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#I did then I made the sketch and started scrolling through tumblr. You can tell what happened after that

reki-of-the-valley · 3 years

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Boy Like a Fading Dream

A part two of the uni AU? More like a "I wanted to characterize the Langa of this AU". Wrote it a couple of days ago but didn't want to back-to-back post, just give a few days for the first part to settle in.

Find it on AO3 here!

Context: For his skills on a snowboard, Langa landed himself a scholarship. But he hates it. He hates his studies. He hates the athletic training. He just wants to go back to the time when it was fun, racing his dad to the bottom of the mountain.

“Where’s dad?”

Langa lets his bag hit the ground with a thud as he kicks off his shoes. His mother is in the living room; she’s cutting carrots in front of some sitcom. She lifts her head to smile at her son as soon as he enters her line of sight.

“How was your day, baby?”

Langa sighs as he crashes next to her. He feels her watch him as he picks up a carrot from the bowl before snapping it in half between his teeth. He feels her gaze, just as heavy as his eyelids are.

“Tiring.”

It’s all he manages to say to her. It’s all he finds to say. Tiring. His days are always just tiring.

“Did you have fun at practice?”

Fun? Langa barely remembers what that feels like. Fun, it feels like a foreign word now. He knows he must have felt it in the past, the thrill of gliding down the snowy slopes, but now it’s anything but fun. Snowboarding isn’t fun anymore, especially when there’s no snow outside. Especially when he’s cooped up in a gym rather than out on the open mountains.

So was training fun? No. No, it wasn’t.

“It was fine,” he lies. He can’t tell his mother how much he hates it. He can’t tell her when it’s what’s paying for his education – an education he also hates. “The usual, you know.”

Nanako pats his arm, her smile sweet and ever so motherly. “That’s good, baby. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

Langa sucks in a breath as his mother presses a kiss to his hair. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. If only she knew how big a lie that was. He would have done anything to just quit everything right now and lay in bed for the next ten years. Everything lost its appeal. If only everything could stop just for a moment, just for a minute, just enough time for Langa to catch his breath.

“Dad’s not home yet, is he?”

Nanako shakes her head. “He’s staying late tonight. He has a project that’s due, I think, tomorrow? Something about his team not being up-to-date so he has to stay late.”

Langa sighs again as he straightens out on the couch. He grabs another carrot before getting up to fetch his bag.

“I have to go study.”

Nanako doesn’t say anything as he leaves to climb the stairs that lead to his bedroom. Langa knows she’s watching him, watching his every move, but she doesn’t say anything. Maybe she can sense his disappointment. Maybe she knows that he’s lying to her.

Langa crashes in his bed, slinging his bag at the end of his mattress where it bounced before falling among the pile of dirty clothes he’s thrown aside. His room is a mess, but he can’t bring himself to clear out his trash. He’s already in a deficit of energy when just doing his mundane daily tasks. So he crashes among his pillows and pulls out his phone.

It's automatic, the swiping left and clicking on the app. It’s become a routine, crashing in bed and opening Instagram to scroll mindlessly. Langa doesn’t actually care for what’s on his screen, he just needs something to do, something to make him forget about the emptiness that’s formed in his chest.

So he scrolls. Pictures of old friends from high school, professional pictures and reels of snowboarders, screenshots of old Tumblr posts, reels of animals being cute, Langa scrolls through them all. He scrolls, scrolls until everything on his phone becomes a big blur. He scrolls until his phone slips from his fingers, falling flat on his face.

Another sigh as he turns to his side. His phone rests against his pillow as he goes back to scrolling. Always scrolling, numbing everything he’s ever felt. Because Langa does feel. He feels a million things, but none of those feelings are good. Frustration, loneliness, exhaustion, the list can go on. He hates all his feelings, especially that hollow feeling of disappointment that has been growing over the past year or so.

A notification pulls Langa out of his mindless scrolling. He usually ignores them, swiping them away, but for some reason, this one catches his attention. For some reason, he clicks it rather than get rid of it. The flash of red catches his attention.

.MechanicStarReki. – Suggested for you

Langa squints at his screen. The name doesn’t ring a bell but the face seems familiar. Familiar, but he can’t pinpoint where exactly it is that he’s seen it. His memory of the familiar face is hazy, like that of a dream starting to fade as morning takes shape. Familiar yet so foreign.

Langa scrolls through the profile, careful to not make his presence known. Most of the captions are in Japanese and he can’t find it in himself to decipher their meaning. He knows with a little effort, and maybe a little help from a translator app or from his mother, he could read the words, but he doesn’t bother. He contents himself with the scarce English. He contents himself with the many pictures of a boy with red hair.

The last post dates back a few weeks, a set of pictures with the caption “See you for Christmas.” The pictures show the redhead hugging who Langa assumes to be his sisters. They all look too much alike for them to not be family. Langa swipes between the pictures, taking in the scene: two school-aged girls cling to the boy, identical in all ways except the color of their dresses. He’s hugging them, a wide grin stretching across his face. Langa swipes again. Another girl is shown in the picture – she must be around 15. She’s pouting, but the sun reflects against the tears that had started to form at the corner of her eyes as she hugs the boy. Her eyes are the same color as his, a deep amber color that Langa knows he’s seen somewhere. He knows he's seen the boy, but he also knows it’s impossible. He can’t have seen him, not with the location associated with the picture: Okinawa, Japan. There’s no way he’s ever seen this boy; Langa’s only been to Japan once, the summer before he started high school.

Langa moves on from the set of pictures. He scrolls down, analyzing everything that has been posted over the years. Skateboards, sketches of various types, doodles, the boy with his friends, more of his family. Langa always pauses on the pictures of him. He always squints at him as if that would help him remember where he’s seen him.

A part of Langa knows that this is obsessive behavior, that he should just let it go, but he needs to know. He needs to know where he’s seen those faded freckles against sun-kissed skin. He needs to know where he’s seen those bright amber eyes. He needs to know where he’s seen that lopsided grin. He needs to know where he’s seen this boy, this boy that feels like a fading dream.

Does he resemble an actor from one of his mother’s shows, the Japanese ones she puts on while she cooks? No, that’s not it. He’s too young to look like any of those actors. Anyway, Langa never pays attention to the actors on the screen; he only knows the story because his mother has been following the ridiculous drama for years now. So the boy doesn’t just look like someone Langa might have seen on tv.

Does he look like an athlete Langa’s watched perform time after time, desperately trying to analyze his technique in hopes of recreating whatever is being done? No, it isn’t that either. Langa never recognizes the athletes, even when they tell him they've been competing against each other for years. He remembers their boards, but never their faces. So it isn’t that.

No matter how much Langa rakes his brain, he can’t find where it is that he’s seen the grin, the bright eyes, the freckles. Maybe the boy really is a figment of his imagination, a face given to a faceless dream that comes back every so often. Maybe he’s caught a glance of someone who looks like him in the street, or maybe it’s just a mere coincidence that the boy Langa’s made up looks like him, a mixture of a bunch of features that gave someone real. Or maybe Langa is delusional from his lack of sleep.

Langa drops his phone as his door is pushed open. He knows his mother knocked, but when he gets lost in his own little world, nothing else exists. Nothing exists until his bubble bursts.

“Langa sweetheart?” Nanako is standing in the doorway. She's looking at him, a slight frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. Her usual worry is evident in her features. “Is everything alright?”

Langa shifts, pushing his legs off of his bed to sit up. He nods at his mother, his words failing him. He hates how he finds himself unable to speak.

“Are you sure?” She shifts her weight to the side. Worry. “I’ve been calling you to set the table for the past 10 minutes now.”

Langa blinks at his mother before apologizing. He hadn’t heard her, he says. He had gotten lost in his own little world. He’s sorry, he’ll be down in a minute to set the table.

“Langa.” Nanako’s voice pierces through him as he fishes his phone out from under his pillow. “Are you sure nothing’s bothering you?”

Langa almost cracks. He almost tells her. He almost admits that he hates everything he’s doing. He almost admits that he hates going to school. He almost admits that he hates training. He almost admits that the thing he hates most is himself. Almost, but he doesn’t. He wouldn’t be able to survive the disappointed look on his mother’s face. He knows she would understand, that she’d tell him he’s allowed to quit, that she would support him no matter what, but he also knows she would be disappointed.

So he just smiles at her, that closed-mouthed smile he’s been practicing for years.

“I’m just tired.”

Nanako nods before making her way to him. She holds him tightly against herself, the warm embrace of a mother. And for a moment, Langa doesn’t hate himself.

“If you’re tired, I can bring your food up. You don’t have to eat downstairs if it’s too much.”

Langa shakes his head. Dinnertime is the only time of the day where he can spend time with his parents. Between classes and training, he’s barely ever home. It’s the only time where things feel normal, like they were back in the day when Langa was young, doing homework at the kitchen table while his mother cooked, explaining to him what he had to do. It’s the only time where he feels like they’re a family again.

“Just give me a minute and I’ll be down.”

Nanako sighs as she steps away from him, nodding. A small, tired smile pulls at the corner of her mouth as she turns back to him, halfway through the door.

“You promise you’d tell me if something was bothering you?”

Langa nods, promising, but the promise is hollow, his fingers crossed behind his back. It’s broken before even being uttered because Langa knows that he can’t make that promise. There’s just no way that he can promise such a thing. He can’t bring himself to tell anyone about how he feels. But still, he smiles and nods at his mother as she makes her way out of his room, down the stairs, back to the kitchen. He smiles until he can’t bear it anymore and crystal tears fall from his eyes, fall right onto the picture of the grinning boy in his phone, the phone he's been gripping so tightly.

#oh yeah Oliver is alive for this one #Given that I want to make Langa miserable I had to give him back one happy thing #and his dad seemed like a good thing to give back #And without a dead dad he can stay in Canada #Sorry for the lack of concrete Renga #Given that I like this AU but don't actually have a plot for it it'll be a bunch of snippets #and snippets means that there will eventually be concrete renga content #but I had to establish this 'background' first #Also it's 2021 all the kids are miserable in one way or another because I'm mean and have been feeling like shit lately #I really hate the titles of these but I don't have the energy to think of something good #renga #snowgear #lanreki #langa x reki #reki x langa #langa hasegawa #langa #hasegawa langa #reki #kyan reki #reki kyan #nanako hasegawa #hasegawa nanako #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #lils writes

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echonidae · 3 years

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let’s talk commission stuff!

hey folks !! so i’ve been reorganizing myself to get commissions back on track, and i’ve got some things i’d like to get your input on, if it isn't too much trouble !! ;v;

it’s a long one, so under the cut it goes sdfghghj

a slightly too long tl;dr because apparently this is a 10min read (i'm so sorry): commission revamp on the works! no date for it yet. gonna be easing myself back with just icons for a while at first (no date for that either thoug, not yet), then the revamp will be in full swing with all the other commission options, and the pricetable for them will be changed in the future as well.

some questions:

1) i’m rethinking commission types, is there anything you’d like to see as a new option? 2) considering i tend to open only a handful slots every batch, i'm thinking about implementing a waitlist (with a bit of a twist: it's split between Current Batch and Next Batch; a little more complicated than a regular ol' waitlist, allows me to get through some of the waitlist queue as work gets done). would that interest you or is it too much of a headache? 100% open to suggestions! 3) i’m organizing a board on trello for commission stuffs !! any suggestions or specific things you’d like to see there?

so! it’s already been over a year since i last opened commissions and i’d very much like to get back to them ;o; it’s been way too long! i miss working with you folks aaa

i don’t have a reopening date yet, but i’m planning on opening only icons for a while to ease back into the process. later on, i'll open the other commission options too. you see, i’m working on a full revamp of the whole thing, including the terms of service and that info image with the examples (because looking back, i think it no longer really represents my current style and how i really do commissions in terms of just... plain old rendering and polishing), so i’ll be working on new drawings and a new layout too, and all that good jazz :D

for full disclosure, along with this overhaul of the terms and such, i will be updating prices too c: i’m still working on the new values though, since i need to figure out what commission types/options the overhaul will have. which brings me to the first question here: what would you like to see as a commission option? for reference, here’s the og options:

(hoo i need to redo those examples *sweats*)

also, one more thing i’d like to note about this revamp situation: there isn’t a whole lot that’s changing really haha it’s just been a long, long time since i last did commissions, so i’m reviewing terms and i might change stuff that’s become outdated, or that needs clarification. if you’ve commissioned me before, the process itself is still the same so no worries! once the revamp is out, i’ll point out anything that has changed too c:

in regards to price changes, those first icon-only batches will be in their original price, and the new prices will only take effect once the revamp with the other options is out. it will be quite a while before until that, but if you have any concerns, feel free to message me any time ! either way, i’ll keep you folks posted !! i guess i also could post the new prices before implementing them, if that helps!

so, moving on! now to the waitlist situation <:3c as in, i’ve never had one, a while back someone asked if i did, and now that i’m reorganizing things, i’m wondering if it would be good to implement one :3c feel free to send any questions !! or suggestions!! i'm all ears!!!

usually i only open a handful of slots for each batch, right, and once they're all claimed, the commissions are closed until all the slots are finished. folks who missed the slots have to wait until the next batch, and sometimes those batches take a while to come back, and i usually just message those who missed the opening once the new batch is announced.

what i'm thinking for the waitlist is, i'll open it along with the batch of commissions, and limit it to a specific number of spots or close it by a specific date, whichever comes first. to apply for it, people would just need to send the form and i can tell them immediately whether or not i can draw their request, and then they'll be placed on the waitlist in the order they’ve been accepted c: pretty standard stuff.

here’s the important bit: that list is basically split in two. the first handful of people on the list, corresponding to the amount of slots for the current batch, will be reached out to as i finish working on the claimed slots, and then anyone else on the waitlist will be contacted shortly before the next batch. if, by the time the list closes, not all the opened slots have been claimed, folks on the list will simply be moved up the queue accordingly c: all of it would be discussed individually, of course, and very well disclosed in the commission info!

there are other points to it as well: anyone would be able to request a spot on the next batch's waitlist instead of the current one, and anyone can leave either list at any point. folks who had already claimed a slot when it first opened would only be able to apply for the next batch's waitlist (to give everyone a chance of getting one), and people on the list, either for the current or the next round of commissions, can be skipped up to a limit if they're unable to continue the order once i get to them.

oh and, before i forget, with the waitlist in place, i think i’d no longer be able to put slots on hold as i used to (as in, before paying the first invoice), as it’d be unfair to folks on the list. in that case, the person would be placed on the list as well if they want to, and contacted as soon as possible : )

also the "up to 2 slots per person" thing would be on thin ice too haha

anyway, this is kind of what i intended to do back then, with reopening slots as work gets finished, but never got around to. i want to make sure i don’t swamp myself with work, but also have it so that folks who want slots have a good chance of getting them, whether for the current batch or the next, as there's only so many slots i can open and work on at once, and time zones and irl things are to be considered too for anyone interested c:

it also makes it easier for me to keep track of messaging folks about new slots and such, and the list would be made public and easily available for consulting too : D more on this later!

so how's this looking? i've never done waitlists before and barely knew how they're supposed to work before starting to reorganize things, so please do feel free to voice your thoughts !! i’m 100% open to suggestions !!! do you think this system would work out for you? any concerns? if anything is unclear feel free to point it out, i'll do my best to explain the process or change stuff that doesn't quite work!!

so!!! now to the very last thing i wanted to talk about ! trello!

i’m making a little trello board for updates on commission stuff! my commission info page here on tumblr and on deviantart both have this little section for updates on each slot’s progress, but i admittedly didn't do a good job keeping them updated (and constantly updating two things in different places just. kinda sucks.), so i’ve been diving into trello to unify that update section in one place and keep things nice and organized and transparent : ) it would be super useful for keeping track of the waitlist too, if that becomes a thing, or for updates on commission status and such!

so far i’m only testing things out, so it’s looking like this right now (sorry for the tiny image!):

(the board is lying btw, commissions are very much closed haha) (also if it’s basically unreadable, here’s the upload on sta.sh)

with all those little lists, the “available slots” and “sketch” and “lineart” and whatnot, i would be moving the card along the process : D and adding the appropriate labels, of course

this way i can have those halfsteps labelled too (working on/halfway through/finishing), since there’s only so many colors i can use without making it confusing (and tbh i’m already not too thrilled about color labels as it is, but it beats typing each individual status, and i’d imagine it’s more readable for folks consulting the list as well)

i really like how this looks so far in terms of organization but i’m unsure if the horizontal scrolling is anything but annoying, specially to folks on mobile (with the way i divide my screen on desktop, it certainly isn’t ideal either), so if you have any experience with that, feel free to let me know your thoughts!! there are a thousand different ways to organize this, and this is all a work in progress too c:

so! anything specific you folks would like to see on trello? i know this is a fairly common tool for commission queues and info and such but i’m super new to this platform, so please feel free to send suggestions! ♥

anyway yeah! that’s it! ;0; !

i’m sorry for the super long post, i’ve just been thinking about a lotta stuff haha i feel like i don’t interact a whole lot as it is, and since commissions are very much a team effort, i do want to get input from you folks on it c: it’s good to get a fresh perspective as well!

thank you so much for reading this far !! let me know your thoughts !!! :D ♥

#oh boy.txt #:3c #;;yeowline #the word batch can be found 28 times in this post #waitlist is present 24 times #slot = 32 times (28 being the plural)#commission? 46 times #phew!#also!#doodlesketch stuff #eye strain #for the art there haha

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Galactica, Chapter 65 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Chapter 65 seems like a good time to tell you that there’s nothing we love more than talking to you guys about this story! We are both on tumblr (@theartificialdane and @veronicasanders) and we’d love to hear from you!! We also have other Galactica content there under the “galactica” and “galactica wardrobe” tags. XOXO!! Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Bianca threw a wrench in the annual holiday party when she brought Courtney as her date, and Katya tried to (not) deal with her surprise pregnancy.

This Chapter: Miss Fame and the team work on the final lineup for the spring runway, and Katya figures some things out.

***

It was Violet’s luck that she was a light sleeper, the first note of her alarm barely ringing before she had grabbed her phone from under her pillow and turned it off.

There really wasn't a need for Violet to wake up at 6, for her to start her day so early since she couldn’t go to the gym because of her ankle, but habits were hard to break, and she liked how quiet the world was in the morning, how it felt like she was the only one awake.

She wasn’t hungover, had barely had a drink because of her crutches, but she had a feeling all of her coworkers would be wearing sunglasses and asking each other to shut up, the Friday after the Christmas party always an experience.

Sutan’s bedroom was dark, his curtains swallowing the ever present lights of Harlem, the man asleep next to her, his head resting on his pillow.

It took everything in Violet not to reach out and run her fingers through his hair.

She had been so annoyed with him last night, so uncomfortable in the beautiful red dress she had bought with his money, the simmering anger not leaving her until she had felt Sutan’s clever fingers undo the zipper on her back, skin against skin finally freeing her from the smoldering fire.

“Stop staring at me.” Violet froze, Sutan’s voice deep with sleep.

“I’m not.”

“Oh?” Sutan cracked an eye open, a smile playing on his lips as he reached out, grabbing her hip on top of her blanket. “Could have fooled me.”

“Well,” Violet smiled back, allowing him to pull her in, “Maybe I was. A little bit.”

***

As her alarm sounded, Courtney groaned, burying her head into Bianca’s neck. Bianca laughed, reaching over to hit snooze, giving them a few more precious minutes in bed before Courtney had to get up.

Bianca had never been much of a morning person, but she’d discovered that, in many ways, this was her favorite part of the day. When the world was dark and still, and they were curled together under the covers, naked and warm. She trailed her fingers up and down Courtney’s back, pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You okay, sunshine?” Bianca asked.

“Mmmhmm...I just don’t want to go to work.”

Bianca smiled, one hand settling into the curve of Courtney’s waist, enjoying the way they fit so perfectly together.

“Then don’t,” she stated, warming up to the idea of taking a day off, just the two of them. “Call in sick.”

“I wish,” Courtney scoffed, a deep sigh leaving her. “But I can’t, so…”

“Why not?”

“The day after a party? Everyone will think I have some crazy hangover.”

“Yeah, so?” Bianca laughed.

“Plus, I’m pretty sure Miss Fame is less than pleased with me right now. I don’t want to give her any reason to be annoyed. And there’s a big meeting to decide on the spring runway, and I have to-”

“Alright, alright...forget I suggested it,” Bianca said, holding up her hands in surrender. “I just really liked the idea of spending all day in bed with you.”

Courtney raised herself up on her elbow, gazing down at Bianca with a dreamy smile on her face.

“Maybe, um...can we do that tomorrow?”

“You’re on, angel,” Bianca said, reaching up to run her fingers through her hair.

“And...we still have about seven minutes before the alarm goes off again.” Courtney brushed her lips against Bianca’s neck, murmuring, “You wanna go back to sleep, or…?”

“Hmmm...” Bianca cocked her head, pretending to think. “I may have some other ideas…”

Courtney let out a delighted squeal as Bianca flipped her onto her back with a wicked grin.

***

Maxwell groaned as a loud clatter sounded through the design floor.

“Sorry!” Kiara whisper-shouted, quickly picking up the pair of scissors she had dropped. Trixie had gone to the department head meeting about 20 minutes ago, which meant that everyone had given up the pretense that they were working. Alexis had gone straight for the couch to take a nap as soon as the door had closed behind him, April still nursing a terrible-looking green smoothie at her desk. “Sorry everyone!”

“Don’t even think about it girl!” Bob smiled, his phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear, and Maxwell groaned again, sliding down so he could rest his head on his arms, Bob chatting away.

He loved his boyfriend, he really did, but there were few things more annoying than when Bob had managed to get into any tabloid, the perceived fame of it always going directly to his head. And of course, it was made even worse by his friends and family back home in Georgia playing right into it, acting as if it meant anything at all.

“Listen, I didn’t ask to be born fabulous, but it’s my cross to bear, and I’m-” Bob laughed, adding, “Exactly!”

“He’s really getting into it, huh?” Maxwell looked up to see Violet standing next to his desk, looking over at Bob, Jovan at her side holding three cups of coffee.

“Here,” Jovan smiled, giving one of them to Maxwell, the scent filling his nose.

“Oh god I love you,” Maxwell grinned, taking the liquid magic. It was probably not healthy to be on his third cup already, but he didn’t care.

“Love you too boo,” Jovan grinned, taking a seat on the edge of his desk, Violet doing the same, balancing her crutch so she could take her own cup. They didn’t talk, and Maxwell loved that, Violet fitting so nicely into their little boys club that he barely even thought about the fact that she was a girl and straight most days.

***

“Pearl! Pay attention!”

Pearl snapped out of it, the wheels of her chair squeaking as she moved, her eyes wide open at the commanding tone in Fame’s voice.

“Sorry!” Pearl sat up straight, Bendela hiding a snicker behind a sketchbook, her brown eyes clearly filled with delight over Pearl getting reprimanded.

“God,” Fame rolled her eyes, her hand on her hip, her outfit of the day a white cropped cashmere sweater and white linen high waisted pants, her blonde hair in a high delicate updo, a golden belt snug around her waist. “Did anyone come to work today?”

If they had been alone, Pearl would have opened her mouth to point out that she was the one who always arranged for the Christmas party to be on a Thursday, but they weren’t, so Pearl kept her mouth shut.

“Fame,” Raja’s voice was warm, and it apparently functioned just as intended, her tone a soothing balm on whatever had Fame into such a tizzy. “We’re almost done.”

If Pearl had to make an educated guess, she’d say it was probably the whole Courtney and Bianca thing, though it could be anything from her breakfast grapefruit not being ripe to morning traffic to a photographer catching a bad angle of her last night.

“You’re right,” Fame sat back down, sliding her chair over to Trixie. “So, fourth look. What do you have?”

“I was thinking about these pants?” Trixie held out a sketch, and Pearl folded her hands over her stomach, watching her best friend do his job exceptionally well.

Fame tapped her fingers against the table, french tips hitting the wood and Pearl made a mental note to see if she could sneak in a visit to Fame’s office, providing their boss with an orgasm before lunch a great Christmas gift to everyone in the company.

***

V-List Alert: BDR’s Latest Blonde Bombshell

[Pictured: A large photo of Bianca and Courtney kissing on the red carpet, along with a few smaller shots of them looking giggly and affectionate. And lastly, a grainy, low-res photo of them on the street after the event, kissing while a driver is opening the car door.]

Well, well, well…

Okay, so to begin with, let’s all admit that BDR showing up on a red carpet with some sweet young thing is nothing new. In fact, it would be strange if she didn’t. But the shameless PDA last night at Galactica’s annual Christmas party—both on and off the carpet—had us wondering...who the hell is the new paramour?

We did a bit of digging and strap in kids, cause it gets juicy…

Turns out that this little darling is named Courtney Jenek. Sound familiar? No? Yeah it shouldn’t. But she happens to have two very interesting connections to BDR: 1, apparently she’s friends with B’s baby sister, princess of the underground punk scene Adore Delano. And 2, even more hilariously, Lil Courtney here is the Executive Assistant to none other than Miss Fame of Galactica.

Wonder what the illustrious and brand-conscious Miss Fame thinks of her bestie using her staff in what appears to be an extremely filthy unprofessional way? And how’s it all gonna play out?

We can’t wait to watch this drama unfold…

***

As Courtney slipped on her coat and grabbed her bag to head downstairs for yet another coffee run, she glanced at her personal phone, laughing to herself when she saw the 17 missed calls from Morgan. She scrolled through the text messages in the elevator.

MORGAN: COURTNEYYYYYYYY!!!

MORGAN: OMG PICK UP

MORGAN: WERE YOU PLANNING TO TELL US YOU’RE FUCKING BIANCA DEL RIO?????

TYRA: She’s WHAT

ADORE: You guys didn’t know? ;)

TATIANNA: Yawn, old news :p

MORGAN: BITCH

MORGAN: COURTNEY I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON’T PICK UP

MORGAN: COURTNEYCOURTNEYCOURTNEYCOURTNEYCOURTNEY

Courtney called her back, laughing some more when she picked up even before the first ring.

“You know I’m working, right?”

“I am going to murder you,” Morgan announced.

“Wow Morgan. A hate crime? I really thought more highly of you,” Courtney replied with a giggle.

“Omigod, shut up! How could you not have told me already?!”

“Well...I don’t know, I wasn’t sure what it was at first-” she said.

“It’s still fucking major!” Morgan laughed. “I guess it makes sense, though. God, you always chose the worst men.”

Courtney chuckled, nodding as she exited the elevator and headed for the coffee shop.

“So what did your parents say?”

“Uhhh...I haven’t exactly told them yet.”

“Courtney!”

“What? It’s not gonna be dramatic or anything, you know my brother’s gay.”

“Omigod, Court, you absolute idiot. You have to-”

“One sec.” Courtney lowered her phone to give the orders for the meeting, then went back to the phone. “Sorry, I’m on a coffee run.”

“Yeah, I heard. Listen, Courtney, you have to tell them! Do you really want them to find out that you’re dating a woman who’s almost twice your age from a fucking tabloid?”

“I don’t think my parents subscribe to American fashion blogs.”

“Did you even read the link I sent you?! Someone’s gonna send it to them, trust me.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell them,” Courtney told her with an eye roll. She really didn’t see the big deal though; telling her parents was the last thing on her list of worries at the moment.

“Also…” Morgan’s voice lowered, taking on a sing-song, teasing tone now that the business was out of the way, “When are we hanging out? ‘Cause you know I absolutely need all the sordid details.”

“Soon, I promise.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“I’m kind of busy tomorrow,” Courtney admitted.

“Busy getting railed, you mean?”

“Maybe…”

“Ha, you slag.”

***

Maybe she was avoiding going home. That was certainly possible. But on Friday, Katya just seemed to keep finding things to do to prepare for the next week of school. It would be their last week before winter break, so she knew that any kind of serious learning would be difficult. Rather than spend her time fighting with the kids to focus when they just weren’t capable of it, she planned as many fun projects as possible, and though a lot of them were old hat for her by now, the prep work never seemed to end.

Which is why, when Jasmine, the woman who ran the afterschool program, came to her door at almost 6:45, she was still there.

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you…”

“It’s no bother, come on in,” Katya said, a big smile on her face, especially when she saw that Jasmine had Grace with her--one of Katya’s favorite students.

“You know we close at 6, and Grace’s mom is running late today,” Jasmine said. Her tone of voice was light and cheerful, but her eyes told Katya a different story--that this wasn’t the first time it had happened, and that she was likely furious. “I gotta get home, and Dani’s out with the flu, so...do you mind keeping her here until Leslie shows up? It should be soon, she texted me ten minutes ago that she’s on the way.”

“No problem. We’ll have a great time, won’t we Grace?”

The little girl nodded, skipping into the classroom happily.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Jasmine said. “Thank you!”

Katya turned to Grace, who had dumped her jacket and backpack on the rug and was already prowling around the book bins, likely looking for her favorite Junie B. Jones stories. Soon, the two of them were settled into bean bag chairs in the comfy zone, Katya reading a few chapters out loud to her before realizing that she was probably hungry and suggesting a snack. Grace was just finishing her juice box and goldfish crackers when her young mother, Leslie, came rushing inside, harried and out of breath, apologizing profusely.

“Mama!” Grace jumped up from her seat at the little table, knocking the chair over in her excitement to leap into her mom’s arms. She hugged her tightly, face buried in her neck, and Katya could see some of the tension in Leslie’s face melt away.

Katya stood up from her own seat, picking up the book they’d been reading.

“I’m gonna put this book in Grace’s backpack so that you can finish it together this weekend,” she said, and Leslie shot her a look of pure gratitude, nodding.

“Grace, can you say thank you to Mrs. Zamo?”

“Thank you Mrs. Zamo!” she echoed cheerfully, taking the backpack and her jacket as Leslie dropped a kiss to the top of her head.

“Honey, can you go wait for me on the bench for a minute?” she asked, tugging gently on one of her pigtails.

“Okay!”

As Grace skipped into the hallway to wait, Leslie turned to Katya, tears filling her eyes.

“I’m really so sorry about being late, I-”

“It’s okay,” Katya said, head tilted sympathetically. “I get it, things happen.”

“It’s been happening all week. I got this new job, and the hours are so tough and the commute is shit, but it’s an extra two dollars an hour and I can’t say no to that. But I just feel like...I feel like I can’t do anything right.”

“I understand,” Katya nodded, putting a hand on her arm. The truth was, though, she didn’t understand. Not really. She’d never been in a position where an extra two dollars an hour would make such a big difference in her life--not even when her dad cut her off. She’d always had money, and by the time her trust fund was depleted, she was living with Trixie, whose generous salary more than covered what they needed, her meager teacher’s salary mostly paying for fun extras, keeping them entertained and living their best lives, or just going in the bank.

She knew she was lucky, but until that moment, seeing the pain in Leslie’s eyes, the fear that she was failing at life and failing her child, maybe she didn’t understand just how lucky.

“I was sitting on the bus thinking about her waiting and waiting, wondering where I was.”

“Can I tell you something?” she asked softly. “Grace didn’t care that you were late, she was just happy to see you when you got here, because it’s really obvious what a good mom you are.”

“Sometimes I feel like the worst mom ever,” Leslie admitted, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“No way. Grace is an amazing kid. She’s smart and kind and enthusiastic--and it’s totally okay if you need some more help. That’s what all of us are here for. I can talk to Jasmine about maybe extending the hours next week, until you can get your schedule sorted. Or maybe Grace can go home with Joey’s mom...don’t you all live in the same building?”

Leslie nodded, a deep sigh leaving her. “Thanks, that’s a good idea. I...I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay. Just remember that you’re not in this alone, you know?” Katya handed over a box of tissues from her desk.

“Yeah. Thanks. Sorry, I-” Leslie wiped her eyes.

“Don’t be sorry,” Katya said, giving her a warm hug.

***

“Oh god!” Gigi groaned, pushing the door to the modeling apartment open, her shoulders aching, her fingertips numb. “Finally!” She dumped her bags down in the hallway, slumping against the wall.

She had been around the town with Sutan all day, shopping for what he called a model wardrobe, Gigi trying on several pairs of heels and flats, her new backpack and purse stuffed with a newly printed book and her brand new phone, their last stop of the day Gigi’s new gym that was just around the corner.

“Gigi?” Bimini popped her head out of the kitchen door, the golden rim around her eyes and her crimped hair clear indicators that meant she had been shooting, Bimini rarely bothering with removing hair and makeup on set. “Welcome home sweetie! How did it go?”

“I’m exhausted!” Gigi pushed out from the wall and kicked her sneakers off. “Who knew shopping could be that hard?”

Gigi heard Symone giggle, her friend sitting at the table and painting her nails, the apartment's newest arrival chopping vegetables for whatever vegan crock pot Bimini was cooking for everyone. They had someone new arrive every couple of days, most girls only staying for a night or two in the bunk beds in what Naomi had dubbed the summer camp room before they were shipped off again if they didn’t interest any of the agents.

“I told you, didn’t I?”

“I know,” Gigi groaned, dumping down in a chair to rest her aching feet, “but I thought you were kidding.” Symone had gone on the trip two weeks ago, her Instagram exploding with content now that she had a brand new phone to post with.

“Did he give you the drink speech too?”

She had eaten lunch with Sutan at an awkwardly fancy restaurant, three sets of cutlery surrounding her plate, her manager going through each set as well as her wine glasses, explaining it to her. Gigi’s mom had always insisted on good manners, but it hadn’t been anything like that.

“The ‘never leave your drink unattended’ one, I mean.”

“Mmh,” Gigi nodded. “The whole entire speech.”

She hoped it’d be unnecessary, but Sutan had run her through what he called the basic safety procedures like putting a hand or a napkin over her glass when she wasn’t paying attention, her manager drilling it into her skull that she shouldn’t accept poured drinks or opened bottles from strangers in clubs unless she saw the bartender prepare it.

“Is he seriously doing all that?” Naomi raised an eyebrow. “So far, all my agent has told me is that if I showed up in any tabloid looking messy, he’d drop my ass.”

Suddenly, Sutan’s mothering didn’t feel as smothering, the attention and assistance the man had poured over her nothing compared to the terrifying thought of being left basically on her own like Naomi.

***

At first, Katya wasn’t sure why she stopped at Macy’s on the way home. Especially now, on a Friday night during the holiday season, when the sales clerks were at their most frazzled.

She wandered around, unable to get Grace and Leslie out of her mind...and in particular, the look of pure joy on Grace’s face when her mother appeared in the doorway. Leslie was a single mom, and by the look of her, she was pretty young, but she had managed to raise an exceptional kid who was sure how much she was loved.

Why was Katya so afraid of having a baby? It was like she’d told Leslie--she wouldn’t be doing it alone. Not by a long shot. No, she was fortunate to have the most wonderful man in the universe by her side. And lord knew, Trixie would make up for any maternal instincts she may lack herself. And plenty of people, people much less capable and loving than her, had babies every day.

She stopped, looking around, realizing that she’d found herself in the baby department. Specifically, in front of a shelf full of tiny little infant shoes. She smiled to herself, knowing exactly what she needed.

When she arrived home, she was thrilled to see that Trixie had prepared dinner, heating up some leftover chicken and mashed potatoes and throwing together a salad--exactly what she was in the mood for.

She smiled when she saw him, announcing, “I brought you a present.”

Trixie’s face lit up, and for a split second she could imagine that exact same expression of joy on a tiny child, the thought making her insides warm as she handed him the little bag.

He looked inside, where the two tiny pink moccasin slippers sat in their plastic box, his head then snapping up to look at her with an expression of amazement.

“Kat, are you-” His eyes were bright with tears, hopeful but still a bit tentative.

She shrugged slightly, self-consciously, afraid to say what she’s been thinking out loud, but Trixie seemed to know anyway.

He rushed forward and swept her up into the biggest, tightest hug she’d ever had, repeating over and over how wonderful she was going to be. She took his face in her hands, kissing his tear-stained cheeks, finally sure that as a team, they could do it.

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iceshard1011 · 3 years

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

“You are a demon,” he realised.

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

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

19k fic below the cut, too :)

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

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

Janus and Virgil had been fighting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil opened his mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil was not returning to the house.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, goodness!”

Virgil’s eyes snapped open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want?” he demanded.

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

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

“What’s your name, kiddo?”

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

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

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

“You are very weird,” he decided.

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

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

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

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

“You are a demon,” he realised.

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

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

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

He shuddered, and more feathers floated down.

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

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

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

Virgil looked away and did not answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is!” Patton said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lips hedged on the beginnings of a smile.

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

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

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

Virgil swallowed. How many demons lived here?

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil stared at him blankly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quite right.”

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

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

“Roman!” Patton snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roman grumbled but subsided obediently.

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

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

“Goats and pigs?” Virgil echoed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it good?” Patton asked expectantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You all speak strange,” he said honestly.

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

“Roman.” Logan frowned at him.

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

Logan and Roman stared at him uncomprehendingly.

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

Virgil frowned. “Apostrophes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil tilted his head, almost trying to study them.

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

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

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

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

“But you are so... touchy.”

Finally, the laughter died down again.

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

“Not for us,” Roman said fiercely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You had a nap,” Logan said.

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

Virgil blanched, but the others did not react badly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil did not know how to explain his question.

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course you are!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Meat,” offered Patton.

“Food,” grumbled Roman.

“It is crocodile,” answered Logan.

Virgil almost dropped the plate. “What?”

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

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

Patton’s face fell. “Oh.”

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

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

He held up the fork. “What... I...”

“You eat with it,” Patton said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A... door?” Patton asked slowly.

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

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

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

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

“Demons have picnics?” Virgil asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” the gluttonous demon asked.

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil felt, frankly, quite faint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s showing off,” Logan said.

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

Virgil frowned. “Why?”

Patton ducked his head.

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

Virgil gaze down at the smooth ground beneath his legs.

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

Logan hummed in agreement. “Yes, especially—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your laugh is... is...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Demons have animal traits,” Virgil corrected.

The three demons glanced at each other.

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

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

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

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

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

He turned away, hugging himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” Virgil said again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Demons can,” Logan confirmed.

“Angels can’t,” Patton said softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Indeed.” Logan dipped his head.

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

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

Patton and Logan exchanged looks.

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

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

“Should I go after him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, thank—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A hyena?” Virgil squawked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry. Just, uh... pointy.”

Virgil frowned. “What?”

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

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

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

Patton’s eyes flooded with sympathy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” he said faintly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They...?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil’s head spun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t speak.

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

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

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

The angel stepped aside, taking their sword with them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Janus started.

Patton lunged.

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

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

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

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

Virgil got there first.

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

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

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

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

And Virgil wasn’t going to have that.

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

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

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

Janus flipped to his feet. “Virgil—”

Virgil bared his fangs. “No.”

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

“No.”

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

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

Soft Wings.

Kiddo.

Patient Angel.

Honey. Sweetheart.

Coward. City slicker.

Kiddo.

Angel of Practice.

Kiddo, kiddo, kiddo.

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

Virgil erupted with anger.

Literally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Janus visibly swallowed. “And then—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he croaked finally. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay to feel things, sweetie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil frowned.

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

Virgil suppressed a groan. “Patton—”

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

Virgil blinked, then blinked again.

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

Virgil’s breath vanished from his lungs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most of the night was filled with this sleepless routine.

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

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

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

“What?”

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

Virgil fumbled, a little, at this revelation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think sleep deprivation is getting to you,” said Virgil gently, guiding Patton’s head down to rest on his collarbone. “Try and get some rest. I’ll look after the menaces.”

“Alright, kitto,” Patton murmured sleepily and closed his eyes. Virgil didn’t have the heart to wake him up to demand what sort of pun that was.

That next morning, Virgil walked into Logan’s room to find the Demon of Pride trying to stand from his bed.

“Hey!” he barked, darting forward to grab Logan’s shoulders and shove him back onto the bed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Logan had the audacity to give him an incredulous look. “Standing up?”

“After taking that sort of damage, fat chance,” Virgil snarled at him. “Lie back down.”

Logan blinked, then squinted. Virgil paused, feeling vulnerable under the scrutiny.

Though, then he suddenly realised his tail was flicking with anticipation and his ears had folded backwards in confusion, and he realised.

“I’m uh... I suppose I ran out of time,” he said, only a little sheepishly. “I’m a demon, now.”

“I can see that,” Logan said mildly, but Virgil could tell he was pleased. “I can’t exactly stay in bed all day, Virgil. Can you help me up?”

Virgil scowled down at him. “Do you promise to take everything slow and easy for the day?”

Logan sighed. “If that’s what it takes.”

Virgil thought for a minute, but seemingly satisfied, Vigil gripped his (now warm again) hand and helped him stand. To Logan’s complete credit, he barely even swayed. Still, Virgil couldn’t force himself to relax. He kept his grip firm but gentle on Logan’s arm and circled him. Logan stood still, looking mildly amused, and let Virgil finish his examination.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Virgil asked, leaning forward to squint at Logan’s face, thoroughly inspecting his smooth throat and bright eyes.

So when their lips knocked together, at first Virgil assumed it had been his fault, but then Logan’s expression morphed from dazed to horrified, and he took a step back.

“Apologies,” he said quickly. “I— that’s—”

Virgil didn’t know what his face was doing until his cheeks started to ache, and he realised he was smiling so wide his dimples were probably on full display (ugh).

He reached forward, sharp fingers lightly trailing the edges of Logan’s lips, which had previously just been pressed into a thin line.

“Feeling okay?” Virgil asked. Logan visibly swallowed, then nodded. Virgil pulled his hand back and Logan adjusted his shirt primly.

“Quite.”

Virgil grinned, and the tip of his tail twitched happily.

“Again, Virgil, my apologies, I—”

“Hey,” Virgil, fixing him with a patient look. “Do I look mad?”

“But— you and Patton—”

“Eh.” Virgil shrugged. “You’re all pretty likeable, for demons.” He shared a grin with Logan, who finally relaxed.

They both heard the thumping on carpet and the excited babbling long before Roman careened into Logan’s open doorway and stared, gaping, at Virgil.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, and Virgil was almost confused before Patton came up behind Roman. “Oh my god, you really weren’t kidding.”

“I told you I wasn’t!” Patton laughed.

“Unholy SHIT,” Roman cried. He shot forward and circled Virgil, who glared at him challengingly and dared him to say something. He paused in front of Virgil and bit his lip, looking abashed. “Can... Can I...?” He gestured to the top of Virgil’s head.

Virgil relaxed and ducked his head compliantly. Roman attentively brushed over his ears.

“How does it feel?” Logan asked curiously. Roman pulled back and Virgil straightened. “Being a demon?”

“Yeah,” scoffed Roman, not unkindly, “you’re not the superior being anymore. How does it feel to be longer above us? I have to know, it’s for science.”

Logan shot him a bemused look. “How on earth does that have anything remotely to do with—”

“SILENCE, GUINEA-FOUL,” Roman interrupted. “Let the Siberian Forest Cat talk.”

Patton frowned disapprovingly. “Ro—”

He was cut off by a chortling snort, and with a surprise, they turned to see Virgil covered his face with his hands, laughing into his palms.

“S-sorry,” he gasped out, waving his hand, and shaking his head. After a moment he composed himself and smiled down at Roman. “That was terrible.”

It seemed it was a day of unusual behaviour: Roman didn’t act offended at this. He only grinned brightly.

Then his face dropped into a scowl and he crossed his arms.

“God, that’s so unfair,” he muttered. “You got to be a tiger. I’m just a goat.”

Virgil tilted his head, thinking about his previously private conversation with Logan. A smirk creeping along his face, Virgil decided: fuck it.

He leaned down and planted his lips firmly on Roman’s.

“I don’t know,” he said as he pulled back, grinning smugly at Roman’s stupefied face. “I think they’re pretty great.”

Roman’s breath shuddered as he inhaled. His smile was a little star-struck when he said, “R-right.”

Patton giggled and looped his elbows through both Roman and Virgil’s arms.

“I have to admit I am curious as well,” Logan said slowly, and Virgil wondered if they just weren’t going to talk about any of… ‘it’. “About your certainty of your decision — staying here, beneath the rest of your people?”

“They’re not my people,” Virgil said, and it sounded familiar to something he’d already heard. He shook his head. “They’re not even my family.” Patton looked horrified at this, but Virgil grinned and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him into a side hug. “You guys are.”

Patton and Logan smiled. Roman made a face. “That was cheesier than Patton’s puns.”

“Or sappier than your nicknames,” Logan countered, and Virgil sighed. Sentimental moment over, he supposed, as Roman bleated in outrage.

“Hey!”

Six months later

Virgil, realistically, wanted to ask for a single day of normality.

A relaxed day, maybe an uneventful one. Maybe where he could take a nap without the anxiety of the house falling to pieces without him around to keep the order. (Honestly, how had these morons survived this long without him?) A day of bliss.

Not one where Roman wanted to try cooking for a change and forgot about it, causing the fireplace to explode and almost burn down the house, or where Patton tried to cheer Logan up after his feathers were burnt from Roman’s food mishap with an endless stream of puns and bad dad jokes that made even Virgil groan.

So of course, it was on this particular disastrous day that Fate decided to mess with Virgil personally some more.

He was reading over Roman’s most recent work, having successfully achieved attention from some in-city demons after some of Virgil’s tweaks to his work. (When Roman had found that the potential publishers had disregarded their groundedness because of how much the work had improved, he had hugged Virgil so hard he was fairly sure at least two ribs had popped out of place.) The story wasn’t bad; Roman was obviously trying some new avenues, now that he was more confident that demons would consider looking at what he made.

He was just circling a word and suggesting a better alternative when he heard it: the flapping, signifying approaching wings, too large to be an animal, yet not big enough to warrant panic. Although, the fluttering around the edges of the sound, indicating wings made of feathers made a small pit of anxiety grow in Virgil’s gut.

The others heard it too, but Virgil was already standing and making for the door before they could say anything. Patton tried to call for him to stop, but he exploded out of the house just as Janus landed.

He looked as formidably professional as ever, not a strand of hair out of place, his wings perfectly folded at his back. Face an expressionless mask. Eyes carefully blank and unreadable.

The only thing different this time around, was the gashed scars slicing down the side of his face, trailing over his eye running down the side of his cheek to reach the edge of his lip.

Virgil glowered at him, hunching his shoulders. He unfurled his wings, the feathers unkempt and so dirty the white was almost black, now, but still as glorious and empowering as ever. He blocked the entrance of the house with them, keeping both his possessions in, and Janus out. (He could hear impatient bustling as Roman paced at his back, wanting to get past.)

“What do you want?” Virgil demanded. He heard shuffling behind him, and the sound of Logan’s tailfeathers brushing in alarm. Distantly, he remembered that he and Roman hadn’t heard his tempest tongue before.

Janus visibly composed himself. “You told me that once I had done as you required, I would-”

“I told you I would consider forgiving you,” Virgil spat. “Not that you could return here.”

Janus seemed to be at a bit of a loss at this, closing his mouth and blinking.

“Ah,” he said finally. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Should I... I suppose... I’ll... be leaving, then.”

“Good.” Virgil snarled, baring his teeth for good measure.

“Wait!” a little voice cried, and Patton burst between the doorframe and Virgil’s wing. The Angel of Anger gave him a chagrined look. “Wait, maybe— maybe we can hear him out.”

“Sure.” Roman scrambled out behind Patton, and Virgil sighed, exasperated. What was the point in trying to protect them if they didn’t get the hint? “Right after I dig something sharp into his back.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Patton, distressed, grabbed Roman’s arms.

“Let’s see how he likes it!” Roman snarled. “What if we slit his throat as well, while we’re at it?”

“Perhaps we should think this through,” Logan piped up. At least he was being sensible and staying behind Virgil, where it was safe. “I doubt he came here for a fight.”

“No,” said Roman fiercely, and he almost shaking, “but we can sure give him one.”

“Stop it,” Virgil growled, his voice losing its unnatural tone. Silence fell and he tried to swallow guilt. “Go inside.”

“What?” Roman demanded, whirling on him. “But he—!”

“Roman.” Virgil stared him down, unwaveringly. Roman growled.

“We’re not helpless, Virgil,” he said.

Virgil sighed and moved from the doorway, cupping Roman’s face in his hands. “This is less of me being worried about what he’ll do to you, and more of me being worried about what you will do to him. You are quite a formidable foe when you want to be.”

Roman squinted suspiciously. “Flattery isn’t going to get me to relax.”

“But it’ll make you listen,” Virgil countered smoothly, and Roman finally relented. He shuffled back, but Patton slipped his hand into Virgil’s and peered up at him.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked in a whisper. Virgil smiled down at him.

“I’ve got it,” he reassured him. Patton nodded and stepped back. Virgil’s palm burned as he strode forward.

It was strange. They were... together, now, all four of them. Apparently, the trio of demons had been before Virgil had even arrived, but despite Virgil having been head over heels for Patton first, the pair of them still hadn’t exactly... made moves. Virgil wasn’t sure why. He hoped it wasn’t something he’d done to make Patton second guess anything.

He shook those thoughts from his head. That wasn’t what he needed to focus on.

The glare he fixed on Janus made him blurt, without pause, “I came to see you.”

Virgil’s eyebrows arched. His blackened wings twitched. His tail swished warningly behind him.

Janus looked like he understood the unspoken message clearly: you see me, and I am a demon.

“I... wanted to inform you that—” Janus’ voice became a little uneven, and he cleared his throat and straightened himself — “that I did as you asked.”

Virgil glowered.

“Started to do as you asked,” Janus corrected himself. “It’s... a work in progress?”

Virgil tried not to let his surprise show on his face. Janus was smug, and cunning, and insufferable, and he didn’t ever show any sign of weakness, and he certainly didn’t act so unsure of himself.

“I approached... many other angels, and... the majority of the Ancient Angels have been confronted about the community’s... opinions.”

Virgil’s lip twitched in disgust and Janus winced. “They... have considered my suggestions of changing a select number of rules. I... have the heads of Humility and Abstinence aiding me. And Remus, too, of course. I think I can sway Head of Kindness with a little more time, too. Emile does not like me very much.”

Virgil realised with an inward jolt that his face had gone slack from his tight scowl.

He resisted the urge to clear his throat. There were countless things he could say. He could growl a deep, “Good.” He could bare his teeth and snap a sharp, “Get out.” He could snarl and slash at the other side of Janus’ face, give him a matching set of scars, and roar that he didn’t care what Janus had done or would do.

The truth was: Virgil could say a lot.

The truth was: Virgil said nothing.

Virgil stared at this angel and refused to admit that he really did just want to see him as his brother once again.

He stared at Janus and nodded once.

“You can... always return,” Janus went on. “There are rules about demons and angels coexisting, and I doubt I will be able to change those ones as swiftly, though... I believe I can be convincing enough for an expectation to be made.”

Virgil’s ears flicked.

“Remus misses you, I think.” Because of course, Janus wasn’t going to admit to any weakness, and missing someone was certainly a weakness. “You... know that you can return to your family, no matter what, right?”

Virgil narrowed his eyes as he said, “I am with my family.”

Janus’ face didn’t betray any emotions, and Virgil wondered if he had seen that coming, and had been prepared. For a long moment of silence, he said nothing. His eyes darted over Virgil’s tensing shoulder. Virgil’s ears swivelled to listen as Roman shuffled on his feet anxiously, and Patton’s hands brushed over his shoulder, and Logan’s feathers fluttering as he strained to overhear their conversation.

“So you have,” Janus admitted faintly.

Virgil lifted his chin. Similarly, Janus lowered his gaze.

“I... will return, now.” The angel stepped back.

A quietly cleared throat made Virgil glanced over his shoulder. Patton, between Logan’s curious eyes and Roman’s deep frown, made a face that Virgil couldn’t make out. He blinked uncomprehendingly, and Patton gestured, a little wildly desperate, to Janus, who had turned to leave.

Virgil almost ignored him. Almost said nothing.

But then he was blurting out a jumbled, “Wait.”

Janus went rigid, but he paused. He didn’t turn, and didn’t speak up, obviously waiting for Virgil to speak.

“You... you may return,” Virgil said haltingly. “Once... once there are... more developments.”

For a long time, Janus said nothing.

When he turned, it was only a slight tilt of his head. The scars on that side of his face glistened in the heat of the Demonic Kingdom’s landscape.

“Only for updates,” he agreed without a hint of bitterness or malice. “Understood.”

With that, he flared his wings and shot into the sky. Virgil watched until the clouds swivelling around his disappearing form and he vanished.

Well, Virgil thought in a voice that was almost painfully reminiscently Patton’s. That could have gone worse.

“Are you going to stand there all day, you striped shorthair?” Roman called, still obviously impatient.

With a jump, Virgil turned and returned to them.

“How did it go?” Logan inquired.

Virgil tried to think on that, but all that his mind provided was static.

Logan smiled and rubbed his arms reassuringly. “That’s a perfectly normal reaction, Virgil. Don’t worry.”

Virgil nodded. Another warm hand brushed against the side of his face, and he looked down at Patton.

“Are you okay?” Patton asked with that soft, light voice of his, those gorgeous, caring eyes staring up at him. Virgil decided that after a long time, he really was.

In answer, Virgil grinned, and kissed him.

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my-arlington-academia · 4 years

Text

The main 10 cheering up a crying Scholar (Y/N) finally part 2!

Here are Neha, Raquel and Tadashi! I had to cut the last 5 in 2 posts because tumblr doesn't allow more than 250 blocks of text... But anyway! I finally did it! It's been 84 years... though I feel like those are not really headcanons anymore. They're all so long that it would be more accurate to say that they're scenarios. Sorry! It's probably gonna be really annoying scrolling up and down.

Neha

- crying is a really good way to let your emotions out and it always worked out for you

- whenever it's all too much you make yourself cry to feel better afterward

- one day, once you finished crying your phone rang

- it's from Neha, she's inviting you to her room

- oh boy.

- when you moved into the dorms Karolina did say that the previous owner of the room would put loud music on and they would hear it

- 'did Neha hear me cry?' God you hope not

- When you knock, the door immediately opens as if Neha was right in front of it waiting for you

- She pulls you in and starts taking your measurements

- "I've decided to use you as my model for my next outfit."

- "W-what?!?"

- now you're almost sure that she did hear you, or else why would she make an outfit just for you when she's got Karolina?

- surprisingly a few days later the outfit is done! Does it really take that little time usually? You're pretty sure that Neha already had the design ready in her sketchbook

- during that time though, everyday until the "outfit" was ready she would go out of her way to talk to you everyday even though she's usually either busy or with Karolina

- she knows that it annoys her but even when Karolina was around Neha would still come and chat with you for a bit

- You're guessing that she didn't want you to feel like you're alone in your hard times

- when the outfit was done she called you over again

- "Here, try it on!"

- there's more excitement in her voice than usual and it's really freaking cute

- "You mean right here, right now?"

- she keeps staring at you in silence before coming back to her senses

- "Oh, right. Sorry. I'll turn away while you change."

- but then while you're taking your clothes off the door flows open

- "Neha, did you see my-"

- Karolina looks at the both of you and while she's trying to process the scene all that she gets from the situation is: you taking your clothes off in their room, and Neha waiting for you to take them off while facing away?

- "N... Nevermind. Just do your thing I'll come back in one hour. Or uh, two hours. Actually."

- She closed the door in a hurry. Welp. She probably misunderstood.

- Neha kept on facing the wall but you could see her ears getting red

- that little accident is quickly forgotten when you've put the outfit on

- it's so elaborate and classy. it's making you feel self-concious

- Even though Neha was the one who made the outfit she blushed when she saw you in it

- "You look so lovely- uh. I mean the dress! The dress looks lovely on you, obviously, since I'm the one who made it."

- her bashfulness is making you blush too but you tell her that you can't pay for it

- "Are you kidding? It's a gift I've made for you. No one else in the world owns this and won't own it because I won't put it on sale. It's a special outfit only for you."

- She takes her sketchbook and rips out a page, it's a sketch of the outfit and... you're the one wearing it on the drawing!

- "To be honest, I had already heard you crying a few times in your room and I didn't know how to help. So uh... I guess what I mean is. I've been planning this for a long time but I wasn't brave enough to ask for your measurements until recently and um..."

- She's rambling and rambling, you've probably never heard her talk this much

- "Basically... when you're sad come over. Or ask me to come over, whatever. Our rooms are right next to eachother so whether you cry in your room or here I'll hear you anyway so you might as well be with me."

- this was maybe not the best way to phrase it, but you got the feeling she was going for and that's all that matters

Raquel

- Noticed that you weren't feeling good right away

- but more in a "are you catching a cold?" kinda way

- but it didn't have anything to do with your health

- You actually wanted to explain what happend as soon as it did but when you tried to, tears came down immediately from the very first sentence

- Raquel grabbed you by the shoulders

- "It's okay! You can tell me later if it's too hard."

- The next day when you were getting ready to go to school Raquel came to your room dressed in casual clothes

- "Hey Y/N! Let's skip today."

- You tell her that you can't because you're a scholarship student and all but she ends up convincing you anyway

- "It's all fine, it's just for one day! Everyone thinks that you're a really hard-working, punctual and honest person! They'll believe whatever you say."

- "Raquel... I am a hard-working, punctual and honest person..."

- "Exactly! And that's why you can take advantage of that and no one will doubt you."

- Oh well...

- it's not like you were looking forward to that math test anyway

- you sneak around and get out of the school through Raquel's knowledge of... blind spots?

- you feel a little guilty about it since you'll have to lie to the teachers later about "not feeling well"

- Raquel makes you forget that pretty easily though

- "Okayyy! Now let's go have our breakfast, I know a place."

- "Ah, cool."

- "You don't sound really excited... But you know, the both of us sneaking out of school to go on a date: isn't it a little bit like we're secretly lovers during war time between two kingdoms in a movie?"

- Wait, this was a date?? You had no idea

- You spent the whole day just walking around town in different fast foods, parks, and shops

- everytime you wanted to buy something Raquel would try to buy it for you

- You refused everything except the food, she was being extremely pushy about paying for the food

- on the way back you decide to tell her about your troubles again, this time hopefully you won't burst into tears

- She's incredibly understanding and doesn't let you downplay your feelings

- anytime you say "it may sound stupid"/"maybe I'm being too emotional" she's like

- "No! Fuck that! There's a reason why you feel this way and it's not dumb."

- You get a little bit teary eyed and before you can even think about crying Raquel hugs you

- then she whispers in your ear

- "Did it hurt?"

- "Uh... what?"

- At first you thought she meant your feelings because obviously it did hurt, you just spent like 20 minutes explaining what had happened

- but then you understood

- is she seriously trying to cheer you up with pick-up lines?

- "So did it hurt or did it not?"

- "You mean, when I fell from heaven?"

- She makes the biggest grin before replying

- "No, when you fell for me."

- You're trying your best not to burst into laughter

- "Nah, not really. It was a quick fall."

- Oh no, you outsmarted her lame pick-up line

- you guys end the day with the most stupid pick-up line fight

- little do you know that Raquel will shoot a ball in the face of a certain someone for hurting you

- maybe multiple times if she feels like it

Tadashi

- To be honest he didn't really notice at first

- maybe it was one of your "bad days", Tadashi knows what it's like so he totally gets it

- but then when it's been 3 days in a row and you're still in that state?

- he cancels all of his work and assignements for the day

- calls you over in such a professional manner that it's kinda scary

- he literally asks you to meet him in the student council's room

- tells you to "please sit down" in front of him

- Honestly, this situation is making you really tense. Did Tadashi figure out that one time, 3 months ago, when you stole a smoothie from the cafeteria?

- "Look, I'm sorry okay? I was just really thirsty and I needed sugar. Also, it's not like I wasn't allowed to get one! There was no one at the counter so I figured it wouldn't hurt to..."

- Tadashi IAmConfusion™ looks at you

- "Why are you talking about that now? Don't worry, I know."

- Now it's your turn to get confused

- "You mean... you knew and you didn't give me detention?"

- Now he looks a bit frustrated

- "Come on Y/N, I'm not that mean. I won't give you detention just because you came 5 minutes late to our meeting."

- This is most likely a misunderstanding...

- "This is what you were talking about just now, right? That the reason why you came here late is because you were drinking a smoothie. I figured you were probably busy doing something so no need to feel so guilty about it."

- "Oh. Oooohhh... yeahh... totally. Sorry."

- Now that this is out of the way, he asks you to tell him what's on your mind

- At first you hesitate a little but, if there's someone with whom you want to share this with, it's Tadashi

- he's listening really closely to what you're saying without cutting you off but sometimes you can see his eyes getting a bit darker

- Like, you're not being specific enough about a detail or something and he's probably taking notes of all the questions he has so that he can ask them when you're done

- At some point though, you become really emotional and your voice starts cracking when you're talking

- You end up crying and your tears fall on the desk

- Tadashi jumps out of his seat, his chair falls down as he panics

- "Hey! Y/N?? Err... Um..."

- Takes you in his arms carefully, like he's not really sure if that's what he's supposed to do when this type of thing happens

- "It's okay! I'm here... I'm here so... d-don't cry Y/N I'll do something about it no problem!"

- when you've calmed down he puts down his wallet on the desk

- "Uh... what?"

- "You can use it."

- "You mean your money??"

- "What else?"

- he explains that you can take all the smoothies and premium food in the cafeteria with this

- "Are you kidding? I can't use your money for that."

- He's literally trying to cheer you up with money which is obviously not the way to go about it

- He sees that you're not convinced so he pulls out his phone and shoves the screen on your face so closely that you have to take a step back in order to read what's on it

- It's Tadashi's to do list, probably the place where he writes all of his tasks for the week

- The spot on number one is you. It reads "1. Y/N"

- when you look at him Tadashi is furiously blushing and looking away

- this is incredibly sweet until you notice how wrong this sounds

- "Wait... Tadashi?"

- "Yes?"

- "I'm first on your... "To do" list? Seriously?"

- "What's that's supposed to mean? Of course you're number one on my- Oh god..."

- he just understood how wrong it sounded and took the phone back before rewriting the list

- He's making it so easy for you to tease him

- the poor boy is literally begging you to stop it but you can't until he shows you his phone screen again

- this time it's written "1. Make Y/N smile again", you're literally his number one priority. This is so sweet to the point where you can't tease him anymore. It would be too mean.

- As for Tadashi, let's just say that he's about to get "really mean" with the person you were talking about just now and he's not going to hold back

#sweet elite #se #main 10 #I was this 👌 close to forgetting that I have to write the rest of those scenarios #scenarios #well at this point I think everyone gave up on waiting 😂#sorry if some of them are silly but I only write top quality cringe 😎

61 notes · View notes

wispandwhispers · 4 years

Text

moonboy

Notes: Writers block is a bitch, I’m sorry this took so long.

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality, qpr dukeceit

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tw(s): Cursing, mental torture, one slight nsfw joke, death, crying

Words: 1884

"You've got your stuff?"

Some scuffling and overturning of a bag to double check that everything is in it.

"Yep.

"Do you really think that we are going to make it back for first bell."

"Naw."

"Call in the favour from Quill..."

*****

Roman woke up.

From those dreams.

And the screaming thoughts came back.

Don't think about it Ţ̚Ḩ͡Ī̧͖̪͉͓͌̊̂͝N͕̾K̝̟͗͗,̦̂ ̒͢T̡̫̪̄̾͛HI̡̫̮͑̅͂N̢̨̖̯̳̆͆͗͘̚K̦͔͑͋,͍̱͔̬̓͛̑̐ ͙̦̯͚̅͂͋̽P̛͚̰̟̩̟̾̄̆͂L͎͍̥͔̭̎͒̉̃͘Ẻ̲͈̬͖̄̿̒A̜̓S̩͒̏͜Ḛ͉͒͝ ̣̯̲̜̄̊́̄͞ͅL̦̏Ȉ̡͕͌̚ͅS̭̦̀̕-

He sighed. It's ok when he dreams about about a cute boy but damn him if he wants to think about it.

He walked down the stairs, the mental warzone fading to background noise as he grabbed his bowl and made himself breakfast.

He didn't have the energy to make anything fancy (the pounding headache the thoughts gave him took all of it).

Sitting down at the kitchen table with the cereal, stiring the milk idly, he turned to his side to talk to his-

Wait.

"Dad!"

"Yes, Kiddo?"

"Where's Remus?"

"He left with Janus this morning."

I thought they would a least give me notice before they decided to overthrow the government or decide to do something equally stupid.

"Thanks, Dad."

*******

Wroammin: Jan, what are you doing with my brother?

SnekSnekSeverusSnekDUMBLE- :Why do you ask?

Wroammin: You came to my house to pick up Rem before I woke up

Wroammin: And the sun just came up

Wroammin: The fuck are you two plotting and do I need a Hazmat suit or not

SnekSnekSeverusSnekDUMBLE- : I'm going to exercise my right of free speech

SnekSnekSeverusSnekDUMBLE-: By not using it

SnekSnekSeverusSnekDUMBLE- has blocked Wroammin

Wroammin: Fuck You

******

"Vale?"

Silence filled 3Q.

"Not here!"

Miss Quill took a pen out of her hair a jotted down a note on a scrap piece of paper, seemed to whisper something under her breath and do a small smile to herself.

"Xia?"

"Which one?"

"The virgin."

How the fuck does she know?

The class erupted into a symphony of laughter and mockery except for Roman, Virgil and Nyx (But Nyx was snoring so Roman didn't know to count it as a win or not).

Virgil looked over at his arch-nemesis, almost deciding to so something or not. He seemed to choose the latter.

And those eyes seemed the flair but it was just for one second, but it would be gone as quick as it started.

Roman placed his head on the table in embarrassment waiting for the humiliation to stop.

"...Here, Miss.."

(Virgil tapped Roman's shoulder).

"Yilton?"

(Roman lifted his head and gave him a a sharp glare. "Why the fuck are you speaking to me?")

"You can hear my voice."

( "Jeez," He lifted his hands in surrender. "This fell out of your man bun" The emo passed a pencil to the other.)

" Zander?"

(Roman snatched the pencil -ignoring the fact that it seemed to be glowing slightly- stuffed it in his hair and proceeded to give Virgil double birds).

"Xey're sick."

(Lunaper mimicked the action).

Quill closed the register tab.

"Ok mortals, take out your plann-"

The constant ringing of a bell that went on a little to long to be a period change.

The students sighed.

"Drop your bags and line up in register order in silence." The class groaned even louder but followed the instructions given.

Except Roman.

"Miss, it's raining buckets outside and someone in the staff probably just burned their toast, do we really have-"

"Xia,I told you to line up in silence!"

Even the older twin knew that trying to argue with Quill when she raised her voice was suicide so he slowly backed away and joined the line as he didn't bring anything that could cover him. And he was sure that someone was fucking with him as the rest of the class had brought protection except the emo.

Why the hell are you noticing I̘̒Ṫ͍͙͎̅͌'̛̯͎̐S̭̱̠̣͎̽̽̈́̄͠ ̳̥͖͂̋̇B̹̂É̯͙͚͕͂͌̕C̹͝A̙̮̱̓͌̀U͓̺̣̎̑̇Ś̳̣̮̀͑́͟E̲̦̓̽ ̘̫͑͑Y̬̠̊̄O͓͠U͈̓ ̢̟͎̅̽͋C̪̲̦̉̉͒A̰͎̔͘R̢̜̱̬͌̾͆͊̄͟É͈ ̨̦̺̓̇͞F̫͑O̖̕R̗̫͗̓ ̗̹̺̏͑̊H̩̼̒̇-him?

The pounding headache was back, like two parts of his brain where bitching with each other for some damn reason. He rubbed his temple to try and relieve the pain.

"You know the drill, walk in absolute silence to the plaza and wait for me while I get the paper register."

******

The class filled back in annoyed and wet. Turns out that a teacher had taken a cigarette break and the back of the the cafeteria block and that's what set off the alarms.

By the time they had returned, it was already half way into first period. Mx Spring had said that they should just consider this a free period and return to their homerooms. To pass the time Roman took out a his spare spiral notebook and started to sketch in it.

If you asked Roman what he drew during this time, he would know but not understand how he did it. He just remembered taking out the pencil he'd previously stuffed in his hair , an overwhelming calm rushing over him and waking up to find a scarily intricate version of the boy from his dreams on the lined paper.

This is the same Roman who would spend two and a half hours struggling to get the other eye just right was suddenly able to draw actual whole person in thirty minutes.

As the second period bell rang, he eyed his masterpiece warily and closed his notepad.

*******

Xia drifted off to the droning voice of his geography teacher, every though he knew that this was a crucial-

"Roman Xia and Virgil Lunaper, please make your way your way to the front desk, I said Roman Xia please make your way to the front desk."

The two boys stood up and packed up their stuff slowly, shrugged their backpacks onto their shoulders and quickly said by to their teacher.

******

"Holy shit, you're ok!" Roman was trying to wrap his head around why his Pa who was very reserved had tears streaking down his face.

"Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?"

"Haven't you seen the news?"

"...What did I miss.."

Pa just passed Roman his phone and everything started to make sense.

******

There comes a time where a person would resort to mindless substance to try and escape the cold, unforgiving reality of life.

Well, Roman was clocking his fourth hour on twitter so you knew where he was emotionally.

He didn't want to get up. He didn't need to either. Both of his parents were going to out for a while anyway.

Putting down the phone (He gotten sick of staring at it) and deciding to move to the living room wh-

Are those stones?

"Princey!"

Roman walked up to the window and drew the blinds open. The emo was stood on his steps with his headphones, accompanied with a purple and black leather jacket.

Disgusting A̛̮̠̞̰̔̆̂D̙̺̓͛ORẴ̧̹̯͞B̖͓̐͟͠͠L̡̞̍̃E̡̯̮̿͘͞

"Why are you here Jack Smelligton?"

"Wow, you upgraded to insults that have four syllables, ten points to ravenclaw!"

The attacked emitted a sound that could only be described as offended princey noises.

"How I am-"

Virgil pressed his finger on Roman's lips.

"Ravenclaws are witty, competitive and creative. For the fact that you have an endless supply of nicknames for me and you always try to out do your last attempt to piss me off, you would meet the criteria."

If he doesn't H̨̻͖̣̥̐̂̒͂̎I̯͈͐̈́S̯̪̯̆̔̋ ̭̤͆͌͑͢Ș̭͑̊K͈̈Ì̬̖̙͈̅̍͡N̟̤͎͔̊̈͌͒ ̞̃I͇̪͊̑S̗̍ ̺̬̦̔̉̓Ś̩͍̄O̠̎ ͕̙̟̓̄̾S̥̊O̢̭̿͡F̨͕̭̔̈́̽-͖̲̭̩̂̅̾̆move his fingers off my mouth, I'm gonna break them.

Almost on cue with the thought, he removed it.

"I'm going to repeat my question, why are you here?"

Virgil took a step back and did a little chuckle to himself, with a shrug of shoulder that seemed custom fit.

God he's G̻͈̪̱̑̂̕͞O͈͐D̞̞̻̀͊̃ ͌͜Ț͖̱͐̀̏͢͡H̞̒Ȧ̺̳͞Ṱ̃'͈̦͕͌̔͌͊͟S̬̀ ̨̢̫̬̤́̄̓͗͛S̹̺͉̭̉̀̔͗̿ͅẸ̫͒͞X͎̟̥̹̀̾̓͒Y̧̢̫͙͌̒̾͞ - insufferable.

"Because even I, your sworn enemy and nemesis til death drags us part, don't think that you should grieve over someone who isn't even dead."

"You mean-"

"Trust me, Remy is very much alive."

******

"How did you even find my house?"

"That's the most pressing question on your mind right now?"

"It truly isn't but let me start with the small ones before the big ones emerge."

Virgil was lying on the couch with his sneakers touching the furniture. Roman had let him in after claiming that Remy still had a pulse. He was scrolling through his feed and according to Roman's peripheral vision, it seemed to be tumblr.

("He actually uses the Queue?")

("Did you say anything?"

("Nothing you need to know.")

("You sound like Janus.")

Roman glared at his feet.

"Take off your shoes if you are going to lay on the armrest."

"Fine!" He flinged his shoes at the other. It stained Roman's white tee.

"God, I hate you."

He pulled out both his earbuds and shots some finger guns at him.

"Right back at yah!"

Xia walked over and sat on the ottoman facing Lunaper.

"Let's get down to business-"

"TO DEFEAT THE HUNS!"

"Seriously, what do you mean 'Remy is very much alive', everyone with access to the internet saw what happened to him."

Virgil looked around, almost like he was scared of being seen or spotted or heard.

Did his eyes just change color?

"Look, I can't really tell you.."

"I'm getting sick of asking this, why are you here then?"

Virgil didn't respond.

"Why exactly are you here if you aren't going to try and explain-hmmmmm!"

Lunaper's was currently gagging his mouth with jacket.

" Stop speaking so loud."

Roman peered at the other.

"Whamt, ets not like whemre being watched."

"I'm just being- wait, give me a sec."

Virgil took the loose strand of Roman's hair and swiped it to the left.

I̛͇̜̺̦̎͐͠ ̘̂WA̹͍͘͡N̢̟͉̑̕͠T ͉̠̲̲̿̾͒̊T̥̮̍͞Ȏ̺̐͢ ̛̤̬̲̪̉́̏K̖̗̃̓I̧͕̫̩̼̔̎̃̀̇S̩̫̏̓S̙͛ ̧̫̞̒̇̕H͓̯́̋́ͅI͈̻͙̋͜͠͞͠M,͍͉͍̼͌̌̆͆ ͓̭̦̾͒̅I͓͇̹̩͚͂͐͑͡͡ ̥̑W̹̰̯͈͛͛̾͛A̞̲̩̎̍͞N̳̟̻͆̄̚T̢̛̖̏ ͓̋T͉̪͐̓O͇̤̝͛͂̿ Ć͉̯͛AṞ̳̠̈̄͘E̼͎̞͇͊͗͋́̕͟Ș̆Ṣ̈ ̡̨̡̗͕̊̂̂̓͠F͎̏Ặ̼̯̠̅͊́C̫̜̾̉E̢̟̣͎̱̿̾͒͌͒,̣̠́́ ̡͇̪͑̊̃͟͞Ì̼͕͙̥̤͑̆́̕ ͇͗W̧̫͉̘̉̃͘͡Ă̟̘͝N͉̊T̫̟͐̄ ̢͋T̞̃O ̨̡̀̆̄͑͜ͅĎ̢̦̖̤͑̂̕Ä̝̯̪́̒̚͜͠N̹͔̘͇̔̉̐̐C̥̔E̪̖̝͉̱͋̎̾̔̒ ̡̻̤̀͐̉̄͜WǏ̜̩̟́̀͒͜T̙̆H̥̆ ̟͍͔̈́̆̕H̪̣̽̐I̡̺̯͌̑́M̨̪̩̱̜͆̏̌̋̕ ̖͎̀̚'̯͉̅̀T͔̦͇̙̔̾̊͜͠͡I͎̤̞͔̥̎̿́̚͝L̜̥̅̑ ̛͔͖̰̌͌̚͢Ș̘̗̀̿̎U͔͗N͕͓͊̆̋ͅ ̪̪̟͌̒͒̂͜R̲̻̪̋͊̅̏͟Ì̪SḔ̙͟,̨̰̩͚͒̈͂̚ ̧̜̱̀̆́̊͜

"Fumck!"

The emo removed the make-shift gag.

"Are you ok?"

Xia moved his hands to his temple to try and relieve the pain.

,̨̰̩͚͒̈͂̚ ̧̜̱̀̆́̊͜Ỉ͈ ̳̣̙̗̊̒̓̚W͕̐A̱̙̣̙͛̎̎̀̓͜N̫̳̔͘T̰̜̝͌͛̀ ̲̃T̯̮̪͗̋̒Ỏ̗ ̩̞̝̊̎̋H̛̭̺̥͛̚OL̛͎̝̹͇̂̀̚D ̹̰̬̈̚͝H̤̫͙̅̔͝Ị̞̱̓̾̚Ḿ̞,̾͢ ̲̟̹̫͆͐͑̅I Ẃ̪̫͘Ã͢Ņ̹̋́Ț̛͍̒ ̰̭͕̏̇̔T̛̬̲͋O͈͒ ̬̂Ṭ̛̣̓̍͢O͕̩̟̎̄̐͌̕͟͟U̖͌̽͢C̰͕̈̽H ̲̝̦̱̄͂̚͡H͕̳͒̈́IM̡̱͖͗̎͆, ͔͞I͖̰̽͠-̢̘̜̹͚̄͗̑̑͡

"FUCK, EVERYTHING HURTS, IT HURTS TO THINK, IT HURTS TO SPEAK, I JUST WANT THE PAIN TO END!"

"PRINCEY!"

"MAKE IT STOP, WHY WON'T IT STOP?"

"PRINCEY!"

"IT HURTS, IT REALLY DOES!"

"ROMAN!"

And just for a second the voices stopped, they stopped stabbing and scratching and just stayed still.

Just for a second.

"FUUCCKK-"

"ROMAN," Virgil took his face into his hands. "Roman, please open your eyes, I need to check something."

Following the instructions ( He didn't remember even closing them) he was met with pools of space and stars and a galaxy of colors that were now the eyes of Virgil and not the chestnut brown he seen less than two minutes ago.

“You have a veil, you actually have a veil..”

“ The fuck does that mean, Surly Temple?”

“It means that someone has blocked something from your conscious thoughts.”

“What?”

“That’s not important, what is would be the fact that you’re going to want to bite onto something because this is going to hurt and I don’t want the neighbours getting any ideas.”

For the second time that day, Lunaper stuff his jacket into Roman’s mouth.

“I’m sorry..”

Even with the jacket the screech the Xia made would probably beat his Pa’s infamous falsehood.But with the pain gone and the veil dropped he could now see everything so much clearer.

So the moment when Virgil took the gag out of his mouth, he pulled him close and claimed his lips.

#logicality #prinxiety #dukeceit #qpr dukeceit #roman sanders #remy sanders #virgil sanders #moonboy au #wisp writes

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lutrain2020 · 4 years

Text

Meet the Creator!

Introducing: @imorphemi!

Commissions: I have done commissions in the past on an online game with game currency (which I don't do anymore), but as of now I don't have Paypal so I can't really even if i wanted to :P

Social Media: Tumblr: @imorphemi Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/imorphemi_art/ DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/imorphemi

What's your artistic process like?

I do really messy sketches first, and then one or two more sketch layers over it to clear out the clutter. Afterwards it depends on what style I choose to draw in, but usually it's line art first if I'm drawing it, then color, then background, and finally shading with a lot of multiply and add layers. Shading's my favorite part.

Tell us a little bit about yourself!

To start off, my favorite color is purple! I like the cool colors best although other colors are very nice too. While not drawing I sometimes would watch speedpaints or I would read. The time I have spent reading has dwindled quite a bit in the past few years since I've gotten better at drawing though. I like to listen to things while I work on stuff, usually electronic music or other people talking on the voicechats. It's always interesting in there; you can often enough, catch on midway and hear some great stories.

What kind of mediums do you like to use?

I do digital art yes, but other than that I enjoy working with clay and wires! I've been kind of working on a side project, creating my skykid Roane with wires, clay, and fabric, and it's been quite fun. Wiring is something that I got interested in when my mom bought me a DIY wire jewelry kit, clay I was introduced to in art class at school, and I wanted to try out sewing after watching certain videos on Youtube.

What got you into art? What inspires you to keep creating art?

I've started drawing when I was pretty young, but I never really got anywhere until I met my friend in 7th grade. She was a really good artist and yeah, I compared my art to hers and strove to get better, which eventually turned into me really enjoying it! As for what inspires me, well, its anything that I find that makes me want to draw something. A really good fanfiction, some pretty flowers, a what-if scenario that popped into my head when I'm trying to go to sleep, it just makes me want to draw something and create.

What's your favorite/least favorite subjects to use in your art?

I love drawing faces and expressions. It's amazing how much you can convey with a little downturn on the eyebrows or making the smile just a wee bit bigger. What I don't like drawing though, is scales and things like that. I don't like drawing small things over and over again.

What's the worst thing you had to draw?

The worst thing, huh? That would be a piece I had to draw using charcoal in art class. We were to draw a still life piece using charcoal and no lines. Not even a sketch. Just shading. It was torture for me and the page ended up looking like I just smudged charcoal everywhere.

Is there something that you struggled with that made you grow as an artist?

Everything! Anatomy, shading, perspective, proportions, and so much more! I think the main thing that I really struggled with and very much improved on is appreciating my work and recognize that it's actually pretty good! When I was just starting out on drawing I would look back at previous pieces that I've done and immediately point out, like 20 or so things I've done wrong and feel stupid that I was actually proud of those previous pieces. But now, I look back at my old art and I go, "Yeah, those folds looks a little wonky but I also LOVE how I did the lighting!" And I think that tells me that I've really gone far.

If you have any fun stories about the pieces you made, please do share!

Well...I was really bored one afternoon so I decided to scroll through the entire linkeduniverseontwitter instagram. And I found the tweet where Four proposes an idea: Sparring, but the goal is to get close enough to the other person to kiss them. Wind challenges him and Four accepts. It goes on a bit with the other Links but I just HAD to draw that adorable scene with the kiddos, so I ran a poll on Instagram to see who would be the kisser (Wind won) and drew a little comic for it. It was really fun and cute to draw

#Meet the Creator #lutrain2020 #lu #linkeduniverse

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allsortsofgeekery · 5 years

Text

One of Us is Lying: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Synopsis: Five students walk into detention, but only four walk out. These four are all main suspects in Remy Kallagher’s murder, but who really killed him—Logan, the valedictorian and student council president, Roman, the all-star athlete, Patton, the adorable homecoming prince, or Virgil, the infamous school drug dealer?

Word Count: 1,707

Trigger Warnings: death mentions, murder mentions, ransom note (kinda?), anonymous confession to murder, police mention, cursing, let me know if I’ve missed anything!

Pairings: eventual Analogical, toxic Moceit

Author’s note: Hi, all! I’m back! I’m going to try my best to make updates more frequent, now, since it’s summer vacation! I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Logan

7:30 PM

Tuesday, September 25

Logan sat at his desk, tapping a pen against a blank physics handout and trying to find the motivation in himself to write anything at all. Usually, he had no trouble focusing on homework; in fact, he actually enjoyed it sometimes, a welcome stimulant to distract his brain from the extraneous stress of high school.

Evidently, witnessing a death and then being accused of murder all within twenty four hours proved to be too large of a distraction for even homework to take care of.

Grunting in frustration, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, deciding instead to check his email for the umpteenth time that day.

He clears out his inbox fairly regularly, so there was only one email in there, one from last night that was sent at 6:15 from Principal Lynch. Logan scrolled through it, even though he had already read it at least fifty times by now.

Dear students and families...a junior, Remy Kallagher...more updates to come soon...talk to your student and see if they are okay...we are truly saddened by this terrible news.

He huffed and put his phone down, trying once again to concentrate on his homework.

He liked physics. He liked physics better than biology, and he certainly liked it better than chemistry.

Ugh. Chemistry. Even thinking of that class made Logan’s stomach twist in both hatred and guilt. He was in AP Chem last year, and it was the most difficult class he had ever been in. Usually, Logan enjoyed a good challenge, relished it, even, but Chemistry was more than a mere challenge--it was nearly impossible.

For the first time, Logan’s usual meticulous studying habits had failed him; no matter how hard he worked, and no matter how much extra credit he did, he couldn’t seem to break out of a C-average. The 73% was an ugly mark on his perfect student record; he watched the low C on every report card drag down his GPA. He could practically feel Harvard slipping out of his grasp--Harvard, the college that Logan had been working restlessly since he was little to get into. Harvard, the school that Logan’s family had been going to for generations.

Harvard, the school that simply does not accept students with C’s in Chemistry.

However, Logan was never one to give up, so he studied even harder and stayed up even later doing his homework. As a result, to Logan’s dismay, his other grades began to slip, too.

Utterly defeated, Logan was just about to ask his guidance counselor to switch him into the non-AP course, when an opportunity presented itself, and Logan took it. He ended up finishing the year in Chemistry with a 96% average.

He still isn’t proud of what it took to get his grade up, but he doesn’t regret it. As long as nobody ever finds out, his dream of attending Harvard is still very much in his reach.

Shaking his head, as if he could clear away the unpleasant memories like an Etch-a-Sketch, Logan picked up his phone yet again. He debated texting Virgil; sure, they weren’t exactly friends, but he was closer with him than he was with either Roman or Patton, and they were the only three people who could understand his situation.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed in his hand, his Sherlock theme song ringtone blaring. It was Virgil--apparently, he had beaten Logan to the punch.

“Logan Sanders,” Logan answered.

“Hey,” Virgil said. Logan could hear the panic in his voice even from the single syllable. His stomach turned. “Have you checked Tumblr?”

“Er--no,” Logan began, brow furrowing in confusion. “I do not have a Tumblr account. Why?”

“Oh, shit...uh, okay, I don’t--I don’t really want to be the one to tell you, but...somebody made an anonymous post confessing to murdering Remy.”

Logan was stunned into silence for a moment, before the implications of this new development sank in. “Can you read it to me?”

“Yeah, lemme just--pull it up...okay,” Virgil said on the other end. He began to read out loud:

“‘Killing Remy was my little favor to the rest of the school.

You’re welcome.

I mean, everybody hated him. Nobody wanted to have their lives ruined by being on “Spill the Tea”, right?

Now, nobody has to worry about any of that anymore.

I’ve been planning this for a while.

And after weeks of watching Remy’s every move, I could finally see my efforts pay off.’”

After Virgil had finished reading, they both stood in a weighted silence. Hundreds of thoughts fired at Logan all at once, but one stood out above all of them: “I could finally see my efforts pay off.” This implies that the killer, whoever they may be, watched Remy die. That, he realized with a sense of growing anxiety, further implicates himself, Patton, Roman, and Virgil. His stomach churned at the realization.

“I know,” Virgil said, breaking the silence in an unsteady voice. “Pretty fucked, right?”

Logan nodded before remembering that Virgil couldn’t see him. “Yes…” he began. There was another moment-long pause. Then Virgil spoke again.

“So,” he said, clearly struggling to make his voice sound casual, “which one of them do you think did it?” It took Logan a moment to process the question, but then it hit him with a pang.

“So—so you believe it, then?” He managed to sputter out. “You think that somebody in our—our detention—“ he spat the word out as if it were poison— “killed Remy?”

“Well...yeah,” Virgil said. “I mean, either that, or we’re being framed, and I don’t know what any of us could have done to piss anybody off that badly.”

“So you are more inclined to believe that one of us is more likely to have committed cold-blooded murder than to believe that we are simply being framed?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“Wait, Virgil,” Logan started, gears in his head turning. “You—you do not believe that—that I killed Remy...do you?”

There was a long, tense silence that seemed to stretch out for hours.

“Nah,” Virgil decided at last. “I mean, sure, you’re probably smart enough to pull it off, but I mean, I’ve known you since we were kids, and, I dunno, I just can’t imagine you doing anything like that. I mean, I don’t know if you had some kind of beef with Remy or whatever, but—“

“I assure you, there was no...beef...between Remy and I,” Logan cut in. “Of course, I did not...care for him, much, but I would never do something to that extent. Obviously.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Another pause. Then: “You don’t think I did it, right?”

“No,” Logan answered immediately. “To reiterate what you have already stated, I have known you since childhood, and nothing that I know about you leads me to believe that you would do anything of the sort.”

He could practically hear Virgil relax on the other end of the line. “Okay...cool,” he said, and Logan could sense the difference in his tone. “So then...who do you think did it? Roman or...or...the other kid?”

“Patton,” Logan corrected, exasperated. “You really should know his name. And I do not know very much about either of them, and nothing that I do know about them entices me to suspect either above the other. If you ask me, this whole...Tumblr post is an elaborate prank. A terrible one, but a prank nonetheless. As you have previously stated, none of us, to our knowledge, have done anything to upset anybody enough to frame us, correct?”

“Well...yeah, I guess. But the police are still gonna have to look into it, yeah?”

“Certainly. But, with no further evidence other than that Tumblr post, none of us can be implicated, correct?” Logan was reassuring himself just as much as Virgil at this point; perhaps if he said it enough, it would become true.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Still, there’s no way Remy’s death was an accident, right?”

“That is true. Again, I do not know enough about Patton or Roman to suspect either of them more than the other, but they do not seem like the murdering type. But I also do not know if either of them may or may not have had a motive. Or,” he continued, “maybe one of them had gotten somebody angry enough to frame them, and inadvertently dragged us down with them.”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, still sounding generally unconvinced. “Okay. You’re probably right. I mean, maybe one of them got worried enough about winding up on “Spill the Tea” or something? They looked pretty weird when the police officer asked us that this morning...but, I mean, you did, too, and I dunno if you’re hiding anything, but…” he grunted in frustration. Logan could feel his face growing hot again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like...you know what I’m trying to say. Everybody in school’s been worried about ending up on it at some point, right? I wonder if either of them did anything bad enough that they really didn’t want people to know...but that still doesn’t explain the Tumblr post—“

“Indeed,” Logan said quickly, face burning and suddenly eager to end the conversation. “My apologies, Virgil, but I need to go—I have to...er...finish my homework.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Virgil said. “See you tomorrow, I guess?”

“Indeed. Goodnight, Virgil.”

“‘Night, Logan.” He hung up.

Logan tossed his phone onto his bed, and noticed that his right hand was clenched in a fist, nails biting into tender skin. He released the fist and flexed his fingers a few times, trying to will his heart rate to go back to normal. Virgil’s words from earlier that day came to him.

“Everybody has secrets.”

Virgil had been right. But, Logan assured himself, there was absolutely no way that anybody could have found him out, right? Yes, the more he thought about it, the more outlandish it seemed—there’s no possible way that Remy could have known.

Feeling significantly calmer, Logan turned and stared down at his still-blank physics worksheet, convincing himself that there was no need to panic.

Taglist: @fandersunite @unring-this-bell @sparkletastic-cookiedough @mijako98 @coconut-cluster @cinnamonlilac @i-like-cookiesz @noremacdranoel-blog @theresneverenoughfandoms @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @lovelylogans @unipugsat221b @tinysidestrashcaptain @awkwardturtlez @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing @band-be-boss-blog @theunoriginaldaisy @doodlerodoodlez @nextheirofslytherin @redhoneysugarorange @unnipanda623 @under-the-blue-moonlight @himrachel @hufflepuffgirl01 @casisnotalass @probablysomeproblems @kameraishere @ijustrealizedhowdumbmynamewas @a-valorous-choice @the-parentheticals @punsterterry @levy-the-b00kw0rm @kingwillow @depressed--and--underdressed @wigsnatchedhoteltrivago

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 5 years

Text

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Thirty Four

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

March 15th, 2017

Logan was having problems. Not with his new name, although it was frustrating him that he couldn’t figure out a good middle name that he liked after finding his first name was a snap. No, he was having problems because he realized he still liked guys.

He wasn’t pretending to like them when he thought he was a girl, but now that he knew he was a guy, that attraction was still there and he wasn’t feeling any attraction to any of the girls at his school. He wasn’t sure how his parents felt about transgender people, but he knew they definitely didn’t like gay people.

It was hard, hiding that he was trans and gay. He just hoped one day he’d be around people who didn’t mind either of those things. And, if he was feeling bold, he hoped there was someone out there who would be romantically interested in him despite being trans.

September 23rd, 2019

Logan walked into Jack’s house with a grin. “Thank you for letting me in, Mister President.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mister Vice President,” Jack said with a laugh, closing the door. The two practically ran up to Jack’s room to hang out and get homework out of the way so they could talk about whatever they wanted. “You know my parents don’t mind us talking about more ‘mature’ things around them, right? We don’t have to hide in my room to hang out and talk about things.”

“Neither do mine, now,” Logan said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable doing it.”

“All right, fair point,” Jack conceded, walking into his room and sitting on the lower bunk of his bed, while Logan took Jack’s desk chair as they both pulled out homework.

They worked through Calculus, and History, and Logan finished his English while Jack struggled with his Physics homework. When Logan finished the required reading of the night and Jack was still struggling, Logan came over and sat next to him on the bed, ignoring the flutter in his stomach as he did so. “Here, let me help,” Logan said. “You said yourself that you need to visualize the circuit if you ever want to finish this fast, so I can sketch out the circuit for you here and you can do it on the others.”

Jack wordlessly passed over his homework and pencil and Logan made a small drawing of the circuit in the margins. “There you go,” Logan said, passing it back.

“Thanks, man,” Jack said with a grin.

“It’s not a problem,” Logan shrugged off.

“No, really, Lo. Thank you,” Jack insisted.

Logan smiled even as his heart hammered in his chest. He scratched the back of his neck. “Anytime, Jack.”

Jack finished his physics homework quickly after that and the two clambered into the top bunk of Jack’s bed. When Logan was staying with Jack, he always took the bottom bunk to sleep in. But when they were just hanging out, they’d both regularly squeeze themselves into the top bunk. It was a tight fit, but neither of them minded.

Some time passed, and Jack and Logan were still lying in Jack’s bed, laughing at nothing in particular. Jack was scrolling Tumblr, and Logan was staring up at Jack’s ceiling. His stomach fluttered uncomfortably when he looked at Jack and he didn’t fully understand why. Jack was his best friend, and even if Logan developed feelings for Jack, he didn’t want to mess up what they had.

When Jack touched Logan’s wrist lightly, it felt like electricity shot through Logan’s veins. He looked over at Jack, and Jack offered him a grin. “You’ve been stuck in your head all afternoon,” he teased lightly. “And I know you’re not stressing about homework because we finished it all.”

Logan shrugged and said, “You know how it is. Tests coming up, peers being...well, however they choose to be that day, and with the new school year...it’s all a lot to take in.” Jack chuckled and Logan felt his ears get hot. “Something funny?” he asked, voice cracking in the middle of the question.

“Sometimes...you can be so oblivious,” Jack said. “Not in a bad way, but just...you see, but do not observe.”

Logan propped himself up on one arm, tilting his body towards Jack’s. “What don’t I observe, Sherlock?”

Jack’s hand reached out to touch Logan’s free wrist, and it lingered on his pulse point. “My romantic advances,” Jack said softly.

“Wait. You...you like...boys?” Logan asked, brain stuttering to a halt.

“Boys, meh. Men? Hell yes,” Jack said, voice growing deep and somewhat sultry.

Logan’s eyes flickered over Jack. His tousled brown hair, the way his muscles were growing from doing lacrosse at school, the cocky grin he wore, the lips he had been dreaming about kissing for months. He moved forward in an instant, lips colliding with Jack’s until not only sparks, but an entire forest fire grew between them. Logan didn’t have much experience kissing anyone, let alone his best friend, but Jack. Jack knew how to kiss.

His movements were sure, mouth moving in time with Logan’s. Jack had one hand at the nape of Logan’s neck and Logan had a hand on Jack’s hip. Logan could feel the beginning of stubble on Jack’s upper lip, and he felt a small thrill go through him. This was real, this was happening. Jack liked him. He couldn’t believe it.

When they pulled apart, Logan was panting a little and Jack laughed. “Did you forget to breathe?!” he asked.

“For the first ten seconds, maybe,” Logan said. “Um. Does this mean we’re boyfriends?”

“Do you...want to be boyfriends?” Jack asked, running his hand down Logan’s side.

“Yes,” Logan breathed. “Yes, I would love to be your boyfriend.”

Jack grinned. “Then we’re boyfriends,” he said calmly. Firmly. No room for argument. “But seriously. How did you not know I was into men? I’m the president of the GSA, Lo! You’re my vice!”

“I assumed that you were...not an ally, but maybe bisexual, with more of an interest in girls,” Logan said with a shrug. “After all, a lot of the girls at school fawn over you, especially when you’re practicing lacrosse. And you seem to enjoy their attention.”

“Sure, I like attention, and yeah, girls are cute sometimes, but I prefer guys, Logan,” Jack said. “Why do you think I joined lacrosse? I get to have hot guys surround me every day for an hour after school!”

Logan barked out a laugh. “Fair enough, I suppose. So are you bi? Or pan?”

Jack considered. “Pansexual, I guess,” he said. “Though saying I’m bi is easier to understand for most people, so I generally use that.”

“Cool,” Logan said. “I’m gay, I think, but nonbinary people are cool, too. Occasionally feminine-aligned nonbinary people might catch my eye, but for the most part it’s guys and more...not feminine enbies.”

Jack shrugged. “You could be bi, too. Or you could just say you’re gay. And of course, the label queer is always open for you to use.”

“I’ll probably use queer, honestly,” Logan said with a shrug. “It’s easier for me and everyone else.”

A comfortable silence fell over them. Jack looked at Logan and kissed his nose. “Do your dads know you’re queer?”

Logan paused. “If they didn’t, they’re gonna find out when I get back home and tell Roman that he was right, apparently.”

“About me being your boyfriend?” Jack asked with a grin.

“He knew I liked you before I knew I liked you,” Logan said. “He’s probably going to ask when the wedding is.”

“Tell him it’s after we graduate college, provided we’re still together then,” Jack said.

Logan glanced at him. “You serious?”

“Yeah, man. If we can date for six years and not want to break up by the end of it I’d love to marry you,” Jack said with a shrug. “I mean, I assume I would. That’s how that sort of thing generally works, from what I’m told.”

“As a concept, though, marrying someone feels kinda...hazy,” Logan said.

“Yeah, exactly,” Jack said. “Right now, I’m just happy to have you as my boyfriend.”

Logan could feel his cheeks start burning like a wildfire, and Jack grinned, kissing him on the lips, briefly. “Should we get something to drink and tell my parents the good news?”

As they got down off the top bunk, insecurity flared up in the back of Logan’s mind. “Are you sure they’ll approve?”

“They already see you as a son, Lo,” Jack reassured. “They might make jokes about you becoming a son-in-law, but that’s the worst they’ll do. They’ll love to hear that I decided to do something about my pining.”

Logan laughed a little and let himself be led downstairs into the kitchen. When they got there, Misses Harkness was already pouring two glasses of lemonade. One look at the both of them and she grinned. “Logan, honey, your hair’s a little mussed up, and you have a little bit of stuff on your lower lip. If you don’t want the world to know you made out with my son a few minutes ago, you might want to fix that.”

Logan turned deep red and fixed his hair the best he could without a mirror and wiped the bottom of his lip with his thumb. Jack groaned. “Mom,” he said. “You’re gonna make him regret agreeing to be my boyfriend!”

“Jack, if I can stand you, with all your flirting at everyone, your dorky references to shows that I’ve never seen, and your passion for theatre without any desire to actually do something about it, such as trying out for the play or becoming the head sound tech, then I’m pretty sure I can stand your mom teasing me a little,” Logan informed him quickly.

“Well, if I can stand you, with all your obliviousness to anything romantic being shoved your way, your Doctor Who jokes which never ever stop, and your overall emotional threshold being similar to that of a small child before you get overwhelmed and can’t regulate your responses, then I’m pretty sure I can stand anything you and your family will try to throw at me,” Jack responded smugly.

Logan’s jaw dropped open. “Are you seriously trying to outdo me right now?”

Jack shrugged with a grin, accepting lemonade from his mom. “Maybe so,” he said.

Logan huffed and took his offered lemonade, taking a sip before he responded. “This is a battle you’ll lose, Jack Matthew Harkness, don’t test me.”

“Oh, you used my full name, I’m quaking in my boots!” Jack exclaimed, making an exaggerated terrified face.

Logan rolled his eyes and sipped at his lemonade. “You’re still being an a-hole, Jack, and I stand by that sentiment.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s one of the reasons why you like me,” Jack said with a grin.

“If you two are going to continue to flirt, please do it outside the kitchen, I actually need to start making dinner soon,” Misses Harkness said, shooing them away.

“Come to think of it, your folks are probably gonna pick you up soon,” Jack said, sounding a little disappointed.

“Well, I can grab my things and we can sit on your porch drinking lemonade until it’s time for me to go,” Logan offered.

Jack pointed at him with a grin. “You see, this is why I like you, Lo. You’re always trying to make the best out of any situation.”

Logan turned pink and scurried upstairs to get his things before coming back down and letting Jack lead them both out to the porch. They sat on the top step and took sips of their lemonade, just enjoying the silence between them. “So, I’m assuming we’re exclusive,” Logan said.

“Yeah, we’re both monogamous, so we’d be exclusive,” Jack agreed. “I don’t want to share you.”

“Nor I, you,” Logan said, sipping at his lemonade. “Although, if you’re worried about being out at school, and you want to continue letting girls flirt with you, I understand—”

“Hey, Lo, no,” Jack said, draping an arm around Logan’s shoulders. “I don’t care what other people think of me. You go to school every day risking someone getting mad at you, just because you take testosterone and use he and him. Compared to you, I don’t have nearly as big a chance of people insulting me. And if they get offended that I’m dating you, well, it’s their problem. I don’t want us to be a secret if it doesn’t have to be. I want people to know that I love you, and if they have a problem they can come to me and I’ll show them what bigots get when they try to insult either of us.”

Logan smiled softly. “A knuckle sandwich?”

“A knuckle sandwich,” Jack confirmed. “And maybe more, depending on how much they insult you.”

“You don’t have to fight on my account, Jack,” Logan said.

“Maybe not, but I want to,” Jack said. “I want people to know that if they mess with you they’re messing with me.”

Logan smiled and kissed Jack softly, which Jack returned with a little laugh into Logan’s mouth. A moment later they were interrupted by a loud cheer and an, “I knew it!” coming from the driveway.

They jumped apart and Logan turned toward the offender with a glare. “Shut up, Roman! We only started dating today!”

“I knew it! I knew you two would start dating eventually!” Roman crowed. “Come on, Ami’s back home making dinner and I’m sure Dad will want to hear all about your new boyfriend!”

Logan sighed and turned to Jack. “Looks like I have to go.”

“I gathered,” Jack said, giving him a quick peck on the lips and taking his lemonade. “Go on, I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

“See you tomorrow,” Logan said with a smile on his face.

When he got in the car along with Roman, Dad was sitting there, smiling at him. “What?” Logan asked.

“I just figured...it’s about time that you and Jack got together. Everyone knew you two were pining except for the two of you,” Dad said.

Logan leaned back in his chair and groaned. “Can we please talk about something else?”

“Okay,” Dad said. “Do I need to tell you and Roman about safe sex practices?”

“No!” Logan and Roman exclaimed at once.

Dad laughed the whole way home.

#we'll carry on #sanders sides fanfiction #logan sanders #roman sanders #emile picani #our creations #danger gays

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katie-dub · 5 years

Text

The Princess of White Chapel (12/12)

Dr Killian Jones is having a terrible day. He’s got a mission, he’s got a time machine, he’s got … drunk. What could possibly go wrong?

AO3 | Tumblr

Rated M for alcohol use, violence, minor character death, frank discussions of depression and grief.

I can’t believe we’re at the end - thank you to all of you for reading, to my betas, the ever fantastic @distant-rose and @ultraluckycatnd, and to the talented @princesse-swan for creating beautiful art for me.

Now, on with the show!

One Year Later

He was on a pirate ship, hand and hook on the ship’s wheel. The salty sea breeze felt good against his skin, soothing the heat of the hot, summer sun. Princess Emma was leaning against the railings, smiling brighter than any star in the sky and giggling as the breeze wafted her curls across her face.

Lily circled lazily overhead, on guard for attack from pirates, the Evil Queen, or the villain Rumplestiltskin. But those dark clouds on the horizon could not spoil this moment, for he was here with his love. He was at peace.

“Dr Jones, Dr Jones, calling Dr Jones!” Despite being fast asleep just moments ago, Killian's reactions were laser fast. His arm shot out and he answered the phone as he yanked it to his ear.

“I can send you to another bloody realm you know, Scarlet,” he growled. “Don’t test me.”

“Oh really?” Belle replied. He pulled the phone away from his ear to squint at it in confusion. Will’s face pouted up at him in a ridiculous kiss face.

“Why are you using Will’s phone?”

“Forgot to put mine on charge last night.”

“You never forget to put your phone on charge.” Killian could practically hear her blush at his unspoken accusation.

“Yeah, well, we were.. Um. Busy,” she blustered.

“Well, well, well Miss French. Find yourself busy with our dear Will often? If so, I'd suggest you get your jabs. You don't know where that boy's been.”

“Killian!” Belle was equal parts indignant and embarrassed. “What we - if I - look, if you're still coming to book group, can you bring that book you told me about?”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

“Really? I thought you might feel a bit uncomfortable, what with the subject matter…”

He glanced over at his copy of Atonement on his nightstand. “Lovers cruelly torn apart before their love story had truly begun? Yeah, I know that feeling.”

“Sorry.” Killian felt as though he could hear Belle's wince through the phone. “Honestly, I'll understand if it's too much.”

“It's fine, love. The counselling is helping me to cope with everything. At least this couple got their happily ever after, if only in fiction.”

He briefly wondered what he and Emma’s fictional happy ending would have been. He could practically see it, him gazing at her in adoration as they said their vows, her radiant smile as he dipped her into their first kiss as husband and wife.

He realised that he hadn't been listening to Belle at all, caught up in a love story that could never be. “... Should I stop by your place on the way?”

“Sure, you can tell me all about how Will finally tricked you into accepting that date.”

“I heard that!” Will shouted in the background.

“I meant you to!” Killian called back.

Belle sighed. “I'll see you at 7.”

“Bye. Don’t do anything I wouldn't do.” He raised his voice. “And, yes, that includes Will.” He was expecting the sudden silence that greeted his words. He may give Belle a hard time, but he really was pleased that they'd finally got their act together.

His eyes flicked to the time on his phone. 8:15am. Too late to go back to sleep, but he didn't quite feel ready to leave the comfort of his bed behind and face the world.

Instead, he pulled up Facebook and scrolled through his feed.

Cute baby.

Woah, seriously ugly baby. Bloody hell, what an unfortunate face, Killian thought to himself, swiping just a little faster away from the photo.

Robin Locksley shared a post from The Guardian:

A Crocodile in our Midst

“One year on from the appearance of the London Dragon, and the start of the Enchanted Disaster, we now know one man was behind it all. Robert Gold. Now that the scale of Gold’s influence and empire built on favours, deceit and corruption at the highest levels has been revealed, we ask; what lessons can we learn?”

He hesitated. Stared at the post long and hard. He should have known his feed would be full of stories like this today.

He couldn’t read it now. Perhaps he never would be able to. He’d been through enough in the past year, reporting to the Darling Inquiry, to the police, to the university.

He was finally in a better place. People finally knew what a monster Gold really was, had always been. He was working alongside Dr Smee at Imperial College London. He was getting out more. He was having regular sessions with Dr Hopper.

But still.

He sighed and continued to scroll.

Holiday photos.

Cute children.

Cute dog.

Cute baby.

Aurora Rosen shared a post from The Daily Mail “People are so mean!!! Leave this family alone!!!”:

‘Leave our princess in peace!’ plead Ashley and Sean Herman

Alexandra Herman stole all of our hearts as the face of the Enchanted Disaster, a beautiful little girl lost in another world. Her parents’ campaign for her safe return had a happy ending, but now that she is safely home, they beg for privacy.

Cute baby.

Holiday photos.

Ironic “wish you were here” post of a dowdy living room presumably intended to get a laugh, but coming off a little too bitter.

Ruby Lucas shared a post from OK! Magazine UK “Get it girls ;)”:

A Royal Romance for Rapunzel

“Singer Rapunzel and Princess Elsa open up for the first time about how their shared ordeal kidnapped by Gold led to them finding love.”

So many people had been brought together by the strange happenings in town, and what did he have to show for it? Two pictures on his wall. Emma’s sketch of a swan and the recent painting he’d done of a swan on the Thames that had made him smile. The first painting he’d done since she’d left that he actually thought worthy of hanging on the wall. Yes, it was lovely to feel that Emma had helped him to rediscover his love of painting, which gave him a link to both of his lost loves, but still... A painting couldn't ask about his day, couldn’t hold him at night, couldn’t borrow his phone when it forgot to charge its own phone because of their more enjoyable activities.

God he never thought he’d be jealous of Will bloody Scarlett.

Killian sighed and put his phone to one side. It was no good. Everything was making him think of Emma. It was still several hours until he had to be at their spot, he needed a better distraction than social media.

He’d been putting off deep cleaning his fridge. No time like the present.

***

He was at their spot and the sun was shining. It wasn’t the harsh, oppressive and overwhelming heat of the previous year, but instead a gorgeous sunny day.

He should have been grateful that on his and Emma’s day, the weather was glorious, but he felt angry. There should be storms raging, torrential rain, unnatural, unseasonable fog. Something, anything to show that the world understood what he had lost.

This resentment wasn’t a new feeling to him. He’d spent years biting his tongue at the way his friends prodded him about his love life or how an acquaintance would casually refer to the loss of Milah or at the sight of Gold. His short time with Emma and the healing that he’d done in the past year had helped him to not feel overwhelmed by it. On a normal day.

But today, it was all too much.

Twice he had loved wholly, honestly and truly; and twice that love and joy had been ripped from him.

He could see how much more to life there was than just romantic love now. His therapy had helped him to appreciate the richness and beauty in all aspects of his life. But he was a passionate man and he longed to share his heart with another. The absence of that love left an emptiness inside him that caused a deep ache if he dwelt on it for long, because whoever heard of lightning striking thrice?

The beautiful day made him feel like the world was taunting him. It was just so unfair. Where was the sense in anything that had happened? As he seethed, questions whirled through his mind, he could feel his wrath taking over. His muscles tensed, he clenched his teeth, his chest felt tight as the tempest grew.

No.

Not today.

He needed to reclaim today as a celebration of his short time with Emma. He couldn’t let his fury win.

He stared at the water and tried to remember the mindfulness exercises that Dr Hopper had taught him to help him to cope. Eyes unfocused. Deep breaths. Feel the bench beneath him. Listen to the sounds around him. Notice how he felt. Don’t try to change it. Accept it. Sit with his feelings.

He caught a glimpse of golden hair.

“Swan?”

The woman spun, he knew it wouldn’t be her. He’d done this so many times before. Especially in the beginning. She had magic. She was from an entire realm full of magic. She could find a way. She would… He’d always been disappointed.

“Yes?” Green eyes looked back at him. She had soft cheeks, a dimpled chin, she was perfect. She couldn’t possibly be real. Then she frowned at him. “Do I know you? Because you said my name and now you’re doing some kind of creepy stalker thing and I’m really not into that.”

“Are you Emma Swan?”

She held up her hands and stepped back from him. “Listen, buddy -”

Killian shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m being so weird. Um, you know the Enchanted Disaster that happened?”

“Yeah! Is it bad if I say that I thought it was cool as fuck? I may have snuck a niffler home. Kind of regretted that when the little fucker tore my purse to shreds looking for treasure.”

“OK, well, I met another you, from the Enchanted Forest.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“But I didn’t end up the other realm?”

“Not everyone switched places. Some people stumbled through portals. She was the first. Faced off against the London Dragon?”

“Oh god, I remember that! People kept asking where I’d learned how to do magic, didn’t like it when I said Hogwarts. But if you’re going to ask a dumb question...”

Killian laughed and nodded. This was so weird. She was Emma, but not Emma. She had the same dry sense of humour, but with the addition of pop culture references. He realised that he’d waited too long to say more, still overawed. “The dragon was actually friends with Emma,” he said, desperate for the conversation to continue.

Emma frowned at him and shook her head incredulously. “Oh come on! Now I know you’re making this up.”

“No really! I didn’t much like her, kind of a bitch and a major fire hazard. Honestly, I don’t miss having her in my flat.”

“You had Maleficent in your apartment?”

“I believe she’s Lily’s mother actually.”

Emma smirked at him. “Bullshit.” He just raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, trying to give off a “you keep telling yourself that” vibe as he grinned. “If I believe you then I have to accept that the street art I keep seeing of her looking like some kind of badass female Saint George is all anti-dragon propaganda. You have to let me have that vision, people buy me drinks because they think I’m her, I’ve gotten laid because of it.”

He laughed. “Far be it from me to cramp your style, Emma may not have actually slain the dragon, but she was definitely a badass. Have you seen the one of her looking like Wonder Woman with the lightsaber?”

“In the parking lot on Brick Lane? I love that one!”

“She loved it too. Of course, she didn’t actually know what a lightsaber was.” He laughed at the memory.

“Tell me you fixed that immediately or I’m not sure we can be friends.”

He laughed. “As if I would deny anyone a proper Star Wars education.” Emma nodded her approval. “Hey would you like to get a coffee?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Emma shook her head and his face fell. “Sorry, er, what did you say your name was?”

“Killian,” he said, trying not to feel too sad. He studied his feet, wondering if the ground could just open up and swallow him. Of course she wouldn’t want to get coffee, this was so strange and he’d approached her in the weirdest possible way.

“Maybe we could get a hot chocolate instead?” He looked up at her in surprise. She shrugged. “I don’t drink coffee,” she said apologetically. “Is that ok?”

“Yeah.” He was dazed, stunned into stupidity by this new Emma Swan.

“Come on, I want to hear all about how awesome I am.” She winked at him. And for the first time since Princess Emma had stepped through that portal he felt that powerful feeling surging through him and lighting him up inside. For the first time since she left, Killian had hope.

#csbb #cs ff #captain swan #ouat ff #katie dub writes #tpowc

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franeridart · 6 years

Note

Thank u for that sweet sweet awase content, I love that boy

Thank you for liking it!!!! :O

Anon said:Do you take constructive criticism? (Not a joke lol actually curious)

Nope. Since I don’t study art, I’m not currently actively trying to become better at it, all I do is doodle whatever silly idea I have at the moment without an actual clue of what I’m doing while at it and post it cause people seem to like it when I do, concrit is literally the last thing I need. By which I mean, I already know my art could be way better than it is, but getting better at it isn’t really the reason why I’m posting it. To be honest, if I wanted someone to crit my doodles I’d sign up for an actual class to have a real teacher tell me how to get better, I wouldn’t turn to the first random anon on tumblr with no way of proving to me they have any more clue about art than I do

Anon said:Imagine this, Kirishima with really long hair

No need to imagine it when @50shadesofhq already did such an amazing job drawing him~

Anon said:Hey!!! I want to thank you for...existing 😁 Tonight I was feeling really sad and finding your art has “brought me back to life” so as to say, so thank you. Your art is incredibly good so please keep believing in yourself and your skills, and keep making beautiful pieces like you are doing now 🤗🤗🤗

Thank you!!!! So much!!!! I’m glad my stuff could help you feel better ;^;

Anon said: hi i just wanted to let you know that you're one of my favorite artists ever and you make so much good content for so many fandoms that i love like i first found your blog through haikyuu!! and then i found the bnha and now yowapeda and everything else aaaaaa i'm rambling now but whenever i see your art it makes my day and j wanted to say that by e

!!!!!!!!!!! glad you like my stuff!!!! and mostly glad you like ywpd, that fandom feels so small honestly!! :D

Anon said:Hey I just wanted to let you know that I love all of your artworks with all of my heart and it always makes my day a bit brighter to see that you have posted something new :)

Oh man thank you so so so so so so much!!!!! ;O;

Anon said:I'm not even all that familiar w awase but I'm still blown away by your drawings of them they look !!!! So good !!!

THANK!!!!! YOU!!!!!! He’ll play a nice part at some point next season, I hope you’ll end up liking him!!! ;u;

Anon said:I love seeing that kiribaku at the top of your art blog (at least on mobile??). It makes me feel so warm the moment I check your blog. (Still love the old banner too tho!!!!)

I’m glad you like it!!!!! Warm colors make me feel good so I wanted something like that on my blog :D one day I’ll change the icon too..... one day........

Anon said:I LOVE YOUR ART OK?? AND I MAY HAVE JUST SPENT TWO HOURS SCROLLING THROUGH YOUR BLOG BUT OH MY LORD IS IT WORTH IT. You are an amazing artist and I hope you have the most wonderful and brilliant of days. Ps. Thank you for giving bakubro the love he deserves PPs. Your jirou drawings make me unbelievably happy

THANK YOU!!! THIS IS SUCH A GOOD ASK I’M HAPPY THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! ;O;

Anon said:Do you still headcanon baku and Mina as dragon shifters or is it just Kiri at this point? (I still freaking love tiny dragon baku lol)

Yes and no! My fantasy drawings aren’t exactly telling a story, so I’m doing whatever with them - it’s not really headcanons, it’s just me playing around with any idea I find entertaining at the moment!! So yes, definitely, Baku and Mina as dragon shifters are still a thing I love a lot and I might draw more in the future! But that doesn’t exclude me drawing for the AU in a setting where only Kiri is a dragon either~

Anon said: Ur dragon Kiri half-shifted made me have this idea : if he n Baku r cuddling and he's like that and Baku feels an itch, he'll just rub himself against Kiri to do the scratching (Kiri isn't even bothered, nor complaining, Baku kinda looks like a cat when he does that and he's in l o v e)

You know anon, considering Kirishima’s quirk Bakugou could technically do that in the original universe too hahaha

Anon said:More band au bakushima pls!! 🙏 My crops are dying

Anon said:You better do the after show of the band AU or i will die. I mean... i already die with Bakugou say "pretty boy" to Kiri, but you know.... please do the after show asdfghj

Maybe soon!! I don’t exactly have a clear idea of how that plays out, but I enjoy drawing Bakugou like that so why!!! not!!!!

Anon said:I live for your art! Thank you for creating such amazing content ♥️

SOB thank you for liking my stuff and letting me know you do!!!!

Anon said:HOOOLLLYYYYY SHIT, THAT SKETCH OF BAKUGOU W THE HELLA EYELINER AND THE TATTOOS??? I AM SHOOK

GLAD YOU LIKED HIM!!!

Anon said:Oh mamma the way you draw Kiri’s forearms! Le swoon 😍😍😍

!!!!!! He’s a buff boy after all!! :D

Anon said:Are you okay with fans coloring your lineart, or does it bother you? (Not with the intention of posting anywhere, just for fun and maybe to submit it back to you later) I know how you feel about altering your work, but what's the drill for this specifically?

I don’t mind but you have to promise me you’re not posting them anywhere - if it’s just for your personal entertainment then it’s fine, I can’t really stop you anyway, but I really don’t want them anywhere online.

Anon said:Hello! I wanna say your bakugou and kirishima comics are adorable! I wanted to ask, do you think Bakugou would be as open with showing his soft and mushy emotions for kirishima around the others like in your comics? Like how he was okay with snugs on the couch, you don’t think he’d want to be more privet?

Sure, why not? Bakugou’s never hidden his feelings in the manga, nor has he ever felt embarrassed by them! He’s a bit awkward in showing affection I guess, but to me it feels more because he isn’t used to it than because he wants to hide it - if he were to start dating Kirishima he’d definitely have no problems with letting everyone know they’re in a relationship of that sort, I think :D well, it’s just my interpretation of it anyway haha

Anon said:Your art is just so beautiful, Im iN LOVE I CANTNWKWISIWIKW PLS KEEP DRAWING

I CAN TRY !!!!!!!! Thank you so much for the support!!!!

Anon said:Do you ever get that feeling when you have a ship and you see art for it and suddenly you get hit with a "oh fuck I really love them" cause that happens every times you post kiribaku ! I always get butterflies in my stomach when I see your art, you make the cutest scenarios and you keep their personalities right it never seems ooc. You honestly make the best comics/art I'm so glad you're in the bnha fandom

Oh my god thank you so much!!! ;A; sob

Anon said:you've heard of jiroukami but have you considered: jiroushido

Yup! I’ve also drawn them in the past!! They’re in my MinaJirou tag :D

Anon said:your band au is officially my favourite thing on this site i love it and i love you thankyou

Thank you so much holy heck!!!! ;O;

Anon said:Your art is so cute and makes me smile everytime I see it! Thank you for always making my day better!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!! I’m!!!!!!!!!!! Glad !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:I’m so gay for your art it’s so fucking sexy dude

Oh my g od are you sure the word you meant to use is sexy I’m ??? !!!!

Anon said:Consider,,,,, bakugou with glasses

I did draw that in the past!!!

Anon said:pssst fran have u heard that in bnha light novel baku is actually scared of ghost story???

Seriously??? :O is there a translation for that part anywhere online?? :O :O

#fran answers #i just realized the answer about the concrit sounds a bit snappy #that wasn't my intention at all #all i mean is that im a fragile baby that gives herself strength to keep posting and drawing #through knowing this is a place for sketches and doodles of dubious-to-low quality #i don't really need to change that or put pressure on myself to try and be good #when i know i'm really not #the moment i'll wish to change something in my style i'll look it up and slowly work to fix whatever problem i found #meanwhile im definitely not posting to be criticized over something i never even studied seriously #so there's that #anonymous

162 notes · View notes

flightyrock · 6 years

Text

Ectober Day 6: Ghost Hunger

I owe everyone a bit of an explanation before we dive into this fever dream. Yes, I know exactly what ghost hunger refers to, but it just isn’t my thing. It’s a neat concept, but I don’t really find it fun to write for, or even read, except in the rarest of cases. I can stand it if it advances an innovative plotline, but just for its own sake…meh.

So I didn’t have any idea what I was going to do for day 6. I considered skipping it, but that felt like admitting defeat. With this in the back of my mind, I was scrolling through tumblr, as one does, and found this lovely piece by @schnivel.

One of my favorite things about schnivel’s style is the dynamic quality all of his characters have. I don’t know how to explain it, but it draws the viewer in, and sells that these characters are real. Complex emotions are portrayed and conveyed with such ease, I get that creative itch every time. I love everything in your art tag, it makes me so happy. Thank you for sharing!

But anyway. In this particular piece, I love the angle of the external light and the ambient light radiating from the suspiciously viscous fluid clinging to his hands. I think it was the combination of the fluid consistency, color choice, and blood connection that did it.

So as my mind tends to do when I’m tired and see something emotionally charged, it took a running nosedive off the deep end into absurdist territory.

So here is a fic inspired by color choice, texture, and my traumatic experiences with product promotion as a child of the 90s and early 2000s. I am so sorry but also kind of not. Please forgive me, schnivel. Thank you so much for letting me ruin the mood. And seriously, check out schnivel’s blog!

(Sorry for all the notes. Commentary at the end.)

Summary: When a popular variety of novelty ketchup is discontinued, the ghost population of Amity Park clashes over who will claim the last box.

Warnings: Customer service feels, light innuendo

Word Count: ~1700

“You do realize that’s disgusting,” Sam deadpanned, looking on with a mixture of mild horror and disgust as Danny smothered his hotdog in a quantity of green slime that could only be defined as excessive. Somehow it was impossible to turn away. Tucker didn’t seem to share the sentiment, busying himself with his PDA.

Spurred on by the attention, Danny looked Sam dead in the eyes, staring unflinchingly into their icy, amethyst depths while cramming as much of the sandwich into his mouth as possible.

Only to aim a tad low, bumping into his lower lip. Time seemed to slow down as blue eyes widened comically in surprise, hand contracting around the bun reflexively, coaxing gobs of the novelty ketchup to ooze out the back and coat the front of his favorite t-shirt, soaking into white fabric with karmatic vengeance.

Sam and Tucker witnessed the following shift from shock to sudden horror at the state of his shirt became clear. They glanced at each other, unprompted, then lost it completely, howling with laughter as Danny dropped his ‘dog to scrub frantically at his chest with a wad of the worse-than-useless paper napkins the school provided that screamed government subsidy. His response time was impressive, but the damage was done: a prominent, verdant dribble trail clearly illustrated the tragedy that unfolded at lunch that day.

“Are you kidding me? I still have half the day to go,” Danny moaned, hands running anxiously through already messy hair.

“Just phase it off!” Tucker pointed out helpfully, returning to his PDA as chuckles died down into amused sympathy.

“Tuck, intangibility doesn’t remove stains. It’s set too far in the fabric. Otherwise laundry would be so much easier. Hmm.” Danny took a moment to consider the potential, wondering if that was how Vlad managed to keep his ghostwear so pristine. Maybe if he could concentrate his focus…

“You had it coming. I don’t understand why you insist on consuming that promotional garbage.” Sam rolled her eyes derisively.

“Because it’s the best!” Danny insisted. Sam and Tucker shared a look, resigned to their friend’s strange obsession.

Danny didn’t know what it was, but ever since that popular condiment brand out of Pittsburgh developed a line of novelty ketchup, he was hooked. It came in all sorts of unappetizing colors, like green and purple, and the cringe-worthy ad campaign made Danny wonder if the whole thing was an elaborate prank. But it eventually showed up at the discount food distributer his family frequented, and he bought it himself, despite Jazz’s teasing. Funny. He swears he’s caught her using it more than once when she thought he wasn’t around.

While Jazz was exasperated by the blatant exploitation of the mindset of the lower middle working class, Sam objected to the artificial dyes and preservatives, and Tucker insisted it was nothing less than an insult to the integrity of meat, whatever that was supposed to mean. Maybe the dye makes it taste a bit different. Maybe he just gets a kick out of eating food in weird colors and watching his friends squirm. Heck, maybe he’s just been desensitized by enough mutant, home-cooked meals that something so harmless but strange fills him with nostalgia. Whatever the case, Danny couldn’t seem to get enough of the stuff. He even started taking it to school with him as a fun way to avoid looking too closely at what was on his tray.

“Uh oh, dude,” Tucker chuckled, bringing up a specific news article on his PDA. “Looks like your days of ruining hot dogs are numbered.”

“You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re kidding,” Danny begged.

“Afraid not,” Tucker grinned, sliding his tech across the table to deliver the news firsthand.

Blue eyes widened in horror, before the teenager collapsed onto the table dramatically with a moan. “Why is it that as soon as I discover something awesome, it’s gone?”

“Honestly, that’s probably why it appeared on the shelves at Hubert’s in the first place,” Sam remarked flippantly, preferring to pick at chipping nail polish than acknowledge the lump of pouting teenager currently occupying half the table.

“Yeah, brand names are always too good to be true in places like that,” Tucker nodded sagely, patting Danny on the shoulder in mock sympathy.

Danny hauled himself upright with a sigh. “Nothing else for it. I’ll just have to go after school and stockpile all the bottles I can. They can’t be out yet.”

“How are you out?! It was just here less than a week ago!”

But the dramatics of a ketchup-crazed teenager were no match for the practiced apathy projected by the young but seasoned customer service guru manning the register, six hours into a ten hour shift.

“Look, man, I just work here. There’s plenty of purple,” she sighed, glazed eyes carelessly roaming to glace at the condiments section, poking at her monitor screen.

“It doesn’t taste the same,” Danny moaned, prompting a significant look to pass between the duo accompanying him. They had no idea why they thought it would be a good to tag along on this juvenile side quest. This was just embarrassing.

“Huh,” the cashier remarked offhandedly. “Looks like we might have one more box in the back. I’ll go check, if you want…” she trailed off unenthusiastically, distracted by the hopefully bobbing shock of black hair that wouldn’t leave her alone unless she made a show of effort. With a long-suffering sigh, the underpaid civil servant shuffled off to the back, teenagers at her heels until she ducked behind a wildly swinging door, a scuffed sheet of plastic shoved haphazardly into the gateway in a pathetic effort to separate customer-friendly space from the chaos of the warehouse.

The friends waited attentively, then with growing annoyance, Sam scuffing the chipping tile with heavy boots as the minutes ticked by. Around fifteen minutes in, Tucker decided to call it.

“I think she just blew you off, dude.”

“No way,” Danny insisted. “She’s just being thorough.”

At that moment, a familiar figure slouched out from behind the off-white mockery of a barrier. Danny drooped visibly at the lack of bottles in her arms.

“Welp, I found it.” Danny perked up. “Where is it?”

“In the back.” She continued to amble through the aisles, not even bothering to glance at the irritating customer as she returned to the front. Danny followed her, confused.

“And?” he ventured.

“What?” she asked, uncapping a company pen to doodle on a scrap of receipt paper, pointedly ignoring the nuisance in the vain hope it would leave her in peace.

Danny barely restrained himself in time to prevent throwing his arms up in exasperation. “Can I have some?” he dared to ask. The girl acted like she didn’t hear him, outlining a cartoonish face with care, allowing him to stew for a while.

She finally raised hazel orbs full of resignation to meet his. “You somehow manage to get it down, you can just have it.” The just leave me alone was implied. Heavily.

Danny lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved him away, returning to her receipt sketch.

“Thanks!” Danny called over his shoulder, already on his way to claim his prize.

“That was kind of weird,” Sam observed.

“Oh, come on Sam, why do you have to be so pessimistic all the time? She probably couldn’t reach it. All Danny has to do is float up to the shelf, and we’re out of here,” Tucker said, confidently leading the way into the dark space, the main light coming from a desk equipped with a dated microwave and littered with the remains of hurried lunches.

It was kind of weird being behind the scenes. The air felt heavy, stale. It was difficult to shake the uneasy feeling that they dismissed, at first, with being in a restricted area, but that quickly faded into the background.

A puff of cold air suddenly expanded, forcing its way up a certain ghostly throat and expelling in a bluish cloud as it forced vapor in the surrounding air to condense.

“Nice going, Tuck,” Sam punched him lightly in the shoulder.

Danny ignored the exchange, quickly “going ghost” and floating up to investigate. And was not at all surprised to find the Lunch Lady and the Box Ghost playing a less-than-friendly game of tug-of-war with the box of sauce. Okay, maybe he was surprised; he didn’t know either of them had a subtle bone in their bodies…if they had bones. Or bodies. Gah.

He was honestly kind of impressed that they had avoided detection for so long, and wondered if the cashier’s composure spoke to her merit, or to the horrors of customer service. Danny resolved to be nicer to customer service associates.

From there, it was “doom” this and “beware” that. Danny threw some ectoblasts, repelled some processed meat products, brushed off some boxes. It was amazing how much more annoying the two of them were working together. But, still, not even really a challenge, so the half ghost made short work of the duo, while trying not to think too hard about the implications of this team up. A certain young ghost from an alternate future came to mind…

Danny chased the pair off, trying not to think about the two of them sharing a thermos. He was all too glad to claim his prize and head home. It had been an interesting afternoon.

Despite the strange start, the pair of friends thought that the day was pretty successful. As a result, neither Tucker nor Sam were expecting the caricature of despair that greeted them on the front steps of Fenton Works come morning.

“Dare we ask?” Sam muttered.

Tucker sighed, shaking his head. “He’ll let us know soon enough.”

Somewhere in Wisconsin, a certain blue-skinned half ghost emerged from his portal, shiftily checking the entrance before ducking through with his prize.

What am I doing? I live alone.

Still, one could never be too careful. It wouldn’t do to have Daniel catch wind of this. He certainly would never admit it, but he couldn’t help the strange nostalgia it inspired; the off-putting color instilled him with a strange longing for cheap meals of questionable quality cooked with a certain pair of paranormal science students. He still had his dignity after all.

A/N: Anyone who’s ever worked retail knows the best way to get rid of a persistent customer and score an extra break in the process is to “check” the back. Seriously, most places know what they have in the back due to the magic of inventory, but for some reason, that middle-aged woman with too much makeup will not leave us alone, insisting we check the back because she thinks we’re idiots (you know the type). And how dare we come back without checking thoroughly. The cashier probably found the ketchup in less than a minute, determined retrieval was impossible, then spent the rest of the time on her phone. Of course, like 10% of the time, there really is extra in the back so I can’t exactly fault them, but we could do without the condescension.

So…yeah. I think my mind kind of mashed together the fact that the show took place in the 2000s with the fact that ketchup looks vaguely like blood, and the drawing used the two major colors of Heinz’s horrendous EZ Squirt line. As a child who begged for this ketchup, then refused to eat it, I can understand the initial appeal, but it got gross fast, and I didn’t finish the bottle. What can I say, it tasted off to me. I feel like I read about some human instinct regarding food safety contributing to that at some point. But I still remember this product, especially the commercials, with horror.

Thank you so much to @schnivel for the inspiration! Hope everyone enjoyed it!

#danny phantom fanfiction #flightyfiction #schnivel #danny phantom #danny fenton #ooc #maybe

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lorenasworkbook · 4 years

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Lecture 1: A creative orientation to design

First lecture, first post… Here I am writing my first blog post. During the lecture I was thinking:

“Hmm… we need to create a blog... that’s an interesting approach! I always wanted to have a blog but could never decide what to write about.”

Through the years I constantly looked around at what platform would be best for the blog I will create someday:

“I do not even need a subject for it yet, I can just look around for which platform would be easy to use and has the nicest layouts!”

Eventually, after reading all about it, using the trial period or signing up on many website builders just to try them out, I realised I am never going to do it because I do not like writing. I am not going to lie, I do not think that writing is my best skill, but you have to do these things you’re not good at to get better, right? I never did It so now is the time. Now I have to do it.

Along many others (Blogger, WordPress, Quora, Medium, etc.), Tumblr was one of the platforms I found back then, and, while it did not make me have a blog in which I would come back to tell my story, it still made me tell a story, but it was a visual one. I started collecting images that I found visually appealing on my blog – pictures about anything: interior design, architecture, landscape, portraits, paintings and sculptures, famous or not. Anything I visually liked:

There is a print screen of my Tumblr blog with a very minimalist theme and a horizontal scroll effect which many might argue it is not what users would expect, but I really liked it and it was my tumblr blog which I did not created for other people. It was just for me.

I posted little original content but mostly reblogged images I found interesting from other people – I just thought:

“That’s what Tumblr is about, right?”

In time I found out that people were using it in many different ways. I do like photography, looking at it or making it, but never thought mine was good enough for the collection I curated on my blog, haha,

“I am just using my phone, I do not even own a proper camera...”

Looking back now, I realise Tumblr was actually the best for that, never mind...

Through Tumblr I also found out about HTML & CSS. Tumblr has themes you can adapt but If you want to explore, you can modify these themes or create your own. During this HCID course, I am taking the Web Applications Development elective class which takes place just before the Creativity in Design module. My point is that even though it was not writing, Tumblr still influenced me in a good way by making me interested in Front Web Development. How relevant this is? I do not know, I just thought it would be a nice introduction. Here is a print screen of one of my first web pages – looks like it is form The Matrix, I know, that was my intention:

While I am writing this post, new ideas pop into my mind. Coming back to the fact that I always had the impression writing is not my best skill, as I previously mentioned. When I say this, people presume I say it because English is not my native language. While that might be one point, I think the same about writing in Romanian. Just writing in general makes me anxious, hahah. How do I say what I want to say without sounding too boring? Which word would better express what I want to say… most importantly, what is the best order to present my thoughts in, especially when they come in waves? I have so many thoughts and sometimes I feel like I must tell the story from the beginning for people to accurately understand the point I want to get at and how everything leads to that, and even then they might still not understand my ideas, haha. That’s how I spend too much time overthinking everything and that’s why I presume that growing up I got more into photography, drawing, painting or sculpting in clay – I wanted to express somehow. It just wasn’t going to be writing.

While I liked the humanistic profile but did not want to write much, I chose to go to an arts high school, which also introduced some of the Social Sciences but I think the mistake I did was to choose Architecture, thinking about money:

“What will I do with my life if I go to any other section, such as painting? I am not going to find a job to support living, I can just create art in my spare time. If I do architecture, I can do any of the other, but if I do let’s say painting, I cannot do architecture”.

That’s what I thought back then...but architecture was a lot of technical drawing as it can be seen in the next picture, and that wasn’t too much fun. I did not even know you can do sculpting or graphic design. But it was still fun learning about architecture styles.

While I enjoyed high school, towards the end I did not want to create anything anymore, I was doing enough to achieve whatever was needed for the courses but not more. I wasn’t enjoying it anymore and I felt like the way it was thought it was to make people follow some outdated rules, it was narrow minded. In my opinion art had to be the other way around, and this was not what I wanted to do with the rest of my career… Art was my gateway. But this discussion is more related to the bad teaching style in Romania or maybe arts schools in general and this is not why I am currently writing this post.

After years I started creating art again, even if just now and then. I painted at home when I was feeling different strong emotions. After, I went to sculpting classes. One of each can be seen in the following pictures:

All this time I kept taking photos as nowadays technology allows us to have a pretty good camera on us all the time, on our smartphones. Why all this discussion about drawing/ art in general? All this got to be useful at something. I realised I never read any notes I take in class because they’re just long lines of writing. Boring. That’s why I decided to start Sketchnoting from the second semester. I saw someone (Michele Stara) doing it at the UX Live conference and thought:

“Wow, that’s pretty cool! I want to do that, maybe I will actually look over my notes again!”.

So that’s how I started sketchnoting for every class, not just for Creativity in Design. As I did not actually draw in years, my sketches are not the best and also combined with paying attention to class, I have to be fast, resulting in not so pretty drawings. However, apparently transmitting ideas through image rather than just writing text requires a bigger thought process and I should remember the facts easier.

In conclusion, I am now willing and ready to approach things from a different perspective and while my writing or my sketches are not the best, there’s only one way too get better. Practice, practice, practice, practice.

How relevant this is to the class? Not sure, but I thought it would be a nice way to introduce myself.

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mf-fairy-princess · 4 years

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Problematic and Proud: Instagram Artist Beebosloth

Alright, I tried posting this to Reddit but that whole website is fucked so. Tumblr is crazy toxic and I want absolutely nothing to do with this website lmao, I just know if it’s posted here, it will show up in google search results.

Alright, so there's this artist on Instagram. Nothing new and unique there. In fact, there isn't really anything special about this particular prick at all. Rather, he more-so represents a larger cancerous growth within Instagram; entitlement, and toxicity.

I know, I know, "Hey dumbass, that's the entirety of the internet." Yeah, you're damn right it is. Does that make it any less gross? Any less pathetic? These humans are still humans, they know what they're doing.

So what exactly is Beebosloth? Unless you've come here from googling the name followed by some key-word synonyms of "problematic," you're probably unfamiliar with his presence on earth. @Beebosloth (Stan Osipov) is a pretty general artist on Instagram, pumping out at least one sketch a day; his works are namely skeletal, usually black and white, usually accompanied with an odd little strip of slogan text which rarely fits the image subject. People have gotten his works tattooed, he's almost up to 300k followers now, etc etc, he's doing alright for himself.

If there's one thing that millennials and gen-Z kids' insane internet vigilante rampages have taught us, it's that successful people can be, and often are, problematic as all hell. Beebosloth is no exception.

I had been following the artist for close to 3 years, giving him general support through likes on his posts, but also going an extra mile in standing up for him for 2 problems he had been facing repeatedly as an artist. First, due to the general popular aesthetic of his art, his works were getting reposted a lot, often without credit. There would even be imitation accounts which would post nothing but his art, essentially pretending to be him. I repeatedly took it upon myself to give them the ol' trollish finger wag, in an unlikely hope they'd better their behavior or at least let passersby know who the real artist was.

Another problem he was facing was Instagram support; (Ooh what a surprise, when has that ever happened to anyone)? The way he went on about it had us all believing that Instagram would never punish those who committed these unethical acts. And that was the entirety of the problem at first; not punishing other people who had done him wrong. He made several posts and stories complaining about this, usually enticing his followers to go out and do his bidding in this regard. Then . . there was an incident, and the first instance that really alerted me to Beebosloth's behavior.

This is a man who spends half his posts whining because he refuses to learn how internet-related copyright laws work. Even though with the sheer amount of trials and failures he's experienced, he should be an expert on them by now. A dude who claims every 5 seconds that he's getting his work stolen . . . which is why this next part is such a kicker.

I wish I could remember the time exactly, (but unfortunately I'm not pursuing a degree in problematic Instagram artists, and these details have just really just slipped my mind). It was March; I believe of this year. I scrolled through Instagram like normal, came upon a new post by beebosloth, and noticed that this one had about twice the typical amount of attention attached to it. Osipov had posted a doodle of a skeleton arm, holding up a ticket which read "1 WAY TICKET TO HELL." Pretty simple, pretty basic. And the next picture on the slide was the exact same thing, only this time, it wasn't in his style. I believe he also included screenshots of an incredibly petty argument between him and the other artist, in which she accused him of stealing the design from her. - In the caption he's ranting, he's raving, Instagram copyrighted his version and removed it. He does something else too . . . .

Now, these images are the exact damn same, I wish I could find her original work but it has really just disappeared. After what Stan Osipov does next, it wouldn't really surprise me if she deleted her Instagram to cut out the toxicity of this whole situation. And here's the most important part to consider of all of this; not beeblosloth's cruel, immature, reaction, not his history of sending his followers to spend their own personal time being terrible to other users on his behalf, this-

The artist who claimed Osipov had stolen her work- posted it first. Actually I believe she posted it a few weeks before beeblosloth ever did. And keep in mind- the only feasible difference between these two photos is the art style. They are exact same in every possible detail. Now, unfortunately, at the time I was a member of beebosloth's cult following. I really made up any possible excuse to believe that somehow, regardless of how impossible and ridiculous it would be, this girl was lying about beebosloth just ripping her off majorly. Even though- she kept the matter private, between themselves. Beebosloth was the one who posted their screenshots, made this a "let's get everyone involved and invoke the wrath of my followers" thing.

In the caption, (or maybe in a new post), Beebosloth then goes on to beckon everyone to draw this image, he starts a #drawthisinyourstyle challenge. He also, of course, incites his followers to go send hate the the original artist. I will admit I stupidly wanted to believe beebosloth was the original artist, and maybe there was some justification to him posting the screenshots, but that part, I didn't like. That was totally unnecessary, even if he was somehow telling the truth.Can we just step back and assess how insane this situation is?

Osipov casually rips off another artist

He gets caught, called out in private, and the image is removed

He reposts his imitation image, as well as the original one, the original artist's details, the screenshots from their private conversation; he tells his followers to go send hate to the original artist because she hurt his feelings by calling him out.

He starts a competition encouraging everyone to rip off her image in their own style. In turn getting dozens of results, making a considerable chunk of the Instagram art scene focus all negative attention on the original artist. "Well if I can't have it, I guess everyone can." (It's almost impossible to find left over images of the challenge, but I remember there being dozens upon dozens of submissions. I will post one I managed to find, as well as the original rip-off by beebosloth.)

And me and his other followers were totally blind to this insane, ridiculous, behavior. I find that all of my red flags that make me dislike people and their actions boil down to a very simple act: Being shitty to another human when they're not doing anything harmful. That's exactly what Osipov was doing here, and I just kind of let him convince me she was the perpetrator.

-- The remainder is an explanation of why I personally snapped out of this and realized he is just a really sleezy dude, it gets a bit petty, read at your own discretion. --

I kept following him after this for months, sending likes to those stolen general commercial T-shirt slogans slapped on a sketch of skeletons doing basic little things. And then one day a few weeks ago, an image crawled across my feed whose incredibly vague message just didn't sit right with me. The image, as you should be able to see here (if I've successfully posted it), contains a scene of someone trying to post something on instagram, and there is an error message which reads "Oops, nobody gives a shit about you or your selfies. Post anyways?"

First reaction: YIKES, who has Stanny got a vendetta against today? The username of the poster was "dumb bitch" to boot. I honestly couldn't tell if he was attempting to shame someone specific, people who just enjoy posting their selfies, women on Instagram, the message was so unclear and the caption wasn't a help to say the least. Actually the caption was . . . The only possible relation the caption could have had to the art itself, was . . . no actually I really can't find a damn thing to relate the two. It had the same weird aggressive energy as the image, but it was essentially an uncomfortable and unwanted pep-talk? No . . . what in the fresh hell would you call that caption?

Anyways, I just assumed the caption didn't really have a direct relation to the art image, as that was something he'd done before and is pretty typical on Instagram. But I still had a problem with the message of the image itself; essentially teaching people to feel bad about posting their selfies, and holding some sense of superiority to those who dare share an image of their face every so often. How incredibly boring, and my reaction posted in the images explains why this personally pissed me off. And if there I talk like someone complaining in an Instagram comment section, well . . . I wonder why.

His reaction - Oh man his reaction, you could not have killed someone's loyalty to you faster if you used their pet in your omelet. I mentioned how I was confused at the caption in the end of what I was saying, and I guess that's the part that offended him?! I haven't a clue how, but he starts in: "The fact that you don't understand leads me to believe that you are still very lost."

. . . . WHAT?! bahahaha! Where the hell did that come from?! My mouth fell agape. First of all, I didn't understand his caption for the shear fact that it was vague and unrelated to the image. Secondly, beebolsoth, where in the shit did I say anything about being lost and remind me when I paid you to be my psychiatrist. He goes on in this ridiculous narcissistic tone, making totally wild claims as if he's known me my whole life and can speak to my personal character, and my mental state. What a creep. Is he playing The Rewired Soul here? I didn't know, I didn't particularly care. The mild entertainment I received from viewing his images wasn't worth being talked to like I've just told freaking Sigmund Freud I don't like the taste of lima beans. After receiving some darling, and for some reason, racist hate from his cult followers, I unfollowed him.

But really, isn't that just one of the cringiest feelings out there? Realizing you've been doing back-flips for someone who would treat you like absolute dirt just for the fun of it? Well, now this experience is documented. Hopefully the true original artist of the "One way ticket to hell" piece is doing alright. And the next time Osipov does something weird and horrible, people can come here, and know it definitely wasn't the first time.

#beebosloth #artist #instagram #problematic #long post #screenshots

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punkwithpaints · 7 years

Text

Weeb Story #2

Time for another story. Gather around.

Remember the weeb M I talked about in my previous story? We’re gonna discuss her again, but more in depth. First off, she was a homestuck weeb, and liked ‘smexy yaoi’. (Spoiler, she’s still a major edge lord.) Anyway, she never really talked to me, but of course was ticked off about my art, and hated me alongside T. (Read my first weeb story to better understand.) Of course, she only drew this cringy I-try-too-hard-to-make-my-style-look-unique tumblr/anime lemon way. Literally, minimum effort, no attention to anatomy or anything.

So, first encounter was after her, T, and another girl bullied me to give up my makeup master position in drama. Now, in case you can’t tell, I love deer. I know how to make deer/fawn make up VERY well okay? In the play we were doing, we had a Stag character. Despite them pushing me out of the lead position, my teacher still wanted me to do a lot of the make up anyway. I may not have liked her, but I’m a professional person, and would have done her make up anyway, just like anyone else’s. However, she would run into the makeup room early, just to do her own makeup. (Badly, literally had people tell me they didn’t know what she was after the show.) During the dress rehearsal, I messaged my teacher to let him know what was happened, and requested that he please speak to her so I could do her make up. (I would like to mention, she’s his favorite, despite how he said he didn’t pick them.) He told me to leave it alone and that she looked fine. But god forbid she say we did something. We’d get this giant lecture of ‘Be professional! We are a family!!’

Apparently not asswipe.

Whatever though. I figured that if she wanted to go out with shit makeup, she could. Whatever. Also during this, T was told she was NOT to help with makeup. Guess who ‘helped’ and fucked up everything? I had the actors and actresses coming to me and asking to fix their makeup. (This play included a lot of animal makeup.) Both of them were just DETERMINED to make sure I didn’t get to do my job properly.

That was the first incident.

Now, one day, the Art 4 class had an assignment where you draw 2 random words out of a bucket, and that was your band name. You then created a CD cover and a list of songs. (Keep in mind, I was in 2 independent art studies at this time, and a senior. Art 4 is usually seniors. Due to me being in independent studies, I wasn’t doing this assignment.) Being a student known through the school for being a good kid, I was always allowed to go to the art room. I’d collect my work and head down, since the teachers knew I would complete the work. So, I was down there, chilling. It was about the half way point of Art 4′s assignment, and a lot of the students were still working on their cover art. M turned hers in. Mama B (My art teacher) is smart. She’s been doing this job a while and knows a lie when she sees one. The thing about M was that she always wanted to get done with her assignment ASAP so she could get on her Ipad and look at manga’s, merch, and watch anime, or read Homestuck stuff and scroll through Tumblr. Miss B was sitting at the tables, across from M, when M slid her CD case over with the art and stuff done, telling Miss B she was finished. Class ended and me and my friend were hanging out in the art room since it was break. Miss B called us over and was like, “She didn’t draw this, did she?”

We looked at the cover and HELL NO she hadn’t drawn that. We could tell, and so could Mama B. (Miss B and Mama B are the same person Btw, for clarity) She just kinda hummed and nodded. “Thought so.”

Next day in that class, Miss B had a talk with the whole class, explaining what copyright was and how you could be arrested/charged with it, how you can’t do it in college (obviously), and that it wasn’t creative and all that. M just kept rolling her eyes and huffing, glaring at Mama B. Miss B sat down by M after than and gave her CD back and very privately and calmly explained she wasn’t accepting it and asked her to come up with something else. She even encouraged her as well to try and motivate her, offering to help her brainstorm.

M refused the help, getting all pissy and standoffish. Miss B headed back to her desk and worked on grades and all that while M bitched about how she was a bitch, how she was always grouchy and it was stupid she couldn’t express herself, blah,blah,blah. When did tracing become expressing yourself??? Anyway, like I had mentioned, I was in 2 Independent Studies, as a senior, while everyone else was only in Art 4. I took Art 4 my Junior year and had a lot of senior friends, which I really missed since they had graduated. 2 of them had stopped by to say hi about 15 minutes later. They came over and sat with me and my 2 friends, asking use how we were doing, what we were working on, all that. I was happy to see them and was happily talking to them, not working on anything. (My independent studies basically was me working on college portfolio pieces, refining my style, and drawing whatever I wanted. I had finished my drawing that day, so I didn’t have anything else to work on.) As we’re all talking, Miss b notices that some of the Art 4 kids are slacking off, she she reminds them to get to work and work on finishing their pieces.

Shit you not, I haven’t said 2 words to this weeb and she just ‘muttered’ (AKA, she wanted me to hear it. Jokes on her, I didn’t hear it, but know who did? Miss B.)

M: Well, if they don’t have to work, I’m not going to either.

Miss B has the patience of a saint, but when you say dumb shit like that after tracing and trying to deny it, she’s gonna snap. Mama B shot back to her, (not so privately this time.)

“They’re not even in this class, they’re in an independent study. They’re done with their work while you haven’t even started after 2 weeks in.”

M kinda just sat there like, “Well shit.” But still rolled her eyes and shut up. Still didn’t get started though, just sat there moping on her Ipad and getting on Tumblr.

And after that, all my chill and patience was gone. So, that summer rolled around and my memory is foggy, but I believe she threw shade or something at me on Facebook. I was also still irked she would trace art (still, after graduating), and had sad such rude things to me and Miss B. I can stand her saying things about me, but given that Miss B was such a nice person, I couldn’t stand that. She had also done something to my friend that was absolute bullshit, which I won’t get into. They’ll post it if they want. So, she drew these 2 sketches (absolute monstrosities with no anatomy.) Now, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m petty as fuck and have no problem reminding someone to sit down. One of her drawings was a person (???) sitting on a couch, one arm behind the back of the couch, and the other was a face (??? Lemon with eyes?) trying to be edgy with a phrase relating to madness or something.

Well, what a nice pose you got there. I see you like copying and tracing art. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I ‘heavily referenced’ your sketches there. I mean, if we’re going on their logic, we’re not copying if we change a few things. Just referencing.

So, I drew someone sitting on a couch, and Alice from Alice in Wonderlands face, a clock around her head with the phrase, “We’re all mad here.” Added the same caption she did. “Sketches <3 <3 <3″

Shockingly, she was pissy about it, and started to bitch on Facebook, making a bunch of posts.

“Wow, if you’re gonna copy my art at least give me credit or something.”

“lol funny how you’re trying to one up me.”

Wow, I thought you didn’t mind tracing and copying???? You said you were a real artist, and you did that, why am I suddenly the bad person???? Omggggg, it’s like it’s not fun when someone copies your stuff, changes a few things, and says it’s theirs. Wowie. Doesn’t feel good does it? Hypocritical much? (Disclaimer: This is the only time I’ve done that, I hate the idea of copying and tracing someones work. Bases too. You’re not an artist, you’re lazy.)

My art friends (including the senior ones) had been told what happened via me, and was loving it. One of the senior friends that had visited posted,

“If someone is better than you, maybe you should learn from them rather than get mad?” (All these are separate posts btw, Major Shade being thrown, M’s post to that was, ‘Lol. K.” )

My friend, we’re gonna call her C, has ZERO CHILL. You think I’m bad? C is 10x more concentrated with sass than me. C wasn’t having this considering she was also pissed at her for hurting our other friend and being a tracer. She made a status that said:

“Sometimes, people are better than you, and in worse case scenarios, everyone is better than you. Get over it”

I had a bunch of other friends also getting behind me and defending me, since they knew what she had done in the past. (Again, for more context, read my 1st weeb story)

Long story short, M realized she had fucked up and no one was on her side, and unfriended me.

Nice.

Final thoughts: Was it kinda childish? Yeah, kinda. But I figured if she wanted to act like a child, I should get down on her level to try and make her understand. Still, no regrets.

#weeb #weeaboo #weeb cringe #weeb stories #weeb story #art #art class #art classes #homestuck #homestuck cringe #anime cringe #anime #personal

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