#sooo much punctuation abuse

[solacium]

3 sentence fic (february '24)

written for ficwip's monthly 3 sentence fic exercise!

for prompt: a first love & a last look

fandom: d.gray-man ship: allen/kanda word count: 289 rating: G summary: kanda says goodbye

—

Yuu doesn't know when exactly, but it hits him, somewhere between the revelations and the investigating, that there could come a point when he would never see Allen again — at least, not as he has always known him; he might still see his face, but he cannot be sure it will still be him, still be his Allen.

His Allen, he thinks, and thinks about how audacious a claim it is to make, that he wants something different out of the boy everyone seemed to want something of — to play host, to take sides, to save the world, et cetera, et cetera — and yet, he remembers the way he had offered up his story, lightly, opening that door that he — that they had all, really — been knocking on, ever since Allen had first disappeared, opened that door for him, just the same way he had first told him he loved him (confessed a first love, offhandedly, as if he didn't care whether Yuu felt the same way), and he thinks that perhaps he can allow himself this one audacious claim.

He tries to imprint the shape of who Allen is, in his memory, the same way he holds the memory of Alma, the same way he holds the hazy fragments of "that person", memorises the cadences of his speech, the set of his jaw, the shape of his eyes, of the way he laughs, protests, fights him, the dear, warm weight of him in his arms, the sum of who he is so much more than his memory can hold, even as Yuu watches him walk away, across the grass, even as he turns away himself, from his last vision of yet another loss, gold-gilt in the sunlight — farewell.

also on ao3

[catcze]

NSFW!! 18+ ONLY !!

「 CWS : 」 GN reader with no mentioned prns and an ambiguous body !! Size kink lowkey (wrio's sooo big <3) with Wrio being so in love with you and praising u and cumming inside ♡

Wriothesley loves seeing you open and splayed out underneath him, your skin glistening with a sheen of sweat, jerking with each push of his cock into you. He loves seeing the euphoria on your face, the shake in your hands as you hug your thighs close to your chest. He loves hearing you call his name when your voice is so rough, abused from his cock down your throat just minutes before.

You look like a wet dream— his wet dream. Oh, but you're so much better, because you're real and you're actually here, taking the stretch of his cock so well with each breath it punches out of you. Even if you swear you feel him in your throat, you swear that he's too big for you each and every time, you always take all of him inside you so well. So greedy for each inch of his cock to fill you up, even if it feels like you lose your mind in the process.

"You're doing so well for me, honey," Wriothesley says low in your ear, punctuating it with a languid lick to your neck.

"Wriothesley—" You gasp in response, a shiver raking your form just form his voice. Nails rake up and down his back, no doubt leaving angry red scratches that he will wear with pride come the next morning.

"Taking all of me so well, making me feel so damn good," he moans, voice trembling. His hips move with purpose, with the urge to fuck you so thoroughly that you forget everything else that exists outside of your bed. With each rough thrust into your willing body, you raggedly gasp and sob, clutching at your sheets— your pillows— at Wriothesley. You're going to be tender, and walking will be a difficulty, but you can't bring yourself to care.

"More," you whine, "Wrio— More, please please please—"

And he shakes, trembles, his own whine low in his throat and all his willpower suddenly diverted into not cumming inside of you right then and there, because it is a sin how you beg with his name on your lips.

"More?" he chuckles. His hands grip your hips tighter, cock twitching inside of you. "Whatever you want, my love."

Then each push and pull of his cock from within you turns punishing, the wet slap of his hips against yours becoming a deafening echo. With every thrust, he pulls you to meet him by your hips, using his strength to fuck you back on him and making it feel like he's deep enough to mold you to his shape.

You're sobbing now, fat tears of pleasure rolling down your face. Wriothesley licks up each and every one, leaning down to plant a deep, devouring kiss on your lips after. The hold you have on his keeps him close, close enough to see the lovesick, half-lidded gaze he keeps on you.

His hand comes to stroke your cheek, a tender touch so at odds with the rough pace of his thrusts. "Are you going to cum, love?"

You can only nod, voice lost in your pleasure. WIth each tremble and shake, he can see you come apart at the seams.

Wriothesley gives one last thrust, filling you up to the brim and you shatter— you bury your face in his neck and fall apart, gasping and trembling and squeezing his cock so well that you drag him with you. WIth a deep groan, Wriothesley holds you close and empties himself out inside you, pushing his cum, so deep that he swears it reaches your tummy.

He presses soothing kisses all over your face, cooing and whispering words of love and he holds your trembling form.

"Thank you sweetheart," he mumbles, pressing one last kiss to your lips. "I love you."

You hum, voice shot and thoroughly overworked. Still, there is a smile on your face. "I love you too, Wrio."

[thegeminisage]

i just read broken road and i enjoyed it immensely. i just see it differently (not exactly negatively) now knowing you once(?) shipped sam and dean. does that have any influence into it🤔 just simply wondering not interrogating u. i’m interested in that essay even

(prev ask)

ok, my essay is under the cut. it's very, very long. everybody please consider this your warning for inc*st ships if you'd rather not get into it

first point: actually, broken road was not in any way secretly influenced by any previous love of sam/dean, if that helps you any. i wrote it in post november 5th mode and you better believe i was not remotely capable of thinking about anything else. thank you for enjoying it! it's very very special to me and the time i spent working on it and posting it are genuinely some of my fondest memories. cringe <3

second point: to just honestly answer your question, since you're not interrogating me and not being an asshole (thank you and i'm not saying that sarcastically, i have gotten sooo many rude asks about this), my answer is, "eh." my favorite was sam/dean/cas (once he started being on the show) because i'm a cas girl first and foremost. and if i come across a fic where the premise looks good i might check it out, but i basically never actively seek it out bc my preference rn is strongly for destiel.

(that said i do like sam and dean's relationship a lot as brothers or as...whatever else, i'm mostly neutral as long as we don't leave cas out of things, AND i'm perpetually bitter about sam getting left out in the cold, so if i wanna read good sam fic, sometimes people who ship him with the other main characters will do a better job than making him the perpetual longsuffering butt of the slash joke. same goes for early seasons spn fic: sometimes the sam/dean writers just do a better job. i very rarely get the hankering though because i like late seasons, such as season 13, who is my best friend. i think sam got pushed to the side SO STRONGLY that sometimes people sometimes subconsciously associate him being written well or mattering at all to dean beyond functioning as dean's accessory and/or proof/the catalyst of dean's traumatic upbringing with w*ncest. because otherwise they see him as a minor character (?!?!), and why are you bringing this minor character up so much if you're not secretly shipping him with dean, The Main Character? god, does anybody remember when SAM was the main character?? sorry there is truly not enough punctuation in this paragraph.)

now for the actual essay: i do get a little irritated/confused with how much pearl-clutching people do about sam/dean. like, this is EASILY the most harmless of the "problematic" ships. they're consenting adults, barring some tropes and genres i would not like to read nor discuss. and before cas came into the scene (and sometimes even after) we got baited just as hard for the two of them. it was weird and unsettling because the nature of inc*st is that it's often weird and unsettling. their dynamic is unhealthy and codependent and that's part of their appeal in whatever form. people who get the heebie jeebies because it's "problematic" are missing the point. there are also weird and unsettling vibes between dean and john, because that was part of the abuse. that actually played into broken road way more than any sam/dean stuff. he was a bad father and he made dean his backup wife and there was probably some emotional inc*st happening CANONICALLY. we all watched that in the show right?? but for some reason talking about that is fine and talking about whatever sam and dean have going on gets you put on block lists. because sometimes sam/dean fics are just for fun and whenever we talk about john we have people in fics punching him out or killing him. like we have to point our fingers at john and go "THAT'S BAD" loudly enough to ensure everyone else that we're above moral criticism. it's like. weirdly thought police-y. (and tbh, that's part of what inspired broken road - i was looking for nuance re: john and couldn't fucking find any because of this weird black-and-white mentality fandom has developed.)

and it's so hypocritical sometimes! i remember deancas stuff used to have "w*ncest fans dni" banners all over it, in the guise of protecting and standing with survivors, but when actual survivors would say things like "actually those banners just remind me of everything all over again" they would mostly get ignored?? it was so performative, like this kneejerk reaction of promising everybody YOU know what's bad so you won't get ostracized. my tastes don't usually run very dark so most of the sam/dean i wrote or read was way less unhealthy than, say, whatever lestat and louis have going on in iwtv. but nobody's making blocklists of iwtv enjoyers because that would be insane? there's just a little bit of cognitive dissonance happening i think.

like, obviously, yes, in real life inc*st pretty much always speaks to something having gone extremely wrong in someone's life and a dynamic being extremely unhealthy at best, but in fiction it is possible for it to be consensual, even if it is a little fucked up or the people involved are a little damaged.

(warning for discussion of rape fic from here down) i'm not actually totally anti-censorship though. i do firmly believe there are some types of fiction people shouldn't write! i wouldn't read parent/child anything, or any kind of rape fic unless it's tastefully engaging with the aftermath of something like that. sam/dean just seems so, so tame to me in comparison to some of the other stuff fandom has come up with. in 2014-2016 people used to write a thing called hydra trash party, which was just porn of bucky barnes being gang-raped by hydra agents. ie nazis. and half the time he was headcanoned as jewish. like??? can you even GET more tasteless than that??? i hated that shit (and i still do, deeply). i talked about how much i hated it all the time and people would come after me like "well who are YOU to censor other people? what if the authors are survivors working through their own trauma? you can't ask authors to disclose that kinda stuff if they want a license to write graphic nazi rape porn!" i got literal hate mail about it. equal but opposite energy of those dni banners - both people claiming it was "about survivors" to justify doing, uh, whatever they wanted. it's just fucking wild to me that in less than a decade my stance of "i don't care what people write if everybody is a CONSENTING ADULT," while not changing at all whatsoever, moved from being too prudish to being too problematic.

another side tangent (sorry, you did ask) is that i was a slash writer on FFN in the video game and anime fandoms during the late 00s (ironically, quite a lot of straight men there) and holy mother of god...the kind of shit comments i would get for putting two dudes kissing in the same fic, even though it was PLASTERED with disclaimers. i felt like the mob was after me sometimes lol. and that's sort of the way i felt once those w*ncest asks started. i remember back in the peak of post nov 5 stuff if i like, reblogged art or gifs from certain blogs people would write in to tell me that person was a sam/dean shipper so i'd take down my (gen, non sam/dean) post. i felt paranoid (and still feel paranoid) reblogging GEN sam & dean content because i'm worried people will take it the wrong way. i actually deleted one from my drafts earlier today - i'd been thinking about it but then i got your ask and decided against it, lol. what a way to live! especially in fandom, which is (and i hate to politicize it this way but it's true) a queer-adjacent space that's supposed to be free of the kind of judgment you'd get for not being a normie irl.

on FFN, one of the many pairings i wrote for actually involved an underaged teenager and and an adult. but as i was the same age as that teenager at the time, and had a crush on that adult character and toootally wanted to marry him, i couldn't see what was wrong with pairing them together. like i quite literally did not know better. it's a pairing that actually disgusts me now, lol. if people now could send me asks about what i did back then to try and "gotcha" me (they can't because it's all been deleted) i'd be really pissed about it, because you can't continue to punish people after they've learned and grown. everyone's been so terribly kind about broken road, and there's this real fear of losing or tainting something so special and wonderful just because people have a problem with the fics you read or wrote a decade ago. it sucks. i do think there's a line (like, maybe don't write nazi rape porn, also whatever was going on with that j2 haiti fic), but i also think we've got to try at least a little not to reinvent puritanism on fandom websites of all places. that's wack.

and man, i know i said it already, but i just keep coming back to w*ncest being SO TAME? like it doesn't compute that someone would get icked out over CONSENSUAL sam/dean and meanwhile ship for example rowena/ketch like he didn't torture her or sam/lucifer because they like mark pellegrino like lucifer isn't sam's fucking rapist. and not even get "in trouble" for it. it boggles the mind.

and like, idk. i initially got my hackles up at your ask because it's 1 of a million, and i could dodge the questions by taking down the one sam/dean/cas fic on my profile ig, but that fic is how i met a good friend of mine and she'd be sad if i were to take it down, so i don't want to have to, and i shouldn't have to. you know??

my final thought: i've been writing fanfic for 20 years. 20 years ago when i started writing fic sam/dean would have been unacceptable because it's two men. 10 years ago it was fine because they were the ONLY two men, and every woman in supernatural got bullied off of the show, and people writing het got hatemail. now it's unacceptable again because of the inc*st. 10 years from now, who knows what will happen? so i try to base my morals on what i feel i can live with as a person rather than what a bunch of people on the internet (i'm not including you in that) tell me what i can or can't do, or should or shouldn't do.

i really hope this answer doesn't like, ruin broken road for you, or anyone else. i don't think of myself As A W*ncest Shipper at all, but neither do i deny that i used to be, and i certainly don't have any problem with (again) keyword CONSENTING keyword ADULTS in fanfic now, even if they do happen to be siblings ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i just hope that like someday we find a middle ground where we can live and let live but also have enough sense not to write nazi erotica. if that's problematic of me, so be it 😔✊

[10millionyearsdungeon]

Praesidium Pt II: Talionis

A/N: Sooo...Merry Crisis one and all. Secret Santas are supposed to be fun and tailored for the recipient, yeah? Here’s hoping they enjoy given how the first thing they said to me after reading part one was, “Where’s the rest of it?” Mafia AU continuation where the endgame changes slightly. Thanks again to @dymphnasprose for the lovely banner (the raging dumpster fire that is tumblr won’t let me load the gorgeous gif banner you made for me D:<!!!)and for keeping my ass on track and on time with this shit. You know how I feel about deadlines. 

TW: Non-Con, Kidnapping, implied drugging, sensory deprivation, gunplay, spitroasting, bondage, rope, fuck or die, forced cuckholding, coercion.

====================================================

The cabinet meeting adjourned per usual custom; the ministers in their bland, off the rack suits filed out of the chambers, their slow, humming chatter fading with every step taken out onto the polished marble. Shinsou straightened his tie and cast a wary eye to his phone, the vibrations buzzing through the laminated table like a hornet. Your number burned through the screen in starlight pixels-- it wasn’t like you to call him during a recess. Typically, you waited for him to call knowing just how arduous the arguments between old men could become when given a public forum. 

“Yes, love?” 

The familiar keening of your whimpering through his smartphone in reply sent a chill through him so cold it could only be described as hiemal. Almost frantically, your voice hitched and another breathy moan caught in your throat. Mangled pleas for release, for an end to the madness building in your core were punctuated by those same haggard cries. Shinsou froze at his desk in the auditorium, fixated on the harsh panting he knew was accompanied by the heaving of supple breasts and the telltale flush of your imminent end. He ached against his navy blue Dior suit pants, transfixed by the haunting song of tortuous pleasure you sang in his ear. Throat dry, Shinsou dropped his voice and tried again. “Kitten, I’ll be home shortly if you can keep edging for that long.”

“I’m sure you’ll find she’s about as far from home as she can get. Doubt the little princess can last much longer.” 

Shinsou held his breath and the dread found a new way to boil the acid in his stomach. Through gritted teeth, he growled under his breath as your wailing continued to soundtrack a less than touching moment between surrogate father and son. He could hear the smug smirk as the formidable Boss Aizawa continued to taunt you closer to the edge. 

"If you've hurt her--"

"Wouldn't dream of it. You're coming home, and not that over-indulgent highrise you've made your love nest in. Time is of the essence, Hitoshi." An unmistakable scream, your scream left him paralyzed as the line went dead. Though his mind raced, Shinsou had to will his feet to carry him through the maze of bureaucrats and journalists hindering him from his car. He knew the way to the compound without thinking. Muscle-memory had him weaving through city traffic to the outskirts of town, the memory of your scream a silent echo in his ears. 

He knew Boss Aizawa was capable of anything, and that knowledge had his blood run colder the closer he drove to his family's homestead. Yamada and his perpetual grin was nowhere to be found when Shinsou pulled in, a surprise for the political upstart. An empty house for an organization as large as his was never a good sign. He ran through the maze of hallways, each door the same heavy ebony and gold lacquer, until he found the one room he never dared enter even as a young orphan running the streets. The silence of the compound left his ragged breathing suspended in a palpable dread. Hitoshi drew up his courage, caught his breath, and rapped his trembling knuckles against the door. 

"Ah, the prodigal son." Boss Aizawa smirked and waved him in with an air of affability not unfamiliar to the young politician. Aizawa rested a hand along your hairline, gently running his fingers through your sweat-matted hair. Curled into his lap with heavy black cord caging your limbs in familiar lovers' knots and a bolt of black silk covering your eyes, you rested soundlessly as if unaware of the monster whose slacks you rested against. Shinsou slid into the room and closed the door behind him, the lump in his throat growing the longer his violet eyes traced the track of his surrogate father's fingers. "Couldn't stay away, could you?"

"Let her go. She has nothing to do with this." 

Aizawa chuckled darkly, running his wandering hand to trace the gentle slope of your back and waist. "You're right," he mused, rubbing the reddened globe of your ass. "Her involvement is inconsequential. Nothing more than a pretty, little obstacle, really." Shinsou was fixated on the tender way Boss Aizawa danced his fingertips along your skin and choked back bile and rage as the mafia head continued to calmly voice his proposal. His onyx eyes darkened and a cruel glare frosted over his rugged features. "You've grown overly comfortable with the freedoms I've so graciously allowed you to indulge in these past months, Hitoshi." 

Your brow furrowed slightly under the harsh grip on your thighs prying them apart to reveal the glistening secret between them. Shinsou chewed on his tongue, watching his mentor pull your lower lips apart with calloused fingertips. As much as he wanted to rip Aizawa's hands off of you, as hard as he tried to look away he knew it was a far better alternative than seeing your gray matter and bone splattered on the drywall behind him. 

"Enough. Let her go."

"If only it were so simple, Hitoshi." Aizawa curled your hair around his fingers and gave a rough pull, arching your neck painfully back as your mouth flew open in a choked cry. "What I don't think you understand is this…" His smug grin burned against your skin, his thick fingers slid inside your slick walls stretching you through your waking moments while your husband watched on, helpless to intervene. "...Everything you own is mine. Everything you've built and become is because of me-- I own you, Hitoshi." Each syllable dripping with thinly veiled irritation punctuated another curl of those blood-stained fingers up into your dripping maw. Still oversensitive from earlier abuses, you wailed as Aizawa forced you to spread yourself open onto his lap for your husband to observe in silent disgust. 

"It's simple, Hitoshi: you come back into the fold, and I'll let her go." Shinsou clenched his jaw and watched the gaping maw of your pussy accommodate his mentor's thick digits. Aizawa's free hand snaked its way around your pretty throat and gave an experimental squeeze, your gasping stirring his cock to life under your squirming core. "Refuse and she breathes her last." Stone-faced as ever, Shinsou watched impassively, his rage building in his chest like a war chant pounding a warning across the distance. The tighter Aizawa squeezed the angrier Shinsou became, all too happy to ignore the faint zip and sudden strangled moan pulled from your wanton lips as a foreign cock sheathed itself inside a stranglehold all your own. "Looks like you need more convincing," the dark-haired boss grunted. He rutted into your writhing body, pulling careless cries of frantic pleasure with a casual smirk.

Shinsou stepped closer, reaching out to put a stop to the madness, only to be stopped by the clicking of a hammer cocking from a discreet sidearm. He dropped his arm to his side and looked on at the familiar quiver in your thighs signaling the beginning of your many ends. 

"'Toshi, please," you whimpered, desperate to reach that peak. On closer inspection, he could see the dark outline of noise cancelling earbuds resting in the shells of your ears, no doubt playing something soothing and wordless to supplement the drugs dulling your senses. Just when he thought to silently thank his mentor for the small mercy Aizawa's thrusting intensified. The high, keening scream Shinsou took pride in coaxing was a stiletto to the heart when you sang it for another man under such duress. Your cream coated Aizawa's cock, adding another layer of traitorous lube to the act. As the boss ran his aquiline nose along the column of your neck, Shinsou traced the curve of your parted lips with his ultraviolet gaze. 

"I'm waiting, Hitoshi." Aizawa held the barrel to your temple and groaned at the full-body shiver that tore through your bound frame on his throbbing length. His finger rested on the trigger, each thrust bringing the reality of potentially losing you to a stray bullet in the midst of his mentor's passion sinking to the forefront of Shinsou's mind. Frozen, the politician swallowed hard and hung his head in defeat. It was one thing to insult him by kidnapping and fucking his wife, but dangling the prospect of losing you was an injury he doubt he could fully recover from. "Be a shame to ruin something so beautiful, but if this is how you demand to be taught, who am I to argue?" 

Another moan nearly sent both men over the edge, Aizawa's finger squeezing the trigger reflexively. Fear was a beast clawing through Shinsou's chest, moving through him to grab the gun and pant out in desperation. 

"Alright! I'll do it. Just let her go." 

Aizawa released his hold on the firearm and allowed it to slide barrel first into Shinsou's shaking hands. With both hands free to manipulate your body to his whims, Aizawa redoubled his efforts. For the first time since childhood, Shinsou saw true joy light his mentor's hardened features. He might have felt a twinge of relief if he wasn't balls deep inside his ignorant wife's dripping cunt. 

"Was that so hard? I'd say let's shake on it like men, but my hands are a little full at the moment." Aizawa shifted your weight forward, mouth hungry and open, waiting to be filled as saliva tracked down the corners of your lips. Shinsou hesitated, eyes flickering between your parted lips and Aizawa's empty black eyes. "Guess sharing your whore should suffice." 

As if it was all the permission needed, Shinsou dropped his designer trousers and buried himself to the hilt in your throat. He tossed the handgun aside and gripped your hair as he lost himself in the moist contractions as you gargled another aria of wanton moans. With every stroke Aizawa took to bruise into your twitching cervix Shinsou backed off to allow you the half-beat to breathe before abusing your gag reflex. Halfway through you began to realize something was amiss as you clawed against your husband's bare thighs. Shinsou yanked roughly on your hair and continued to bite back his disgust with the situation. He was supposed to be better than this; he swore he was done with Aizawa and his gang, that he was done being a thug at his mentor's beck and call. Your grip left angry trails of heartbreak along Shinsou's pale legs as your body betrayed you. 

The pace was brutal-- pounded rhythmlessly from behind, you felt pressure let off as thick, hot ropes painted along your back in viscous pearl. Head thrown back, Shinsou wasn't too far behind, his grip soon wrapping around your throat. With the fight fucked out of you long before reason sunk in, strength left your limbs leaving you limp between the two thugs. Growling out his release into your belly, Shinsou's grip softened and he lovingly rubbed soothing circles on your cheek with his thumb. Lost in the dark sensation of freefall, you succumbed to unconsciousness. 

Warm light and the smell of dark roast roused you from sleep. Tongue thick and body numbed from your rest, you stretched futilely back into your pillows. Shinsou sauntered in, unhurried as ever, with a steaming mug to greet you with an apologetic peck. 

"What's the occasion?" Your husband darted his gaze away with uncharacteristic sheepishness. "It's not like you to not send your assistant to fetch my coffee." 

"I wanted a more personal touch this morning, kitten."  

You hummed gratefully into the brew, soaking in its warmth and Shinsou's company with a smile. Your body ached curiously in muscle groups you forgot you had, sparking flashes of remembrance as he began packing an overnight bag for the two of you. "'Toshi…" you began. "I had the weirdest dream last night…" Your husband froze over his collared shirts and cufflinks as you mused over the morning paper. As he packed your counterfeit passports and offshore account information carefully between dinner jackets and evening gowns, you sighed in contented ignorance. Perhaps it was better you didn't find out how significantly the cost of living had increased overnight. 

Tags: @thewheezingwyvern

[until-theend-oftheline]

When They Had Nothing - Part 1: First Sight

Pairing: Stucky (Eventually)

Warnings: Violent Father, Implied Alcohol Abuse, Kids fighting, Bullying.

Word Count: 2800ish

A/N: This is my new Stucky series. It starts with the boys as kids in Brooklyn and follows CAFA but from Bucky’s POV rather than Steve’s. I am sooo excited about this series which I have been working on for about 6 months as it’s written for @cabigbang

Art Inspired by WTHN by: @ischa-posts - thank you so much for taking the time to create art for my series! - That inculdes all the artwork shown in this chapter

Betaed by: @blacktithe7 @emilyevanston and @ifyougetkilled-walk-it-off - Thank you so much for all your help!

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

MASTERLIST - CABIGBANG MASTERLIST WITH AO3 LINK

April 16th, 1922

Bucky jumped out of the car right behind his father, and his eyes widened. The look of awe only a child could possess spread across his small face. This place was nothing like Shelbyville, Indiana, where he had spent the first five years of his young life.

The city around him was buzzing and busy as the people went about their day. The cars were fancier, and everyone seemed as if they were in a rush to be somewhere. While Bucky’s little sister clung to her mom, overwhelmed by it all. He was the complete opposite. He looked around the city; soaking in every person, every store and interaction in. He felt the excitement grow within him, and it was all he could do not to run off to explore his new city right away. Bucky knew that such actions would get him in trouble with his parents, so he stayed close to their new building while he let his eyes do the wandering for him.

He watched children play on a street corner. A store owner yelled at a boy probably 10 years older than Bucky to get a move on. He watched women in fancy dresses, stopped in front of a store giggling and chatting.

His eyes didn't stop until they landed on a small blond boy. He probably wasn’t that much younger than Bucky, but he was much smaller. He looked frail and sickly, but there was a fire behind his blue eyes as he stared down the pair that Bucky assumed were his parents. The father was yelling at the mother, looming over her in a threatening manner. Something within Bucky twisted. He wanted to stop the man. He wanted to protect the woman, whose hand was on her son’s shoulder as if she was getting ready to push him back.

Bucky was only five years old, and there was nothing he could do. Nothing that wouldn’t earn him a spanking for meddling in other people’s business, still he moved. He wasn’t sure why he did it or what he hoped to accomplish by nearing the family he knew nothing about.

Before Bucky could get further than a few steps, the back of the man’s hand collided with the woman’s cheek. Anger like nothing he had ever felt before bubbling inside Bucky. The feeling didn’t last long. It was soon replaced with one of complete awe and admiration as the frail blond boy wiggled himself out from under his mother’s hand, placing himself between his parents.

Bucky wasn’t sure what the argument had been about, nor was he able to make out the child’s words to his father. All he knew was that his stomach twisted as he watched the man’s stone-cold stare towards his son. For a second, Bucky was sure the man was going to hit him, and he jumped, meaning to run to the boy’s aid. He didn’t get far before a hand closed around his arm dragging him back towards his new home. His father’s reprimands filled his ears, but the words of how he was too old to be running off like that and it was his duty to stay by his mom and sister’s side didn’t register with him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard it all before anyway, and right now, Bucky’s attention was somewhere more important.

The man didn’t hit his son. Instead, he spun around heading straight for the bar at the end of the street while the mom knelt down in front of her son. Bucky didn’t know what she was saying, but her demeanor and loving touch stood in great contrast to the one of her husband as she almost seemed to be checking her boy for injuries, even if she was the one that had just been struck.

The boy just smiled, taking her hand as she got back on her feet, following her down the street, but not before his head turned, and Bucky met his eyes. An unexplainable warmth spread through Bucky’s body as the boy stared at Bucky who was being dragged backward by his own father. Bucky didn’t feel the bruising hold on his arm or the strong words directed at him. He just saw the blue eyes widening in surprise as Bucky sent him his brightest smile. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was he felt, but in that second, a connection was formed. A connection that neither boy could ever have known what would come to mean to both of them. Neither of them ever forgot the moment they first saw each other, or that years would pass before their paths crossed again

July 3rd, 1927

“Bucky pleeease,” Rebecca whined as she skipped backward down school halls, looking up at her older brother walking in front of her. The seven-year-old girl wanted nothing more than to go to the 4th of July parade this weekend, but their mom was out of town, and their dad was working security for one of the main speakers. Bucky was old enough to go on his own while Rebecca was not. She did, however, think that she could convince her parents to let her go if Bucky promised them to take care of her and not let her out of his sight.

Bucky never intended on turning her down. Even if he would have loved to go with his friends from his wrestling team, that was all walking with him at the moment, he loved his sister. This meant so much to her, so of course, Bucky wasn’t going to turn her down. That didn’t mean he couldn’t keep her in suspense for a little while though.

“What’s in it for me?” Bucky asked with a cheeky grin plastered across his face, making his friends laugh.

The little girl came to a stop in front of her brother as a thoughtful frown formed on her face.

“I’ll shine your shoes for two Saturdays,” she offered, making Bucky smirk and take a step towards her. If she was gonna bargaining, he might as well teach her how to do it properly.

“Four,” he countered, smiling at the pout on her face. There was no doubt in his mind she wanted to kick him over the shin right about now, but she was also too stubborn to give in.

“Three,” she crossed her arms over her chest, staring her brother down. Bucky couldn't help but feel more than a little proud of her, still, the urge to mess with her was too great.

“And eat all my broccoli for a week,” Bucky extended his hand for her to shake, but wasn’t able to hold back his laughter as her little nose scrunched up in disgust.

“Ew Buck. No!” she whined, backing away from him, but Bucky moved faster, pulling the squealing girl into his side ruffling her hair.

“I’ll take you, Becca,” he laughed, making her push against him with a half pout and half grin.

“You’re the meanest brother ever,” she stuck her tongue out at him, and Bucky laughed again.

“Yeah well, I am the only one you got. So don’t have a kitten,” he grinned before a loud crash of a chair hitting the floor sounded through the dining hall.

Bucky’s head popped around, his attention drawn towards the sound. A chair was laying on the dining room floor with a blond boy scrambling to out from under it. Looming over him was Gerry. He was a few years older than Bucky and a known bully. He never gave Bucky any trouble since he belonged to the wrestling team and was one of the more popular kids at the school. The boy picked on everyone else who was smaller and, in his eyes, more insignificant than him. Bucky never liked him, but he had stayed out of his way up until now. Occasionally he had helped kids steer clear of him while he managed to distract the idiot. Gerry wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was one of the biggest and while Bucky was on the wrestling team, he preferred to not get into a fight. He had a strong sense of right and wrong, but if things could be handled with other than his fists that’s how he preferred it done.

Today, however, Bucky stepped forward. The words of his friends didn’t stop him as they called out to him that it wasn’t worth the trouble. He didn’t even listen to Rebecca pleading with him in fear that her beloved older brother would get hurt. All he saw was the blond boy scrambling to get back onto his feet, taking a defensive position with his hands raised. It was the same boy Bucky had seen defend his mother from his father’s abuse the day he had first arrived in Brooklyn 5 years ago. Bucky hadn’t seen him seen him since or felt anything like the pull he had that day, not until this moment. Back then Bucky hadn’t been in a position to help him, no matter how badly he had wanted too, but today he was.

“Give me the dough!” Gerry roared at the blond boy who just shook his head, stubbornly holding his ground against the boy twice his size.

“No, it’s mine,” the boy answered, causing Gerry to lunge forward. His fist would have collided with Steve’s jaw had Bucky not moved as fast as he did, grabbing Gerry’s arm before pushing him backward. A surprised look formed on the bully’s face seconds before it turned into one of blind rage as Bucky placed himself between Gerry and his victim.

“Leave him alone, Gerry,” Bucky ordered, not breaking eye contact with the boy that was half a head taller than himself. He knew Gerry wasn’t going to back down, but Bucky wasn’t going to throw the first punch either. It simply wasn’t who he was.

“Stay out of this, Barnes,” Gerry snarled, but Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t respond to the boy behind him either, telling him he had this on his own. Bucky knew the boy wasn’t going to pay Gerry, nor should he have too. He wasn’t about to stand by and watch him get beat up for standing up for himself either.

“Leave him alone,” Bucky repeated, punctuating each word, and for a second Gerry seemed to consider his options. He wasn’t used to picking a fight with kids that were able to hold their own against him in a fight, but he was also too dumb to back down from one. So instead of walking away like Bucky had hoped, he took a swing at him.

Bucky quickly ducked out of the way, landing his own fist against his attacker’s ribcage. Gerry took a step back, heaving for breath before jumping Bucky with a scream knocking him backward into the boy behind him, sending the three of them tumbling towards the floor.

Bucky looked over his shoulder, seeing the boy struggle for breath. His momentary worry and loss of focus cost him a punch to the face, drawing his attention and anger back towards Gerry. The boys rolled around on the floor, punching and struggling for a while before Bucky managed to get the upper hand. He straddled Gerry, placing a solid punch against his jaw and was reading another when he was dragged back by a teacher. He watched another grab a hold of Gerry who was now bleeding from his nose and screaming and kicking to get away from the adult so he could return Bucky’s favor. The teacher didn’t let go, and Bucky didn’t care about Gerry any longer. Instead, his eyes searched the room to see the blond boy leaning over one of the tables.

He was clearly still out of breath, but he seemed okay as his eyes met with Bucky’s. Just like 5 years ago when Bucky was being dragged away from him. Bucky sent him a huge genuine smile, and just like that time, the surprise on the boy’s face was evident.

Bucky didn’t care that he was in trouble as he and Gerry were being dragged along to the principal's office. At least the boy got to keep his money without being hurt too badly. Bucky’s only regret was that he hadn’t gotten a chance to learn his name once more.  

July 6th, 1927

Bucky kicked the ground as he walked out of the school building. As much as detention sucked, it was way worse not being able to walk home from school with his little sister and friends. Bucky knew he should consider himself lucky though. Had his mom not been a teacher at the school and stood up for him the way that she did, he could have gotten way worse than the week of detention and ten whips with his father’s belt when he got home. Even that had been against his mother’s wishes, but his father had the final say in how the kids were raised, and Bucky knew better than to get into a fight at school. Or so George had said. It didn’t matter to him that Bucky had been standing up for someone else. He had disobeyed the rules so he had to be punished.

Bucky didn’t hate his father. He wasn’t a violent or cruel man. He was strict on the kids, more so Bucky than Rebecca, but he didn’t hate him. He had a complicated relationship with the man he wanted nothing more than to impress. Still, Bucky never felt he was good enough in the eyes of his father, no matter his accomplishments.

Bucky’s mind was miles away when he walked over the schoolyard and out into the street. It was so far away that he didn’t see the blond

boy waiting on the steps outside one of the buildings. Bucky didn’t see him jump up and run after him either, not until he called out from behind him.

“Hey! Why did you do that?” Bucky stopped and turned around with a surprised look on his face, surprise that turned into a smile when he recognized the boy in front of him.

“Gerry is a bully. He deserved to be taught a lesson,” Bucky answered with a shrug. He wasn’t telling a lie, but he wasn’t speaking the entire truth either. The truth was that Bucky had been given more than one chance in the past to teach Gerry a lesson, but he had always chosen the less violent approach in helping out his victims whenever he could. He wasn’t sure why he had jumped in the way he had the other day, but he knew it had nothing to do with Gerry.

“I’m Bucky by the way,” he introduced himself, extending his hand to the boy in front of him.

He saw him hesitate for a second before taking it. Bucky smiled with the way he shook his hand as if he was trying to prove himself or something. He didn't have too. Bucky already liked him. He didn’t care if he was never going to be on the wrestling team, or if he looked pale and sickly. He saw beyond that. He saw the goodness behind the blue eyes and the courage that he was always going to stand up for what was right. Part of Bucky related to that, but more than that he admired it. It made him want to strive to not ignore those qualities in himself.

“I’m Steve,” the boy introduced himself, and Bucky smiled, happy to finally know his name.

“You wanna walk home together Steve?” Bucky asked with hope in his voice. Maybe something good would come out of this whole detention thing after all. Bucky smiled when Steve nodded.

“Okay.”

The two boys walked side by side in comfortable silence for a while. The bond that Bucky had felt 5 years ago, was growing stronger without either of them knowing it for sure, but somehow they both felt right. Like they had meant to cross paths and that their fates were intertwined somehow. Just how strongly neither of the two kids could have predicted or imagined, and even if they could, it’s doubtful it would have made any difference to their silent decision that they were now friends, both willing to do just about anything for the other. A vow that no matter what was thrown at them was never going to break.

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[bandaged-chessmaster]

A Blissful Death

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs Characters: Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya; Mentions of: Kouyou Ozaki, Mori Ougai, Akiko Yosano Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death, Euthanasia/Mercy Killing Summary: Sometimes, there are fates worse than death. Sometimes, people are driven to choose something as painless as death.  Additional Notes: Sooo I got inspired by Kikuo-P's "A Happy Death". I'm not sorry. 

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The clock struck midnight on the hospital corridor. Everything was still and deadly quiet, except a tall shadowy figure which walked down the corridor, footsteps punctuating the silence. His eyes darted around, looking for that specific room, stopping only when he found it.

Room 4256, this is it. Dazai took a deep breath, and opened the door quietly, forcing himself to see the horrid sight he saw two days ago. The sight of Chuuya bedridden and broken.

All those years of using Corruption to his limit finally took a toll on him. His muscles were abused, his bones became fragile, he was forced to continue his existence crippled, bound to his bed. Sure, they managed to defeat The Decay of the Angels, but, at what cost?

Dazai recollected the last conversation he had with Chuuya, and Chuuya’s request of Dazai. The request itself wasn’t hard, Dazai had done far darker things in his past. But, for some reason, he was finding it difficult to go through with this one. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dazai had come in on Kouyou’s call, surprised that she would call him out of the blue like this. When he had heard that Chuuya was still hospitalised, he wasn’t concerned at first. Of course he had used Corruption. So it was obvious that he would be at the hospital. But something felt off, especially with Kouyou’s tone.

He made his way to the hospital 3 hours later, without any sense of urgency. Only when he saw Chuuya hooked up to various devices and an oxygen mask to his mouth, had he realised the severity of the aftermath of when Chuuya used Corruption. He knew that he was 4 seconds late in nullifying it, those 4 precious seconds granted them victory. But those 4 seconds cost Chuuya his life… ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He took a deep breath. Chuuya was no longer on life support. But he was under observation. His arm was connected to an IV drip. He appeared lifeless, with ragged breathing, half-lidded eyes focused on Dazai.

Dazai took a step forward. “Chuuya, do you really want to do this?” He asked, not out of concern, but to confirm Chuuya’s true desire. With a nod as a response, Dazai hardened his resolve to commit his deed. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Kill me.” was all that Chuuya had said. But those words pierced through Dazai’s heart.

“No way.” Dazai replied back. “There is no point in killing yourself. You will rec-”

“I won’t be recovering as usual…” He cut off Dazai mid-sentence.

“The doctor...he said, that the toll is too much on my body. Either I will die, or be bedridden for life.” He said, with his body trembling. “I’d rather be dead, than be stuck here. There is already talk going in the Mafia, that I can no longer be an Executive because of my health. In other words, I would become a liability to them…”

Pin drop silence followed, with Dazai processing this information. Chuuya was right. Mori would definitely disregard Chuuya and toss him away since his usefulness got over.

“I could ask Yosano to help.” Dazai suggested, feeling a little hopeful. Until Chuuya glared back.

“The fight against the foreign Ability users is over, the Detective Agency is under no obligation to help the Mafia anymore. Moreover, I don’t think any one in your Agency would want a Mafia member, not to mention an Executive. It would be considered as-”

“-Treason” Dazai continued. Dazai felt that he was hitting a dead end. Whatever he thought of, could be refuted by Chuuya. He looked at Chuuya; his eyes were dead, they had lost all the determination and spark they had. As much as he loved torturing the redhead for fun, seeing him like this, made his heart twitch in pain.

“Alright.” He agreed, “Although suicide with a pretty woman would be more ideal, I guess that you have to make do for now.” He got up and walked out, “3 days Chuuya, think about it.” He said, feeling odd. For someone who always joked about death, he didn’t want Chuuya to leave this world, whatever the reason. But if Chuuya really wanted it...who was Dazai to stop him? ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dazai wrapped his hands around Chuuya’s throat, squeezing it. They decided that this was the best way to go, seeing that Chuuya’s respiratory system was already quite damaged.

“Tighter...Tighter…”, Chuuya begged, and Dazai obliged, burying all his emotions.

You’ve killed so many people in the past, this is going to be another one on the list. He said to himself, fighting back the urge to stop mid-way. As much as he didn’t want Chuuya to die, he didn’t want to see Chuuya crippled for life, because of his stupid, stupid error. He choked him more and more, until finally…

Chuuya gave a small sigh, his body falling lax and limp. His face looked so much more peaceful now. After all, he was no longer in pain.

Dazai let go of his throat, and realised that tears were falling down his face. He wiped them quickly. Guess I really did have feelings for the Hat Rack. He closed Chuuya’s eyes, and gave a kiss on his forehead which was slowly losing its warmth.

“Rest Chuuya...You are no longer in pain...my love.” Dazai didn’t know what was the point of saying it out loud. It wasn’t like Chuuya could hear what he said anyways. But, saying it did make him feel much, much better.

He quietly made his way out of the door and out of the silent hospital, his mind already going onto future events and possibilities. He had no choice now, the man who wished for death, had to deal with the loss of another’s life.

[dirtycreekwater]

Masterpost for The War is On

hey @gloomy-goober hope you don’t mind but i figured id make a masterpost of all the parts of the story we wrote together so it’d be easier to read ! (also do you like the title? i can change it if you want it to be called something else!)

~

Part 1 by: A (gloomy-goober)

I Didn’t Do Anything

-

Virgil wasn’t really sure why he got the urge to do it but it seemed like a good idea. Split second decisions weren’t fully his thing but the annoyance he felt after today kind of shoved worry out the window. Sometimes it could be good (?) to let out some annoyance in certain ways. Either way his projectile had hits its mark and stopped the person mid-word.

The anxious side looked around the very empty kitchen innocently right after his paper ball hit the back of Logan’s head. He could feel the man’s glare on the side of his face as he observed the ceiling. He casually, least as casually as he could, glanced back down at Logan to see the glare still there.

“What?”

Logan raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“I didn’t do anything,” Virgil’s voice was a little high from the very obvious lie he was telling but he didn’t care, “I didn’t…somebody’s throwing stuff. Probably Roman…you should be more careful.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed and the anxious trait scoffed.

Yeah, he was guilty, but did not mean he liked the teacher’s stern gaze. He slid from his seat on the counter and started towards the door. Virgil was not going to stick around for a lecture about how ‘he was the only other person in here’ or that ‘Roman would have made his presence known’.

“So you gonna get that study snack or whatever? You can’t sit around glaring at people for no reason all day that is unproductive. Than you will fall behind and everything will go to shit.”

Virgil hurried down the hall before Logan could get a say in; a feat he was very proud about.

~

Part 2 by: Oliver (it me)

Logan’s Revenge

-

“These are merely my own observations, Virgil. I’m sure you see it in a completely different point of view. We should work on changing your view on certain things. You have a tendency to be very irrational which is quite unhealthy.” Logan finished his lecture about todays issue, not knowing how much he was annoying the already annoyed trait.

The silence that followed felt a little unusual to Logan. Usually the snarky trait would reply with, well, something snarky.

“Ignoring me won’t make you feel-”

Logan was cut off as he felt something suddenly hit the back of his head. He turned to face the boy sat on the counter from his place at the table to find the culprit acting oblivious. He glared at him, and waited patiently for him to acknowledge his existence.

“What?”

Logan really wanted to say something, but instead he let his body language speak for him. He wanted to hear what excuse Virgil would come up with. So, he crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow as if to say “Care to explain why you threw something at me?”

“I didn’t do anything…”

Though it was already obvious Logan could immediately tell he was attempting to appear innocent by lying from the increased pitch of his voice.

“I didn’t….somebody’s throwing stuff. Probably Roman… You should be more careful.”

Logan narrowed his eyes at the lying trait as if to say “Really? That’s the best you can come up with?”

Virgil just scoffed, and slid off the counter.

“So, you gonna get that study snack or whatever? You can’t sit around glaring at people for no reason all day. That is unproductive. Then you will fall behind and everything will go to shit.”

Virgil left no room for an answer as he sprinted out of the kitchen, and into his room.

Logan rolled his eyes, muttered “I’ll get that insufferable little brat back at some point.” under his breath, and turned his attention back to his book.

A few days later the promise Logan swore to himself was kept as a stress ball was suddenly chucked at Virgil’s head.

“Hey!”

Logan smirked as he picked the stress ball up from the floor.

“Don’t dish out what you can’t handle, Virgil. Especially if you’re in a bad mood. Bad moods lead to destructive thinking which leads to destructive behavior. Perhaps we should have some anger management, and self control lessons.”

Virgil’s glare hardened the more the logical trait rambled. He had the urge to throw something at his stupid head again.

“Oh. Here. You’ll probably need this.”

Logan’s smirk widened as he placed the stress ball into Virgil’s hand then simply walked away.

He couldn’t help but chuckle as he heard the grumpy trait mumble indignantly, and repeatedly squeeze the stress ball.

He was proud of the way he managed to work a lesson, and some help into his payback. He had a weird way of getting revenge, but it was revenge nevertheless. It was Logan’s revenge.

~

Part 3 by: A

This Means War

-

Virgil had been having one of his more O.K. days.

Sure there had been a small spike of anxiety when Thomas almost walked across the street without looking but that had been the biggest thing. The side had not suspected anything as he entered the kitchen and started to look through the place for anything worth eating. Main option was dry pasta noodles.

He had started to reach up to grab his dinner-snack-when something soft smacked into the back of his head.

“Hey!” He was about to say more as he turned around fast to face the culprit but the words died on his tongue as he spotted a very smug Logic.

The man kept that smug look on his face as he strolled across the room and picked up what had hit the back of Virgil’s head. A dark blue stress ball.

“Don’t dish out what you can’t handle, Virgil,” Logan said cooly as he stood back up with the ball in hand. “Especially if you’re in a bad mood. Bad moods lead to destructive thinking which leads to destructive behavior. Perhaps we should have some anger management, and self control lessons.”

Virgil glared harder at the man in front of him as if that would get him to shut up. He got it. Logan did something sneaky and childish in retaliation to his childish action the other day; big woop.

Where is a spare piece of paper when he needs-

“Oh. Here. You’ll probably need this.”

All thoughts going through the side’s head stopped as soon as Logan did something he never expected.

With a smirk still on his face he placed the soft ball into Virgil’s slowly closing fist. The little ball’s foam squished under the pressure.

“You did not just-,” Virgil mumbled under his breath as the ball started to get abused.

He could not even finish the sentence seeing how Logan’s face just got more smug.

Anxiety’s blood boiled as Logan turned and walked out of the kitchen with a chuckle. The abuse on the foam ball just getting more and more violent as he tried to keep himself calm.

“Oh he has it coming. He sooo has it coming,” Virgil muttered under his breath. Every word was punctuated with a squeeze of the ball.

“What are you mumbling about now, Dead, Goth & Beyond?” a new voice asked. “Run out of eye shadow again?”

A chuckle ended that question as the person who spoke started to search the fridge.

Virgil did not have to look up from where he glared at the floor to know Roman had just walked into the kitchen. He could see the smirk on the royal’s face without having to raise his eyes. It only made him abuse the ball more as he tried to escape into his thoughts.

The fridge door closed after a moment and the pop of a soda went over Anxiety’s small mumbles to himself.

“You not talking today or something?”

Anxiety snapped out of it at that moment and looked over at Roman.

“This means war,” the anxious side mumbled and the Prince stopped mid-sip of his drink to stare at the other confused. Anxiety shook his head and started towards the doorway to the kitchen, still mumbling to himself about something that Prince could not understand. Probably something trivial, was all Roman could think as he turned to see if there was any hot fudge pop-tarts left.

His hand froze as he reached for the box when something soft, yet held a pretty hard punch, hit the back of his head. The regal side turned around fast to see the tail-end of Virgil’s jacket slip down the hall and at his feet was a stress ball that had been covered in the nail marks.

Roman made an offended noise and swiped up the stress ball.

“Why you little-!”

Roman only took one step towards the enterance of the kitchen when a familair chipper voice perked up behind him. “What’s going on, Kiddos?”

“Patton!”

The princely trait span around to almost come nose to nose with Morality. Roman moved back a little, he had not expected Patton to appear that close to him.

“Roman!” Patton laughed, “What’s up? I just heard Virgil slam his room’s door…you two aren’t fighting again are you? I told you, let him like whatever Disney song he wants.”

“He keeps taking all the good one-” Roman caught himself and shook his head, “No! No! No!”

He pointed at Patton’s face and than held up the stress ball that had hit the back of his head.

“No, this is what he was fleeing from.”

Patton looked at the ball confused and took it from Prince’s outstretched hand.

“Logan’s stress ball?”

“Yes! He threw it at the back of my head for no reason!” Roman huffed and crossed his arms.

“No reason?”

Roman held back a pout and stood up straighter. “Yes, no reason! I just came in here for a pre-battle snack, tried to strike up a normal conversation that he did not engage in, and then he left with a mutter about war or something but not before he threw that at me.”

Patton kept staring at the stress ball in his hands. He turned it over to observe the nail marks that seemed to be stuck in the foam.

“Strange,” Patton mutters to himself. He keeps his gaze on the ball for a little bit longer before looking up at Roman with a bright smile and pats the royal’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry about it. He probably is just got into one of his moods; I’ll go check on him in a bit once he has calmed down.”

Prince seemed happy with this answer and thanked Morality before returning his quest for the poptarts. He did not see Morality’s smile drop and his gaze return to the stress ball. He could sense something brewing in the mind between two certain sides but he could not put his finger on wha-.

“Patton would you like the last packet of poptarts?”

“Do pigs fly?”

Roman frowned and glanced around the room a little uncertain. “Well…um…”

“That means yes, silly, hand ‘em over.”

As the two sides munched down on their snack, Anxiety sat in his room and began to plot. Logic was not going to get away with that act. He would have accepted it if it has just been a simple throw in retaliation but no, the man had to turn it into a lecture.

Well, if it is war Logan wants. It is war he is going to get.

~

Part 4 by: Oliver

Progress

-

Logan went to bed that night feeling quite proud of his little lesson. He felt he was finally starting to make some progress in helping Virgil. He had no idea what he had actually started.

He found out the next morning when something hit him in the head as soon as he left his room. Confused, his eyes wandered to the object on the floor, then up to find a self satisfied Virgil staring him down.

“You wanted a war,” was all the culprit had said before darting down the hall, and into the common room.

War? When had Logan ever said that was what he wanted? He simply gave revenge, and a small lesson. Surely, that should have been the end. Of course Virgil doesn’t really know how to let things go. He should have expected this.

Sighing, Logan continued his walk into the commons, and was relieved to find only Patton sat there. Virgil must have teleported somewhere else, but he’d worry about that later.

“Hey, Logan!” Patton greeted cheerily, and watched as Logan came to sit next to him.

Logan gave him a polite nod before suspiciously looking around the room for any, well, suspicious activity.

“Something wrong, buddy?”

Logan snapped his attention to the father figure, and smiled sheepishly as he realized how silly he was being.

“Oh, no. I’m fine, Patton.”

Patton eyed him suspiciously, but thankfully let it go. Logan sighed in relief, and relished in the unusually peaceful & quiet atmosphere.

“Oh!”

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

“I have your stress ball.”

What? Why would Patton have it? He gave it to Virgil. Maybe Virgil forced Patton to take it away from him in a fit of anger. So much for progress. Two steps forward, one step back. He’ll just have to try-

Logan’s thoughts were interrupted as the stress ball was gently placed in his hands, and a worried voice pulled him away from his mind.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, Patton. Just thinking about the work I have to do today. No need to worry.”

Patton nodded in understanding, but there seemed to be something else he wanted to say. Logan wished he would get it out already.

“Why did Virgil have your stress ball?”

Wish granted.

Wait.

So Virgil did give it to Patton? How disappointing. He really thought he helped. At least a little. Why couldn’t he-

“He threw it at Roman for no reason so he complained, and gave it to me.”

Oh. Well, that’s better. Sort of.

“Oh, um.. I thr- gave it to Virgil. I figured it would help him.”

Once again Patton eyed him suspiciously, and once again let it go. Even still Logan could practically see the gears turning in his mind. He knew Patton felt something bad was happening, and that truly bothered him being the embodiment of morality.

“Well, that was nice of you.”

Nice? No, nice would have been actually giving it to Virgil. Not throwing it at him, and starting this so called war he was warned of. Nothing about this was nice, but he wouldn’t let Morality know that.

“Yes, I suppose. Excuse me.”

Logan stood, and placed the stress ball on the coffee table then entered the kitchen. He hadn’t expected to see Virgil once again sat on the counter yet there he was. The boy fiddled with a small plastic spoon, but stopped when he met Logan’s gaze. Unsurprisingly his mouth twisted into an evil smirk.

“Hey, Logan.”

There was something akin to mischief in his tone, and it made Logan slightly nervous.

“Greetings, Virgil.”

He slowly made his way to the fridge, and grabbed a water bottle.

“Patton said he was gonna start breakfast soon. You seen him?”

Logan turned his attention to the boy as he shut the fridge, and nervously adjusted the bottle in his hands.

“Y-Yes. He’s in the common room.”

Why was he so nervous? Virgil was being his usual self. Sort of. No, he was. The object thrown at him, and comment about war earlier was nothing to fret about. Just Virgil being Virgil.

“So, about that war thing I said earlier…” Virgil trailed off as he tried to gauge Logan’s reaction. He seemed attentive so he continued. “I-I didn’t really mean it. I’m sorry for starting this whole thing, and.. and you were just trying to help with the whole stress ball thing. I shouldn’t have gotten mad. Plus it was kind of funny. Kudos.”

Logan almost choked on his water. That was the last thing he expected to hear out of Virgil’s mouth. He wasn’t sure if he could really believe him.

“You.. You really mean that?”

Virgil looked genuinely apologetic for a moment. Just a moment. Of course moments like that couldn’t last very long when it came to the sides. Virgil’s apologetic look shifted to a mischievous grin.

“No, idiot. Who do you think I am?”

Before he could respond Virgil chucked the spoon he had been fiddling with at Logan’s chest.

“The war is still on. Bring it, nerd.”

Virgil slid off the counter then sunk down to, Logan assumed, his room.

Fine. If a war is really what Virgil wants then a war he shall get. Logan could entertain his little game. Especially considering he figured it could serve as a pleasant distraction from his constant negative thinking. Maybe this is the progress he was looking for.

A few hours later after everyone had finished breakfast, and was focused on their own respective duties Logan finally thought of his next attack.

He smiled smugly to himself as he sat in his desk chair, and tossed a little rubber eraser in his hand. He’d have to carefully plan the timing of this attack. Virgil seemed to do the same, and he was probably always watching his back. He’d have to be sneaky. His eyes wandered to the clock on his wall. 2:00 pm. Virgil was most likely following his normal routine, and was currently sat on the coffee table in the common room watching tv. Logan never fully quite understood Virgil’s coping mechanisms, but that was a problem for another day. Now would be the perfect time for his attack.

Without a second though he sunk down, and appeared in the commons. Sure enough there sat on the table was Virgil. Parks and Recreation was playing on the tv at such a soft volume Logan was sure Virgil would have heard his sudden arrival. Luckily he didn’t, and he was able to carry out his plan.

With some hesitation Logan finally chucked the eraser he still had in his hand at the boy’s head. His reaction was instant.

“Ah! Hey!”

Virgil smirked as he suddenly realized what had just happened. Logan was finally playing along.

“Oh, you’re so on, nerd.”

Virgil grabbed a couch pillow, and dove behind the couch so fast Logan almost missed it. He had to make a decision, and quickly. After a moment he ducked behind the other couch, and searched for an object that could act as his weapon. His eyes landed on a paperback book that had been long forgotten. This would have to do.

He carefully lifted his head over the couch to observe his surroundings. He found Virgil doing the same, but with the couch pillow raised in his hand. He had no time to duck as the pillow suddenly, and not gently at all, landed on his face. He quickly adjusted his glasses which had been pushed off his face slightly, and tossed the book into Virgil’s direction. He smirked as he heard the somewhat loud ‘thud’ the book had made against Virgil’s head.

“Really? A pillow? That the best you got, Virgil?”

Logan felt surprised at his own words. He wasn’t really one for teasing or challenging but this was actually starting to interest him.

He almost laughed at Virgil’s loud scoffing.

“Nah, I got a lot more, teach. Be careful who you challenge.”

Logan watched as Virgil swung himself over the couch, and landed harshly on the cushions. He felt that his actions contradicted his words, and well, that just wouldn’t stand. If he had “a lot more” like he says he does then where is it?

“Then bring it on.”

Virgil looked shocked at the challenging words. Logan thought he was about to protest, but instead he shrugged his shoulders.

“Fine, but ya can’t blame me if you get hurt.”

Without another word Virgil sunk down leaving Logan confused, and slightly worried. He was really starting to wonder what he, well Virgil really, had started. This could get real ugly, real fast.

And so it did.

The next day the common room had once again become a war zone. Logan and Virgil’s battle had only gotten more intense as random objects flew in every direction. Logan thought that it was surprising that no one had gotten hurt. He unfortunately thought too soon as he threw a somewhat heavy textbook without thinking, and winced at the rather loud ‘thud’ it made against Virgil’s head & the pained cry.

Before he could even fully process what had happened Patton and Roman were rushing into the common room.

“What in Zeus’ name is happening here?!” Roman dramatically cried out as he observed the chaos the common room had fallen victim to.

Logan was about to answer, but stopped as he watched Patton rush to Virgil’s side.

“Dad, stop. I’m fine.”

“No, you are not fine! You have a red bump on your forehead. What are you two doing?”

Logan ignored the question, and looked down at the floor as guilt settled in. He hadn’t meant to hurt Virgil. He would never even think of hurting any of the sides intentionally. He cared about them, and it just wasn’t in his nature.

“We- I started a war- game. I started a dumb game with Logan, and it got out of hand. Sorry.”

Virgil was taking all the blame? No, he couldn’t allow that.

He was about to speak up, but was once again cut off.

“Well, I’m putting an end to it. Both of you go to your rooms. You’re not allowed near each other. At least not while I make sure you’re okay, Virgil. I’ll be in your room in a minute.”

That was a little ridiculous, but Logan knew not to argue with Patton when he went into full dad mode. It wouldn’t end in his favor.

So, after giving Virgil an apologetic look, he sunk down begrudgingly. He’d have to actually apologize later.

Logan huffed a heavy sigh as he flopped down on the couch in his room. He sat there for quite a while until a soft whooshing sound caught his attention. He looked towards the spot the noise had come from, and frowned when he saw Virgil standing there awkwardly with a bag of ice pressed to his head.

“Hey.”

Logan didn’t responded, and instead watched as Virgil hesitantly made his way to where he was sitting. He looked away as he felt the spot next to him dip.

“Cat got your tongue, nerd?”

Logan scoffed at the phrase, and decided to meet Virgil’s gaze.

“No, I just..” Logan paused to take a deep breath. “I apologize for hurting you, Virgil. It was never my intention. I should have been more careful.”

Relief washed over him as Virgil gave him a rare, genuine smile.

“Oh, shut up, it’s fine. I should be the one apologizing for starting this whole mess in the first place.”

Logan felt a strange feeling rush through him. Virgil was showing him a much more laid back, genuine side of him. Sure, he showed that to Thomas and the others when they had found him after he had “ducked out,” but something about this was different. Something about this felt like another wall was crumbling, and he suddenly became more vulnerable. Maybe, just maybe, he had made some real progress these past few days.

“Well, I shouldn’t have allowed it to continue. My revenge was..” Logan paused to grab his contemporary slang vocabulary cards off the table, and shuffle through them. “..petty. I was.. doing the most.”

Virgil laughed, genuinely laughed, and he felt strangely pleased with himself.

“You are a really good tryer, Logan.”

Logan found it strange that he felt slightly offended when Thomas had said the same thing, but when Virgil said it he felt.. proud. Happy even.

“Well.. thanks.”

His thanks this time wasn’t sarcastic, or rude. It was genuine, and nice. Logan could get used to that.

“Still though.. I was only trying to help you in my own weird way. I shouldn’t have turned it into a petty little game.”

Virgil’s expression softened to something akin to sadness which worried Logan for a moment.

“Yeah, um, about that. I’m sorry I was so grumpy over it. It was.. It was actually really nice of you to do. Ya know, offer your help, and give me your stress ball. It just felt like some kind of personal attack at the time, and I was already in a bad mood so.. yeah. Sorry.”

The worry left Logan, and was replaced with a weird warm feeling. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but he liked it.

“Well, I care about you, Virgil. I’ve been worried about you ever since you “ducked out.” I want to help you with your issues instead of letting you bottle them up.“

Logan could swore he saw a glint of tears form in Virgil’s eyes. He would have felt bad, but he assumed-hoped-they were tears of happiness.

“I.. You c-care about me?”

“Very much so. I care about all of you.”

“I thought you.. I thought you didn’t ‘do’ all that feelsy, cutesy crap.”

Logan chuckled, and moved to fully face Virgil.

“I don’t usually enjoy indulging in what you call “feelsy” or “cutesy,” but I do still feel those things. It’s confusing, and frustrating, but I’m okay with it.“

Virgil nodded in, what Logan assumed to be, understanding, and let the words hang in the air. A comfortable, but kind of weird silence fell over them, and for a moment that was okay. Comfortable, but weird seemed to be their thing.

“Thanks.”

Thanks? That was quite unexpected.

“For what?”

“For being a total nerd, and helping me when you can. You, uh.. You actually help me a lot.” Virgil paused to take in a shaky breath. “Your sense of reality grounds me when I start thinking too irrationally, and you actually.. try to understand me.. Ya know? You have weird methods, but you try. So, thanks.”

Logan wasn’t sure, but if those were tears he felt building up in his eyes Virgil didn’t mention it, and for that he was grateful.

“You’re welcome, Virgil.”

He wanted to say more, but there was a strange feeling in his throat. Like if he were to say what he was actually feeling they’d get caught, and the dam holding his tears would break. So, he just allowed the comfortable, weird silence drift over them once again, and enjoyed it.

He was a little startled when he suddenly felt Virgil’s head and something cold lay on his shoulder, but he allowed that too.

“Hey, nerd.”

“Yes?”

“A textbook? Really?”

Logan couldn’t help but laugh. Yes, his quick decision was quite stupid.

“I realize that was quite a stupid decision, but it was the only thing I had. I didn’t have time to look for anything else. You are chaotic, and relentless.”

Virgil genuinely laughed again, and Logan realized he shouldn’t take it for granted. Who knows when the next time he’d hear it again would be.

“You would think the logical side would be better at quick thinking.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Seriously, though. Stick to soft things. Like the stress ball.”

Logan smiled at the mention of the stress ball, and this time he knew for a fact that he had made some real progress. It took a war, and some wounds, but he did what he had set out to do. He still had a long way to go, but right now Virgil was content, relaxed even. He decided that was okay for now.