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delimeful · 3 years

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breathing cleaner air (1)

winner of fic poll, a new BTHB fic for halloween month! the prompt for this one was "Painful Transformation"!

warnings: body horror, painful transformation, fighting/violence, dehumanizing language, antagonist (but not unsympth) virgil, religious terms borrowed to name original monsters (no actual religious connections), miscommunication/language barrier, mortal peril, thinking youre going to die

extra note: this is a multichapter fic, but this first chapter ends on a very concerning note. there is an eventual happy ending in later chapters, promise!

Roman wasn’t sure exactly when he’d been separated from the rest of his entourage.

One moment, Logan was at his shoulder, his firm hand keeping Roman from stumbling over gnarled tree roots, and the next, he was alone, with only faint echoes of his own voice to keep him company.

Their quarry was certainly powerful, to be able to warp so much of the woods around them with thick fog and unnatural darkness. He should have expected as much.

After all, this was the same monster that had been infiltrating the Dimiour kingdom at night and stealing away children from their families. It would have to be strong in order to pull that off.

His right-hand knight would surely recommend retreating and regrouping in more neutral territory, but this was the first time they’d actually caught the fiend in the act. Seraphs were notoriously agile, with the maneuverability of the three sets of razor-sharp wings that had earned them their moniker. Once one was out of sight, it wasn’t likely to be seen again.

This time, though, the tracer spell on Roman’s compass was still active and locked on to the target.

There was no way he could return to his court empty-handed. He was the crown prince. He couldn’t be a failure. Not when there was so much at stake.

Firming his shoulders, he pushed onwards, his sword drawn.

The forest was eerily quiet around him, making the scuff of his shoes against the ground seem harsh enough to lead any enemy right to him. He shook off the thought; he was the one pursuing here. Let them come and face him.

Roman glanced up from his compass, and paused at the sight of a familiar-looking rotting tree trunk. He’d noticed one just like it about thirty paces back because it had a rare strain of fungus that Remus would have liked. What were the odds that the same rare fungus dotted the same side of a different identical rotting log?

Sure enough, another thirty paces and the log popped up again. Despite following the needle of his compass devotedly, he was being led in circles. A mind-altering ability, along with the manipulation of light and water they’d already seen? Roman shuddered, imagining what the monster could be planning with so much power at its disposal.

Luckily, Roman had more than enough faith in Logan’s spellcasting.

He closed his eyes, letting the clink of the needle guide his steps closer and closer to his target. His mind rebelled, senses muffling as though he was walking through thick honey instead of air, and then, with a pop, he was though.

When he opened his eyes, there was a small house in a clearing in front of him.

It was less ramshackle than he would have expected, the candlelight in the windows looking almost cozy compared to the dark forest surrounding it.

Assured that the kidnapping culprit lay just ahead, he tucked the compass into his pocket, strode forward, and kicked the door down.

Immediately, his eyes were drawn to the figure in the middle of the room, who had spun around at his arrival.

It looked startlingly human, wide eyed and messy haired, but the single set of dark wings taking up half the room were a dead giveaway to the seraph’s true nature. Those fragile core wings could be hidden, protected, even glamored away, but they never vanished entirely. They were the most reliable way to expose a seraph hidden in a human guise.

The seraph swore lowly, flaring the feathery appendages out to make itself look bigger.

Roman could just barely make out the small figures crowded against the back corner of the room, anxious eyes peering out at him. He felt something in him loosen in relief at the sight of the children still alive, if undoubtedly terrified. He’d half-expected the horrific alternative.

“I’ll tell you this once, you feathery fiend,” he said, pointing his sword at the monster directly. “Release the innocents you’ve kidnapped, and I won’t make your end painful.”

Its pupils narrowed to slits, and it spread its wings wider, hiding the children from view. When it spoke, there was a high, grating discordant note under the words. “Not. A. Chance.”

“Then face the consequences!” Roman shouted, and lunged.

The seraph was surprisingly adept at defending, flexing its hands and using long, sharp claws to block his blows and get in some of its own. Even in battle, it always remained between Roman and the children it held hostage, and the poor things were too frightened to respond to his calls for them to run.

Frustrating, but nothing he couldn’t overcome. In the end, Roman had been trained with the sword since he could stand, and no child-abducting angel impersonator could best him in battle.

When the inevitable opening came, he seized it, pushing forward until the seraph’s back was to the wall. Cornered, it hissed lowly at him before catching his next strike on its claws. It strained against his sword, its shaking arms the only thing keeping his blade from reaching its throat. Only a little further, and--

“Stop it!” A small voice shouted, on the edge of tears. “Don’t hurt him!”

Roman’s head jerked up, his attention caught by the distressed call.

The children were still huddled together, but one at the front of the group had stepped forward, fists clenched and gaze angry.

“Leave him alone!” she demanded, glaring directly at Roman.

Something fluttered at her back, and Roman’s eyes widened.

“You’re--,” he started, and then the seraph twisted in his grip, and he only barely caught the motion of its hand toward his head before glass shattered against his skull.

He staggered back as thick liquid spilled over his head, too cool to be blood.

Rather than pursue the opening, the seraph stepped back, wings finally settling back against its back. The lack of aggression was strange, after it had so fiercely responded to his challenge. Seraphim weren’t known for mercy.

Roman stepped forwards, his mouth shaping the first syllable of a question, and then abruptly understood as his body began to burn coldly, like he’d pressed ice directly to every inch of his skin. His sword dropped from numb fingers, clattering to the floor.

He’d been poisoned.

“New plan, we’re moving tonight,” the seraph began to speak, addressing the children, but Roman’s heartbeat was too loud in his ears to make out the rest of its words.

He fell to hands and knees, a line of burning pain along his spine. Some of the children sent him looks, nervous or pitying or angry, but most were busy scurrying around and gathering everything that wasn’t nailed down. He could see now, the small sets of wings on each and every one’s back, marking them as his kingdom’s enemies.

Why had he been told they were human? A leak in the court? Who had lied?

The seraph crouched in front of him, gaze unreadable. Its eyes were mismatched, Roman noticed nonsensically as another wave of pain shuddered through him.

“Well, that didn’t go to plan.” It brushed the remains of a glass vial from its hand, and Roman stared at the dark liquid left on the pieces.

“Wh--at did you do. To me,” he grit out between pants, struggling to keep himself upright.

“Congrats. You get to see how it feels to be us. To be hunted,” the seraph told him with an unfriendly smile. “Maybe it’ll change your perspective a little. Or maybe you’ll just bite it.”

It shrugged and flipped up its hood, rising to its feet, and kicked Roman’s sword up into its grip. Roman protested the theft on principle, but his voice came out strained and feeble like he’d never heard it before.

Before it followed the last kid out the door, it paused, glancing at him one last time.

“Once the bones are done, it gets easier,” it told him. “Good luck.”

Roman didn’t realize just what that meant until he heard the first resounding crack.

He finally lost his battle with gravity, collapsing to the ground with an agonized cry. That noise-- from inside him--?

There was another crack, and a series of pops like dislocating joints, and then his skin was melting and he was fading in and out of consciousness, roused and put under by the same overwhelming, all-consuming agony. Each time he woke, he could hear grinding and shifting inside of him, as though his insides were rebelling against their natural placement.

The seraph hadn’t been lying: the bones were the most painful part, and once the last one had clicked back into place, there was a palpable difference in pain levels. He still hurt, ached beyond measure, but it was no longer so much that he couldn’t even think past the pain. It almost felt like relief.

Roman focused on breathing, slow and deep, until he felt a little less like he was going to shake apart. He didn’t know of any poison that could do something like this. It was magic-- strong, cursed magic, and unlike Logan’s, there was no softness in it.

It took what felt like hours for him to gain the resolve to push himself up, and even longer to maintain the motion even as every nerve ending in his body protested. His vision was blurry, and his balance felt entirely off, even more so than that time Remus had dared him to jump off the roof and he’d gotten a concussion.

When he finally properly looked down at himself, he found feathers and bone lining his hands, transforming them into sharp claws and rigid armor. Familiar, but only because he’d seen them on his enemies time and time again.

The shock of adrenaline at the sight was helpful in pushing his aching muscles to the back of his mind as he rose to his knees and twisted to look at himself, staring at the three sets of bright wings draped down from his back.

Golden and white feathers lined them, lined his ears and throat and chest, framing the white exoskeleton pieces inset in his skin.

He sat back on his haunches, and took a few deep, whistling breaths before trying to speak, to say anything in his own voice. To prove he was still himself.

The sound that emerged from his throat was hollow and resonant, like woodwind instruments in harmony. It sent chills of anticipation down his spine, for he’d only ever heard the uncanny call before battle.

There was no denying it, however much he might want to. His body had been warped, transformed into the worst enemy of his kingdom, the beasts that plagued their people day and night. He was a seraph.

He had to get help.

Surely, there was someone among the court who knew about this curse, who could procure a solution, some kind of cure. He couldn’t be stuck as a monster, he was Dimiour’s crown prince!

He pushed himself up to his feet and found he was taller than before, limbs thin and spindly. All six of the wings lifted and curled around him automatically, creating the shell of bright feathery limbs that marked a seraph on defense. They were lighter than he would have expected, seeing as he knew the true form feathers were as sharp as any knife.

He stumbled through the door into the open forest air, taking a significant chunk out of the door frame as he went. His limbs were unsteady with inexperience, the gait distinctly different, almost hunched over to counterbalance the weight of his-- the wings.

In the distance, Roman heard voices calling his name.

He loped towards the sounds with barely a thought, attempting not to overthink every staggering movement. The underbrush scraped and rattled around him, announcing his presence well before he cleared the treeline and found himself faced with the weapons of his own squadron.

He tried to speak automatically, to show them that he wasn’t what they thought, but all that left him were those discordant, eerie notes, like overlapping birds of prey. He sounded like a nightmare come to life, and he noticed with abrupt horror that some of the newer trainees were faltering, clapping hands over their ears.

A blade flashed in the corner of his vision, and he raised an arm automatically. With a clang, the attacking knight’s glaive rebounded off his arm so sharply that the man wielding it nearly toppled. Another knight quickly moved between them, weapon raised defensively as their fellow recovered.

Roman stared at his arm, now covered in an extra layer, a hardened shell of bone. The armor had appeared-- had ossified into place, quicker than he could think.

“Hold!” A familiar voice called, and Roman turned to it like it was an oasis in a drought. Logan. Logan was here, he was the smartest person he knew, if anyone would have a solution, it would be him.

An odd crooning note bubbled up from his chest, but it cut off sharply at the sight of his right-hand man.

Logan stood sturdy with his scythe staff held up in one hand, and not a glint of recognition in his eyes.

“Move on, continue searching for our liege,” he directed, voice firm. “I will handle this opponent.”

Roman screeched, wings flaring in upset, trying over and over to manage anything recognizable as human speech. Anything at all that would let his closest friend identify him.

Logan didn’t even flinch at the sound, well-practiced in filtering out the skull-splitting calls of seraphim. He’d been in more battles than Roman ever had, out on the field while Roman was stuck learning courtly etiquette.

He’d earned himself the mantle of ‘Executioner’, and the thought had never sent a chill down Roman’s spine the way it did now.

But then, Roman had never been the one on this end of Logan’s casting, had he?

The others continued forward on their commanding officer’s orders, searching for someone who stood right before them, and abandoning him to a fight he couldn’t win.

Logan knew seraphim better than anyone else, how they functioned on every level.

Roman barely knew how to operate this new body, and more than that, he was terrified of it, of the damage he could unknowingly deal his best friend. It could hardly be called an equal match.

Still, it was almost a surprise to feel the impact of Logan’s first cast, a draining spell designed to weaken the enemy. He didn’t want to believe this situation was real, any of it, but the burning pins and needles racing through him were undeniable.

His wings wrapped around him more securely, he intended to turn, to flee the way no prince should. Perhaps it was this cowardice that resulted in the way he only made it two steps before exhaustion made him stumble.

Or maybe it was the way the most painful transformation of his life had turned his body inside-out what felt like mere moments ago.

Either way, he was in no position to dodge the next spell, or resist the darkness blooming in his vision as he tipped over that precarious line into unconsciousness.

His last glimpse of the world around him was Logan, weapon in hand, striding closer with his face set determinedly. Roman’s foolishness had never managed to outlast or outwit that expression before, and he had no doubt that this instance would be much the same.

At least, with any luck, his friend would never know what he’d done.

#sanders sides #ts roman #ts virgil #ts logan #BTHB #bad things happen bingo #writing #my writing #breathing cleaner air #bca #multichapter #EDIT: FORGOT THE BINGO SORRY

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secretsantasides · 4 years

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Gift # 11

Gift for @enderblitzt

Summary: Patton is unsympth and the sides don’t have any of it. Tw for gaslighting and u! Patton.

Thomas was in a bit of a conundrum. He was torn between going out to an event to please his friends, or stay at home so he wouldn’t overly exhaust himself. He was already tired, and the other sides knew this well. He’d been working non-stop and so had most all of the other sides.

“I really don’t know what to do,” Thomas sighed into his hands, covering his face and looking generally worn out.

“Thomas, you don’t want Joan and the others to hate you, do you?” Patton, questioned, casting Thomas a glance of false innocence.

“What? No, of course not--”

“Then problem solved!” Patton clapped his hands once, thinking he had gotten his way. “We’re going.”

“What??? Patton we simply can not go! I’m drained, padre. Down to my core!” Though the Prince usually exaggerated his feelings, Logan could say with certainty that he meant it. They were all drained, maybe except for Patton.

“Roman is right, Patton. Thomas has been overworked as of late, and I don’t see why we should push him any farther. His friends will understand if we aren’t there.” Logan calmly explained. He noticed Patton’s expression twitch in a flash of brief anger, and paused, only to see the look had faded into a lighter one filled with promise.

“Logie-bear, if you help me get Thomas to go, I’ll let you take the lead for a while! You can decide things for Thomas for an entire week!” The lies would taste bitter on anyone’s tongue, but Patton sugar coated them until they tasted like candy. Sweet lies, as they were called.

“Liesss,” Deceit seemed to pop up from nowhere, appearing right beside Roman and Virgil. Virgil, for once, didn’t hiss. He seemed caught up in his own thinking, that would presumably be about how Thomas’ friends might hate him or how, if Thomas went, he might be too tired and leave a bad impression.

Logan noted Deceit’s input as he said, “While that is a promising offer, Thomas will be too exhausted to do much for the next week if he goes. That would not be very good trade at all, Patton.”

Patton, seeing that Logan had failed him along with Roman, turned to Virgil.

“Virge, buddy,” his tone sweet and caring made Virgil curl up on himself. The tone was like a parent talking to an insolent child. “C’mon, you’ve always been on my side! Don’t give up on me now.”

Virgil took a moment before he frowned and responded, “Patton.. As much as it worries me to think of all the things Thomas’ friends might think about him, he really is tired. Like Roman and Logan said.”

Patton was silenced for a moment, looking in disbelief at his strange, dark son. Deceit took this as his chance to slip in a few words.

“Thomas, you don’t really want to go to the party, do you? I mean, think of the pros and cons for a minute, here. You go, all you really get is a little appreciation. If you don’t, you’ll finally get some sleep. Rest, that’s what you need.

“You can go to the next event with them. You can even tell them right now about how sorry you are to not be able to make it, which would be a lie, but that you can make it next time, which would be the truth,” The snake side laid out his side of the argument, which Patton had an instant problem with.

“I agree with Deceit! I mean, c’mon Thomas, they’re your friends! They’ll understand!” Roman exclaimed, clearly passionate at the idea of a much needed rest.

Thomas smiled, and nodded, “Yeah, you’re right. They’ll understand.”

“No! Thomas, don’t listen to them. Deceit is obviously trying to trick us into doing something bad, like the slippery snake he is, and Roman’s fallen for it!” Patton pushed his point as far as it would go, though he knew something would break if he kept going.

“Patton, they both have valid points. Thomas should not over extend himself like this. It’s not healthy for him, and his friends really should understand.” Logan offered.

“Logan.. Virgil, I don’t get why you guys are turning against me like this! I mean, I’m the good guy, and you’re relying on the bad guy? Virge, c’mon.” Patton eyes were filled with a desperate hope that was quickly fleeting. The point was pushed far enough.

And it broke. “Patton, Roman was the one to first say that we shouldn’t go. You aren’t calling Roman bad, are you?” Virgil sneered, but only a little. He couldn’t be fierce to his “dad” like he wanted to, but he could try.

“What?” Patton quwaked, outplayed, ”I would never! I was just- just…” Patton looked down at the floor, defeated, but not quite done. “It’s not my fault if Thomas’ friends don’t like him after this.”

Patton sunk out quickly, knowing his image was ruined for the time being. He wouldn’t be back for a while.

The sides sat in silence for a second before Deceit broke it.

“I guess that settles it.”

“Yeah, it does,” Thomas agreed. “I can finally take a break.”

“A well deserved one,” Deceit said, trying to put himself in favor.

“Oh, thanks,” And it kind of worked.

“I think,” Roman interrupted, “we should watch a movie or something, together, before we relax completely.”

“Adequate idea, Roman. I’ll prepare the snacks.” Logan offers, and small smile forming on his usually stone face.

“I’ll pick the movie!” Roman declares. No one argues.

“Could Remus and I join?” Deceit dares to ask.

Roman ponders for only a brief second. “Virgil, you okay with that?”

“...sure.”

“Great! We can do it on your side?”

“Yeah. See you there,” Deceit smirked with a hint of mischief behind his eyes as he sunk out to the “Dark Side’s” place.

Roman sinks out next, and Logan is in the kitchen and out of hearing range.

“Um, Virge?”

“Yeah, Thomas?”

“Thanks, for not siding with Patton. I really needed this break.”

“It was about time, anyways.” Virgil decided.

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The sides (excluding Patton) sat watching as many movies as they could cram into a night on the Dark Side’s couch. Remus, shouting the occasional odd thoughts that came to him, surprisingly didn’t ruin anything.

Roman was happy in his company, for once, along with Deceit, Virgil, and Logan. By the time they had finished the last movie, Thomas had long retired to his room to sleep.

It was just the five of them when the movie was finished, and everyone seemed fine with that. Deceit, being the host he was, had brought blankets back earlier into the movie watching for everyone. Everyone got a blanket, but Deceit got two. For extra warmth, he even snuggled up close to Remus, who absentmindedly shared half of his blanket with the snake.

Deceit was asleep, Remus was near it, Roman and Logan as well. Virgil stayed up until they were all asleep. Even then, he couldn’t quite manage.

“Psst, emo!” Remus whispered. Virgil jumped, head jolting in the trash man’s general area. Virgil had been sure he was asleep. “Get over here. I can’t sleep knowing some is staring at me like that.” Remus opened up his blanket and shifted Deceit’s limp body to make room.

Virgil hesitated before shuffling over to the two. He curled up on Remus’ lap and Remus put his arm around Virgil. Deceit moved a little closer, perhaps out of instinct, to Virgil. Virgil found that he didn’t mind, and soon drifted off, knowing he was safe.

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Hope you enjoyed!

#tw unsympathetic patton #fanfic #secretsantasides #deceit sanders #ts deceit

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