#sorry kind of a negative post i can add more warning tags as needed

[beartitled]

Can you do some more comics with Francis mosses

I can, but the problem is

That I’m pretty much out of ideas and I’m progressively getting tired of tnmn fandom

Ppl who look at my tags probably noticed that 😓

More of my thoughts under read more for curious ppl

(short answer maybe I will do more, but I desperately need a break from tnmn)

! Just a general warning: this came out kinda long + sort of venty

Originally I planned to do 1 comic drop and move on, but got stuck bc ppl liked tnmn comics and kept asking for more (and still do-)

Generally I don’t mind doing more if the ideas are there, but I want to address this: I’m tired

I know blowing up is usually a good thing and I appreciate people enjoying my stuff

But it’s exhausting to see that tnmn is the only type of content which is relevant, to the point that my own projects or stuff I enjoy are just kinda.. ignored

It’s fair – again my blog is heavily fandom based

(+Tsp were and still is kinda the focus)

But with tnmn fandom it’s a bit… different

Maybe I’m biased and it’s just my negative experience with tiktok comments

Remember this art?

cleaning up transphobic comments was.. um tough

Again, I get that you can’t be in that neat bubble completely sheltered from negativity

Humans are just assholes by nature really/j

So I was expecting the backlash, but not that much

I think maybe tsp fandom spoiled me a bit (in a good way), bc I got a feeling that everyone in tsp was positive of any lgbt+ headcanons and just generally more supportive

(don’t get me wrong, there ARE problems in tsp community too, taking narrators design controversy into account as one of the examples)

Obviously every fandom always has it’s own issues, show me at least one fandom that didn’t have some sort of meaningless controversy or some sort of problematic people in it

It happens

But it leaves a bad taste in your mouth sometimes

And for me personally it only added to not so pleasant experience

The thing I also noticed, when I interacted with other fandoms

Ppl wrote positive stuff first and foremost, not really asking for anything

Here it’s just “hey more. I want more. Do more. Do this character. Do this. Do more.”

The only reason I kept doing more, because likes, reblogs, views – these comics get a ton of attention

there is a audience to please alright

But this thing comes with a pressure tho

and it shows

so let me illustrate

This bookcase

Is my shame

Because I was so rushing, I just copied and colour corrected this bookcase from my diploma comic and pasted it here in hopes for the best

💥IT LOOKS HORRIBLE OKAY💥

Usually it’s normal to take materials used in other projects

the not so normal part is

to leave it like that because your stress reducing tea doesn’t work and you don’t really have time to redraw it

my m en ta l s t a t e i s f i n e ah ah h ah ah

Ok but jokes aside: it’s really tempting, to just abandon everything and produce content like some sort of content farm

But I don’t want to, I’m forcing myself and it makes my art worse

Yes it’s subtle, new people won’t even see this

But I’m not improving

And I don’t enjoy just anxiously popping out comics because everyone keeps asking

I can give it my all to something when I’m passionate, but just “hey I’m getting attention” is not the best motivator

Attention like that does get to my head, I know that I will probably give in again and do more, bc I will compare my posts engagement

But what’s the point of recognition, when you feel.. so numb about it…

Sorry for a mountain of text and thank you for ppl who actually took their time to read it

It’s been building up for a while and I feel like people need to know the reason why I’m not so enthusiastic about making “more”

I’m not necessarily completely abandoning this fandom

I still plan to do ask/suggestions event for STP (I’m just making sure I can dedicate my time to it, that’s why it’s taking so long) and I can add tnmn to the mix

Like STP+tnmn kind of deal

But for now – I need a break

At least for a little bit

[rkived]

year 22 (m) — jjk

‘‘I knew you’d be standing in my front porch light, and I knew you’d come back to me.’‘ 

Pairing: childhoodfriend!jk x f!reader 

Genre/Tags: angst!!!, drama, a lil fluff, f2l, e2l-ish, pining, slow burn, smut

Rating: M +18

WC: 11.5k

Warnings: time jumps, underage drinking, jk being a douchebag for most of the fic, reader can’t catch a mf break, mention of character death ((no major one tho)). smut in the form of oral (f. receiving), fingering, nipple play, unprotected sex ((wrap it b4 u tap it y’all)), my being called pretty kink making a brief appearance soz

A/N: i listened to cardigan for the first time n had it on replay the whole time i wrote this so ig u should do it too ! this is my first time posting smut on here but who would i be if i didn’t throw in some good angst ? also tysm to @periminkle​ for being my unofficial beta reader n checking it up for me, she knows i’m constantly looking for her validation n i def wouldn’t post this if she didn’t love it ilu vira thx for being the best ever mwah !!! 

You’re five, cowering behind his mother’s legs, sniffing as tears stream down your face. In front of you both stands Jungkook, there’s remorse written all over his face as his mother stares him down with hands on her hips and a look that just screams that this is only the beginning of his punishment. 

‘’Apologize to Y/N right now Jungkook, or I’ll have your father have a word with you,’’ she threatens with a stern tone, making her son quickly shake his head no. ‘‘You need to learn how to share your toys.’’ 

You peek behind her lanky leg and find the slightly older kid looking at you with narrowed eyes, ‘‘I’m sorry, Y/N.’’ He apologizes with a bow, but he’s obviously displeased with the whole ordeal. 

His mother sighs and Jungkook pouts at the look on her face. She urges you to come out from your not-so-secret hiding spot and to go back to playing with him, even though you seriously doubt that will do any good to what just happened. 

Jungkook’s bedroom door is kept open as he sits back down on his city patterned carpet, you twiddle with your thumbs and stare at the Spiderman poster on his wall. There’s an awkward silence between you two until you feel a toy bump your crisscrossed legs. 

It’s the shiny red car he had refused to lend you before, provoking an argument between you two which eventually made you run out of his room in tears as you ratted him out to his mom. 

‘‘Wooow,’’ you whisper in awe, taking the car in your hands with so much care, treating it like it’s one of your newest dolls. 

Jungkook huffs, crossing his arms as he looks at you with distaste and he’s forced to settle with other boring toys as you giggle to yourself, making the car follow the carpet’s tracks. He learns then to never trust his mother again. If she ever says she’ll bring a new friend for him to play with again, he’ll refuse wholeheartedly.

He doesn’t like sharing his toys, and it’ll probably take him a long time to learn how to.

You’re nine as you hand Jungkook one of the multiple Valentine’s Day cards you carefully crafted the night before with your mother, adding all kinds of pretty stickers and shiny glitter to make each one of them unique. His is different from the rest, though. 

You added hearts to the dots in the I’s, there’s a hint of your favorite body splash enveloping the pink construction paper and it fills Jungkook’s nostrils with so much force that he feels he could gag at the smell. 

‘‘What do you think?’’ You ask the fourth-grader with a big smile on your face, cheeks tinted with a light shade of red as you see him reading the little message you wrote inside the card.

Jungkook lets out a mocking chuckle, ‘‘Are you serious? You like me?’’ He asks you, but it doesn’t look like he’s looking for answers. Your smile slowly fades away, looking at him with glossy eyes, ‘‘I don’t like you, you’re just a dumb little girl.’’ 

His card was the one you had invested the most time in and yet it only took him a second to crumple it with his hand, and another five for him to toss it into the trash can near you before he goes back to his group of friends in the school’s playground.

You learn how to hold your tears in then, thinking it’s a great accomplishment and that maybe now he’ll stop calling you a crybaby.

His friends receive him with high-fives and he smiles with gratefulness because they just saw how much of a badass he can be. Once recess is over and everyone’s going back to their classrooms, Jungkook nears the garbage bin where he had thrown the Valentine's card in, but finds it’s now dirty with yogurt someone tossed inside. 

He grimaces at the sight and sighs, there’s no way he can save it now.

You’re twelve and you’re the only girl in the treehouse who hasn’t gone through puberty yet. It wasn’t something that bothered you until just recently, when it became pretty evident why none of the boys would even give you a onceover compared to the other girls.

“I don’t know if I want to play,” you mumble after Kim Jihyo suggests playing spin the bottle. You’re the only one who opposes the idea, though you could count Jungkook in given as he just sat there without saying a word.

Park Yerim rolls her eyes, “You’re so boring, Y/N!” The comment makes the rest giggle as you pout at being the designated party pooper. 

It’s all fun and games of truth and dares to whoever the bottle lands on and you’ve been lucky enough to avoid the tip of the plastic Coca-Cola bottle to point at you, until it lands on Jungkook who has done a few funny dares so far.

“Alright, Jungkook, let’s make things even more fun!” Jihyo announces since she’s been the one who has assigned most of the embarrassing challenges and questions, “I dare you to kiss one of the girls here for ten seconds.” 

The dare makes the boys cheer with excitement and the girls gasp with anticipation, hoping one of them is the lucky chosen one. Your lips part slightly as you stare at him sitting across from you, he’s clearly not comfortable with the dare, but knowing him, he won’t express his current discomfort. 

His eyes land on you as you stare back at him with concern, hoping that he’ll speak up to avoid himself the embarrassment. Has he even kissed someone before? If this is his first kiss, you’ll witness it alongside everyone else and you can only imagine how terrifying that must be. Even though Jungkook’s always been a brave kid, you can always tell when he feels under pressure.

“Uhm, I’ll uh—“ Jungkook keeps staring at you and you feel your heart start to beat like you just ran the usual ten laps around the gym in P.E class. Are you about to have your first kiss? With him? 

You nod your head absentmindedly, a sign to let him know it’s okay for him to pick you from all the other developed girls who probably have more experience kissing than you do, but it’s okay because you’ve always been a quick learner. 

“Yeji,” Jungkook says after what feels like forever, though it’s only been a mere few seconds, “I’ll kiss Yeji.” He adds, removing his eyes from yours and settling them on the girl with the high ponytail and pink colored nails. 

You bite your bottom lip hard, breaking the dry skin as you feel yourself taste blood. It doesn’t matter because no one’s paying attention to you and instead they’re focused on Jungkook’s neverending kiss with Yeji. 

When you get home that night, you look at yourself in the mirror and frown at your lack of everything. Is this the reason as to why he hadn’t picked you? 

You’re fourteen and Kim Taehyung just sent you a message through MSN in which he confesses to have feelings for you. Your eyes widen, rereading the message several times, rubbing at your eyes just to make sure you’re seeing things correctly. 

You run off across the street to Jungkook’s house, ringing the doorbell quickly for someone to open up. You’re greeted by him looking at you with an annoyed expression, he had to pause his GTA game to come and open the door. 

“What do you want?” Jungkook asks harshly, crossing his arms as he stares into somewhere that’s not your face. He’s anxiously waiting for you to spit out whatever it is you’re there to say. 

You calm yourself down by breathing in deep and out, blowing the air right at him, “Does Taehyung like me?” You ask him, making Jungkook’s eyes widen in surprise and his brows to raise. 

His reaction tells you that you might’ve just discovered a secret you weren’t supposed to and it only makes your heart beat even faster because if it’s true, then this is a pleasant surprise. Kim Taehyung is one of the hottest boys in the tenth grade and he happens to be one of Jungkook’s closest friends. You think he must know something since you see them hanging out at lunch.

“Uh—I don’t know, Y/N.” Jungkook mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck, finally looking at you and he feels a gut wrenching punch in his stomach at the sight. “Taehyung isn’t a really good guy, you shouldn’t—“ 

“What are you saying?” You interrupt him with a question, confused as to why Jungkook was painting a negative picture of his friend. “He was really sweet with what he said, he thinks my eyes are pretty when they sparkle — I didn’t even know they did that!” 

Jungkook grimaces and sighs, there’s really not much he can do here. You’ve always been so stubborn, so relentless. No matter how many times life tries to tell you something’s not meant for you, you challenge each and every one of it’s obstacles until you take what’s yours. 

“Okay, then what are you gonna do? Date him? You haven’t even had your first kiss yet.” Jungkook reminds you with a mocking tone and you furrow your brows together because, how does he know that? 

You stammer, “I-I have! I had it at camp last summer, actually!” That’s a lie, but he wasn’t there so he can’t prove the veracity of your statement. “And what do you care? So what if I want to date him?” You add with anger, not understanding why couldn’t he just support you in search of true love. 

The thought of dating Kim Taehyung had never crossed your mind, thinking he was way too out of your league for him to ever notice you. But that confession sitting in your MSN chat now served as a nice feeling of knowing you aren’t as invisible as you think you are. 

Jungkook scoffs, “Taehyung would never date you, okay? He’s older than you, he’s cool, he goes to parties and has kissed almost every girl in his grade, do you think he’d really like someone as boring as you?” He doesn’t mean to be so harsh, but you’re just so difficult and impossible to get through.

Jungkook’s used to the trembling bottom lip and the teary eyes that you give him everytime he says something that definitely strikes a nerve within you, but he’s always impressed on how you always refrain from crying in front of him. Last time you did that you were both kids and he probably took the last lollipop from your batch of collected halloween candy. 

“Screw you, Jungkook,” you say through gritted teeth, and if looks could kill, he’d be dead already. 

He looks at you quickly stomp your way back to your house, only heading back inside once you slam your front door shut. Jungkook enters his room to find two new messages in his MSN.

$$ kIm tAaEhyYyuNG $$: it worked! 

$$ kIm tAeEhyYyunGG $$: she fell for it xDxD where did u even come up with the sparkly eyes thing?? that’s gold bro rofl 

Jungkook sighs, ignoring the messages and shutting his computer down.

You’re sixteen and you’ve been invited to your first party. Granted, it was Jungkook’s, but he knew that if he didn’t ask you to come you’d probably tell on him with his mom. No matter what age he was, he’d always fear his mother’s scolding. 

“Drink this!” Park Jimin says with his beautiful smile and you’re starting to realize why they gave him that very same superlative on the school’s yearbook. You take the red solo cup without any second thought, placing the rim straight to your lips and choke once you feel the liquid burn your throat. 

“Ugh—What’s this?” You ask, cleaning the droplets of liquid around the corners of your mouth. 

He chuckles, “Fruit punch!” The liquid is indeed red like the familiar drink you’re used to, but there’s definitely something else mixed inside. “Oh, and vodka,” he adds with wiggly eyebrows as he shows off the small flask he was hiding in his sweatshirt’s front pocket.

You gasp and hand him the cup back, “No, I don’t drink alcohol, sorry.” Jimin rolls his eyes and it reminds you of the many times you’ve received this same reaction from your classmates before. Always a party pooper. He’s about to take the plastic red cup from you until you quickly drink the spiked punch in one go.

The boy howls in excitement, “Woo, go Y/N! Another one coming right up.” 

Jungkook knows he should be making sure everything’s alright downstairs. If his mother notices there’s at least one misplaced object, she’ll know right away something went down in her house while her husband and her were away for the weekend on an emergency trip to their hometown. Leaving him unsupervised only because they both believed their son was old enough to tend for himself.

But Jung Eunha had dragged him into his room with the excuse of wanting to see what it looked like, but the mini tour had turned into them kissing on his bed and Jungkook is thankful he changed his Spiderman sheets in exchange for some boring plain grey ones. Eunha smells like fresh mint and Jungkook is way into his head to focus on properly kissing her.

It’s not until his bedroom door is abruptly open, slamming against the wall that Jungkook literally jumps to his feet, making Eunha gasp as they both look at the person who has interrupted their awkward makeout session. 

“Guk-ah, what are you doin’?” You curiously wonder, a hiccup following right after which makes you giggle. Jungkook’s chest rises and falls with quickness as he notices you look different from the last time he saw you twenty minutes ago when you were talking to Jimin. “Guk-ah, were you—you kissin’ Eunha?” You ask once more after not receiving an answer to your previous question.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He asks in concern, coming closer to analyze your weird state. You stretch your arm out to avoid him from nearing you, making him falter in his place as he studies your expression. 

You hum, “Guk-ah, you busy. Sorry,” you apologize in a shy tone, ready to head back down and have more of that fruity alcohol punch you now found tasty, but you stumble and only avoid yourself from falling by holding onto Jungkook's door frame, he’s already reaching out by then. 

“Are you fucking serious, Y/N? Get out!” Eunha complains with irritation, getting up from the bed and ready to kick you out of his room, but his free arm stops her from getting near you. “Whu—?”

“Eunha, go back down. I’ll deal with her myself.” Jungkook says as calmly as he can, thinking three’s a crowd and dealing with you wasn’t an easy thing in of itself. She’s about to argue, but he interrupts her again, “Go down, now.” 

She rolls her eyes and bumps her shoulder against yours harshly once she steps out of his room, “Whatever, that kiss was shitty anyway.” 

He pretends he didn’t hear that and takes you in his arms instead, dragging you to lay on his bed as you cuddle into his favorite pillow and hug it close to your body. How much did you drink? Why did you even do it in the first place? Jungkook knows you’ve never tried alcohol before, which means he’ll be in big trouble if you show up back to your house like this. 

When you open your eyes hours later, your head hurts and it feels lightweight when you move it side to side. The room you’re in is familiar, that spiderman poster is still hung on the wall, but there are no more toys laying around the floor; they’ve probably been stored somewhere in his garage or sent off to a donation center under his mother’s demand.

The pillow that you’re hugging smells just like him and any other day you’d hold on to it tighter and inhale his scent like your life depended on it, but you abruptly sit on the bed as you’re reminded of how you got here. The action is not appreciated by your dizzy head, but you look around the room to notice how dark it is and there’s no more music playing downstairs. 

You quickly jump to the ground, only to hear a “Fuck, ouch!” from below, stepping on Jungkook’s leg unintentionally. It makes you gasp, looking down to notice the older friend laying on the cold floor, having gotten rid of that childhood carpet of his. His head’s laying on a makeshift pillow made out of a towel and he’s trying hard not to shiver. 

“I’m sorry, sorry, sorry!” You quickly apologize, stepping away from his figure as he soothes the shin of his leg you stepped on. “Jungkook, what happened?” 

He sighs, “Someone decided to drink like five cups of spiked punch knowing damn well it was their first time drinking alcohol, stepped into my room like a crazy person, and then crashed on my bed like they—What’s with the face?”

“Bathroom.”

Jungkook grimaces while he holds your hair back, you’re throwing away all the liquid you had taken with a few additional snacks you had munched on earlier, “Are you done?” He asks in a tired mumble and you shake your head no.

He feels guilty that you’re in this position. He didn’t even want to kiss Eunha, but she was one of the most popular girls in his grade and he knew that if he turned her down she would most likely put a bad word in with the rest of the girls and the guys would make fun of him for being such a wuss.

That would’ve been better, because after laying you down on his bed he had to go down and tell everyone that the party was over, putting an excuse that the neighbors had warned him and threatened to call the cops. They all cleared pretty quickly, but he knew he was going to be the butt of the jokes come Monday. He even had to call your parents to let them know you had gone home to a friend’s house for a sleepover, which he knew wasn’t totally believable, but it had somehow gotten them convinced that their daughter was alright because they trusted Jungkook to never hurt you ever. 

Once you feel like you’ve puked your stomach out, Jungkook hands you a pill accompanied with a glass of water and hands you clothes of his that might be more comfortable to sleep in. 

“Good night, Jungkook,” you whisper once you’re laying back on his bed, still hugging the pillow he preferred to sleep with. He makes a sacrifice to make it up to you. 

His back is going to hurt by the time the sun comes out in a few hours, but it’s okay if it means you’ll sleep comfortably after the events of tonight. “Good night, Y/N.” 

He’s unable to sleep, but finds entertainment in your hanging hand beside his bed. The skin on your palm looks soft and there’s this strange urge inside of him that makes him want to grab your hand in his, but he refrains. 

To calm the current chaos in his head, Jungkook finds peace in the light snores coming from his bed.

You’re just about to turn eighteen and your date to the prom is Jeong Jaehyun, who had only asked you out a day before the event because the girl he had initially wanted to take had been asked and he didn’t have a plan B. 

Jaehyun is okay, at least he managed to get you a corsage that matched the color of your dress. He even smiles in the pictures your parents take of you both as you awkwardly try to look comfortable with his arms around you even though by then you had only exchanged a few sentences. 

The prom’s theme is Summer Nights and you think it’s fitting considering this is the very last event before the graduation ceremony, meaning that you’d most likely never see most of these people ever again. You had purposely applied to a college that was outside of your hometown for that same reason. You’re ready to live the life you’ve always wanted to live, without anyone judging or knowing you. 

Your date spends most of the night talking with his group of friends as you’re left alone on your table, looking at your well manicured nails. You knew you weren’t going to get the same prom experience the high school kids on T.V enjoyed, but you at least hoped it would’ve been a little more fun than this.

A tap on your shoulder makes you turn around to see Jungkook trying to loosen the tight tie around his neck. He looks incredibly handsome and you suppose his mother helped him pick the suit out, Jungkook rarely ever wore fitted clothing, so this is one of those once in a lifetime moments..

“Hey you,” you say and he gives you half a smile, wondering why you’re sitting by yourself at an empty table when everyone else was either mingling or dancing. “Where’s your date?” You ask with curiosity, you’re surprised that Jinsoul isn’t trailing alongside him given how she had behaved for the past week ever since he asked her to come with him. 

“Retouching her face or something,” he answers casually, “what are you doing sitting here? Where’s Jaehyun?” Jungkook asks.

You shrug your shoulders, “Don’t know, probably talking with the guys of the basketball team. He’s been gone for a while.” Not like you care, anyway. If your conversation with him inside his car on the way to the venue had been any indication of what it would’ve been like for the rest of the night, you’re glad he's not here trying to make any more small talk with you.

Jungkook huffs, thinking he’ll kick his ass if he sees him. He had asked him to invite you so you wouldn’t come alone, and yet here you are, sitting all by yourself while the douchebag’s making a social life somewhere in the crowd. He calms down once he notices how unbothered you are by it, though. You’re a big girl now, you’ve been through too much to be affected by something as simple as this.

“Is there something you wan—“

“Dance!” You interrupt with excitement and Jungkook chuckles.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted something to drink, but—alright, let’s dance.” Jungkook can’t dance for shit, but you took lessons when you were younger and he can still remember how you’d always show him the routines you learned in class. He’d always boo you, but in reality you were pretty good. He wonders why you stopped, he doesn’t recall you ever telling him.

It’s just his luck that once you both step into the dancefloor, the hired DJ stops the up-tempo song playing before and switches to a much slower romantic one, “Alright everyone, I want all the couples on the dancefloor for this one.” 

You step away from him with nervousness, it’s couples only after all. But Jungkook holds onto your lower back firmly, pulling you closer into his space. Your eyebrows raise as your lips part, “Uh, s-should we, uh—?” 

“It’s just a song, Y/N. You wanted to dance, then we’ll dance.” He tells you with such confidence it makes you feel like this is totally normal and something all friends do. All the known High School couples are dancing together, heads tenderly placed over chests and chins resting lovingly above them. You wait for Jungkook to take the lead because you have no clue of what you should be doing, you might’ve taken dance lessons years ago but you’ve never slowed danced in your life. 

Jungkook places his hand on your hip, the touch makes goosebumps crawl in your arms. He pretends he doesn’t notice it as he takes your right hand in his. You stare at the way he delicately holds it like it’s his mother’s fine china. “Place your other hand on my shoulder,” he instructs and you do as asked, your palm coming to rest on the strong muscle. 

He’s only slowed danced once before at a family member’s wedding where his mother taught him how to, with her as the teacher. Back then he thought it was incredibly ridiculous, but now he’s sort of glad that happened because he’s the teacher now and you’re now looking at him with your big eyes as you sway alongside him. 

You clear your throat, “This isn’t that hard.” Jungkook nods as he stares down at you, noticing how uneasy you are given that you’re looking at everything and not entirely immersed in the moment.

“You look beautiful tonight.” He says out of nowhere, making you look at him like a deer stuck in headlights, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He had never called you that before. 

An awkward laugh escapes your lips, looking away from his intense gaze as you try not to take his words too literally, “Ha ha, that was a good one.” To you there’s no other explanation than this being one of his mean pranks on you.

But Jungkook doesn’t falter both his words and gaze, “I’m not laughing.” There’s seriousness in his voice and you have to look back at him again just to make sure he really isn’t, “You look beautiful, just take the compliment.” You nod and there’s silence between you two after that. You’re digesting the romantic lyrics that the singer is talking about and hope that the song ends soon, because you’ve never been this close to him and it’s starting to feel too crowded.

You clear your throat, “So…” 

“So…,” he repeats. 

“What are you doing for summer?” You ask him in an attempt to break the tension and wanting to take advantage of the little intimate moment since Jungkook rarely ever lets you pry into his private life. 

“I think I’ll train before heading off,” he answers. It was more than obvious he was going to earn that sports scholarship he had been aiming for, he was one of the best athletes on the school; though you considered him to be the number one between them all. “I’m kinda scared, not gonna lie.” 

You look at him with surprise, tilting your head to the side, “You’re scared?” You ask in disbelief because as long as you’ve known him, he’s never been scared of anything. This is the same kid who instilled your fear of monsters in a closet after watching Monster’s Inc. together, also the same kid who helped you get over it after he realized you had actually taken it seriously.

He chuckles lightly, “Yeah, I’m just scared about starting over.” It’s interesting how his biggest fear is the one you’re looking forward to the most, but you suppose it’s fitting for someone who has never had to worry about what people think of him. In this town, Jungkook has swam freely without any concerns. Out there, he’s just another fish in the big and scary ocean. “Aren’t you?” He questions, hoping that you’re able to relate to what he’s feeling. 

“Honestly, I—“ 

You’re interrupted by Jaehyun clearing his voice in front of you two, making you both turn your heads towards his direction. You quickly separate from Jungkook and he feels his body lose the warmness you were providing. 

“If you wanted to dance, you could’ve just asked. I’m your date after all.” He says smugly and you chuckle awkwardly, nodding because he’s right. 

Jungkook wants to punch his stupid face, how dare he interrupt you both when he had been ignoring you the whole night? Why does he suddenly want to dance with you when he’s probably still upset at him for asking Jinsoul to the prom before he could?

“Your date’s looking for you, buddy. She doesn’t look too happy.” Jaehyun adds with a smirk as he takes your hand in his and drags you away from Jungkook towards another place on the dancefloor. 

He’s left to stare at the way he holds your hand, and he only hopes he’s doing it ever so carefully. 

You’re twenty when Jungkook sees you for the first time since you both left for college two and half a years ago. He’s rendered speechless when he spots you in the crowd, there’s a manly hand around your waist as you giggle into the stranger’s mouth before placing a kiss to his lips. 

There’s only so much social media can provide him, pictures and stories aren’t enough for Jungkook to keep up with you. He thinks you’ve changed, not only appearance wise but you seem way more outgoing, carefree, and happy. Did he miss the boyfriend announcement picture? He’s sure he didn’t, he checks your profile almost every day and he’s never even seen him in any of your stories. 

A gasp escapes your lips once you spot him, completely forgetting about the possibility of bumping into him given that both your schools were playing against each other that night. You tell Namjoon you’ll be right back and he nods, going back to a conversation with the group of college friends you had made. 

You surprise him by jumping into him, arms around his shoulders as you hug him from behind. You let out a shrill of excitement and he blushes as his friends chuckle at the unexpected approach from this unfamiliar girl. 

‘‘Jungkook! You didn’t tell me you’d be here,’’ you say once he turns around to face you and he’s able to see you better upfront. You look beautiful and he thinks the Instagram pictures are not doing you enough justice. You’re glowing, and it has nothing to do with the highlighter you applied on your face and collarbone area. 

The both of you aren’t able to properly talk until you suggest moving to a different area, Jungkook apologizing to his friends as he explained he needed to catch up with an old friend. They don’t complain and instead shoot him teasing looks and small pervy comments that go by unnoticed to you. 

Jungkook listens with intent to your ramble about what you’ve been up to. From your courses, to your roommates, the parties you’ve attended, and even the fact that you handle your alcohol better now. He’s happy that you seem so too, but it irks him that you hadn’t been capable of telling him that you had a boyfriend now. Is there a reason as to why you omitted that important piece of information? 

‘‘And what about you? How’s college?’’ You ask with curiosity. 

He blinks a few times, realizing you had stopped talking about yourself and was now wondering about him instead. ‘‘It’s fine,’’ he answers with a tight lipped smile, the lack of detail compared to you was astonishing, but even though you were still hungry for more you decided not to pry any further. 

There’s fear in revealing that he’s been having a hard time catching up with the rest of his peers. College was indeed fine, but it could be better. He’s settled with the idea that this is as good at it’ll get, some things just aren’t like you expect them to be. At least you’re happy, and that fact brings him comfort. 

‘‘Was that your, uhm─boyfriend?’’ He finally asks after a while, both about to head back to your respective group of friends. 

The question takes you by surprise, looking at him with raised eyebrows and mouth agape. ‘‘Who? Namjoon?’’ He nods, though he doesn’t know anything about the guy he had first seen you with. You let out a wholehearted laugh, ‘‘Hell no, too many commitment issues with that one,’’ you answer and Jungkook’s forehead creases with confusion. 

Why were you kissing him then? 

‘‘We’re friends with benefits,’’ you inform him as if you had read his mind. ‘‘He’s a nice guy, though. Also, super smart, he’s helped me with a few of my─’’ 

‘‘You’re not a virgin anymore?’’ He abruptly asks, disbelief in his tone as he internally screams to himself for thinking out loud. Jungkook expects you to berate him about such an imprudent question, but is surprised when he sees you giggling. 

‘‘Duh, silly. I think I lost it freshman year?’’ The carelessness in your voice makes him look at you like you’ve gone crazy. Why are you so lax about this? Why are you telling him about losing your virginity without a care in the world? ‘‘Anyway, are you going to be home for the─’’

Jungkook interrupts you once again, ‘‘Was it with your boyfriend at the time?’’ He asks in genuine curiosity and you sigh, rolling your eyes slightly at him. 

‘‘No, it was some random dude at this party I went to. Could you please─’’

‘‘Y/N, are you insane? Why would you give up your virginity to some fucking stranger like it’s nothing?’’ Jungkook’s voice raises as he scolds you about being so negligent about yourself, ‘‘You can’t do shit like that!’’ He fumed, making you let out a breathless chuckle. 

‘‘Could you stop treating me like a fucking child for once in your life? I’m perfectly fine, Jungkook. I’ve been doing pretty well for myself without you here, actually. I don’t know why you think you have a say on what I do, is it the entitlement you have of me that you still carry around because we grew up together? Because if that’s it then you can drop it, I let go of my little girl who wanted a friend and was treated like pure shit in return complex a long time ago.’’ 

He knows you’re right, but he thinks he’ll always have this odd sense of protection over the five year old girl who cried to his mom about not lending her his favorite toy. He’ll always want to apologize to the eight year old girl who declared her love for him with a Valentine’s Day card while he ended up breaking her heart in exchange. He’ll always wish to look for help within the twelve year old girl who witnessed him give out his first kiss to another girl who he didn’t even like. He’ll always feel guilty towards the sixteen year old girl who had gotten tipsy on a spiked fruit punch and crashed on his bed. He’ll always hate himself for not asking the seventeen going on eighteen year old girl to prom when he knew he could’ve, but chose not to in fear of ruining your friendship. 

You only wanted someone to be there for you growing up and Jungkook had never been the brave boy you thought he was, always running from his fears in hopes he’d have a wide advantage margin from them. Yet here they are, standing right in front of him in the form of a twenty year old you, and they’re there to let him know that you’ve never needed him, yet he’s always needed you.

He can’t even apologize, he only looks at you with wide eyes as he fidgets in his place. Either you’re both too old now to understand each other or you just realized that you’ve outgrown Jungkook. 

Your mouth set in a hard line as you crossed your arms, the night’s breeze feeling colder than usual. ‘‘I miss you Jungkook, but I can’t keep playing this cat and mouse game with you any longer.’’ 

You leave him behind to go back to Namjoon’s arms, seeking refuge in his sweet embrace as you try your hardest to put on practice what you learned all those years ago when Jungkook broke your heart for the first time, you should be used to it by now.

You’re twenty-one when you’re back in your hometown to attend the funeral of the old lady down the street, the one that always scolded you and Jungkook growing up. 

You had been scared of her as a child, but always following along your friend’s footsteps when he proposed playing around her garden. It tugs at your heartstrings even if you hadn’t known the woman well. Her death was imminent seeing as she’d been ill for quite some time. 

A taller figure stands next to you as you both stand way in the back of the ceremony. He looks tired and you figure that it’s because of the fact he arrived late into the night, you heard his car’s engine from your bedroom window. Dressing in all black, you notice he bought a new suit. You’re sure that the one he wore for prom no longer fits considering he’s bigger now. 

You haven’t talked to each other since last year when you both left off on a sour note. The hurt you felt was no longer present, though. You chewed on your bottom lip as you thought of a way you could talk to him again without making things awkward, but you let out a small gasp once he placed his arm around your shoulders, giving it a small squeeze as he sighed and kept his focus on the service. 

Watching the casket be lowered into the ground felt weird. She was a human being just like you, but her existence was a reminder of your childhood. Would it be okay to say that her death meant a part of you leaving with her too? 

Once it hits you, it’s Jungkook who consoles you by hugging you tight. Your eyes are too blurry with tears for you to realize this is one of those rare moments where he’s holding you close without hesitation. He lets you ruin his tuxedo’s jacket with your mascara covered tears as he brushes your hair as a sign of comfort. 

You know things are back in order when he proposes the idea to go back to the old lady’s porch, for old times sake. ‘‘Will we ever let her rest?’’ You ask him with a small laugh as Jungkook sits on the doorsteps of the old lady’s empty home, opening the bag of candy worms he bought at the grocery store. 

He shrugs, ‘‘She loved us, always told my mom how much she missed us running around the street.’’ The revelation makes you smile, hoping it was true. He pats the empty space next to him, indicating for you to fill it up with your presence. Once you do, you feel the familiar warmth of his proximity. 

Jungkook seems different and you only hope he’s changed for the best. 

‘‘When are you going back?’’ You ask him with curiosity, hoping that he’ll be in town for a few more days so you can catch up with him on a better note this time around. 

He munches on one of the snacks, ‘‘Tomorrow morning, I have training camp and can’t miss it.’’ His answer makes you sigh with disappointment, but you nod nonetheless. ‘‘What about you?’’ He asks in return, and you inform him that you’ll stay for a few more days to spend time with your family. There’s silence after that and Jungkook can only offer you the gummy worms in the bag, you take one with a small thanks.  

‘‘College fucking sucks,’’ he says out of nowhere and it makes you look at him in bewilderement, ‘‘I hate it there, I wanna drop out so bad. But I’m a year away from graduating so it’s too late now.’’ You see his shoulders visibly relax, like a weight had been lifted off them. ‘‘Plus my mom would kill me if I do so,’’ he adds with a chuckle. 

Last time you asked everything was fine. Had things changed or had they always been this way and he was just now being honest with you?

You rest your head on his shoulder and focus all of your undivided attention on him as he keeps rambling about what his life has been ever since he left this town. He’s had bad games, bad grades, and bad girls. But he’s also had incredible games, good grades, and a couple great hookups, and yet he still feels empty, it’s not enough. 

‘‘I miss you,’’ he mumbles as he faces you, ‘‘I’m sorry for being such a shitty friend, you deserved better.’’ His apology is genuine and you can feel it in the way his voice trembles, sincerity has always scared him after all. 

Jungkook’s never known when the time is right, and he misjudges the look on your face. When he leans down to press his lips against yours, he’s blinded for a mere moment into believing that you wanted to kiss him just as much as he had been waiting. 

You abruptly separate from him with wide eyes and parted lips, ‘‘Jungkook, I’m─I’m dating Namjoon now.’’ He can physically feel his heart shatter, the revelation coming out like an old newspaper headline he should’ve read a long time ago. 

He lets out a breathless chuckle, ‘‘He got over the commitment issues?’’ The rhetorical question is bitter. 

You scoff, ‘‘And what about it? I preferred to wait than to rush into getting my heart broken.’’ Plus it’s not like you were expecting Namjoon to grow feelings for you, the whole no strings attached arrangement was named that way for a reason. 

Jungkook looks at you with narrowed eyes and he shakes his head sightly. Old habits never die down, still so stubborn and challenging as ever. 

He’s startled as you stand abruptly, fuming as you look at him, ‘‘I don’t even know why you care! Did you forget that you threw my Valentine’s Day card into the trash? Or that you kissed Yeji in front of my face? Or that you let Taehyung date me as prank between your friends? Or that you were making out with Eunha while Jimin kept giving me alcohol? Or that you asked Jaehyun to take me to the stupid prom even though I was perfectly fine going without him or anyone for that matter?’’

‘‘We were just kids!’’ Jungkook argues back at you.

‘‘It still fucking hurt,’’ you counter, ‘‘still hurts, actually. You think that by giving me a measly apology and kissing it better I’ll suddenly forget about all of it?’’ Jungkook knows it won’t ever make up for all those years, but he had at least hoped you’d be willing to give him a chance. 

He wishes he could say something else. Explain that he had just tried to protect you in his own shitty way from everyone else or himself maybe, he doesn’t know anymore. He wants to speak up again, but there’s disappointment written all over your face, you’re not angry at him...just saddened. 

‘‘Hope you have fun at your training camp.’’

Jungkook watches as you leave him sitting by himself on the old lady’s doorstep. A hand runs through his hair as he feels his eyes water, and he can almost hear a whisper in the wind that asks him why he didn’t stop you when he could’ve. 

Jungkook didn’t think that his family coming together with yours for Christmas dinner would’ve been a great idea. You’re cold to him at first and it’s fitting for the winter weather, but as always it only takes for him to sit next to you for things to warm up again. 

It’s with the excuse that you’ll run over to your house to grab a new bottle of wine from the kitchen counter that Jungkook trails behind you, both slightly tipsy on the different alcohols your families had offered each other. 

Years have passed since he last stepped foot inside your home, you used to visit him more often than he did anyway. It still smells and looks the same; the only difference is that there’s new pictures of you hung up on the walls, updated accordingly to the changes you’ve made ever since you left off for college.

You’re sporting a big smile in all of them, which in exchange makes him copy the action as well. His lack of presence in your life has done you better than compared to when he was around, and if that’s the case, then at least he did something right. 

There hasn’t been much said since the beginning of the night, just a simple hey out of courtesy. There’s so much he wants to say, but with no clue where to begin. Another apology is due, though he thinks it’s a little too late for that. He also wants to ask about what you’ve been up to since he last saw you, are you still dating the Namjoon guy you had told him about after he kissed you? If he’s still there, Jungkook rather keep quiet and not wonder out loud to you, he’s sure that it’ll hurt if it’s true. 

Growing up Jungkook always mistook your bravery with stubbornness and your courage with relentlessness. You’ve always been challenging, but only because you wanted him to do so too. It’s moments like this that prove him that you’ve always been the stronger between the two.

‘‘So, we’re just gonna pretend like nothing’s wrong between us?’’ You ask, speaking directly to him for the first time that night. It makes him look at you like a deer stuck in headlights, surprised by the sudden question and out of all the years of knowing each other, he feels small under your gaze for once. ‘‘How much time is it going to pass until you want to finally talk things like adults?’’ 

Jungkook gulps the lump in his throat, his brain quickly thinking of the right thing to say, ‘‘I just wanted to protect you from─’’

‘‘From what? From you? Everytime you’ve done that I end up getting hurt in the end. I’m left to pick the pieces up by myself,’’ you interject with anger in your voice. ‘‘It fucking pisses me off that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you kissing me, I haven’t stopped thinking about you and─’’ A sigh, you close your eyes to center yourself again as Jungkook waits for the final blow, ‘‘and you look like none of this has ever bothered you in the slightest because, you don’t really care about me do you?’’

‘‘I do care about you.’’ He’s sure about it, even though he’s been extremely bad at showing it. 

Even though your eyes are threatening to spill tears, you still muster up the last bit of what’s left of your courage to step closer to him until you’re a few inches away. ‘‘Prove it, then. Show me that you care.’’ 

His brain is sent into quick overdrive due to your close proximity. There’s a slight hesitation because he only hopes that what he’s about to do is what you’re demanding him to prove. He doesn’t care if you’re still dating the Namjoon guy because he’s settled with the idea that it’s okay if you don’t correspond, it’s not like he did the same to you when you were both younger. 

Once his lips press against yours, there’s no turning back. He’s waiting for you to push him back and let him know that your heart’s still taken, but you kiss him with such fervor that he knows in that moment that you’re right, it’s better to wait than to rush right in. 

It’s no fairytale kiss, though. There’s desperation in the way you chase his lips, as if you were to slow down he’d find a way to escape from you. You grip the cotton material of his crewneck into your small fists, holding on to the fabric like your life depended on it. The small kiss you had both shared last year was nothing compared to this, and Jungkook’s taken aback by your neediness. 

He doesn’t know how you manage to drag him to your childhood bedroom without missing a beat, only separating once you both realize you need to catch your breaths, and even then Jungkook can’t have a minute to take just happened in because your lips attach to his neck to get more of a taste. His fingers curled around your arm, sighing at the way your kisses felt like electricity on his skin. 

‘‘Y/N,’’ he calls your name out in a breathy tone, but you’re too immersed in your little bubble to even realize it. 

Jungkook groans when you bite into the skin of his neck, then blowing over the red mark as you kissed it better. It’s going to be bruise and he doesn’t like when that happens, but he’s not bothered at all if it comes from you. He forcibly grabs your chin so you can face him, looking at him with big eyes, a small pout, and with your chin messed with drool. 

It’s then that Jungkook kisses you hungrily, making you feel like you’re in a dream-like state,  though you could partially blame the Christmas eggnog for that. The way he bites at your lips and how your tongues clash together is an extreme juxtaposition as to how you could describe this moment. It’s as if you’re floating on air, clouds surrounding you in a heavenly embrace, angels singing in the background every time his hands touch, grab, hold and caress every part of your body. And yet, even with such a difference, it’s perfect because it’s Jungkook. You’ve been waiting for this too long, which is why your hands creep beneath his crewneck, touching his tonified abdomen tentatively and enjoying the way goosebumps arise on his skin at the sensation of your fingers trailing patterns wherever they caress.  

It’s only fair that he pays attention to yours as well. Jungkook’s lips trail from your mouth onto your jawline, planting wet kisses on each space until he begins sucking on the skin of your neck, making you moan in the process. He chooses then that his new favorite sound is the way you voice out the pleasure he gives you. ‘‘Hurry up,’’ you say, ridding the bottom of the crewneck higher over his stomach, making him shiver at the sudden change of temperature. 

Jungkook chuckles before completely getting rid of the material, ‘‘Calm down,’’ he sighs as he gives you a sweet smile, ‘‘You know our moms could talk forever.’’ 

You ogle his chest, admiring the way his training camps have obviously done wonders to his body. ‘‘It’s not them I’m talking about,’’ you correct him with a teasing smile that only makes his grin grow wider, chuckling at your impatience. Jungkook lets out a small gasp of surprise when your hands grasp at his shoulder blades, turning him around so you can back him until the back of his knees hit the edge of your bed. It’s funny how he lets himself be bossed around by someone who’s way smaller compared to his frame.

Jungkook finds leverage on his elbows splayed against the mattress, your knees resting on each side of his hips as you leaned into him and kissing him just as widely as you had done before. Jungkook could fill just how quick things were escalating, especially the way his crotch area was beginning to become a problem he couldn’t possibly control at the moment, not with your own being directly on top of it. In any other situation he would’ve apologized with an awkward laugh, but his breath hitches once your hips start grinding over him.  

His hands make their way on the inside of your knitted sweater, provoking goosebumps on the exposed skin. You let out a shaky laugh, halting your movements so you can quickly get rid of the fabric as Jungkook’s eyebrows lift in surprise at your haste and then at the sight of your bra covered breasts. His hands are still steadily placed on each side of your waist, only brought up because your own had redirected them over your breasts, hoping he gets the message on what you want him to do now.   

Jungkook hesitantly squeezed one of the round globes, provoking a small moan to come from out of your lips. He wishes to hold you as close as he possibly can because the idea of ever being away from you again has been his main fear as of lately. But he refrains, you look so delicate and he feels like you could easily break. He stares at your body lovingly and your cheeks heat up at the way his eyes ogle your chest like a kid in a candy story. You give his arm a light slap and he chuckles, leaning over you to place a passionate kiss on your lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he says frankly. It doesn’t help to dissipate the flush on your face, but the compliment doesn’t bother you in the slightest. Jungkook leans in to trail kisses past your collarbones and into the swell of your breasts, making you bite your lip with anticipation. He looks at you asking for permission and you nod quickly with parted lips as you start to become impatient for him to make his next move. Jungkook lowers the cups of your breasts, freeing your hardened nipples and immediately envelopes one of them with his lips. “Mph—!” A sigh escapes your lips as you try to memorize the way his tongue traces over your tit. He pays attention to your other one, fingers rolling over the bud and pinching ever so often. 

You can feel your panties damp by then, trespassing into the fabric of the black leggings you’re wearing over them. Reaching behind your back, you fumble in unclasping the hooks of the now uncomfortable bra. Jungkook’s forced to stop the undivided attention he had places on your breasts to look at you like he’s lost, why are you going so fast? 

Once your hands delve with the buckle of his belt, he has to hold on to your wrists with a firm grasp, ‘‘What are you doing?’’ He asks with quick breath, you blink stoically towards him. 

‘‘Uh─getting you naked?’’ You answer with a nonchalant tone, but his hands don’t let go and your demeanor changes, ‘‘D-Did you not want this?’’ Your voice turns smaller, embarrassed that maybe you had pressured him into something he didn’t want to participate in. 

Jungkook quickly shakes his head no, ‘‘No, I-I do want this! It’s just─you’re going so fast,’’ he tries to explain, ‘‘I’ve been waiting for this for too long, I don’t wanna rush.’’ Your eyes lit up at the revelation as he waits for you to answer back, only for his back to hit the comforter with a small thud, giggling at the way you urgently kiss him again, but this time with much more care. 

‘‘Why didn’t you say so before, stupid?’’ You mumble with a sheepish look, ‘‘I thought it was just going to be─nevermind, I need you right now.’’ You have to force yourself from spitting out any details that could possibly ruin the moment between you two, deciding to wait instead for any emotional confessions you want to make. 

He switches positions between the two, panting as he brings you down to the mattress and Jungkook can feel the goosebumps on your skin, whether from the coldness of the room or because of the sheer electricity of his hands caressing your body like it was molded just right for him. He dips his hand lower, cupping your clothed heat on his hand. It makes you tremble and you whine, encouraging him to keep going. 

“Baby, you’re really wet,” he comments with a teasing tone and you pout at him. His fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings and he pulls them down as he travels with them, greeted by the sight of the damp cloth of your panties. He exhales with content, caressing your thighs in an up and down motion. You twist underneath him and he has to hold your hips down to calm you down, “Patience is a virtue.” 

“I’ve been too patient, do some—Ah!” Your whining is interrupted once Jungkook moves your underwear to the side holding it with his free hand, fingers coming to trace the slick covering your pussy lips. He becomes entranced with the transparent gooey liquid, bringing them close to his face as he separates his fingers and sees a strand connecting between them. “Guk-ah, p-please…” Your needy voice brings him back to reality, delving his fingers back into your exposed heat but this time with intent. 

Jungkook’s thumb lifts the hood covering your clit, mouth coming down to give it a small tentative kiss. That action alone has you writhing above him, it makes him chuckle to himself as he dives back in. The moans you let out are loud and clear inside your bedroom, thankful that it’s only you and him inside your house. Your hand pulls at his hair, making him groan against you and the vibrations are felt throughout your body, only adding to the euphoric pleasure you already possess. His fingers trace the inside of your thighs until they reach your entrance, circling the fluttering hole which makes you pull at his hair harder and with your other you hold on to the bedsheets of the comforter tightly into your fist. 

Jungkook’s tongue is still working your engorged bud, but he focuses his eyes on you as he dips the first finger inside you. “Oh—fuck,” you let out in a breathy moan. He tries to maintain a rhythm between his two ministrations, but it’s hard when he wants to focus on all of them at once. “‘Nother, please,” you begged once he let your clit rest, quickly following your request by adding another into your warm heat. He lets out a breathless chuckle as he notices how easy it is to thrust both fingers inside of you, your whole crotch area is covered in slick and his wet chin is a dead giveaway to where he was seconds ago. 

He watches you unravel over him with such adoration, not even his wettest dreams or dirtiest fantasies could prepare him for this. Seven minutes in heaven he plans to stay in forever. “Guk-ah, I wan’ you. I-Inside, please.” You plead with teary eyes, and he slowly stops, removing his arousal covered fingers from inside you as he makes you sigh in the process. He kisses you again and again, your hazy brain is probably hallucinating all of this right now, but damn is it good. You tug at the crewneck he’s wearing, he’s too overdressed for this occasion. He tends to your demands, quickly getting rid of all the layers of clothing that stop him from being inside of you fully. 

“I don’t have a—“ 

“I’m on the pill.”

You both speak at the same time, making each other chuckle. Jungkook gulps at the idea of taking you raw as the first time together, and you salivate at his hardened length; the head already oozing precum out and you want nothing more than to wrap your lips around it and lick the tip up. You’re just about to when Jungkook quickly grabs your wrist to stop you from reaching him, you look up at him with the big sparkly eyes he has loved for too long. 

“I just—I wanna be inside you right now,” he sheepishly admits, and you smile with a nod; sharing the sentiment. You back up until your head rests on the pillows comfortably, relaxing into the mattress as you wait for Jungkook to ready himself. He places a kiss on your lips before placing a hand next to your head, using it as leverage above you. His free hand takes his cock and rubs the tip along your folds, making you squirm with anticipation. Jungkook chuckles, “Are you ready?” He asks with a sweet smile. 

“I’ve always been,” you whisper, your hand tucking a strand of his long hair behind his ear. 

A caress to his cheek as he nods, slowly pushing the head of his dick into you. You bite into your lip hard, it’s been a while since you had sex with someone and Jungkook’s size and girth was different from the rest. Your walls are tight around him and he has a tough time trying to reach the hilt with you squeezing him so hard, “Baby, relax for me.” He pleads and you nod apologetically, breathing in deep as you feel him reach parts inside of you, you didn’t know existed. Once he’s all the way in, he waits for you to give him the go ahead while he presses kisses into your heated cheek. You wrap your legs around his waist and give him a nod, letting him know he was allowed to start thrusting.

Jungkook manages to hit all the right places, keeping a steady pace as he enters and exits you each time. You’re left to moan and writhe underneath him, letting him take you as he pleases. Your kisses become messy, teeth biting into each other’s lips, teeth grazing against each other as you both tried to fight for the dominant position. It’s that heavy makeout that incites you to push at his shoulders, making him turn in his back, exiting you in the process. Jungkook pants, chest rising and falling with quickness as you straddle his lap, arms connecting behind his neck. 

“You always want to win, right?” He chuckles with half lidded eyes, enjoying the way your pussy lips grinded over his twitching length. You bat your eyelashes at him, offering him an innocent smile. The same technique that used to get you everything you wanted when you were younger. Same determination as you seek for what’s yours. He’s under you after all, still a victim to your charms.

Jungkook takes the bulbous head of his cock and teases it in your clit, if you weren’t holding on to him tight you would’ve collapsed into his chest. And by the way you moan his name out, he knows you’ll always look for him no matter the weather. “What a pretty girl,” he coos into your hair and you pinch his nipple in retaliation which only makes him groan in return. “My pretty girl.” He states before sinking himself deep into you again, sighing at the feeling of your hips circling over him. His rough hands guide them as you bounce up and down his length, moaning every time you rose and hissing when you came back down. 

He makes sure to keep this image engraved on his head forever. Your breasts bouncing over his face, your thighs working extra hard to keep up with his thrusts, and the way your sounds bounced off the walls of your bedroom. 

“You’re doing s-so good, baby.” Jungkook praises you, kneading your ass cheek. “Taking my cock s-so well,” he falls into a trance of admiring the way his length would appear and disappear inside of you, covered in a thick layer of your arousal. It makes him drill into you faster, sitting properly against the bed’s headboard as he takes your hips with force. He’s too turned on to keep treating you so delicately, and the way you moan and pant at the increase in speed only lets him know you enjoy him like this way more. “I-Is it good, baby? Am I-I fucking you well?” He asks in between rapid thrusts, your thighs had given out by then. 

You nod and a whimper escapes your lips, “Y-yes, Guk-Ah. S-so good, feels amazing.” Your praise is honest, the fucked out tone in your voice is a clear indicator of how well of a job he was doing. A minute longer and you’ll be right on cloud nine, never wanting to come back down. “Wanna cum Guk-Ah, plea—“ There’s no need for you to even finish your sentence because his thumb rubs your clit in figure eights, making you groan with the intensified feeling of his hips circling inside you deliciously. You can almost see the blinding white light ahead as Jungkook kisses you feverishly. You feel tears escape the corners of your high, the familiar feeling tickling inside you as Jungkook’s thrusts don’t let up. ‘‘Ah! Yes, yes, fuck,’’ you cry out once your orgasm hits. Jungkook holds you close to his chest, trying to soothe your shaking body with his arms. Your walls squeeze and relax continuously around him, it serves him as the impulse he needs to chase his own high. 

‘‘I love you, Jungkook,’’ you confess in between panting breaths, ‘‘so much.’’ 

His release shoots out and he groans, digging crescent moons into your hips. You hiss at the sensation, but giggle at how his eyes are screwed shut and brows still furrowed together, as if he was holding on to the last of his orgasm. In reality, Jungkook is just hoping that once he opens his eyes you’ll still be in his arms. Your fingers tilting his head to face you are very much real, he sees spots once he opens his eyes as they adjust to the room’s lighting. 

‘‘I love you too.’’ He says with a fixed gaze and you coo at how perfect this is.

You’re twenty-two when Jungkook’s finally yours.

You’re both twenty-three and it’s another weekend spent at his apartment, he’s been playing for three hours now and you’ve given up on having him pay attention to you. Deciding to switch your plan around and join him instead, if only he would let you play.

‘‘Jungkook, you said it was going to be my turn five rounds ago!’’ You complain with a pout, crossing your arms across your chest. 

His gaze is still stuck on the T.V screen, ‘‘Baby, shhh, you’re gonna make me lose.’’ He mumbles as he tries to remain concentrated on the game in hand, but he can hear your humph’s from behind him, ‘‘Patience is a─’’

‘‘Virtue, yeah, who cares.’’ You interrupt him with a roll of your eyes, familiar with the saying a little too well. ‘‘Hope you remember that for later tonight,’’ you add in a mumble, but he doesn’t hear it because of the loud sounds coming from the game on the screen. 

‘‘What did you say, babe?’’ He asks with a raised brow, hitting the buttons of the controller with expert ease. 

‘‘I’ll call your mom and tell her you don’t wanna share.’’ You joke with a threatening voice, but Jungkook knows better than to take your words so lightly. He pauses the game and turns to look at you with an are you serious? expression on his face, you giggle as you’ve finally got what you wanted. 

He apologizes by covering your face with kisses, pleading for you not to tell on him with his mom. You promise not to do so this time, knowing that the woman was probably tired of having to scold his son at his big age. 

Plus, ever since Jungkook surprised you with the almost exact replica of the Valentine’s Day card you gave him all those year back, you’ve taken advantage to tease him even more knowing he’s at your beck and call. You always remind him that he came close because the stickers he used were not like the ones you had, but he remembered to add the hearts on the I’s so that’s good enough. 

‘‘Alright you can play, but━!’’ He says after he finishes his attack of kisses, ‘‘I’ll be your guide, I can’t risk you messing my record up, no offense baby.’’ None taken as you nod excitedly, you’ll always take whatever chance he gives you. 

Jungkook’s finally learned how to share his toys after all.

[thosewickedlovelies]

Into the Woods: chapter 2  |  Frankie Morales x GN!Reader

Summary: Instagram stalking ensues. Will you run into Frankie again?

Tags: no warnings AGAIN this is weird for me too but as mentioned I do have some smut planned for these two if anyone needs more incentive to read lmfao

Word Count: 2,783

A/N: As always, endless love to @yoditorian for this idea and her supervision of my writing about a social media platform I do not use 💗💚💗

Backstory / chap 1 /

---

Later that night, Frankie sits at his desk, poring over maps both digital and physical. Where could you live to have traveled to the same point in the forest as him within a day? He’s hiked along the edge of his side of the woods, and knows that unless he’s missed some major construction, you can’t be there. So now he studies the other side of the treeline, looking at the closeness of the towns, any tiny side roads that could lead to individual houses like his own. But his frustration is growing.

There aren’t any. Not any within feasible walking distance, at least. And you hadn’t been grubby enough to have been camping. Frankie frowns, tracing the small highway which cuts through the forest. There, not far from the turnoff to his home, was a parking lot at the start of a web of trails through the woodland. If you started there and completely ignored the predetermined paths, heading a course straight for the pond...

“Huh,” Frankie murmurs. It wasn’t much further of a hike than his own. So that means you don’t live within walking distance- he shakes off an odd twinge of disappointment at that- but he does have an idea of your hiking range, if he felt like trying to seek you out.

He shakes his head. Don’t be weird. That was something Santiago might do- deliberately roam where he knew you regularly went in order to find you again. Frankie isn’t nearly so forward. His style is slower, less aggressive. What he’s already planning is his next cooking trip to the pond. Plants need water, and you forage for plants- he figures it’s a likely spot to run into you a second time.

Frankie hadn’t spoken to you again after you’d parted today. Only caught glimpses of you through the trees, from where he had dutifully remained by his fire. But at some point between the twisting of the campfire smoke from one way to another you had vanished, and not long after, Oso had returned to him, flopping down on her side with a satisfied huff.

He snorted. “Well, I’m glad you got to make a new friend.” Frankie rubbed her belly with only a little jealousy.

Now, feeling restless, he decides to upload the pictures he took today. He’s almost immediately distracted, however, by a string of likes from a new follower- concluding with a familiar photo of Oso and Gloriana. A prickle of excitement runs through him at a reference to foraging in the username. No way.

Frankie leans forward in his seat, straining for a closer look at the profile picture. A grin spreads across his face when the page finally loads.

It’s you. You, mid-laugh, perched comfortably up on a sturdy tree branch. He quickly scrolls down to confirm; but this is definitely you. Lots of photos of plants, and woodland that looks remarkably familiar. Your bare feet in a stream. A busy street at afarmer’s market, you smiling with a stall owner.

Frankie laughs out loud at the sheer absurdity of it. Here he was, worried about coming off as a mega-creep, and you’ve already shamelessly checked him out on instagram. He’s never hit ‘Follow Back’ so fast in his life.

--

You try to quash the squirmy anticipation in your belly as you pull on your pack, organizing yourself for the walk ahead. There’s no reason to get excited, you scold yourself. Even if you do see Frankie again, you still don’t really know anything about him.

You’d tried to stalk him online, but there wasn’t much information to go off of from his instagram photos. The pictures themselves spoke volumes, though. You’d always thought you could tell a little something of people’s personalities from what they posted, especially from pictures with their friends. Frankie’s main group of friends had a certain look about them- military maybe, a sort of cocky surety in their posturing. Despite this, they’re often grinning in candid moments, a relaxed, unself-conscious affection between the men which endeared them to you. Them, and Frankie. It’s a shame he doesn’t post more photos of himself. You recall again the sight of him in the woods, shafts of sunlight striking his expressive features, illuminating his kind smile and earthen eyes.

Then you shake your head. Too much time alone with your ever-churning thoughts have you romanticizing your meeting, when in reality you have no reason to expect to run into him again. He’d said he was out there all the time, but you’d never spotted evidence of any fires, or of a giant dog gallivanting around the place. Maybe he didn’t mean the pond specifically, but the forest in general.

“Argh!” Looking around, you stomp your foot in frustration. In your distraction, your walking pace had slowed, and you weren’t as far along in your hike as you should have been. Resolving to focus on your surroundings (because you won’t see Frankie again if you don’t get to the pond in good time), you splash some water on your face to refresh yourself and stride onward.

As you get closer to your pond, you slow down again, this time deliberately. All your senses strain for any sign of Frankie, but you don’t hear or see anything out of the ordinary. Then you smell it.

Smoke.

For a moment you panic. Is it wildfire season? Can you run away from a forest fire? Who do you call for this??

Then you smell something else- something familiar and edible- and you nearly pop yourself in the forehead. Of course you smell smoke, you idiot. What did Frankie say he did out here?? Cooked. You were literally just thinking about his instagram.

What is that smell? You have got to see this.

You step carefully to avoid making too much noise in the brush. Now that you’re looking for it, the gray haze of campfire smoke is obvious as it drifts through the trees. You give its source a wide berth, hoping for a chance to observe Frankie without him knowing.

Your wish is granted. You’ve come at him from the side, and now have an excellent view of his profile, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he stirs something in the heavy-looking pan in front of him. After a minute he looks satisfied, and retrieves the pan’s lid from behind him, arcing his arm carefully over the flames as he places it. Frankie sits back, a gusty sigh blowing from his lips.  As you watch, he tosses his cap to the side, running his hands through loose curls and scratching his fingers across his scalp. You bite your lip in a smile at the sight of his moment of self-indulgence.

You scan Frankie’s setup and the area around him, searching for-

“Ruff!” The dog you were looking for crashes through the bushes beside you, and you yelp in surprise, automatically stooping to soothe her.

Dammit, how does such a large animal keep sneaking up on you?

“Oso?” Frankie calls. He’s standing now, still hatless, a few steps closer to you than where he’d been sitting. He glances uncertainly between the fire and your approximate location. You hear him try your name next.

You swear quietly. “No, not you,” you add to Oso.

“It’s me,” you reply, straightening. “Sorry, Oso got me again.”

The pleased, upward tilt of his lips reverses as he shakes a stern finger at his dog, whose ears perk happily at all the attention. “What did I tell you? No more accosting strangers!” he scolds, though he doesn’t sound the least bit upset.

With a expectant glance at you, Oso trots back over to him. Frankie ruffles her ears, definitively undermining any negative impact his words might have had. You regard each other tentatively.

“Hi,” you say lamely.

His face crinkles back up into a smile. “Hi,” he returns. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Every possible conversation you’d mentally practiced since your first meeting flew right out of your head. “Well, you know.” You shrug lightly. “A person’s gotta eat.” Inwardly you cringe.

But Frankie is unphased. “I’d be really interested to hear about the kinds of stuff you find out here. This is almost ready, if you don’t feel like foraging for your lunch today.” He gestures behind him to the pan on the fire.

You hesitate, and Frankie seems to sense your uncertainty. “Only if you want.” He holds his hands up in a universal ‘no pressure’ sign, even going so far as to take a step back in emphasis.

You tell yourself to stop being so paranoid. This is what you wanted, after all. All your curiosity comes surging back as the wind shifts and the smell of his cooking sets your stomach growling. “Okay,” you agree. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Great!” Frankie beams. He turns- and promptly trips over Oso, still sitting beside him.

“Fuck!” He curses, hands hitting the ground on the other side of his dog.

You clap a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter. Is he always this prone to falling over? “Are you okay?” You make your way over to them.

“Yeah.” Now upright, Frankie seems flustered to find you so much nearer than before, his gaze flitting over you before he remembers himself. He turns to crouch by the fire again, snatching up his hat and re-securing it on his head.

You seat yourself a short distance away and observe. Oso has reclined on her belly on Frankie’s other side, her eager gaze fixed on the pan as he prods the food. Apparently deeming it finished, he retrieves three paper bowls from his bag and fills one each for you, himself, and Oso. With a small flourish and a nervous smile, he presents yours to you.

“Thank you.” You feel like maybe you should say something else, but he’s already moved to face Oso, murmuring something to her while he gives her her bowl. You decide to let the food do the talking.

And are glad you did when fresh, vibrant flavors flood your tongue. Your eyes flutter wide with surprise. “Wow, this is...incredible. How did you..?” You look between the steaming pan and his rucksack, unable to reconcile the feast of flavors in your bowl with how much you’d have to carry out here to achieve it.

The man blushes at your praise, gaze lowering briefly to hide his pleasure, but he looks back up at your question. “Trade secrets,” Frankie says solemnly. Then he drops the expression with a little laugh, his confidence clearly bolstered by your amazement.

“Just kidding, I’ll tell you. If-” he points his plastic spoon at you “-you tell me how we haven’t crossed paths before.”

That’s a fair deal, especially if it means you get to learn more about him. “I’ll do my best,” you promise. In between bites, you outline your gradual exploration of your surroundings upon moving into a nearby village a little over two years ago. This year, you decided to strike out into new territory- this forest.

“I found this pond pretty quickly and saw the blackberry bushes right at the end of the season last year. I’ve been coming here ever since, keeping an eye on it I guess. But this whole wood is really a gold mine.”

Frankie looks fascinated. “I had no idea. I know some plants, but I couldn’t even begin to guess what all is out here.” His mouth opens to ask more questions, but it’s your turn now.

“What about you?” you quiz. “How have I not seen you before if you’re out here ‘all the time’?”

“Well, I’ve been working my way over from the other side of the hill.” Frankie explains, gesturing to the gentle ascending slope behind him. “I only found this place earlier this year. Didn’t know it was someone else’s territory.” He offers an apologetic grin, and you duck your head, feeling a silly, pleased warmth in your cheeks.

“Anyway, I moved into my place over there about five years ago? But I had a lot to do at first. I made a ton of improvements to the house, I was starting a garden. The hiking was kind of a refuge from that at first, a way to quiet my thoughts when I was stressing myself out.” He admits this last part without looking at you, as if his stress is somehow something to be ashamed of.

“But then I realized that I actually enjoyed it, and it made me feel safer to know the woods in so much detail. So I made it a hobby. Started taking longer walks, mapping where I’d been. Brought whole meals instead of little snacks,” he adds wryly.

You laugh as his humor registers, completely engrossed in Frankie’s tale. He seems to notice this suddenly, and shuffles a little under your attention. “So that’s me,” he concludes, clearing his throat self-consciously.

Any foraging you intended to do today has long been forgotten. You’ve been sitting with your backpack on long enough that your shoulders have begun to ache, and you sling it off impatiently. Frankie seems to further relax himself at the sight of you settling in, leaning back on his hands, his empty bowl given to Oso to lick clean.

There’s one question that hasn’t been answered. “...so how did you end up on instagram?” you probe.

He laughs outright. “I wondered how long it would take you to ask,” Frankie teases. His lopsided grin suggests he knows the impression he gives off. His mirth is infectious, and you find yourself grinning back at him, although you refuse to be embarrassed. He was the one who had thrown his phone at you, after all. And he had stalked your profile right back.

“Well, I’m no photographer,” he begins. “But I like the act of taking pictures. Really stopping and looking at what’s around you, what captures your attention. I was in the army before this, and it was just in-and-out of so many places, not actually experiencing anywhere for real…” Frankie watches you from the corner of his eye, speaking slowly, as if reluctant to say something which might change your opinion of him.

“My friend’s wife- the one whose kid I’m godfather to- suggested I use instagram as a way to organize my photos, but also ‘so they know I’m still alive out here.’” He chuckles. “I kinda like it now- it’s like a public diary. Mostly it was a relief to find that I’m not the only weirdo out there who likes cooking in the woods.”

You breathe a laugh reflexively, but your mind is turning over his words. I keep an instagram, he’d said before. Like a diary. Well, that’s...really cute, actually.

“Well, that makes me feel really shallow,” you joke, unable to think of any deeper response to his unexpectedly meaningful answer.

“Nah.” Frankie dismisses your quip with an easy smile. He asks you about yourself, then. How you got into foraging, other questions inspired by the pictures he’d seen on your page.

For awhile you converse with the uncomplicated lightness of two strangers who know absolutely nothing about each other, but want to. As a dessert offering, you take out the tub of blackberries you’d gathered earlier. Frankie’s eyes widen at their size, fatter than any berry he’d see in the supermarkets.

His freely shared emotions- fascination, curiosity, delight- continue to confirm your impression of him. Safe. His mouth works as he savors the sweet fruit, lips puckering, head nodding in close-eyed approval.

You will yourself not to stare. Looking elsewhere, you glance up at the sky- and the angle of the sun sends you leaping to your feet. “Shit-”

Frankie startles. “What’s wrong?” He tenses, but remains seated. Oso jerks to wakefulness where she’d been dozing by his side.

“I’ve got to start back if I don’t want to be out here at night.” Hurriedly you check your phone to be sure of the time, your heart rate slowing upon seeing it’s not as late as you thought.

Frankie stands now to hand you back your container, still mostly full of berries. You pause. “Keep it,” you tell him. “Make yourself a campfire dessert.”

His lips part in surprise, but you step back before he can protest. “Or at least take them as a thank you. For the food...and the company.”

He purses his lips. “All right. I’ll save making dessert for next time, though.” He subtly searches for your reaction to his implied invitation.

Anticipation lightens your limbs, but you keep your feet firmly planted on the earth. “Next time.” You’re not sure you manage to smother the excitement in your smile.

---

Taglist: @thirstworldproblemss, @leonieb, @computeringturtle, @tobealostwanderer

[aspenxrps]

PSA!!

I’m not one to typically do this sort of thing and the fact that it’s at that point where we have to is bothersome to me. I’m an admin at a multi-fandom role play, we’ve been in the tags since the 13th and since then we’ve received a series of asks asking about My Little Pony, why we have it as banned, if muns have to get permission for a ship before doing said ship, if same sex relationships are okay, all of which we have answered happily. When the asks were published we received warnings from other role players that the wording and the way these questions/topics of these questions are being asked sounds like an admin from forgottenfriendshiprpg.

So with these warnings, we did a little digging ourselves and it adds up completely. Here, here  and here you can find a whole blog dedicated to the call out of said admin and her co-admin (who goes by Jazzy, Jacqueline, Jasmine, or Alex. Co-admin goes by Jade). I went through their entire blog and blocked every single one of the members from that rp, we’ve blocked their main and their new main which is manilarpg and they’re STILL sending us hate. I personally have never even heard of this role play until we got warnings about it, this wasn’t even on our radar and for some reason they have nothing better to do than to send us hate??

There was more hate we’ve received from them that we didn’t answer but we have taken screenshots. We don’t like to post negativity on our main, or character blogs because we as an admin team want our members to feel comfortable and safe. I made a post addressing the situation and telling them to stop sending us messages and just leave us alone. Surprise, they didn’t stop.

❗❗ TRIGGER WARNINGS AHEAD; depression, homophobia, suicide, bullying, racism, straight up cringe ❗❗

Below you can find screenshots of the asks we have gotten!

Scarlett Johansson is banned in our roleplay, so I am using Lesley-Ann Brandt as Natasha Romanoff. Pretty sure I don’t need to give the definition of blackface, most of us know what it is.

We have never once implied that we don’t care about friendship and kindness. If anything, we’ve been nothing but kind. But now I’m pissed off, so.

I don’t even know with this one, but still the same person sending us hate.

*Note: This isn’t hate, but it is still the same person. We know this because their use in caps for RPG and good ‘ole freehostedscripts. We did answer it, but because there was so many triggers in one ask we deleted it. Our answer was simple. Yes, we are a safe place to roleplay. We have a handful of LGBTQ+ characters in the role play and we don’t bully anyone because we believe love is love.

This is a warning we got from a friendly anon. This is not the only warning message we have recieved, this is just the only one I screenshotted at the time to show the other admins.

This is another warning we’ve received. Names and pictures have been blocked out of respect<3

This admin claims that she has changed, but it’s very clear that she has not. We’re notthe only multi-fandom roleplay she’s attacked either from what we have read on the other blogs calling her out. This roleplay is COMPLETELY toxic, the admins are toxic, they have FC’s who are above 18 playing minors, the youngest being sixteen. This PSA is not to attack anyone, but simply warn people. Though, do I really have to with the amount of warnings there already is for this particular set of people? I bet you my top dollar once this is posted I’ll be getting hate sent here too honestly. I’m not sure why people are still applying for these groups honestly, but at this rate if we keep getting hate sent to ours we will see to it that we get their role play shut down.

Sorry for the long post and if you’ve stayed this far to read through, thanks ! Be safe out there!

[evilvarric666-archive]

This is gonna be long, so sorry in advance, but as someone who enjoys long fics here are my two cents:

I get why some ppl may not want 75 tags in fics, but this is gonna hurt long fic writers. On a long fic there are probably gonna be more relationships that are central to the plot that aren't the main ship. And side pairings that may be a squick to some ppl. Not to mention trigger warnings and tone tags.

For example: a long fic with the pairing Y x Z. Z had an abusive relationship, and that's gonna be explored. So the author tags abusive relationship, bc that's a trigger, but an explanation next tag saying "not current ship" or smth.

Then Y has very important friendships with some of the cast. These are central to the plot so they're tagged too.

Turns out, character W is controversial in the fandom, but they're central to the fic too. The author is gonna tag after the character tag W positive/negative; so ppl who don't wanna see positive/negative things about W can skip this.

And guess what? Ship A x B appears in this fic too. Maybe it's not that central, but this ship is also disliked by some people, so the author will tag it, so ppl can filter through.

Another problem is with media that has different mediums, like, the media Y, Z, etc are from has movies, and books, and games and a tv show. All these things actually have different stories, different enough at least that ppl may only want to see fics written for the movies! But the author wants to take plot from the movies and the books. So instead of just tagging the all media tag for that media, they also tag media (movies) and media (books)

These tags end up accumulating. And especially in long fics. The author could make the first chapter a list of tws and stuff that they keep updating, but that destroys the purpose of ao3 tags: you can't filter content like that, you can only filter tags.

I honestly think they should just find a way to delete the fics with the trolling tags, or make a readmore thing so it doesn't hurt the browsing. At the very least make the tag limit longer.

sorry in advance that this is going to be rambly and weird. I have a lot of thoughts.

I get where you're coming from but I also still disagree. Like it's definitely going to change the way longfic writers tag, but I really don't think it's going to hurt them. I think it's going to encourage more effective tagging and that that's going to be better for everybody in the long run. If anything, I think that overtagging is what's hurting longfic writers, it makes their works look unappealing, and actually important information gets buried in a wall of text.

i will admit though that I do understand better now why less room for trigger tagging is going to be an issue. My preferred tagging style is "General/umbrella warnings in the tags, with whatever elaboration/specifics the author deems necessary in an author's note/author's notes at the beginning of each chapter" (example: "animal death" in the tags, so that the filters catch it + people who can't handle the subject At All know to keep scrolling, and then the author's note specifying that its in the context of game hunting & not a pet death, so that people who were uncertain and needed more info could click in and get the specifics.) and I thought that preference was pretty universal? But apparently a lot of people use the tags as an exhaustive list of warnings, which I didn't know because when I see a work with more than, well with more than 75 tags, I just start scrolling until it's gone.

(this is a tangent and I get that my experiences are not universal. but I genuinely dislike full warning lists in the tags because, for me at least, it makes it harder for me to figure out if the story is something I can/want to read. The things I Really Do Not Want To Read about are rare, and rarely tagged the same way twice, so the exclusion filter isn't really helpful for me. I have to actually read the full list of warnings and if the things I'm looking for are sandwiched inbetween a bunch of trope/character tags in a big wall o text I am going to miss it. This has happened to me multiple times.)

I think that that's an ineffective tagging style, basically. Lots of tags is kind of the opposite of useful tags, imo. Short, to the point and consistently worded warnings are better and I think having less space will encourage people to do that. I understand why people do this other style, though, and also why it would frustrate them that they can no longer do that. I think it really sucks that ao3 let everyone wild west their website for so long that it managed to spawn like three distinct groups of people who all use the website in completely incompatible ways, and now it's at the point where any new rule implemented is going to screw a lot of people over no matter what. But I digress.

Anyways, as long as someone isn't putting Revolutionary Girl Utena levels of warnings in their tags (and if your fic needs that much... maybe you should just put yur top 10 biggest warnings on there and slap a Dead Dove Do Not Eat on the end there, yknow?), I think that 75 tags will fully accommodate them. I get that tags start adding up, but also I think a lot of people are underestimating how many tags 75 tags is.

Like to just add up how many tags are used in your example: three / pairing tags, lets go crazy and say three more & pairing tags, tag every character tag in those pairings that's twelve, #abusive relationship + #not main pairing tags, three fandom tags bc multiple source mediums, a #[controversial character] positive tag... that's 24 tags. Like all the necessary character & pairing tags are handled in less than a third of the space given (and personally I consider this slightly over tagged. I think the only character tags you should put on a fic are the very mainest/pov characters, but yknow) and honestly if you can't then figure out a way to communicate the rest of the necessary information about your fic in 51 tags and a 1250 character summary then I really don't know how to help you. I personally would have to really push myself to figure out how to put more than 75 tags on one fic, regardless of the length of the fic. And I can't help but notice that a lot of the fics I could find with over 75 tags while searching last night had a lot of... unnecessary duplicate tags, often for information that could've been easily otherwise intuited (tagging #mandolorian #mandolore #mandolorian character and #mandolorian culture on a Jango Fett pre-series fic, for example)

I do have some criticisms about the current change though. I think it would've been better to have individual tag number limits for each individual field (x number of fandom tags, x number of character tags, etc.) instead of a 75 tags over all limit (or make a "warning tags" field that's separate from "additional tags" but that's a separate essay and would... probably mean overhauling the whole site. so not very practical.) A readmore option would be good too, and I'm not sure why they didn't go for that? I also think that this change will be most effective if done in combination with other changes. Like posting very loosely or not at all enforced official tagging/style guides for the site. I really think that even a tepid attempt at standardization will increase the site's usability like, A Lot.

I'm not sure how cohesive that was. TL;DR I appreciate hearing your thoughts, mine are that I still think this is a step in the right direction. And that cutting back on overtagging will lead to more concise, effective tagging which will make browsing and filtering easier in the long run.

[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.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Okay so tumblr did something super weird with the formatting and I couldn’t fix it; for some reason it had the page cut under the ask itself (as if the ask itself had the page cut in it) so I literally couldn’t edit it out and re-format it right. So I just took a screencap of the ask and I’ll respond via a standard textpost.

Gonna give a little warning because I’m gonna be talking about child abuse a bit.

Glad to hear it, anon. :) I try to keep an open mind with these discussions.

Tbh, I kinda get uncomfortable with some of the stuff I've seen in her tag regarding Zuko especially. I've seen a handful of people kind of dismissing him as being whiny or sensitive, and I just don't really vibe with that. I don't have anything against any of the people I've seen posting it, but I just don't vibe with.

I'm also gonna take the opportunity to try to break some of the misconceptions about the Azula fandom by saying that I don't feel afraid or intimidated to kinda go against a good portion of the fandom in a sense. And that's because, fellow Azula fans have never really outcast me or tried to fight me for saying that I think that Azula's a bit of an abuser. The Azula fandom imo, isn't full of bullies and hateful people; everyone I have talked to has been very open to a nice discussion. I think that it just depends how you approach them with your arguments.

All of that said, Imma get back on topic here; It’s a little tough to talk about Azula's flaws sometimes because I feel like (though, thankfully this hasn’t happened on tumblr to me yet) that some people take pointing out flaws in your faves as bashing them or posting hate.

But honestly this is really cool to hear because back when I first opened up this blog I used to do that thing where I’d justify everything that my faves did, which was a bit of a problem because my faves are all antagonists! xD So there has been a lot of progress made.

I think that there are three main reasons that people have a hard time admitting that she’s an abuser too.

I think that the biggest one is that a lot of Azula fans lately have been massively on the defensive. There has been quite a bit of hate in her tag, there have been things said by the writers (taken the wrong way or not), there have been a lot of generalizations, and so on. And all of it kind of puts fans on the defensive. I see so many posts about how Azula is irredeemable and just the worst, most evil character in the show and so people kind of swing hardcore the other way (Azula did nothing wrong) to make up for all of the demonizing she gets. One extreme usually leads to another. Seeing Azula get so much shit, like being called a killer and a sadist, provokes the Azula is a cinnamon roll reaction. Basically when a fandom gets put on blast for being 'the crazy' or 'mean' side of the fandom, I feel like it creates a cycle where that part of the fandom starts to actually act meaner because they feel backed into a corner. The more they are called 'delusional' for seeing good in Azula the more radically they will start to defend that belief until the shades of grey start disappearing, if that makes sense.

But this is just a theory of course.

The second reason I think that people tend to dismiss the things she does do wrong is that there's this association with criticism and hate. And this goes beyond the Avatar fandom. In general I feel like people find it hard to say bad things about their favorite characters because they feel like they're bashing their character and/or they don't want people to think that they are being negative. Plus it's just kinda hard to say bad things about something you like/love. Speaking as someone who used to do this; I always felt really weird about or like I was being negative when admitting that things I like have flaws. I'm not exactly sure why I used to feel like this because it wasn't an, 'I seem myself in this character, so insulting them is like insulting me' thing because I usually have almost nothing in common with my faves. Idk, it's just always been way easier for me to find things I like in a character I hate than it is for me to find things I don't like in a character that I do. On a personal level, it might just be because I'd rather focus on liking things that I like than hating things that I hate?

I guess that I think that it's just easy to forget that 'I don't like xyz aspect of Azula' is not the same as 'I don't like Azula at all'. I think that it's possible to love a character but not love everything about them, just like real people; you can love your mom to death but there will always be those things about her that drive you nuts.

And really, imo, I think that fans who are able to see flaws with their faves are the ones who understand them the best. I'm definitely not saying that the people who don't see/acknowledge their fave's flaws don't understand their fave. But I think that they are missing out on very crucial aspects of their favorite character. If you like a character you should like them for what they are in canon, not what you want them to be or what they could be.

I see a lot of potential for growth in Azula. I see potential for a redemption arc and I do love what her character can be. But I also love her character as is. Currently in canon, she's manipulative and goal driven to the point where she has a disregard for people. Currently she's an antagonist and I love her for that. Because antagonist, unredeemed Azula is the character I liked in the beginning. I don't condone her being manipulative and I don't like that as a personality trait. But I do love it as far as, she is a fantastically written antagonist. And those cold, manipulative, abusive traits add to her complexity when juxtaposed against her own abuse, insecurities, and need to be loved.

And that's kind of what I mean when I say that, if you like Azula, you should like her despite the flaws.  If that makes sense. I feel like people who say that she isn't an abuser (at least to some degree) kind of have a misunderstanding of her character. I think that one of the points of her character is to show that some abused kids don't come out okay. It's a tragic reality.

But with Azula I think that there's still room for her to change and start to break that cycle. I feel like she'd have a much harder time doing it than Zuko, because she has been subjected to his mental abuse in close range for much longer than he has. And I think that it would be something she'd struggle with her whole life, but I see good in her.

That said, I think that the third reason people have trouble seeing her as an abuse is because it is just really hard to see abuse victims become the abuser. I've mentioned before, but I come from a family where the chain ended with one of my parents. Said parent has told me many times how hard it was to fight that kind of upbringing. That's the real tragedy of abuse, it just goes on and on until you're mentally strong enough to fight yourself and break that chain. And the sad thing is, that some people just can't seem to do that. And I think that when discussing Azula, this comes into play a bit; it's just hard to look at even a fictional abuse victim and knowledge that they've become the abuser because it is all that they have known.

It's just a really hard topic and  that's why it's so easy for discourse like this to get heated; a lot of people have an Azula in their lives or relate to her in some way.

Thanks for the ask, sorry it took so long to reply! I wanted to make it thoughtful and word everything the best that I can.

As always, everyone is welcomed to chime in and give their own opinions.

EDIT: There are a few things that I don’t think I was clear enough on with the initial post lol. First and foremost, I’m definitely not saying that these three reasons are the only reasons people don’t talk about Azula’s flaws. @wingsfreedom​ made a good point about differing ways of interpreting scenes. That’s another biggy. 

The other thing I want to clarify is that I don’t think that Azula is a full on abuser. I think that she displays tendencies and does some abusive things. But I also don’t put her on the same level as Ozai. I feel like she’s a bit more merciful than him. Like Ozai is pretty much too far gone; he’s an abuser and his mind is set there. Azula, I think still has the capacity to break the chain. She’s not a lost cause. I also feel like she can be reasoned with more than Ozai. Ozai is all about power; Azula is motivated more by desperation (be it for her father’s love, to keep the last bit of control she has, and to keep her friends). It still leads to that harmful behavior, but I don’t think that she’s a lost cause like Ozai. Like, she has some abusive tendencies now, but I can also see her being able to break the chain under the right conditions.  If that makes sense. 

[fizzyxcustard]

The Strike of Midnight.

Fandom: Real Person Fiction (Richard Armitage)

Part 1

Summary: This is an amalgamation of an imagine and Christmas special idea rolled into one. My original imagine was “Imagine Richard admitting he loves you but you are adamant he’s joking and he winds up blowing up at you through your stubbornness and accusing him of being a liar.” This was then requested by an anonymous reader for it to be turned into fic. You’ve accused Richard of lying and he has stormed out of your flat. It is now New Year’s Eve and can you finally believe Richard’s words? 

Pairings: Richard Armitage x fem!reader

Warnings: Angst, insecurity, fluff

Word count: 1650

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be added to my tag lists for a particular fandom, character, or even everything, please send me an ask or a private message and I will add you. HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE! ;) My apologies for this not coming out to you on New Year’s Eve when it was meant to. I wasn’t very well, so I’m posting it today on 1st January 2020. 

Music listened to while writing this piece: My personal Two Steps From Hell iTunes playlist. 

Masterlist of fan fiction here

After Richard had stormed out of your flat, you had been both angry and sad. Angry at the fact that part of you always echoed the same words, ‘no one will ever like you.’ Sad at the fact that you had obviously offended him. Lashing out had always been your defence mechanism against your high wall of insecurity and self doubt. By pushing others away first, you did not have to experience crippling rejection. Instead, you were in control, and making sure no one could hurt you. It had only been a matter of time before you decided to push Richard away, even if he had not admitted any kind of romantic feelings, it would have probably happened further down the line of your close friendship.

At your parents’ house where you ate Christmas dinner and opened gifts, you faked every smile that came to your face. None of it lifted your spirits; the cheesy Christmas songs you normally loved couldn’t even raise a smile. On the night of Christmas Day, your mum sat you down at the kitchen table where you could both speak privately. Your dad was asleep in the living room, having drifted off whilst watching the holiday classic of Die Hard.

“There’s something wrong,” your mum said softly. “You haven’t been right all day, sweetheart.”

The floodgates opened and you broke down in front of your mother, your breath hitching and your shoulders shaking. Between sobs you tried as best you could to explain everything to your mum about the previous encounter with Richard.

As she always did, and most mothers would, she reassured you were a wonderful person and deserved love in your life. Richard at least needed to have a chance to prove himself.

For the next week you barely slept, tossing and turning in bed. In the darkest hours of the night you would check your phone constantly, hoping that Richard had text you. Nothing. Was this to be the last you would ever hear from him? Having been his friend for a while now, you understood what made Richard tick and how to handle times when he was angry. It was best to leave him to simmer down. But how long could you remain silent? Perhaps he was waiting for you to message him.

Not far from your flat, Richard slept in a hotel room. He had spent Christmas with his family, then decided to take time alone before heading off for his normal skiing holiday abroad for the New Year. Everything had become a frustration. Cutting himself whilst shaving had resulted in a smashed glass and torn shower curtain. The television remote batteries had died, making Richard throw the remote across the room. And to make everything so much worse, you hadn’t even contacted him since your last meeting, followed by an abrupt departure for him. He still had your Christmas gift, boxed and sitting in a silver bag.

He needed a drink, and something stronger than the usual wine he drank. Richard had begun to feel cooped up inside the hotel room and decided to go and sit in the bar, and maybe get some food while down there.

The bar was relatively quiet, with only one or two people dotted around the room. He looked upon a middle aged couple eating a meal with a bottle of wine between them. Across from them was a heavily tattooed man drinking a pint of lager, and then further towards the back of the room was an older gentleman, in a flat cap, reading the newspaper.

A short while later, Richard sat in the corner with a pint of lager and skimmed through the menu, but his appetite had deserted him. Not even a piece of chocolate cake with ice cream could tempt him. Flavour seemed to have gone from all food.

A light caught Richard’s eye, and as he looked down, he saw that his phone had lit up with a text alert. It was from you. Finally!He read the message, half smiling as both elation and a trickle of dread settled in his stomach.

Can we talk?

Richard dialled out to you, listening to only one ring before you answered.

“I’m sorry for bothering you,” you said softly.

“No, don’t be sorry. I’m glad to hear from you. I’ve missed you,” Richard said, unable to stop himself speaking the absolute truth about his feelings. “If you don’t feel the same way, you know…I understand…” he began, swallowing over a lump in his throat. “But please…”

“I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. Are you free tomorrow? I know it’s New Year’s Eve and you might…”

“Yeah, I am,” Richard replied, his eagerness coming through in his tone. “What time shall I come?”

“Whenever you want. I’m free all day,” you said.

“How about eleven? It gives us both time to have breakfast and for me to get over to you.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Bye…” you trailed off, as if waiting.

“Bye…I…”

“You, what?” you asked.

“Nothing, angel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Richard terminated the call and closed his eyes, knowing he had come so close to letting his feelings slip out again. The sound of your voice made it so easy to get caught up in the callings of his heart, which wanted you more every day. Self-expression had become something that Richard found harder home now that he was getting older and had become more skilled in his acting abilities on stage and behind the camera. By pushing away his own personality for his job, and taking on the role of someone else, he had repressed himself which was now pushing back hard. His true self was trying to break free, and it was when he was with you that it could finally be free. You had never expected him to be anything less than himself.

It was ten at night and you were driving to the local supermarket which was, thankfully, a twenty-four-hour service. Quickly, you scoured the aisles, looking for wine, ice cream and plenty of sweet snacks. Everything that you knew Richard enjoyed. Two bottles of rather expensive red wine, cartons of chocolate Ben and Jerry’s, and lots of cake later, you paid for the items and dashed back to your car.

For a few seconds you sat in the car and smiled to yourself as the engine hummed. What had flipped in your head? Maybe it wasn’t the fact that you fully believed him, but you couldn’t have negativity hanging in the atmosphere between you. The truth was you loved him as well. Since falling for him many months ago, you often fantasised about all the wonderful things he would do to pleasure you, or the warm cuddles you would give each other on a cold winter’s morning. Your imagination was a never-ending world of fantasies that played out about you and Richard. Now you were staring those fantasies right in the face.

You gripped the steering wheel tight and told yourself you were going for it. If you missed this chance, then it would never arise again.

You got up early, beginning your preparations for Richard coming. The negative moods you had been consumed by the last week had meant that little housework had been done, so that morning was going to be catching up on everything you had put aside.

Despite the fact that you had so many jobs to complete, time seemed to have stood still. Every time you looked at the clock and the hands barely moved. You had been sure that vacuuming through all rooms had taken much longer than just fifteen minutes. It had felt more like an hour.

At eleven sharp, Richard stood outside your flat. He had contemplated going earlier, then maybe turning up a few minutes late to not make himself seem to eager. But instead, he had waited in the café just at the top of your street for forty-five minutes.

Your door knocked. And there he stood, looking as handsome as ever.

He looked down, smiling as you greeted him. Then you let him inside, exhaling hard and closing your eyes as his scent wafted past you.

“I never got chance to give if you before, but here’s your Christmas gift,” he said, offering you a silver gift bag.

“Oh, I have yours as well. Hang on,” you walked quickly into your bedroom, and got the package from your desk.

You both opened your presents at the same time. In the silver bag of yours was a blue box and as you opened the box you were presented with a beautiful golden necklace, and on it was an owl pendent with diamond eyes. Owls were your favourite animal.

Richard opened his neatly wrapped present to find a hardback copy of a book he had mentioned wanting. It was something he had wanted to read for quite some time but never got around to buying a copy.

Both of your gazes met and you said ‘thank you’ in the exact same moment. Then you leaned up and embraced Richard tight. “I’m sorry,” you whispered at his ear. And then you pulled away slightly so you could look him in the eyes. Tears were welling in his blue depths.

You kissed him, lightly at first, and then you both sank deeper into it. Your one hand laced in his short hair as the other still gripped your necklace box. His stubble tickled against your lips, making you smile beneath the kiss.

“What?” he asked, hearing your faint giggle. Then he pecked your lips quickly as you moved your head away.

“I think we should have waited until the strike of midnight for this, you know?” you said, grinning.

“There’s no way I was waiting that long,” Richard replied, and grabbed you playfully, kissing you again.

                                                              ***

Follow Forever tag list: @himoverflowers @shikin83 @theincaprincess @deepestfirefun @nowiloveandwilllove @houseofrahl @mynameisnoneya1991 @blankdblank @cd1242 @c-s-stars @thorins-magnificent-ass @patanghill17@inumorph @leah-halliwell92 @msjava1972 @bespectacled-bunny @ghostlyandee @raindancer2004 @dottiechan @captain-almighty @hobbitlover23 @catthefearless @epicallychrissy @nelswp @adaliamalfoy @spn-obsession @armitageadoration @peneigh-dzredfohl @here2have-fun @greendragonette @thorinsraven@thophil2941btw @princessoferebor94 @banlaochranda @wilhelmyna @gabrieleaquaman @rachel1959 @serpensortia06 @rcrispina @kategorically-challenged @tigereyesf @jumpingmanatee @tschrist1 @inlovewithamantwicemyage @aspiringtranslator @princessofthefandomrealm @letsbeinspiredby @lilith15000 @lealina-scarsdale @scarsfanfictiontrash @mechromancing-cinnamon-roll @ra-of-light @jassy2101 @durinsqueen @hariclea @onewithleaf @michelem703 @bthtallmadge2 @mariannetora @valuedabovehoardedgold @tiredwritersworld @xxbyimm @miabee0706 @fuck-off-you-stupid-goat @legolaslovely @meganlpie @dashesofink @buckysalefty @reignofglitter

Richard Armitage tag list: @inkededucatednnerdy​ @birdkeeperklink​ @crazytxgradstudent​

[wondersofdreaming]

Do you believe in fate?

Characters: Chris Evans x Bianca (OFC)

Word count: 2.598

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, and more fluff. Panic attack. Anxiety. Lack of confidence. Captain America to the rescue.

Author’s note: Anonymous request:

“CE x reader, reader works a office desk job and a 9-5 she’s tall/overweight and wants to lose it for her health. She hates her job and dreams of being an actress, she’s around Chris’ age and she thinks it’s too late to get started, she struggles with confidence. She also has depression and social anxiety. I have a long story idea that I’d like you to add/ change it/ complete it. I’ll number my post so the order won’t confuse you. Hope you’re up for a challenge. 😊 (pt1.)”

Read the rest of the request here.

I do not own any of the characters in this short story besides my OFC (Bianca), who is a figment of my imagination.

MASTERLIST

Tag: @katerka88​ 

Feedback is appreciated.

Another day on the job had come and gone. Bianca stretched her arms over her head, cracking her back. Having to sit down in front of a computer five days a week, was taking its toll on her body. Her mother was the best chef in the city, but her food was made with full-fat milk and lots of butter. It was sticking to her belly, thighs, ass, and face. She was getting chubbier by the minute, and the added weight was concerning her since she knew that her BMI count was way too high. Higher than it should be. And she wasn’t getting any younger either. Her mother had started pestering her about grandchildren the day she had turned 30.

Her phone chimed from the other end of her desk, indicating a text message. Probably her mother that needed her to pick up groceries on her way home.

“B, I need you to get me some garlic and onions. I’m making your favourite stew tonight.”

Bianca replied and tossed her phone back into her purse. She needed to finish editing the article that was supposed to have been done an hour ago. All her colleagues had already left the building. Some had invited her out for a drink, but she had declined. Not a big fan of large crowds, especially not in a bar or a club.

Her boss had already been busting her ass on the deadline. She wanted to finish the damn article before she left the office for the weekend. So, she quickly typed the last thousand words and sent it. Hopefully, it was good enough to be printed, else she was going to get an earful on Monday.

She drove to the supermarket closest to her home. Grabbed a cart and started finding the things her mother needed. The list having become longer since the last message. Onions, garlic, carrots, broccoli, cabbage… soon enough her cart was full of all kinds of vegetables, dried pasta in various sizes and shapes, sauces from all over the world, and the usual, eggs, milk, toilet paper etc.

She filled up her car with the paper bags of groceries and bumped into a man when she turned around with the cart. He wore a dark blue jumper, washed-out jeans, and a baseball cap on top of his head.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t think anyone was behind me. Are you alright? I do apologize. I can’t believe I did that. Are you hurt?” Bianca babbled, she kept apologizing profusely, praying she hadn’t hurt him.

“I’m okay. You should look around more carefully. You never know who you’re going to run into.” He said. His voice deep, low, sexy, panty-melting, and swoon-worthy. Bianca furrowed her brow in concern.

“I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She mumbled. Then a light went off in her head. She had heard that voice before. She knew that voice.

Fucking hell, B. This was SO not how I imagined meeting Chris Evans. Oh no, please eyes, don’t cry now!

Tears were threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes. There was a high-pitched tone in both her ears. She saw Chris’ mouth moving, but she couldn’t hear him. Her heart rate went through the roof. Her body was shaking. Her palms sweating. Her breathing was uneven, taking short breaths way too fast.

Chris grabbed her shoulders and guided her to the boot of her car, which was still open. He pushed her gently into sitting down and showed her to take deep breaths. In and out. A few minutes later the ringing quieted down, and she could hear Chris again.

“Are you alright? That was quite the panic attack you had there.” He said and rubbed her back in a soothing motion.

“I am so sorry you had to witness that. I’m okay.” Bianca told him, she tried to move, but Chris held her firmly down.

“You’re staying right there, miss. You nearly passed out. Wait here, don’t move.” He told her and walked into the store. He came back out with a bottle of water and a chocolate bar.

“Thank you. You didn’t need to go through the trouble.” She said nervously as he handed her the water.

“It’s no trouble at all. Panic attacks are horrible to go through alone. Is there someone I can call to come to get you?” He asked. She shook her head. Chris opened the chocolate bar, motioning for her to take a bite of it. She held the bar, noticing it was her favourite, before taking a bite.

“No, I live close by. I’ll manage to get home. Thank you so much for your kindness.” She smiled at him. Chris nodded and moved towards his car. He turned around to see if Bianca had moved. She hadn’t. She hid her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees.

Chris sighed and walked back towards her. He heard her take in deep breaths, mumbling something to herself. He heard a few negative laden words that criticized her. Before he could stop himself or even think, he had wrapped his arms around her trembling body.

Bianca gasped, but she leaned into Chris’ embrace. She could feel his warmth seeping through her thin white jumper. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes, but she kept them at bay, not wanting to look like a weepy woman in front of her idol.

She collected her thoughts and got enough courage to move away from Chris. His eyes were still concerned, but she managed a soft smile.

“I’m really okay. Thank you though.” She said and gathered her purse. She stood from the boot and walked the empty cart to its station. Chris was still waiting for her.

“Are you sure that you can get home?” He asked.

“Absolutely. Thank you again, Mr Evans.”

“Call me Chris. Do you want to go out for coffee? To talk this through?” He asked, fidgeting with the edge of his jumper.

“Ehm. I really need to get back home, to my mum.” Bianca mumbled.

“Alright, how about we exchange phone numbers, then we can set a date for coffee later.”

Bianca fished out her phone from her purse and handed it to him, before a single thought you prevent her. Chris typed a text message to himself and handed the phone back. His own phone chimed in his pocket, signalling that the message had been received.

“You can call me anytime. I’ll see you around… I’m sorry, I never asked for your name.”

“It’s Bianca.”

“Bianca. I like that name. I’ll call you for that coffee, Bianca.”

Her name rolled off his tongue so perfectly. She was ready to pass out, this time not from a panic attack, but by how Chris freaking Evans was saying her name. Chris walked back to his car, while Bianca went to sit behind the steering wheel. She fanned her face, having begun blushing really hard after Chris had said her name, not once but twice. Bianca drove home, feeling a lot better than she had an hour earlier, not even her mother’s nagging about her coming home late could ruin her good mood.

A week later

Chris had sent her a text message, asking if she was free for that coffee he’d promised. She wrote back that she had Saturday off, in which Chris replied that he would love to occupy her time that day.

Saturday came and Bianca was throwing on clothing, nothing seemed to fit her perfectly, neither did they even look good on her. The only thing she felt comfortable in was a pair of old jeans and a loose fit navy blouse. She felt too casual, but the outfit had to do since she was out of time. Her alarm rung initiating that she was supposed to be out the door that instant.

“Bye ma! I’ll see you later,” she yelled across the house and walked towards her car in a fast tempo, so her mother wouldn’t keep her with questions or small-talk.

She drove to a nearby diner, where they had agreed to meet. It was placed outside the city, looked like a hazardous place from the outside, but every local knew that place was golden inside.

Chris was already sitting in a booth furthest away from the front entrance. He smiled when he and Bianca got eye contact. She couldn’t contain herself and gave him the happiest smile back. She hadn’t felt like smiling nor being happy in a long time.

“Bianca, I’m glad you came.” He chuckled nervously and held out his hand. She shook it and sat down opposite him.

“Glad you texted.”

A waitress walked over with her notepad and a pen that had been chewed on at the end.

“Hi Chris, long time no see.” She smiled.

“You know me, Carol, always either travelling or working.” Chris laughed.

“And who is this young lady? Haven’t seen you here before.”

“I’m Bianca. My mum used to be a chef in the city, so she would never let me eat anything else but her food. Me being here is almost sacrilegious.” Bianca answered.

“Huh, I’ll keep my mouth shut if you do. Now, what can I get you, youngsters?”

Chris ordered without looking at the menu, while Bianca chose crepes with chocolate sauce and whipped cream, and a strawberry milkshake. It was a bit awkward, to begin with, but Chris quickly loosened her up by telling her that he was just a man having coffee and waffles with a woman. She had blushed so hard when he commented on how pretty she loved in navy.

“What kind of job do you have?” Chris asked curiously.

“I write articles for a motivational blog.” She answered, blushing again. “Not as exciting as yours, but it’s a job.”

“My job has its ups and downs as well. Don’t you like yours?”

“No really. But it’s better than nothing.”

“What is your dream job then?”

“I would love to write movie manuscripts. I got a foot inside years ago, but then my mum got sick and I had to move back home.”

“You can still write scripts from home.”

“I’ve tried. Nobody wants to hire me, I’m too un-experienced or my writing is just not good enough.”

“You really shouldn’t let yourself down like that. How about I look at some of the things you’ve written? Then you can let me be the judge on the fact if your writing is good or bad.”

Bianca tried putting her work down, again. She didn’t want anyone to ever read her scripts ever again. Someone had already done that and shot them down, brutally was the kindest word she could think of.

Chris was relentless. It took him a few months, but he finally got you to send him a manuscript you had written years ago. He read everything you sent and gave you some positive and negative feedback. A year into your friendship he got you a meeting with a famous scriptwriter, who wanted you to come work for him, so you quit your old boring job and finally started doing what you loved.

It took another year before Bianca could move out of her mother’s house, and it took a lot of convincing before her mother would let her leave, but you succeeded by promising to come home for Sunday dinners.

Life couldn’t be any better, except for the growing feelings you had for Chris. Your support, your friend, your mentor. He had helped you so much over the past two years that you were unsure of how to tell him about your feelings.

“Hey B, earth to B.” Chris chuckled and waved a hand in front of her face. Bianca snapped out of the dream she was having.

“What?” She asked.

“You zoned out pretty hard, went to outer space or something?”

“Or something.” She mumbled and took a gulp of her iced coffee. “I’m sorry, what did you want to ask me?”

“My mom is having a barbecue on Saturday; would you like to come?”

“Of course, what should I bring?”

“You know my mom, there’ll be plenty of food.”

Saturday

Bianca did bring her mother’s amazing potato salad to the barbecue. She was brought up that you didn’t come to a barbecue empty-handed. She laughed and enjoyed herself with Chris’ family, who all had come to love her and treated her as one of their own, which Bianca appreciated.

Chris drove her home that evening, as she had one too many glasses of wine. He helps her into her flat, which was quite hard, as she was giggling and not cooperating at all. It took him 10 minutes to get her inside, another 20 minutes to get her coaxed into bed. He put a glass of water and two aspirin on her nightstand. He looked at her sleeping form. Her lips slightly parted. Her hands resting under her cheek. He brushed a stray hair out of her face, making her face scrunch before relaxing again. He let out a small chuckle before standing to leave. Bianca grabbed his wrist in her sleep.

“Don’t go, stay with me, don’t leave me.” She mumbled. Chris smiled, but he took off his jeans and shirt to lie next to her. He gathered her into his arms, just wanting to hold her and keep her close to him. His protective instincts kicking in.

“I love you, Chris,” Bianca grumbled and moved to her other side. Chris heard her clearly. He kissed her forehead, went to sleep with a lighter heart and a smile on his lips.

The next morning

Bianca awoke with a raging headache. It felt like her head was about to explode; the pounding was excruciating. Then a delicious aroma of bacon and coffee reached her nose. She noticed the water and aspirin on her nightstand. A smile spread on her face. She put on her robe and walked towards the kitchen, where Chris was preparing a batch of scrambled eggs.

“Smells amazing in here,” Bianca said and grabbed a piece of crispy bacon. Chris turned around and smiled widely.

“Anything for the snoring princess.” He teased.

“I don’t snore!”

“You sounded like a tractor. Took me forever to fall asleep.”

“You could hear me from the guest room?”

“No.”

Then it dawned on Bianca that she had asked Chris not to leave her in her drunken sleepy state.

“Oh god. What have I done?” She mumbled into her hands, hiding her blushing face. Chris just chuckled at her. He put down the spatula and moved the eggs from the heat. He wrapped his strong hands around her wrist and pulled her hands away, so he could look into her beautiful eyes.

“I love you too.” He whispered. Her eyes widened in shock. He just kept smiling and bent down so their lips were mere centimetres apart. He was letting her take the last step.

Bianca let out a big sigh, then cupped the back of Chris’ head and crashed her lips to his. It was an amazing first kiss. Heat was spreading through their bodies, the air was electric between them, and not even the thunderous storm that was beginning outside could break them apart.

“Do you believe in fate?” Bianca asked.

“That you were meant to crash into me with a supermarket cart? Definitely yes, I do believe in that specific fateful encounter.” Chris smiled, which earned him a light smack on his chest. He just kissed her senseless. “Be mine?”

“Forever.”

[katzuyas]

to all my readers,

I’m not sure how many of you are aware or follow my story A Vow to Uphold, but those of you who do surely know what this is about.

those who don’t, here is a little summary: in the most recent chapter there appeared a noncon scene, which I tagged when posting it to ao3. since then, I’ve been getting comments from people who were hurt and triggered by it. most of the opinions were that I should have tagged for it from the start of the story. some that I shouldn’t even write the thing into the story if I haven’t tagged for it from the beginning.

now here’s my side of the story:

yes, I knew this scene was going to make it into the fic in some shape or form. in my outlines, I only have a gist of what I’m writing. some things I decide against, some I rewrite, others I add on the fly. it’s hard to know which tags I will need for the next chapter when I can’t honestly say what will be in that chapter in the end. not to mention that this story grows bigger with every chapter and far outpaces the outline I have, which makes it even more difficult to know when anything is going to happen and IF it’s going to happen at all.

but no, I did not withhold the tag simply because of the spoilers. yes, it’s important to me to keep my readers interested, but never at such a cost. I know that this is a topic most sensitive for writers to write about. that is the entire reason as to why I actually cut out the explicit scene from the fic before I posted the chapter. there is no scene of it in the fic, but it is implied, and it will be referenced from now on, because I wanted to write a recovery more than I wanted to write the exact scene. I tagged the fic with a MAW anyway, even if it is only implied, because it should be tagged. people need to know it’s there and drop this fic if they need to. that’s what I believed.

but, clearly, it wasn’t enough and I was wrong. I honestly didn’t foresee this reaction, because I thought I was doing enough. but I wasn’t, because -- and it’s so obvious, I’m ashamed I didn’t see this before -- I have never had a serious trigger like this. I have never experienced what it is like to just see a word and remember awful awful things. my lack of understanding of what it’s like for you made me complacent in my protection of you, and for that I can’t apologize enough.

I’m entirely to blame for this matter, I accept it. as someone pointed out to me, I could’ve warned you to watch the tags for changes, I could’ve used the “creator chose not to tag” MAW, I could’ve warned you a couple chapters before that something like this will happen here. I could’ve done all those things... if I thought of them then. I didn’t. I was looking at my story through my own convictions and triggers and I did not consider that for you it might be different. I’m so so sorry for that.

I hurt you, and I’m sorry for that. I made you re-experience things you never wanted to see again, and I’m sorry for that. I made you lose your trust in me, I made you doubt me, I made you maybe even hate me -- and I’m terribly sorry for that. but what I’m most sorry for is this lack of forethought from me, because hell is paved with good intentions and my one-sided thinking sent many of you straight to the pit.

to each and every one of you affected by this, I want to say a heartfelt: I’m sorry.

I didn’t handle this entire matter well at all. especially not on twitter, which has often been a place for me to vent and talk to myself mostly. I admit that I got angry at some point, angry at people who wanted to change my story because they didn’t like what I’ve done, and grew overall frustrated with everything and everyone. I’m sorry for that too. emotions took over and I said things I am not proud of in the least, but I am not going to take them back: I’m going to move forward, remembering this, and working towards improving myself instead of simply deleting everything and forgetting it ever happened like I’ve been wanting to do for the past few days.

I can’t take back the time no matter how much I wish I could, so saying I’m sorry is the only thing I can do now. but I also want to say thank you to those few people who sought out this moment to look past their own pain and teach me how to improve myself as a writer and a member of this fandom. I’m grateful for your kindness and I will try to use the advice you’ve given me to never make a mistake like this again.

but I also need to say this: I’m human. I make mistakes. I give in to emotions, often negative ones. but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. those of you who don’t know me might think that this was some calculated decision on my part, that I’ve done this with malice or that “I’ll do what I want”, despite what I say. I haven’t, I will, but not like this. I would never even think of doing something so spiteful and mean. but what hurts me and what has been on my mind for a few days now is that the people who know me and have personally spoken with me before in the heat of things have treated me like I’m a villain because of that. like I purposefully set out to hurt people and should be ill-spoken off, should be shunned and spat at.

I am not trying to put my hurt above others in no way. I fucked up. I made a terrible, horrible mistake that resulted in people getting hurt. I acknowledge that. I’m sorry for that. I would take back the time and do things differently, if I could, and I will work my hardest to make sure I never forget this and never make this same mistake again. but I’ve also been hurt by this subset reaction, because I never expected people that know me to think I could do something like this with malice. that I could be that cruel.

and before another smartness writes that I’m triggered by people being triggered, no, this is not about that. this is about being villainized simply because someone else is hurting. just because someone has been hurt doesn’t mean the one who hurt them is a monster. in this fandom I thought more of you would know that...

anyway, my feelings aren’t really the point of this. let me once again apologize to all those of you who experienced awful things because of me. I’m so very sorry. I am not asking for forgiveness, I know it will be hard for any of you to trust me or my fics again, but know this: I never meant to hurt you, and I promise I will do everything I can to never let anything like this happen again. I hope you have been getting all the support you need and if you want to talk to me personally about this, my asks and chat are open to anyone. please, take care.

(if you can believe it) with love,

kat

[ruthlessnessisyourdesire-archive]

rp guidelines.

Mun is Ash. She/Her. 21+. Ruthless Drama King keeps me prisoner. 

This blog is 21+ Nsfw/smut will not be written with those under 21 years old. I will not write with minors. 

I know there are a lot of rules here now but incidents, past stuff in rp scene kind of made it mandatory for myself to put down. Common sense lacks in some too so sorry it’s so long but ya know. Gotta do what we rpers gotta do. <3

tw: potential for triggering content & subject matter due to crime scene investigations/forensic profiling. strong language expected. he is simply a problematic aggressive character in most verses.

no godmodding. unspoken rule but please do not control my character under any circumstances. if you continue to break this rule however I may have to cancel our thread. only in extreme cases.

Don’t have personal triggers but I will not write my muse forcing themselves on any other muse.

any personal triggers you are uncomfortable with I will not write and vice versa.

multiverse/oc friendly. au friendly: discussion on AU’s are love. same char different mun friendly. duplicates are always welcome. personally I love OC’s and this boy cannot get enough interaction from them ever. just so you know. 

Do not screenshot my posts: ooc, threads etc. It is MY content. I should not have to add this but yes this has happened without my knowledge - at first. 

Unfollowing: If there is something you disagree with, do not favor about my writing, portrayal, muse(s) or views the button is always there. Please soft block to unfollow. I will do the same and quietly if it calls for it. 

PSA: Don’t call 60 Connor. He is not Connor. He is his own person. This sort of trumps the significance I have built for him as an individual entity in my characterization/ headcanons/ personal iteration in a fandom where he is overlooked. Also if you do refer to him as such verbally to his face you consent to the wrath and animosity he will bestow upon you be it verbal or potentially physical. Trust me 60 is not fond of being mistaken for his predecessor. (It’s a pet peeve and I’m sorry lol but they’re two separate people. I mean I write Connor too so bear with me.)

plots are love. let's discuss story, char relationships, just anything really. down for plotted, random prompts and memes. my dm’s are always open. if I don’t respond straight away I’m either not on at the moment or I’m just swamped in drafts. I still want you to drop in tho.

replies may take a bit. this is a hobby. if I take a while it doesn’t mean I don’t want to rp. sometimes I forget, tumblr eats my notifs or I haven’t thought up a decent reply as of yet. please be patient. I always offer the same to my rp partners. also I do get swamped in drafts and asks so this does contribute to my reply speed. TLDR: I am slow af but I want to write with you.

want to drop a thread? we all lose muse, get too busy, overwhelmed at times. it is perfectly OK. when I do thread purges I will always post an update and @ those I am keeping threads with. the number of follows I have it is just easier for me to do it this way.

shipping: will ship with chars but there are some I may turn down depending on personal preference. typically ships with another RK800/RK900 are a no. sibling, platonic, enemies is where I go. some exceptions may apply depending on verse type but his exclusive and only RK800 ship is with @rob0badge . 60 also would like platonic, friend and enemy ships to counter his romantic ships. any and all are appreciated. 

open to smut threads. 21+ very explicit at times depending on verse. 60 is ruthless. fair warning. also smut is not a requirement for romantic ships. if you’re not down for that then 60 is all about the respect of his partner’s wishes.

multiship friendly: winning rk800-60's affection is not easy in the long run. remember he is not easy to get along with. 

Shipping Additions: I WILL NOT ship cross unless it is plotted mutually between all parties. even then I will be selective about it. please respect this. multiverse is a thing and that is what my blog is. it will just be ignored. 

Content Trigger: 60 is very much ruthless despite his fall into deviancy. if you are uncomfortable with intense personalities this may not be the rp blog for you. certain themes will be highly thematic, problematic and even controversial at times. all of these will be tagged accordingly and put under read more for my followers/mutuals. he will be aggressive and hateful depending on circumstances. he is not very nice. however, the mun does not reflect this characterization and is extremely nice to followers. 60 may not share that affinity but the mun has no malicious intent. Only this ruthless boy does.

threads containing 18/21+ material always go under read more. please adhere to all warnings. some subject matter may be unsettling. remember any dark or triggering themes are NOT condoned by me irl. it just needs to be said.

Interactions: non-rp blogs, personals or those not part of current threads: DO NOT REBLOG. this is becoming a problem lately and I really don’t want to be that person but please follow this rule.If you continue to do so you will be BLOCKED. You can like my posts just fine however. In fact it’s welcome! I like to see others enjoying what I write for the ruthless king.

DBH VERSE REQUIRED: It just works better to be able to write adequately and since my muse is from this universe it’s a given. I rarely do crossovers as I feel some just do not work or fit my muse. If I do they are with main mutuals depending on fandom or personal preference.

Mutual Exclusive/RP Blogs Only: This blog is now private. If you follow me and I do the same back it means I want to interact. Otherwise assume I won’t be following back if I haven’t in a week. I have had some odd things come 60′s way and it is why this blog is locked down now.

Follows: If I follow back it means I want to interact with you. If you're a mutual and you still have not interacted with me after several weeks I WILL unfollow. This is nothing against anyone or meant to be unfair/mean spirited. The blog is an rp blog so of course I want to interact with you all. Also I do not just give free follows since this is not a personal blog. 

I would love to follow back depending but if I see no rules or somewhere that states 21 and above for the mun on your blog I won’t. I interact solely with those 21+. I myself am 28 years old. Respect this and don’t lie about your age to me. I have had people lie to me in the past and they’ve been dropped faster then you can shout “Deviant Spotted!”

I reserve the right to unfollow anyone for whatever reason including but not limited to rp politics. Ya gurl not here for rp snobbery or assumptions made. If I become uncomfortable I will soft block to unfollow quietly. I also practice block back. Meaning if I’m hardblocked (which is in anyone’s right who is uncomfortable with my content) I will hardblock back. It’s only fair and honestly it’s a lovely page taken out of one of my waifu’s books.

OOC: If you post a crap ton of ooc posts (I mean plz it’s your blog and your content is yours so go for it) I may unfollow if I cannot blacklist them properly. I mean things that aren’t rp related. This is only in extreme cases. My blog has overwhelmed me so the dash being flooded is something I want to clean up.

Replies: As I have stated in updates on this blog I am super busy and backed up. My reply speed is slower due to lots of drafts and asks. You can remind me but please don’t come at me or try to push me. Muse can be fickle. Some days I have it for a specific verse, others I have it for shorter convos or text threads. I aim to reply to everyone but keep in mind running this blog is not easy and I want it be fun for me. It’s a hobby.  When I have to worry and hide from people this is no longer that. If it continues I will drop the thread completely. Only in extreme cases. 

Pressuring: Do not come into my inbox on anon passive aggressively asking when I will reply to threads. If you honestly want to remind me like a normal person my dms are open to mutuals only. Do not guilt me into rping. If you pressure and attempt manipulating me you will be blocked. This has happened and I will not put up with it. 

Please reblog any memes/prompts from the source and not this blog. I am not an rp source or creator of these. If you continue to do this and just harvest my blog for memes without even interacting I will unfollow/block. If you reblog send me one then. If not well do not do it. non-mutuals do not reblog anything at all from this blog. Also I  have to mention some people have used me as a source WITHOUT reblogging from me. Meaning they see the meme and reblog it for themselves as a means of bypassing sending in anything. If we’re mutuals why are you doing this? It will just make me think you do not want to interact.

Asks: Do not reblog asks. Please if you wish to continue make a new post and link back to ask. It just makes my dash a little cleaner and I want to avoid extra asks in the inbox continuing it when we can turn them into convo threads. So please don’t keep sending asks to continue a plot line. Thread it.

IMPORTANT NOTE ABOUT HATE & ASSUMPTIONS: If I discover you sending hate on anon to anybody you’re gone. If you send hate to people about what they ship, especially to female muns/muses, you’re gone. I will not tolerate hate of any kind and if I see you talking negatively about any female muse I will soft block you quietly. I just do not want to interact with you. People who assume generalized posts are about them when I follow you will be softblocked as well. Honestly it’s a given that if I’m following it’s not directed at you. I will not put up with assumptions or continue to view it on my dash. Unfollow me, softblock me, etc. It’s not difficult. My comfort levels are important to me as well as yours should be.

I will not  interact with egoists. If I see anything that wigs me out I will just softblock quietly. Elitists go home. I don’t want you here. 

I will never rush or be pushy at my partners. I’m so chill about threads. please take your time. let’s never take the fun out of it. never think you’re taking too long or bothering me. DM’s are open to my mutuals only.

I do not do passwords or send messages of any kind. If I am following you rest assured that I have read your rules. I do this automatically when someone follows me and vice versa since I expect the same. If I’m liking update posts you can consider that me seeing it as well. 

unfollowing/refollowing: Don’t do it on my blog. If you follow and then unfollow but for some reason come back to follow you get blocked from my side. I don’t need the bs or the attention seeking.

Duplicates are amazing but I will be selective who I follow back and interact with. Nothing personal but I have been the victim of theft in the past. It’s an unfortunate thing but my characterization and headcanons for 60 are my own. I have been writing this boy forever even long before I made this blog. I’m highly protective of my ruthless king. He is my baby after all.

softblocks: I remove people by doing this. It could be for any reason to be honest. We never interact, you keep dropping our stuff, show no interest, I don’t see us interacting after all or any number of reasons to make my dash more comfortable. Do not ask me why I did it. That’s my comfort. No hard feelings. Just move on. I don’t have to cater to you. If you don’t like my methods use the unfollow button and leave my blog. Simple enough.

hardbocking/blacklisting: Yes I have done it. Am I going to blatantly broadcast it for all to see? Nope. I am not obligated to explain why I blocked you. Most times you have broken my rules despite me reminding to read them. Other times there are people I just do not want to see and that is my right not to see them. Same goes for you. Block me if you do not like what you see. I will not censor myself, my writing or who I interact with.

ostracizing people in the rpc: If you don’t like who I am interacting with use your blacklist function. NEVER tell me not to interact with them. If I find out you practice this exclusion tactic on others in the rpc I will purge you off my blog no questions or explanation needed. I totally get it. There are people I don’t like. No one is going to like everyone but do you see me telling others NOT to write with them? Hell no because I know for a fact they have done it to me and others love to listen without all sides to a story.

I also drop people who vague in public servers because it’s straight up childish behavior. I also will not follow or interact with anyone who guilt trips, suicide baits or lies with a pity party song and dance. When you’re found out to be lying or telling other people not to interact with somebody in this RPC I want nothing to do with you. Move on. That’s it. 

Drop a like if you made it this far. Whew! No passwords needed. Even if you don’t drop a like it won’t prevent me interacting it’s just nice to see. 

[runaway-horses]

The Missing Soulmate: Chapter Three

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Word Count: 1,353

Warnings: Slight angst? Mostly fluff. I think. Let me know if I need to add/remove anything.

A/N: I like this chapter more than I thought I would! It feels short? For some reason? Comments + reblogs add years to my life span. (Today is the 29th and...I’m too tired/stupid to remember if I already posted today. I don’t think I did. Who the hell cares. Double update. Bless all of y’all who reblogged the last chapter.)

Tags: @avocados26 @a-cure-for-sentience

Roman sighed as he watched Virgil pace anxiously across his room. “Virgil,” He said softly. “Will you please come sit down?” Virgil glanced over at him before returning his gaze to the carpet. “Virgil. Love, everything is going to be fine.”

This time, Virgil looked at Roman and held his gaze. “We’re registering at the Soulmates Office in the morning Roman! That’s a huge deal! What if they say no, say that we should have one soulmate per person, what if I have to choose between you and Patton, what if something bad happens and their computer system crashes after we register and our status is lost and then we’ll never be officially recognized as soulmates in the government’s eyes-”

His rambling was cut off by the sudden presence of Roman in front of him. “Breathe, Hot Topic. Everything will be absolutely fine.” Virgil didn’t even realize how fast his breathing had gotten, and he took a moment to settle himself. “There you go,” Roman murmured. “None of that will happen, they have to recognize us, the writing's on our skin. We aren’t the first poly soulmates, and we won’t be the last. Their computers have backups, so our status wouldn’t be lost. And even if it did,” Here he paused to press a gentle kiss to Virgil’s lips. “We wouldn’t love each other any less. I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me who my soulmates are.”

Virgil took a shuddering breath and then fell forward into Roman’s embrace. “Thank you Roman,” He whispered quietly. “Anytime my dear,” He kissed his boyfriend on the top of his head.

They stood there for a while, just enjoying each other’s presence when the door opened, signaling Patton’s return.

“Roman? Virge?”

“Up here Padre,” Roman called, not letting go of Virgil. Patton opened the door to the bedroom and saw his two boyfriends standing in the middle of the room, arms wrapped securely around each other. “Hey guys,” He greeted, much quieter this time, not wanting to disturb the peaceful silence.

What happened? He mouthed to Roman from behind Virgil. Roman responded with the facial equivalent of a shrug, then mouthed soulmate registry back at him. An emotion flickered across Patton’s face, too quick for him to decipher.

Patton walked over to them and ran a hand through Virgil’s hair. “Hello sweetie,” Virgil pulled back from Roman so he could face Patton properly. He studied Virgil’s face before reaching forward and pulling him into his own hug.

“Are you thinking about Logan?” Virgil nodded his head from where it was buried in Pat’s shoulder.

Roman wanted to kick himself. Of course that was what got Virgil so worked up. He shifted uncomfortably and looked out the window. He had never received any messages from their fourth soulmate, him being the last one to turn eighteen. And according to Patton and Virgil, he had already stopped writing by then.

His feelings about this Logan were mixed, Patton and Virgil spoke of how kind he was, but all Roman knew was that he had abandoned his soulmates and that he was a source of great distress for his two boyfriends.

Patton led Virgil to the bed and rubbed circles in his back, trying to sooth him. He felt just as lost, and was just as upset that tomorrow they would register as soulmates, but not all his soulmates would be there. And of course, he’s beyond thrilled and excited about doing this with Virgil and Roman, he loves them both and can’t wait for tomorrow.

But it almost felt like a betrayal to the boy with the blue pen who hadn’t written in months.

They all fell asleep piled on top of each other, a tangle of limbs and blankets.

In an attempt to cheer up his boyfriends, Roman has suggested a movie marathon. Patton had jumped at the idea, and Virgil had said that it “wouldn’t be horrible.” But he was smiling when he said it.

They didn’t even make it three movies.

Roman and Patton fell asleep first with Virgil in between them, and Virgil had gently climbed out of the pile of limbs, turned off the tv, and grabbed some blankets.

He covered them with blankets and turned to leave, planning to get some work done, but a hand reached out and latched onto his wrist.

“Stay an’ cuddle wi’ us Virge,” A very sleepy Patton mumbled, gently tugging on his arm.

And, well. Virgil could never say no to Patton.

In hindsight, three people sleeping on a couch that definitely wasn’t meant for sleeping (or more then one very tiny person) was not their greatest idea.

“Ouch, Princey, watch your elbows,”

“It doesn’t help that you’re completely on top of me, how about you roll over so I can more without crushing you?”

“Kiddo that’s my- OW-”

“Sorry Patton!”

“Oh God my neck hurts,”

They eventually got themselves un-tangled (perhaps four blankets was a bit much?) and vertical. Roman glanced at his watch and let out a shocked gasp. “It’s so late! We’re gonna have to move quickly if we wanna make it to the registry on time.”

Virgil pulled out his phone and let out a similar gasp, quickly turning and jogging up the stairs two at a time. They heard him yell “Dibs on first shower!” And Patton chuckled as Roman made an offended sound and ran after him.

It was Patton’s apartment, he and his parents had worked it out that he would return to the States for college while they stayed in Côte d'Ivoire, and his soulmates had spent the entire summer here. They hadn’t moved in, partly because Patton’s apartment was much too small for them, and partly because it simply wasn’t practical, all three of them were going to different colleges.

However, during their shared summer they had established a routine, and the way they all just flowed filled Patton with a type of happiness that comes with being content, a type of happiness that comes from being home.

These feelings oftentimes left a somewhat bitter taste in his mouth when he thought on them, because as well as they flowed, and as much as he felt at home with Roman and Virgil, he couldn’t help but feel that they were missing something, that the flow wasn’t quite complete, that he shouldn’t feel happy when they were missing a piece.

He felt guilty for being happy without Logan.

He frowned and tried to shake away the thoughts as he mixed pancake batter. Today was a day for happiness, and he wouldn’t let negative thoughts pull him down.

By the time Roman and Virgil made it downstairs, affectionately shouldering each other, the figurative black cloud over his head was almost gone.

“Who wants Registration Day Pancakes? They’re Patton-pending!”

The affectionate groan and quiet chuckle from his soulmates had the remaining negative thoughts disappear like smoke.

Virgil shot his parents a quick text to let them know they were leaving for the registry, and then dragged his boyfriends out the door. (“We’re going to be late!” “Virge, we have plenty of time/” “Not with highway traffic!” “My hair is not done-Virgil!” “Shut it Princey, you always look gorgeous.” Roman blushed to his ears and followed without further comment while Patton cooed.)

The ride consisted of Roman and Virgil fighting over control of the aux cord and Patton eventually taking away their music privileges. Virgil got quiet when they were almost there, and Roman climbed in the back to reassure him with his presence.

When the building came into sight, the yellow and purple words printed on the side naming it as the Soulmate Registration Office, Patton felt the full force of what was going to happen, and how monumental it was, hit him.

He parked and slowly stepped out of the car, his movements uncoordinated and jerky.

“Hey babe, you ready?” Patton turned his head to see Virgil and Roman holding hands, waiting expectantly.

He swallowed his nerves and smiled, feeling butterflies in his stomach accompanied by the warmth he always felt looking at his loves.

“Yeah.”

[scripttorture]

I perused your solitary tag but didn't get the answers I needed so sorry in advance if this is something you've answered or way too long and specific! Thanks so much for doing this! So I have an MC who was kept in solitary for about 10-11 months when she was seventeen after her father was executed for treason and she tried to complete his goal. She failed but has a plan for how to kill the person who executed him. She is kept on a regular schedule, given any art materials and books she wants 1/?

2/2 and allowed to see her mother for an hour for one hour everyday. She knows her isolation will end in a year, knows shell probably be executed, and she has a cause like you mentioned being important. Immediately following her lock up she was thrust into a variety of stressful but social situations but about two and a half years later it's slowing down. She lives with her gf, but is far away from her mother and not close with many of her friends. What long type of term effects would she have?

Iknow this is no one’s favourite answer but- it really is hugelyindividual and impossible to accurately predict.

Fromthe details you’ve given me I get the impression you’ve thoughtabout this scenario and this character a lot. That’s will help youdecide on the symptoms you want her to have. But those symptoms areyour decision.

Ican tell you what the common symptoms are. What I can’t do ispredict symptoms, no one can. I also can’t tell you definitelywhich symptoms will be the ‘best’ pick for your story. You knowthe story and the character far better then I do. That means you’rebest places to judge what adds to the story and what doesn’t.

Ithink it would be best to start by picking the character’s symptomsand go from there.

Mostpapers put either depression or anxiety (or both) as the most commonmental illnesses solitary confinement causes. From what I can tellpolitical prisoners also report these conditions very frequently.However I get the impression (anecdotal rather than based onstatistical analysis) that political prisoners are less likely toself harm or attempt suicide then the average solitary prisoner.

Difficultyinteracting with people is probablymore common in younger solitary survivors. The brain is still growingand we arestill learning social interaction throughout our teenage years. Sonot being able to interact with others during that time is reallydamaging to someone’s social development.

I’msaying ‘probably’ because I don’t have good statisticalanalysis focused solely on teenagers in solitary.

But-well based on what I do know about normal social development andbrain growth, I think it’s highly likely she’d struggle withsocial interaction. That doesn’t necessarily mean that she’d beanxious around people, although that would be a common way for thisto show up. It’s often a…. feeling of isolation, disconnectionfrom others and being unable to engage in ways that are seen associally acceptable.

Itcould mean social interaction is draining or often unrewarding. Itcould mean ‘always’ doing or saying the ‘wrong’ thing ineveryday situations. It could mean a feeling of constant pressurearound others and misinterpreting their social responses.

Ithink irrational impulses and mood swings can be really narrativelyuseful symptoms. They fit well in a lot of different kinds of plotsand they can easily be used to make life more difficult forcharacters in interesting ways.

Psychosisand hallucinations are rarer symptoms generally. They also mightbe less likely if cell conditions are better (theevidence is unclear on this point).Which sounds like it’s the case for your character.

Thisalso seems to apply to some of the physical symptoms, particularlyeye problems. Insomnia and lethargy seem to show up however ‘good’cell conditions are. And I’d suggest considering the other physicalsymptoms for the period the character is confined.

Thetime frames you have don’t seem unreasonable to me. Neither do thegeneral conditions.

Themain thing that’s standing out is the set up after she’sreleased. Being suddenly thrown into intense social situations wouldbe incredibly stressful. For some people just out of solitary itmight be impossible to deal with and trigger an obvious breakdown.

Nowthat doesn’t seem like a fit for your story and there are otherpossibilities.

Theone that’s coming to mind is- Sometimes people with mentalillnesses can… for want of a better term ‘push through it’ fora short time. This is incredibly unhealthy. It’s a little likeignoring a fracture in the foot to keep walking. It can be done butit makes the problem worse.

I’m-not entirely sure how to describe this which is somewhat hampering myability to explain it. I’m thinking of things like- the number ofpeople I knew with severe depression and suicidal ideation whocompleted competitive, high-pressure degrees, without medication orprofessional help.

Itis possible, sometimes, for people to just… keep going, ignoretheir mental health problems and try to ‘act normal’. If they’revery good at what they’redoing then there may not even be a noticeable drop in performance,whether it’s academic or social. People do this, it happens. It’snot unrealistic.

But-this is incredibly badfor someone. Having a character with severe mental health problemstry to bottle them away or hide them or power through them- it isn’ta bad thing to write. Just be aware that if that’s the route youwant to take it will be damaging for the character. She’ll bepushing herself too far too fast and sooner or later she willcollapse.

Fora lot of the people I knew that happened at the end of their degree.If your character knows roughly how long she’ll have to keep upthis mad social schedule then- it is possiblethat she could keep going right until the end.

Ifyour character is doing something like that over several years then Ithink she’d need some kind of outlet and the ability to retreatfrom social situations at least some times.

Thisdoesn’t have to be dramatic or seem strange in the setting. It canbe things like- establishing a daily routine that involves getting upearly and walking alone in the woods for an hour before having to doanything or taking time to herself at night after her obligations areover. Little things like this and small outlets for unpleasantemotions can keep someone with a mental health problem alive in astressful situation.

Oncethese social obligations are over- Honestly I think it sounds likelythat someone in this situation would have an obvious breakdown. Thatsort of bottling, avoiding behaviour often ends up… bringing thingsto a point when all the problems seem to explode at once.

Essentiallysurvivors need to make adjustments in order to live their lives.They’re generally not able to just pick everything up again asnormal. Their limits, physical, mental and emotional are oftendifferent. (It’s also pretty normal for survivors and people withmental health problems generally to blame themselves to a degree fortheir limits changing. To feel bad about no longer being able to do aparticular things, as if it’s somehow their fault.)

Yourcharacter could put off those adjustments and live in denial for awhile. A lot of people with mental health problems do. But shecouldn’t put off those adjustments forever.

Thissort of scenario would probably end up putting a lot of pressure onher girlfriend to act as a carer. Whether her girlfriend is willingto or not that’s a lot of work. It’s difficult to do alone. @scripttraumasurvivors has posts on characters helping traumasurvivors in a non-professional context, take a look through theirtag because I think you’d find them helpful.

Ifyou don’t want thecharacter to be bottling everything up and powering through likethis- Then you’d have a healthier, better adjusted character at theend of the two and a half years. You’d also need a world that’smore supportive of mental health problems.

Soa- non exhaustive list of things that I think this society would needto normalise would be things like- letting her drop out of socialengagements suddenly with no warning and no negative repercussions.Greater understanding of different peoples differing needs forpersonal space. Physical adjustments to spaces to make them moreaccessible. Social acceptance of expressing negative emotions andemotional pain. Open, honest discussion of mental health.

Alot of this would be possible in a culture that’s in roughly thesame place the West is now about mental health- if the character’smother was managing this sort of thing for her. Making sure she’sdoing OK, encouraging her to stop if she isn’t. Insisting on anyadjustments or consideration she needs. Standing up for her.

Thatkind of role for her mother would require a very close relationshipbetween the characters. The daughter would need to feel that shecould tell her mother anything and share details about her mentalhealth.

Thecommon symptoms are here. But what those look like in the longterm for your character are really dependant on the story, thecharacter, her relationships with the people close to her and theworld.

Givenher age and the time she’s confined this character would probablyhave mental health problems for the rest of her life. That doesn’tmean she’d never learn to manage her symptoms. Part of that isusually a process of trial and error, trying to find out what helps.Sometimes the only answer is waiting until the mood passes.

Takea look at the Masterpost and have a look at the sources I link tothere. I think reading what people who’ve come out of solitary sayabout the experience will help you feel more confident about handlingthis. Shalev’s Sourcebook on Solitary Confinement and SolitaryWatch will be particularly useful to you, I think.

Thereisn’t a formula. There isn’t a standard set of symptoms or waypeople heal. Which means that we should be working it out anew foreach character, making the process feel unique to each individual.

Ihope that helps. :)

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[poore-choice-of-words]

Nightingale & Peregrine Chapter One

@authorisada @acutecupidity @fallover19 @ishanijasmin @concealeddarkness13 @xanaphia @willowandsnow @sayaratyriea If you responded to the post but I didn’t tag you, sorry. I tagged who it said responded even though it didn’t add up to the proper amount of notes.

Description if you want it (not needed), Chapter 2

“Cold medicine, probably a good idea for a kid with a cold,” Mandie grabbed the closest generic, “wait,” she put it back, “what if she’s allergic to some of the ingredients.”

“Then I suggest this,” she turned around to see a strange man holding a generic allergy medication, “It shouldn’t interact.”

“Negatively,” she added to the end of his sentence, “Because you want it to interact if you’re dealing with an allergic reaction.”

He bobbed his head in a vague nod. “Noted, although not everyone takes kindly to having their medical suggestions corrected by a total, probably inexperienced, stranger.”

“Not everyone likes medical suggestions given by a total, probably not medically licensed, stranger,” she replied, finally taking the medicine from his hand and putting it in her basket.

“I guess it’s a good thing neither of us are those kinds of people.”

“I guess so.” Mandie grabbed the cold medicine and put it in the basket too.

“Not to be forward,” he said, “but may I know the name of the distressed damsel I’ve now assisted?”

“Points for alliteration,” she said, “and I don’t think you’re being too forward right now.” She put her hand out, “Amanda Piec, but everyone calls me Mandie.”

He shook her hand. “A lovely name.”

“No it isn’t.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Mandie smiled. “That’s exactly what the last guy who tried to flirt with me said.”

“Oh,” he moved his hand behind his head, “How did that go for him.”

“Pretty well,” she bobbed her head a bit, “we have a date on Tuesday.”

He imitated a wound. “I should’ve known you’d be that type of likable person.”

“What type?”

“The type that people do crazy things like try to ask out someone they don’t even know, so they can see them again.”

Mandie put her hand to her heart. “That’s the cutest way I’ve ever been told I’m too cute to be single.”

“That’s not what I–”

“Moses Casborough?”

The man turned around and Mandie looked past him to see one of the older women in the church.

“Hi Miss Sophie,” The man, Moses, said, “How’s Steph?”

“She’s doing well, she’s been moving around with her husband–he’s in the army,” Sophie paused to look at Mandie, “Have you met Miss Mandie?”

“Only a few seconds ago.”

Mandie suddenly noticed Moses’ voice had gone a bit higher pitched since Sophie had shown up, which led to her having to stifle a small giggle.

“Well, she helps in the nursery–though I think she should be in the choir–she has the most beautiful voice, but she only uses it when a kid is especially  impossible…”

Mandie took these moments to actually observe her new acquaintance. He was a bit taller than her, and had dyed black hair–she could see a bit of the blond roots. She hadn’t noticed until then that he was wearing long sleeves, despite the warmer weather. He’d look good in a certain kind of jacket, but she couldn’t think of the name just then.

“...she spaces out like the dickens. In fact I think she’s doing it right now.”

“Huh?” Mandie returned her attentions to the others.

“I’ll leave you two to get to know each other.” Sophie left, smiling in the way she did when she brought childhood sweethearts back together.

Mandie swore internally, Sophie meant well, but she didn’t even know this man. Luckily, he seemed to have a similar thought.

“I actually have a thing I may already be late for, so...” He started backing up, running into one of the shelves, “Nice meeting you.” He turned and walked a little faster towards the exit.

Mandie glanced at her watch. She should’ve left by now.

Nightingale watched everything from her position. It wasn’t hard to imagine her sister saying, “You’ve got a bird’s eye view. Get it? Bird? Nightingale?”. She almost missed the voice in her ear...almost.

Finally a few men showed up. She closed her eyes, letting their words and thoughts come into focus.

“I don’t like it here.” One said, mentally adding, Katie would think of this as a great place.

“And the boss is late.” Another one added, musing, New boss, new town, new crew, what’s next? New boyfriend?

If only he knew. She kept listening for any worthwhile information. None came until “the boss” showed up.

“Sorry I’m late boys, I met a lovely dame and completely lost track of time.”

She opened her eyes, he had to at least look interesting for a phrase like that to come out of his mouth.

A pinstriped suit and pants combo did not disappoint. The rest of him followed the 20s mob boss aesthetic: Fedora, wingtips, etc. the cane had a different feel to it, but she let that slide.

He looked up. He wore a mask. He made eye contact.

That shouldn’t have been possible.

“Excuse me.” He motioned to the nearest goon to came near him.

“What is it boss?” She asked.

“Do you see something white right there.” He pointed at Nightingale. Crap.

“No sir.”

“Do me a favor, and shoot right there for me, please.”

The goon looked at him like he was crazy, but aimed her gun and fired three shots… directly at Nightingale. Tonight was only supposed to be surveillance.

She stifled a laugh at their faces when the bullets froze in front of the goon without a noise.

“You know,” her voice bounced around the building, perfect, “I wasn’t planning on interfering at this stage,” she shot a bullet near the boss’s feet, he flinched, “but since you forced my hand,” another bullet, another flinch, “Guess I’ll have to fire a warning shot early,” another bullet, except this one stopped in front of him--that wasn’t in the plan.

“Care to come down for a proper fight?” The bullet moved to his open hand, he tossed it up a few times.

“Hardly proper if it’s me against all of you,” she laughed, “bring a couple more goons and I’ll consider it.”

“I like a girl playing hard to get, come down here and it’ll be you and me, mano a mano.”

“I’ve got other places to be.” Like spending time with the girl who refused to talk to her.

“But how are you going to get out of here?”

“You didn’t see me come in.” She disappeared.

Actually she jumped through the window above her perch and was still watching.

“Alright men.” The boss began.

“And women,” the goon who tried to shoot her said.

“And women. You can call me the Ace of Spades, everything else doesn’t matter... yet.” He just walked away. That was new.

This guy stopped a bullet, dressed like a mobster, and met his crew just to give them his name. He was decidedly interesting.

She watched him exit the building and get into a car. If she could tail him and find out who he was, half the battle would be over.

Her phone buzzed. What happened.

She took it out and looked at it. What did Liz want?

Keeping one eye on the car, she answered it.

“What’s going on?”

“Hey Amy,” Liz replied.

“Not my name, not even the name I told you not to use for this number.”

“Exactly,” she could practically hear Liz’s head bob like it did everytime she explained something “I don’t have to use your dumb codename, but if someone hacks it, they don’t know who you are.”

“Your one to talk, Liberty Lady.” The car finally moved. She clenched her fist, sensing the response on her suit. Stealth mode was experimental, but her telepathy wasn’t going to work for this guy.

“Touché” Liz replied.

“Are you actually going to tell me why you called?” The car was almost out of her sight. She started moving.

“I’m leaving, because I have a case tomorrow, so you have to come back and take care of your responsibility.”

Nightingale began to object.

“Do you really want to argue with a lawyer about how much you actually do for this place?”

She stopped, everything.

“Good choice, I’ll wait 20 minutes for you and then I’m gone.”

Mandie barely made it home on time.

“I’m pretty sure whatever curfew is, you broke it.” Liz sat on the couch, watching a news special.

“You don’t seem to care that you may have made the difference between life and death for God knows how many people.” Was all Mandie said, taking the remote and turning off the television.

“You’re in the same boat, I’m prosecuting the last guy you took down, he can do as much damage,” Liz got up, heading towards the door, “And also, Helena’s great at pointing out flaws, if she’d only tell me what they were.” She closed the door, a little harder than needed.

Mandie sighed. She wasn’t sure if Liz was right. If she had learned anything tonight, it was that Ace of Spades was different than anyone she’d taken down before. She just didn’t know if that made him more or less dangerous.

[sidewritings]

Picky Eater: Part 2

Inspired by this post by @pirate-patton

See Part 1 Here

Pairings: None

Genres: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings:  Eating disorder, misunderstood acronym, panic attack, negative self-talk

Word Count: 1545

Author’s Note: I received so many requests for a continuation of this fic that I just had to add this final part.  Hope you enjoy   Also, I’ve started tagging my original fics on here #sidewritten so hopefully, they will be easier to find.

Virgil woke up on the couch in the living room.  Memories from right before his collapse came rushing back and the anxious side sat bolt-upright, heart pounding. Of course, the abrupt movement made his head go fuzzy and his vision swim which only added to his panic.  How did he get here?  There was yelling before he fell, they were mad at him.  He had to hide. He had to do something because now they knew he wasn't getting better.  They knew...

Vigil pulled himself together enough to look around. There was a bottle of water on the coffee table beside him, which he gratefully downed. He didn't see the other sides, but now that he was calming down a little, he heard the sound of hushed voices coming from upstairs. Slowly, Virgil pushed himself up from the couch and walked as quietly as possible to the staircase to listen.  He could do better damage control when he knew how bad the situation was.

“We should have done something sooner!” That was Roman, always a bit too loud, even when trying to be quiet.

There were some quiet mutterings he couldn't quite hear before he made out another voice.

“We'll need to break it to him gently, he's likely to get upset.” Oh no, that was Patton. Break what to him?

“ Some CBT will go a long way...” that was Logan, but he must have misheard.  CBT?  How did Logan even know what that was, and worse, why would they want to use it on him!?  

Virgil sunk through the floor into his room, locking the door with a resounding click. He fell to the floor, shaking and wet.  A trembling hand raised his hand confirmed that he was crying.  Feeling worse than he could remember feeling in years, Virgil wrapped his arms around himself and wept.

He'd failed to control his weird eating habits.  He'd failed to hide it from the other sides. He'd failed himself, and worse, he'd failed Thomas.  His stomach and his heart were tying themselves in knots, and the pounding on his door wasn't helping.  Everything inside him was screaming so loudly it felt like the room was screaming at him too. All he could do was hold himself tighter and gasp for breath between the sobs.

Something broke, and then there were arms and hands, cradling him, pulling him.  They forced him to sit up, hands were holding his against a chest, he was leaning against another chest.  There was a hand stroking his hair and an arm around his waist.  There was a voice, he couldn't make out the words, but it was familiar. The chests were moving in sync, and he slowly found his own trying to match it. He was breathing with them.  The voice was counting. First to four, then to seven, then to eight.  He was breathing with the counts and the chests.

He started to regain awareness of his surroundings.  Patton was in front of him, he was the one holding his hands against his chest.  There were tear streaks on his face.  The voice was Logan, coming from beside him from about the same level.  Probably kneeling then. That left Roman.  Roman was the one he was leaning against, the one stroking his hair and holding him securely but not restrictively.  

Virgil slowly relaxed against the gallant side's chest.  Even mad at him, they wouldn't yell at him yet, not when he was like this, and they had come to help him calm down, so maybe they wouldn't resort to CBT after all.  

“Virgil?  Can you hear me now?” It was Logan's soft and concerned voice.

Virgil nodded slightly and felt Roman sigh, he assumed, in relief.

“Good. Can you speak?” Logan again, same soft, soothing voice.

Virgil opened his mouth, trying to say anything, and nothing came out.  He shook his head and felt Patton give his hands a gentle squeeze.

“Okay, Virgil. Is the physical contact overstimulating you?”

Virgil shook his head.  It felt kind of, nice. He felt secure.

“May we put you on your bed?”

Virgil thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

Patton released his hands gently.  Virgil expected Princey to the one to pick him up and was surprised when Logan carefully plucked him from Roman's arms and lifted him bridal style.

“I've got you,” Logan said, as he carried him over to the bed and lay him back on it gently.  Once Virgil was situated comfortably, Logan stood and Virgil worried he'd leave, but he left a hand on Virgil's shoulder.

“Would you like us to stay with you?  You seemed to respond positively to the physical constant.”

Virgil nodded again and tried to say yes, but he couldn't speak yet.

Apparently, he didn't need to because in moments Logan was on the bed beside him, holding one of his hands.  Patton was on his other side, stroking his hair and resting his head on Virgil's shoulder.  Roman lay behind Patton, reaching over the parental side to hold his hand, rubbing his thumb over Virgil’s knuckles.  It was warm and safe, calm and soothing.

After a few minutes, Virgil cleared his throat and tried to speak again.

“I-I got my voice back,” he said quietly. He didn't have to be loud, they were right next to him after all.

“Virgil,” oh God, it was Patton, and he was using Dad voice, “Son, we need to talk about this.  We want to help you.”

“We won't do anything you don't want us to do, Virgil, but we're worried about you not eating,” Roman said, squeezing his hand.

Virgil looked at Logan, who nodded.

“So, no CBT?” Virgil asked, still feeling apprehensive.

Logan looked surprised, “If you're uncomfortable with it, though I had thought you'd be more receptive once you knew what it was.”

Virgil levered himself up on his elbows, forcing Patton to sit up and stop stroking his hair, “How could you think I would be okay with that?!”

“Well, Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy is one of the more effective treatments for your particular brand of eating disorder, but if you're opposed, we could try hypnotherapy..”

“Wait, what?  What eating disorder? What, therapy?”

Logan quirked an eyebrow but kept the soft and reassuring tone when he spoke again. “Virgil, I've been taking note of your symptoms over the past couple weeks. From my observations and a bit of research, I determined that you most likely have avoidant/restrictive food intake disorder.  In your case, it seems to be tied to your experience of anxiety. Cognitive-behavioral therapy, or CBT, is the most common treatment for this disorder, but there are other options.”

Virgil couldn't help it, he laughed.  He laughed until he was wheezing and his eyes watered. Patton giggled next to him and Roman guffawed.

“Logan,” Virgil gasped when he got some breath back, “that is not the only meaning of CBT. Maybe don't use that acronym.”

Logan went to pull out his vocab cards, only to be stopped by Roman.

“Trust me, you don't want to know,” Roman said, shooting a wink at Virgil who rolled his eyes.

Logan put away the cards, eyeing Roman with mistrust.

Patton looked back and forth between Roman and Virgil, looking to be let in on the joke. Virgil just smiled at him, not happening.

“So that thing where I can't force myself to eat, that's a disorder and it has a name. Huh.” Virgil said, “And you guys were trying to figure out how to tell me without making me worry.”

“Well of course!  We love you, Virgil” Patton exclaimed and wrapped him in a tight hug which Virgil returned.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I'm... I'm sorry Virgil, for not doing more sooner,” Roman said, looking adorably uncomfortable.

Patton let him go and Virgil pulled Roman into a hug, earning an 'oof' from Patton being squished under Roman.

“Awww, Sir Sing-A-Lot cares about meeee,” Virgil teased, earning a bark of laughter and a hair ruffle from Roman.

“Course I do Hot Topic, but Logan's the one that figured it out and knew what to do. Believe it or not, he's the one who broke your door down to get to you.”

Virgil let go of the fanciful side and turned to check the door.  Sure enough, the door to his room was wrecked off its hinges.  That kind of damage usually had Princey all over it, for Logan to have done that...

The logical side stood next to the bed, cleaning his glasses carefully.

“I used the most direct method to reach you when it was imperative to do so quickly.” Logan blushed, “I will repair your door, or replace it as necessary.”

Virgil stood up and took two steps over to Logan in the time it took Logan to replace his glasses. Virgil threw himself at Logan, almost sending them both crashing to the floor.  

“Thank you.”

Virgil held on to Logan like he didn't want to let go, and he really didn't.  When Logan hugged him back like he was the most precious treasure, Virgil knew he was going to be okay.

He was home.

Tag List: @cinquefoilelove , @aikogumi , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @the-sides-of-patton , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

[kimmysfandomblog]

1, 2, 3 and 9 for the meme :P

Thank you Serahne! You always send me asks for these memes, and I appreciate it :D

Also sorry for the delay again. This time I actually had computer trouble when I was near the end, so I lost my answer, lol. ANyways, I’m sorry it’s really long because I like to go on tangents and further explain things ^^;

From Here: https://kimmysfandomblog.tumblr.com/post/169753929827/ship-asks

what is your absolute favorite ship?

what ship do you hate most?

what was your first ship, and what fandom is it from?

what is the most underrated ship, in your opinion?

Just as a warning, I do quite a bit of ship negativity and have V3 spoilers for the last question! check the tags for the ships that I’m negative about.

what is your absolute favorite ship?

Well, I think it’s pretty obvious that KomaHina is my favorite pairing! I love the relationship Haji and Ko have with each other. It’s a very complicated one, no doubt, but these boys always seem to create more complications instead of fixing any misconceptions ^^;.

What I really love is the potential for the ship post-canon! I feel like now that there is no time pressure, they’ll both finally have a chance to heal. I think that these two had it the toughest. They both believed strongly in Hope’s Peak Academy’s poisonous mentality in Talent being equivalent to how worthy you are as a person, measured in “Hope” for how much you can help society later. They both never considered themselves anything special and were on the outside looking in, but their way to cope with being “average” was different. While Ko just accepts his place, not even taking any compliments because he feels like he doesn’t deserve them, Haji fights to prove his own worth, and if the system for worth is based on talent, he even sacrificed his own body, mind, and spirit to finally be of worth. They are at these two extremes of how to cope, so I think given their perspectives on the issue and having it be proven just how toxic the mentality is, they can in turn help each other find that balancing point of acceptance to the new world order, so to speak.

Also, even in-game, there was a dynamic showing their strengths and weaknesses playing off one another. Haji is a super caring guy, and he genuinely tries to understand Ko, no matter how wary he feels of him. However, he always runs away from problems or denies them, even if he does eventually come back to try to solve them. Ko, in the mean time, cares, but he cares more for the toxic ideology of Hope’s Peak Academy (which is understandable once you know his backstory). All of his decisions are not based on emotion, but on what he would deem the logically best outcome (or maybe ideologically?). He is always fully against running away from the problem, no matter how tough the solution would be. So, in how I view these two characters, they compliment each other so well. Haji would be the emotional support and hopefully help Ko open up more to him and to the others so that he can learn to care about himself, and Ko can be the logical one motivating Haji not to run from problems, or the solutions that would probably lead to some sort of loss.

Everyone points out the aborted confession means Ko has a crush on Haji, but Haji really did like Ko in the beginning. They both felt calm towards each other, and Haji’s rejection towards Ko in the first trial was a result of him feeling betrayed that he person he woke up to on the beach was not the person Haji thought he was. Still, he tris to understand Ko while the others accept him as an outcast and don’t give a chance, while Haji feels conflicted because he’d seen a nicer side of Ko, so while he’d like to do the same, his caring side is asking himself why things turned out this way. That’s why I’m sure he was close to forgiving Ko in the FTEs. If Ko had a good reason for his actions, than why not forgive him and help him? Haji tries the whole game to deny any association with Ko, but it’s there and he realizes how much Ko helps even if he doesn’t ever admit it.

Koma//Hina brings up so many good points of discussion, and it leads to thinking about all of these AUs and speculations about post canon. The relationship is very complex, and it’s easily put into many different situations and wonder just how they would handle it. I guess that is why I like it so much!!! I hope that Kodaka never touches the Hope’s Peak storyline again and mess it up though :/ We really don’t need to, like, ship Haji with an AI or some other female charcter just to keep him straight and keep Ko the tragic character. Just saying :P

what ship do you hate most?

I have very few ships that I hate, so it wasn’t that hard to pick Junko///miki. Mikan has been through abuse and sexual exploitation her whole life. She’s very easily manipulated for fear that she’d endure more abuse, even by those that would never cause her any harm. Junko, in the mean time, does everything Mikan tries to avoid, except she adds her poison of getting Mikan to actually like the abuse because of despair and having it translate as “love and attention” instead of physical and emotional pain. The only way I can ever see this working is with an OOC/much toned-down Junko in some AU. Even then, the source of the ship really irks me most of the time :/

what was your first ship, and what fandom is it from?

Well, I think my first fandom was the Naruto fandom. I was into Naru//Hina and I hate how they became canon. I was also into Sasu//Naru, though I didn’t like it quite as much as Naru//Hina because as developed as it was, I couldn’t see Sasuke seriously reciprocating? Like, he’s done a lot of things to annoy Naruto, but it was always in a rivalry and he always just saw himself as better, yet when Naruto gets close to his level, he freaks because he’s dependent on the idea he has to be better than anyone to kill his brother, and Naruto, the idiot/dead last ninja, getting close to his level is some kind of failure on his part not to advance as quickly. I understand the complications, but I can’t see it happening in anything but an AU.

As for why I liked Naru//Hina, I saw myself in Hinata a little? Especially since I was even more shy as a kid, and no self confidence (not that that has changed all that much lol). Also, seeing how Naruto helps her gain a bit of confidence in the Chuunin exams made me root for her, and his concern leading to him swearing on her blood to get Neji to pay (and then beating Neji in a tough-won battle and spinning Neji’s ideology on its head). She doesn’t get a lot of screen time, and the manga makes fun of how hard she crushes on him, how shy she is, and how oblivious he is despite obvious signs, but I just shipped them together for it. I’d believed that they would compliment each other well (loud-obnoxious with shy-reserved: he’d tone it down a bit around her and she’d gain confidence in herself and come out of the shell more for other people, and they both share the same ideology and goals to become better and stronger for those around them and to prove themselves to those who doubted them). My opinion on the ship itself hasn’t changed that much, but I understand the hatred towards it, especially with how it became canon :/ I really would have preferred nothing become canon than what we got...

what is the most underrated ship, in your opinion?

This one was the hardest to answer... Like, there’s a lot of “crack pairings” that I ship based on the way I see characters and their personalities, and then shipping them based on the potential (Oum//ami, Hin//aegi, AI Kamu//Nami, and Koma//Nami definitely fall into this category). There isn’t a whole lot of canon interaction, if any (lol at Kamu//Nami), and a lot of people just don’t see the characters the way I do, and that’s fine! I’ll just have fun in rare-pair hell, like usual.

So, to actually answer the question, I’d have to say Sai/Mota would be my pick for underrated ship. Shuichi and Kaito already have development in canon. Kaito is told that Shuichi struggles by continuously placing the blame on himself after convicting someone to their punishment, especially when the culprit had a “good reason” to commit their crime. He also saw something in Shuichi’s motive video that made him approach Shuichi in the first place. Because of that, he takes on the role of “hero” and takes all of the responsibility onto himself, so that if Shuichi thinks he makes a mistake, Kaito can brush it off of him.Yeah, a lot of people saw Kaito as interfering with the investigation, but I’m pretty sure he’s aware how important Shuichi is in the investigation. He’s only around so that he can he that emotional support. He sees what Shuichi has investigated, asks questions and points things out so that maybe he can help Shuichi figure things out. The first trial, when Shuichi is beginning to doubt himself, he reminds him not to think about the responsibility and just do his best. No one will fault Shuichi if he makes the wrong deduction. He also makes a mistake in assuming Shuichi knows everything, and he doesn’t really do that again in the trials after.

Kaito certainly has a hero complex, but I’m positive he’s aware of more than he lets on. He is actually pretty good at lying and has very strong sense of morals (he will never forgive killing someone, and since Kokichi was already on his way to death, taking the blame for his death was just a little easier). He was also somehow able to take the test to become an astronaut and pass and knows numerous languages fluently. Now, given what we can see of Kaito, he always seems like the idiot, the Hagakure or Souda of the V3 cast, but this time, he takes a more active role in the story. He is playing his part to keep morale as high as he can. He unfortunately lets that role get to him in Chapter 4, when he adamantly defends Gonta and realizes at the end of the trial just how close all of them got to death for his mistake. He can’t look Shuichi in the eye after that, maybe a bit mad for him siding with Kokichi during the trial, but more mad at himself for not seeing how much Shuichi grew to be able to not need Kaito’s support anymore during a trial, and for letting himself get in the way of that.

As for Shuichi, there is so much concern for Kaito once Kaito helped him relieve his stress about making wrong decisions and reaches out to him in Chapter 2. Shuichi may be a little exasperated at times, especially at being a sidekick when Kaito doesn’t really do anything, and Shuichi is a little snarky about that internally, but he truly appreciates Kaito. Kaito’s FTEs really don’t make a lot of sense since he rambles on a fictional story supposedly about how he became an astronaut, but the important part is how supportive Kaito is of Shuichi and how much Shuichi appreciates having Kaito so close and knowing he can rely on Kaito to help him feel at ease about the situation. It really does seem like Shuichi has a crush on Kaito built from his admiration of him, even if he doesn’t really realize that is what it was.

Sorry, I rambled a lot about Sai/Mota already, but I never really said why I think it’s underrated? It’s pretty clearly overshadowed by Oum//asai, Sai//Aka, and Kai//Maki, but to me I just don’t like these pairings as much. Sai//Aka I do kinda like, but the other two I kind of don’t. It’s not like they are NOTPs, I just don’t like them for different reasons. I didn’t like Oum//asai because, well, it’s very boring to me and I don’t get it and the popularity. I tried to understand it and the love for Kokichi, really, but they didn’t hit anything I liked and both the realtionship between the two and Kokichi’s characterization are quite straightforward in canon, while the fandom made me convinced that they’d be super complex (and honestly if people didn’t keep spoiling me, maybe things would have been much more different. Actually I’m positive fandom ruined it for me.) I don’t like Kai//Maki because, well, it makes me sad for Maki falling for a guy that apparently unintentionally lead her on :/ And Sai//Aka has it’s major problem of reducing Kaede to some 2D character with little backstory there to be killed for a man’s character development... when in Chapter 1 and prologue she was a character with many conflicted feelings trying to do her best.

Thankfully, Sai//mota isn’t that much of a rare pair, especially once the English Release hit, but it’s definitely not that popular, or people don’t get it because to them, they are just bros (perfectly understandable either way). I just wish there was more Sai//mota content because there’s a lot of evidence for it and it’s a ship that’s pretty mutually beneficial to me.

Sorry again for rambling a lot! I tried to cut it shorter... tried is the key word here hahaha ^^;;;;