle, with nothing to do. The girl is powerful, yes, but she is young. And mortal. Any of us could probably take her. But Maeve still took you from another assignment and asked you to collect her.”

Rowan turned to look out the window.

“And now she’s going to leave Doranelle to meet with her. Leave Doranelle. I don’t think she’s done that this century. Why?”

“I don’t know.” Rowan’s voice was hard.

Fenrys frowned and nodded, parsing his real meaning from the non-answer.

Something had shifted.

Change was on the horizon. Aelin Galathynius had reappeared, the lost princess found. And their queen was intent on acquiring her. War was stirring in the west, coming ever closer to their shores. Adarlan was poised to attack, had even schemed to murder royalty, a risky and underhanded ploy. The chess pieces were moving.

The two males said a quiet farewell, Fenrys still lost in thought.

Rowan took off into the darkness, the wind tearing at his feathers.

···

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autumnblogs · 4 years

Text

Day 9: Troll Time

Time to get trolled.

https://homestuck.com/story/1527

This is the first of the events that I’ve noticed enough to talk about in Homestuck that alludes to the Alpha Kids. While Roxy on the other side of the scratch is the one actually responsible for the disappearance of Jaspers and the Pumpkins, at this point in the story, we have some pretty good suspects for exactly who disappeared both of them.

I could see myself guessing that Jade’s penpal is one of the trolls, but it wouldn’t be my first guess. I’m going to pay close attention to all of the events on one side of the scratch that are caused by the other side of the scratch, because my theory is that a Scratched Universe, more than anything else, is really terminated rather than truly being retroactively erased. Too much doesn’t make sense from a causal perspective (not necessarily from a temporally linear one) if a scratched universe is actually erased entirely, or even if it is closed off from the rest of existence - why can information enter and leave a Scratched Universe at all from an outside perspective, for example?

Are Side A Side B teleporters, appearifiers, and so on and so on, loopholes? Maybe it has something to do with the nature of Void, the Furthest Ring, and their seeming exclusion from the rules the rest of Paradox Space is required to follow.

The Doylist answer, which in Homestuck is also allowed to be the Watsonian answer, might be that while a Scratched Universe is *materially* erased, information about it is still permitted to propagate through narrative contrivances such as the author. Fenestrated planes can easily be considered narrative contrivances, but if we use this as our theory, it seems like Appearifiers and Sendificators would also have to be Narrative Contrivances (which I’m going to spell with a capital NC from here on out.) I... actually don’t have a problem with this hypothesis, so it’s what I’m going with. Also, since a friend of mine who’s reading this liveblog asked, I’m going to post a link to the tvtropes article on those two terms at the start of this paragraph for anyone who doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

Perhaps, given the proclivity for the Void to preserve lost information in the form of dreams and memories, and given the nature of Space as the medium through which events normally propagate (as well as the fundamental medium of storytelling from which all other storytelling mediums derive their medium-ness), and their proximity on the Aspect Wheel, Narrative Contrivances are objects which have are shared between these two domains - as objects associated with the Void, Narrative Contrivances are permitted to follow their own set of rules which to someone outside of the universe are obvious, but to anyone inside the universe are a complete black box, and as objects associated with Space, Narrative Contrivances function as a means by which to propagate information in such a way as to preserve causality, the logical topology of Paradox Space, and with them, the self-fulfilling nature of Paradox Space. They allow the world-line of objects travelling through the narrative to remain consistent, even when they would violate material geographical conventions.

This description of Narrative Contrivances makes me think a lot of things could be Narrative Contrivances, like First Guardians, for example, who can violate the speed of light.

This is all a lot of silly bullshit, but it’s fun to come up with theories to describe and predict Homestuck (and future Homestuck works, even though I’m not terribly invested in them.)

This has been a long Cold Open. More after the break.

https://homestuck.com/story/1529

John gets cyberbullied!

Man. Cyberbullying has really gone from being an individual concern to being an apocalyptic issue. Who knew? Maybe in writing the trolls and their cyberbullying as being inextricable from the apocalypse, Andrew Hussie predicted this.

I’m not trying to understate John’s issues by comparing them to stuff like massive social media disinformation campaigns - receiving Death Threats as a thirteen year old is terrifying, and on a general level, the fact that this kind of horrible shit was commonplace in the earliest days of social media should have been a big indicator that what was yet to come was going to be so, so much worse.

I’m also not trying to jocularly exaggerate the threat that almost completely lawless social media has on society. If you haven’t already, check out the excellent documentary The Social Dilemma, and then delete your Facebook account if you haven’t already (and since you’re reading my extremely anti-capitalist anti-patriarchy liveblog on tumblr, you’ve probably already done that. If you have, good for you!) And your twitter for good measure, come on, you know who you are. Mabe your tumblr too while you’re at it.

Cyberbullying is part of a larger theme in Homestuck, another one of those things that it’s Capital A About. As a work that is not only about growing up, but specifically about growing up in the information age, Homestuck is repeatedly about the ways that Social Media don’t just bring us together, but keep us apart from one another. Cyberbullying is one of the effects of Social Media pushing people apart - it’s so, so much easier to threaten to kill someone when you don’t have to look them in the eye while you’re doing it, and when you have the anonymity of a string of alphanumeric characters as a name to hide behind.

https://homestuck.com/story/1537

The Black Queen is a very bad woman. It’s always intrigued me that the Queens allow their counterparts’ agents free movement through their territory like this even on the eve (or the advent?) of full-scale war between their kingdoms. PM is just allowed to wander around Derse unsupervised.

I suppose that if even God and Satan can afford each other a bit of token civility while discussing the fates of sinners, so can Prospitians and Dersites.

https://homestuck.com/story/1542

@zeetheus John’s definitely proceeds Rose’s bluh.

Rose sips her Mom’s martini for the same reason that she later falls prey to alcoholism. Trying to grow up without help, Rose interprets the martini as a symbol of parental authority, the same way that she interprets the partaking of beverages in general as being a ritual of intimacy with her Mother. Empty signifiers.

https://homestuck.com/story/1549

Jack Noir’s grating voice is so outrageously distracting that it prevents itself as an intrusive thought in the Narrative for PM.

Actually, come to think of it, *all* of the Carapacians talk pretty much exclusively via narration. I wonder if that’s representative of an altered relationship with their narrative reality, which is the first time ever I’ve had that thought pretty much at all.

I always just chalked it up to one of the quirks of Andrew’s writing style, but especially when we take into account the fact that Homestuck is as metanarrative as it is, and that Carapacians are the only characters in Homestuck Proper who interface with the narrative prompt except for the audience, Andrew, and Caliborn himself, I can’t help but wonder. Maybe as living gaming abstractions, in spite of their limited intelligence and abilities, Carapacians have a unique relationship with the narrative laws of Paradox Space (perhaps in the same way that Narrative Contrivances do?)

https://homestuck.com/story/1569

Riffing a little more on the “Fetch Modus as analogous to thought processes” motif previously introduced, Jade’s excellent visualization abilities and vivid imagination serve her well as a Space Player, but tend to misfire, running wild, and seeing patterns where they don’t exist (intrusive thoughts make her see Johnny 5 in her Eclectic Bass and whatever the fuck mecha she’s about to accidentally imagine, I don’t know, I’m not a weeb.) Jade sure does think about robots a lot.

https://homestuck.com/story/1579

I have to say, I consider Terezi’s manipulative abilities to be genuinely pretty strong. I have never known a better way to strongarm me than by pointing out traits that I don’t know whether I feel good or bad about - it just terminates my thought processes.

Although in John’s case, it helps that he is, in fact, a weenie, a stooge, and most importantly, a nice guy. All these facts make him extra manipulatable.

https://homestuck.com/story/1584

I have no reason to believe everyone in Homestuck’s universe isn’t stupidly badass, but I choose to believe that no one is as stupidly badass as the leads because it makes me happy to imagine that these kids are just ridiculously OP superhumans.

(That said, it’s kind of fucked up the level of violence that these literal children are involved in, maybe I shouldn’t get so excited about it. Should we be enthusiastic about the kids’ triumph over their dangerous enemies? Horrified by the travails they are being put through? Probably both motherfuckin’ things.

https://homestuck.com/story/1588

I think about this page a lot.

Rose Lalonde is a very dangerous young lady. She is ruthless, pragmatic, calculating, and cool. She’s even a killer, and literally just killed two imps before fighting this Ogre!

Why is she choosing to show mercy to it now? Is she just trying to get Dave’s goat? Maybe the answer is, deep down, she doesn’t really want to hurt anyone or anything.

https://homestuck.com/story/1589

Kanaya and Dave have a great relationship and I love them as friends very much. I wish dearly that there was more of them in the webcomic. They have approximately the same relationship with authenticity, which is to say that they don’t have an insincere bone in their respective bodies, but practice insincerity nonetheless to impress someone they care about.

For Kanaya relating to Rose, I think it’s a lot more innocent.

https://homestuck.com/story/1590

The least eloquent character in Homestuck has his brief, and I’m pretty sure only encounter with the most eloquent character in Homestuck.

Poor, poor Tavros. While Rose is pretty much always on this level, it seems a lot more innocuous when she’s talking to her friends, or the more mean-spirited and (relatively) competent trolls, the way she treats Tavros almost feels like bullying because of how obviously pathetic he is.

That said, he turns right around, and invokes exactly what’s coming to him. Y’know as much as Tavros is an authentic abuse victim and Vriska gaslights him into thinking a lot of the bad things that happen to him are his fault, there are a lot of times where he does stupid shit that invokes the justifiable wrath of the people around him.

https://homestuck.com/story/1592

While I could pontificate about the fact that Kanaya and Rose are my favorite couple, and squee enthusiastically, instead I will call attention to the fact that, by way of mixing her metaphors, Kanaya has been the victim of an authorial pun - she’s a Fruit Ninja. (Unless Fruit Ninja didn’t exist at the time of writing? It may very well not have.)

https://homestuck.com/story/1596

As the Page of Breath, Tavros sucks at communicating. Here, he sucks at communicating because in spite of his objectively pretty sick rhymes... he is talking to someone who just can’t be arsed.

https://homestuck.com/story/1602

This is one of those absurd moments that at first blush seems meaningless, but I think helps to decipher the kinds of things that John Egbert cares about. It’s one of the moments where he ritualizes an action that one of his heroes takes - John Egbert thinks that Nic Cage is cool, and wants to be like him, so he roleplays Nic Cage for a little while.

https://homestuck.com/story/1603

We’ve barely met the trolls, and they are *already* using the humans as a convenient method to troll each other instead of staying on task.

Karkat also establishes his love of RomComs before his introduction even rolls around.

https://homestuck.com/story/1618

Conceding ground to implacable enemies is generally the correct means to win in Homestuck, usually by getting them to destroy themselves or each other purely by their own unsustainably wicked or stupid conduct. Only a being as powerful as Lord English is sufficient to destroy the Significance-hoarding antagonist that is Vriska, as she threatens to overshadow everyone else in the universe by her own inflated self-importance. Only Vriska, so arbitrarily lucky, could possibly get into position to destroy Lord English. They were made for each other. They deserve each other.

One of my favorite dialogues in the whole comic. Man, I sure love Act 4. There’s something indescribable about the dialogue Andrew writes for this part of the comic. Homestuck at its best whiplashes from silly to scary to heartbreaking to heartwarming, and back to silly again, from beautiful to ugly, and I don’t think that even Act 5, as it piles up layers upon layers, well past the number of parts needed to make a whole, captures the essence of Homestuck as well as does Act 4.

Homestuck is different in every part, of course, and for everyone who says that Act 4 is peak Homestuck you will meet someone who says that Acts 1 through 3 were peak Homestuck, or who says that Act 5 was Peak Homestuck, or that Act 6 was Peak Homestuck. I do not mean to demean any portion of the work by saying that Act 4 is my favorite. The things I like in Homestuck the most are just the most themselves in this portion of the story.

https://homestuck.com/story/1627

I’m feeling less and less intelligent as I read more and more of Homestuck, because honestly, my theories read less like honest-to-god insights, and more like somebody who just wasn’t paying any fucking attention. Here, Jade spells out basically what I’ve been saying.

https://homestuck.com/story/1640

We’ll pause here for the evening. Reading was a little sparse today, but it’s a good place to leave off, especially since for some of these I wrote just stacks of theorizing.

Until tomorrow, Cam signing off, Mostly alive except for a bit of a cough, and not alone.

#liveblogging #commentary #watson and doyle #narrative contrivances #trolls

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one-leaf-grimoire · 4 years

Text

“triad”

Chapter 15: the end of summer

Finally getting into the meat of the manga spade arc! Enjoy!

AO3 link

Days grew shorter. Shadows grew longer. So long that they seeped over the border and into the once-peaceful Clover Kingdom.

Many didn’t know it as they went about their lives, farming and working and sweating like usual. Only a few actually understood the threat that was growing, the threat they desperately wanted to overcome. But to overcome, you must be prepared to fight for your life.

Months and months of work were finally coming to a close. But would the Clover Kingdom be ready to face the spade Kingdom?

But also… would the Spade Kingdom be prepared as well?

“You’ve been sitting in that seat for months. Don’t tell me you haven’t figured anything out, yet?”

The man with shaggy white hair and large, reflective glasses nearly jumped out of his seat at the sound of the deep, rough voice behind him. He turned around, now backlit by the magical screen his eyes had been locked on. It played a clip over and over again, ripped directly from a Clover Kingdom broadcast that they managed to intercept.

“That’s not true, Lord Dante. I’ve moved.”

Dante let out a chuckle, his serious expression dissolving. The man was in a good mood, and why wouldn’t he be? The end of these agonizing six months was near, and it was almost time to make their move. Finally, he would be able to enact his plan, and get to fight some interesting people along the way.

“Not that I can tell. Every time I come in here, you’re staring at that screen, Morris. In the exact same position, too, I might add.”

Morris felt a little irked by the comment, but he couldn’t do much about it. Dante and his siblings, the Dark Triad, were the reason why he was allowed to flee the Diamond Kingdom after Mars took over. Well, that wasn’t going to end well for Mars, as Zenon himself dispatched most of the enemy country’s troops. It was a small comfort, but overall the situation wasn’t too bad. Morris got to do what he did best, and be part of something catastrophic.

“Whatever. And no, I haven’t.” Morris sighed before turning back to look at the screen. The clip looped again, and again, and again. Just two or three seconds of footage, a critical moment that defied all explanation. “All I know is that this new power is something she calls true time magic.”

“Ah, groundbreaking.” Dante narrowed his eyes at the display. “Is this something she inherited?”

“No… I don’t think so.” Morris weaved his fingers together as he watched, barely aware that Dante was there still. “It’s true- because of her Dyad magic, she was able to steal part of Julius Novachrono’s magic. But Simulcian Dyads don’t just borrow their partner’s magic. Over time, they make it their own. So, effectively, she’s come up with new time spells that even Novachrono did not.”

Dante nodded slowly, faint recognition registering in the back of his mind. Well, not his mind.

The power to steal part of someone’s soul… their essence, their magic… and make it their own. How terrifyingly powerful.

“You sure seem to know a lot about it, Morris.”

“I told you before- The Diamond Kingdom harbored a group of Simulcian refugees for over a century,” Morris reminded him. “They offered to share their Dyad with our army in exchange for a safe, private place to stay.” Morris let out a wistful sigh. “I was the only one who visited… I even talked to their leader, Mikal. He was interesting… He showed me the research he was doing on his own family. Quite diabolical.” Morris’s smile dropped. “But then all of them disappeared… I thought I’d never find out what happened, but then, 6 years later, the Clover Kingdom attacked us with a Dyad of their own. One containing the Wizard King of all people.”

And now, the other half of that Dyad was Wizard King as well, the Wizard King they would have to face in only a matter of days.

Or maybe not.

The woman’s movements were instantaneous. There was no delay, no movement, between where she began and where she ended. But in that moment, all 8 of her opponents were down.

“She hasn’t made any public appearances lately. She’s been keeping to herself… it’s too bad, I don’t know if I’ll be able to fight her.” Dante finally spoke, his own little brain trying to figure out her trick. “According to the intel our spies provided, she should be over 6 months pregnant.”

“Or dead.” Morris shook his head. “Mikal explained it to me- When you form a Dyad, you cease to exist as an individual. You share the essence of your soul, your EGO, with the other. When Julius Novachrono died, he broke her Ego. So…”

Dante’s eyes widened a little when he realized what Morris was about to say. Morris just let his voice trail off, because there was no reason to voice the inevitable.

She is wilting away. LIke a flower who has forgotten what the sun looked like.

“It’s a shame. She was getting so powerful.” Dante shook his head sadly, but couldn’t help but smile. “I really hoped I would get to fight her one day.”

Morris let out a chuckle. Dante, your mind dwells on the wrong things, sometimes. I don’t think you would want to fight her. “I suppose. I would have liked to research her powers… there might be something in there I can use. For now, I guess I can dream…”

Both men watched her form on the screen, again and again.

“And besides…”

“She’s very cute-” “She’s very cute-”

Dante and Morris both cut each other off. For the first time, Morris actually turned in his chair to face his superior, fear starting to register on his face. It wasn’t much, just a tinge, but it was more than Morris had felt in his entire life.

“Morris…” Dante’s smile was gone. “What did you just say?”

Morris gulped, feeling the hair on his arms standing on end. “...nothing. Nothing at all.”

After a few moments saturated with tension, Dante finally relaxed his frown into a grin. “That’s what I thought you said.” He reached down and slapped Morris on the shoulder, a little harder than could be considered friendly. Morris stiffened, watching as Dante turned to leave, his cloak flaring out dramatically.

“If I do get to fight the Wizard King… I will conquer her. Just like I conquer everything else.”

Dante’s eyes glimmered at the thought, the hope he held close to his heart.

“Meeting you… is going to be so much fun.~”

(a couple months later)

“All rise for her majesty, the 29th Wizard King!”

This is the same room where I was married, and where I was later crowned. But now, I feel none of the nervousness of that previous visit. I’ve walked this aisle many times, my head held high, a crown glimmering upon my hair, and my robe flowing behind me.

I am the Wizard King, and this is my court. This is where I sit on my throne.

These past few months have been dense with work, more work than I’ve ever had in my time as advisor. After accepting my fate, I threw myself into this position more deeply than ever before. There’s a whole kingdom of people who need help, and another whole kingdom about to attack us. But little by little, I chipped through the work with the help of Marx and Adeline, slowly but surely repairing the damage and making sure those who were hurt were well cared for. But even now, there are problems, which is why I keep my doors open to whoever needs help.

“Y-Your majesty…”

A pair of men stand before me, their hands clasped together to keep them from shaking. They look like peasants, and there’s fear glistening in their eyes.

“We’re very sorry to bother you… our town was lucky enough to receive aid, after all. But-” He gulped, his eyes flickering up to my neutral face, leaned up against my propped up hand. “The magic knights in our town are wreaking havoc… they steal our food, slack off… and they even harass the women. If it isn’t too much-”

“Remove them?” I ask, sitting up a little straighter on my throne. “Tell me, what squad did I send to your town?”

“T-The Purple Orcas, ma’am-”

“Oh, I see.” Of course it’s them… I’m sure Kaiser would have a fit if he knew, I think, letting out a tired sigh. “Well, in that case, your wish is granted. I’ll send for the immediate removal of troops. Should I replace them?”

The two men looked at each other excitedly before turning back to me. “No! We’ve mostly recovered, thanks to you, those knights were just taking advantage of our recovery.” They both bowed in unison, grins still shining on their faces. “Thank you, your majesty!”

I smile down at them, motioning for them to rise again. “No problem! It’s my job to ensure that every citizen in this city is safe.”

As they leave, the crowd murmurs angrily. For whatever reason, many people usually come to watch as I listen to those who have requests, probably just to gossip and jeer at me. I do my best to be a good King, but there’s always going to be people who hold my status against me. They still see me as nothing more than a consort, someone who used Julius for power. It couldn’t be further from the truth; there’s nothing I want more than for Julius to be sitting on this throne today.

“I can’t believe it! Who gave you the power to redistribute my funds in the treasury?”

Now a wealthy, noble merchant stands before me, with much less benevolence than the peasants. His face is red with anger, like a tomato about to split open with juice. “I put those riches in there to gain interest! I was supposed to get richer, not poorer!”

“Oh, you did get interest, though,” I tell him casually, smiling a bit to myself at how angry he is. “That’s all I took out of your funds, too. You know that the Kingdom has been suffering lately-”

“THE KINGDOM? My ass!” he cuts me off. “Sure, some towns out in the boonies got destroyed, but do I have to pay for their problems?!” He points at me accusingly. “That’s not right! You don’t have the right to do that!”

“Look-” I shake my head, letting out an exasperated sigh. The night sky outside signifies how long I’ve been here, hours at this point. I’m starting to get tired. “The interest I took was enough to feed a town of starving people. You’ll make it back soon. Can’t you be happy that you’re helping the greater good-”

“HELP?! Why do I have to suffer for them!” he yells again. “My life was perfect! Why should I care if-”

“SILENCE.” In an instant, I’m on my feet. The air around me suddenly crackles with mana, and I hold up my hand to let an orb of dangerously bright blue light gather there. The entire room vibrates, and the crowd cowers behind the man who dared to speak to me like that.

“Cut me off again… and I will cut you in half.”

I clench my fist, and the orb intensifies. The noble’s eyes are wide, and the strength in his knees finally gives out. He collapses, his head ducking down as his body wracks with tremors. “I-I’m sorry- please- have mercy-”

“Mercy?” I smile again, but my eyes are as empty as ever. “You would show no mercy to those below you either, right? So why should I care if you live or die?”

He doesn’t answer, just squeezes his eyes shut and accepts his fate.

Satisfied, I release my power, and the light disappears. With a sigh, I sit back down on the throne, crossing my legs once seated. I feel heavier than normal, and for good reason; My belly is swollen, life kicking around inside. It’s only been about 7 months, but with a clever magical strategy, I managed to accelerate the pregnancy by two months. So, any day now, I will be meeting Julius’s child.

“Don’t bother me with this nonsense again. Just be grateful that I’ve given your life more meaning than you’re capable of yourself. Goodbye.”

Finally, everyone leaves, still muttering about the display of power I decided to throw out.

“You really shouldn’t be so rash, they’re just going to hate you more.”

Adeline lectures me, as usual, as she holds my hand to help me up the stairs to our room. We moved into one of the empty rooms together. I don’t know why, but I didn’t feel like it was right to keep sleeping in the old bed. I still brought the robe with me, and it sits on a chair in the corner by the window. “One of these days, it’s going to come back to bite you.”

“Eh.” I shrug, not denying it. As things stand now, they’ll have to target another Wizard King soon. “I want to get through this Spade nonsense first before worrying about that.”

“Understandable.” Adeline leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Come on, you need to sleep.”

The two of us cuddle up under the blankets. I close my eyes and inhale her scent, a smile traced onto my lips. When we’re here, all alone, I almost forget about the world outside, and the fate within me.

However, the peace is short lived.

A scream rips through the early morning, jolting me from my trance. I sit up in a panic to see Adeline already awake, her eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. A cold sweat coats her skin, and she’s shaking violently. “Adeline?! What’s wrong- hey-” I get cut off as she throws herself into my arms, bawling into my chest. I freeze up, not able to do much but stroke her hair awkwardly. I’m not the best at comforting people, since Julius was the one in charge of that back in the day. But slowly, Adeline starts to calm down, her sobs quieting. “So… a nightmare?”

“No… worse…” Adeline finally sits up, her eyes dilated with fear. “I… I got a flash.”

A flash….

Adeline’s Celestial Clairvoyance magic allows her to see flashes of the future, and sometimes those flashes come at random times, like when she’s asleep. I gulp nervously, my fingertips going cold. Usually these flashes help me in some way, but from the look in her eyes, I know this one is serious.

“What did you see?”

Adeline squeezes her eyes shut.

“Bones… bloodstained bones. Fire. Rotting flesh. And a tree… a huge tree being uprooted as an even larger one grows beneath it. And-” Her eyes pop open.

“A butterfly…”

My blood runs cold.

“Or maybe it was a moth…”

I take Adeline’s hand to distract her (and myself). “I see… I think I know what it means. Something we already knew.” I give her a strained smile. “War is coming… and soon.”

Slowly, Adeline nods. Somehow, I’ve managed to calm her down. “Right… right.” She glances over at the clock. “It’s early, but I’m going to get up. I don’t think I can sleep any longer.”

“Alright. I’ll do the same.”

Only fifteen minutes later, Marx comes bursting into the office, out of breath. “I have news from the Heart Kingdom- WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING?!”

Adeline and I almost jump out of our skins at the sound of the voice. We freeze in our position. Of course he had to come running in as we decided to have a little make-out session, with me sitting up on the desk to reach her lips. My face heats up, and Adeline opens and closes her mouth trying to find an excuse. “Um… I was… feeling the baby?”

Marx lets out a rattling sigh before closing the door behind him. “Some things never change… anyway, the news from the Heart Kingdom-” He straightens up, looking worried. “They were attacked by a mobile fortress from the Spade Kingdom early this morning.”

“WHAT?!” My eyes widen and I hop off the desk immediately. “This morning!? What happened? Are we at war?”

“Not quite…” Marx sucks in a breath. “Our knights over there were able to stop them and even take over a border town. The situation deescalated so now we’re just waiting for the Spade Kingdom to retaliate.”

“Oh… oH!” I let myself relax. “That’s great news… hopefully this promises good things to come.”

“I hope so…” Marx looks at Adeline. “Come on, I have some work for you to do downstairs.”

“Awww, ok.” Adeline pouts before leaning in to give me a kiss. “See you later!”

“Yeah, of course!” I wave goodbye before sitting back down in my chair and pulling more paperwork towards me. The door shuts, and I am alone.

So… it’s going to end soon, right?

I reach down and rest my hand upon my belly.

I need to give birth to you before the war begins… so I can fight, and…

I close my eyes. Mana starts to course into my belly, time spinning around the baby gently. This is how I’ve sped up my pregnancy, bit by bit, not noticeable by anyone but myself. Any day now, I would be able to give birth.

And then, I smell blood. My eyes pop back open. I take my hand away from my stomach and reach up to wipe under my nose. Sure enough, a red streak comes with it.

Oh, fuck-

It hits me with as little warning as usual, the tidal wave of pain ripping through my head and through my soul. WIth a strangled cry, I spasm in my seat, my head thrown back against the head of the chair. The agony intensifies, this episode growing worse and worse with every moment. It happens infrequently, but over these last months it visits as a reminder of the fate ahead of me.

NO…. not yet…

I can feel what’s left of my soul desperately tugging itself away, desperately trying to die.

Just a little longer…

I clench my fist as lights pop at the corners of my vision.

I need… I need to die on the battlefield.

The lights get brighter, blinding me. A moth flutters towards me.

Not… YET…

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

“Oh god… oh god please wake up…”

Adeline’s voice eventually coaxes me back to life. I blink my eyes open to see her, Marx, and Owen standing above me with scared looks on their faces. “W-What happened?”

“You had another spasm episode,” Adeline tells me softly. “How do you feel?”

A spike of panic shoots through me. “T-The baby-”

“It’s fine, perfectly healthy,” Owen assures me. “I’m more worried about you.”

I gulp nervously at the way they’re looking at me. I can tell that they know I’m hiding something.

“Sorry… I can’t control the seizures. I’ll try and warn you next time I feel it coming on.”

Owen sighs. “Right… well, I need to run and check up on the others. I’m sure they’re also traumatized…”

“Traumatized?” I repeat. Owen stiffens up, and so do Marx and Adeline. The tension has grown, but for what reason? “Wait, what’s going on? How long was I out?”

“Hours…” Adeline whispers. Owen exchanges a glance with Marx before leaving. “It’s evening now… and… well…”

“There’s been a development.” Marx finishes her sentence as she trails off. “Listen… while you were out… there were more attacks. One in the Heart Kingdom and two here.”

My eyes widen, but he doesn’t give me a chance to talk.

“There are three devil hosts in the Spade Kingdom… they call themselves the Dark Triad. And…”

Adeline hangs her head, unable to look me in the eye.

“They kidnapped Lolopechika… and…”

There’s static in my ears. His next words are fuzzy.

“They took Yami and William, too.”

A huge tree is uprooted as an even larger one grows beneath it.

A moth flits through its branches.

Fate has arrived.

Uh oh.... next time, chapter 16: the shadows. Yami and William are gone, and the apocalypse has arrived. What is one supposed to do when the inevitable stands ahead of you? We'll see what our poor Wizard King decides to do...

#black clover #fic #triad #oc: lisa #bc oc

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gear-project · 4 years

Note

How much information of the events in the story does public know about?

Most people assumed Sol along with the Sacred Order were responsible for killing Justice back in 2180 after she broke out of her Seal (nobody knew Testament was part of the cause, or that Human Gears even existed).

The incident that happened in former London, England was kept private by the International Police Force, and Sheevus’ Blackard Company was shut down without much external questioning about it. Most assumed the dormant Gear Hydra just stirred and caused trouble, and the former Sacred Order members dealt with it.

After that, the Data Disc Ky found was destroyed and kept under wraps... only Zepp’s higher ups knew about the incident, though the Jellyfish Pirates kept fragments of their data disc as a memento.

A lot of rumors circulated about what happened to the Gear Dizzy back in 2181, but nothing factual was leaked to the public, at least where Ky is concerned. It was officially stated that Jam Kuradoberi collected the bounty.

Most of what happened between 2181-83 was kept under wraps by the Postwar Administration Bureau, trying to cover their own tracks and fall in line with the Conclave’s rulings. The public would learn about the PWAB’s darker underbelly sometime later, however.

As of 2184-85, people were just getting used to the United Kingdoms of Illyria being founded as a new nation, with Ky Kiske being the High King, Leo Whitefang as Second King, and King Daryl as the Third King of the nation.

Most knew the Conclave and Sanctus Populi (along with the United Nations) were behind the founding of Illyria, but not the inner plannings or conspiracy involved regarding it, nor its connection to the PWAB.

Ariels became Pope Maximus sometime before this, taking the place of Pope Hapinus prior to his “untimely death”. People knew about it, but they didn’t talk about it much, that is until Valentine and the Vizuel Army invaded Illyria’s Capital.

Valentine not only invaded Illyria, but she destroyed several dormant Gears there while she was at it, hence the name of the event being called “Baptisma 13 incident”. 13 Gears that were kept under Illyrian watch disappeared, basically... or so the public knew at least.

After that incident, Ky made a public announcement as High King that he would be giving sanctuary to Sentient Gears within Illyria’s borders... and that REALLY got people talking. It was a controversial subject... and also something people could hardly believe was real.

This also painted a huge target on Ky’s back for anti-Gear protests, calling him a Gear sympathizer, among other things. A lot of politicians considered disassociating with Ky after this as well. This was also around the time the Conclave decided to use the PWAB to put a bounty on Sol’s head.

Sol getting a bounty on his head raised a few eyebrows within the Bounty Hunting community... since he was pretty infamous among them. But Ky later exposed this fake bounty as a sham and part of a conspiracy (and this wasn’t the first time fake bounties were posted, either).

In 2187, around this time Pope Ariels began circulating Anti-Valentine Opus detachments around the globe, as a means of “protecting the people against the Valentine threat”, (but was actually part of her scheme to use Gears to dominate the world.) Most people thought Opus were some man-made robot, it never occurred to most that they were actually Gears.

At this point, nobody really knew what the Conclave were doing, that is until Ramlethal Valentine made a global War Declaration (Elphelt’s warning to Ky was kept a government secret by the way, only the U.S. President Vernon seemed to be given intel about her via Leo).

This, of course, was a ruse, and in fact the Conclave were hovering over the city of Babylon, about to completely destroy its Population (why they chose Babylon as their first target, isn’t exactly clear... but it might have some symbolic value internally).

By the time Sol and Ky finally caught on, Babylon’s people were gone... It was as tragic as might imagine all over the globe, people mourning for lost friends and family who had once lived there. A great catastrophe. I’m sure many blamed Ramlethal for the incident as well, even if she was only indirectly involved.

The public also caught wind of the Illyrian Knights pursuing what they were calling “The Cradle” to the Black Sea... and there was a huge dustup about all the military presence there. Nobody knew the Cradle had anything to do with Justice, however.

Around November 1st, 2187 Justice reappeared (according to reporters) right next to Illyria’s Central Organ Tower... though nobody really knew how that was even possible, and even considered the idea that Justice was supposed to be dead for years. Local residents of the capital were temporarily evacuated, and that was about the size of what happened at that time.

Shortly after this incident, Pope Ariels made a public announcement that everything was connected with the “Universal Will” who had declared war on Humankind. She used this speech as a way of giving hope back to the people, to encourage them to keep fighting on despite who their enemy was... nobody even knowing the truth of the matter. She also used this as an opportunity to let the Japanese people be released from their quarantine, as a show of good faith (again, another ruse).

Not long after, several earthquake-like explosions in the form of Information Flares occurred around the globe... and nobody really knew the cause, or that they were even connected with Ariels and the Japanese. Even one of Illyria’s major cities was destroyed, thankfully most people were evacuated (this was when Ramlethal was caught in Ariels’ trap).

Then, during the Feast of Victory (the anniversary of the End of the Crusades), Ariels publicly shot one of her own staff, and went on to reveal that she herself was the Universal Will. At the same time, several cities in Illyria were invaded by Anti-Matter Gears and a contingent of Ariels’ Swiss Guard, the Phalanx Nine.

Several people were killed in the incidents, but due to everyone involved, no major destruction occurred. In particular it was revealed a certain Winged-woman was seen protecting the people of Illyria above the city (which was reported in the local newspaper, and speculated upon).

At this point in time, two major bites of News Information have been revealed: Pope Ariels is now in Illyrian Military custody, while the International Criminal known as “That Man” or “The Gearmaker” is now in U.S. Military custody. Both are pending a Tribunal, which is being discussed in an upcoming G4 Summit.

No one has publicly stated or speculated connections between any of these chains of incidents, other than the fact Gears were involved. It was, however stated that the PWAB would be reformed and the Assassins Organization officially dismantled.

So far, the public discussion in Illyria seems to be embracing the idea of working alongside Sentient Gears (thanks to open comments about them from the Illyrian Military), though that seems to only apply to certain regions within the nation... no other outstanding opinions in other countries have been stated.

#GG Politics #Death and Republic

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talpup · 4 years

Text

Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud. He knew there would be trails. He knew trouble would come his way. Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant. What he didn’t know. Didn’t expect. Was that literal Chaos would come his way. That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble. Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, eventual sexual behavior, and other possible triggers. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

Chapter 77

It was the start of a new month and like the first of every month Nozel was awake before sunrise. Seated in the personal study of his chambers, he went over last months final reports and figured quotas for this month to send to the twelve properties his father entrusted him in overseeing.

A knock at the door halted his writing. Nozel looked up eyebrows pulling together. Who could be calling on him? Captain Pyter was the only other person in the Silver Eagles base that occasionally woke this early before sunrise. And the Captain was away on a mission, not expected back for another couple of days.

Suddenly the door opened. Two uniformed men rushed, cloaked in mana, ready to attack.

“What’s the meaning of this!” Nozel’s shock quickly changed to anger when he saw that the two men were from the set of six guards his father had sent to protect him when he wasn’t preforming his duties as a Magic Knight.

Seeing the Silva heir was safe, the higher ranking of the two bowed. His comrade saluted, caught sight of his superior, and hastily bowed as well. Nozel sighed. Not only were the guards an unnecessary nuisance and embarrassment. But they had no idea how to treat him, caught between his status as a Magic Knight and a royal.

“We saw light from underneath the door, Your Highness. When you didn’t respond to our knock we thought--” The guard fell silent, feeling foolish. “Please, Your Highness. Forgive the intrusion.”

“If I was set upon in my quarters by assassins, do you really think they would take the time to light a candle?” Nozel questioned, acidly.

“No, Your Highness. We are truly sorry. I take full responsibility for entering.” The man said, glancing at his subordinate.

Nozel gave the guard a cold look. “See that it doesn’t happen again. If you enter without my leave again I’ll see your hands removed so you can never open another door.”

The man swallowed and bowed. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Get out.” Nozel ordered, turning back to his work.

“Yes, Your Highness.” The two men bowed again and back out, closing the door behind them.

Nozel leaned back and sighed. He felt mildly bad for the threat; but after ten days for dealing with hovering guards his temper was nearly non-existent.

The Silva guards would stand outside whatever room his was in while in the base. Yet if he left the base on Magic Knights business, they didn’t followed him out. Nozel had quickly figured out and made use of the loophole. Now every time he left, whether it was true or not, he said it was for Magic Knights business. The guards weren’t fools. They knew what he was doing but didn’t dare challenge their Prince. And with Captain Pyter gone, there was no one they could go to to verify what he said.

Nozel understood and appreciated that his father didn’t want the guards to interfere with his duties as a Magic Knight. What Nozel didn’t understand was why his father had sent the guards at all. If this gang hired to kill him weren’t complete fools then all they had to do was watch and see that the guards didn’t follow when he had a mission and make their move accordingly.

As for having the guards follow him around the base and stand outside every room his was in. What did his father think? That one of his comrades was a member of this hired gang? His father had once been a Magic Knight so he knew that there were spells and traps set around a bases property to ward and alert of intruders or attack.

Nice as it was to know his father cared and was concerned for his welfare. Nozel couldn’t help but feel as if the guards had been sent more to annoy and offend. He was a Second Class Senior Magic Knight. While the Silva guards were no doubt highly capable. What protection could they offer him that he couldn’t provide for himself?

Then again his father hadn’t exactly been thinking the all that clearly since receiving the news. Nozel had been both pleased and disappointed that Sir Jorah had managed to keep Yami’s name out of it when telling his father. If Sir Jorah hadn’t, there was no doubt in Nozel’s mind that his father would’ve had Yami immediately arrested. His father might not have even waited to see Yami executed the next day. Instead seeing that some accident befell the foreigner shortly after being toasted in a cell.

Of course Nozel still wanted to see Yami dead, within the bounds of the law. But Yami had come forward with all this when he could have kept silent. It left Nozel feeling like he owed the foreigner his life. Not that Nozel would’ve had trouble surviving any attack this gang presented, whether he knew they were coming or not. After all Yami had managed to survive two such attempts and he was far better than Yami Sukehiro. Still, the thought of Yami being imprisoned and executed on his father's order after Yami had come forward to warn them... It would have been more than Nozel could’ve stomached.

Nozel only wished that there was a way he could convince his father that Lord Vermillion hadn’t hired these people. Why his father would think such a thing in the first place was beyond him. Nozel had argued with his father. Wrote several lengthy letters to him. He had even written Teris’ brother Fyntch. All in an effort to convince his father that Lord Leonidas Vermillion had nothing to do with this. There was absolutely no reason the Vermillion patriarch would do such a thing.

Like any good family, Nozel’s parents had produced what was commonly called an heir and a spare. While Solid was seven years his junior and lacking in many ways; he was a Silva and therefore capable of rising to any challenge. Added to that, his father was young enough marry and see another son produced to act as spare to Solid if he should die at the hands of these hired killers. With that being the case there was no way this was done in an attempt to reduce House Silva and raise House Vermillion in the line of succession.

Even then Lord Leonidas never would have done such a thing. When the perpetrator was discovered. And they would be discovered. It would ruin more than the person and their House. It would destroy anyone distantly related to them. Hiring these people might not have been an attempt at regicide. But as far as Nozel’s father, King Agustus, and Sir Jorah were concerned, it was close enough. This was an attempt on Nathyn Silva’s heir. Lord Silva was second to the King which effectively made Nozel third. Lord Leonidas wouldn’t chance the consequences that would come from hiring people to kill him.

More concerned with finding out who had truly hired these people and why. Nozel had wracked his mind trying to figure out who would be bold and aggrieved enough to do such a thing. It was difficult considering he didn’t know all of his father's dealings. And it became all the harder when Fuegoleon mentioned that the person who made the hired could be looking to get back at Nozel himself and not his father.

At least they had a proper and perfect sketch of Cin’s likeness and the thee men he and Fuegoleon had seen assisting the man. Advisor Ellara’s memory magic and some other Investigations Mage had proved invaluable in that. The images of the four men had been sent out to every Magic Knight, Sentry, and Investigations Mage. Every city and town in the Clover Kingdom had the four men's images displayed in their town hall and market, as well as in every bar and gambling den. The reward his father had ordered put on the pages was probably enough to entice Cin’s most loyal followers to turn him over. Nozel doubted his father had paid half the offered amount to the two groups he had hired to kill Yami.

Nozel’s lips thinned into a line at that thought. His father might not show his love in word or physical affection; but he did care in his own way. The reward offered for the four men. The guards he had sent. His fury when he had been told of all this. The way he aggressively set about trying to find both the person who had done the hiring and the hired gang. It all proved to Nozel that his father did indeed care about him. Either that, or his father saw all this as a slight against himself and was furious someone thought so little of him as to dare to threaten the life of his son and heir.

77.2

Breakfast done, Teris got up from the dining table.

Yami lifted his head. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To clear my plate.” Teris said, moving to do just that.

Tobin gave his friend a quizzical look. Yami wasn’t the clingy type. And he was smart enough to know that his stern tone would irritate Teris. Was he purposefully looking to start a fight with her?

“Don’t get smart with me. Where are you going?” Yami called after her.

“Relax man.” Tobin told.

Ignoring Tobin, Yami got to his feet and followed Teris to the kitchens.

Looking over at Gendry, Tobin asked. “Do you know what that was about?”

Gendry shook his head and went back to eating his breakfast.

Reaching the kitchen worktable Teris spun around. “You’re following me now?”

“I don’t like being ignored.” Yami told.

“Fine.” Teris snapped. “What do you want?”

“I want to know where you’re headed.” Yami said.

“Why? You have plans for us?” Teris asked.

Yami gave a shrug and tempted. “I could. If you want.”

Teris looked at him. She knew full well what he was doing, yet was tempted nonetheless. She shook her head. “No.” She told herself as much as him. “I already have plans.”

“And those are?” Yami asked.

Teris sighed in frustration. “I don’t see why you’re so worried. We’ve faced far worse than your old friend and his gang of thugs. Do remember the Agents of Chaos? What we went through?”

Yami stared, unblinking.

“You said it yourself.” She went on. “You beat this guy down in the past. Said you could do it again. I don’t see why I’m required to have someone with me when I leave the property. Or why you’re readily going along with it. It hardly seems fair. Especially when the same it’s required for you.”

“I beat Cin and Damon, not an entire gang. As for why I don’t need escort. I already gave him my answer. He won’t come bugging me again. You on the other hand...” Yami stepped to her, hand reaching for her waist.

Teris turned and stepped away. Yami gritted his teeth, hand closing and falling to his side.

“You could be used to get to Nozel.” Yami said. He hated having to acknowledge Nozel’s tie to her almost as much as he hated Teris spitefully denying him.

“I can take care of myself.” Teris said.

“I know you can.”

She turned back around and questioned. “Then why the worry?”

“I told you.” Yami said.

“I’m just as capable as you are. I out ranked you for a time. Remember?”

“Teris. Don’t be silly.”

Teris placed a hand to her chest, temper and voice rising. “So now I’m incompetent, weak, and silly?”

“No one called you weak or incompetent.”

“But I am silly?”

“You are right now.” Yami snapped, his own temper rising. Why was she being so difficult? Didn’t she realize the possible danger this put her in? He was just looking out for her.

Teris glared, arms crossed. “You can be a real ass sometimes.”

Yami ground his teeth, silencing an arguing retort. He didn’t want to fight with her; but it seemed that was exactly what she was looking for.

Teris made for the stairs that led up to the dining hall.

Yami followed at her heels. “Teris.”

“Back off.” Teris snapped without turning back. She went to the serving table and opened up a cloth placing a couple sweet breads on top and tying it up.

Yami watched her head for the door. “I mean it, Teris.”

“I said back off!” Teris told, looking over her shoulder at him. She bumped into Jax who was entering the dining hall.

Jax looked from Teris to Yami and back. “What’s this?”

Guilty, Teris tried to avoid her Captain's gaze.

Seeing the cloth package Teris held, Jax raised an eyebrow. “Going somewhere?”

“Just into town.” Teris told as if it were nothing. Which it totally should have been.

“Which town?” Jax questioned.

Teris’ faced twitched.

Jax stared. Did Teris think he didn’t know all the tricks? He had been Captain for nine years. Heck, he had come up with several tricks himself back in the day. It was somewhat insulting Teris even dared such a lame attempt.

Taking a breath, Jax quietly told her. “And after I was kind enough to discuss it with you at length before making the order.”

Teris lowered her head.

“Or maybe you got word that this mess is over. Did you?” Jax asked, sure she hadn’t.

Teris shook her head.

“Then unless you want to find yourself stuck here without any chance of leaving until the mess is over I recommend you obey.” Jax told. He looked passed her and at his squad seated at long wooden table. “Venice. Bran. Go into town with Teris.” He looked back down at Teris, voice turning quiet again. “You are not to leave their sight. Understood.”

Teris looked away and muttered. “This is stupid--”

Jax cut her off, voice raising in volume. “Understood.”

“Yes, sir.” Teris clipped, glaring at a distant wall.

“What’s going on, Captain?” Venice asked, she and Bran stepping beside Teris.

“I already told you. Go with Teris into town.”

“This those Chaos guys again?” Bran asked.

“Are all of you incapable of obeying basic commands? Just do as I say.” Jax told.

Bran ducked his head. “Yes, sir.”

Jax stepped out of their way. “Off with you. Be back before lunch.”

Yami sighed when Teris didn’t so much as look back at him. He didn’t like her leaving while still angry at him. But she would be back soon enough and they would fix it.

77.3

While Cin hadn’t been sure if Yami would take him up on his offer despite the sizable sum he had tempted Yami with. Cin had never imagined Yami would snitch. It was disappointing. It certainly made things far more difficult. But more than that it was a betrayal of their friendship.

Sure Yami had attacked him and told him their ties were cut. But this was different. They didn’t need to have a ties for any sense of loyalty to continue. In going to his superiors and warning them of the order put on the Silva heir Yami had broken the word he had given Cin all those years ago. Yami had further broken Cin’s trust by giving the authorities his description. Now his face was plastered everywhere. He and his way of life was ruined in the Clover Kingdom. He had already had to hide away from lesser members of his gang because of the price put out for him. After this job Cin would have to move to one of the other three kingdoms and begin anew, taking whatever trusted followers of his that were willing of come along.

Cin wanted to get Yami back for the betrayal. But with the pressure of having his image posted in every bar and town square, along with the crazy reward for his capture. He needed to get this job done as quickly as possible and move on. He would just have to come back, possibly years later, and seek vengeance on Yami Sukehiro.

Or so he had thought. Thanks to his right hand and closest friend, it had been discovered that Nozel Silva’s Intended was the same woman from the bar. The woman Yami had been so protective of. Teris Nova. A royal who had willfully chosen to become a member of the worst squad of the Magic Knights order. And a kind and generous creature of habit.

Cin watched Teris walk down a street with two fellow Magic Knights. The information Stehen had acquired was clearly accurate. Teris carried a fabric parcel and was headed to an alley where a pair of urchins lived just as his second had said.

Cin hadn’t asked the kids to do anything they or the Magic Knights would suspect as bad or dangerous. He had simply told them to give Teris the ribbon bracelet he provided and make sure she put it on. Easy and benign enough. Especially when a coin was offered to the kids as payment for such an easy task.

Someone passed. Cin stepped deeper into the shadows of the side street. Pulling the hood of his cloak higher to better shield his face, he continued to watch the Magic Knights across the street.

77.3.2

“So this is where the extra sweets disappear to.” Venice said, walking beside Teris.

“Just a couple every the first of every month.” Teris replied.

Venice rolled her eyes. “You’re too kind.”

“How can you make that sound like a bad thing?” Bran said.

Venice shrugged a shoulder. “Easy enough.”

“Well I think it’s admirable.” Bran said.

Teris looked away in a mix of embarrassment and shame. Sure she brought treats to the kids and assisted when their pride allowed her to. But the reason she started doing it wasn’t completely noble. Magic Knights Captains, and even Vice Captain's were known to have informants on the streets. That went doubly so for someone like Commander Greywright. If Teris wanted to be a useful Vice Captain to Jax, and have a chance at making Knights Commander she needed to have her own share of informants.

“You two stay here while I drop these off.” Teris said. Jax had said she wasn’t to leave their sight. He didn’t say anything about staying by their side. It wasn’t as if she were bending the rules for the heck of it. The kids were skittish. Besides, she would be but ten meters away at most.

“You still haven’t told us why Jax ordered us to come with you.” Venice said, sure that it was for Teris’ protection.

“But I already told you that the reason was stupid and they’re overreacting.” Teris said.

“That doesn’t sound like something Captain Jax or Yami would do.” Bran said.

Teris turned to him. “What do you know Small Potato? Now stay. Or do I have to pull rank and make it an order?”

Venice leaned against the wall of the alleys entrance and crossed her arms. Satisfied, Teris made her way to the kids crate home. She knocked on the exterior wall of the structure the wooden box sat up against and waited.

A head stuck out. “You’re late.”

“And you’re filthy. What of it?” Teris shot back playfully. Her heart squeezing at the truth of it.

Venice watched her friend interact with the two ragamuffins and grumbled. “Don’t know why she bothers. It’s not like she’s making a difference. This town alone has dozens more just like those two.”

“Look at those kids and tell me she’s not making a difference in their lives.” Bran said, the sight of the kids making him miss his younger siblings.

Venice watched the two kids eat their treat. One inhaled the sweet bread, while the other savored it. Teris stood before the kids listening attentively as they chattered. Occasionally she appeared to ask a question or admonish them.

“Big softy.” Venice huffed.

After a while Teris waved at the kids and returned to her friend’s side. “See. That didn’t take long.. And I’m as safe as I ever was.”

Venice noted an added bracelet around Teris’ left wrist where she wore the one Zara’s kid had sent. “What’s that?”

Teris smiled fondly at the thin ribbon. “A gift from the kids.”

“That’s nice.” Bran smiled in return.

“Probably has lice and fleas.” Venice pushed away from the wall and led the way out of the alley.

Teris followed. “I don’t get you. Why are you so sour about a couple of kids? Jealous?”

Venice looked back at her. “No.”

Teris laughed. Entering the main street, she teased. “That’s it. Isn’t--” Someone bumped into her. Teris felt a hand grip and steady her. At least that was what she had thought the person was doing.

“Teris.” Bran reached for her.

“Teris!” Venice yelled.

Teris and the man holding her disappeared.

77.4

Teris woke up with a splitting headache. Her face itched where blood from a gash on her temple had dripped and dried.

“Ah, good. You’re awake.”

Teris pulled her head back even as the speaker brought his face closer to hers. She instantly recognized him as the man Yami had been speaking with at the bar. The one hired to kill Nozel. Her eyes hardened.

“Cin.” Teris sneered.

“You know my name. But of course you do. I have to know, did Yami tell everything right away? Of did he mull over his betrayal?”

Teris looked passed him, taking in her surroundings. She hadn’t gotten a good look of the place before she was knocked out. But it didn’t appear as if she had been moved. Only tied up.

Teris turned her eyes back on Cin. “Got a magic negating mage on your team or something?” It disturbed her that she was unable to access her magic. Between the encounters with Calen, being locked in a mana blocked cell in the Diamond Kingdom, and now this she wondered if this horrible trend was some type of curse.

Cin stepped back, eyes dancing with amusement. “Or something. You can thank your urchin friends for that.”

Cin smiled, watching her change in expression as understanding dawned. Teris glanced up at her bound hands.

“Clever girl.” Cin praised. “Although that hint was quite the giveaway. I must admit, catching you was far easier than expected. A charmed bracelet to bottle your mana and coin to a couple urchins to put it on you. Has no one ever warned you such compassion and charity would leave you exposed and venerable? Surely Yami has having spent several years on the streets himself. If he hasn’t he’s done you a disservice not telling you how real life works, Princess. Or are you simply too proud and stubborn to heed such advice?”

Teris glared at her captor.

Cin smirked at her futile anger. “In any case. So long as that thing is around your wrist, my charm magic will hold and your mana will build up within with no way of release. Rendering your magic useless. A pity too since I was interested in seeing your light magic in action. I remember three years ago that the entire kingdom was a buzz. Everywhere I went, all I heard was people talking about how a light and dark magic user had nearly destroyed half of Castle City during the Magic Knights Entrance Exam. Little did I know the dark magic user was my good old friend, Yami.”

Teris tugged at her bonds. If she could just loosen the bindings enough to reach the ribbon bracelet and tear it off. “What’s the play here?”

“Play?” Cin echoed

“You were hired to kill Nozel. What does that have to do with me?”

“You mean other than your being his Intended?”

Teris scoffed, tired arms letting her toes bear most of her weight. Feeling heated, she breathed through her mouth. “Yami was right. You are impatient and don’t do your homework. Nozel’s parents and mine may have intended us to wed. But Nozel and I hate each other.”

Cin smiled, wryly. “Is that so?”

“He would never put himself at risk to help me. Nor I him.” Teris told.

Cin tisked. “A shame.”

“For you I suppose, if you’re looking to get to Nozel through me.” Teris said.

“So I should cut my losses and just let you go then.” Cin said, playing her game.

“I’d certainly be for that. But I doubt you will.” Teris said.

“You would be correct.”

“What I can do is take you to him.” Teris offered.

“You would take me to your Intended?” Cin questioned.

Her hate for that word meant she hardly needed to act. “Told you. I hate him. If he’s dead then I don’t need to refuse the order to marry him.”

“So I’d be doing you a favor killing him.” Cin said.

“You’ve abducted and are keeping me against my will. I’d call it more of an apology than a favor.”

Cin chuckled. “Even magic-less and at my mercy you got a mouth on you.”

If she could get Cin to agree and get out of this dimensional space Yami would be able to sense her mana. She could slowly lead Cin to Nozel, giving Yami and the Black Bulls enough time to get to her and help.

Cin had to admit the offer was tempting. Especially since he knew she couldn’t take off the charmed bracelet even if her hands were free to try. It was a good second option if his plan didn’t pan out.

Smiling at her, Cin gave a wink. “Why don’t we table that and see if either man accepts my invitation first.”

Teris’ eyebrows pulled together. “Either man? What invitation?”

“I sent Yami and Nozel a message informing them I had you. Their instructions were to come to the location alone. I have people watching and waiting there now. If they show they will be brought near enough to where we are for my Spatial Mage to bring into this space so we can continue undisturbed.”

Heart hammering in her chest, Teris managed to keep Cin’s eye without blinking. A clammy sweat beaded on her brow from both worry and a rising fever. “Why would Yami come? We might be comrades but--”

“Yami’s an honorable sort.” Cin said, cutting over her words. “Loyal and protective of his friends. At least he was.” He muttered sourly, still upset by the perceived betrayal. He looked Teris over a devilish smile playing on his lips. “But I have a feeling you’re more than Yami’s friend and comrade. He mentioned a girl the first time we met. Reunited. A girl that kept him from accepting my first offer, to have him join up with me. I even told him he could bring her.”

“Join up with you? As in under you?” Teris huffed in derision. “Apparently you don’t know Yami as well as he made it sound. Even I know he doesn’t follow well.”

“So you’re going to continue with the act that the two of you are nothing more than comrades.” Cin looked her over again finding it easy to understand how Yami would be so smitten with such a girl that he was willing to chance his life.

Teris took the weight off her cramping toes, hanging fully by her wrists. “I’m a royal.”

Cin nodded. “That you are. You see it all makes perfect sense if you are the one Yami spoke of and you care for him in return.”

“Untrue and far fetched as that is, how does it make any sense?” Teris asked, trying not to shiver as her fever mounted.

“After what Lord Silva did, or attempted to have done, I find your hated and willingness to help see Nozel Silva dead completely understandable.”

A sense of foreboding coiled in Teris’ chest. She hardly felt the bonds cutting into her wrists or the sweat stinging her eyes. “Why? What have they done?”

“Oh.” Cin blinked. “You don’t know. But of course you wouldn’t. Yami wouldn’t tell you. He’s too proud. Too noble. And far too protective.” He smiled devilishly. “Wouldn’t it be fun if I told you? Especially if they both showed up.”

“I told you. They won’t come.” Teris said, feeling weak and drowsy after the slight adrenaline rush.

“Let’s just wait and see, shall we.”

“Or--” Teris began, halting when someone appeared.

“Cin.” The person said.

Cin turned. Stehen gave his leader a nod.

Cin glanced back at Teris. “It appears you didn’t give yourself enough credit.” To Stehen he said. “Give it a few minutes. See if the other shows.”

Teris watched Stehen disappear. “That your Spatial Mage?”

Cin looked back at her. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“That is why people ask questions.” Teris said, blinking back fatigue. The burning sweat not helping her endeavor to keep her eyes open.

Cin smiled. “There’s that mouth of yours again. I can see why Yami likes you.”

“He--” Before Teris could refute, the man from before appeared again.

Cin’s smile widened. Eyes on Teris he told. “That’s two for two. You either have no clue what you mean to these men or are a liar. My guess is a bit of both.” He looked her over and tisked at the state of her.

She was a mess. Pale and sweaty. Dried blood caked on her face. Cin didn’t know about Nozel; but Yami wouldn’t be happy by the sight.

Seeking to make her more presentable, Cin stepped to her. Moistening the cuff of his sleeve in his mouth, he grabbed her chin and began to scrub her temple.

Teris pulled away only to have Cin grab her again. His hold and scrubbing rougher than before.

“I know.” Cin sighed, the hard glint in his eyes belying the conversational tone. “My mother use to do this exact same thing and I hated—Ow!” He jerked back holding his hand, barely able to believe the royal woman had bit him.

Teris’ legs pulled up and wrapped Cin’s neck, squeezing. A magical attack hit her from the side. The force and pain of the blow caused her legs to loosen. Cin broke free and stepped away.

Holding up a staying hand to his followers, Cin looked Teris over with a new appreciation. “I can definitely see why Yami likes you. You’re much more than just a pretty little royal face.”

“I’ll kill you!” Teris spat, body swinging as her legs kicked out.

Cin chuckled at her fierceness. “You’re one fine, fiery cat aren’t you. I get why Yami’s willing to chance his life just to be with you.”

Teris stopped kicking, wondering at his meaning.

Cin turned to Stehen. “Bring them in.”

Not wanting Yami and Nozel to see each other until they were brought into the dimensional space, Cin had ordered them taken to different waiting locations. The two men now appeared along with what was left of Cin’s gang who had met and escorted Yami and Nozel to those waiting locations.

Seeing Yami, Nozel demanded. “What are you doing here?”

“You sound accusatory. What? Think I set you up? Braid Face, idiot. I’m here for the same reason you are.” Seeing Teris tied and hanging from a rope brought back images of the Summer Solstice. Tamping down his rage, Yami called to her. “What did I tell you this morning?”

“Really? You’re gonna say I told you so now?” Teris called back, both relieved and hating that he was here. Her head dipped for a moment. The exertion of attacking Cin taking way more out of her than it should've.

Yami’s eyes narrowed. Something was wrong with Teris. What had they done to her? Keeping his nonchalance, he shrugged. “May as well in case we don’t make it out.”

“Well aren’t you two cute.” Cin teased looking between Yami and Teris. His gaze focused on Nozel. “Makes me wonder how you fit in. She said you two hated each other. But if that were so, why come? Some sense of duty and pride?” He looked to Yami and frowned. “But if they hate each other, why not accept my offer and agree to help? Why betray me to protect a man who has claim to the woman you want? Surely his death would make things easier on you.”

“It’s a pointless endeavor to try to understand Yami’s reasoning. He’s a crass, violent fool who doesn’t think before he acts or speaks.” Nozel said.

“After what your father’s done you’re in no place to talk.” Cin told. He examined Nozel a moment and wondered. “Or are you like Yami’s girl here and in the dark about all that?”

Nozel’s lip curled at Cin calling Teris Yami’s girl.

Seeing the sneer, Cin teased. “Or maybe you’re the reason for all of that. Did you go to your Daddy crying about the foreign peasant that was edging in on what was yours?”

Nozel ignored the taunting questions. “You have me. Let her go.”

“I’ve got a better idea.” Cin said with a lopsided grin.

Yami felt a cold prickle run up his spine. He took a step forward. “Cin.”

“You don’t get to talk to me!” Cin snapped. “Our ties are cut. Remember? You ratted me out to the Magic Knights.”

“What did you expect?” Yami asked without regret.

“I expected you to be the man of honor I remembered and not betray me.” Cin told.

“How can you speak of honor when you kill people for money?” Yami questioned in disgust.

“As if you’ve never killed as a Magic Knight.” Cin challenged.

“That’s different.” Yami said.

“You’re right! It’s worse!” Cin shot back. “You kill for them. Royals. Nobles. People who step on folk like us. Who have literally spit on us.” He gestured to Nozel. “People who obviously still don’t give a damn about your life or your service as a Magic Knight.”

“I don’t do it for them.” Yami took another step forward. “Cin--”

“No!” Cin cut him off. “I took a job. This is happening. And you can’t buy your way out of it this time.”

“Don’t make me stop you from killing this wound up Ball of Pride.” Yami rumbled.

“Stop me?” Cin laughed. He grabbed Teris by the hair and pulled her head back exposing her throat to the knife he kept strapped to his thigh.

Teris’ eyes rolled. Weak and half out of it, she didn’t struggle.

Cin bared his teeth in a sinister grin. “You misunderstand me, Yami. You’re going to kill the royal. Either that or die trying and we’ll finish him off. That is unless you’d rather see your girlfriend die.”

Yami growled. It was small comfort knowing Teris was Cin’s only leverage and therefore wouldn’t hurt her unless pressed. “Don’t do this.”

“It’s already done. Kill or be killed.” Cin told.

Yami felt Nozel eyeing him warily. Keeping his gaze on Cin, Yami questioned. “What happens if I win? You kill me too?”

“You and your royal girlfriend get to walk away.” Cin answered.

“And if I lose? What happens to Teris?” Yami asked.

“She gets to survive having seen you and the Silva die. I’m not a monster.” Cin said.

Lashing fluttering, Teris croaked groggily. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Teris had seen the rage in Cin’s eyes. She knew there was no way he would let Yami live. This was all her fault. If she had only listened to Yami this morning. Or heeded Jax’s order without twisting and making allowances. If she hadn’t been so trusting. It was the spelled ribbon around her wrist that blocked her magic. If she had only paused and questioned the gift of it. There had to be a way to get it off. To be useful. She couldn’t let Yami and Nozel fight this alone. She couldn’t let them fight each other.

...the ribbon was blocking her magic. No. That wasn’t right. What was it Cin had said? Teris shook her head trying to think clearly. Why couldn’t she think clearly? Why was she so weak and hot? It felt like she was burning up from the inside out. Almost like a muted version of how she felt the morning of the Summer Solstice…

‘A charmed bracelet to bottle your mana...’ That’s what Cin had said. Not block. Bottle. Why was that difference so important? It had to do with something Julius had once said. But Julius was always going on about magic and key differences between spells. Her lips moved in silent curse of her brother and herself for not paying better attention to his ramblings.

“Shh.” Cin breathed when Teris began to squirm. He took a small step away from her feeling over warm and needing space. Looking back at Yami, he asked. “What’s it gonna be, my friend?”

Yami watched Teris for a moment wondering again what Cin had done to her. He could easily feel the growing heat coming off her as her mana stormed and built within her. Then again his cooler than normal temperature was keyed into hers. As much as he would have rather tried to figure out a less risky plan, Teris was literally starting to lose control. He glanced at Nozel wondering if the royals heightened sense of mana could tell what was happening. That the powerful force within Teris was beginning to awaken as her mana built up inside her.

Yami rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Much as I don’t like it. It’s going to have to be your way, isn’t it.”

“I was so hoping you’d say that.” Cin grinned. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Well then, Yami. Let’s see if you’re good enough to kill a royal.”

Taking a deep breath, Yami turned to Nozel. The surrounding gang members backed up, giving them room.

Nozel watched Yami cautiously. He could sense Teris’ swelling mana but figured Cin had done or threatened something to stop her from using her magic. Cin would pay for taking and tying his Intended so. But first it seemed he would have to fight Yami. Something Nozel would've relished any other time but not on this occasion.

It wasn’t that he worried about losing the duel. There was no doubt his mercury magic and mana control could best the likes of Yami Sukehiro. But when faced against a group of adversaries and a man holding a knife to Teris’ throat, he would've welcomed Yami as an ally and been glad for it.

Given that Yami was the reason they knew Cin had been hired to kill him, Nozel was somewhat surprised to see Yami capitulate to Cin’s demands. But he supposed the threat to Teris was enough to make Yami comply.

Yami met Nozel’s eyes. His gaze hard but baring no aggression. Rolling his shoulder, pretending to loosen it, Yami tapped his chest. He then gripped the hilt of his katana, thumb twitching to Cin and Teris.

Nozel’s eyes narrowed, head tilting.

It was a subtle message but all Yami could do with so many eyes watching. He just hoped the Braided Bird understood, or at least knew he wasn’t going to attack him. If Nozel lashed out with his mercury it would certainly make things more difficult. He wasn’t sure which of Cin’s people were creating the magical shield he sensed around Cin and Teris. But such a shield should only defended against magical attacks, and his katana wasn’t magic. He just hoped Teris wouldn’t lose herself in the next few seconds. That she kept it together long enough for him to act. Wait for me, Princess, Yami thought. I’ll see us out of this.

Yami unsheathed his katana and readied his stance as if preparing to fight Nozel. He went so far as to cloak the blade in dark magic hoping the act would lull Cin into thinking he truly was going to fight Nozel. Taking a breath he pictured the distance and location of the rope Teris hung from; grateful Cin hadn’t changed his ways all that much. Back in the day when they use to break into noble's castles to steal food or clothes for warmth, anyone that happened upon them would get tied up and gagged by Cin and Damon. They didn’t do so magically but physically. Cin confessing it gave him a greater sense of power over the person. To physically bind and restrain them.

As soon as Nozel created a pool of mercury Yami threw his katana. He tensed, Nozel’s mercury forming into spears and lashing out. Yami’s katana flew through the air circling hilt over point, horizontal to the the ground. It sliced the rope Teris hung from. At the same time Nozel’s mercury spears stabbed over Yami’s shoulder, taking out two of Cin’s people and wounding another.

Teris fell to the ground with a plop. Even if she wasn’t so out of it she would've had trouble catching her weight after hanging for so long.

“His blood!” Yami hollered at Teris. He pulled free the thin, flexible sword hidden in his belt and cloaked it in darkness. “It breaks the charm.” He didn’t know what Cin had charmed and put on her but hoped Teris knew.

Cin grabbed the hilt of Yami’s katana and pulled it free from where it stuck. He looked down at Teris who was still on the ground. “Good luck making me blee--”

Teris lifted bright glowing eyes up to him. Cin cried out in pain. The light of her eyes burning and blinding her abductor. She rose to her feet. The charmed ribbon burning up with nary a speck of ash.

Vision spotty, Cin brandished Yami’s katana before finally throwing it in Teris’ direction. He backed away and tripped over his feet, falling to the ground. Inching back, Cin held up a hand trying to keep her at bay.

“Can—can we just… Wait!” Cin pleaded.

“Call your people off.” Teris ordered, voice void of emotion.

When Cin didn’t immediately comply she raised a glowing hand. Cin squinted and squirmed. The heat coming off her blistering and burning his skin. His clothes started to smoke.

“Now.” Teris commanded, the light coming off her intensifying. She could barely remember why stopping this insignificant moral was so important.

Cin screamed for his people to cease. But he hadn’t needed to. They had all stopped mid attack. Too distracted by the near blinding light that was coming off Teris.

“You.” Teris turned to the Spatial Mage. “Return us to normal space.”

Yami saw the Spatial Mages skin peel and burn under Teris’ gaze. He had to calm her. He had to call her back from the force that had built and woken inside her thanks to Cin’s charm bottling up her mana.

As soon as they were returned to normal space, Yami told Nozel. “Bind them.”

Nozel stared at Teris in awe. He had seen the beam of light on the Summer Solstice. He had heard a partial report of the events. But to see Teris literally glowing with the power inside her...

Yami didn’t wait to see if Nozel complied. Instead he slowly made his way toward Teris. It was a fight to restrain his mana. The Darkness inside him churned and clawed, trying to connect with her Light.

Cin writhed on the ground, screaming. Teris looked down at him, face expressionless.

Yami breathed between clenched teeth. As he got within a meter of her, sweat began to bead along his brow. She would cook Cin if this continued. She would lose herself completely. He needed to call her back. “Teris.”

Teris’ head snapped to him. Her bright, white glowing eyes focused on him. Yami’s own eyes flicked black for a fraction of a second. His mana lunged toward hers. The force of the pull so quick and powerful that he staggered forward. Yami growled and took a step back, battling to keep the magical force inside him in check. His body reacted to defend itself against the literal heat of Teris’ gaze. The beads of sweat on his skin froze.

“It’s over, Teris. The bad guys lost. I didn’t even get to kick the Ball of Pride’s ass. We’re all fine, Ikigai. Nice and safe. So what do you say you stop and come back to me.”

Yami wanted to go to her. To hold and reassure her that they were indeed safe. But he couldn’t touch her. Not with as raw and heightened as her mana was. The first time their magic had clashed, during the Magic Knight’s Entrance Exams, they weren’t anywhere near as powerful as they were now. If their mana made contact who knew what kind of destruction it would wreck.

Even as Teris’ built up mana began to ebb she continued to stare at Yami with unblinking eyes. Yami began to fear she wouldn’t return to him. No! He refused to accept that. They had surpassed their limits and survived so much worse than this. He had called her back from death, getting her to breath and return to him the morning of the Summer Solstice. He wasn’t about to lose her here.

“Damn it, Teris! You’re stronger than this. Pull yourself together and come back to me. Now!” Yami snapped.

Teris blinked. Her eyes returned to their normal dark brown. She smiled at the sight of him. “Yami.”

Yami’s name had barely left Teris’ lips when her eyes rolled. Unconscious, her knees buckled. Yami moved on instinct to catch her collapsing form. Lucky for all of them Nozel was there to both to catch her and stop Yami from touching her.

Nozel lifted Teris into his arms, bridal style. What he had seen had unnerved him. But it didn’t change the fact that Teris was his Intended. Still, he could not longer willfully deny the connection Teris and Yami’s magic had. Yami had withstood Teris’ glowing gaze with little to not effect. Where as he was red and sunburned, and she had never glanced his way.

The two men looked at each other. Yami gave Nozel a nod of thanks. Nozel gave a returning nod of recognition.

Thank you to those who have left hearts. And a special THANK YOU to those who have recently left comments or re-blogged. They really mean a lot.

NOTES:

The wonderful @XYZ25 over on ao3 asked about Teris’ gown for the King’s ball in the last chapter. Also, I got an anonyomus ask on Tumblr about the layout of the Black Bulls base. The ball gowns pic and base layout are both on my Tumblr’s main page.

For those of you wanting to know more about the details about this fic @XYZ25 is a super sweet and faithful commenter on ao3. They ask (feed me) lots of great questions about characters, events, and relationships that don’t always get fully shown or make it in this mammoth of a fic at all. So if you want to dive a bit deeper I HIGHLY suggest you check the comments on ao3 and read their asks. ...OR ask some of your own. Nothing makes me happier than getting questions about my fics.

Anyway, THANKS again @XYZ25!!! You’re the best and I couldn’t be more grateful for your comments and questions. And THANKS anonymous! My diagram skills might not be all that great but I had fun making the layout.

Next chapter snippet:

Nozel stared at the over muscled foreigner thinking that Yami couldn’t always be such a difficult ass. The man wouldn’t have any friends if he were. “I heard you tried to visit Cin the day before the execution.”

#yami sukehiro #nozel silva #Black Clover #light in the darkness

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