#neither entirely positive nor negative (but more on the positive but neutral side!!)

[floralstorms]

ah, of course I suddenly am talking maybe perhaps about 3 times my usual speed and and quite a bit more than usual (usual being not much to at all) and have suddenly donned some sort of accent I can’t quite place entirely but it’s the one I use when talking to myself for some reason! I just watched a show I’m mildly(?) hyperfixated about and exciting things happened in it & the characters have an accent which may have affected me (somewhat or not somewhat ADFKGX)

plus my rambling predictions for what might happen proved to be kind of correct thus far as much information as I have gathered and that’s very fun :D

(Idk, this happens, Idk)

[rainbow18]

Why Nine is actually meant to be SONIC’S Shadow archetype, not Tails’s.

It’s easy to make the whole “Nine is one of Tails’s Variants and unlike the other Tails Variants, He has the backstory of being bullied by older foxes” connection but here’s the thing.

Prime Tails was shattered in literally the first 5 or so minutes. He’s mainly only shown in flashbacks or as ghosts. Even then, since season two, his dialogue only gives an idea of his relationship with Sonic.

Nine only paid attention to Prime Tails briefly, which neither Ghost Hill Tails nor Prime Tails was in any position to react to. Similar thing happened with the others, they mostly only stared.

But Sonic on the other hand, WAS around and had plenty of moments with Nine. In fact, the entire series is about Their relationship.

Nine’s backstory and story wasn’t meant to compare him to Tails but rather SONIC.

There’s the whole If Sonic wasn’t around, Eggman would have won and Miles Prower would have been bullied longer thing. Nine also used different descriptions than Sonic did, when telling the story.

Sonic and Nine both have their own enemies and use their namesakes + specialty to fight them.

Sonic can often be oblivious to the feelings of others and so is Nine.

The Group commented on Sonic’s “Tardiness” and Nine commented on how Sonic wasn’t there for him.

Sonic comments on how “Home is where your friends are” and Sonic speaks of the Prime world and versions as superior. In the beginning, Nine always described The Grim as “Home” when talking about decorations and “Perfect” when describing it. However in the last trailer, Nine changed his words to “Paradise” and only described the world as his.

Sonic is often neutral when his shattered friends are fighting amongst themselves, though he does want them to make up. As implied and shown several times, Nine is completely neutral. While not good, he’s not a bully and even as a Villain, Nine has zero joy when causing harm and doesn’t fight unless he’s provoked.

However there are contrasts. Sonic is more upbeat and optimistic while Nine is more negative. Sonic is on the side of good while Nine is in the grey zone.

Now for the big question that most haven’t thought about.

Who would Sonic look like if he wasn’t the main character?

The answer? Probably Nine.

There are a lot of parallels between their wrongdoings and why.

Both of their plans involve endangering the Shatterverse, which is an unintended consequence.

Both of them have been projecting.

Both of them believed the other would come around and see things their way.

Sonic’s plan to save Prime Tails and Green Hill will likely kill Nine and Nine’s plans to stabilize the prism involves killing Sonic.

Both of them talked about their preferred place on multiple occasions which the other payed little attention to. They also spoke about their favorite place being superior to the others.

Sonic believes that he created the Shatterverse however recent evidence and close examination implies that it already existed. (Although the current shatterspaces didn’t exist. ) Despite being repaired, there’s still shards and the void, Green Hill has a portal and The Prism already appeared to have cracks. plus Ghost Hill is a mystery.

Fans have noticed how Sonic appears more depressed and serious in Season 3, which is more associated with Nine. At the exact same time, Nine is more reckless and impulsive, which is more associated with Sonic.

Both have had giant accidents that they want to fix.

The fact that A lot of fans have falsely accused Nine of only using Sonic just because he didn’t want to make Sonic’s Green Hill just goes to show how similar they would appear to be to an outsider.

Nine accused Sonic of only using him because Sonic completely forgot about The Grim despite having repeated reminders from both Nine + Shadow, and to Nine, Sonic only appears interested in The Grim because He wants to steal The shard(s).

[rookie-critic]

Knock at the Cabin (2023, dir. M. Night Shyamalan) - review by Rookie-Critic

Anytime the name M. Night Shyamalan appears on a new trailer I feel incredibly conflicted. On one hand, I'm a huge Shyamalan apologist. I am fully aware of the After Earths of his career, but I know he's fully capable of making amazing movies, even now. However, I have to be fully honest with myself, there are a lot of After Earths and Last Airbenders that plague his IMDb page, and his overall track record is right around 50%. When I heard about Knock at the Cabin, I was incredibly excited in spite of these conflicted feelings. Shyamalan teaming up with Dave Bautista for a truly Twilight Zone-esque tale? Count me in! After seeing the movie, I'm not disappointed, per se, but I don't think the film lived up to the expectation I had set for it, nor the potential I know Shyamalan is capable of, although neither is it an addition to the negative side of his counter. I think Cabin falls in a Shyamalan net neutral, with the pros only slightly outweighing the cons. I'll start with the negatives then end with what I thought really worked.

This story is incredibly flimsy, and unfortunately the script, especially in the final act of the film, completely crumbles in on itself. Plot threads are kind of left dangling, important questions that the film seemed to be asking are, in my opinion, abandoned for an ending that not only feels rushed, but also unearned and, frankly, uninteresting. Whereas the majority of the rest of the film has this incredible, knot-in-the-pit-of-your-stomach tension, the final act dips into something more akin to melodrama, and it broke the immersion for me. I get that a big part of the pacing of those big climactic scenes towards the end revolve around the fact that things are happening fast and decisions need to be made, but it all just felt rushed. Shyamalan and his co-writers Steve Desmond and Michael Sherman had not positioned the story to end in any kind of satisfying way by the time we reach that "no turning back" point. It really feels like Shyamalan wants the audience to have just as much faith in him as our central trio is being asked to have in their four assailants in the film. A character says "this was [x]" and I guess we're just supposed to believe that with no backing or basis for why or how that would be true at all. Faith and divinity have always been major players in the Shyamalan sphere, dating all the way back to his directorial debut, Praying with Anger, and that's fine. It's tended to work out when it has been used before, but the implications of that divinity and what it means for the gay couple at the center of this movie didn't play well. It brings up a lot of questions that I don't think Shyamalan was even thinking about in the first place, much less willing to answer.

With all that in mind, let's move on to the film's pros, the biggest of which, both in contribution to the film and physical size, is Dave Bautista. The former WWE superstar continues to pleasantly surprise me with his acting ability with each new role he plays, and the performance he puts on display in Knock at the Cabin is absurdly good. I won't spoil the true outcome of whether or not the four antagonists are telling the truth or not, as that is the entire crux of the film, but every single time Bautista speaks, you believe him. Not because of the evidence his character presents or anything concrete, but because he sells his character's heartbreak at the position he feels he's been put in with such conviction that it makes you think "how could any of this be fake when this man is clearly so mortified and repulsed by what he feels he has to do?" Really, the acting by all of the main ensemble is outstanding, with special kudos going to Bautista, Ben Aldridge, and newcomer Kristen Cui, who plays Wen, the main couple's adopted daughter (although I wish she had been given more to do past the film's opening). Also, as I kind of mentioned previously, it is absolutely enthralling up until that final act. I sat there in a state of stressed dismay for two-thirds of the film because that is how well done that part of the film and the script is. Shyamalan knows what he's doing, even if he doesn't know how to do it consistently.

I wanted Knock at the Cabin to be great, I want M. Night Shyamalan to win, to prove everyone wrong, but he just couldn't quite stick the landing on this one, and that puts in the "just fine" category. I will be awaiting his next project, hoping for some of that former glory. I really need it, because with each passing loss, I get more and more frustrated with championing someone who seems to just barely meet the bare minimum half the time.

Score: 6/10

Currently only in theaters.

[enapouyou]

My little stone guardian

(Sorry if there are spelling mistakes, english isn’t my language. The story is translated from French )

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had succeeded.

Well, almost...

Puddles of paint littered the floor, their various colours contrasting with the black that was slowly taking over the place. The gentle warmth of the universe gave way to a cold, icy wind, making the bones of those who dared not move tremble. But was it really the cold that made them tremble... ?

A thud broke the silence, the sound of a heavy object falling to the ground. Then came the sound of footsteps, slow, uncertain. They seemed to go on forever, as if the goal to be reached was constantly receding. And finally, a scream, a howl, tearing apart the time that seemed to have stopped. A scream, a single word, a single name...

- DREAM !!!!!!!!!

Frozen in the middle of what used to be their battlefield, amidst bones stuck in the ground, paint soaked into the grass, blasters that had come to rest, the guardian of positivity had returned to a state no one thought possible.

Arriving first at his side, Ink's hands were shaking, slowly coming to rest on the cheeks of a stone statue, feeling a few tears slide down the cold surface. Behind him, Blue stood still, replaying the events, trying to understand how this umpteenth battle against the bads sanses could have ended this way.

On the other side, a laugh finally rang out. That of the brother of the new stone statue. Nightmare hadn't planned this, wanting instead to kill his brother to get the golden apple, but... Now that he thought about it, it had taken his brother two hundred years to come out of the stone the first time. So he had plenty of time to plunge the world into chaos. Plenty of time to create a world full of negative feelings. Plenty of time to prepare to welcome his brother back and come up with a plan to finally catch that apple that was currently trapped in the stone as well.

Beside him, his three faithful henchmen were also staring at the scene, exchanging a few glances. They too did not think that this time their fight would surely be the last. They were pulled out of their thoughts when Nightmare snapped his fingers, looking at them with a huge grin before opening a portal to DreamTale, inviting them home to celebrate. Dust and Horror did not hesitate, passing through the portal with their boss, but Killer remained still for a moment. He watched as Blue joined Ink and mourned their friend's condition. Within him, the feelings were quite contradictory as he looked at the guardian of the golden apple, frozen with his arms open and that sweet smile on his face despite the tears, having tried to reason with his brother again... Without success... A call from the portal snapped him out of his thoughts, turning to Nightmare who was staring at him, ordering him to return with a single dark look. Killer felt his soul clench, taking one last look at the stone statue before rejoining the gang, the portal closing just as he passed, the sound of Ink's threat of revenge.

~

In the distance, he watched his colleagues fighting. Once again, their mission was to go and fill a universe with negative feelings and once again, stars sanses had come to try and stop them. It was becoming a habit, a game... But a dangerous game. The attacks were real and their intentions were to really hurt them... But still, stars sanses continued to just want to reason with them, only attacking in case of major force and always with the aim of immobilizing them, with the least damage possible. And he knew that it was Dream who asked them to do this... Because Dream really believed he could save them.

- Don't you fight, Killer?

The voice had sounded behind him and without even turning around, the madman knew that the guardian of positive feelings had arrived behind him.

- I don't feel like it. He replied calmly. I already know how it's going to end. It's getting boring.

Not detecting any aggression in the skeleton with empty eye sockets, Dream approached to level with him, observing in turn the four others fighting nearby.

- Why do you keep obeying Nightmare then? Dream tried.

Beside him, Killer remained silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on his colleagues.

- Because he saved me. I owe him, whether you like it or not, little Guardian. Maybe if you'd been the first to come for me that day, I'd be with you.

He turned his gaze on the golden-pupilled skeleton, who felt no dominant emotions. He seemed neither happy nor sad that Nightmare was the first to take him out of his world when he wanted to RESET him by erasing himself from his own world.

- This war is none of your business... Dream whispered. This is between Nightmare and me... You should be neutral to all this, but he had to make you feel like he saved you to get you on his side...

Deep down, Dream blamed himself for not being the first to find them. That he couldn't have saved them otherwise. But while he was lost in his thoughts, Killer laughed beside him.

- You're wrong, little Guardian. We don't just do this out of debt. We love it too.

Dream remained silent for a moment, watching Killer with a feeling of contradiction. He felt nothing, not even a little joy. His voice was neutral, tired, without much conviction.

- Is it true?

- Of course it is. Look in front of you. Dust and Horror take pleasure in knocking you off your feet.

- No, Killer. I was asking for you. Are you really enjoying this?

~

Time seemed to be getting longer and longer. Each day was repetitive, boring. Since Dream had become a stone statue again, the days were boring. Nightmare was at full strength, making Ink and Blue's fight almost futile.

They beat them every time, watching the last two stars retreat to avoid serious injury. And that was every time they crossed paths. It had no interest, no flavour anymore...

But on the other hand, as Killer watched his colleagues, he saw himself as the only one who found the moments boring. Nightmare was getting stronger all the time, Dust loved to go out and attack universes, and Horror was happy to have more time to go hunting for food. But Killer was bored... Taking no pleasure in attacking others. He just wanted to get away from those darned repetitive days.

Many universes had sunk into fear, hatred, the inhabitants no longer having any remorse to fight to maintain an illusion of security for their families. Bads sanses were names that made more and more people tremble, causing chaos and terror. And despite Ink and Blue's best efforts, the number of universes controlled by fear grew steadily, as if hope had vanished.

Everything was too easy.

Sitting on the bed in his room, Killer played with his dagger, twirling it on his knuckle before throwing it to catch it by the handle. He let out a long sigh, beginning to lose interest. The missions had no flavor anymore, Ink and Blue were a shadow of their former selves, too weakened by their search to save their friend.

Eventually the madman dropped his knife and got up to grab his jacket, slinging it over his shoulders and walking out of his room. As he moved through the corridors, he dodged the Papyrus of corruption that were the servants and that were growing in number, witnessing the growing power of their master. These lifeless puppets did not interest Killer either. He was too bland, far from being able to fill his boredom.

Through the window, the round-souled skeleton could see the red sky of DreamTale growing stronger and stronger. The shadows were also taking more ground, turning the place a little more into a universe where negativity was king.

He had won...

Eventually exiting the castle, Killer opened a gate, wanting to take a moment to wander off. Yet, while he was sure he had no idea, as he passed through the gate, his gaze fell on the stone statue.

Dream had not moved. Too heavy but at the same time too fragile to be handled by Ink and Blue. Even Nightmare didn't want to break it, fearing he would lose the golden apple if he killed Dream like that. So he stood there with his arms open and a welcoming smile on his face. Only his tears had disappeared since that famous day.

Killer stood still for a moment, staring at this being trapped in the stone. The images of the fight of that day came back to him. He could hear Dream's pleas for peace, for change. Then came the attack, sharp, almost invisible. No one had seen it, but the sound of stone beginning to freeze Dream had stopped everyone. The guardian had first looked at his feet and then straightened his face towards his brother, holding out his arms and smiling at him despite the tears.

Killer had to give him that. Dream was strong, much stronger than they were. He hadn't been afraid, not for a moment. And even as he turned to stone, he continued to hold out his arms, his hand. The same hand that Killer had gently agreed to take from time to time, when Nightmare wasn't looking.

And he'd discovered an entirely different Dream. A guardian consumed with worry, fear, but not of dying, no... Fear of losing those around him. Even those enemies.

~

- Why do you want to help us?

Killer sat atop a hill in a nearly destroyed universe. His legs dangled in the air as he watched the last of the survivors being pulled out by Ink and Core!Frisk. Behind him, Dream had sensed his presence and had joined the madman, knowing full well that he was not responsible for the state of this universe. For once, it was only the game's fault.

The question posed by the madman had caught the little guard off guard. How had he guessed that he had come for this? Wasn't it because Dream was talking to Killer more and more and Killer was getting to know him well.

- Is it because we're destroying the world you want to protect? Killer continued. You think it's better to save us than to destroy us, don't you?

Once again, Dream remained silent, unsure of how to respond. But he finally sighed, slowly coming to sit beside the madman, looking in the same direction as him.

- Of course I don't want to destroy you. Because that's not my role.

- So what is your role, little guardian?

-Bringing joy... Just being there and letting people be happy with my presence.

For the first time, Killer had sensed sadness in the guard's voice, but also deep resignation. He had not done this for himself for years. Had he ever done it for himself...

- And what would you like to do?

This time, Killer had turned his head, looking at the smaller man next to him. The latter lowered his head a little, as if unable to answer. At least, unable to answer without thinking, without searching for words.

- I don't know... I would just like to find my brother... Not to have to fight him anymore because he wants to kill me and not to have to face him because the inhabitants of the universes are waiting for us to come and save them.

Slowly, Dream lifted her head, planting her golden pupils in the madman's eyes.

- I would like more moments like this... More moments where we can talk without having to fight... I'm sure we have a lot in common that we could share.

~

Killer had finally approached the statue, his gaze lost in front of those hands stretched out before him. He knew they weren't meant for him, but he really wanted to take them...

He was right... They had a lot to share. Much more than he had expected. How many times had they found themselves away from the fight, talking about their common weariness to fight. How many times had they ended up talking about something else, slowly opening up to each other. How many times had they lowered their weapons in front of each other, refusing to fight the one who brought them a little novelty in these repetitive confrontations.

Far too many times... And yet, now that he was facing this stone friend, Killer regretted never having told him how happy he was to have spent so much time with him.

~

- Did you know that Nightmare loved to tell stories when we were kids?

- For real? Then again, I once heard him talking to himself at night in his room. Like he was actually telling something. Of course, he flatly denied it when I asked him what he was doing.

~

The sound of their laughter filled his memories, prompting him to come a little closer to the statue, placing a hand on the outstretched one. The coolness of it contrasted with the usual warm hand, but Killer had no desire to let go of it now.

~

- Yesterday I saw a cat near the castle. I would have kept it, but Nightmare doesn't allow animals...

- It's a shame, I'm sure you'd take good care of it. And even if Dust and Horror are your friends, having a furry friend could be good for you.

~

Slowly, Killer curled his knuckles against the stone one, looking at it sadly. Thoughts raced through his mind, reminding him of all the sweet moments that had seemed timeless. Like a little moment just for them, away from everything.

~

- Killer... Your soul... It has taken on the shape of an inverted heart!

- ...I haven't seen it like this in a long time.

~

He placed his second hand on the guard's, passing his empty gaze from one hand to the other. It had been so long since he'd had a moment with him... In addition to his petrification, which must have lasted for the better part of a year, Killer had been distant with him for the past few months. He had felt a real change coming on with Dream and he had been afraid that Nightmare would eventually see them. So he had distanced himself, but in the end, now that he was facing that stone statue, he regretted it.

But what he didn't know was that far away, someone else was regretting this situation too. Not for the same reasons, but for a lot of things that everyone else didn't know. For many things that he kept locked up, refusing even to admit to himself. But this doubt, however small, was present in his heart and for a moment the spell wavered.

Unaware of this, Killer let his hands slip from the stone guardian's, his gaze dropping to the ground. His arms fell limply to his sides, drained of all energy, filled with the weariness and remorse he could no longer change. Slowly he turned, preparing to leave, telling himself that he would come back tomorrow and praying that he would not tire of coming here either.

- You're leaving already... ? a voice whispered behind him.

For a moment, Killer felt the voice come from his mind and he shook his head, needing only to speak, even to a hallucination.

- There's nothing more I can do... I could have prevented this... I should have prevented this. He didn't deserve this...

- I already told you, Killer. The voice continued. You didn't have to get involved in this war, so you're not responsible for what's happening.

The madman took a long breath, really feeling that the voice was real, but he knew it... Nightmare's spell was powerful enough to last for centuries... But even if it was fake, hearing that voice did him a lot of good. Much more than he thought it would, and he couldn't help but say:

- I miss you...

The voice seemed to have disappeared, and Killer felt his soul clench. Not even a hallucination seemed to believe him. What would happen if he told the real Dream? He didn't even want to imagine that.

Yet, as he was about to leave, he felt two arms go around his waist, squeezing him gently as a head rested on his back. The presence startled him and he was ready to attack. Until he looked at the two arms, seeing the two yellow gloves with their jade bracelets. His soul stopped beating for a moment, not daring to believe that this could be possible.

- At least have the courage to say it to my face, Killer.

Against him, the arms tightened a little more, pushing him to turn around, to see for himself that it wasn't a bad dream. And it wasn't... When he turned, his gaze met the golden one, making his soul purr softly.

- I... I missed you... Killer repeated.

Gradually, a smile came over the guard's face. A sincere smile, far from the many, many fake smiles he had taken in his life. And that smile was contagious, causing Killer to return it as he put his arms around the body that was slowly regaining its warmth.

- I missed you Dream... Killer whispered again, wanting to anchor that sentence to show her how serious he was.

Small black tears rolled down his cheeks, but soon he felt Dream's thumbs come to caress his cheekbones, banishing the worry that had been eating away at the madman. Killer closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the moment, feeling the little guardian's body snuggle and warm against him. Then when he opened them again, one of his empty eye sockets had regained a small gleam of a white pupil, gently confronting the golden one that wouldn't let go.

They were so happy to be together again, but no more words came to them. Gestures were enough. There was no need for more, they understood each other perfectly. So much so that when Killer felt the hands on his cheeks gently tugging at his face, he let himself go. Without needing a single word, they brought their faces closer together, granting each other something they had dreamed of on the other side but never dared to speak. But this time they knew they could, and in sweet silence their teeth sealed together, stopping time around them, making their souls beat as they had never felt before.

The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but it seemed like an eternity, but also too short for them. The closeness of their bodies made them feel how sincere the other was and they couldn't help but blush when they looked at each other again.

But this moment was short-lived. The guardian's awakening had taken its toll and they were soon separated by the sound of portals opening. Behind Dream, Ink and Blue had just arrived, while behind Killer, Nightmare had arrived.

The two sanses stars grabbed their friend, coming to hide him behind them as they began to insult Nightmare, the latter growling that his spell hadn't lasted long enough. But Dream and Killer didn't seem to care about the quarrel, not taking their eyes off each other, smiling at each other.

The guard was then grabbed by the arm by Ink, wanting to take him to rest, and he didn't object, following his friends to the portal. Nightmare had also summoned a portal, shouting at Killer to return, as the war was about to start again.

But before leaving, Dream and Killer took one last look at each other. They were looking forward to the next battle. They were looking forward to the next battle, looking forward to slipping away like before, even though from now on their time together would have a completely different flavor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

English is not my language and if you understand French, I encourage you to read the story in its original language : here 

I hope you liked the story

[ignitification]

LoV Colour Analysis Part I: Shigaraki Tomura.

As this analysis would be quite too long to read in one go, I decided to split it into three parts, each covering one of the Three Main Villains of BNHA (Shigaraki Tomura, Himiko Toga and Dabi).

All three do denote a precise and powerful colour scheme, but on today’s episode I am going to focus on the Leader of the League of Villains aka Shigaraki Tomura or Shimura Tenko.

Shigaraki’s colour pattern variates from Red (shoes and eyes), Black (his usual outfits, his hair when younger) to Light Blue, Grey and White (colour of his hair, skin and hands).

The interesting fact is how Shimura’s colour evolve with his persona and Quirk. The third paragraph is dedicated to the colour Yellow, which is not part of the palette associated with Tenko, but I included it because it adds to the detailing of Shigaraki’s character.

(Spoilers ahead! & tw/: mentions of canon-compliant violence; death)

I.) From Black to Light Blue to White 

During his growth, evolution as a villain and person, not considering the one spurred from his Quirk, Tenko’s hair undergo a quite big development. While the colour of his clothes stays more or less stable (being black throughout the entire series), what differentiates his eras is the colour of his hair. In his childhood, before manifesting his Quirk, Tomura’s hair was dark (strikingly similar to the one both Touya and Izuku sported). This changed to light blue/grey in his years until last arc, where after being himself an experiment under the hands of Doctor Death (Kyudai Garaki is a very creepy man) to inherit the original AfO’s Quirk, his hair becomes snow white (as a result of the transformation, I would believe - but it might as well mean another thing which I will talk about later). 

Beginning with maybe the easiest association: the colour black. 

A little note of the fear association: in this case, I would like to interpret it as Shigaraki being aware of his decaying Quirk and freak people out because of that, and because of his external looks, which do look like the one of a decaying child.

Power refers definitely to both his position and his Quirk, in this case - which make him stand out even more. However, the strength in this case, in my opinion, is more a smoke screen: black is also worn as a protection from external damage, as in stress and emotional backlash. This creates a barrier between the subject and the world, protecting internal emotions, and hiding its vulnerabilities, insecurities and lack of self confidence. The emotional trauma, the ‘hands shield’ Shigaraki derived, in a way, from his trauma and from being confronted with something, has shaken him to the core since childhood, and in this case the clothes serve to protect him from himself and his ‘actions’. In this aspect, him wearing black as a child might also stand for him trying to shield himself away from his parent’s judgement and stare, while protecting his will to want to be a hero, despite their negative reaction to any hint of that. These meaning are, in conclusion a full circle: one calls for the other, especially in Shigaraki’s case.

Black is also associated with mystery, evil and aggression. Shigaraki is written as an enigmatic villain, cold-hearted, devoid of any humanity and the will to full front destroy everything in its path. And while the meaning perfectly fit to how Shigaraki should be, I do believe that this is a very superficial and banal description of such a complex character. 

One thing which I found particularly interesting about this colour and its relation to Shigaraki, it’s the rocky tie that appears between black and its meaning as in rebellion. This aspect might refer to two different conditions: it might suppose a certain degree of refusal and hate for authority (The society at large), and at the same time the rebellion from his own family/persona/mentor, which could entail a fundamental foreshadow for Tenko’s destiny.

The color black affects the mind and body by producing feelings of emptiness, gloom, or sadness.

 I think here again, this might just an extermination of the feeling that have been torturing Shigaraki from the inside since he was a child, and that he himself has not acknowledged, which also stands to explain how he tries to feel that void or to ‘eliminate the scratch’ that has been tormenting him, and that knows no peace.

Furthermore, In Japanese culture, the colour black mainly denotes non-being (apart from mourning) and evil-heartedness in a person. This meaning is consistent with the personality described to us by Horikoshi: Shigaraki Tomura ceases to be a person at one point, when his consciousness gets subdued by AfO for a while. It is important to note here, how White (on the other side of the spectrum) is also the colour of death and mourning.

Not entirely worth mentioning, is that black is the stereotypical colour worn by villains and bad guys in different fictional environments.

(Light) Blue/Grey.

Just a reminder: neither grey nor blue are explicit colour in Tenko’s palette as a character, but I think they are still important and since greyish blue (the precise colour oh his hair) has not its own meaning, I took the freedom to actually associate the two separate colour in association to describe this period of transition between black and white.

The phase in which Tomura has Greyish-Blue hair is the longest one (in terms of years), but also the phase of passage (which consequently is the phase he is exploring, and is in the ‘grey zone’, where things are just getting defined and there are no absolutes). Grey, in this sense, sports both characteristics from White and Black (depending on the shade used), and even if not explicitly used for Tenko, it still represents a landmine in his development.

The colour grey is an ‘unemotional’ colour. It is detached, neutral, impartial and indecisive - all traits that can be reconnected at Shigaraki. Indeed, it is after his encounter with Izuku at the mall where he recognises why exactly (or so he thinks) he rages and wants to bring destruction to the world as known. This indicates how he has been striving for a real purpose, like the one Stain has, in order to actually understand what he is doing and evolve from the child the Heroes define him as, to a Villain with the capital V. He does relate to reality in partial ways, while he tries to define his identity as something that has died inside of him, Shimura Tenko, and at the same time the part that has lived on through the memories he removed and the hands which accompany him. He does not know which part is stronger, and trying to figure it out he tries and fails, only to try again.  To confirm the shaping of Shigaraki, indeed grey is a conforming colour and most of all it struggles with identity, which is arguably the most prominent trait Shigaraki presents during the first arcs of the story.

On the other hand, Blue symbolises coolness, passivity, fidelity. Somehow it reverberates the meaning of grey, while at the same time enhancing its other effects (it being emotionless and calm, undecided but also flowing). Blue is also indicator of depth, wisdom, confidence, and intelligence (among others). This also confirms the precedent meanings (of especially white) and it adds another dimension to Tenko’s character. It is clear how he feels deeply, and is still very clever in its own way. Still, this development and phase serves for him to obtain the other characteristics proposed by blue, especially wisdom and confidence (refer to Black where I said how sometimes the clothes are a screen to hide his true feelings). 

Blue is a colour that’s constant and unchanging, which contrasts with grey and brings forwconstant struggle in Tenko. Blue is also nostalgic. Curious is how blue lives in the past, relating everything in the present and the future to experiences in the past. I think that this is what blue is about with Tenko: he struggles to look forward, to forgive and let go because he never forgot his dad, his grandma or even society for when they had brought upon him as an innocent child. His bringing up has been focused, after all, on his developing his constant feeling of sadness, rage and gloom and the necessary power to express them in confident ways, which could bring destruction forward. Tenko is a puppet in AfO’s hands since he has ‘saved’ him, so I think this is why the sentence in which Shigaraki tries to break free from AfO’s will is a break point for the story, and for Shigaraki as well. 

Blue is also known for being deceitful and spiteful, depressed and sad, passive, self-righteous, emotionally unstable, weak, unforgiving. It can also indicate manipulation, unfaithfulness and being untrustworthy.

Indeed, it is after that Izuku sees Tenko being kneeled over by AfO and his presence that he understands that Shigaraki too, is human and that maybe the reasons for his rage and absolute hate for everything he comes across have deep roots, which is why even if he cannot forgive him for all the pain he has brought, he wants to save him.  

Finally, the paler the blue the more freedom we feel - which brings me to my theory on what, throughout the years Tenko’s hair have been ‘decaying’ and bleaching out. I think that as a child, Tenko is caged and tries to break free of his cage, of his ‘itch’ but he cannot because he does not realise what it is, and there is no freedom for him to actually understand. The first time he uses his Quirk, he feels finally satisfied for the first time. He tasted freedom for the first time, and now he wants to do it again and again. Growing up, however his ideals become blurry and he does not understand what he actually wants. He does know that the hands on his body represent what he has lost and what is actually still there with him, giving him strength and will, but at the same time he does not know what is beyond there. Which is why, after he goes through the transformation by Garaki, his hair becomes white: he gets rid of the insecurities, of the shackles that have stopped him from actually achieving his goal, or rather to pursue it freely. His ultimate goal, after all, is to get rid of his ‘itch’, which, in its own way, it’s his language to say that Shimura Tenko wants freedom.

As a note, Blue is also the colour of the Throat chakra. It is located in the throat, but it is linked to the throat, neck, hands, and arms. This Chakra is linked to speech. 

Final remark on blue: this colour is one of the most important lucky colors in Japan ( together with yellow, white, purple, green and, red) - and all the colour associated with Tomura, except for black, is indeed considered lucky.

White 

White, is an inherently positive colour, is usually associated with purity, innocence, light, goodness, beginnings, possibility and perfection. However it is also described an dperceived as cold, impersonal and bland. Shigaraki after his ‘transformation’ is the perfect soldier: he is very powerful, to a fault, and represents a new chapter in not only his own life but as well in the one which has been conducted by AfO, as he sees him as his vessel. The fact is that the beginning of a new Shigaraki which is flawless, in appearance, is a very well constructed lie. While he should represent perfection, first of all his transformation has not been entirely completed and furthermore, while it does represent a clean slate in his check, is also the possibility, reality coming through for AfO to take advantage of the body new, which Tomura must preserve. As the new Shigaraki however, has his ideals very present and wants to fight for them, to protect his feelings and his ideas, it is anyway a struggle for both him and AfO to juggle through everything going on Tenko’s mind, and emerge victorious. This is also the most interesting aspect of this colour: the goodness and inherent purity which comes from this colour implies a purification process in Shigaraki’s character, who instead gets fixed even more on him not wanting to forgive society and insisting on going on his rampage, because at the same time he cannot let go of these feelings, because now they are the only thing which make him go forward.

White is usually used in contrast to black, and represents the dichotomy of good and bad.

The psychological meaning of white is wholeness and completion. This also refers to the meaning and falls into the category of ‘perfection’: it is a new beginning, but at the same time it represents the closure of a cycle and the beginning of a new one: a perfect one, which represents closure (‘The Circle’). Tomura is supposed to be the new complete weapon at AfO’s will, but as I states before this is a fought point (between the two of them).

White, in cultures that believe in reincarnation is held in high regard. Indeed, they sustain how white is a sign of rebirth. 

Technically, Shigaraki has been reborn. What I mean is that he has transformed himself into not a new person, but in a better version of himself, he upgraded - and now of course going back is not an option. He has been held in a womb, breeding his new potential and now he became an individual whose strength far surpasses normal, his quirk control is absolutely insane and as well his memories, ideas and feelings are heightened. The theme of rebirth, which I think fits both Shigaraki and Dabi, is used a few times in BNHA, but as for Shigaraki it is very literal and very clear (after all he has been asleep for a time, just to wake up and fight an entire war against the Heroes). It is clear however, how his personality has been rebirth too: while he was not insecure, but more hesitant, now he is sure of his objective and he thrives on achieving it. What distinguishes therefore the old Shigaraki from this new one is the knowledge of being powerful and therefore being able to accomplish what we wants.

Finally, white inherently denotes death and mourning too in the Japanese culture, as well as black. Here, we are mourning the old Shigaraki, and the loss of the traits that instead made him a little bit more human, and a little less like God himself.

II.) From Red Eyes to Red Shoes (in association with both Izuku and Katsuki) 

I already talked about the colour red in regard to Izuku here, but if we take the same meaning and apply it to Tomura instead, we get a different picture. It is no mystery how Izuku and Tenko are foils for each other, and that they resemble each other in different ways (starting from them sporting red shoes, to their characters, being ‘accepted’ and trained by a mentor, and so on).

Red is the colour of extremes. It appears clear how Izuku and Tenko represent the opposite extremes: where Izuku is enamoured of heroes and idolised them to an unhealthy point, even though he comes from a background where he has been discriminated by that same society because he was different, Tenko is disillusioned with the society they live in. He wants to destroy to the ground, because he cannot find it in himself to forgive anyone who could and did not extend him a hand when he needed it. At the same time, both Izuku and Tenko believe that to a certain extent what they had done has been ‘deserved’, and are not entirely focused on their own well being. 

Red is also an attention-bringer. As I already noticed for Izuku, it is very curious how both wear red shoes, as a way to try and separate themselves from the rest, trying to escape the opinions of other which have labelled them in a way, and of course at the same time trying to take control and wanting to be the best in their own ways (hero or villain, that is).  

Red is also the colour of blood, of rage, anger as well as desire, leadership and strength. I want to make a point which I do not know whether is important or not, however, a fact that struck me hard is how Shigaraki’s irises are very very small, and it somehow seems that he tries to compensate the little quantity of red of Shigaraki with wearing red shoes. This might be an indicator how Shigaraki strives to achieve these qualities, but at the same time he needs to put a lot of effort in it, and furthermore it somehow feels different from when we compare it to Izuku: even if both are charismatic leaders, Shigaraki is very dispassionate about it, while Izuku frequently denies how his influence might be fundamental when it comes to other people (Katsuki, All Might, 1A). However, Shigaraki does reflect in his personality, the venous desire to be angry, aggressive and destructive as it what his power entails, and after all what has been taught to him. I noticed as well a post (which unfortunately I cannot find) where it says that Shigaraki has a very high tolerance pain (again, the parallels with Izuku are insane), which also reconnects somehow to the colour red as we saw how Shigaraki himself even if tired (LoV vs Machia/LF) or absolutely bloody and at the brink of death is instead held up by his will to destroy (Shigaraki vs Heroes).

It relates to danger, power, determination and action. Well, Shigaraki and danger go to hand in hand as well as determination and action. After all, Shigaraki’s Modus Operandi is Trial and Error, which means he is not afraid to be wrong and to try things out, even if he is stubborn and ways things to go his way, every time (when that rarely happens in general). 

Red is indeed determined, powerful, impulsive and aggressive. It is also tied to self-preservation. Although true for the most part, the self-preservation is still a massive blank point. 

He is bloody, and even AfO is telling him to rest and preserve his energies (even if here, my counter argument would be that it would be easier for him to overtake Shigaraki’s body if he is weaker, so I do not know how reliable this is).

The color red in Japanese culture denotes strength, passion, self sacrifice and blood. It Also stands for good luck and happiness. Which is still very amusing to me, as Shigaraki feels like the farthest character away from achieving happiness, and his passions and strives are all useless unless he gets rid of his master puppeteer. However, Shigaraki embodies the self-sacrificing spirit. Even if it might sound strange, and he is not very willing to be himself in the front lines (at least not always), he does approach ReDestro himself and takes him on, while leaving the League to deal with the rest.

III.) Yellow

Surprise, surprise! Yellow, in the Japanese culture stands for Courage, while usually the Western culture associates it with Cowardice. It is a funny thing that it also stands for betrayal, sickness, egoism and madness on the negative side, however it is rather a holy colour, usually associated with deities on the other side.

Since I am not going to include yellow in the association paragraph, it is not a case that black reacts badly to yellow, and forms a very unpleasant colour, which means that the circumstances which follow either do not mix well together. However, it is also true how the most resonant contrast between yellow and another colour is given by black. 

Plus yellow is the colour of the Solar Plexus Chakra and it is the symbol of vitality and will. All these elements, however present in a very limited amount in regard to Tenko, are telling of the aspect of authority (reconfirmed and amplified by black) and somehow, the lack of bright colours of Tenko makes the little yellow details resonating of a sad picture, as it embodies more the negative sides (egoism, sickness - and in part sickness). 

Colours in Association.

Black used in contrast–particularly with white or yellow–does create energy (especially the contrast on shapes and just power that the image of waken up Shigaraki creates in the last arc is enough to send this message). It is as well true that black when used in opposition with white, symbolises the eternal struggle between day and night, good and evil, and right and wrong - a thing that for Shigaraki is somehow a metaphor and a literal representation of himself as a character. A perfect example would be the struggle he has with AfO for his body, where he struggles between his internal feelings and dreams and instead the evil will imposed by him by AfO, as well as in terms of consciousness where him being present and conscious is the day, while being subdued to AfO’s will in the Night.

Black usually represent the end, but the end always implies a new beginning. So when the light appears, and black transcends to white, it instead the colour of new beginnings. I already talked about how rebirth theme and the new beginning on new ideals and dreams is represented for Tenko by the colour white, however it is interesting also to note how his change in personality brings him from his childhood dream to being thankful to AfO who raised to him, but wanting to be even greater than AfO himself,- metaphor for Tomura’s life as being free from shackles of reality.

Bluish-Grey is also defined as ‘livid’, an adjective used to describe anger or decoloration of the skin (caused by bruising). This colour gives a sense of detachment - which also goes to review the colour grey and blue, in them being interpreted together as an entity, and how Tomura feels a detachment from his own memories, and past life, as well as his future (When Did We Ever Need A Future?) and instead seek meaning in everything that surrounds him. 

Red and white are prominent traditional colours in Japan. Both colours are used in decorations at events which represent happiness and joy.

On a non serious note, Shigaraki’s date of birth is 4th of April, and casually the colours associated with April are Burgundy (deep red) and White (according to the Japanese etiquette). 

And finally last remark for this post: it is very funny how Shigaraki’s palette is somehow almost the same as Bakugou’s (with the exception of green - which I would like to interpret as if Bakugou did not have Midoriya as his side, he could have ended in a far worse position, with no hope and no one to compare to).

Thank you for reading.

[iceshard1011]

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.

[kirishwima]

can you please do a headcannon with the rfa that’s dating an insecure mc? i’m sorry my english isn’t very good

Your english is fine lovely! I’m also not a native speaker, so im sorry if i make mistakes sometimes ^^”

YOOSUNG:

* Honestly…he’s just as insecure as MC. He tries to hide it, tries to act tough and will argue with Zen when he teases him, but his facade couldn’t be farther from the truth-he’s scared, constantly worrying over his looks, the way he speaks, his intelligence, everything is a struggle and it often feels like he’ll never be good enough, neither to himself nor to others.

* Yet MC accepts him as he is-they love him unconditionally, have been there for him even when he kept using them as a substitute for Rika-they helped him see his wrongs and make them right, helped him become a better man. So to know that MC doesn’t see themselves as the amazing, wonderful person they are, it hurts him to his very core.

* He’ll remind MC constantly of how much he loves them, will praise them over every little thing-because to him it’s not compliments, it’s facts. MC is amazing, and that’s that. 

* Sometimes he’ll catch MC making self-depracating jokes; “I don’t even know why you’re dating me” they’d laugh, and Yoosung-oh boy, Yoosung’s furious. 

* “Do you hear yourself? Why date you? Because you’re wonderful! You’re an amazing, beautiful person, you’ve helped me through the hardest times of my life, you’ve been there for me no matter what-I want to be there for you too! You have such a kind soul, you love so much and so strongly and I-I love you just as much. So please-” he rubbed furiously at his eyes, bidding the tears gathering to go away, “Please don’t undermine the love I have for you. Don’t undermine yourself.”

* He’d spend every day of his life reminding MC of their worth, and that’s that.

ZEN:

* He’s a confident person. No, that might actually be an understatement-he’s what some would call a narcissist, albeit a high-functioning one-while he objectively knows his appearance is envy-worthy, he also knows his faults, and isn’t afraid to admit them. He knows he’s not good with technology. He’s honest to a fault, and quick to anger, but he doesn’t deem those as faults-they’re just part of who he is, for better or for worse.

* MC envies this confidence, this intimate way in which Zen both knows and accepts himself as he is, only working to better himself as a challenge from him to him, not for the gaze of anyone else. How could MC ever be like that? Would a time come where they too could confidently stand by his side, not nit-picking every single flaw in their looks, their personality, their entire existence?

* Zen’s fans aren’t all that helping in the situation either-after going public with their relationship, MC can’t help but constantly look through news articles, looking at what fans and reporters have to say about them, taking every single negative comment and locking it up in their heart, letting it infest with them until it rots-refusing to shine a light on the positive comments, the one that talk about how happy Zen looks with MC, how sweet their own smile is or how gentle their eyes are.

* Zen isn’t a fool, and he’s not blind-of course he knows MC isn’t the most confident person, and that they constantly judge their worth based on the perception of others. He tries to help them as much as he can without making it too obvious, will hold them tight when reporters stop them during a date to conduct an interview, will kiss their neck and compliment them until his mouth runs dry.

* MC appreciates it, they really do-but they’re always scared, so scared Zen will eventually realise he’s better off without them. They know, rationally, that Zen cares deeply for them, that he loves them as they are-as impossible as it seems, but this unwarranted worry never goes away, eating its way through their gut and into their lungs, making them lose their breath at the thought.

* “Do you realise how beautiful you are?” Zen asks one night, the apartment dark and quiet minus for the hustle of the city outside. He’s trailing his fingers alonside MC’s side, stopping at every hollow of ribs, pushing his fingertips on bumps and scars. “I’m not just talking about the way you look, as much as I love that too. I’m talking about this” he says as he pokes a finger to their chest, relishing in the silent laugh MC lets out as his fingers tickle them “and everything that happens in there. I love your laugh, your humor is impeccable, I love your kindness, your patience, how much you love to help others-you’re beautiful. Please don’t forget that.”

* And well, it’s hard to forget-even if it takes a long time to believe in Zen’s words, MC will always keep them to heart, remember them every time they try to bring themself down-they’re beautiful. No matter what.

JAEHEE:

* You’d think she’s very confident at first glance, and well, that’s partly true-she’s confident, in the sense that she doesn’t really care. She’s okay with the way she looks, though she’ll get bouts of worries from time to time, probing and poking at her face and body in front of the mirror, but soon it’d pass, and she’s back to normal, content with the way she is.

* it’s hard to wrap her head around MC’s worries and insecurities most of the time. She can’t understand just why MC feels so bad with themselves, not when to her they were a saving grace-taking her from the hectic worriesome state she was seen and bringing her most well-hidden dreams to the surface, making them true.

* She’ll watch MC interact with customers, how they’ll hum whilst making coffee and she’ll smile to herself, soft and sweet and falling in love all over again. How someone like them could not be confident is something she could never understand.

* She tries to help motivate MC, will lean her head on MC’s shoulder and wrap her arms around her waist from the back as MC brews coffee, whispering bashful ‘i love you’s and praises to their skin. When talking with customers she’ll frequently slip in a word of affection towards MC, praising them for their hard work and dedication-even if MC isn’t there to hear it, she just wants the world to know how amazing they are!!

* Sometimes MC gets really down, insultin every little thing about themselves. Jaehee was never that good with words and expressing her emotions upfront-so instead she did what she knows best. She wrote a report. Yes, a report, along with a whole power point presentation, explaining each and every point of why she loves MC, with facts, proof and evidence. Whenever MC talks badly about themself, Jaehee simply pulls up the powerpoint, puts her glasses back on and asks MC to take a seat on the couch, pulling up her laptop and begining to talk about each point until MC is too shy to let her continue.

* No one disses the person Baehee loves, not even themselves.

JUMIN:

* Jumin is confident. That’s it, it’s a fact. He’s grown up learning how to poise himself, has been given constant praise to the point where he hated it, but he knows his pros and cons, and will never let anyone else’s opinion alter his own, especially not when it comes from people who aren’t even close to him.

* So honestly...unless MC straight up talks to Jumin about their insecurities, he’ll never get it. Of course he’ll notice when MC looks away when he compliments them, or how they seem a nervous wreck when out with him at social gatherings, but he figured it’s just them being bashful, not that it’s because they don’t believe his words or feel insecure around him.

* He only realises when they’re lounging together on the couch, a wine in hand and Elizabeth the 3d on MC’s lap. MC watched the way in which Jumin sat-his back straight, his profile picture-perfect, confidence in his every movement. They ran their hands through Elizabeth’s fur, looking down at her in contemplation.

* “How do you do it?” They asked and Jumin turned to face them with a soft frown of confusion. “You just...whatever you do, you do it so confidently. Like, you know what you want and how to get it and that’s it, and you-you ended up with me, who’s too nervous to even look people in the eye when talking. How do we-are you okay with this? With me?” 

* Their words were jambled, worry pooling in their stomach as Jumin’s eyes widened, his mouth ajar. “You-is this how you feel?” he asked. He tried to school his expression into something more neutral, put his wine glass back down to turn and hold MCs hands in his.

* “I love you. There’s no logic in love, and even if there was, there’s nothing about you I could not love. Your kindness, your smile, you’re smart yet modest, you’re just...to me you’re impeccable. I hate to think that you never realised all these yourself, MC, you’re wonderful. I need you to believe that you are.”

* He vowed to himself to never let MC forget it from then on. Every morning he’ll wake them with a kiss, listing at least one thing about MC he’s grateful for before starting their day. He’d do this day after day, until MC started to believe it themself.

SEVEN/SAEYOUNG/LUCIEL:

* Lmao he’s literally an insecure k i n g. Before meeting MC, before falling in love with them, he’d be unable to list a single thing he likes about himself. He’s too much of this, too little of that, every time he looked to the mirror it’d be a war zone, his face reminding him too much of things he’d rather just forget.

* Yet MC helped him so much. Little by little, they helped him learn to accept himself as he is, to allow his heart to open and gain a little bit of confidence. He’s learnt to at the very least feel neutral when looking in the mirror, starting to accept hsi existence as just that-another human being in the world.

* Yet he knows, he knows that as much confidence as MC is trying to help him build, the less they have themselves. He’s no idiot, he’s been there, of course he knows the tell-tale signs of it-the self depracaitng jokes, the way they look in the mirror when they walk past, how they roll their eyes at his compliments.

* “You know me, I’m your resident klutz” MC started once, after a glass slipped from their hands and broke at their feet. They started cleaning it up, telling Seven to stay away since he wasn’t wearing any shoes or slippers. “Just a big ol’ idiot here to fuck things up and make life all that much harder for everyone-” they continued, laughing yet their hands were trembling.

* “Of course I can’t even hold a freaking glass correctly, why would I anyway I’m such a-”

* “Stop.”

* Seven didn’t care for the glass shards at this point. He walked to kneel across MC, wrapping his hands around theirs. “Do you hear yourself? What you’re saying is stupid, and some deep hidden part of you knows it. You’re brilliant. Stop looking at me like that, you know it’s true. You are” He smiled small and soft, drawing circles on their hand with his thumb. “No regular person could’ve gone through what you did and come out of it even stronger. You’re amazing, you’re kind no matter what you-I love you. I want you to see yourself like I see you, even if it’s cliche as hell.”

* He leaned over the broken glass, kissing MC soft and gentle. “So stop with these jokes. Start appreciating yourself, please. For me.”

* MC didn’t know if they could. But they’d try. For Saeyoung, they’d try.

-Send me mystic messenger headcanons/scenarios for characters’ reactions!-

[kissofthemuses]

Elena

FULL NAME: Elena Boureanu

SPECIES: witch

OCCUPATION: vine witch/wine maker

FANDOM: The Vine Witch

                             PHYSICAL

FACECLAIM: Rachel Weisz

PRONOUNS: she/her

AGE: 43

BIRTHDATE: August 10

HAIR: brown

EYES: hazel

HEIGHT: 5'6″

ORIENTATION: bisexual

         RELATIONSHIPS

MOTHER: Esme Bourenau (Deceased)

FATHER: Roul Bourenau (Decesed)

CARETAKERS: Josef and Ariella Gardin

         PERSONALITY

MBTI: ENFP-A / “Campaigner”

ALIGNMENT: neutral good

TEMPERAMENT: sanguine

ENNEAGRAM: type 5

POSITIVES: smart, determined, curious, loyal, forthright

NEGATIVES: brash, unforgiving, foolhardy, vengeful

           OTHER

LIKES: learning, wine making, gardening, mystery novels, pain au chocolat, outdoors, the sound and smell of a light rain falling on a field,

DISLIKES: bureaucracy, authority, being confined, overly sweet drinks, the heat,

             TAGS

Threads Headcanons Musings Inspo

             BACKSTORY

Elena grew up on the vineyards Château Renard, learning how to use her magic to help the grapes grow, to make some of the best wine. The couple who raised her since she was , Josef and Ariella Gardin, were her only family, so much so that Elena referred to them as her grandparents, but, really, they were the only parents she knew.

Well, except for the few memories she had of her real parents- Esme and Roul Bourenau. And the only memory she had of them was riding in the back of their jangly cart, on their way to somewhere new. What followed that memory was the memory of being brought to the Chateau, to the Gardins when she was 5. Though she’d always held on to that memory and wondered about her parents, the love her grand-mere was more than enough for Elena.

As she grew, she fell in love with a man named Bastien and, eventually, he proposed to her. At first, Elena accepted, and for a time she was blissfully happy. But, soon enough, Bastien began making demands of her that Elena could not abide. He’d wanted her to abandon her home vineyard and work on his, more than that, he wanted her to sabotage rivals. He wanted her to use hexes and curses against. Angry, she refused this, refused him, and threw his ring back at him, breaking off the engagement.

It was soon after this breakup that Elena was ambushed as she was gathering herbs. A sorcerer used an archaic form of transmogrification to curse her into a toad. Elena lived in that body for 7 long years, her human mind tucked away in some small space. Finally, she was able to break the curse. Over her years as a toad, each time she’d shed her old skin, she’d ingested it. Over time, the natural acid in the toad’s skin helping breaking the bonds of the vile spell.

Once she’d become human again, Elena made her way back to Chateau Renard, back home, with one goal in mind: revenge. In her mind, the only culprit could be Bastien, the man she’d jilted.

Upon returning home, Elena found her beloved home and vineyard failing and blighted. It turns out that not only had age begun to take its toll on Ariella’s mind and magic, but, she had mismanaged the family funds so much that she got several years behind on taxes, leaving the vineyard to languish.

To Elena’s further surprise, the vineyard had been bought by a mortal man named Jean-Paul, who scorned all things magic, putting his trust solely in science. Which, was part of the problem, as the vineyard’s problem was a magical one.

Slowly, Elena began to help Jean-Paul rid the vineyard of its hexes and curses, whether he wanted the help or not. While he resisted at first, after she had used a spell to allow him to see the magic around the vineyard, he relented. All the while, Elena continued to work on her plan for revenge. Using her innate and uncanny knowledge of deadly herbs and plants, Elena worked on a poison with which to poison Bastien with. She also continued to try and find out the identity of the person who Bastien had hired to curse her.

Her search, however, led her deeper into trouble. After a very public confrontation with Bastien, during which she swore revenge, Bastien ended up dead. And Elena was the singular suspect and was arrested for his death as well as the deaths of many cats (which was linked to dark magic) and thrown into a prison for magic users. Elena hadn’t committed a single one of the crimes she was charged with.

Despite Jean-Paul using his previous vocation of a lawyer to get Elena justice, Elena managed to escape the prison, along with her 2 other cellmates- a djinn and an ex circus performer. On the run, with the performer, Yvette, Elena searched for the real killer to clear her name.

She did find the real killer, it was Bastien’s wife, a powerful witch in her own right. What Elena further uncovered was, not only was the woman a powerful witch, but, she was ancient, her magic allowing her to stay young and beautiful for ever. That power, though, was not entirely her own, and came with a price. To gain her immortality, she’d made a deal with a demon, and to appease that demon, she had to pay in blood. Hence the dead cats. As for Bastien’s death had been two-fold: to get rid of Elena and to appease the demon.

The fight between Elena and the demon wasn’t very long. Elena was very nearly killed, and would have been, if not for the fact that Elena’s blood was poisonous. Apparently, years of ingesting her own toxic toad skin had that peculiar affect on the witch.

After dispensing with the demon, Elena cornered the witch, who hadn’t fully recovered her youth yet. Elena kept her talking just long enough for the authorities who had once imprisoned her to hear the evil witch’s plans. It was during this that Elena word that it was neither Bastien nor the witch who had been behind her curse.

The authorities arrested her with the intent on bringing her to the prison. But, what they didn’t account for was that the handcuffs negated all magic, thus negating her immortality. She rapidly aged and turned to bones and then dust before their eyes.

Cleared of all charges, Elena was free to return home, though she would be watched.

With her new found freedom, the mystery of who had cursed her still hung in the air. With a tip from the proprietress of the local bar the magic users frequented, the person was finally in her grasp. Find them in the dark corner of the bar, Elena was shocked to find not just the man who had cursed her (a man who she had thought was just a carnival charlatan) , but her very own Grand-Mere! Her entire world turned on it’s side as the betrayal set in. She demanded that they tell her the truth about what was going on. So, they told her, each trying to justify themselves, and Elena learned not just about the curse, but her parents too.

Her parents had been wanted criminals, witches who dealt in dark magic and poisons. They’d been caught and hanged for their crimes and the very man who had cursed her had sold her, an orphan, to the Gardins. Grand-Mere tried to say that the curse was supposed to be temporary and for Elena’s own good. Thinking that Elena was too head over heels for Bastien, and fearing that she would get married and abandon Chateau Renard, and her, Ariella had the man curse Elena to keep her from doing so (unaware that Elena had already broken off the engagement). Elena, would all too soon realize that those revelations would be the last she’d get out of her grand-mere, for Areilla had stolen the poison Elena had made for Bastien and poisoned both the man and herself, and both were dead within minutes.

This left Elena to try and make sense of everything and put back the pieces of her life on her own.

[aotopmha]

Attack on Titan Chapter 122 Thoughts

This chapter is pretty straight-forward in comparison to the previous ones, but in a deceptive way, where a lot of moments have a bunch of nuance, when they at first glance don't seem to.

Most of the chapter is very thoroughly "show, don't tell", which I can see getting people confused and leave them asking questions, but the key to this is context.

When taking this chapter as more stand-alonish, I feel like it would 100% feel much more obtuse and confusing, but almost every panel calls back to something and the story simply asks you to put the story together based on this. I feel it still definitely leaves some stuff up for potentially varying interpretation, but much less so.

Here's my take on it.

Firstly, the only voice in the whole Ymir flashback is that of King Fritz. Everyone else is silent.

There is much talk about how AoT is this morally gray series and there are certainly many morally gray elements here, but in truth, I'd phrase this idea more in the sense of the story having really well fleshed out antagonists.

It emphasizes humanizing every character, including all those that are presented as shitty people, in a specific way of giving them at least one quality that's if not sympathetic, then at least understandable from the characters' perspectives (this is something Isayama has actually straight-up mentioned to aim to do in interview material).  

Karina is a horrible mother to Reiner, but she is a product of her environment and has never gotten to see outside of the world she lives in.

Alma treats Historia horribly, but her life is in danger because of a powerful man and the society she lives in.

Floch started out as a tactless asshole and has only grown worse, but there are understandable points in what he is saying during various moments in the story.

Gross is straight-up a candidate for the most hateable character in the series, but there is a spelled out, concrete perspective to his evil you kind of understand in a twisted way that also stems from the system he's living under, which often makes for my favorite type of antagonist.

I point this out because I think the first King Fritz is the most straight-forwardly villainous character in the series so far and I think that's fine.

The truth is, sometimes there isn't a "both sides". Sometimes there is a good and evil and in this case, Isayama opted for a powerful man that exploits the weak to further gain power for the evil, which is still a very real evil, but, as said, also pretty straight-forward.

He doesn't develop in any way - he's an abuser to begin with and in a position of power to begin with.

The only sliver of nuance to him is that he's a smart opportunist: he's a powerful man who knows to take advantage of the position he's in to gain even more power.  

You could argue this also comments on power abuse and how a priviledged position and availability of the means to take advantage of others encourages to do so and gain even more power. People are more likely to use a gun when they are given access to it than when not.

But even then, as he says to keep passing down the spines of the Titans, due it being at the cost of the daughters he had with Ymir, whom he already saw as a tool to be used, he most likely doesn't even do it for the good of his people, but his own self-serving desire to preserve his position of power and influence and that way remain important and influental even after his death.

He's more interesting as a vehicle for exploring the social situation he creates than as a individual character.

Him being the only one to talk is thus another neat example of the story making a narrative point through meta elements. Abusers silence and take away people's voices through fear and conditioning and this is exactly what he does and therefore is the only one talking.

In this case, it's even literal, as we see a slave having their tongue cut out. We don't ever see this happen to Ymir, but it's an easy assumption to make that she might've had her tongue cut out, as well, based on what we see done with the other slave.

Regardless of any physical element, though, Ymir simply doesn't go against King Fritz because she doesn't understand she can do so. Her chains are entirely emotional. She seems to have been a slave for most of her life, never getting to see any other perspective regarding herself, so because of the conditioning and indoctrination stemmed from her position as a slave, she believes serving him is her purpose in life:

It's how she is lead to percieve herself that keeps her a slave.

This is interesting to me because this seems to reflect Armin's initial character resolve. The only reason he didn't believe in himself was because of his own, negative, perception of himself. It's through an alternative perspective given through Eren and Mikasa he grew to see himself in a different light. His arc is one of the first arcs in the story that involves a character gaining nuance in their perspective (technically Mikasa has a moment like this before him, but I think Armin's arc fits the comparison better because it very specifically relates to his self-image):

(Chapter 11)

This later also evolves into the Marleyan Eldians' single-mindedness and unawareness of playing into a corrupt system. Neither Ymir nor them simply never get an opportunity to see the world differently/in a more complex light.

In the case of a more typical damsel, the rescue would have had a much more straight-forward and simplistic explanation and through that in my eyes would have been much less interesting and I really appreciate whenever a story understands abuse like this.

Related to this, Eren's speech in this chapter probably makes it one of my favorites.

There are some uncertain connotations to it, as Ymir truly probably is in no good emotional position to make her own decision and Eren ultimately gives her two very specific options to choose from, but I think his words are genuine and the point of the speech still stands.

It's a powerful speech that says everyone is an autonomous person and is not obligated to be bound to anyone:

As said, the elements of a typical damsel in distress story are here, but I think it's more human than just a standard crying girl asking for help situation and on a meta level, the story says that whoever is in a similar situation also has a choice.

As also said, you could tear this into pieces when you focus on a bunch of the technicalities surrounding it, but I think as a general sentiment I really do think it’s incredibly powerful.

I mentioned how this chapter commented on how powerful men exploit women, but I think it's more gender neutral than it might initially seem. I think the general feelings here would work just as well if were Ymir a boy, with the only difference probably being another woman being involved to force him to have children. The story has gendered aspects, but it handles them with not only taste, but also in a way where the general point isn’t gendered, similarly to Mikasa's backstory.

Related to this, I think the final element to look at in relation to Ymir's story specifically is Historia’s pregnancy. I think it made it directly much more harder to make natural.

It felt artificial to begin with, but before this, I was much more open-minded about it.

Okay, since Historia genuinely seems to care for everyone, maybe this could've been somehow spun around her sacrifice being genuine and of her own choosing, but now it's as literal of a representation of history repeating itself as it possiblt could get and whether Historia chose the pregnancy or not, subtextually it will always represent history repeating itself.

The pregnancy has a bunch of potential problems: erasing the gay part of a character (since Historia is the most overtly gay character in the series and this happens after her love interest is killed, it will come across this way even if it's not the intention), contradicting a character's arc, but more than that, at this point, I just don't see anything interesting and unique said through it specifically. All other options where the pregnancy is fake sound much more interesting to me.

If the story finds a way to somehow make the pregnancy work in a interesting way, I'll applaud it, but right now I don't see all that many possibilities in terms of how it could.

This chapter literally calls back to the image of the kind girl Historia saw in the book Frieda showed her that she went against and while this contradiction in her arc already existed just with the reveal of the apparent pregnancy, this now puts a big red exclamation mark on it:

It's so obvious that the story missing this contradiction and not even addressing it would be extremely puzzling (which I do think it will).

More than anything, as if it hadn’t done this as strongly as possible already, this also even further (as it possibly could at this point), fortified the idea that something definitely, most certainly, without a doubt, is up. 

Moving on, though, in the same vein as I said there are points in the real world where good and evil exists, there is actually a truth in history. History is a series of facts interpreted by people and with showing the "real truth" here I think the story dodged a dangerous potential implication about history not being factual.

I think it also fixed some of the potential implications with the historical imagery the story has been using.

Firstly, the Eldian empire was born through the exploitation of the weak. We don't even know if Ymir and all the other slaves were all actually Eldians, so depending how you interpret this, it takes away the potentially historically revisionist perspective of the Jewish analogue race ever being the oppressor. There is no place for "both sides" when it comes to the Jewish parallels because it's one of the most black and white situations in all of history. If nothing else, this element at least makes it clear that the story simply wishes to explore the thematic element of the dynamics between the oppressor and the oppressed the idea of power abuse.

Then, through making the encounter with the parasite creature happenstance and the Titan power not biologically inherent to Eldians, it removes the potential implication of the Jewish analogue being biologically different, therefore being "special" compared to other races, which is not the case with any race.

The element that has been there for the longest in my eyes and I think didn’t even need to be elaborated on because it’s been there and explored so much already and that always removed the possibility of the story (at the very least intentionally) being racist to me, though, is that the story treats all characters from all races the same without ever resorting to using caricatures or excessive stereotyping. The Eldians specifically are the main characters of the story, with there being equally good and evil characters among them.

The key element to racism has always been othering and dehumanization and the story for the most part makes sure that even the characters that are awful people have fleshed out perspectives.

I think what also helps in this chapter specifically is having more of a history-inspired than strictly historical situation, showing it all through a fantasy veil compared to the more direct usage of imagery with Marley and the Marleyan Eldians.

Finally, I really liked the potential Titan lore this chapter presented us.

I think it's really neat how it might potentially connect mythology and biology with the possible inspiration being, both, the prehistoric creature Hallucigenia and the mythological dragon under the roots of the world tree Ygdrassil, Nidhoggr, more than that, though, I really like the potential "nature you scary" element of the Titan origins.

The creature driving a horror story usually either isn't explained or is explained through something like aliens, lovecraftian horror, a human-made catastrophe or an experminent.

In this case there are elements of all of these in here and I think any of these could still be revealed to be the direct origin of the Titan parasite, but I really like the potential "nature you scary" element here because we usually always look outside of our world to find horror because we fear what we don't know, but Earth's own nature has plenty of that, too.

Nature can be really unsettling and horrifying at points and I’d like to see that being taken advantage of more.

Overall, though, I really liked this chapter. I think it might be one of my favorites because of Eren's speech, but I also really enjoyed it for it's "show, don't tell" aspect. Sometimes one image can say much more than a thousand words and I think this chapter did a really solid job with that.

[iamanartichoke]

This is neither eloquent nor organized. I’m very frustrated and I just need to get things off my chest. 

Please do not reblog this post. 

Cut for anti-Ragnarok discourse, pro-Ragnarok discourse, the Ragnarok discourse war, mention of Thorki, and general venting. 

I’m not using tags bc I don’t want this post to show up in them. Very sorry and if any of these things is one of your blacklists, please keep scrolling.

Yesterday, I read a fic.

I was wandering through some of the Thorki content on twitter, and followed a link to one of the big bang fics, bc it was a human AU and das my jam.

I didn’t recognize the author’s name. The fic was extremely well-written, though: lots of feels, beautiful narration, a sweet ending balanced with a lot of sadness. It was one of those fics that gave me a lump in my throat.

I was only going to leave kudos, but then I figured I’d take the extra five seconds and leave a comment, bc we all know how much authors like comments. I mean, I’d rather someone leave a comment than kudos, especially if the fic really affected them.I get it and I gotchu, fam. 

Anyway, so I left a comment and proceeded to click on the author’s profile to see what else they’ve written. As you do.

I recognized their AO3 icon, even though I didn’t recognize the name. I’d seen them around on some Ragnarok wank on tumblr. I went to double-check, and it was the same user, and also they’d blocked me.

I do not know this person. I have never spoken to this person. Yet they’ve gone out of their way to block me, most likely bc I associate with the anti-Ragnarok crowd. This happens to me a lot. I’ve even had a couple of former mutuals unfollow and block me (without saying anything to me) and those felt like punches to the gut.

I understand not wanting to see content that you don’t like or that upsets you. Everyone has the right to block whomever they wish. But I can’t deny that getting blocked like that – by someone I don’t know, let alone interact with – fucking hurts. I know it’s not that deep but I can admit it. It’s a shitty feeling and it’s hard not to take it personally.

It’s not really about this particular person at all, although it’s a shame bc they’re a good writer I probably would have followed otherwise. But this entire anti/pro Ragnarok war has gone so far and it’s exhausting. I stayed pretty neutral for as long as I could. 

And here’s the thing. My observations, both from being neutral and also being someone who, despite often being quietly blocked, tends to fly under the radar are this:

The majority of the negativity comes from the pro side.

Look, I side with and agree with the anti side on this one. I can admit, however, that sometimes it gets tiresome to see posts get turned into Ragnarok criticism or tiresome to see more posts on my dash about this that or another thing that sucks about Ragnarok and why. It, like anything, can be tiring.

But I also see that the anti side largely does its best to keep to itself. The pro side complained about the Ragnarok tags, so the anti side made an anti tag, and the pros still come into it to complain. The anti side will post their discussions and criticisms and they largely just circulate within the same group of people. The discussions are almost always criticisms on the source material (ie, the film) and not about anyone who enjoys it.

Now, maybe I don’t see everything. Though I don’t think I’m biased just bc I agree with the anti side – in fact, it was these attributes that made me take a closer look at what they were saying bc maybe they had a point after all. I don’t follow every anti Ragnarok user, but I do follow a lot. I can’t say personal attacks and whatever never happen - but, I hardly ever see them.

That’s not the case with the pro side. I don’t think I follow many from that side, but I see so much negativity from them. It’s like this kind of underhanded negativity that I’m not quite sure how to explain. It’s tonal negativity. 

I mean, sometimes it’s blatant. Name-calling (Loki stans, lackeys, pathetic, delusional, and racist come to mind) is an example. But more than that, there’s this collective tone among the pro side that smacks of condescension and I can’t stand it.

They make fun of the “dissertations” that have been written.

They always include an “lol” or laugh emoji or something to express that they’re not the ones taking this seriously.

They fall back on saying they don’t care about a two-year-old movie.

They’re laughing and making fun and at the same time acting like they’re so above it all.

They want us to just shut up already.

What it comes down to is this: it’s not just a matter of being able to agree to disagree because the pro side actively acts offended that the antis are even having these critical discussions, even if the antis have gone out of their way to not involve the rest of the fandom at all.

(Again, this is not every pro person, but the majority. Tone does matter online, and the overall tone of the pro side is not positive. I say this from a mostly neutral place.)

And here’s a thing about “oh my god, it came out two years ago, get over it!” Yeah, it came out two years ago. So fucking what? You guys are still engaging with it, via fics and headcanons and art. How old the movie is doesn’t matter when you’re having fun with it, but when someone wants to engage with it in a (valid) critical way that you don’t like? No. That’s unacceptable. That’s pathetic. That’s being a lackey. Get over it.

Even writing this, I know that things are much worse for others than they are for me. I get stealth blocked; others are called out by name in public posts, receive anon hate, and are actively targeted.

It’s just, this shit is so fucking toxic to this fandom and it honestly needs to stop. Both sides need to not only stop engaging one another, but also stop acknowledging one another. We get it: you either like the movie or you don’t.

Let people do their own thing. Don’t be fucking obnoxious. If you disagree and genuinely want to talk about it, then try to remember there’s a person on the other side of the screen and be civil. If you disagree and don’t want to talk about it, then just fucking don’t.

If you see a post you disagree with, scroll past. And, yes, block the person if you need to (and sometimes it might be me that needs blocking and I recognize my hurt feelings are my own personal problem, not whoever else’s).

There are a lot of movies in the MCU that are not perfect. (Btw, it baffles me a little to get hated on for my stance on Ragnarok, when I am so much more vocal [and emotionally invested] in hating the Russos and IW/Endgame – but, whatever.) There are a lot of interpretations of characters that are different. There are a lot of people who project their own identity or issues or whatever onto any particular character that resonates (and that’s okay!) and there are a lot of people who don’t project but still identify with a particular character (and that’s okay, too).

Stop judging whether someone is a “real” fan of a character/franchise or not. Just because someone isn’t engaging with the source material in the way you are, and just because they don’t see it in the same way that you do, does not make them wrong. (Yes, this applies to the pro side, too. None of them are wrong or less valid for enjoying and even stanning the movie.) It doesn’t make anyone better than anyone else here. 

Acting otherwise is honestly going to kill this fandom. Because it bleeds over. Fics will have less readers, bc they don’t want to interact with something posted by someone they dislike (or who blocked them). There’s less sharing of things like art and headcanons and content. People unfollow and block each other, people are having to watch what they say, people are losing friends (and potential friends) bc they may be a great person but they don’t agree with you about fucking Ragnarok.

I came to tumblr bc it was the only place where not only could I find other people who loved Loki as much as I did, but it was the only place where I could express that. Express it in fic, in headcanons, in meta. Being creative and starting dialogues and just interacting. I wish we could get that vibe back.

I wish none of this bothered me so much.

[stcrr]

elle fanning. cis female. she/her.  ／  lorelei “lorrie” gunther just pulled up blasting which witch by florence + the machine  — that song is so them ! you know, for a twenty-three year old musician, i’ve heard they’re really -reclusive, but that they make up for it by being so +observant. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say chipped glitter nail polish, a silver gilt mirror, losing yourself in the beat of the music. here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble ! ( ally, 22, est, she/her )

me: i don’t have a type when it comes to muses! also me: unveils this new muse that is also introverted and anxious but this time with more glitter. anyways, meet lorelei, starr to her fans, and lorrie to her friends, an observant girl, gifted mimic, misfit, mirror, and musician. kind of a jem and the holograms/hannah montana/perfect blue hybrid. details under the cut, like for me to hyu to plot !! 

(also her pinterest im really proud of it you guys)

statistics.

full name. lorelei amelia gunther. nicknames. lorrie. aliases. starr. occupation. singer-songwriter. age. twenty-three. date of birth. february 1st, 1997.  nationality. american. ethnicity. white (austrian and irish).  gender | orientation. cis female | queer. hometown. boston, ma. zodiac sign. aquarius sun, scorpio moon, pisces rising career/voice claim. lorde.

height. 5′9 weight. 120lbs build. willowy.  distinguishing features. wide eyes, full lips, constant bags, probably has glitter in her hair.  health. 7/10; has no major illnesses but eats like shit, has a whack sleep schedule, is a dysfunctional adult basically. she’s also big depressed but you know how it be. 

positive traits. ambitious, intuitive, observant, imaginative, independent,  neutral traits. talkative, intense, impressionable,  negative traits. anxious, avoidant, moody, secretive, resentful, aloof, 

likes. the nighttime, storms, baggy clothes, mountains, weed, lsd, books, blanket forts, lying on the floor, singing, cryptids, cemeteries,  dislikes. being herself, deadlines, dolls/puppets, the paparazzi, social media, planning ahead, the outdoors, conflict, the beach, 

history. 

(tw suicide mention, anxiety attack) (tldr at the bottom)

her mother called her lorelei after the sirens of the rhine; she insisted her first cries were the sweetest song. and lorelei continued to have a beautiful voice; she sang more than she spoke. but only at home. 

she never responded to lorelei, though, not really; it felt too grand for her. she was a chicken-legged girl who liked overalls and goosebumps books. she was just lorrie.

she grew up in a lower-middle class region of boston, ma. her father was a salesman, and her mother was a travel agent. 

for a while, at school, she didn’t speak at all. she was diagnosed with selective mutism at age five, and it took until she was thirteen to overcome it completely. 

this was not at all helped by the fact that her parents had a nasty divorce when she was seven years old. her father used her mother’s ten-year-old suicide attempt against her in court to prove she wasn’t stable, and gained full custody of lorelei and her two older brothers. her oldest brother, matthias, sided with their father, but the middle brother, jeremias, sided with their mom, and tried to run away to his mother’s house basically every month. he ran away for good when he was fifteen, living with his girlfriend’s family. 

what helped her overcome this selective mutism, at least at first, was her middle school drama class. at home, lorelei had always been an excellent mimic. she did her favorite impressions for her drama teacher, and she encouraged her to try some monologues and scenes. as she got better at acting, she realized that she didn’t have to be herself; she could be somebody else. and that made talking all the easier. 

by high school, she was no longer selectively mute, but was still anxious and shy. she was, however, a total drama kid, and still loved to act. she could be outrageous, incredible on stage; she wasn’t being herself, after all, so if people were judging her, it was the character they were judging, not her. 

still she was def the kind of girl who had a mental breakdown every four months and dyed/cut her hair/gave herself bangs. she could never quite shake the feeling that she was an outsider looking in, separated, different. 

she still loved music, and as she grew older, she started to write songs. it was her secret dream to be a musician. one of her theater friends talked her into singing one of them when she was sixteen, and then encouraged her to try out for the talent show. she was able to get through the audition, though she was a little nervous, but she knew it would be fine. she was on stage all the time, this would be fine. 

but this time, she had to be herself in front of the entire school, and she froze up, not a sound leaving her lips. she doesn’t remember leaving the stage; only remembers that suddenly, she was in the girls bathroom, sobbing her eyes out. 

her friends comforted her that night, partying in their basement like they always did, but thats when lorrie had an idea. what if she didn’t perform as herself? 

that’s when a starr was born. 

as lorelei dressed herself up in all the holo and glitter she had, she created starr in her head; she was born beloved, charismatic, fearless, this glitz and glamor girl who had it all, but what now? even at the top, she found emptiness. she was a beautiful supernova, so breathtaking you forgot she was really a collapsing star. 

starr was lorrie’s ultimate muse; she wrote song after song for her in the next few months, until, finally, she asked some of her friends to help her record a music video. she didn’t expect this music video to get 60 million views in a matter of weeks. 

royals, of course, blew the fuck up, and she had people calling her house to get her to sign with this record company or that record company, and her eventual producer flew her out to la with her dad. and, of course, the rest is history. (her dad also blew a lot of the money she earned as a minor but she got rid of him and that’s neither here nor there.) 

however, as she got more and more into the la lifestyle, she began to rely more and more on starr as an alter ego. people liked starr, after all, and lorrie didn’t even like herself. she played the part of the dignified, wise, and eccentric former queen during interviews, when recording, at after parties and award shows. 

even her first major relationship she got while acting like starr, someone fearless and fun, basically a manic pixie dream girl. if you’ve ever listened to the album melodrama, then you know how badly that ended. 

that’s around when she realized that starr had taken over her entire life. coming home from a house party absolutely zonked, she looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize herself, didn’t see that nerdy, overall-clad chicken-legged girl from her family pictures. 

she stripped her clothes off, scraped the makeup off her face until her skin was red and dry, dragged a brush through her hair to get rid of all the product, and pulled on a hoodie and leggings she had brought with her to la a year ago. she wrote the first draft of all the songs in melodrama in the coming hours. 

however, she still wrote from starr’s perspective, knew she’d perform it as starr. it may be far more personal, but lorrie wasn’t ready to come out just yet. in fact, she’s kind of been hiding the last year or so, a full-on depression mess. 

tl;dr lower middle class nerdy girl from boston overcomes crippling social anxiety through acting, finesses this into an alter ego to be a musician, hits it big, loses herself in the alter ego, has a disastrous relationship, and tries to become herself again. 

present.

first of all, her real name is Known to the public, but not her “brand” outside of starr. it’s proven to be a boon as of late; she’s known for basically being a walking sailor moon cosplayer, not a skinny woman in baggy jeans and a big black hoodie.

since she’s trying to work on herself, she’s kind of in a creative slump. like, she still has more than enough royalties off her music to keep her going, but her agent and producer are both pushing her to clean up some of her songs and record them for a new album. she can still write as starr, but it feels... different, now. melodrama was far more personal than pure heroine, and she wants to continue to grow; writing as starr feels like reverting back to her sixteen year old self. but she’s too scared to write as herself So....

at events though she’s still in the gauze and stars people expect from starr. 

trying to reach out to her mom and brother jer again. not her dad, fuck her dad. 

loves true crime, the supernatural, and conspiracy thought. is probably watching a true crime doc rn. 

she’s just starting to leave her house for the first time in like... a year? like she’s only started to get out again in the last few months.

as for drugs, she def drinks, but she’s more likely to smoke weed. also, she’s a big fan of lsd, but holds herself off to only tripping every few months.

is considering moving to the woods and being the lonely crone everyone whispers about. or maybe switching to voice acting. 

she fuckin hates dolls. literally her worst nightmare is being trapped in some collectors’ doll rooms.  

wanted connections. 

melodrama ex (0/1) - the ex she wrote her breakup album about. can be any gender. i literally want this connection so bad kfdskjkadsfds

best friend (0/1) - someone who was with her throughout her... Transformation

squad (0/3) - bc who doesn't love a squad. this is the vibe i’m going for (sound warning)

icon (1/1) - someone lorrie looks up to and like... majorly doesn't wanna disappoint. - filled by kami!!!

musician buddies (0/?) - they bounce lyrics off of each other, you know how it is.

rival pop star (0/1) - idk i just think it would be Neat. maybe even with a plot that they had a major falling out and now they have to pretend to get along.

hookups (0/?) - or other messy shit

texting crush (0/1) - really weird concept but like... i imagine lorrie would have the number or snap or insta or whatever of this muse and they get talking after melodrama and she just... lays it all out. they don't really talk in person, but she feels really close to them and definitely develops a crush

weed buddy (0/1) - they come to her house and smoke and complain its great

friend turned enemy (0/1) - maybe someone who adored starr but doesn't like who she is now?????? idk idk

enemy turned friend (0/1) - maybe someone who thought starr was fake af but then meets lorrie being Herself and is just like "oh you're a Human" idk idk

bonus.

as a thank you for making it to the end of this fucking enormous intro, please take a moment to enjoy these tik toks reflective of lorrie’s personality (they’re also???? great on their own) 

lorrie talking/singing to herself alone in her house 

honestly she has tinkerbell vibes

drunk mouths speak sober thoughts

and thats on mental illness

[dekuimagines]

Oc drop

This isn’t an ask but I think just for a little bit to get myself out of this slump i’m going to be sharing with you guys my BNHA OC’s just a couple of them and open up to questions about them ( even rps is that’s what people would like to do anyway let’s get this started!) 

Shin Takahashi

Job: Teacher Assistant at U.A ( retired pro hero)

Age: Twenty-Six

Quirk: Butterfly Effect: He is able to start a chain of any desired event but cannot see or choose the path that it takes. With his quirk when he concentrated he can picture the event that he desires and coughs up a red butterfly that sets off the chain. He tries to keep the desires small because small chains are less risky. Large events have a higher risk of causing casualties in the chain.

Personality : 

Positive Traits:

Understanding: Takahashi seems to carry an air of understanding around him, making him seem like the perfect person for people to open up to. He has all but gotten used to it at this point. He has never judged another soul. 

Calm: Much like with understanding Takahashi is almost always calm, it can be concerning at times but he has a way of putting people at ease some would even say that it's his superpower at times. Friendly: There is never a moment that a small smile isn't found on his face, even when he's talking to Mineta or Bakugou is yelling at him. He treats everyone rather equally. Patient: If anyone needs to talk to him he will sit there till they feel comfortable doing so weather that is ten minutes or ten hours. Protective: He will do anything to make sure that his students don't get hurt, it's a very innate sense that he has always had and can never brush off. Neutral Traits: Dependability: It's not surprising that Takahashi is very dependable for the most part. Quiet: Neither good nor bad he is very quiet and can often be overlooked something he quiet enjoys Negative Traits: Closed off: While he is very friendly and can appear like an open person if someone tries to think about what they know about him, they will realize that they don't really know all that much about him. Secretive: This also in lines with Takahashi being closed off, he doesn't talk about himself, and if anyone were to ask he would quickly brush it off or skillfully change the subject. Hypocritical: He hates being lied to yet he will lie to someone without blinking an eye. He likes to keep to himself yet also wants everyone to trust him even if he gives them no real reason too.

Hiroshi Kimura

Job: Student at U.A ( also oc for my story Radio Silence )

Age: fifteen

Quirk:  Phobia   Hiroshi's quirk is almost a perfect mix of his mother's and father's quirk with his mother being able to tell people's fears and his father making illusions Hiroshi can look at a person and know their fear which is something he can never turn off, but he does have to make eye contact when finding out someone's fear. When activating his quirk he can create illusions of the person's phobia as the more he focuses the more realistic the illusion becomes from scents to how things feel. His quirk is much more powerful at night and when the person is already afraid. If he uses it for too long then he gets a splitting headache and vivid hallucinations of what he showed the person, he can use it on a max of three people at a time more if everyone has the same fear. His quirk is more powerful in the dark and in the sunlight it creates a dark cloud around the person he is using it on. His eyes also glow when he is using his quirk. Though with this quirk he also needs to make true eye contact so if someone is wearing glasses or contact lenses then he can't use his quirk because he can't tell what their biggest fear is.

Personality :

Positive Traits: Kindness: From a young age Hiroshi has always been kind to the people around him even when they weren't kind to him. He is slow to anger and quick to help though some may see it as a flaw it doesn't change the act that he always wants to help. Observant: Hiroshi has a way of noticing when someone is feeling bad or is in distress and often tries to help them when he can or tries to direct someone else to help them. Independent: This is more of a given since he was basically cut off from society at the age of five he tends not to rely on others because nobody wants to trust him though he still relies a little bit on his father. Humble: Hiroshi is someone who rather dislikes praise and even feels slightly uncomfortable when it is given to him since she feels like everything he does is just expected and doesn't understand why she is getting praise for it. Protective - Though he likes to stay at the sidelines if someone were to threaten his friend he would not be opposed to making them regret it. Though he would never use his quirk for this. Neutral Traits: Quiet: This is neither good nor bad for Hiroshi but due to his nervous nature he does tend to be rather quiet making it hard for people to get to know him. Push-Over: He tends to also be rather passive and more goes with the flow than anything else. Negative Traits: Detached: Though he tries to be caring to his friends while he is away he can sometimes be very detached from anything that is happening around him making him also oblivious to things he might normally notice. Dishonest: This is a trait that Hiroshi himself doesn't like but he doesn't trust people enough to stop it he tends to lie about having a quirk and sometimes about small things that might lead people to believe he has a quirk. Closed off- Hiroshi doesn't really like people getting super close to him and even when he joins class 1 A he will hold people out at arm's length.

Tadashi Fujimoto

Job: Detective

Age: Twenty-Eight

Quirk:  Object History When Tadashi touches any sort of object he can see it's entire history though it is from the perspective of the object he is holding it does not work on any object that has some form of sentience such as dogs, and humans. Though it will work on organic life such as plants. While he is in that state his eyes will change to a dull blue. He can only do a maximum of ten objects a day and needs to take breaks between each object.

Personality:

Positive Traits: Integrity - Tadashi has a very strong moral compass and always strives to do the right thing and is very hard to sway when he believes something is wrong. Even something as simple as taking a piece of money off the ground feels wrong to him. Courageousness - A lot of his coworkers will call him fearless because he often puts himself into a dangerous situation but he doesn't have many fears and is very calculated rarely recklessly throwing himself into a situation that he doesn't think he can get out of.   Selfless - Even though he will play off that he was very in any danger he does also put others' needs way above his own, from working a double shift so his co-worker can be there for his daughter's birthday to going inside a collapsing building when no heroes are around. Observant - Being a detective he sort of needs this trait so that he can pick up clues and anything that he might need to solve a case though it can get in the way as people find him to be too observant in certain situations Neutral Traits: Quiet - This isn't bad or good but he does tend to accidentally sneak up on his fellow coworkers. It's rumored that that is actually his quirk ( it's not ) Pure - This can be good and bad as people often tease him for not really understanding innuendos but he also does not pick up on flirting like at all. Negative Traits: Pessimistic- He doesn't really see the bright side in situations and while he isn't positive he will always do his best to get to the bottom of all the questions that tend to fog his brain. Stubborn - He is very hard-headed and wants to do things his way most of the time. It is very hard to make his budge in any situation. Which is often why people will say that he is hard to work with. Callous - He has a hard time putting things lightly and doesn't sugar coat situations even when they might need it ( the chief does not let him do press releases anymore )

[bytesnbolts]

You’re Molten, Baby!

Designation: Dealbreaker

Alias: Sparkteaser, Trader of Love, Trash (Nightsiren)

Development-stage: Young Adult [22]

Gender/Pronouns: Mech; He/Him/His

Species - Race (Created by): Transformer - Junkion (Sparkmerge)

Spark Color: Blue

Allegiance: Depends who is pointing a photon cannon at him; Junkions

Home Planet/City State: Junk and Kaon

Current Residence: The Inquisitor/The Enforcer [Fireball's ship/Sideship]

Function: Recyclable

Occupation: Junk Treasure aficionado and trader

Alt. Forms: Kill it with Fire Special - Head of an Engine Biter, Roll cage body, tank treads, extra non-functioning wheels, large claw

Appearance: Dealbreaker is what one would call a hot mess. Some parts of him are scraggly, others bulky, making him very lopsided and asymmetrical. Many transformers find Dealbreaker hard to look at considering he's made entirely of junk. Even his height [27' 6"] is disconcertingly disproportionate. Some of his internal components are even on display. Armor colors are a muddled dull yellow, green, orange and brown. Dealbreaker's shoulder plates actually can rotate to show off different badges [including Autobot, Decepticon, Junkion, Predacons, Insecticons, Star Seeker, Cybertronian Guard, and Neutrons]. Although Dealbreaker's actual optics are blue, he has a rotating wheel built into his helm to let him put a filters in front of them to give them different colors. Others describe Dealbreaker's vocalizer pitch as grating and unpleasant, much like putting a radio through a woodchipper.

Personality:

Positives: Bot of All Trades, Optimistic, Freethinking

Neutrals: Flirty, Adventurous, Cooperative, Determined

Negatives: Gullible, No Impulse Control, Sly

Morality/Alignment: Chaotic Neutral/Evil

Motivations: Enjoyment, Self-gratification, Novelty, Risk

Fears:

Deactivation - “Why must the good deactivate young?!”

Loss of his sister - “I'll never let go, Fireball. I'll never let go.”

Wasting his function away - “Every transformer returns to the Allspark, but not every Transformer really functions.”

Specs:

Weapons:

Primary: Garbage launcher [anything can go in this and be made into a projectile]

Secondary: Fusion-powered water gun [can put a hole through solid concrete]

Melee: Junk-modified Energon Prod [one end is an energon prod, the other is a spear]

Gadgets: Jetpack; Spring-loaded Peds; Parachute

Fighting Style: Dealbreaker fights dirty. Anything and anyone is a weapon in hand. Anywhere has an opportunity for victory. Taunting is part of the battle strategy. Always hit them when their back is turned.

Weaknesses: Communication, Paying attention, Thinking things through before doing them

Abilities:

Quick patch job - Being a Junkion, Dealbreaker can patch himself up with any junk lying around.

0 Waste - Dealbreaker's frame recycles his energon, allowing for longer periods of time without refueling.

Grifting - Unfortunately, Dealbreaker has a knack for sub-spacing things that don't belong to him, and talking others into buying their own possessions back from him.

Disconcerting - Dealbreaker is just hard to look at for long periods of time, even more so in alt. mode. The fact his head can turn a full 360 is neither here nor there.

Blending In - Thanks to his rotating shoulders and optical wheel, it's hard to tell whose side Dealbreaker is on, if any.

Spec Rating: 87/110

Physical Specs       Mental Specs

Strength: 6              Intelligence: 5

Dexterity: 10           Technology: 6

Speed: 7                 Courage: 10

Endurance: 10        Charisma: 7

Firepower: 8

Accuracy:8

Melee:10

Summary of Specs: Being a Junkion has its perks - Dealbreaker is hard to take down, has all types of tricks hidden inside of him, can fight with just about anything, and is stupidly brave.

Relationships:

Carrier: Titanfell [Online- Kaon Cybertronian; Decepticon]

Sire: Scrapjaw [Online - Junk Junkion; Autobot sympathizer]

Siblings: Fireball [Online]

Conjunx Endura/Sparkmate: None

Creations: None

Amica Endura: None

Friends: Nightsiren, Shamble, Crux

Pets: Tin-Tin and Mighty Mouse [Glitchmice]

Allies: Some Citizens of Sparkhaven/Autobots/Decepticons/Neutrals, Fireball

Frenemies: Nitroxide

Enemies: Anyone pointing a photon cannon at his helm

Nemesis: Being out of range of broadcasts

History: Part of Junk, part of the junk. Dealbreaker's creators met when his carrier, Titanfell, crash-landed on Junk and was subsequently salvaged by his sire, Scrapjaw. With a damaged engine, Titanfell spent a considerable amount of time on Junk and grew close to Scrapjaw. Prior to Titanfell leaving back to Kaon to rejoin the War, Dealbreaker emerged and was left with his sire to develop on Junk, among the Junkions. As such, he has most of the traditional Junkion mannerisms, and a great love for television and multimedia. However, he's branched out into memes and dad jokes since he left Junk. His sister, Fireball, came to to Junk to find him, taking him with her to start a "family business".

Misc:

Favorites:

Weather: Meteor showers

Color: Blue. No, yellow!

Sport/Game/Hobby: Watching TV, Listening to Music, Reading imported text materials

Drink/Food: Titanium chips

Fauna: Glitchmouse

Pick-up line: Would you like some junk in your trunk?

Additional Information

Dealbreaker quotes "They make her laugh" any time someone asks how his creators got together.

Dealbreaker talks in a mixture of normal speech, pop culture, dad jokes, puns, pick-up lines, and memes.

Dealbreaker refers to Fireball as "my sister from another mister" or "my not-a-brother from the same mother" and does believe that Fireball is his physical sister.

Potential Tags: Dealbreaker, Deal or No Deal, Ain’t Nothing But a Sparkbreaker, If The Price Is Right!,  Dealbreaker has wares; if you have shanix, For Sale (Not By Owner), An Honest Mech (SG AU), A Fair Deal! (SG AU), Sparkhaven Resistance (SG AU)

[jikooklaundryroom]

Dry Pancakes

Gather around folks. It’s time to have an open and honest conversation about – yep you guessed it – Jimin and Jungkook and the behavior that mystifies the entire fandom.  And notice I say Jimin and Jungkook, not Kookmin or Jikook, because this talk is less about them as a couple and more about them as individuals.  A fair warning to everyone, only grown, competent adults are invited to this conversation.  If you are a twelve-year old who wants to scream about top/bottom sex positions and Omega slick and Jeonlous tongue thing – please move on.  This conversation is not for you.  Adults will be talking here.

In this essay, I will NOT discuss Jimin and Jungkook as an intimate- romantic couple, or as boyfriends, or as domestic partners, or as husbands.  In fact, those topics are so complex, that they will definitely need to be saved for another day.  Lastly, the only time Tae will be mentioned is in this sentence because I plan to write a full separate tribute to this precious man so that I can properly call out how poorly he is treated and perceived because of shipping wars.  Again, I give you fair warning, if this ain’t for you, move on because I can’t help you. OK?  I am going to give you my honest opinion here and I won’t be nice about it.  Pancakers, you should also be warned, you may be offended as well.  I leave no stone unturned.  Now that we have a proper filter in place, let’s get it.

The month of May gave us nauseating amounts of Jimin and Jungkook being seen together occupying each other’s space.  For those of you have been living under a rock, I will do a quick break down of some of their time together:  stage moments of laughing and teasing, stage moments of them comforting each other through difficult emotions (aka: the infamous ear sucking confusion), stage moments of them holding hands, sudden VLIVE, the two of them sharing a car, the two of them presumably sharing a hotel room, each one watching the other during rehearsals, the two of them watching fireworks, the elusive selca, the hand jockeying during the unboxing video and last but not least, the full day of sight-seeing they did with their friends in London.  And of course, for every moment they DO spend together there is a sea of people who only care about the moments that they DON’T spend together.  I’ll address both sides.  Within this flurry of activity/inactivty, comes a flurry of narratives from different factions within the fandom attempting to define what is happening, attempting to brain wash the neutral observer into taking their side over others.  These folks are literally and figuratively battling across social media to reign supreme in the war of narratives that explain Jimin and Jungkook.

Let’s break down some of these narratives and discuss why they are ALL bullshit shall we?

Narrative #1 -The “Bighit is forcing them to be together for publicity” crowd –  This group thinks that everything that Jimin and Jungkook do is strictly for the sake of bringing publicity/attention to Bangtan.  This shit has never made sense to me.  Exactly what additional publicity does Bighit and Bangtan need?  They just reached 20.2 million followers on twitter. They just won TWO Billboard music awards in America despite singing in only Korean.  They’ve been announced as members of the Grammy Recording Academy, they received the Order of Cultural Merit award in South Korea, they spoke at the United Nations.  They are the biggest boy band in the history of the world and if I am not mistaken they are currently on a sold-out stadium tour that has sold out over 600,000 seats in just ten shows.  SO, tell me, what bitch doesn’t know who Bangtan is?  Let’s pretend for a moment that Bangtan needed more publicity.  What additional publicity would be achieved by insinuating a homosexual relationship between two members?  Especially when you consider the vitriol that explodes when these two particular members are together.  Do you really think that forcing Jimin and Jungkook into a touchy-feely spree will help Bangtan sell more CDs or get more YouTube views?  If we consider how many homophones exist within the fandom, do you really think that highlighting the intimacy between Jimin and Jungkook would be viewed as positive and promote deeper engagement with the group?  Absolutely not.  Bighit is not encouraging Jimin and Jungkook to be fake gays for publicity. So again, I ask you, what additional publicity does Bangtan need? The answer is NONE; I think they’re good bro.

Narrative #2 - The “This is just fan service to satisfy the shipping culture” crowd – No other “ship” makes the fan more unhappy than Jikook. In fact, SNS explodes with negativity almost every single time that Jimin and Jungkook even breath near each other. Fans get extremely upset OR they ignore and refuse to acknowledge the interaction.  So how can it be fan service if it pisses off the majority of the fans?  Isn’t fan service supposed to make fans happy?  I would go even further to say that Bangtan, Jimin and Jungkook in particular know full well how polarizing their interactions are for the fandom. Seems to me like they don’t give a fuck though.  Fan service is to service the fans and give them what they want.  They don’t seem to want Jimin and Jungkook as unit.  And for those of you who think their relationship is manufactured to feed the pancakers out there, you’re mistaken and here’s why: Jimin and JK work very hard to avoid being caught or showing us too much.  It is pretty common knowledge that most of their most intimate interactions are done AWAY from the cameras – a fact that we would never know if they didn’t accidently tell us.  (“I go to Jungkook’s room at night when I can’t sleep because he also stays up late.” - Jimin) Often times, pancakers are VERY unhappy with the amount of interaction we get between Jimin and Jungkook and we are quick to yell foul if we aren’t “fed”.  This once again proves my point, it is not fan service if it doesn’t please the fans.

Narrative #3 – The “We just don’t understand Korean culture “ crowd - Uuum what? Talk to K-Army and even they will tell you that the intimacy and togetherness between Jimin and Jungkook goes far beyond typical “fan service” or “cultural norm” that would be expected from the Korean culture. It also extends beyond typical friendly male behavior given their closeness.  Westerners often get accused of “oversexualizing” Jimin and Jungkook or claiming something as homosexual because we “don’t understand” how Koreans interact.  BULLSHIT, BULLSHIT, BULLSHIT.  We know what we see.  We know what K-ARMY has explained to us.  We have taken the time to study the culture in Korea and talk with our fellow ARMY about Jimin and Jungkook.  The conclusion is always the same; there is an entire relationship being played out in front of us and it is consistent, predicable and progressive.  These interactions are not just fortuitous bits of circumstance by two friends. It is not just Korean culture.

Narrative #4 - The “Bighit is forcing them to be apart because they are too loud” crowd – Sorry Pancakes, but shut up.  This has become a ready-made excuse for us pancakers whenever we don’t receive the interactions that we expect (demand, crave, obsess over). Do you realize how much influence Jimin and Jungkook have over their own choices?  They are not mindless dummies who are mind controlled by their management. I will concede the fact that both of them are thoughtful and considerate of the feelings of the other members and they are also respectful of the wishes of management.  So if either of the two entities gives them advice with regard to watching their proximity then YES, this could affect their natural behavior’s. You have that concession from me. But that is NOT WHY THERE ARE LULLS IN THEIR INTERACTIONS.  Bighit management and Bangtan members are not playing some sadistic game of RED LIGHT – GREEN LIGHT with Jimin and Jungkook’s emotions.  Think about how ridiculous this sounds to say to grown men, “Ohh well you two were too intimate and too loud and you could expose yourself so you better repress your natural instincts as best friends and then pretend that the other doesn’t exist.” And then conversely, “You two have behaved and been good boys, so now you are allowed to interact and act like you’re in love again.”  If Bighit was trying to hide anything, they would shut it down completely, permanently - NOT IN RANDOM SPURTS.  The two of them would be threatened beyond belief and I guarantee there would be contractual implications.

It is simply ridiculous, not to mention reductive to attempt to exercise that level of control over two rich, popular and very grown individuals.  Guess what?  It’s also impossible.  Have you ever noticed that neither Jimin nor Jungkook are very good at following directions? If they are being told to stay away from each other, how come they never seem to do it?  At best, they manage to tone things down for short periods, but inevitably they always go back to just being them. My fellow pancakers have even gone so far as to develop a theory that Bighit was keeping Jimin and Jungkook from ever doing VLIVES together.  But just recently, we saw them splash tension all over the screen in a VLIVE between the two of them.  If they were restricted from doing VLIVES, then why did they do one all of a sudden after a 2-year hiatus?  Did Bighit suddenly change their mind and allow it?  Of course not.  There is a much simpler explanation and I will explain later.

Narrative #5 - The “They are just brothers, nothing they do is a big deal or any different from the rest of the members” crowd – Guess what? I actually agree with you, sorta’. So much of what Jimin and Jungkook do is the result of them being very close and loving friends who have been together forever. Even some of the gentler physical contact between the two is not exclusive to just them when compared to the other members.  But the situation is not quite that simple is it?  Brothers (not blood brothers) is just ONE of the many layers of the Jimin and Jungkook dynamic.  There’s more, a lot more.  I will come back to this one.  

Hm.  So if none of the prevalent theories above define the incongruent public intimacy of Jimin and Jungkook, then WHAT IS THE ANSWER?  Simple.  It’s called FREE WILL!  No one, especially Pancakes with butter and syrup, want to ever admit that Jimin and Jungkook do exactly what they want to do. The reason they interact and the reason they don’t is because it’s what they want to do at that moment.  They are exercising their FREE WILL.  If Jimin and Jungkook don’t speak, it’s because they don’t want to.  If Jimin and Jungkook don’t post on twitter, it’s because they don’t want to.  If Jimin and Jungkook don’t post a selca, it’s because they don’t want to.  If Jimin and Jungkook don’t do a VLIVE for two years, it’s because THEY DON’T WANT TO!  There could be months that go by where they CHOSE not to let us into their private lives and we as Jimin and Jungkook supporters have to be accepting of that choice.  Allow them to exercise their free will.  In most cases, their free will is to self-manage their own interactions.  Think about it this way – is everyday a good day for you?  Probably not. Some of us have really good days and some of us have really bad ones.  Our moods can be dictated by so many things such as: hunger, bad news, fatigue, negativity, irritation, anger, jealousy, illness, depression – so many things can affect how we feel and how we project our energy. These two men are no different.  They are not immune to the emotions that plague the rest of us mere mortals. Travel with me for a moment as we reflect on just how much Jimin and Jungkook are together,

Sharing a car during transport to and from the airport

Sitting next to each other on the plane

Spending time outside of business schedules to attend personal events (movies, dinner, tours)

Visiting each other’s parents

Presumably living together

Presumably sharing hotel rooms when they travel

Working together

Practicing together

Filming together

Presumably engaging in intimacy together

Together- Together -Together –Together- Baam  

That’s a lot of freaking togetherness.  When we see them keep their distance, why are we surprised?  It is clear that they are using their free will to be together MOST of the time and that is a sign of a very solid symbiotic relationship.  So why can’t it be conversely true that they are also using their free will when they are apart?  We pancakes are so quick to blame external forces when Jungkook and Jimin aren’t stuck to each other as opposed to blaming Jimin and Jungkook themselves.  Personal growth can only occur when you broaden your horizons and experience new things, new environments, new opinions and new people.  YES NEW PEOPLE.  It is an exercise in self-care for them to be apart from time to time.  We can’t and shouldn’t expect them to be together 24/7. It just isn’t healthy.  I would say they live a well-rounded life when they can be happy apart but still prefer to be together.  It’s beautiful.  It you are truly a part of the Jimin and Jungkook nation, then your attitudes and opinions toward the strength of them individually or as a couple should NOT be predicated solely on what they do together and how often.  Do I need to repeat that last sentence for the 14YOs who read this post even though I tried to filter you out?  Just because the two of them don’t show us blatant interactions does not meant that is an indictment or indicator that the friendship/relationship/companionship/brotherhood is dead.  Please stop posting fatalistic admonishments because their interactions are not timed according to your schedule.  Let them live.  Yes, I am saying that when we go through a pancake drought, it is because Jimin and Jungkook themselves want it to be that way.  Not because they are being forced to do so.

Now let’s talk about the nature of their interactions by using myself as an example.  I love my husband with all of my heart.  He is truly my soul mate and we get along very well. Our relationship is so complex and has so many layers.  We are friends, lovers, parents, mates, partners, business owners, even at times like siblings.  So, when he and I interact, the definition of that interaction could fall within any of the categories that I just listed.  It could be a friendly touch, or a sexual touch or a business partner touch – understand what I mean?  The same is true with Jimin and Jungkook.  Their interactions are highly conditional and must be reviewed within the context of the moment.  Which means, when they are in friend mode and they hug, they honestly are just hugging as friends.  Over hyping meaningless moments without placing it within proper context, makes pancakes look petty and delusional.  Another example, when one is sucking the other’s ear – aww shit – I have no idea what category to put that in – but it ain’t friends – we need to hype the shit out of that one.   That was a bad example.  But you get my point.  Moving on…

Let me make this really clear.  Do you remember when you first fell in love with Bangtan?  We fell so hard right?  The music, the dancing, the talent, the fashion, the creativity, the visuals – we fell hook line and sinker.  But there was more wasn’t it?  Think back.  There was soo much more.  Yes my pancakes, we fell in love with their hearts.  We fell in love with them as people.  Above all, we fell in love with their AUTHENTICITY.  You see, Bangtan was never fake.   Bangtan never presented a closed-off image to us.  They provided as much transparency and honesty as they possibly could, which was a HUGE change from what we were accustomed to seeing from KPOP artists (any artist really).  They allowed us to have a real-world peak into their emotions, vulnerabilities and personalities.  Bangtan’s authenticity is why we love them most and why we continue to love them. So when we see the love that exists between all seven of them, we know it’s real.  Accordingly, there is an extreme affinity that Jimin and Jungkook have towards each other that cannot be faked.  Even if they were being forced for publicity purposes to spend time together, they could not do it successfully unless there was already an underlying desire to be together.  Furthermore, forcing someone to be together when they don’t want to be is paramount to torture and that would greatly affect the overall happiness and chemistry of the entire group.  Imagine being forced to spend that much time with someone you don’t like.  It also explains why we don’t see other couplings “forced” upon the members because it’s not natural.  None of the members have a strong ability to vacate authenticity.  They all truly exercise their free will.  

And for my very last point, I want to talk a little tiny bit about the VLIVE (again).  I have insisted throughout this rant that Jimin and Jungkook were never prohibited by Bighit from doing a VLIVE together. So why the 2-year hiatus?  I think the explanation is pretty simple.  As we saw, it is very difficult for the two of them to maintain “composure” when they are together.  They show us so much when they fully intend to show us nothing.  They are acutely aware of how they appear on camera – which is why I argue that their two-year hiatus was self-imposed.  Think about how hard it must be in that intimate setting, sitting that close, talking that freely to repress their natural instincts to touch, or call each other pet names or possibly even kiss.  It’s like freaking impossible.  So why risk it?  It is so much easier to just keep themselves out of that situation and instead watch each other do the VLIVES from off camera.  As we know, even when one of them is off camera, they still freaking flirt.  Imagine if they were both in front of the camera on a consistent basis.  This goes back to my theory on free will.  I honestly believe that these two are being very smart to exercise their free will to stay away from Jikook VLIVES.

I have probably not changed anyone’s mind and you will likely continue to incessantly spew your narrative, whatever it is.  But for those of you who are a bit more open-minded, I hope you found some insight as well as clarity in my words.  Here’s to loving our seven boys and obsessing over two of them.

So in conclusion, I have concluded.  Thank you. Love you Pancakes – don’t be mad, k?

[finnsmayhem]

SIDEREAL PROMPT / QUESTIONNAIRE

01. Tell us about your character’s name. Was it given to them or chosen? Does it hold any special meaning? If your character has aliases or nicknames, how did they get them and what do they mean?

His name is... really nothing special. Finn doesn't have any aliases (they get in the way of infamy), or at least not any that are serious, but his nickname is Finnán. Which is really just the diminutive of his name that his dad always calls him, and anyone who speaks of or addresses him fondly.

02. What is your character’s relationship to their homeworld? Do they hold fond memories of it, or do they hate it? Are they still here, and if not, do they miss it?

Finn loves Coruscant, and while he doesn't live there in any practical sense, he always returns to it, at least once of every of Coruscant's rotation around its star. He loves his parents, specifically his dad, and being apart from them for too long makes him absolutely miserable. Besides, Coruscant is the capital of culture (in his opinion) in the galaxy, and he loves culture, any culture.

03. Describe your character’s relationship with those who raised them. Was it positive? Negative? Neutral? What sorts of ideologies were they raised with, and do they still stand by them now?

Finn can't imagine his life without his parents. His pa was the one who by and large disciplined him — regardless of the fact that his pa was also the least outspoken of the two — and his dad was the one whom he spent the most time with. His dad was also the one who fostered his lust for knowledge and his passion in anything of an artistic nature. While Finn is fantastic at drawing, he still wouldn't consider himself an artist, merely an appreciative eye, something he has in common with both his parents.

04. What is your character’s relationship with the Force? Is your character Force-sensitive? Whether or not they are, do they believe in it? Do they lean more towards the dark or the light or are they somewhere in between?

Finn is about as Force-insensitive as they come. It doesn't bother him and he doesn't bother (with) it. He does believe in it, though, because he's seen people do some incredible things in his time travelling the galaxy, but he doesn't really think about it for longer than two minutes at a time.

05. What three word would you use to describe your character? What three words would your character use to describe themself? What three words would someone close to them use?

• charming, mischievous, resourceful

• cute, harmless, pretty

• eden: daring, charming, worrying

06. Describe your character’s aesthetic. Do they tend towards fashion or function? Do they like to accessorize? How does this extend into their own personal spaces, such as their home or their workspace?

Finn leans towards practicality. Scruffy, probably a bit oil-stained long-sleeve shirts that are often pushed up to his elbows, scuffed black boots, and equally worn trousers are his bread and butter. His hair is by and large as messy as his entire attire is.

07. What are your character’s vices? Guilty pleasures? Bad habits? Weak spots?

Adventure. Excitement. Knowledge. Finn is, first and foremost, driven by his passions and obsessions, and anything that excites him or nearly kills him (which excites him) is something he'll do. None of these are good for him either.

08. Tell us about your character’s relationship with food. What are their favorites? Do they enjoy cooking? Are they adventurous? Will they eat absolutely anything or are they hard to please?

Food is food. He eats it, but Finn just doesn't have the palette or sensibility to appreciate food on any deeper level than "it makes me not hungry". If he had to choose, though, he'd go for his pa's cooking every time. Any food that brings him a sense of nostalgia will have his priorities.

09. How does your character feel about engaging in relationships—romantic and / or sexual—with others? What is their history like? Do they fall in love easily? Are they constantly in and out of relationships?

Finn has never been in a romantic relationship in his life. That's not to say he actively avoids it, he just doesn't have the self-esteem to consider that people might have romantic feelings for him that don't just revolve around "you're hot i wanna fuck you". That said, Finn is a very sexual being, to the point of self-destruction. Consent is incredibly important to him — that is, someone else's consent. Often enough he sees sex as something he does that makes other people feel better, wanted, loved, whatever. Even if he doesn't feel like it personally, or he's not attracted to the person, he'll mind-over-matter it and just... gets it over with, which is very normal in his eyes. For him, that is.

10. What is your character’s pain tolerance like? Can they hold their own in a fight, despite injury? If someone hurts them with the aim of gaining information, how much can they take before they cave?

Finn can hold his own in a fight, and much of his pain tolerance is tied up in his spitefulness. He'll talk shit for as long as he needs to, no matter how much pain he's in, but that, of course, has its limits. Unless he's protecting people, and then he'll talk shit until he's killed.

11. What is your character’s weapon of choice? Are they more skilled as a melee fighter or do they have more skill with ranged weapons? What’s their fighting style like? What sort of training do they have behind them?

Finn's weapons of choice are two cortosis-weave ultrasonic vibrodaggers and a bow made of lightweight composites. While he tends towards more of a melee range (he's fast, agile, and he fights dirty), if that proves too dangerous and he isn't about being stealthy, he'll take out his bow. His bow's arrows particularly have gravitationally locked sub-atomic antimatter suspended in the head of them, the gravitational lock shutting off upon impact, allowing for the antimatter to connect with the matter of the arrow head... creating a very big explosion that basically cancels out all matter in a small area as though it didn't exist in the first place. Much of his training was being taught by his dad from a young age (as a way to burn both their energy), who was taught by his father. The rest has been honed by years of doing what he does and playing in deadly situations over and over again.

12. Does your character have any words or catchphrases that they say frequently? Tell us about how they picked them up.

There's not really any particular phrases that he tends to, rather than just a way of speaking that is very particularly Finn.

13. Tell us about a negative experience your character has had with either the Jedi or the Sith, and how this has affected their standing. Whether currently aligned or unaligned with either faction, if forced to choose, how would they side?

There was one situation with a Sith that nearly killed him, which resulted in the loss of his left arm, which he had replaced not long after, because he needs his arm, dammit. Regardless, he doesn't hold any grudges or hard feelings. That said, if he really had to choose, he'd probably choose Jedi, simply because of their presence on Coruscant.

14. How would your character react to seeing a relative or friend on the opposing side of a battle or mission?

He'd be very upset, and he'd try very hard to avoid them in battle. In fact, if it came down to him killing them, or them killing him, he'd prefer the latter.

15. Describe a memory that your character finds embarrassing.

Finn is infamously shameless. Try as he might, there isn't a memory that he'd count as particularly embarrassing, although his pa would disagree, and loudly.

16. What goals does your character hold for themself and what steps have they taken towards achieving them? How far are they willing to go to reach them? What is their be-all and end-all?

Finn's goal is to uncover all the secrets of the galaxy, even the secrets people aren't willing to give up, and he'll go to whatever end to reach it. Everything he does is to further this goal, every thought, every breath he takes.

17. What is the one thing your character would change about their life if they were given the chance? What other lives could they have lived as a result?

While Finn is infinitely interested by the idea of different lives, different possibilities, the what ifs, the could bes, the alternatives... he probably wouldn't change a single thing about his life as is.

18. Living in such a high-conflict time, how does your character feel about doing what they must to survive? Will they hurt or kill others—either directly or indirectly—to protect themself and / or those close to them? If so, do they regret it when all is said and done?

Finn has hurt and killed people, for sure, but mostly out of self-defence or defence of others — he's neither a mercenary nor an assassin, regardless of the fact that he has the qualities of both. Finn doesn't regret any life he's taken because the alternative would've been a bigger evil. He sleeps fine at night.

19. What is the biggest problem your character is currently dealing with?

Restraint. Self-destruction. His depression that comes and goes in waves of severity.

20. Give us 3+ headcanons of any length or subject matter.

1. Aside from his left arm that's been replaced, Finn also has cybernetics in his eyes, allowing him to enhance his vision — "zoom in", if you will, and also "mark" biometrics so he can keep track of them through solid objects.

2. Finn doesn't fight nice. He's versed in several different fighting styles and seamlessly mixes them in the heat of combat, along with the fact that he's very gymnastically minded and quick and agile, it makes him a very difficult person to kill. Which is probably good for him, right?

3. Because he's fast and agile, Finn is also pretty lithe. He has muscles enough to climb and vault over objects mid-sprint, as well as the arm strength necessary to draw his bow with remarkable speed, but other than that, he's not bulging muscle.

bonus. Give us a list of any length telling us why our “fave is problematic.”

• fucks shit up all the time

• finger guns

• thinks he's super adorable

[crookeddinosaurpirate-blog]

ALIGN AND SMILE – ORTHODONTIC SOLUTIONS TO ENHANCE YOUR BEAUTIFUL SMILE! - 32Smiles Dental Clinic

The essence of one’s personality is their smile. Smile enhances the appearance, confidence and creates an aura of positivity around you. Smile and confidence go hand in hand. However, if the structure of your teeth makes you conscious about your personality, then it’s going to affect your confidence as well.  Orthodontic Solutions is the appropriate option to consider for the alignment of the structure of your teeth for having a confident and blissful smile!

Earlier, the scope of orthodontics was limited to metal braces to rectify the problems of unstructured teeth. However, with advancement in technology, Orthodontics has developed a wide range of alternatives that are more effective, esthetic and comfortable than the traditional metal braces. While traditional metal braces are extremely effective, but the flip side is, the level of discomfort one has to bear neutralizes one’s choice to opt for them.

Often, people who have or have had metal braces, find difficulty in cleaning, chewing and eating, which ultimately results in discoloration of the teeth as well as brings negative results to the general health because of inability to eat. In addition to it, the entire idea of opting for braces is to get a beautiful smile which the metal braces fail to do till they are on.

TO REPLACE THE TRADITIONAL METAL BRACES, ORTHODONTICS HAS THE FOLLOWING ALTERNATIVES:

Invisalign Braces

The right alternative to this problem is Invisalign or Invisible braces, which are basically a clear tray of thermoplastic material which helps in alignment of the teeth by building pressure on them. Each tray of Invisalign aligners has to be replaced after every 14 days.

The benefit of using Invisalign Braces is that they are removable and hence, do not obstruct while eating, chewing or cleaning. For proper alignment of teeth, a patient is required to wear these braces for a time period varying from 9-12 months depending upon the severity of the case.

Lingual Braces

Quite similar to the metal braces, lingual braces, are another equipment for alignment of your teeth. The only difference that discrete them from the traditional metal braces is that they are placed on the back side of teeth. Lingual Braces consist of the thinnest brackets on the inner side of teeth with the similar wire and elastics as in metal braces.

The advantage of using Lingual Braces over metal braces is that they neither compromise the comfort nor are they visible. A patient is required to wear the lingual braces for a time period of 12-24 weeks.

Tooth-colored Braces

Ceramic Braces, popularly known as the tooth-colored braces, consist of a thin and virtually less visible wire that helps in adjustment and alignment of the teeth which resembles the color of one’s teeth. The translucent ceramic braces are appearance and comfort-friendly. They are aligned on the front side of the teeth and help in rectifying the structure of the teeth within 12-18 months.

Why 32SMILES?

32SMILES is an orthodontic and dental care clinic in Pune, Maharashtra. We provide all kinds of dental treatments for various alignment and adjustment problems for crooked teeth, gapped teeth, underbite, overbite, open bite among others.

Our agenda is to provide dependable and affordable dental care solutions as per the requirement of the case.

We assure our patients of comfortable and reliant solutions to their varied dental problems. Our experts at 32SMILES are always there to assist as well as provide appropriate treatment for your dental problems.

32 Smiles is proud to be one amongst the 1% platinum providers of Invisalign in India.

We also have the option of easy installment scheduling without any interest in Invisalign treatments.

At 32 Smiles, we ensure using the latest technologies like 3D Scanner and CAD CAM machinery to give the best and quality treatment.

Read more below about why we are the Best Invisalign orthodontics (Invisalign Dental Treatment Provider) in Pune, Cost, Benefits and  Invisible (transparent) Braces Specialist | Braces Cost in Pune-