#Instead of just flaring up our anxiety and making us very uncomfortable

[cambriancrew]

Just wanna muse a bit about us-Willows' plurality and all the things it's not.

Tw for discussion of trauma, structural dissociation, and triggers

From way back when we were very little, we talked to each other in our head, had our own opinions, could think our own things independently and simultaneously (though only one of us could be thinking in words at a time, but we're primarily nonverbal thinkers) and we swapped control easily and effortlessly and usually at least a few times a day. On school days, Crystal would be in control for most of school, Sunni mostly for recess and hanging out with friends, Shiloh mostly for when we were bored, Anna partly for hanging out with friends at recess and lunch and for dealing with bullies - both harassing us and our friends. After school, it would be Crystal for chores and homework and reading for fun, Sunni for hanging out with family, Anna for watching over our younger siblings, and Shiloh for Bible study and bedtime prayers and meditation to help us sleep. On weekends it would be mostly Crystal for more reading, Shiloh when we got dragged away from books and kicked outside to play (more like "be bored out of our minds while getting fresh air.") Sundays would be a mix of all of us participating in church with Shiloh doing the most, unless we were helping out in the nursery which was Anna's domain.

Keep in mind these were all trends, not hard and fast rules, especially with how easily we switch and how ever-present all of us are.

So while Crystal took the bulk of our time most of the time, and was primary for most of it (the one to do most of the stuff and to be the one who wakes up in control) we were all really present in our life.

And it's been that way too after graduating and in our adult life too.

We don't know how to Not be this way.

We spent several months really considering hard whether we're ANPs or EPs, and recognizing within each of ourselves our ANPs and EPs.

Now, the theory of structural dissociation does suggest that in some cases, alters can each be a grouping of ANPs and EPs. However, that organization within tertiary structural dissociation is heavily associated with more severe dysfunction and distress, which we don't have.

We used to have more symptoms of CPTSD, especially just after we were getting out of our relationship with our abusive ex.

But for us, the distinction between having CPTSD as a plural system, and having tertiary structural dissociation and consequentially DID, is pretty obvious. We don't have amnesia. We have a pretty good memory for the most part, in fact - trained it in childhood to help with ADHD forgetfulness, like forgetting to lock the door on the way out and forgetting to grab our planner before leaving school or forgetting our locker combination if we got a new lock recently, nothing serious like forgetting our personal history or ourselves or people we knew (though our memory for names is still not so great. Part of that is we innately primarily link people to their stories and histories, not names. And we don't really recognize people by faces, but by how they move due to our legal blindness without glasses and how long we went in childhood without glasses. [Didn't get them til we were 15!!]) And even our corrected vision isn't that great. Enough to pass the driver's test, at least.

So. Normal levels of forgetfulness (slightly higher than normal due to undiagnosed untreated ADHD, inattentive type). No amnesia.

And our CPTSD, unlike our PTSD, is very interrelational. Issues with interpersonal relationships and safety and feeling secure. And those are experienced, not between us, but in us Willows as a whole. Our reactions to those are different, but our differences are very much related to our personality differences. And it's like, instead of that trauma pushing us apart, it brought us together. Hard to explain, easy for us to feel.

We feel like, if we had more severe tertiary structural dissociation, it would have affected us more strongly than it does, too. Like we said, and have said before, while we do have C-PTSD it is by and large mostly resolved. We're much more severely affected by our PTSD, especially the food related trauma, which affects us, if not quite daily anymore, then at least a few times a week. And it's still SO MUCH BETTER than it used to be.

Also, our ANPs and EPs are clearly defined within ourselves as individuals. Crystal is primarily the healed core person - core + ANP merge - though she does have CPTSD parts that pop back up from time to time - a firefighter (addicted to escapism through reading) and exile (inner child that bears a lot of shame and perfectionism and used to have a lot of self-directed anger) and manager (perfectionist learner who wants to know all the things in order to protect ourselves and people we know.) Each of the rest of us have a similar set - a mostly healed ANP + core merge, and some or all of the CPTSD parts.

Our EPs only come out when we're triggered, and that's pretty rare these days. Even when we have nausea from migraines or our digestive system issues, it's usually not enough to truly trigger us these days. They're mostly just feelings and reactions, not clearly defined and distinct fragments of us, and certainly not individual people within us, not like our core selves are.

CPTSD and PTSD just overall fits us so much better than DID or OSDD-1.

[its-me-im-coraline]

First impressions // All

words // 1184

warnings // not explicit smut, more like teasing of smut

pairing // none particular, gn!reader

author's note // if you want to be on the tag list let me know. this is such bad writing omg. I can not easily navigate a scene between so many people without it looking weird i am so sorry and i do hope you like it. sorry for not posting last night but as i said i was having a panic attack. anyway im better now, hopefully ill be able to post one more fic tonight

request // yeap, here it is

summary // The band might have considered more than once of ‘entertaining’ their best friend. After their I wanna be your slave video comes out, sweet ol’ Thomas can not help but suggest they encounter their reacting to the video clip and showing them some of their moves.

Thomas’ idea did not just come out of the blue. It was not a spontaneous thing to do, but a long time formulated thought coming into reality. In all honesty, Thomas, Victoria, Ethan and Damiano had thought about it before, plenty of times. Having Y/N stay with them any time they were at the studio house was flaring up these thoughts like crazy. It was not just one time that the four of them had talked about railing them senseless initiating something more sexual with them, only the fear that they would be pushed away, keeping them from making a move. But after having seen the anticipation from the promotion for theri video clip of I wanna be your slave, Thomas went out on a limp making a move for them all after the video dropped.

“Hey, Y/N, what are you up to?” There were no regards as to whether it was ok to get in or not. The man just sat on the bed, a phone in his hand with it’s screen lit up already.

“Not much, Thomas. I was just finishing some things up on my laptop. What are you guys doing here, all together?” It was not common for all of them to be in the room at once. Usually they only were all together in the living room or outside, the time in any bedrooms spent with two or three at the time and late at night when they couldn't sleep.

By now the other three occupied the small room, sitting anywhere they could: a chair on the desk, on top of said desk, the bed. “We were thinking, cucciolo.” The one to speak up now was Ethan, sitting on their other side, hand in their hair, messing with it just like he always did.

“Our video clip is out and we wanted to see your reaction.”

“I told you guys I’ll watch it when I’m done with the assignments-”

“Did you not just say you’re done?” Damiano had a sneaky smirk on his face, seeing how flushed he made the band’s friend, getting caught in excuses.

Maybe I just don’t want to see it around you, they thought, avoiding to speak, instead nodding their head.

“Then let’s watch it, puppy.” This time it was Victoria’s chance to speak up, taunting the poor person on the bed. The blonde was on the other side of the room but it did not stop her from making Y/N flush in their seat, only fueling her desire to film the up and coming reactions.

Before the video started everyone shifted. Damiano and Ethan were on the right side of Y/N, Thomas and Victoria occupying the left, all within reach of the poor puppy in the middle. They all knew how quickly they’d react to it all, squirming in their seat at the thought of Vic tasting them like a candied apple. “Do you like it, puppy? Want me to tease you like that?” said girl questioned, never weavering from the filming

It seemed like every little thought was simply worse than the previous, the tip of the iceberg being Victoria tied up, all so wonderfully. Such a sight for sore eyes. At it Y/N let out a strained gasp, unable to hold it in.”What is it, cucciolo, you want to be tied like that? I can do it for you,” whispered Ethan, hands quick to tie up Y/N’s with a shoelace he found a few minutes ago. It was not tight but it was enough to restrain their arms behind them.

“So good you are,” he praised, placing his hand in their hair, giving space for Damiano to put his on their thigh.

The video went on, all these scenes with Damiano screaming at everyone’s face simply heightened the already extreme emotions Y/N was experiencing. The man himself could only laugh at that, face coming close to theirs, just like he did for Thomas on the video clip, so assertive, dominating even.

“Are you enjoying yourself, puppet?” His words pierced through them, shivers overtaking their body, a feeling that could only be described as anxiety but also excitement accompanying it.

It was all a dream, or it felt like it. Such situation was too good to be true for Y/N, causing the fear of this being just a very realistic dream. But, Thomas’ kisses on their neck and Ethan’s light tugs on their hair reminded them of the reality they were living inside of. “Use your words, bambino,” said Damiano, the same smirk as before all over his face.

“Yes, I enjoy this,” they finally whispered, words forced out.

The next few seconds were quiet, only facial expressions portraying any reaction, all four of the band members just looking, admiring their beautiful friend and silently agreeing on their next move. It was when they saw Damiano and Ethan kiss and share that pink bubble gum that the band got entertained. Their lips got parted, cheeks flushed to the point of ‘burning’ to the touch, their eyes got wide, all but drooling over the scene unfolding in front of their eyes.

A shock wave shot through Y/N’s body as Ethan grabbed their head, tilting it back, the video clip still in the background, attacking their lips in a hungry kiss. It was hot, wet and sloppy, and it went on for a bit, until the tall drummer ushered his tongue into the mix, allowing the same type of cherry bubble gum from the video clip to move in Y/N’s mouth at once. They did not know what to do, their mind utterly blank and unable to decide on an action.

“Bite it.” Thomas let the two words out of his mouth, straight into their ear. He looked so shy and innocent most of the time, who would have thought he had it in him. “Now move your head, puppy, just like that,” he all but moaned, pulling them back towards him.

“So good for us all,” Thomas spoke again, now him being the one to kiss Y/N, ridding their mouth of the gum and leaving sloppy kisses from their lips to their neck.

Victoria was fed up with how long the escalation was taking, unable to wait a minute longer before she could have her second of fun. With that thought in mind, she pulled the phone from Y/N’s hands, shutting it off and setting it on the nightstand.

“You already know what happens after, pet.” Her voice was more demanding than anyone could anticipate, very bossy one could say, but Y/N was not going to be the one to challenge it.

“Tell me if you are uncomfortable, baby.” Y/N let out a small ‘do it’, opening up their mouth and just waiting, caressing Victoria’s hands on their face.

“Such a good pet,” she praised, going ahead to spit in their mouth before assessing her ‘art’.

“I think we need another ‘rehearsal’ to get it right,” smirked Damiano, “there’s just a few more creative touches we need to add.”

tag list: @bieberhoodforever @tabi-toast @ginny-lily @moriro-da-regina @the-killer-queenie @makapaka11 @teenyweenynightghost @superchrystaldrug

[harrysgloves]

This Will Be Our Year

Summary: Harry comes home with you for your family New Year’s dinner.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Language. Shitty families. Smut/ Harry’s got a filthy mouth.

A/N: Okay, lets all pretend that I got this out on Saturday instead of Tuesday... Big shout out to @meetmeinfleetwood for making this “to lovers” fic challenge. It was the first fic challenge I’ve ever done! And I loved trying to figure this one out.

I picked ‘Friends to Lovers’ with the prompts: “You think anyone heard us?” & “You keep that photo of us in your wallet?”

>>>

You didn't miss the upward turn of your best friends' lip when you anxiously readjusted the hem of your dress for the millionth time. You didn't even bother trying to steady your shaky hands as they tugged down on lacy black fabric that touched a few inches above where you normally wore your skirts or shorts

"Stop it." You huffed as he let out the tiniest breath of a laugh at your struggle. 

"Sorry, love, think y'look great." He smiled that lazy half smirk that made your stomach flutter but you had no time to worry about that right now. No, right now, you were on your way to visit your parents for the first time in a year.

The excuses of being busy with work, having no time to travel, not having the money for it, or literally any other excuse you could come up with had finally stopped working. Your mother fully demanded for you to come back home for the traditional New Year's dinner your family had every first weekend of the new year. You would have said no, but the second her disappointed voice floated in from the other end of the phone, you knew there was no way out. 

You deeply loved your immediate family. It was the extended family that you could go without. The bitchy cousins who always seemed to be doing better in life than you. Know-it-all Aunts who gave you unwelcomed dating advice or worse, they'd sit and examine why you didn't have a man 

"Yeh sure 'bout this?" He asked from the driver seat, his hand grasped on the wheel so tight you could see his knuckles turning white. "We could fake sick or somethin' if yeh want out. Bad gas station sushi, maybe."

A smile broke across your solemn face. The snort of a laugh that creaked out of your lungs washed a bit of relief over Harry. His hands gently lifted pressure from the wheel.

"Gas station sushi is the best you could come up with?" You teased from beside him, head turning just in time to see that dimpled smile you loved so much. 

"Wha' not believable?" He grinned, playful green eyes shot your way before focusing back on the road. 

You shook your head no as silence fell over the car again. Only one more turn and you'd be there.

"If yeh get uncomfortable, just tug on my shirt and we'll go, yeah?" He said as the gravel from your parents driveway crunched under the car's weight. Your stomach churned at the sight of everyone else already there. Anxiety flaring deep inside of your body, your chest suddenly felt tighter even when you let out a deep breath.

"It'll be okay." Harry said after a moment of letting you try to calm down. His ring filled hand enveloped your own shaky hand that rested on your lap. A calm washed over you from his touch. His warm hands melted away the troubled feeling that was lurking in the depths of your soul.

"I'm sorry in advance for whatever they say." You mumbled, giving his hand a squeeze. You missed the small up turn of his lips from your action, the way his cheeks tinted the softest shade of pink. You thought his cough was to dismiss what you'd said, not knowing it was him trying to himself that you only saw him as a friend.

"'M pretty sure I can handle them, love." He smiled even though you shot him a very unimpressed look. "Wha'? I survived Simon Cowell, think I got yeh family." 

"Shut up." You chuckled as you brushed your hand off your leg. The other flung open the car door before you had a chance to chicken out.

>>>

Dragging Harry along for this dinner was the best idea you'd ever had in your whole life. Your family's attention was so far off you that you barely talked the hour before dinner and Harry was handling all the attention like a champ. His hand pressed to your lower back as your uncle grilled him about every famous person he'd ever met.

"Wait, so you're telling me that you know The Mick Jagger?" Your uncle looked a second away from breaking into a full out fangirl attack. Your lips rolled in your mouth to stifle the laugh that was bubbling in your throat before a harsh squeeze on your hips from Harry had you glaring daggers into him.

He nodded his head full of soft flowly curls, that you always wanted to run your fingers through, before shooting a smirk down to you. 

He was living for this. He loved being able to touch you, lead you around to talk to people. Adored when you playfully shoved him with your shoulder when he said something embarrassing about you. He tried to be as cool, calm, and collected as he could but when you fully leaned into his side his breathing caught in his throat. His hand pressed tighter into you, mostly to hide how much it was quivering from your closeness.

He had tried for over a year to come up with a way to tell you he wanted to be more than a friend. If he was being honest with himself, he wanted to be more since the night you two met, but he was too insecure about himself to speak up. You were just so vibrant. Your laugh, your smile, the way you talked with demand but was always such a sensitive soul. 

He was absolutely fucked for you and you had no damn idea.

You always thought he was too out of your league to even begin to entertain the want of something else with him. He was the great Harry Styles and well, you were just you. You, who happened to be friends with Glenne, who dragged you to a bar for a karaoke night almost two years ago. The rest between you and him was history. You'd gotten along so well and at first, you thought, it might have turned into something more, but he never tried anything more than stupid flirty banter which he seemed to do with just about anyone. So, you dropped it. Moved on. Now he was just Harry, you're really good, super hot, you may think about him when you meditate late at night, friend.

"Gonna get more wine." You said after you drank the last drop from the glass in your hand. You were going to need so much more wine if you were going to be listening to your uncle for the next 45 minutes until dinner was ready.

"Will y'bring me some too?" Harry asked with a glimmer of desperation in his eyes. You figured maybe he'd need the alcohol more than you did tonight. He had been putting up with a lot of crap from your family. 

You nodded your head yes before taking off through the hallways you used to run down when you were a kid, towards the kitchen. Your mind lost in a hazy of memories of you learning to ride your bike on your mothers freshly polished floors while the babysitter sat on your house phone with her boyfriend all night. The time your brother told you carving your names into the fancy trim along the bottom of the floor meant you two would live forever. 

The memories came to a screeching halt when you finally rounded the corner to the kitchen. Your cousin aka the bitch you hated most in the world lounged casually on the counter, her back towards you as she chatted with a friend she had brought along.

"Didn't think I was going to meet Harry fucking Styles. Would have at least done my hair." The girl you didn't know huffed out as you pressed your back to the wall. Desperate to get away from both of them. Suddenly you felt 12 again, hiding from Shannon before she had a chance to torment you.

"Not like you even need it. You already look better than Y/N without it." Shannon snorted out that nails-on-a-chalkboard laugh as your stomach sank. 

"True, girl is a bit mousy." 

"Don't forget annoying. Can't believe someone famous is hanging out with her."

A part of you wanted to turn around and walk away, but the other part was morbidly interested in what she said behind your back. Maybe, whatever she had to say, was what everyone said about you two when you weren't around.

"Think they're dating?"

"Fuck no." She scoffed with so much certainty behind her voice it made you cringe. You knew it was a bit dumb, especially since you tried to not picture yourself with him as much as possible but it still hurt. "Y/N's boring and bland as hell. He's probably too nice to tell her that he isn't interested and he feels bad that she never has any friends or a boyfriend." 

You knew you should have walked away when you had the chance. Every word that was uttered by the voice that caused your childhood trauma floated into your mind with daggers. 

Every bad thing you thought about yourself. Every reason you thought Harry would never like you was now confirmed by someone else.

"It's like his charity work for the year or something."

The last sentence was the one that broke you. Your eyes filled with tears as your feet finally unglued themselves from the permanent spot they seemed to be in. You ran for the safety of your childhood bedroom. Your mind too preoccupied with the thought that maybe, he did feel that way about you, to pay attention to anything else around you. You didn't register that Harry was only a few feet away from you when you slammed yourself into your old room.

The knocks on your door didn't bother you. You could care less to explain to our mom right now about what happened but tried your best to pull yourself together anyways. Your crying turned to quite sniffling when the knocks came again.

"Y/N, wha's wrong?" His anxious voice echoed through your door causing all tears or sniffles to stop immediately in their tracks. What the hell were you going to tell him? Your mind panicked for some lie you could use to cover up the fact you had a breakdown when the door opened, the hard metal of the door knob pushed you out of the way.

"'M sorry fo' comin' in but I saw yeh cryin' and I had to check on yeh." He mumbled uncomfortably from beside you as he shut the door again. "Wha' happened?"

"'S nothin'," you said as you dried your own eyes with the back of your hand. "Just, my cousin saying shit. I just took it a bit too personal for no reason." 

"'M sorry, petal." He cooed as his hand stroked the rest of your eyes off your cheeks away. Your head instantly nuzzled into his warmth. "Wha' was she goin' on 'bout?"

You tried your best to not tense up. Your eyes remained shut, head buried harder against his hand that still hadn't moved from your face.

"Told you, it's nothing. Really, it was dumb and I just- it's stupid H." 

"'S not stupid if it made y'cry." He frowned deeply as he lifted your chin up. Your eyes finally fluttered open to see disappointed written all across his face.

"She just-" you sighed, feeling dumb for being caught up in the moment. Her words stung but your knee-jerk reaction to cry was a bit over the top. You were embarrassed, your skin heated as his eyes trained on you. You desperately tried to look anywhere but him- the floor, the dresser, the door- anywhere. "She just… she said some things to her friend about how boring and bland I am. Said I had no friends and blah blah blah. Just dumb stuff." 

You shrugged, feeling uncomfortable talking about what had happened. You gave him the geist of it without having to divulge into the whole story. You figured it was better to leave the part about you being charity work for him out of it. An angry Harry was the last thing you wanted to deal with today.

"Yeh the least boring person I know." He said, finally breaking the silence. "And yeh far from bland. I mean, look at yeh," he gestured to your outfit, his eyes sparked as your face heated from the attention he was giving you.

"Shut up." You groaned, hands covering your burning face as he wrapped you up in a hug. His chest vibrated with chuckles as you buried your head into the crook of his arm.

"Come on, don't be embarrassed." His chin rested on your head as you fought to keep the pink blush across your face at bay. "Know I think yeh pretty. Prettiest petal've ever met." 

You could feel his body straighten up. Almost as if he got uncomfortable with being so forward with you. His hands held around you just a bit tighter and you could physically hear his heart start to race. You started to realize, maybe, just maybe, you'd been reading all the signs wrong.

You pulled away from him slightly, your lips rolled in your mouth as you peered up to him. The blush that lingered across his nose ran to both cheeks. His jaw clenched together, shifty eyes finally met yours after a long moment of avoiding your gaze. You could see gears turning in his mind.

"H?" You barely breathed out before he surged forward, his lips met yours with so force you were almost thrown off balance. Your hands quickly grabbed on his forearms to steady yourself. Your nails dug into the soft silk fabric of his sleeves as your mouth desperately tried to keep up with his frantic movements.

It was everything you'd ever imagined kissing Harry would be like. Soft, amazing lips pressed to yours. Warmth flooded your system, almost like he was bringing you back to life. His hand rested on your cheek as he pulled you closer, other hand around your waist, helping you keep balance on your tiptoes. Even if it was a bit rushed, it was perfect to you.

But then you felt him go rigid again.

"I shouldn't 'ave done that. 'M so sorry, Y/N, I know yeh don't like me like that and I got caught up and, and-nd, fuck 'm so sorry-" he rushed out in a ramble the second his lips parted from yours. Your eyes barely opened by the time he'd finished his rushed out speech. His hands ran nervously through his curls. Panic radiated off him.

"Who said I didn't like you?" You asked, halfway out of breath. His hands fell from his perfectly messy hair, down to his side. His mouth gaped open as he blinked slowly at your words.

"I, well, I thought-" He trailed off as you both stood there completely dumbfounded. 

You'd both liked each other this whole damn time.

"We're idiots." You giggled. Quickly ceasing the opportunity to close to space between you two again. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you pulled him to your level. This time, he was the one pleasantly surprised. The light humph out of him only fueled your fire as you dominated the kiss. Your tongue ran across his bottom lips, begging him to let you in. Tongues danced together in an unknown language as his arms circled you again. Holding you close as your fingers ran through the back of his hair.

It was quick. Both of you moved so fast, desperate for more. More touch, more skin contact. You felt that desire you'd pushed to the side flame to the surface as you both stumbled for balance. Your back was pressed tightly against the door after you both got your footing. 

Kissing was easy, but kissing passionately in an unknown space when you could give two shits-less about anything but each other, was hard. 

It wasn't long before the scruff on his face was burning into your sensitive and puffy lips. He'd taken over control over your mouth so long ago you had no idea where you started and he ended. Your hands, along with his, roamed uncharted territory of each other's bodies. Small gasps and light whimpers were flooding the room but you couldn't be bothered with caring right now. You were finally getting what you wanted, him.

"We should stop." He groaned, half annoyed with himself for trying to be considerate to your family. His forehead rested against yours as you both breathed in deeply.

You whined in protest at his words, your hips involuntarily grinded against him in a sense of desperation. He had winded you up like a damn play toy. He breathed a laugh at your neediness, his head shaking but you could see those dimples popping out when you stared up at him with doe-eyes. 

"Don't wanna fuck yeh fo' the first time in your parents house, lovie." He smiled widely as you let out a disappointed huff. Sure, you understood his point but that throbbing in core wasn't going to be going away any time soon. 

Harry considered it for a moment as he looked down to your glistening chest that was heaving in deep breaths. The swells of your breast had always been mesmerizing but, fuck, right now they look irresistable. His sight finally moved off your chest to your swollen and puffy mouth. He groaned at the sight, his mind instantly wondering if your other lips would look as beautiful when he was done with them.

His hand moved on it's own accord. Slipping up your dress, to your absolutely drenched panties. Your lip tucked under your lip, hips bucking in a need for more when you heard the most glorious moan fall from his lips.

"Can't leave y'like this, now can I, pup?" His lust filled eyes seemed to darken when you shook your head no. Your ruined underwear pushed to the side by his fingers, his breathing catching in his throat from just how fucking wet you were.

You whimpered and whined as he took his time leisurely circling around your clit, his finger skimming across your needy hole only teased you further. You could feel your nipples pebble against the roughness of your bra, feeling left out of the action, but you weren't complaining. 

"Quiet, or yeh gonna get us caught, sweetheart." Harry tried to scold you but you didn't miss the smug look of pride that sat on his lips. "Gonna have to keep you quiet, sweet girl." His free hand moved from the door, to your mouth. Three fingers tapped against your lips for you to open and holy fuck, you didn't think this would be happening today. 

A chill went down your spine as his fingers sat heavy on your tongue. He licked his lips as he watched you mimicked how good you'd suck him off later when two fingers entered you quickly.

"Fuckin' hell," he breathed out, the situation in his pants grew impossibly bigger while you moaned wildly against his fingers. "Jesus, fuck, yeh so tight. Gonna 'ave to prep yeh fo' me later, sweetheart."

You could barely register his words as he pumped into you again. His thumb pressed against your aching numb. He was reaching places inside of you that you'd never been able to reach. Places that you had no idea could feel this good. All sense of control left you as he hit that spot. His hand quickly pulled from your mouth to cup over top of it.

"Sing so pretty fo' me, puppy. Can't wait to hear how you sound when y'on my cock." Your walls quivered at his words, your juices dripped further down your leg as you began to quickly approach your end.

"'M ruin this little pussy later, gonna fuck y'until yeh can't handle it anymore." He started to ramble about how good you felt, how tight you were, how he was going to stretch you over his cock so good tonight that he'd ruin you. Your legs started to shake as your mind melted into a goo of pleasure. 

"Fuck, yeh like when I talk to yeh like that, don't yeh sweetheart?" You weakly nodded at his words, his hand around your mouth making it impossible to say anything but it wasn't like you'd be able to speak right now anyways. His fingers curled inside of you, pumping, his thumb switching from light touches to hard pressure. "I'd let y'talk to me like that later tonight but my dick is gonna be shoved in all the holes I can get into, puppy."

You could feel your eyes roll into the back of your head as the overwhelming flood of your release washed over you. Blinding white lights of adrenaline ran through your veins as you let out a guttural moan from a depth you had no idea existed inside of you.

You were a panting hot mess when his hands finally left your body. Sweet kisses pressed to your lips to calm you down.

"Do y'think anyone heard us?" Harry asked, his lips still hovering over your mouth as you let out a croak laugh.

"You think I care about that right now?" Your eyebrows raised as you peered up to him. His smile growing by the second as he wrapped you in a hug. "Come on, let's go, you have a few promises you made about tonight that I want to hold you to." You giggled as his cheeks flamed red, your hand reached for his but he didn't move. His boy glued in place as his eyes scanned around your old room.

"What?" You asked as you turned around to see him studying every inch of your childhood. 

"I didn't get to see it earlier." He shrugged a bit, trying to not seem like he was hyper focused on every detail. Your pile of old notebooks your mother kept "just incase you ever wanted them again", your old dresser that you'd painted at some point, your rose pattern bedspread, the mountain of books and magazines that were shoved away.

"Wha's this?" He pointed to the huge wall that was covered in nothing but pictures. 

"Oh, uhm, I used to put pictures of me and my friends on my wall. You know, like people used to do before Facebook." Harry chuckled as he shook his head at you. His hand fished into his back pocket as he moved away from you.

"What- what are you doing?" You asked, your eyebrows furrowed tightly together as you moved towards him. The picture of your and Harry's drunken photo booth session from New Year's last year in his hand.

"You keep that photo of us in your wallet?" You finally asked after he pinned it on your wall. His cheeky smile across his face as he threw an arm over your shoulder.

"Yup." He smiled widely as you chuckled from beside him. Your arm rested around his waist.

"Dork."

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 6)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2313 Warnings: none

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira​​​ Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 5 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Buzzing. There was constant buzzing in your ear, a combination of all the sounds around you blurring into an indiscernible mix you forced yourself to focus on. The steady drone is too slow for the quickened bounce of your leg shaking against the floor of the Uber that’s bringing you to your destination much faster than you expected. Your stomach is twisted in painful knots that sear deeper as you see the illuminated sign of Metro-General Hospital.

The way you’re feeling makes you want to head left through the emergency room doors but instead you charge ahead towards the main entrance. After giving your name you move to the side and await instructions from the security guard.

The buzzing hasn’t stopped though you quickly realize the pulsating vibrations were coming from your phone inside your bag. Quickly checking it you saw a text from Bucky wishing you good luck on the interview. You smiled seeing his name, feeling a moment of relief.

There was a shift in the air after you opened up to him the night before about why social work meant so much to you. Bucky had a much clearer understanding of you, commending the drive you had to come so far even with the obstacles you faced. You exchanged numbers before he left, acknowledging that Bucky was no longer just your neighbor but someone you considered a new friend.

The security guard hands you a visitor ID and gives you instructions to get to Ms. Rodriguez’s office from the elevator. Smoothing out your blouse you gave a friendly smile to the fellow passengers that entered as the doors opened to almost every floor on the journey up.

Two right turns and then a left at the nurses’ station until you found the corridor with blue doors. You rang the bell that buzzed a second later and pushed open the now unlocked door to enter an open room. A woman sits at a desk in front, gesturing for you to sit down on the row of chairs behind you as she continues her phone conversation.

Her desk is covered in a stack of thick manila folders, with one file open in front of her that she references on the call. You try not to eavesdrop despite being right there so you move your head slowly to observe the rest of the room. Cubicle walls divide a few other desks beside her. The walls are lined with tall file cabinets and a large potted Ficus drinks up the sunshine in the corner.

At the back of the room is a door that unexpectedly swings open, having been pulled so hard it seemed like it could have come off the hinges. A tall slim girl is scowling as her boots stomp down the hallway. She’s dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket as dark as her loose, uncombed hair. A woman steps out from the doorway, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Follow protocol Ms. Jones and we’ll get him.”

The girl turned around scoffing, “We’ll get him faster if I throw his ass through a wall.”

“Jessica,” she warned, flaring her eyes at the girl in a silent challenge.

It only took a moment for you to realize the woman was Ms. Rodriguez and suddenly your stomach began flipping again.

“Ms. Y/L/N?” she asked and you nodded, standing up to greet her with a handshake and a smile.

She asked you to follow her into her office, watching her thick braid sway as she walked ahead of you, holding the door open for you to enter. Her office wasn’t very big, or maybe it only felt that way since it was surrounded by even more large file cabinets.

“I apologize for that,” she began, “Jessica thinks using her fists might yield more results. This is a tough field, tell me what you wish to get out of it.”

Having recounted the full story with Bucky you were emotionally prepared to discuss all aspects of why you wanted to go into this field and it was clear to Ms. Rodriguez that you wanted to make a difference in the lives of those you were advocating for.

Her fingers twirled the large silver cross around her neck as she stared at you, your nerves rising under her silent gaze. Her face eventually relaxed into a smile and the weight was lifted from your shoulders as she welcomed you aboard as an intern. You couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across your face but when she began talking hours and scheduling it quickly dropped. You explained working full time and the hope you had for fulfilling your internship hours in the evenings.

“The issue is that some patients require our help to connect them with outside organizations to provide services and it’s unfortunate but most places stop answering their phones before 5 o’clock. There is a lot you can learn from us here but I would expect some daytime hours, otherwise this internship does not benefit you and I don’t mean to be frank but I can’t have you waste my time.”

Her straightforwardness made you feel nauseous but you understood. Your goal was so close, 1200 hours away until completion. You weren’t going to let it slip away.

“Thank you Ms. Rodriguez. I would love the opportunity to still do my internship here with you. If you’ll allow me the opportunity to speak with my employer, perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

This may be another obstacle in the road but you were going to get through it, somehow, someway.

The following day you woke up earlier than usual despite your lack of sleep. You almost texted Bucky at night, asking him to play anything in hopes the sound of his music would help drown out the anxieties in your mind. Instead you tossed and turned all night, unable to shut off your brain.

You didn’t want to text him anyway, knowing he would ask how the interview went. You avoided Steve and Wanda’s texts as well, seeking refuge at The Grind House but instead of doing research papers you worked on several plans. If you couldn’t make Stark Industries work with your internship then you’d have to find another job, or two, or three if need be.

You would make this happen no matter what but that didn’t ease the pit in your stomach; the familiar sense of dread that weighed you down uncomfortably like sandbags on your shoulders. Optimism and fear were fighting for dominance in your mind and for now you gave in to all the fears and worries. There would be no telling what path you would travel next, not until you spoke with Maria.

Steve wasn’t in yet so you were thankful to not have to run into him in the morning. The clicking of your heels against the tile floor echoed throughout the empty lobby. You couldn’t help but tap your foot, impatiently waiting for the elevator to arrive. Lost in thought you didn’t hear the footsteps of a person come up beside you. It wasn’t until you entered the elevator and were surprised to see someone else walk in.

Dressed in a sharp three-piece navy suit with a deep red tie stood Tony Stark. A perfectly trimmed goatee framed his smile as he took off his tinted sunglasses.

“G-good morning Mr. Stark,” you nervously greeted.

“Morning miss….” The word slithered on his tongue, dragging out the sound as he combed through the information of his brain to remember your last name. “Y/L/N!”

“You know who I am?” You didn’t mean to sound so pathetic but the words blurted out before you were able to stop them.

“That’s right kiddo. I know everybody that works for me,” he boasted.

He pressed his lips together forming a tight line, and he checked around the elevator as if you weren’t the only people there.

Tony leaned in closer to you, whispering, “Actually, that’s a lie. There’s one guy up in legal whose name I can’t ever remember. Is it Gary? Glenn? Gene? Geor– you know what, never mind. I know his face. That stays between us, okay?”

You nodded your head, but couldn’t help the odd chuckle that fell from your lips.

“So, are you angry?”

Your posture straightened, tensing up after his question caught you off guard.

“Before. The tapping?” He tapped his foot to mimic your earlier actions. “Pepper does that when she’s angry, usually at me.”

“Oh, no I… I’m just eager to speak with Maria about something.”

The elevator doors opened and Tony gestured for you to step out first.

“Might be a little difficult, she won’t be back for at least a few months.”

Worry settled on your face as Tony explained he asked Maria to head Stark International and begin overseeing their newest office in Australia.

“I had no idea…” you trailed off, wondering what this means not only for your internship but your job. “I’m her assistant…”

“That’s on me,” Tony said, raising his hands in defense. “I’m sorry, this was a real last minute decision. I know Maria thinks highly of you so if you’d like we can arrange for you to join her down unda,” he said with an accent.

“No!” You didn’t mean to shout. “I’m sorry. I can’t go there. I…I....” your voice trailed off as your lip began to tremble, feeling yourself plummet deeper and deeper into a pit of fear and uncertainty.

Tony noticed the panic on your face and the short gulps of breath you were taking. He guided you to the nearest chair and asked you to focus on taking long, deep breaths and blowing out steadily.

“You still have a job here if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said softly.

Tony’s eyes were full of compassion and based on everything you knew from Mr. Lee he made you feel comfortable enough to want to open up to him. With a deep sigh you explained your situation, from needing this job to afford an apartment up until the internship hours you were hoping to discuss with Maria, all the while still ensuring he knew how grateful you were for the job you had.

Tony pondered for a bit before the elevator opened and a few employees shuffled in, greeting him with surprise.

“Follow me,” he asked of you, following him to his grand corner office with floor to ceiling windows showcasing a beautiful view of the golden sunrise.

You took a seat on the soft leather chair in front of the sleek obsidian desk. His office was decorated with oversized black and white photos of old planes and cars, a few personalized touches and a small wet bar off to the side and yet everything seemed sterile. Maybe it was the way his own chair squeaked as he sat, like it was still being broken in.

Your fingers twiddled in your lap as you anxiously waited for Tony to break the silence. He gazed at you for a little longer, nodding slightly and quirking his head as if he was having a silent conversation with himself.  

“Stan told me you were a good kid but I wish he knew about your background. I would’ve put you on my team a long time ago.”

Your head twitched, taken aback. “Your team?”

“Me, Pep, a few others. We’re in the beginning stages of building a nonprofit organization, The September Foundation. I want it to change lives; develop after school STEM programs, fund student research, the whole shebang.”

The tendency you had of not shutting your mouth when you should have continued as you questioned why he thought you were appropriate for this.

“You want to help people, same as I and being part of this doesn’t look so bad on a resume.”

“My hours…”

“...can be flexible,” he finished. “We’ll work out the details but the job is yours.”

Tears of joy flooded your eyes but you held them back, closing your lids with relief as things were finally coming together.

“Thank you Mr. Stark, thank you so much!”

You shook his hand enthusiastically and turned on your heel with a smile. You nearly made it to the door before realizing you had no idea what to do now especially with Maria no longer there.

An awkward bubble of laughter came up as you asked, “What should I be doing today Mr. Stark?”

“Please, call me Tony,” he flashed a bright smile. “Greg or Graham or whatever his name is will finalize the legal paperwork in the next few days. Use those days to brainstorm. Tell me what communities you think we need to be in, what would benefit most, what would draw kids in. On Monday you’ll meet with everyone else to go over ideas.”

With a renewed sense of spirit you went to your desk, first to write Maria a congratulatory email on her new position and then to call Ms. Rodriguez about the internship, afterwards you went straight to work.

“Steve!” you shouted before the elevator doors finished opening, running as best as you could in heels towards him. “I have so much to tell you! I got the internship! I have a new job here! I’m– ahhhhh!”

Steve wrapped you in a firm hug as your excited ramblings turned into squeals of joy.

“We have to celebrate!” you beamed. “I’ll call Wanda and Sam and…”

You stopped to think about Bucky. He was new in your life and yet somehow the idea of celebrating without him felt wrong.

Later that night you knocked on his door, sporting a wide smile that spread across your face. It stretched even wider when he opened the door and blessed you with a sparkling grin.

Opening your mouth you said the first words that came to mind, “Will you go out with me?”

PART 7

[victoria-daydreams]

Of Vices and Virtues

Chapter Twelve: What Are These Feelings?

AN: Up until now, this story has been rather lighthearted hasn’t it? Well, this chapter is not. I hope the chapter isn’t too confusing to read, the italics denote memories/the past.

Word Count: 4.4k

Trigger Warning: period era racism, racial abuse, racial slurs, sexual assault, torture, physical and mental abuse

Taglist: @azayamari​

Chapter Thirteen: The Ballad of Claudia Walker

After the silent establishment between Erik and I on not discussing our night time conversation or the bathtub incident, things went back to normal between us. Well normal for us. I continued to find new ways to sass Erik and he still pretended I annoyed him. It was childish but fun. Pretty soon, the days turned into routine, days turning into a week, and then some. In fact, the dates would have blurred if it weren't for the constant announcements from the radio and the television. The routine was set and constant, running in the morning followed by physical training. After that, we went on with our individual training.

Today was no different, Charles had spent the day working on different tactics and ways of controlling the younger mutant abilities during their individual trainings with him. While I found myself entranced with the weight room. I had been dying to do something other than venture around. Something to waste time. I immediately went to the punching bag. I tied up my hair, wrapped my knuckles and feet, then got into my stance.

I closed my brown eyes, letting my surroundings fade, letting only the serene feeling of it just being me and the punching bag. I first just worked slowly on popping out each hand, as it carefully, but swiftly, hit the air. I did this for a minute, until I felt my hands were ready, and I began to move on to the bag. My left hand shot out, striking the bag with a fist, I was about to hit with my right as my fist threw forward, and connected with thin air. Dumbfounded, I opened my eyes in shock, and saw the bag levitating over my head. I whirled around, and found Erik with his brows raised at me.

"Give me back the bag," was my only demand.

"I think I might just leave it here," he snickered softly.

I pinched the brim of my nose, "Erik, I hope there's a reason for you coming in here other than being an annoyance,"

"As a matter of fact I do," Erik replied, the bag dropping to the ground behind me, as he started to move closer to me. "I was hoping to find you here actually," he stated, with his hands in his pockets.

"Why?"

"I have a question," Erik began. "Could you look into my head and know what moves I'm about to use on you?"

"Maybe, I could predict your movement by reading your emotional pulses," I guessed, shrugging my shoulders.

"How easy would it be to not do it?" Erik asked curiously.

I looked at him confused, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you see other people's emotions naturally? Or would you be able to stop yourself seeing how I'm about to attack you?" Erik elaborated.

I thought about his question for a while. I have never put that much thought into reading emotional pulses during a fight, I was mainly focused on everyday emotions and feelings.

"I could stop it. Block you off, so to speak," I finally replied, and he nodded.

"Good, do that,"

"Is this round two from our last little spar?" I asked, a grin on my face and Erik rolled his eyes, but he mirrored my grin.

The two of us stood for a moment, I was unsure of what exactly to do next, until Erik suddenly launched his fist towards me. I barely managed to block him, but didn't catch the kick to my shins, causing me to stumble. Erik continued to push me back, I could tell he was noting each failed block and each successful attack that I landed. Breathing heavily, I stepped back slightly and used my legs to my advantage, lashing out with a powerful front kick, spinning on the ball of my foot with a roundhouse kick, and continued the spin for a back kick.

That's when I felt Erik's foot on my rear and he pushed me off balance. Falling forward, I rolled and came up with fire in my eyes – and saw his smirk.

"Oh Claudia, for all your talk you're still simply a pretty face, not a force to be reckoned with," he taunted.

He was playing with me, trying to get a rise out of me.

"Damn this man to Hell," I thought.

Narrowing my eyes at him, I hopped up to my feet and raised my hands into a fighting stance, pure determination on my face to wipe the smirk off his face. I just needed to knock him on his ass one good time. Erik's fist blurred in front of my eyes and I nimbly slipped past the punch. The advantage was mine now, with a bob in my stance I unleashed a series of punches. Erik grinned at me, seeming proud that he caused me to show visible signs of frustration on my face. I think Erik was much too happy about it and dropped his guard because my fist flew right into his right eye. He slumped down on the ground with his hand to his eye momentarily stunned by the force of the punch I'd thrown.

"Oh my God! Erik I'm so sorry!" I hurried down to his side taking his head into my hands. "Let me see it!" I demanded, worry evident in my voice.

"I'm fine I swear!" Erik insisted taking his hand from his right eye.

"I'll be the judge of that thank you very much," I commented, placing my hand softly to his temple stroking his eye softly. "Does this hurt?" I asked, feeling guilty, but also an inkling of gratification at the same time.

"No, but that doesn't you should stop," Erik answered cheekily with his eyes closed contently.

"Ugh, I can't believe you!" I exclaimed smiling, letting his head drop with a soft thud.

I stood up and slipped my sneakers back on walking out the gym. I shook my head at Erik's antics and I could hear him coming from behind me. An arm wrapped itself around my shoulder and I peered up at him with an eyebrow arched.

"You always hit harder when I insult you," Erik commented, a grin on his face. "I guess I know what I need to do now," he added, and I rolled my eyes.

I folded my arms together as we made our way down the hallway, "Why, so I can end up like you?" I asked, a smirk forming on my lips. "Always running head first into everything and almost getting yourself killed," I pointed out, looking up at him again. "Although, I will say you had one interesting technique earlier..." I trailed off.

"And what was that?"

I stood on my tiptoes and leaned into Erik, "When you kicked me...I felt that you wanted a different...body part there instead," I whispered, drawing back from him.

Erik froze and laughter bubbled from my throat at his face. His eyes were wide, a stunned expression played on his face as I watched his cheeks slightly flushed with red. I clasped my hands together in front of me, smiling wildly as I moved away from the stock-still body of Erik.

"Thanks for the training Erik!"

~~~x~~~

It was late in the afternoon, and it was finally my turn to fine tune my abilities.

"I know you hate the idea of doing this, but it's for your benefit Claudia," Charles began, holding my hand in his own and I furrowed my brow as to where this was going. "I need you to lower your barriers for me," he continued, making my eyes widened and nostrils flare.

"What!" I yelped, my breathing began to quicken, becoming shallow. "No!" I exclaimed, shaking my head as I attempted to tug my hand away from Charles', but he kept a firm, yet gentle grip on it.

"Hey, hey, hey, don't be afraid. I've got you," he assured, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. "It will be one quick test and then we'll be done, okay?" Charles asked, a soft smile on his as he gave my hand a small squeeze.

He looked at me waiting for my response, but I turned my head away from his gaze. Still breathing rapidly I clenched my eyes shut, remembering the last time I trusted someone with my barriers lowered. But this was Charles. Charles was kind. Sweet. The opposite of him. He'd never have any ill-intentions with me. I took a deep, shaky breath as I calmed myself down. Suddenly, I felt two soft hands cup my face and slowly opened my eyes to meet Charles' eyes. I could see the twinkle in his eye that would cause many women to simper.

"Claudia," he breathed, looking at me. "I would never hurt you," Charles promised, using his thumbs to stroke my cheeks.

I opened my mouth to speak, but paused and looked down. I took another few deep breaths before looking up at him.

"One test?" I repeated softly.

Charles nodded, "You have my word," he stated.

I wrapped my arms around myself, slowly nodding my head, "Okay...I'll do it," I agreed, mustering up a weak smile.

Charles smiled as well, "You're going to be fine," he reassured, before planting his lips on top of my head.

Removing his hands from my face, he backed away from me just as the sound of footsteps came to a stop at the entrance of the library.

"Everything alright in here?" Erik asked, raising an eyebrow and looking between Charles and I before resting one arm on the frame of the door.

Charles flashed him a smile, "We're fine, I was just reassuring Claudia about her training," he explained, rolling up his sleeves

"So, we're all set then?" Erik questioned, pushing off the frame and closing the door behind him.

I arched an eyebrow, "You knew about this too?" I asked, my eyes slightly widening.

Erik nodded, "Charles knew you would be uncomfortable with this, so he asked me to be here as well to lessen your anxiety," Erik explained, walking over to where Charles and I were.

"Now Claudia, I want you to focus very carefully. Use your emotions to try and block me out," Charles instructed. "I want to see how quickly you can raise your mental shield on command,"

My expression was tinged with worry, "And what if it goes wrong?" I asked, looking between the two men.

"It won't," Charles comforted me.

I took a deep breath, my brows knitting together, "Fine," I sighed, closing my eyes I began to slowly lower my mental shield letting my mind be filled with the raw sensations and feelings coming from everyone in the mansion. Reopening my eyes I faced Charles. "Ready?" I asked nervously, starting to play with my hands.

He nodded, "On my count okay?" Charles asked, and I exhaled loudly while nodding my head as well. "Three...Two...One..." he counted, before he lifted two fingers to his temple as I raised my mental shield.

My eyes fluttered closed as I summoned all of the anger and fear that was coursing through me to block Charles from my mind. A sharp pain ripped through my head and a gasp escaped from my lips as I opened my eyes. The room started to spin and slow down, and the next thing I know, it's gone black. When I wake up, I am lying on soft grass. Grass? I sit up, rubbing my head. Looking around I see Charles and Erik do the same. What happened? Where are we?

"Claudia!"

I turned around and saw a caucasian teenage boy with brown hair gelled to the side and horn-rimmed glasses walking towards me. He looked about seventeen. I gasped as I realized who it is.

"James?" I asked the boy, bewildered.

But he doesn't stop, he runs right through me, as if I wasn't even there. Standing up, I looked around. Everything's slightly misty and fuzzy, and it takes me a while to realize where we are. We're in the meadow I used to play in as a child. I watch as my childhood friend, James, ran towards a teenage girl with medium length, black hair.

"Who is that?" Erik asked, arching a brow.

"It's me," I whispered, as a lone tear slipped down my face as I recalled happier times.

James was the first person outside of my family I ever told about my mutation. We became very close friends. I always felt my mother and father thought I was a freak even though they said that I wasn't. Still, I isolated myself, spending hours in this very meadow, lying in the daisies next to the river. I watched as James and my younger self laugh about something hysterically, and a small laugh escaped my mouth.

"This is most peculiar..." Charles muttered.

Erik and Charles moved closer to me, unsure of what is going on. I smiled at my younger self's happiness. What I'd give to be like that again.

James rolled over to his side, and wrapped one arm around my younger self's waist and leaned down, kissing her. His kisses were always soft and comforting. James rolled over to lay on his back and said something that caused them both to laugh. Suddenly, five teenage boys appear in the meadow.

I recognize them immediately, and my mouth fell open in horror as I realized what I'm about to witness. Again.

"No..." I whispered, almost breathlessly. "No!" I screamed, much louder, and Charles grabbed my hand.

The leader of the teenage boys, stalking towards them and they both stand up as James pushed my younger self behind him. Within a blink of an eye, the leader of the group landed a vicious punch on James' face and he fell to the ground, his nose bleeding. The three teenage boys yanked her from her spot as the other pair of teenage boys grabbed the struggling James and pinned him against the tree on the river bank. While my younger self was having a heated debate with the teenage boys.

Although I couldn't hear it. I knew exactly what they're saying. The four boys had heard that James and I were dating, and they had to teach this "negro lover" a lesson. They wanted to get rid of him and I knew, I was next. I don't have time to close my eyes as the knife is thrust into James' stomach. I heard a blood-curdling scream coming from the seventeen-year-old me. I could feel Charles recoil in horror and out of the corner of my eye I saw Erik had the same reaction. I watched, all over again, as James' body slumped lifelessly to the ground and the boys turn on me. Knowing what happens next.

A hand grabbed her shoulder and roughly threw her onto her back so that she was staring upwards into the faces of the three boys that were her age. One of them crouched over her, the one with those dead blue eyes, only now they were laughing in a way that made her scalp prickle with dread. The ringleader grabbed her by the arm and tugged her roughly off the ground.

"You know what, maybe our buddy James was onto something. She's pretty easy on the eyes for a negro," he rasped, an evil smirk forming on his lips as he tightened his grip around her arms.

And then before she knew it, he had grabbed her face in one of his meaty hands, and forced her mouth to his.

"Get off! Get off, get off, get off!" her thoughts screamed.

She tried to pull back with a mixture of shock and utter revulsion, but his friends were all around her, hands seizing her coat and hair, eager voices egging him on, laughing and leering as she struggled to break free. No one had been this close, without her permission. No one. And no one had the right to ever be this close, to ever touch her as he was doing now. His hand was on her waist and traveling even lower, and all she wanted was for him to stop it, stop it right now. She wriggled, clawed frantically, bucking and juddering against iron-clad hands like a rabbit caught in a snare, but he only mashed his face further into hers.

And suddenly there was so much rage contained inside her head, so much pure anger and hatred seething within her skull, that she felt that she might burst. Heat raced through her blood, a fire that she never felt before, that she hadn't allowed herself to feel in the pretense of being normal. But now this monster had crossed a line, was touching her in ways that left her feeling exposed and violated, like her skin had been torn away from her very soul to be gawked at. Murdering the boy she loved because he had the audacity to not care about her skin color and wanted to date her.

So perhaps this once she was at liberties to cross her very own line.

All she could see was red, as she pulled back furiously, lashing out in any way possible much to the amusement of my audience. Her skin grew warm, then hot, then boiling, thrumming with energy, the hairs along her arms rippling from the magnitude of it, far stronger than she could have possibly comprehended. Seventeen-year-old Claudia, in an enraged frenzy, outstretched her palm and a jolt of crackling purple energy roared from it, the distant ring of screaming in her ears, a warm tingle that played over her skin as the remaining energy fizzled and dissolved, melting back into the nothingness from which it had erupted.

Then...silence.

When the filter of red was lifted from her eyes and she dazedly took in her surroundings. One of the boys was at the base of a the tree, he wasn't moving and his neck looked deformed, the other boy was knocked into the river unconscious. Their ringleader's face was puffy and blistered, having borne the brunt of the attack, pus oozing from the more severe of the burns. She turned her head to see a deputy sprinting towards her, yelling for me to run. It was James' older brother John. By this point, John had reached her and she had a horrified expression on her face, matching the other teenage boy's as John tried pulling her away.

"Not only is she a negro, she's a freak!" One of the two remaining boys hurled the insult toward her.

She snapped back and yelled something at them and instantly one boy turned toward the river. Then, with no explanation, lowered his head into water and he drowned himself. The boy that murdered James took the knife that he was holding and slid it across his throat, silting his throat from ear to ear and a crimson liquid spilled from his throat, before he dropped to the ground.

She grabbed John by the chin and began to speak to him in a hurried tone, as if he had fallen into a daze, he gave a sluggish nod, and then slowly walked back towards his car to call in the crime scene.

My stomach churned and my heart pounded fiercely against my chest just as the image shifted and I let out a shaky breath, gasping for air. The memory had always haunted me, but I never thought I would have to witness James' murder again. As our surroundings change into a busy street. I had tears in my eyes, and I furiously wiped them away as new ones came trickling down my cheek. I turned and saw that Charles and Erik were staring at me. Charles' eyes were glazed as if he wanted to cry and Erik just looking at me with something like pity.

"What's happening?" I yelled at Charles.

"I must have pushed into your mind, your empathy mutation is allowing us to see your memories," he speculated.

Slowly, I spun around taking in our new surroundings, it was growing close to springtime and the streets of Washington D.C. were chalk full of busy people, rushing to get to somewhere they needed to be. Men and women hurried from work to get home, the elderly fed pigeons, and kids ran off out of their schools. It seemed like everyone had somewhere to go.

I let out jagged breaths as I shook my head now remembering why this day was a significant memory for me. A large hand laid down on my shoulder and I whipped around to see Erik standing next to me, looking mildly concerned.

"I'm fine," I stated automatically, pushing my hair out of my face with a shaky hand.

Erik looked unconvinced, but unsure of what exactly to do. He opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted when I gave out another gasp. I stepped closer to the wide window in front of us and peered in.

There was a young woman sitting at a table, absentmindedly running her finger along the rough wood of the tabletop next to her novel. She had lived there for almost two years and frankly was growing rather restless. It had been about a month, or maybe two since her boyfriend broke up with her because she was a mutant. She looked out the window that she was seated next to, watching as people walked by enjoying the company of others.

That was until she felt like she was being watched, her head snapped from the window and landed on a tall, tawny brown skin man. His dark brown eyes watching her curiously behind his round frames. His crisp white shirt stood out against the dim lit bar along with his smart grey slacks. Slowly, the man approached her and slid into the empty seat across from her, now she could fully see how handsome this stranger was. It was clear that the man was fit, you could the outline of his muscles underneath his shirt.

"Hello. Are you Claudia Walker?" she nodded slowly, and the man watched as her eyes became guarded.

The open book lay forgotten next to her.

"Who wants to know?" Claudia asked back, and the man smiled despite her rude and blunt attitude.

"My name is Professor Harry Lewis, I teach at Howard, and Miss Walker I believed you are a very gifted young woman," he complimented, flashing her with another smile.

She wanted to tell him that what she has wasn't a gift. It was a curse. But she didn't.

"Um, thank you Professor, but I-uh I promise that I'm not that gifted. My academics are great, but it's not better some of the students at the university," she pointed out.

"You think I'm talking about your academic performance Miss Walker? Oh, no, no, I'm talking what really makes you special, my dear,"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she stated, feigning a perplexed expression which was also expressed in her tone of voice.

Professor Lewis reached across the table and gently grasped her hand, his cold hands caressed her heated skin.

"I really do know what you are, Claudia Walker. I am here to help you, not hurt you,"

She jumped, it was Professor Lewis' voice, but in her mind? Maybe it wasn't, maybe she was going crazy.

"I can assure you, your sanity isn't to be questioned,"

There it was, again.

"Whatever you want. I want no part in it. I just want to live a normal life!" She whispered harshly, and went to stand up.

Professor Lewis gently tugged her back down with his hand, "Listen, let me explain first," he said, and Claudia slowly sat back down as he let go her hand. Professor Lewis slid from his seat across from Claudia and sat next to her. "Thank you," he sighed, turning his body to face her. "I didn't mean to intrude, but I heard your thoughts a few days ago about not having enough money to finish college, and I thought I could be of assistance,"

"How?"

"I'm running a lab for people like us, all you have to do is participate in some tests and then poof, your financial aid problems are gone," he explained, a charming smile appearing on his full lips, where a tiny gap between his front teeth could be seen. "And who knows, maybe I can teach you how to control your abilities better," he added, with a shrug. "I am a professor, after all," he joked, maintaining his smile.

And now he had her intrigued – what if there was a way? What if she could manage some semblance of control over this? What if some day she could look into someone's eyes without the fear of experiencing pain and rage and despair and love and roiling, frothing emotion trying to burn her alive?

"Sign me up," she answered quickly.

Professor Lewis clapped his hands together, a smile on his face, "Wonderful!" he cheered happily. "Now tell me about your powers Claudia," he stated.

"Well with my empathy, I guess I entrance people if I focus hard enough," she answered unsurely. "And there are times when my emotions affects everybody I'm in the room with," she explained.

"Wow," Professor Lewis commented, almost like he was very eager to please her. "So, you can control people?" he questioned curiously.

She bit her lip, "I've always hated that word when it comes to describing my ability," she said, letting out a nervous chuckle and turning away.

Professor Lewis grabbed gently by her chin with one of his cold hands. A shudder went through her and heat flushed in her cheeks.

"Embrace it Claudia, because you have the power to influence the world around you," he encouraged, before releasing her chin. After another deep look into her eyes he took her hand and raised it to his lips. "My dear, you and I are going to accomplish great things together," he whispered and his lips softly touched her knuckles, which caused her cheeks heat up even more. He rose elegantly to his feet and with a last look at her he turned around and started to walk away, leaving her confused.

My ankles wobbled to the side as I stumbled back a few steps from the diner window. I would have fell to the ground had it not been for two pair of arms steadying me onto my feet.

"Claudia, who is he?" Erik asked softly, and I looked up at him with effort.

"A horrible mistake,"

Chapter Fourteen: A Never-Ending Nightmare

[carewyncromwell]

Hey hey hey, Cinderella AU time again at last! Sorry to have left y’all on a cliffhanger last time, so I think it’d be kindest if we just jump right in!

Previous part is here -- full tag is here -- Katriona Cassiopeia “KC” (pictured above with McNully in a dress based on this design 💙) belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!!

x~x~x~x

There was a very tense silence. 

Then Erika abruptly barreled over to Orion, seizing him roughly by the collar. 

“I knew I smelled a rat, when you first waltzed in here -- ” she snarled.

“Get the hell off of him!”

BAM.

Skye had hurled a punch right at Erika’s jaw. The violent move made Erika take a step back, but she didn’t release Orion -- instead, holding onto his collar with one hand, she proceeded to try to grab Skye. Soon the two were in a full on tustle, with Skye trying and failing to get Erika to let go of Orion. 

“Skye -- ” choked Orion in a very hushed, strained voice. “Lady Rath, please -- !”

“Erika, stop,” said KC sharply. She grabbed Erika’s arm and held it back. “This is no rational way to deal with this -- ”

But Erika seemed unmoved. “This man’s a Florentine royal who disguised himself as a Royaumanian peasant to get close to our Prince. There’s nothing to waffle over.”

Her eyes shot over to Carewyn harshly. “If anything, I’d say you should make sure she doesn’t run off too, for aiding and abetting him.”

Carewyn, who’d been too stunned to properly respond, straightened up abruptly. “What?”

“Don’t play innocent, Cromwell,” said Erika very coldly. “Looking up troop movements in your spare time? Meeting every other day with a Florentine spy? Lying to Prince Henri about where you were going before dashing off to the Florentine border? It’s pretty clear you were in on it all along.”

“No!”

Orion for the first time wrenched sharply in Erika’s grip. His face was unusually pale, his black eyes very wide and anxious. 

“She didn’t know,” said the Prince of Florence insistently. “She never knew -- it was solely my doing, all of it...”

“Just what a spy would say, to protect his co-conspirator,” Erika cut him off. 

Bill and Charlie, however, both swooped down around Carewyn, flanking her like bodyguards. 

“Carey is NOT his co-conspirator!” said Charlie, his arms wrapped around her neck in a protective side-hug. 

“And she wasn’t dashing off to the border,” said Bill, his voice much firmer and lower than Charlie’s, but no less righteously angry. “She was going to see her brother at the war front.”

Andre and KC both looked startled. 

“Brother...?” whispered Andre. 

He looked at Carewyn, but she avoided his eyes. 

“Carey’s older brother is a soldier in the Royaumanian army,” said Bill. “She hasn’t seen him since her grandfather sent him out nine years ago.”

KC looked from Bill to Carewyn, her eyebrows knitting together. “He’s a soldier? But...I’ve never seen the name ‘Cromwell’ on any of my records...”

“That’s why she decided to go!” said Charlie. “She couldn’t find Jacob in your records either...so it’s likely old Charles Cromwell made him enlist under another name or something.”

“Or he just died ages ago,” Erika said bluntly. 

Carewyn’s blue eyes abruptly flared. “No! My brother is out there somewhere!”

She turned to Andre, her eyes more imploring. 

“Andre...I’m sorry for having lied to you -- but I couldn’t afford to let Iris or anyone else in my family know I’m trying to make contact with Jacob, without Grandfather’s approval. And even if my brother’s alive...”

She glanced at Orion. Her blue eyes were welled up with pain, and she had to tear her gaze away, unable to show that much emotion openly. 

“...the War is getting worse. I don’t know what state my brother is in out there now, if the War is as bad as I’ve heard -- I can’t let Jacob suffer out there, not if I can do something to help him!”

“So you thought of sneaking into the Royaumanian army camp completely on your own without even having any means to protect yourself?” said KC, her gaze rather critical as she crossed her arms. “Carewyn, that was not smart.”

Andre too didn’t look happy. “You could’ve told me, Carewyn. I considered you my friend -- I trusted you. There was no reason for you to lie to me.”

Carewyn’s face grew a lot more stoic as she turned her face away, trying to hide the tumultuous emotions in her eyes. Bill, however, strode forward, stepping right between Andre and Carewyn. 

“I know it wasn’t right for Carey to lie, Andre,” Bill said, “but truly, do you think you would’ve been all right, knowing she was running off toward the battlefield?”

“No,” said Andre, “but I would’ve been happy to help!”

“So were we, and that’s exactly why she didn’t tell you,” Bill barked back. “Because she knew how dangerous it’d be out there for herself, and she didn’t want to put any of us in that danger too, especially you. Carey doesn’t ask for help -- she never has. She’s always done things herself, rather than trouble anyone else. She tried to convince Charlie and me to head back several times, when we caught up with her. She gave herself up to those bandits because she couldn’t bear the thought of us never being able to go home to our family again, just because we followed her.”

The eldest Weasley glanced at Orion still in Erika’s grip, his brown eyes narrowing. 

“I may not know what this man’s intentions were, manipulating Carey so that he could get at the royal family,” he said lowly, “but he’s telling the truth. Carey didn’t know he was a Florentine, let alone that he was their Prince.”

“He was telling the truth about a lot more than just that.”

McNully had climbed out of the coach and down into his wheelchair attached to the boot. Gripping the sides of his chair and giving them a sharp twist, he catapulted it off the boot and down to the ground so he could roll over to Orion’s side, facing Andre with a very solemn expression. 

“Your Highness, Orion told the bandits, ‘We do not come seeking trouble’ -- and it’s just as true in this instance. As much as Orion had to keep certain things under wraps, I know him well enough to know he didn’t lie so much as omit key details, and let you all fill in the blanks yourselves. I daresay a good 95% of everything he’s told you and Carewyn is true, if not more.”

Erika snorted. “Doubtful. I’ve never heard of an honest Florentine.”

“Don’t act all high-and-mighty, you -- !” started Skye. 

“Skye, please,” Orion whispered. 

His hands were still clasped in front of him and his voice was still brushed with anxiety, even as he took several deep breaths to try to calm his heart rate. 

“...Prince Henri, the reason I came today was to seek an audience with you,” he said seriously. “I fully intended to go to the castle gates and request a diplomatic meeting, before I saw you with KC and Lady Rath. My deception was only ever a means to that end -- diplomacy and peace. There was no malevolence meant.”

“If you’d wanted to discuss peace, you could have done it honestly,” said Andre, his arms crossed.

“He could have tried, but would you have listened?”

Everyone turned to look at Carewyn. Her voice was low and she couldn’t make eye contact with anyone -- her gaze instead floated just over Andre’s shoulder -- but she sounded firmer than before, more like her usual self. 

“If he had approached the King under his true name, can you really say that your father would’ve accepted an audience with him?” she challenged Andre. “Naturally your father would’ve never allowed you to speak to him -- but would he even have spoken to Prince Cosimo VII? Would any of us have?”

Something uncomfortable flickered through Andre’s expression, robbing it of some of its righteous anger. 

Carewyn broke away from Charlie and Bill, striding right up to stand between Andre and Orion in rather the same protective way Bill had for her. 

“If Orion had come under his real name, we would’ve never danced with him at the Winter Festival,” she said. “Bill and Charlie’s family would’ve never invited him to stay for dinner. KC would’ve never told him that Charlie and I had been gone longer than expected. Badeea would’ve never invited him to sit with us by the bank while she painted. I...never would’ve accepted his help...nor would I likely have helped him.”

Was that shame, in her face? It was hard to say, for it was a shadow that disappeared very quickly. 

“I’m sure we’ve all been judged by what our names are and what families we were born into, but you especially should know full well what that’s like,” said Carewyn, her voice suddenly full of fiery conviction, “considering that from the moment we first met, you actively tried to discourage me from calling you by your real name!”

Andre flinched.

“Carewyn...” he murmured, taken aback by her passion, but Carewyn cut him off. 

“Orion met me last night to tell me that his father was a high-ranking officer who planned to attack the enemy forces with a strategy that could destroy many lives. That’s why I’m here now. I thought his father was in the Royaumanian army, but now it’s clear that he meant to warn us that his own army -- the Florentine army -- means to attack us. Yet Orion came to warn me anyway -- and beyond that, he said how much he disapproved of the strategy and wanted peace.”

Andre’s eyes narrowed upon her face. “Carewyn, he lied to you about who he was. How can you believe anything else he told you might be true?”

“Because good people can still make mistakes!” Carewyn shot back. 

Her voice betrayed a flare-up of emotion, and it made her go very quiet. Then after a moment, she took a deep breath. 

“People make mistakes -- fathers, mothers -- 

People make mistakes,

Holding to their own -- thinking they’re alone.

Honor the mistakes everybody makes, one another’s terrible mistakes...

They could still be right -- they could still be good.

You decide what’s right -- you decide what’s good --

Just remember...

Someone is on your side -- someone else is not.

While we’re seeing our side, maybe we forgot

They are not alone...no one is alone...”

The familiar words seemed to make all of the anger in the air ebb away. Skye looked from McNully to Orion, stunned. Erika, although her face remained as distrustful and hard as ever, felt her grip on Orion’s collar slacking. Orion himself, however, could do nothing but stare at Carewyn over Erika’s arm, his black eyes storms of emotion. 

Andre closed his eyes, his expression becoming more troubled. 

“Andre,” Carewyn said more softly, “I told Orion that if he believed peace between Florence and Royaume was possible that he should talk to you about it. Clearly he took that advice...even while knowing how badly you’d probably react. Even without bringing any soldiers to protect him. And he put himself on the line by coming out here with you to help me. Is that truly the mark of an evil man?”

Andre slowly opened his eyes. His gaze swept from Carewyn up onto Orion behind her. Despite himself, the Prince of Florence couldn’t keep the pained, yet adoring emotions out of his midnight-black eyes as he stared at Carewyn -- like a man who truly had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. 

The Prince of Royaume’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. Then, finally, he sighed. 

“...Erika, put him down.”

Erika looked up at Andre, faintly surprised. After a moment, however, she did so, though her eyes stayed on Orion beadily. 

“I do not approve of your methods, Prince Cosimo,” said Andre, drawing himself up to full height, “but you came seeking an audience with me, to discuss diplomacy. I shall grant it, but on my terms. I intend to accompany Carewyn to the Royaumanian camp straightaway -- should you wish to speak with me on our journey up, so be it.”

Both Carewyn and Orion reacted with surprise, but for completely different reasons. 

“Andre, you don’t have to do that -- ” Carewyn started. 

“No,” said Orion firmly, trying to keep his voice level despite his urgency, “you and Carewyn must not go anywhere near the war front. It is no place for you, nor anyone -- ”

Andre held up a hand to stop both of them. 

“I’ve made up my mind. If my country’s army is threatened, then I’m obligated to intervene, as their Prince. And besides...”

His eyes landed on Carewyn, growing a bit softer. 

“...I’ll need to know where your brother is positioned, if I’m going to know which battalion to reassign to guard the palace.”

Carewyn straightened up sharply. Andre beamed. 

“Your family needn’t know that Jacob and his battalion were repositioned,” he said almost smugly, “nor that it was for any particular reason. If nothing else...I’m certain your brother would be beneficial to castle security, if he knows you’re working there.”

Carewyn stared at Andre, hardly able to comprehend what she was hearing. 

He wanted to bring Jacob home. He wanted to give them a place in the castle together -- he was willing to do it covertly, so that Charles wouldn’t try to punish either of them...

“Andre...”

Her heart suddenly felt overfull. She had to cover her face in both hands to try to hold in her emotions. It took her a solid minute before she’d forced back her tears enough to remove her hands from her face, and when she did, she immediately strode forward and threw her arms around Andre in a full hug. 

“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear, her voice very choked and soft. “Thank you.”

Andre’s eyes melted with warmth and fondness and he brought his arms around her in return, squeezing gently before holding her at arm’s length. 

“I hope your brother’s as good of a fashion template as you, Carewyn,” he said with a brighter smile. 

Carewyn couldn’t help but give a choked laugh. “I’m afraid Jacob’s a disaster when it comes to clothes, but...oh, you’ll love him, Andre, I know you will...”

Orion’s expression was still very tense when McNully reached out and took hold of his arm. 

“Orion, I get why you don’t want to go near the war front,” he said seriously, “and obviously you shouldn’t be going into their camp at all yourself...but this is your chance, to talk things over with Prince Henri. We have to get a peaceful road mapped out fast, if we want to convince your father not to use my strategy...”

“Your strategy?” repeated KC, her eyes narrowing critically. 

Everyone turned to McNully. 

“A war strategist strategizes, it’s part of the job description,” McNully said, unabashed. “Though for the record, I intended for it to simply help us capture an army’s worth of war prisoners, not kill everybody.”

“Unlike a certain army who keeps shifting their cannons every day so they can blow up everyone they can without even looking their opponents in the face,” said Skye rather coldly. 

KC crossed her arms. “The goal was to aim for your stores of ammunition, not your soldiers.”

McNully did a double take. 

“Wait -- so you’re the one who came up with that strategy?!” he said. He whirled on Orion, looking incredulous and almost angry. “You made friends with Royaume’s new military strategist and you didn’t tell me!?”

“It must have slipped my mind,” said Orion serenely, but his black eyes betrayed a glint of mischief. “Yes, I remember now...you were remarking about how whoever made that strategy for the Royaumanian army had to be a genius...”

Skye snorted in amusement. “‘Remark?’ He ranted about it to me long before telling you, Orion -- McNully was so mad that he was fumbling over his statistics...”

“I fumbled once,” McNully said irritably. “My statistics were therefore 99.9% accurate in that conversation.”

Amazingly, even despite all the tension that had been between them, Andre and the Weasleys found themselves snorting with laughter. Carewyn even had to bite her lip to hold in her own amusement. 

KC raised an eyebrow at McNully, her lips spreading into a smirk. “Well, I guess I can thank you for appreciating my ‘genius,’ at least, Mr....?”

“Murphy McNully,” said McNully at once. Even though he was smiling, though, there was some irritation in his face. “Just called ‘McNully.’ And the name of my opponent in military strategy would be...?”

“Lady Katriona Cassiopeia,” she answered with just as cool of a smile. “Just called ‘KC.’”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” said McNully, but there was definitely a charge of competitive lightning that crackled between them as they stared each other down.

Andre, for his part, was actually smiling mischievously as he moved to remove his horse from the front of Orion’s black coach. “Well, KC, perhaps while we’re escorting Carewyn, you and Mr. -- rather, McNully can have a discussion of your own.”

Both McNully and KC looked taken aback. 

“What?” said KC.

“I would love to talk to Florence’s chief strategist about the in’s and out’s of military protocol, but...well, I just don’t know enough about it myself,” said Andre innocently, though his eyes and voice were much too sassy to be convincing. “So you can do so on my behalf. After all, you are much more versed in these things.”

When KC tried to argue, Andre cut her off with a simple “That’s an order,” and climbed back up on his horse.

“Come on, Carewyn -- let’s get your, Charlie’s and Bill’s horses and be off. We don’t have much time.”

“Wait.”

Everyone looked at Orion. His face was still very pale as he stared at Carewyn.

“If you’re determined to go out there,” he said at last, “then you’ll need some way to protect yourselves from harm.”

He freed one of his own black mares from the front of the coach and climbed on its back.

“Follow me -- Carewyn and I have a friend who I know can help us.”

Once Bill, Charlie, Erika, and Carewyn were all back on their horses again, Orion led the group out of the woods. Skye drove the coach with KC’s steed as well as her own black horse, for McNully would have to ride inside it, and KC (following Andre’s directions) rode with him. Inside the coach, McNully -- perhaps to try to bolster his own slightly hurt ego -- challenged KC to a game of chess to pass the time. Carewyn could hear them bantering over their match on their way up. 

“Well, well! Moving a pawn rather than your Queen -- that’s 99% unexpected.”

“What’s the other remaining 1%?”

“Margin of error.”

“Well, I assure you -- this was not an error.”

“I think I’ll take my chances anyway.”

Andre, meanwhile, rode on his own horse beside Orion a good ways ahead of the others to talk privately. Erika, Charlie, Bill, Carewyn, and Skye all watched them from a distance -- they couldn’t hear what the two Princes were saying, but their discussion appeared very serious. Andre’s posture was oddly stiff and guarded, and Orion’s looked oddly submissive and detached. 

Then, very abruptly, Andre actually started to laugh. The sound startled everyone, Erika most of all.

“What?” said Erika. “What’s so funny?”

Orion looked back at them with a small wry smile. “Merely shoes, my lady.”

“Shoes?” repeated Erika, bewildered.

“Don’t bother questioning it,” Skye sighed tiredly from her spot in the driver’s seat as Orion faced forward again and continued his conversation with Andre. “Orion never stays focused on one thing whenever he’s talking to somebody -- be glad he didn’t randomly start talking about swallows and the color green...”

“Those were brought up too, actually,” Andre said loudly over his shoulder.

He flashed Carewyn an amused look, and Carewyn couldn’t help but smile a bit in return. It really sounded like they were finding common ground...

As the Princes both turned away, though, Carewyn’s smile slid off her face.

Princes...yes. That’s what they both were. All this time she’d thought that Orion might be a magician, or that he might’ve been like her mother and been born into wealth but trying to distance himself from his family -- or even that he was a bit like her, in the way that he’d lived in poverty but now lived in a home that was wealthy. Never had she thought that, in truth, he was the Prince of her country’s mortal enemy...

She knew she should be frightened by this -- betrayed and hurt. But everything she’d said to Andre was true. Instead of feeling distrustful and resentful of Orion, all she could do was feel worse about herself. Orion had lied to her because he was a Prince -- a royal with the humility of a peasant and a wise and gentle heart who wanted nothing more than to bring peace to their countries...who was willing to put himself in harm’s way to do it, who befriended her and the people around her regardless of their ancestry and the War that dictated they should be enemies...

And Carewyn? She’d lied to him because she was nothing but a maidservant. Worse still, she was the penniless, lying, pretentious commoner ward of Charles Cromwell -- a pathetic child who’d sold her soul to her grandfather, stupidly thinking that he’d treat her and Jacob like family, only for him to rip her and Jacob apart and send Jacob off to a War where he would suffer day after day with no chance of reprieve. A prisoner...someone who was chained to Charles’s will for the rest of her life, as penance for her mistake.

When Orion’s lie was revealed, it only served to make Carewyn admire him more. When hers was...Carewyn knew that it would only serve to turn him away. 

“Carey?”

Carewyn looked up. Bill had come up alongside her, his brown eyes very soft with concern. 

“Are you okay?” he murmured. 

Carewyn gave him a smile. “Yes...I’m all right.”

She couldn’t hold his gaze long, so she looked up toward the Princes again.

“...I just hope...they can come together. That’s all.”

Bill looked up at them too, frowning slightly. “Mm...”

Carewyn didn’t have the heart to tell Bill what she was thinking, especially not with Erika, Skye, Charlie, Andre, and Orion all within earshot. She knew he’d tell her that if Orion really cared about her, he’d forgive her for lying...but...

He shouldn’t want to forgive me, Carewyn thought. He shouldn’t be content with what I am. Not when he deserves so much more. 

The memory of the last time she saw Jacob, of him hugging her tightly rippled over her mind. 

“My Wyn -- my sweet Wyn -- ”

Jacob was the only person who Carewyn knew for a fact would always love her, no matter what she did. He’d always been flawed beyond reason, but she never ever had to doubt that. Jacob had helped raise her, and she in return had looked out for him just as much. They were each the one person who they could always depend on...and Carewyn knew Jacob would forgive anything she might have done, however horrible it was or how terrible and pathetic of a person she’d become...

Carewyn closed her eyes, trying to force back her tears. 

Jacob...I need you. I need you here so much.

Maybe she’d be strong enough to accept that she could never be what Orion needed, if she could at least be in her brother’s arms again...

Orion led the others to a beautiful, but perfectly empty valley, perfect for stargazing. Just about everyone was baffled and suspicious, especially when Orion started calling out for a Baroness. It was only when a woman with a pointed black hat with a familiar-looking golden eagle on her shoulder and a beautiful manor appeared seemingly out of nothing that they all understood. 

“Magic,” breathed Andre, his eyes very wide.

Carewyn, however, climbed off her horse and greeted McGonagall warmly. “Baroness -- it’s so good to see you again.”

She reached out a hand to stroke the golden eagle’s feathers, and the bird almost seemed to smile wryly. 

McGonagall actually seemed somewhat surprised by how fair her reaction was. “It’s good to see you as well...”

She held her arm aloft, letting the eagle take off back into the air and toward the manor, and glanced at Orion, her narrowed eyes clearly questioning. “I was not expecting to see either of you again so soon.”

Orion climbed off his own horse, looking very grave. 

“Baroness, I come to ask for your assistance. Carewyn and her companions plan to go into the Royaumanian camp, so as to locate Carewyn’s missing brother.”

“Into the camp?” repeated McGonagall, looking almost stricken. 

She turned to Carewyn. 

“That is far from wise -- the Florentine army has already started making moves to attack. You must stay far away from that place.”

“What?!” just about everyone said, horrified. Orion, the only one who didn’t cry out, had abruptly lost all the color in his face.  

“B-but the strategy can’t be ready to go already!” stammered McNully. “Putting the troops in their positions without anyone noticing would take at least two full nights -- attempting it without everyone being in their proper place decreases its effectiveness by a good 38%!”

“Effectively or not, they have started the attack all the same,” said McGonagall. She looked from Orion to Carewyn. “I cannot in good conscience let you go out there, in the midst of all those explosions -- ”

“But their strategy aims to wipe out the entire Royaumanian army!” said Andre. “I cannot stand by and let that happen!”

He immediately flicked his reins and prepared to charge off, but Erika abruptly blocked his path on her own horse. 

“You dying out there too would only make everything worse,” she told him sharply. 

“So I should just let all of my men die, in my stead?” Andre demanded. 

He tried to ride around her, but Erika blocked him again. 

“No, we just need to be smart about this,” Erika shot him down very firmly. “I understand you want to help, and I agree with you -- but if you died out there on the battlefield, that would escalate the fighting, not end it. Just look at what happened when we took out Florence’s first Prince. And didn’t you say you were open to talking about peace with Prince Cosimo? If you want to chuck that out the window, fine, but don’t do it without understanding that’s what you’re doing.”

Erika looked from Andre to Orion. Her face was as stony as ever, but not as mistrustful as before. Andre, still looking frustrated, nonetheless seemed to accept that she was right. 

“McNully,” said Erika, “it’s your strategy the Florentines are using. What do you say?”

Everybody turned to McNully. Florence’s chief strategist crossed his arms, leaning back on the seat of the coach thoughtfully. 

“The ‘noose’ I developed would have significant breaks, if it was attempted without the proper preparation,” he said slowly. “The plan was to prevent anyone from getting in or out, so that the Royaumanian army would be unable to get reinforcements or supplies. That would then become a siege that would force them to surrender. With holes in the Florentine lines, though, the Royaumanian army could slip out and, worse, maybe even break our army up into smaller pieces.”

“Therefore making your army even more vulnerable,” finished KC, her eyebrows furrowing. “The fractures would go into all-out war and probably lose all sense of cohesion, which would make it harder to gather the troops back together and stop the fighting...”

McNully nodded shakily. “Casualties and injuries would be high -- anywhere between 40-58%."

Skye’s face had gone as white as a sheet. “But -- but if we lose half our army...!”

She looked at Orion in alarm. Orion knew what she was thinking. King Cosimo had said that this most recent line of reinforcements was the last defense Florence had, unless he wanted to draft all citizens 18 and older, regardless of rank or health. 

“Such devastation on both sides would make peace near to impossible,” murmured Orion. His hands were clasped together very tightly in front of him as he turned back to McGonagall. “Baroness, please -- isn’t there any spell you could cast that might soothe the ire of our armies?”

The Baroness looked upon Orion with a solemn expression. “To cast any spell, I would have to leave my home to the mercy of the armies’ mines and cannon fire. I’m sorry...but I cannot do that.”

“Then I will.”

A tanned young man with a pointed nose, very sharp eyes, and a bandaged arm strode into the room. He glanced at Carewyn, and she gave a light start -- those eyes seemed...

The young man then looked at McGonagall. 

“I’ll craft and cast the proper shield around them, to protect them from the cannon fire,” he said firmly. “Then the Princes could run to their respective sides and convince the armies to stop fighting.”

McGonagall’s eyebrows furrowed. “Talbott, your concentration would be sorely tested in a war zone. One flicker in your concentration would require you to recast the spell all over again -- at which time it might be too late to do so.”

“It may already be too late for us to prevent those casualties at all,” said Talbott, undaunted. “We’ve watched the War go on for years -- I know protecting our home is important, but this protects our home and the country it occupies. And since you’re the only one who can keep the illusions up here for any decent length of time, I have to be the one to cast this spell.”

McGonagall and Talbott stared each other down for a moment. 

“You feel very strongly about this,” McGonagall said dryly.

Talbott glanced at Carewyn, his oddly eagle-like eyes flickering with a wry kind of humor as his hand rested on his bandaged arm. “...Well, I do have a debt to repay.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened in realization. Then her eyes softened. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. 

“Very well, then,” said McGonagall grimly. “Take your time crafting the shield, my young apprentice -- remember to be very specific in the terms set. All of a spell’s terms must be met, in order for it to work properly.”

[mrs-tall-librarian]

A little update on how library life is going.

We are back to fully open. Programs happening inside the building for both adults and children, the early literacy play area is open again, and our interactive activities are back on the floor. This decision was made just recently, which if I'm being honest feels like a bad time to reopen since cold and flu season is just around the corner and covid cases will no doubt rise again. :( But I am just a part time library assistant, I really have no say in what happens. Our director really wants us to be open and business as usual. Thankfully I am still able to wear a mask.

Instead of having a 2 year old story time class, I am currently getting trained on baby story time. I have to say, I'm really loving it! Our first one in person is next week and I am so excited to see a class full of cute babies. :) We've been doing it via Zoom - more of a baby rhyme time, since we didn't read any books. I have done a couple on my own and while I enjoyed it, during the second one I had a bizarre flare up of anxiety.

I get anxious very easily, but for the most part I can hide it when I'm interacting with a guest. But unfortunately I have a problem that I have not control over - my chest and neck gets splotchy red and flushed. Which is like a dead give away that I am uncomfortable, even if I'm masking it verbally and with eye contact, etc. This happened to me during baby zoom time. My mentor even said after it was over she thought maybe I was having an allergic reaction. I told her this happens from time to time, so not to worry, but I'm still pretty embarrassed. Wish I had some way to control it, but there isn't anything I know I can do. It doesn't happen all the time, but it is one thing I'm nervous about with baby story time coming up next week. Of course my being more worried about it means there's more chance it will happen. Blah! I am planning to do some meditation and breathing that morning and also may wear a scarf just as a way to help cover things.

Aside from baby story time I have been back to leading our therapy dog reading program, as well as planning for elementary STEM programs. And making flannels of course!

Even though this job sometimes seems hard and stressful, I really enjoy it for the most part.

[iceshard1011]

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

“You are a demon,” he realised.

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

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

19k fic below the cut, too :)

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

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

Janus and Virgil had been fighting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil opened his mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil was not returning to the house.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, goodness!”

Virgil’s eyes snapped open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want?” he demanded.

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

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

“What’s your name, kiddo?”

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

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

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

“You are very weird,” he decided.

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

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

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

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

“You are a demon,” he realised.

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

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

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

He shuddered, and more feathers floated down.

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

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

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

Virgil looked away and did not answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is!” Patton said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lips hedged on the beginnings of a smile.

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

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

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

Virgil swallowed. How many demons lived here?

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil stared at him blankly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quite right.”

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

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

“Roman!” Patton snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roman grumbled but subsided obediently.

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

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

“Goats and pigs?” Virgil echoed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it good?” Patton asked expectantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You all speak strange,” he said honestly.

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

“Roman.” Logan frowned at him.

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

Logan and Roman stared at him uncomprehendingly.

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

Virgil frowned. “Apostrophes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil tilted his head, almost trying to study them.

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

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

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

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

“But you are so... touchy.”

Finally, the laughter died down again.

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

“Not for us,” Roman said fiercely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You had a nap,” Logan said.

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

Virgil blanched, but the others did not react badly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil did not know how to explain his question.

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course you are!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Meat,” offered Patton.

“Food,” grumbled Roman.

“It is crocodile,” answered Logan.

Virgil almost dropped the plate. “What?”

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

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

Patton’s face fell. “Oh.”

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

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

He held up the fork. “What... I...”

“You eat with it,” Patton said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A... door?” Patton asked slowly.

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

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

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

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

“Demons have picnics?” Virgil asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” the gluttonous demon asked.

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil felt, frankly, quite faint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s showing off,” Logan said.

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

Virgil frowned. “Why?”

Patton ducked his head.

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

Virgil gaze down at the smooth ground beneath his legs. 

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

Logan hummed in agreement. “Yes, especially—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your laugh is... is...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Demons  have animal traits,” Virgil corrected.

The three demons glanced at each other.

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

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

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

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

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

He turned away, hugging himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” Virgil said again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Demons can,” Logan confirmed.

“Angels can’t,” Patton said softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Indeed.” Logan dipped his head.

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

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

Patton and Logan exchanged looks.

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

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

“Should I go after him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, thank—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A hyena?” Virgil squawked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry. Just, uh... pointy.”

Virgil frowned. “What?”

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

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

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

Patton’s eyes flooded with sympathy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” he said faintly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They...?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil’s head spun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t speak.

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

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

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

The angel stepped aside, taking their sword with them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Janus started.

Patton lunged.

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

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

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

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

Virgil got there first.

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

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

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

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

And Virgil wasn’t going to have that.

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

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

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

Janus flipped to his feet. “Virgil—”

Virgil bared his fangs. “No.”

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

“No.”

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

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

Soft Wings.

Kiddo.

Patient Angel.

Honey. Sweetheart.

Coward. City slicker.

Kiddo.

Angel of Practice.

Kiddo, kiddo, kiddo.

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

Virgil erupted with anger.

Literally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Janus visibly swallowed. “And then—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he croaked finally. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay to feel things, sweetie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil frowned.

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

Virgil suppressed a groan. “Patton—”

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

Virgil blinked, then blinked again.

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

Virgil’s breath vanished from his lungs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most of the night was filled with this sleepless routine.

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

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

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

“What?”

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

Virgil fumbled, a little, at this revelation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That next morning, Virgil walked into Logan’s room to find the Demon of Pride trying to stand from his bed.

“Hey!” he barked, darting forward to grab Logan’s shoulders and shove him back onto the bed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Logan had the audacity to give him an incredulous look. “Standing up?”

“After taking that sort of damage, fat chance,” Virgil snarled at him. “Lie back down.”

Logan blinked, then squinted. Virgil paused, feeling vulnerable under the scrutiny.

Though, then he suddenly realised his tail was flicking with anticipation and his ears had folded backwards in confusion, and he realised.

“I’m uh... I suppose I ran out of time,” he said, only a little sheepishly. “I’m a demon, now.”

“I can see that,” Logan said mildly, but Virgil could tell he was pleased. “I can’t exactly stay in bed all day, Virgil. Can you help me up?”

Virgil scowled down at him. “Do you promise to take everything slow and easy for the day?”

Logan sighed. “If that’s what it takes.”

Virgil thought for a minute, but seemingly satisfied, Vigil gripped his (now warm again) hand and helped him stand. To Logan’s complete credit, he barely even swayed. Still, Virgil couldn’t force himself to relax. He kept his grip firm but gentle on Logan’s arm and circled him. Logan stood still, looking mildly amused, and let Virgil finish his examination.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Virgil asked, leaning forward to squint at Logan’s face, thoroughly inspecting his smooth throat and bright eyes.

So when their lips knocked together, at first Virgil assumed it had been his fault, but then Logan’s expression morphed from dazed to horrified, and he took a step back.

“Apologies,” he said quickly. “I— that’s—”

Virgil didn’t know what his face was doing until his cheeks started to ache, and he realised he was smiling so wide his dimples were probably on full display (ugh).

He reached forward, sharp fingers lightly trailing the edges of Logan’s lips, which had previously just been pressed into a thin line.

“Feeling okay?” Virgil asked. Logan visibly swallowed, then nodded. Virgil pulled his hand back and Logan adjusted his shirt primly.

“Quite.”

Virgil grinned, and the tip of his tail twitched happily.

“Again, Virgil, my apologies, I—”

“Hey,” Virgil, fixing him with a patient look. “Do I look mad?”

“But— you and Patton—”

“Eh.” Virgil shrugged. “You’re all pretty likeable, for demons.” He shared a grin with Logan, who finally relaxed.

They both heard the thumping on carpet and the excited babbling long before Roman careened into Logan’s open doorway and stared, gaping, at Virgil.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, and Virgil was almost confused before Patton came up behind Roman. “Oh my god, you really weren’t kidding.”

“I told you I wasn’t!” Patton laughed.

“Unholy SHIT,” Roman cried. He shot forward and circled Virgil, who glared at him challengingly and dared him to say something. He paused in front of Virgil and bit his lip, looking abashed. “Can... Can I...?” He gestured to the top of Virgil’s head.

Virgil relaxed and ducked his head compliantly. Roman attentively brushed over his ears. 

“How does it feel?” Logan asked curiously. Roman pulled back and Virgil straightened. “Being a demon?”

“Yeah,” scoffed Roman, not unkindly, “you’re not the superior being anymore. How does it feel to be longer above us? I have to know, it’s for science.”

Logan shot him a bemused look. “How on earth does that have anything remotely to do with—”

“SILENCE, GUINEA-FOUL,” Roman interrupted. “Let the Siberian Forest Cat talk.”

Patton frowned disapprovingly. “Ro—”

He was cut off by a chortling snort, and with a surprise, they turned to see Virgil covered his face with his hands, laughing into his palms.

“S-sorry,” he gasped out, waving his hand, and shaking his head. After a moment he composed himself and smiled down at Roman. “That was terrible.”

It seemed it was a day of unusual behaviour: Roman didn’t act offended at this. He only grinned brightly.

Then his face dropped into a scowl and he crossed his arms.

“God, that’s so unfair,” he muttered. “You got to be a tiger. I’m just a goat.”

Virgil tilted his head, thinking about his previously private conversation with Logan. A smirk creeping along his face, Virgil decided: fuck it.

He leaned down and planted his lips firmly on Roman’s.

“I don’t know,” he said as he pulled back, grinning smugly at Roman’s stupefied face. “I think they’re pretty great.”

Roman’s breath shuddered as he inhaled. His smile was a little star-struck when he said, “R-right.”

Patton giggled and looped his elbows through both Roman and Virgil’s arms.

“I have to admit I am curious as well,” Logan said slowly, and Virgil wondered if they just weren’t going to talk about any of… ‘it’. “About your certainty of your decision — staying here, beneath the rest of your people?”

“They’re not my people,” Virgil said, and it sounded familiar to something he’d already heard. He shook his head. “They’re not even my family.” Patton looked horrified at this, but Virgil grinned and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him into a side hug. “You guys are.”

Patton and Logan smiled. Roman made a face. “That was cheesier than Patton’s puns.”

“Or sappier than your nicknames,” Logan countered, and Virgil sighed. Sentimental moment over, he supposed, as Roman bleated in outrage.

“Hey!”

Six months later

Virgil, realistically, wanted to ask for a single day of normality.

A relaxed day, maybe an uneventful one. Maybe where he could take a nap without the anxiety of the house falling to pieces without him around to keep the order. (Honestly, how had these morons survived this long without him?) A day of bliss.

Not one where Roman wanted to try cooking for a change and forgot about it, causing the fireplace to explode and almost burn down the house, or where Patton tried to cheer Logan up after his feathers were burnt from Roman’s food mishap with an endless stream of puns and bad dad jokes that made even Virgil groan.

So of course, it was on this particular disastrous day that Fate decided to mess with Virgil personally some more.

He was reading over Roman’s most recent work, having successfully achieved attention from some in-city demons after some of Virgil’s tweaks to his work. (When Roman had found that the potential publishers had disregarded their groundedness because of how much the work had improved, he had hugged Virgil so hard he was fairly sure at least two ribs had popped out of place.) The story wasn’t bad; Roman was obviously trying some new avenues, now that he was more confident that demons would consider looking at what he made.

He was just circling a word and suggesting a better alternative when he heard it: the flapping, signifying approaching wings, too large to be an animal, yet not big enough to warrant panic. Although, the fluttering around the edges of the sound, indicating wings made of feathers made a small pit of anxiety grow in Virgil’s gut.

The others heard it too, but Virgil was already standing and making for the door before they could say anything. Patton tried to call for him to stop, but he exploded out of the house just as Janus landed.

He looked as formidably professional as ever, not a strand of hair out of place, his wings perfectly folded at his back. Face an expressionless mask. Eyes carefully blank and unreadable.

The only thing different this time around, was the gashed scars slicing down the side of his face, trailing over his eye running down the side of his cheek to reach the edge of his lip.

Virgil glowered at him, hunching his shoulders. He unfurled his wings, the feathers unkempt and so dirty the white was almost black, now, but still as glorious and empowering as ever. He blocked the entrance of the house with them, keeping both his possessions in, and Janus out. (He could hear impatient bustling as Roman paced at his back, wanting to get past.)

“What do you want?” Virgil demanded. He heard shuffling behind him, and the sound of Logan’s tailfeathers brushing in alarm. Distantly, he remembered that he and Roman hadn’t heard his tempest tongue before.

Janus visibly composed himself. “You told me that once I had done as you required, I would-”

“I told you I would consider forgiving you,” Virgil spat. “Not that you could return here.”

Janus seemed to be at a bit of a loss at this, closing his mouth and blinking.

“Ah,” he said finally. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Should I... I suppose... I’ll... be leaving, then.”

“Good.” Virgil snarled, baring his teeth for good measure.

“Wait!” a little voice cried, and Patton burst between the doorframe and Virgil’s wing. The Angel of Anger gave him a chagrined look. “Wait, maybe— maybe we can hear him out.”

“Sure.” Roman scrambled out behind Patton, and Virgil sighed, exasperated. What was the point in trying to protect them if they didn’t get the hint? “Right after I dig something sharp into  his back.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Patton, distressed, grabbed Roman’s arms.

“Let’s see how he likes it!” Roman snarled. “What if we slit his throat as well, while we’re at it?”

“Perhaps we should think this through,” Logan piped up. At least  he  was being sensible and staying behind Virgil, where it was  safe.  “I doubt he came here for a fight.”

“No,” said Roman fiercely, and he almost shaking, “but we can sure give him one.”

“Stop it,” Virgil growled, his voice losing its unnatural tone. Silence fell and he tried to swallow guilt. “Go inside.”

“What?” Roman demanded, whirling on him. “But he—!”

“Roman.” Virgil stared him down, unwaveringly. Roman growled.

“We’re not helpless, Virgil,” he said.

Virgil sighed and moved from the doorway, cupping Roman’s face in his hands. “This is less of me being worried about what he’ll do to you, and more of me being worried about what  you  will do to  him.  You are quite a formidable foe when you want to be.”

Roman squinted suspiciously. “Flattery isn’t going to get me to relax.”

“But it’ll make you listen,” Virgil countered smoothly, and Roman finally relented. He shuffled back, but Patton slipped his hand into Virgil’s and peered up at him.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked in a whisper. Virgil smiled down at him.

“I’ve got it,” he reassured him. Patton nodded and stepped back. Virgil’s palm burned as he strode forward.

It was strange. They were... together, now, all four of them. Apparently, the trio of demons had been before Virgil had even arrived, but despite Virgil having been head over heels for Patton first, the pair of them still hadn’t exactly... made moves. Virgil wasn’t sure why. He hoped it wasn’t something he’d done to make Patton second guess anything.

He shook those thoughts from his head. That wasn’t what he needed to focus on.

The glare he fixed on Janus made him blurt, without pause, “I came to see you.”

Virgil’s eyebrows arched. His blackened wings twitched. His tail swished warningly behind him.

Janus looked like he understood the unspoken message clearly:  you see me, and I am a demon.

“I... wanted to inform you that—” Janus’ voice became a little uneven, and he cleared his throat and straightened himself — “that I did as you asked.”

Virgil glowered.

“Started to do as you asked,” Janus corrected himself. “It’s... a work in progress?”

Virgil tried not to let his surprise show on his face. Janus was smug, and cunning, and insufferable, and he didn’t ever show any sign of weakness, and he certainly didn’t act so unsure of himself.

“I approached... many other angels, and... the majority of the Ancient Angels have been confronted about the community’s... opinions.”

Virgil’s lip twitched in disgust and Janus winced. “They... have considered my suggestions of changing a select number of rules. I... have the heads of Humility and Abstinence aiding me. And Remus, too, of course. I think I can sway Head of Kindness with a little more time, too. Emile does not like me very much.”

Virgil realised with an inward jolt that his face had gone slack from his tight scowl.

He resisted the urge to clear his throat. There were countless things he could say. He could growl a deep, “Good.” He could bare his teeth and snap a sharp,  “Get out.”  He could snarl and slash at the other side of Janus’ face, give him a matching set of scars, and roar that he didn’t care what Janus had done or would do.

The truth was: Virgil could say a lot.

The truth was: Virgil said nothing.

Virgil stared at this angel and refused to admit that he really did just want to see him as his brother once again.

He stared at Janus and nodded once.

“You can... always return,” Janus went on. “There are rules about demons and angels coexisting, and I doubt I will be able to change those ones as swiftly, though... I believe I can be convincing enough for an expectation to be made.”

Virgil’s ears flicked.

“Remus misses you, I think.” Because of course, Janus wasn’t going to admit to any weakness, and missing someone was certainly a weakness. “You... know that you can return to your family, no matter what, right?”

Virgil narrowed his eyes as he said, “I am with my family.”

Janus’ face didn’t betray any emotions, and Virgil wondered if he had seen that coming, and had been prepared. For a long moment of silence, he said nothing. His eyes darted over Virgil’s tensing shoulder. Virgil’s ears swivelled to listen as Roman shuffled on his feet anxiously, and Patton’s hands brushed over his shoulder, and Logan’s feathers fluttering as he strained to overhear their conversation.

“So you have,” Janus admitted faintly.

Virgil lifted his chin. Similarly, Janus lowered his gaze.

“I... will return, now.” The angel stepped back.

A quietly cleared throat made Virgil glanced over his shoulder. Patton, between Logan’s curious eyes and Roman’s deep frown, made a face that Virgil couldn’t make out. He blinked uncomprehendingly, and Patton gestured, a little wildly desperate, to Janus, who had turned to leave.

Virgil almost ignored him. Almost said nothing.

But then he was blurting out a jumbled, “Wait.”

Janus went rigid, but he paused. He didn’t turn, and didn’t speak up, obviously waiting for Virgil to speak.

“You... you may return,” Virgil said haltingly. “Once... once there are... more developments.”

For a long time, Janus said nothing.

When he turned, it was only a slight tilt of his head. The scars on that side of his face glistened in the heat of the Demonic Kingdom’s landscape.

“Only for updates,” he agreed without a hint of bitterness or malice. “Understood.”

With that, he flared his wings and shot into the sky. Virgil watched until the clouds swivelling around his disappearing form and he vanished.

Well,  Virgil thought in a voice that was almost painfully reminiscently Patton’s.  That could have gone worse.

“Are you going to stand there all day, you striped shorthair?” Roman called, still obviously impatient.

With a jump, Virgil turned and returned to them.

“How did it go?” Logan inquired.

Virgil tried to think on that, but all that his mind provided was static.

Logan smiled and rubbed his arms reassuringly. “That’s a perfectly normal reaction, Virgil. Don’t worry.”

Virgil nodded. Another warm hand brushed against the side of his face, and he looked down at Patton.

“Are you okay?” Patton asked with that soft, light voice of his, those gorgeous, caring eyes staring up at him. Virgil decided that after a long time, he really was.

In answer, Virgil grinned, and kissed him.

[siren-queen-imagines]

First Date Jitters

This was requested by a lovely, lovely anon!!  “Heyo! Can I request a Damien x reader where the reader is petrified of dating, like she’s never herself on them and they make her crazy anxious and quiet and panicky... but Damien really likes her and wants to take her out. Basically being friends with her enough to ease her into a date... something real cute ☺️” So my dear anon, some of it is slightly different? But regardless, I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

(gif by me)

You smiled as you listened to Courtney telling you about the person she’s going on a date with in the next few minutes. You were happy for Courtney because she deserves someone who was just as amazing as she was. You helped her to get ready and now you were killing a few extra minutes before she had to leave.

“So when are you gonna go out on a date, Y/N?” Courtney asked, despite knowing why.

“Oh, no. No.” You insisted, using your hands to brush it off as you spoke. “Not anytime soon.”

“Why not?” She offered you a comforting smile. “You’re amazing and I know someone will see that if someone hasn’t already.”

“I don’t like them, Court.” You whined. “You remember when Shayne told us his date Shayne horror stories? I’m like, slightly worse.”

“Come on, you are not that bad.”

“Not only am I almost a different person, I just get weird. I internally panic and I get so anxious and that makes me quiet and that ruins it because the person I’m with assumes I’m not into them.”

“Y/N…” Courtney grabbed your hand and held it in hers. “First of all, we’re our own worst critics. You’re probably not as bad as you think. And second, it’s okay to be nervous. If anyone doesn’t want to give you a chance to get comfortable with them so they can see how amazing you are, they’re not worth your time.”

“I’m starting to think no one is ever gonna wait long enough for that…”

Oh if you only knew. Courtney knew. She knew someone who would be that patient for you. And that person liked you; a LOT.

The alarm that Courtney had set to make sure she left on time went off, interrupting them.

“I gotta go.” Courtney said, pouting playfully.

“Go.” You encouraged her with a smile. “Text me after. Let me know how it went!”

“I will!”

You shook your head and smiled as she left your place. With a small sigh, you sat on your couch and turned on your Netflix. 

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

“Hey Y/N.” Damien greeted you in the kitchen at work.

“Hi, Damien.” You replied with a smile, happy to see him.

“How’s it going?” 

“Good. Just been hearing all morning about Courtney’s date last night.”

“Yeah. Same but with Shayne.”

“Oh, sounds like we’ll be switching off soon. Courtney will talk to you about it to get your perspective and Shayne will do the same with me.”

“Yeah.”

The two of you shared a laugh. Honestly, you’ve always liked Damien. Like, LIKED him. But you were almost scared to make a move...in the back of your mind, you always felt that you’d ruin that date and he’d go running for the hills.

Damien? Oh, he was totally into you. Like more than he thought he should be. So much that Shayne and Courtney and even Ian tease him about you when you’re not around. What’s not to like about you? You’re so sweet and he thinks you’re funny. You’re so humble and you both had quite a bit in common. But he had heard from Courtney that you have such bad anxiety when it came to dating...well, the first date at least. He wanted to ask you out so bad but he didn’t want to put you in a position where you felt anxious because of him. There had to be a way.

“Speaking of Shayne, he and I were gonna go to a movie tomorrow night? You and Courtney wanna come?” Damien asked hope filling his voice as the two of you headed back to your desks.

“Yeah. That sounds good. I’ll talk to Courtney.”

“Cool.”

Damien smiled at you brightly. It was instinct but he figured it out. Maybe a friend date would be a good way to ease you in...and having Shayne and Courtney there might help you to feel less anxious. He walked over to Shayne’s desk, pulling up a chair. He looked around for a moment before leaning in.

“So, I may have told Y/N that you and I were planning on seeing a movie tomorrow…” He said, his voice low enough to avoid being heard by prying ears.

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

The first stop on the movie night was to dinner. Courtney figured it would be a good idea to eat first so no one feels the urge to buy lots of snacks at the movies...and it also meant after the movie you guys could all go for ice cream.

The four of you sat around the table, talking about the shoot you guys did for Smosh Games earlier in the day.

“I don’t know, I feel like even though no one can beat Damien, there’s a chance he’ll have an off day when the day comes and you choose to volunteer instead of you being chosen or fighting it.” You said with a shrug, earning a laugh from Damien.

“Damien doesn’t have an off day when it comes to gaming.” Shayne playfully argued, his hand waving to accentuate his point.

“To be fair, I do have off days but it’s usually not on filming days.” Damien admitted with a small smile.

“All the more reason to volunteer until eventually you slip up!” You laughed.

The four of you shared a laugh. 

“He’s more likely to slip up with you though.” Courtney blurted out as she thought out loud, while she played with her straw.

“Why?” 

Courtney clearly wasn’t paying attention to the fact you were there because she said, “Because Damien likes Y/N.”

Silence filled the table. You looked at Courtney in surprise while Shayne’s mouth hung open. Damien’s deeply blushed face covered by his hands. Courtney looked up and realized that you weren’t Olivia.

“Oh my god, Damien, I’m so sorry!” She apologized, her hand flying over her mouth after.

“Y-You like me?” You asked Damien after a moment, your heart racing as you were now also blushing.

“Yeah…” Damien admitted, moving his hands away from his face. “Look, it’s okay if you don’t--”

“I like you too.”

“--like me-- wait what?”

Shayne’s mouth hung open wider, this time, with as best a smile he could get with it. Hell yeah, this was finally happening. He hoped this would work out and that’s why he agreed to this.

“I like you too.”

Damien let out a breath he had been holding in relief, his face still flushed but for a better reason.

“I meant to ask you on a date but I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” He explained.

“I may have told him about your anxiety...I’m so sorry I blurted it out.” Courtney chimed in sheepishly.

“Knowing how you feel, I’m not gonna lie, I feel a little anxious.” You expressed, picking at your nails. “But it helps having Courtney and Shayne...it feels like there’s less pressure.”

“If you want, we can stick around.” Shayne offered to you and Damien. “Just make ourselves like chaperones and you guys can make this your first date.”

“If that’s okay with you.” Damien added.

You looked at Courtney, unsure. She knew, in depth, how you felt about yourself on first dates. You both had a silent conversation before she spoke up.

“If anyone can be patient with date Y/N, it's Damien.” She comforted you.

Maybe she was right. Damien was the sweetest, most awesome person...he would be patient with you.

“I would like that.” You told Damien, suddenly feeling shy.

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

At the movies, Shayne and Courtney made it so you and Damien sat together while they sat behind you.

You were nervous as hell as you searched for conversation before the movie started. Luckily, Damien was the one talking and asking you questions. He remembered his conversations with Courtney in the past about you and dates so he wanted to help you feel more comfortable. As the movie started, you rubbed your hands on your legs, because your palms were starting to get sweaty.

“Hey.” Damien caught your attention with his gentle tone. “It’s just me. We’re friends so try not to worry so much about impressing me or something. You don’t need to.” He offered you his hand which you took. “I’m already having a good time with you. I hope you know that.”

“You are?” You asked curiously. “Even though I’m a complete wreck?”

“I am. You’re not a wreck but if you insist on thinking that then I think you’re a very cute wreck.”

That did help to ease you as you let out a breathy laugh, the tension in your shoulders lightening up.

Behind you, Shayne and Courtney exchanged a look and a silent ‘awwww’.

With this, you were able to enjoy the movie with Damien. The two of you held hands through most of it and shared the candy you both got. When you guys got ice cream, Courtney wanted the two of you to sit together again. By this point, you were feeling more comfortable on this date with Damien so you were smiling more and joking with him more. 

Damien drove you home and Shayne got a ride home with Courtney; the two of you switching. He walked you to your door and offered you a smile.

“I had fun.” You both said in unison, both laughing after.

“I had a great time.” You said, the anxiety pretty much gone. Although, it was flaring back up with the fact that the two of you were parting...do you kiss him? Does he even want you to kiss him?

“Me too. I hope you weren’t too uncomfortable tonight.” Damien replied, his hands going into his pocket.

“No, actually. Your patience and encouragement was really helpful. It means a lot to me that you weren’t such a jerk about me being quiet or anything like that.”

“I’m glad. So, you wanna go out again soon?”

OH MY GOD, you got a second date ask? You never got those. Oh Damien...bless you…

“I really would.” You smiled at him brightly.

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Maybe we can plan our next date.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You gave Damien a hug, both of you holding on a little longer than you normally would.

Oh no, the anxiety is coming back? Should you kiss him? OH NO WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?

The two of you pulled back, Damien kissing you on the cheek. You were surprised by it but you blushed as you smiled at him. He went to leave when you grabbed his hand to stop him. He turned back around to face you and that’s when you decided to go for it. You stepped closer to him and kissed him. It was everything you’d hoped it would be and more. It felt like you were on cloud nine and you weren’t ever coming down. 

As you pulled away, Damien’s eyes remained closed for a moment. Holy crap, that was the most amazing kiss. Your lips were so soft and it was just...words couldn’t even describe how he felt when you kissed him. He had been wanting to kiss you for so long and now that he has? It felt like everything was right in his world...and he wanted to do it again.

Damien pulled you back for one last kiss, the two of you letting it linger before you pulled back. The two of you smiled at each other, both thinking about the next time you would get to do that.

“Good night, Y/N.” Damien said with a goofy smile on his face.

“Good night, Damien.” You replied, sharing a similar smile.

Damien walked backwards as he waited for you to unlock your door and go inside. You got inside and turned to wave at Damien before he turned to walk back to his car.

You closed the door and rested against it, a big smile on your face.

Damien got into his car and sat there for a moment, his smile bigger than earlier.

“Holy shit.” The two of you said to yourselves as you replayed the kiss you shared in your head.

[madelynsok]

it takes a lot of love to hate someone

tw: mention of death, neglect, anxiety attack 

Is she to blame for her parent's death? Her sisters seem to think so. And maybe, just maybe, she does too.

“I’m not taking her back to Paris with me.”

“And you think I want to take her back to LA? Fae, I’m pregnant. I’m starting a family. The last thing I want to deal with is a moody teenager especially when that teenager is our sister.” 

“I can hear you two, you know,” Maddie said, her voice loud and ringing out across the room. Both of her sisters, statuesque and beautiful, every bit the product of their parent’s, snapped their attention to where she sat, arms crossed on the couch. Guess she was right. They had forgotten that she was there. 

The term ‘sister’ was more of a placeholder to explain their shared heritage. The word never went beyond that. So it stood to reason that even after all the years of knowing her sisters, Madelyn still didn’t understand what they were thinking sometimes. They had buried their parents mere hours ago and had proceeded to listen to the reading of their will. It was all the usual things you’d expect at a will reading: how their hefty inheritance was being split up, what they would do with their belongings and real estate to name a few. The clause that neither of the sisters were expecting however, was that if they passed before Madelyn was of age, their parent’s last dying wish was to ensure that her older sisters took care of her. 

The statement had hung in the air after the lawyer had read it, and Maddie had cast a glance at both of them seated to her left. Felicity looked like her face would crack at any moment and Odette’s hands had fluttered to her belly, the look in her eyes like they could kill. Maddie hadn’t been thrilled about the idea either. There was no love lost between her and her sisters, but they had just lost their parents. Devastatingly. Tragically. Maddie still bore the bruises and scars from the accident herself, but instead of eliciting sympathy, her injuries seemed to only further prove to Odette and Felicity that she was to blame for their parent’s demise. 

Her sisters seemed to care little about what their constant distaste for her existence did to her psyche. They had always treated her with mild disinterest. But now, after their parents had passed in a car crash that had been no one’s fault but the drunk driver’s, it had transformed. Anyone who could read past the strained smiles and fake displays of affection they gave her at the funeral would have been able to tell that they hated her. As far as they were concerned, their baby sister was the reason their parents weren’t alive anymore. It was, after all, a family outing that Maddie had insisted they take together. 

Odette and Felicity didn’t need to voice their blame. Maddie knew. It was the hot, uncomfortable truth that she had sat with over the last several days, even when they had flown in from opposite sides of the world to visit her in the hospital. Her not-so-quiet reminder that she was sitting in the same room seemed to pass, and Odette and Felicity turned back towards one another, hell-bent on trying to pawn their younger sister off on one another. 

Felicity jumped in before Odette could speak. “I’m still in university! How am I supposed to study and take care of a 16-year-old?” Odette and Maddie both scoffed at the sentiment. They both knew Felicity was making the most of her time flitting around the upper echelons of the Parisian social circles instead of studying. 

“You could figure it out. You have a busy enough social calendar. One more human being couldn’t hurt.” Felicity’s eyes flared at the snark remark from the eldest Sok child. 

“What about you, hm?” She jabbed her finger into the lapel of Odette’s crisp, black designer suit. Maddie saw Odette’s jaw clench, an already defined jawline turning sharp like steel. “Just because you’re Mrs. Hot Shot Film Executive now, you think that my time is more valuable to waste?” 

Waste. That’s what her existence was for them. A waste. Maddie could feel the bile rise in her throat and she wished for what was the thousandth time that her parents were still alive. “You’re the oldest. The one with the most income. It makes the most sense for you to take her back to LA with you.” Felicity fluttered her hands, exasperatedly. “Just stick her in some far corner of that mega-mansion you live in and be done with it.” 

“Want me to collect dust while I’m at it?” Maddie asked, raising her voice again. “Because clearly I’m just an object and not someone that shares your DNA.” Felicity and Odette’s gazes shot back to her, both momentarily blinded by their argument that they had willingly chosen to ignore her presence again. Maddie’s voice was sharp. “Shocked that I can talk?” 

She pushed herself up off the couch, closing the space between her and her sisters within seconds. “First of all, I don’t want to live with either of you so don’t flatter yourselves in thinking that. Second of all, I don’t give a shit who I live with. But can we stop being so up our asses and just honour what mum and dad wanted?” The very thought of her parents wanted to make her cry but she’d keel over before her sisters saw her do that.    

Odette stared at her as if she was seeing her for the first time while Felicity’s mouth fell open wide. Words seemed to escape them and the three sisters looked at each other for the first time in the longest time. Finally, Maddie broke the silence, not wanting to be in the scenario for any longer than she had to. “Figure it out with a rock-paper-scissors match for all I care, just stop being dicks for once. This isn’t about any of us. This is about them.” Her chest heaved up and down having exerted more than she thought she had. As she was turning on her heel to storm out of the room, Odette spoke up. 

“...I’m flying back to LA tomorrow. I’ll get a room ready for you at home. Take as much time as you need here.” Odette’s hands went unconsciously to her slightly protruding belly, something Maddie had noticed that she did often when she thinking. “But we’ll want to find a school that you like before the year starts in September. Just keep that in mind.” 

Maddie turned to face her sisters again, but as soon as her eyes met Odette’s, Felicity spoke up. 

“I know some friends in the city that own moving and packing companies.” Odette’s eyes darted back to Felicity who was standing there with her arms crossed. “I’m sure they’d be happy to help you pack.” They all knew that Felicity wasn’t flying back to Paris for another week or so, but Madelyn would have thought the world was ending if Felicity had offered to help her pack herself. This was the closest that she’d ever get to offering something useful. Their eyes met and Maddie slowly nodded at both of them. 

“...Great.” She paused. “Thanks.” 

The Sok sisters were lulled again into silence. This was new territory for all of them. They never expected to lose their parents this soon. This was probably the closest thing to care that they’d engaged in together collectively in their short lives. Maddie wasn’t sure what to make of it. She had a feeling that they didn’t either. Odette and Felicity both looked at her with eyes that Maddie couldn’t read for the first time in a while. It was a mix of shame. Awkwardness. Contempt. Sadness. Blame. 

She didn’t hate her sisters. She never had. Once upon a time, Maddie had longed for their approval and wondered why they didn’t even pretend to like her, even in front of their parents. Had she done something to offend them? Or was it the mere act of existing and dividing the attention of their loving parents between yet another child? In that moment Maddie had a feeling it was the latter. She swallowed, giving another nod to the two of them before darting out of their dad’s study. She took the stairs of their brownstone several steps at a time until she reached her room. 

With the door slammed shut behind her, she blankly surveyed her room which was in more of a state than it normally was. The energy to clean and keep things in their place had been difficult to come by. Suddenly something snapped. Maddie’s chest heaved, the sound of her heartbeat in her ears as her hands mechanically began pulling at her stiff, black dress. It felt suffocating. She struggled to tear it off, hands trembling from anger, from sadness - she wasn’t sure what - before tossing it aside onto the pile of wrinkled clothing on the floor and collapsing on the bed. The wall of tears she had built up quickly tumbled down, leaving hot streaks down her cheeks. 

The words that her sisters had never vocalized rang in her mind. Her parent’s were dead. It was her fault. They had been the only ones in the damn world that really cared she existed and they were gone. All she was to Odette and Felicity was a waste of space. A waste. An object collecting dust. Not a sister. Just some human that they were bound to by blood. 

She had always fashioned herself as someone strong. As someone that didn’t take shit from anyone. To her sisters, she was a firecracker, unbearable and loud - so different from them in every single way. But it hadn’t mattered because at least she’d had her parents. But without them, without their love and support…

Something in her heart broke. 

Maddie noiselessly pressed her face into the pillow, fists clenched tight around its edges as she screamed. She screamed herself hoarse until they turned into sobs.  

She was alone. 

And she had no one else but herself to blame.

[blueboltkatana]

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

GUrll ur so sexy... Like you're Hot. I don't care if you were bullied in school, you're sexy, they lied.

Also bitch I KNEW i related to you too much our ascendants are both in leo we're so hot.

Ok ok no now I'll stop complimenting and start with the roasting here we go:

So the sun is your sense of "self" it represents you on the more base level i guess you could say, like what most people think you're like is represented by your sun. With Sagittarius being your sun it means you're very energetic Especially for those things you are passionate about, you might have gone through a LOT of hobbies, only a few of them stuck around but you like to try things. You're curious about the way people's minds works, you wanna figure them out. If the conversations you have don't involve some form of psychoanalysis or philosophy you might loose interest. You are a Talker, maybe you talk very fast or you are often told to lower your voice but you don't do it on purpose you're just very very animated. You are kina volatile, in the sense that you value freedom in everything, love, work, hobbies. You have a huge rebellious streak and you kinda like testing your luck. Think adrenaline junkie. It's cliché but with this much Sagittarius in your chart you prob love traveling, like i said you will chase freedom because you associate it with happiness. If you find people that make you feel free then you feel happy. Rules don't go well with you. You don't really like being involved with fights per se but you LOVE debating, if you can beat a motherfucker with nothing but facts and logic you will and you will enjoy it.

Your way of flirting or making friends is "lowkey bullying" or my favourite "verbally throwing hands". If they shoot back you get heart eyes (my mars in sag agrees). You can be tactless as fuck tho. Like you will say some outrageous shit that MIGHT be funny if the timing is right or MIGHT make everyone in a 5 mile radius mad.

I NEED to talk about your moon in sag bc Babe, babe the moon tells us about our emotions and how we deal with them, how we express them and how they shape us. But BABE. Sagittarius moons are so bad at comforting people it's embarrassing, trying to make them think of smth else or do smth else to distract from the situation is NOT a good way to deal with your emotions... Avoiding your emotions like the plague is not gonna invent a vaccine... Saying "everything is fine :)" DOESN'T MAKE ANYTHING FINE PLEASE GO TO THERAPY. ok to give you some credit, you don't let shit bring you down, no matter what you always get up and that is a *strength* that i admire, but love you're burning the candle at both ends, especially if you get yourself in More problems by trying to distract yourself from One problem.

Also you've had a horsegirl phase or a dog obsession phase or both huh. AND your love language is sarcasm but the type that you will make someone laugh when you're insulting them. You're also hilarious irl you're prob the "funny friend" but with that scorpio mars and venus baby inside ur sad and dark as fuck ripp.

I also wanted to talk about your mercury in sag... Babe... Do you know what a brain to mouth filter IS?! do you recognize that word?!?! Cuz you have never used yours i think. Like you are hilarious but that's because you have dolphins in the head cavity baby. Not trying to say you're stupid, you're actually very smart and opinionated, probably have been told that you'd be a great lawyer or smth. But miss gurl please think before you speak for the love of god ur gonna make someone cry. Also ur mouth is foul. Have you ever spoken a sentence without a "fuck" or a "cunt" somewhere in there?! God bless.

Now for your scorpio Venus I'm just gonna say, more confirmation that ur Sexy as Fuck, scorpio venuses are just sexy, amazing partners, VERY passionate, whoever dates you will never forget you, for better or for worse you'll forever be on the back of their mind. You had a harsh emo phase huh, maybe loved some obscure shit like witchcraft or just love dressing all black like someone's mother died, i bet you wear silver jewelry a lot, maybe necklaces or rings or chockers. If this isn't how you dress now it was prob a major phase in your life. Or maybe you just love horror movies idk

Being as passionate as you are you don't take well to being mistreated or lied to, you might like to plot revenge and things like those, you wouldn't do anything... You actually prefer letting things go but you WILL make an elaborate scenario in your head at 3am or even as you stare right in the persons face.

With mars in scorpio you might be kinda passive aggressive, maybe you act like things don't really bother you but you throw a comment or two once in a while just to stir the pot bc you can't move on lmfao.

You are attracted to people that are introverts or generally just mysterious, like i said above the nature of the Sagittarius is to Learn and to Study. People that you can't immediately figure out intrigue you. All your crushes are either on geminis or water signs lmfao.

The best careers for you are the ones that allow you some freedom of either movement or expression and something that can keep your mind from flying away, something that keeps you intrigued, like research or writing. You're a very "all or nothing" person and it can sometimes scare people away, i advise you to work on compromising, being less stubborn and more open with your emotions and desires.

(part one bc I'm taking too long and I don't wanna keep you waiting so much) I'll reblog this with part 2

Alright here we go part 2 of Roasting hella until she finds out I'm hiding in her walls.

I will skip over some planets that are Very slow moving and usually don't talk about you as an individual but refer to your generation as a whole.

I wanna focus on lilith for a sec bc worstie lilith talks about our fears, our more "darker" side that we hide from ourselves as well as the people that we love. Lilith in aries in the eleventh house tells me you might be afraid to take charge, you gravitate towards positions of leadership but you let go on the last second, almost afraid to have too much control, very often self sabotaging your own success. Your anger and you own ambition might scare you, you might be afraid of appearing too aggressive bc under your skin you have a deep rooted anger and rebellion that you wish to relieve but you can't find a good enough outlet, some things soothe it but you always feel like it never leaves. It might be related to some form of resentment that you never truly dealt with and now it sits uncomfortably with you and you just can't get over it and it bothers you. You might have been shy in groups as a child, maybe you talked a lot but it was always from a fear of the silence not always because you had something to say. The eleventh house is that of groups and friends and social awareness, technology and your hopes and wishes for the future, having lilith in this house talks about someone who had a hard time feeling comfortable around people OR someone who wasn't very accepted. You might have desperately wished for friends but have found it hard to find any. Or if you did, you deep down felt very alone. I would advise to learn to accept your anger and deal with it in healthy ways instead of brushing it off and repressing it.

The north node talks about what you need to focus more in your life for example in your case with Gemini in your North node you need to focus more on your communication letting go of anxiety and your relation with other people you need to become more interested in intellectual pursuit and growth. You need to let go off the need to always be right and look more at details instead of focusing on on the bigger picture all of the time. When your North node is is in Gemini then your South node is in Sagittarius which tells me that what you should focus less on is your pursuit of freedom and your rebellion. Be more aware of your words and use them with maturity.

Now let's have some fun with the ascendent in leo which we share and now i see why ur so relatable. The first house or the ascendant is that very superficial layer of our personality, it includes the way we carry ourselves, our style, the little habits or quirks we have. One thing about leo ascendants is that we have an obsession with our hair. Hair is important to us, some have huge hair that might remind you of a lions mane, others just have very unique style or color but we ALL are lowkey or highkey obsessed with it, either constantly touching it, pulling it, chewing on it, cutting it or dying it in unique ways you name it. You might have a rather large nose or cat like eyes.

This ascendent is full of life and light, very funny, light hearted and luxurious, you want to live that good life and i don't blame you. A negative aspect is that we come of as intimidating to others. ALL of my friends AND my ex have at some point told me I was intimidating to them. It makes us prone to overcompensating for it later in life so maybe now you're super outgoing and extroverted and you approach people first and try to be super friendly. Also you're an attention whore (affectionate) with a flare for the dramatics, very flamboyant, you basically fill the room with personality, it attracts attention and you love it. You're what people would call a "sunny" person.

You're hella competitive (get it lol) and you LOVE fighting your way to the top and crushing the competition. You're probably a weirdo that low key likes school. Not the way it's run or the teachers or whatever, but the "idea" of school. If you could just learn all your life you absolutely would.

Second house in virgo. The 2nd house is the house of money, work, income, daily routines, values, material possessions, habits, work ethic ect being in virgo it means you can have an extremely good work ethic, you put a lot of thought in planning and mapping your work, you might get overly critical on your work though and often undermine your own success and efforts because they didn't fit your impossible standards. You can be very organized in your work, you want things to be a certain way and if they don't follow your plan you will Make them. Its a good position for virgo but yoh need to be aware of not overworking by trying to do Everything on your own. Let others help you, and let people in your work do their own things don't try to help if not asked to because you will overwork yourself.

The third house is that of the mind, thinking, communication, siblings, interests and early education, in your case it is in Libra which means that you're early education might not have been very stable or it was a period of time that you look back with a lot of fondness but not much substance. You are a good talker but you get lost when it comes to details, you are indecisive when it comes to settling on an opinion on something if you don't have All the facts first, you always want to be right. You are pretty open minded and easy to talk to but you might have the bad habit of rambling off topic. You change interests constantly and you prob like to talk about others, you wanna know the tea if it kills you. You prob had a crush on a childhood best friend or on a hot neighbor. Your relationship with your siblings might be pretty good, friendly, no particular resentment or anything like that, you might be the one that everyone treats a little better, people let you get away with things more often, you might be the one that takes 2 hours in the bathroom lol.

Oof fourth house in scorpio babe how are the mommy issues? 😬 How is your relationship with your femininity? Having trouble with keeping secrets? So the fourth house is the one responsible for your home roots, your family, self-care, emotions, your mother, women and your femininity and having Scorpio here tells me that you might have very strong ties to your family, but they weren't healthy or emotionally supportive. You have grown with people that might have undermined your emotions, people that didn't teach you to set healthy boundaries and maybe even manipulators and gaslighters. You might have been the type to put your foot down a lot a home, assuming a very dominant role as well as the defender. You're very private about your family life and don't want to let people too close.

Ah i just noticed u have like 3 planets in this house including ur Sun and Moon, babe this house is what you need to focus on when you go to therapy. This almost secretive, guarded approach to understanding your own emotions is very prominent in how you see yourself, how you feel and with Pluto there, how you change. I could say the biggest changes in your life have happened in these areas and they have left the biggest impacts on you. Yes you are passionate and protective but don't let bad feelings marinate forever, address them and then move on from them because they're just weighting you down.

Fifth house in sag, also the house of your mercury. This house represents Love, romance, creativity, self expression, joy and childlike spirit. It tells me the way you express your creativity is through words which makes sense since you're a great writer, but not only, the way you express Love is also through your words, expression and free thoughts are your way you tell your loved ones how much you mean to them, think poetry, long rants, music recommendations bc of specific song lyrics, you have been writing form childhood and it's one of the ways you express your view on beauty as well, to you love is freedom and freedom is expression.

Capricorn in the sixth house paired with both uranus and neptune being in it tells me there is something about your knees, joints, bones or teeth in particular that stands out when it comes to your health, maybe you tend to break your teeth, maybe you like chewing on crunchy foods, maybe your joints crack a lot, idk but I'd drink my milk if i was you, take care of your joints and bones. Also for you, being emotionally unwell often translates to being Physically unwell as well, so be mindful of your emotions because they do affect you physically. You need to keep hydrated also and your health plan needs structure for it to work bc that neptune makes everything very chaotic and uranus constantly makes you bored and wanting to spice things up. Take care of your emotional needs just as much as you would with your physical ones. And for the love of jesus be CAREFUL with alcohol or smoking because that neptune in ur health house could mean serious trouble if you let it become an addiction, don't push it.

Aquarius in the seventh house of relationships, marriage, contracts, business partners ect means you are untraditionally traditional. That makes sense in my head let me explain. Aquarius is a sign that seeks individualism desperately, it likes to feel like a special person, impossible to understand. Yet always feels comfortable in the structure of traditional and safe paths. So for example you might marry someone in a way that is not traditional but at the end of the day you wish for your marriage to have a stability you would feel safe falling into. Also it says ur gay. Air signs in the relationship house says ur gay i Make the rules.

Pisces is in the eighth house of sex, intimacy, shared finances, inheritance, taxes, loans, property, mystery, partner's resources. This tells me you fuck with feeling lmfao. Or you simply make your love life something "special", a connection that only you and ur person can share, it's what makes you an amazing lover and an unforgettable one as well. But as amazing as you are at creating a otherworldly atmosphere, ur just as shit at setting boundaries and saying something when you don't like something. You don't like to see things that you love ending and a failed relationship makes you blame yourself too much, you have the tendency to stay in situations where you are being mistreated but you tell yourself It's on you.

A recurring theme I'm seeing is some weakness when it comes to liars or manipulators in your life. So either you irrationally fear people are lying to you because you "lie" to them about yourself or a lot of people in your childhood might have used lying or gaslighting as a way to keep you under control. I would advise to try not to overthink and become paranoid, people love you and they believe in you and they aren't deceiving you, they don't secretly mean something different from what they have said. Listen to your intuition about people sure, but don't confuse it with anxiety.

With lilith and aries in the 9th house of travel and higher education and religion I'm gonna assume you might have religious trauma. Religion might have been a way that people used to try and control you, if not religion then some form of system or government law. Being queer i completely understand the sentiment but in your case it's take a step further because you Value the ideals of this house so much, with lilith here, it's like at som point in your life you were finally awakened to how much injustice there was in the world ant that has made you very inclined to take action, you cannot stand unjust government or non tolerating religions. You might have felt crushed under an unjust system and it took you a lot of will and conviction to find your individuality and build yourself how you wanted once you were free.

Your midheaven in taurus tells me you are one that will achieve any goals you set your mind to. It might take you time, you might procrastinate around it, but at the end of the day, you will do it and you will do it well and it will be rewarding. If your father isn't a Taurus then he was a stable figure in your life, very much a rock for better or for worse. In your career life people will see you as very competent, very down to earth and helpful but you know you just procrastinated till the last second possible and stayed up all night do finish your work... You will seek careers that you believe will guarantee you stable income and a comfortable life. You might indulge in luxury from time to time because you think in order to get the position you want at work you need to look the part. Ultimately it's your sheer stubbornness and spite that gets you all the way up to the top of the food chain.

The eleventh house of groups, friendships, humanitarianism, and social awareness is in your case in gemini. It tells me you value friendship extremely and you surround yourself with a diverse cast of friends, you couldn't mix your different friend groups if you tried and you have tried. You have the habit of being too friendly to everyone which makes you end up with more friends than you know what to do with. You are approachable but people can get the impression that you are putting up a show or a facade and your emotions arent genuine, it's not always the case but you need to be more truthful and assertive, put some boundaries and don't let people get away with shit you don't like. Your public persona is very well liked, seen as fun and bright and smart and overall a joy to be around.

Now that last placement... 12th house cancer, i have the same placement and babe I'm sorry for all the shit you have been through. You deserve the freedom to be unhappy and to express that unhappiness in healthy ways. You deserve to be given unconditional love and support no matter how many mistakes you say you have made no matter how overly pessimistic you are about yourself it doesn't matter you're amazing and i love you and you deserve the world.

With jupiter the planet of expansion in the 12th house of endings, spirituality, solitude and karma?! Gurl i did say u were a cult leader but i didn't think it was astrologically backed up rippp. But it also says you might have a hard time getting the motivation to finish things, you might take a long time to finish a project. This house placements also tells me you're amazing at writing emotional ass fantasy stories which by now we have confirmed, but if you have like, an original idea for a book don't hesitate to get it started babe bc u have a very promising placement for that. Don't get too dragged into a sad whirlpool of emotions and daydreams but bring your creative ideas to life and you'll be fine.

This is all I'm doing today and i think it's enough lol. I'm posting this I'm sorry to my followers for the long ass post I'll tag it so you can filter it. This was a whole psycho-astrological analysis of our favourite writer Hellspawn1975. I have wanted to study her like a new lizard species for a while and i finally got the chance thank you hella for the opportunity.

Final words to @hella1975 i hate you and I'll fuck ur mom tomorrow, gn babe <3

[sennextheassasinkingoflight]

Redemption, My Love

Chapter 6 Travel: Day 1 Cross posted on Ao3 Rated Explicit

Summary:  The silence between them is louder than anything Percival has ever heard. It makes him uncomfortable and that discomfort causes him to ask every question he has for The Weeping Monk. Lancelot is uncomfortable answering Percival's questions but does so anyways. Gawain, well he's exhausted and stressed and full of anxiety.

+++Percival+++

By noon Percival complains that he needs to stretch. It isn’t so much that he needs to stretch as it is that the silence between the three of them is thicker than the air in the house when his parents fought. He wanders a way into the woods under the guise of stretching and listens to see if the other two will speak. They don't and it frustrates him to no end. The silence between them all is deafening. The sun is high in the sky and the air is stagnant. He makes his way back to the clearing they’ve stopped in and stands by Gawain who hands him a water skin and piece of bread and dried meat. He eats it slowly and eyes them both in the process. It’s uncanny. The two move in tandem without speaking. Gawain throws a water skin to Lancelot who catches it with a nod, drinks and throws it back. They should need to speak, being strangers and all. But it's like they can read each other's minds instead. Perhaps it's because they are both warriors? Either way it’s eerie and puts Squirrel on edge. Finally Gawain speaks, it's a short sentence directed to no one in particular. “We need to get back on the road.”

With little hesitation Lancelot mounts Goliath. The process is slower than it ought to be and Percival wonders how bad his ribs hurt, as he stands. He brushes his hands on his pants and approaches Gawain who is checking the tack on his own mare one more time.

“Can I ride with you awhile Green Knight?” “Yes.”

So he climbs up in front of Gawain and they set out. Lancelot rides slightly ahead to the right, he seems to curl in on himself a little. Though admittedly he doesn’t know what he looked like riding the last couple of times. Nothing good he imagines, being so close to death as he was. As they continue along the path he wonders if Gawain is purposefully falling behind to watch the monk. He doesn’t quite know what benefit it would give him, but he trusts the knight's judgment implicitly.

As the silence stretches his discomfort only grows. He can only sit still and watch their surroundings so long. He feels alone, even seated in front of the Green knight. And he does not want to be alone. He sucks in a deep breath and then he does what he does very well and blathers into the air. It's nothing important until it is. He doesn’t mean for the questions to start coming out of his mouth. He doesn’t mean for his anger and his uncertainty to come out, but it does. He can feel the weight on his shoulders start to sink into his stomach and he has to move. He starts by turning in his saddle enough to see Gawain out of the corner of his eyes and look at Lancelot completely.

"Where are we going? Do we know if it's the right place? How can you possibly know where we need to go?" He watches Gawain turn his head to look at Lancelot and then down at him.

"According to him,” a nod in Lancelot's general direction, “Nimue made a deal with Uther that involved our people sailing to some other land."

"Nimue would never! This is our home!"

"She did Percival. To save you." Lancelot rasps, lifting a hand to his side. His ribs were probably aching. Unlike Percivals own bruises, Lancelots had only just begun to really heal. “But I don’t understand. Where would we go?” “I don’t know where Uthers ships were to take the Fey. Only that they were supposed to take them from Beggars Coast.” Lancelot informs him, hand visibly pressing harder on his ribs. “Why are we heading south then? Isn't that west of us?” “Yes,” Gawain supplies behind him, chest rising and falling against his back. “We need to avoid the Paladin camps and that means being low enough not to pass through them.” “Alright then.” He settles some, leaning back against the man. They lapse into silence again. It eats at his insides, makes him squirm uncomfortably. The longer he sits in the tension stretching between them the more the pressure grows inside him. The anger that has simmered since their escape is now boiling at his surface. He can practically hear Gawain thinking behind him and he has no idea what is happening in the mind of the Monk. He fidgets and Gawain taps his arm startling him. “What is it Percival?” He prompts a voice gentle enough that it causes Percival to still. Unfortunately the question was all the spark to tinder and Percival erupted into an inferno of rage. “Why did you help them hunt down your own kind?” The venom in his words burns his throat on the way up, leaving a bitter spice on his tongue. When Lancelot does not immediately answer the rest of his questions join the first in the open air between them. It only serves to add fuel to the wildfire of his heart. Gawain does not stop him and he doesn’t know if he should be glad or angrier for it. “Why Did you use me as bait to track the other Fey down? Why couldn’t you just let us go? We never did anything to you, or to the bloody paladins. You're the reason my family is dead, and the reason The Green Knight died. Why did you Rescue me? Were you going to use me as bait again? I don’t understand you. I should hate you.” His voice breaks here fire turning to steam, and steam into tears as he tries not to cry in front of The Green Knight. “But I don’t and I don’t understand why I don’t. Tell me you’ve done good things? Tell me you aren't all evil to the core?” He swallows and breathes heavily. Gawain's arm tightens around him and he leans back into the embrace. His eyes never leave The Weeping Monks back and he hopes the man can feel them burning into his soul. Taking him apart seam by seam. The slump in the man's shoulders and the way he bows his head against the barrage of questions remind him of shame, and maybe the monk does feel that, maybe. But Percival is too irritated and wrathful to believe that; too angry to remember that he doesn’t know Lancelot's story or his motives. He wants answers and the monk's silence is not an answer. Perhaps it's an admission but he wants to hear Lancelot say that he did those things. Give some answer for them. “Give me an answer, damn it!” He commanded the monk, determination coloring his voice turning it hoarse and high. His nostrils flared and he heaved in deep breaths to try and calm himself down. “Let him formulate his words Percival.” Warned Gawain. Which only serves to enrage him further. How dare The Green Knight of all people protect The Weeping Monk. How dare he betray his people like that? How could he support the man who had killed so many of his own? It made Percival sick and further served to remind him of his own internal conflict. “What does that mean?” He sneers, voice harsh as he turns to side eye the man behind him. “I imagine that he is trying to figure out how to say it in a way that makes sense to an eleven year old.” Observed the knight, arm still tight around his shoulders. He wiggles until it comes free. He does not want to be touched by the man who he looks up to. Not right now, not while he tries to justify the Monk. “He can talk to me like I’m an adult. Gods know I've seen enough.” He disagrees bitterly. It's then that he notes that Lancelot has slowed enough to plod along beside them. He looks over at the hooded man and furrows his brows. He’s tired of waiting. “Look at me,” the demand startles them all, but he does not back down.

++++++LANCELOT+++++

How exactly is he supposed to answer the boy? He swallows down the bile in his throat and tries to think of any answer that might satisfy him. There isn’t one. Lancelot had killed hundreds of Fey, had been the one to lead armies to burn their villages and forests and collapse their caves. He had stood by and watched as men and women were strung up on crosses and burned alive. The echoes of their screams chasing him even in restless sleep. He stood by and watched as children were pulled from their mothers arms, the way he had been, and killed on the ends of swords, axes, and arrows. His life is painted in rivers of red, blood and flame and rage. There is no answer to give the boy but the truth. And the truth is wretched and disfigured. The truth is bitter and poison and damming and yet it is all he can offer. Percival was right, the Fey had done no wrong to Lancelot or to the church, save the inherent belief that by their mere existence they were demons born of the devil. People fear that which they do not know. That is why he himself had been feared. He was a killer, an assassin and the brothers didn't know him. They had simply feared him and shied away from him, save for when he gave the orders to burn. In that one moment they were united. United as murderers. It is no wonder he can not feel the grace of God when he cries out. He lets his shoulders slump and hangs his head. Maybe the boy will simply accept that there is no good answer and they can continue in silence. It is not. The boy demands an answer. An answer to some of the very same questions he remembers asking Carden and the other brothers when he was first taken from his homeland.Questions that had kept him up in the darkness of his cell, that rolled around in his mind like the echoes of his mothers voice. He knows that his responses will not satisfy Percival, just as Cardens had never truly satisfied him; but, he will dignify the boy with an answer nevertheless. He slows his horse to match Gawain's pace and stares straight ahead, hood falling over his face. It will be an agony he cannot bear if he is to look at the boy now. He clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth before he finds the words and manages to speak. His voice is low and sounds like a wet stone on steel to his own ears, then again his head is throbbing still. “Killing Fey… it’s all I’ve known since I was younger than you are now. It’s what they trained me to do from the moment they took me from my home; tore me from my mothers arms.” Percivals voice is laced with disgust as he butts in.

“They trained you to be a murderer as a child? Didn’t you ever think it was wrong? When you got older?” Lancelot wishes he hadn’t obeyed the last command and made eye contact, the boy looks terrified and hurt and three kinds of enraged. “I did. Yes, especially at first. However as I got older it was harder to believe I had any other choice. When I refused to obey, or hesitated to spill blood, they would take my hands and make me do it anyway and beat me, after, until I couldn’t move for days. I was desperate to survive, so I did as I was told.” “That’s not an excuse! It doesn’t make it right!” Percival objected, though it sounded weaker than his previous sentiments. He hangs his head again, sombre and dejected and studies the horn on the goliath's saddle as though it is the most interesting thing he has ever seen. It is several moments until he gathers his thoughts again. The smell on the air is bitter with anger and leaves him feeling more nauseous than the headache. He listens to the steady rhythm of the horses moving along the path, of the stream nearby and finally he can speak again. “I know. And neither was using you as bait. I… I am truly sorry for that. I hurt you in doing so.” “Then why did you do it?” The fire is gone from Percivals voice, and something closer to shock fills it. He pointedly does not look at Gawain though he can feel the man's gaze on him. He flushes slightly. Then, resuming his forward gaze, “ I chose to see you not a boy, but as a tool. I was given orders and I needed to obey them.” “What does that even mean?” Gawain intercedes on his behalf, voice like ice chilling him to the bone. “He saw you the way they saw him. Fletching on an arrow, a dog to chase foul, smoke to run out foxes.” “Yes.” He whispers in agreement,, nodding his head marginally and tensing his shoulders. “How did you see the people in my village?” The heartbreak in Percivals voice is enough to stop him answering. He does not wish the boy further pain, he won’t lie to him, but he can’t answer this. Not right now. Likely never. “I. I won’t answer that.”  Now he does meat Gawain's eyes. Not in challenge; but in supplication. “Do you regret it? The things you’ve done?” Gawain asks over Percivals protests. It's not a change in subject, a very uncomfortable subject, but it is a change of topic and for that he is grateful. He does not turn his eyes away from the hazel ones staring into his soul. He feels vulnerable beneath the other man's gaze and yet he cannot look away though he desperately wishes he could. “Yes…” he starts slowly, “I do. More and more with every passing day. I knew when I was young that it was wrong. At some point, it stopped being about right and wrong. It was about survival. I did what I believed necessary to stay alive. At some point though, being alive wasn’t the same as living. Looking back…. It would have been better to let them kill me. I wanted to believe in Fathers words. Some days that hope of salvation he offered was all that kept me from going mad.”  He lets his voice drift soft at the end. Finally he looks away from Gawain and raises a hand to pet Goliath's neck. Sucking in a shuddering breath he attempts to settle whatever emotion it is rising in his chest and causing his throat to ache. “But knowing it was wrong is why you chose to save me?” Percival speaks again in the simplistic, honest way of children. “In part.” he notices the expectant look on Percival's face from the corner of his eye. “It was the knowledge I already had, something Father said and didn’t do, and Gawain's words to me. It was as though some part of me shifted. I didn’t have a choice after that. I knew it was the right thing—The only thing, I could do.”

He casts his gaze from Goliath's neck back towards the road, hands shaking so much that he grips the reins tightly in an attempt to make them stop. The boy falls silent, face scrunched up in thought. Lips pursed and chin tucked to his chest. He doesn't ride forward, but remains at Gawain's side. It’s an invitation. Gawain may ask him questions if he likes. He doesn’t and Lancelot finds himself relaxing at the knowledge that his answers have sated his new companions for the time being. There is an edge in the silence prodding at him like his ribs every time he breathes. Still, even with the sting of it present the journey turns in a more amenable direction.

The sun is beginning to touch the tops of the trees. It would be prudent for them to settle in for the night. As though the knight riding beside him can read mind Gawain directs Percival to look out for a clearing to stop for the evening. It doesn't take them long to locate a spot off the road, near the stream. It's perfect, secluded enough not to be noticed, unless they let the fire burn, yet it maintains plenty of sight lines to the road. They work in silence, practiced in their own right, as they unpack their few belongings. Gawain tasks Percival with gathering firewood and filling the water skins. He trusts the boy to know if the water is good or not. When he has gone and Gawain has given the horses their grain, the knight turns to him.

“We should discuss how the watch will work.” There is no malice, only deep rooted exhaustion and annoyance in his features. He nods his agreement and maintains the eye contact, waiting and not dismissive. “There is really no good way to do this. I don’t trust you to keep watch alone. I don't trust you to keep watch with Percival. Percival cannot keep watch on his own. And I cannot keep watch all night.” “You trusted Percival to keep watch of me while you were away.” He notes softly. Gawain grimaces and pinches his nose, his other hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “He wasn’t alone with you. And you were injured.” “Both of those points are still true.” He schools his features and forcibly does not smirk. It’s fun getting under Gawain's skin. He doesn’t mean to do it, but seeing the knight riled up turns his stomach pleasantly, so when it happens, as it will inevitably do, he pushes it just a touch. He’s good at reading people's limits, he had to be.

Gawain inhales sharply and Lancelot returns his focus. “You and Percival will keep watch together. If you hurt him, betray us, or decide to leave, I will hunt you down and flay you alive.” Gawain's voice is as unwavering as his eyes. They do not leave his face as the man stares him down, waiting for an answer. “I cannot offer you my word. There is no honor to back it. I can give you a promise of good faith in its absence. I will not harm the boy, or you. I will not betray you to paladins or animals alike that may come in the night. And I will not leave. I told you before and I hold to it still, I will face trial by the Fey council.” Hazel's eyes linger on his face and his cheeks heat under the scrutiny. The Green Knight stares at him, more than he likes. Absently he wonders if it's his way of trying to understand him. “I will take the first watch. At midnight, you two will take the second. If necessary Percival can sleep while we ride tomorrow.”

Supper is meager, but filling. Dried meat and some cheese. The fire is warm against his skin, and it is comforting. He watches as the flames orange tendril flick at the night air, coiling and unraveling. He admires the way the coal shines bright white. He forces his eyes away when an unwanted memory enters his mind. He stretches his neck and shoulders, wincing as it jostles his ribs, and focuses instead on the sounds around him instead of the smell of the fire, or the outline still visible through his eyelids. “Have you chewed any of the willow bark Bliant gave you?” The reprimand is clear in The Green Knights voice. He shakes his head. He hadn’t because he deserved the burn in his lungs with each breath to remind him of those he allowed to burn alive, most notably the Moonwing tribe. He deserves the ache in his joints and muscles for all those he has knocked down and left bruised and bloody in his wake. The nausea to remind him of those who had watched their family die around them. If his pain could not cleans him then it could be a reminder of his past actions. A reminder of who he was and what he had done. It was an atonement, not an absolution. “You’ll heal faster if you chew it.” Percival yawns from where he has crawled into his bed role. He’s snuggled down to his chin and rolled to his side, back to the fire. “Perhaps.” “Sleep better too.” The boy mumbles and shifts again. He doesn’t answer, just does what he knows they want him to do. He reaches for his bag and pulls out some of the bark. It's been ground finely like tobacco sometimes is so he can tuck it under his tongue or into his lip. It's more potent this way. He places a pinch under his tongue and instantly his mouth waters from the   burn. It is much more bitter this way than straight from the tree. Silently he settles himself into his own bedroll, cloak pulled securely around him. He falls asleep not long after listening to Gawain hum some ancient Fey song into the night. It's distant and all too familiar and pulls him right into the arms of sleep.

+++++GAWAIN++++

When he has finished sending Percival to gather firewood and water he turns his attention to the monk. He does not enjoy the prospect of him taking watch alone, nor can they avoid it.

“We should discuss how the watch will work.”  he attempts to keep his voice neutral and it seems to work as the monk turns towards him and makes eye contact. It doesn’t waver and that is a comfort to Gawain as much as it is prod to his pride. Lancelot should not feel capable of making  prolonged eye contact with him, they are not on the same level. He lets his eyes flicker over the other briefly as he crosses his arms and speaks. “There is really no good way to do this. I don’t trust you to keep watch alone. I don't trust you to keep watch with Percival. Percival cannot keep watch on his own. And I cannot keep watch all night.” “You trusted Percival to keep watch of me while you were away.” He rubs a hand over his face and settles for pinching the bridge of his nose, his other hand falling instinctively to the pommel of his sword. He thought the man whispered before because he was uncomfortable, but it was becoming clear that perhaps it was simply in his demeanor to be quiet and subdued. It’s irritating. It's not that The Weeping Monks voice is monotonous, but that it is soothing even if it is raspy and low. His voice is too soft for a murderer, for a paladin. They were loud and boisterous, not… this. “He wasn’t alone with you. And you were injured.” He refrains from sighing, only just and straightens his shoulders instead. “Both of those points are still true.” There is a flash of emotion on The Monks face as he says the words, amusement almost. Gawain grinds his teeth and clenches his hand around the pommel of his sword, his other hand coming to rest at his side in a fist as he inhales sharply.   “You and Percival will keep watch together. If you hurt him, betray us, or decide to leave, I will hunt you down and flay you alive.” He aims for stern and threatening and knows he has hit the mark as he watches The Monks face as he formulates his response. He notes the way his jaw goes slack and then tightens as he furrows his brows blue eyes raging as he comes to a decision. “I cannot offer you my word. There is no honor to back it. I can give you a promise of good faith in its absence. I will not harm the boy, or you. I will not betray you to paladins or animals alike that may come in the night. And I will not leave. I told you before and I hold to it still, I will face trial by the Fey council.”  Gawain finds himself staring at blue eyes, and sculpted face longer than is appropriate or necessary. He forces himself not to react as pink rises across the other man's nose and cheeks. He narrows his eyes slightly and nods in acceptance. “I will take the first watch. At midnight, you two will take the second. If necessary Percival can sleep while we ride tomorrow.”

Their supper is nothing special, left over dried meat that Bliant had insisted they take and some cheese. There is enough for one more day and then they will need to take time to hunt. They wouldn’t if they could travel at a faster rate, but he knows what it’s like to ride with broken ribs and bruised skin and doesn't push them. Beyond that Bliant had been firm in her reprimand that they were traveling too soon and The Monks injuries could still be threatening if they were not careful. He watches The Monk through the fire, he is like some cold unmoving wraith and when the flames cast flickering shadows across his hands and face he can't help but admire the way they highlight the curve of his back and throat as he stretches out his neck and shoulders. He frowns when he notices the way the man winces from the pain and wonders if he's used any of the willow bark they were sent with. “Have you chewed any of the willow bark Bliant gave you?” He doesn’t mean for it to be a reprimand and yet that’s exactly what his tone implies. He really shouldn’t care if the man has chosen to neglect himself, and yet he does. The orders from the Hidden echoing in his mind and weighing on his shoulders.

The Monk shakes his head and that's all the answer he gets.

“You’ll heal faster if you chew it.” Percival yawns from where he has crawled into his bed role. He’s snuggled down to his chin and rolled to his side, back to the fire. A smile inches its way across his face. For all his anger earlier the boy still shows compassion and inadvertently trusts with his actions. It warms Gawain to know that even after everything the boy is not completely irreparably damaged. “Perhaps.” “Sleep better too.” The boy mumbles and shifts again. The sound of a rustling cloth draws his attention back from the boy and to the man across the fire. He watches with interest as he pulls out the little tin of ground bark and places a pinch beneath his tongue. He almost laughs when his eyes water and he swallows instinctively from the burn. Gawain knows the feeling like he knows the feel of his armor, or a blade in his hand. He thinks that perhaps The Monk does not and some distant part of him aches for that. It isn’t long before the Monk joins Percival in the act of sleep, curling his cloak around him and shifting more comfortably on his bedroll. Absently he hums an old lullaby of the Fey. He isn’t entirely certain why he does it, but it brings him comfort as he sits in the dark the flames of a dying fire his only company.

There is an energy brimming in him, aching to get out. He knows this energy, it’s familiar as it coils in his chest and squeezes his lungs. Anxiety. He has every reason to be anxious he thinks; for instance, his mind supplies, you died and now you're alive; not to mention The Monk asleep across the fire from him; or Squirrels mixed feelings of attraction and respect for the man; and The Hiddens orders to bring The Monk before Nimue and the Elders alive; nor the concern for his people taking a deal with Uther and leaving themselves vulnerable on the beaches, lastly the knowledge the Nimue may not even be with their people considering that very agreement. Who let her make such a decision? Did no one council her against it?  Of course not, fool, you weren’t there to be the stable one . They’re all just children. Why did I let her name herself queen? There had to have been a different way?

It didn’t matter now if there had been a different way or not. Not while he sat alone in the darkness, the embers of the fire the only source of light, dim against the void of the night. He sat, posture straight and proper as he had been taught as both boy and warrior. Tilting his head back, hair catching slightly in the bark of the tree he looked to the sky for answers. Where did he start? What did he start with, his emotions, the challenges, the people? It was all intertwined with no reprieve in sight. What was the most immediate source of discomfort? What was the most important issue at hand? What needed to be addressed first? Ultimately it was the ones that he was surrounded by currently. There would be nothing simple about sorting through his feelings about The Monk or determining the best course of action for helping to dissuade the boy from becoming more enamored by him. He wondered and wondered into the night about why the Hidden wanted The Monk alive. What could the man possibly do for the Hidden, for the Fey. His comment about the Fey using a warrior like him had been rooted in truth, he could certainly help change the tides of the war with his knowledge and skills with weaponry. But there must have been much more. Much much more. Right? He is a murderer, a kin killer. There is nothing about the man that says he should be redeemable. And yet that's what The Monk said it was that he seeks. He grimaces and suppresses a shudder as he recalls that he had offered the man forgiveness. Forgiveness of all things, for what, that he himself might feel better? Because he had hoped that the words would extinguish some of the hate in his heart? For the slim chance that he could be a good role model for Squirrel because the boy deserved people in his life that were good. Who weren't worn out by war and made ugly and deformed and broken by the things they have seen and the things that they have done.

Instead he had Gawain, broken and defeated by the consistency of war, turned bitter against the race of men. Gawain, who given the chance, would have stabbed The Monk in the back if it meant he could never kill again. Gawain who was loyal to his people, to a fault, and obedient beyond his own understanding to the Hidden. Nimue who was too busy to give him the attention he needed from some kind of motherly or sisterly persona. Nimue, made impulsive by the sword, violent even. Nimue with her boy troubles and love of manbloods. Nimue with too much worry over too many people for someone so young. Pym, barely a healer. The girl who wove nets who was never meant to be something more, but who always wanted to be. The girl who was too young to give wise counsel but tried nonetheless. The girl who sought to be useful and skilled but who was never important to anyone. The girl who deserved just as much and more than Percival himself. Arthur and Morgan man bloods who gave council. Good counsel at that, even if he did not wish to admit it. Kaze with the blood of a fierce warrior, and a taste for blood, but wise beside. Counselor of queens and battle hardened. And now, The Weeping Monk, harbinger of death and destruction, grey in ash and a parrot too. A man incapable of thinking for himself, content to live as a slave taking orders from his master even after he's been kicked like some kind of overtly loyal dog. He laughs bitterly, mirthlessly, the mist of night damp on his skin. What is he to do? To be? Why had the Hidden saved his life. It most certainly was not so he could be a mentor or a father to Squirrel, certainly it could not have been for the sake of the Monk. They could have chosen to tell anyone of the elders that he was not to be killed, instead they had resurrected him from the dead. He could have been done. This world no longer his responsibility. The Fey no longer his to protect or be concerned about. He should be dead, returned to the green where he should be able to rest for eternity. Instead, here he was, exhausted and cold, and so tightly wound that when the sound of a snapping twig reached his ears he found his feet in a fluid motion, sword drawn and at the ready. His eyes scanning the forest for signs of enemy and attack. Looking into the nighttide and saw nothing. Heart hammering rapidly in his chest he breathed deep and listened to darkness around him. No sounds followed the first. The tension does not leave his body. Slowly and carefully he makes his way around the perimeter of their camp stopping and listening occasionally. Satisfied that there is nothing nearby he returns to his location by the tree and settles in for a long night of waiting, wondering, worrying and overthinking.

[lokispettigerr]

Painting the Wind: Jotun!Loki x Female!Reader SMUT (NSFW)

Requested by @rougepetale. I killed three Bilgesnipe with one arrow though because I decided to follow out two more requests-- a Jotun!Loki fic and a dark fic. This is book material and I am proud. 

***It is Pet Tiger Tuesdays!!!! Get stoked!

Summary: Reader drives men, and women, wild with just her scent. One evening, she attends her friend’s art viewing at a studio. When Loki catches her scent she runs, spurred on by the dangerous lust that he radiates.

Word Count: 4096

Warning: Sex Pollen, Dom Loki, Non-Con

A/N: So, remember that Mushroom Muse Stew I posted about a while back? Maybe last week, well it pops up again here. **Not my image

Beauty, attraction, and irresistibility is a blessing and a curse. 

When I was younger, I was raised by monsters who injected their precious serum into my blood year after year after year. Each injection would make me the person I am today, the beast I have become. But do you ever wonder who the true monster is? The beast that was either born into its circumstances or forced into them, or the people or superhuman entity that made them the way they are.

As I look in the mirror now at my reflection I don’t look much a beast. I have doe eyes, bright and big. My lashes make shadows dance upon my cheeks. My lips are full and my skin glows inhumanly. I have womanly curves and hair that shines even on a cloudy day. 

If you want to know the truth, how I really feel about all this talk of monsters and beasts. I think that both parties are at fault. The people who raised me are at fault for sure for forcing this path upon me, but I too am at fault. You gasp? You are shocked? You don’t know me. There are times when I enjoy the way people are uncontrollably aroused towards me. I enjoy knowing that I am constantly in control because they would do anything to be with me, if even for a few moments. You see, there is a part of me that is very much like the monsters who raised me. I am greedy. I was never given love or affection and no matter how much I get now, even an infinite amount… It would never be enough. There is something in me insidious and wrong. 

I turned from my reflection just as my open hand turned to a fist wanting to smash the shiny glass into pieces. What good would that do me? 

I left the house, my heels clicking down the sidewalk outside of the apartment building. The wind was beginning to pick up and the sun kept passing behind giant, ominous looking clouds. I kept my head down shielding my eyes against the wind as my hair fanned out, causing a trail of pheromones to sway luxuriously out behind me. 

Everywhere I went I painted the tail of the wind with my intoxicating scent. Of course, this wasn’t always safe, but I had been trained by the monstrous, mad scientists that raised me. I was unbelievably strong and was meant to be a breeding *whore* to create super soldiers. 

I was an experiment gone wrong. All of my sisters were too. All of us failed. It was something I always found laughable. 

We were all deemed infertile. The pheromones they so ruthlessly injected us with made us alluring, but ironically it nuked our reproductive organs. No sweet bundle of baby joys would ever be a product of me, and in truth, I liked it better that way. I can imagine that with my background I would be a horrifying parent. 

I essentially was a super-soldier. I could practically strangle a man with my bare hands within moments. I could hit someone on their shoulder hard enough that their head would come clean off. When I was a kid, and not very strong I would walk past dandelions doing the same thing. Hitting them hard enough for the flower head to pop right off, all while I ran along wearing a white dress, bows in my hair musical laughter pouring from my lips. Innocence turned to corruption-- it has always been there. 

My text notification chirped and I pulled the phone out of my pocket with a quick glance at the screen. I was meeting Willow at her art showing tonight. I had promised and I was going to come through for her. Being around a group of people like that always made me antsy, all of them would be horny and wanting to grab at me being in close proximity but luckily, Willow mentioned there was an open bar. When I was able to get a little buzz, the anxiety from the surrounding horn dogs usually lessened and I could loosen up, even give them a little of what they wanted. 

I turned the corner and approached the art studio building, “Montross Art Studios” a golden wire looking sign read. It swayed back and forth in the wind as the breeze began to pick up. I could only hope that when I opened the door, the wind would not blow my scent within the art studio. In close quarters it moved slowly, but if the wind stirred the air it would be a scent spread like wildfire. 

I was lucky. The wind had stopped long enough for me to get inside the studio. The door creaked loudly on its hinges, but the studio was full of laughter and chatter, blues music playing over the speakers. 

I scanned the sea of faces looking for Willow’s dark bob and big brown eyes. She was around somewhere, I could sense it. I knew I would run into her eventually and my nerves were already jumping and on highwire so I decided to go to the bar and grab a drink. 

A handsome man stood up against the bar, his posture excuding cockyness and confidence-- of course, if I looked like him I would do the same thing. His hair was shockingly black and his eyes were bright green. He was leaning over the counter of the bar talking in an erotic purr at the bartender who would laugh intermittently while he took a clean wipe towel and rubbed different glasses, making them have a shine. 

He took a sip of a green drink and placed the cup on the bar to move a strand of his black hair behind his ear, exposing his sharp jawline. I was usually not nervous when approaching any sex, but this man at the counter made me feel uneasy. I weighed my options, continue to feel anxious and on edge throughout the art gathering or face one man for a few moments, order a drink, and feel the calm settle over my brain like a security blanket. The choice was easy, a few minutes of discomfort was much easier than discomfort the remainder of the night. 

I made sure to walk as smoothly as I could, so as not to stir the air. When I made it to the bar I kept my distance from the attractive man who oozed danger all about him. 

“Hi there,” I paused while I looked for the bartender's name tag, it read, “Joe?”. I giggled, “ You aren’t sure if Joe is your name?”

He shot me a shy smile back, “If I made a beautiful woman like you laugh then I have succeeded. For you, I’ll be whoever you want me to be. What’ll you have?”

“Just a martini please.” I glanced from the side of my eye at the dark-haired man standing beside me. I could feel his piercing gaze. “Joe, she was mistaken, she will have what I am having.”

I looked at him, wide-eyed, my eyebrows going up. Joe seemed confused, “She said she would like a marti--”

The man standing beside me cut him off, his eyes boring through Joe and into the wall, “Absinthe, Joe. Get the lady Absinthe.”

Joe’s face went blank and he immediately began to pour Absinthe. A chill went down my spine, I had never seen someone command something with such force. I quickly began to rethink the drink. Screw this, I could be uncomfortable the rest of the night. 

Once the bartender had finished preparing the Absinthe he lit the sugar cube on fire. I could not deny the color of the Absinthe combined with the bright burning flame was beautiful. I smiled to myself enraptured by the fire. For a moment I felt alone in the room, the fire holding my attention. It was so beautiful. 

“Your complexion is glowing.” The twilight satin voice brought my thoughts back to the current situation. 

I looked away from the flame, “Just a trick of the light, everyone looks captivating against the allure of firelight.”

The man was silent as he continued to watch me, his eyes half-lidded. 

“I think not,” he whispered, “you’re special…”

I feigned ignorance, after all he was just feeling the average effects of being too close to me. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” I wanted to take a sip of the absinthe, something to keep my mouth busy so I no longer felt the need to carry on this conversation. 

Just then, the door to the studio opened and a gust of wind blew in stirring the air around me, making my hair twirl along my back and shoulders. The flame above the absinthe blew out. Shit!

It was as if time stilled, the man beside me went rigid-- his body freezing, all except for his nostrils which flared dramatically, taking in my scent. His eyes fluttered closed and his head reclined slightly back. Strangely, blue lines were creeping up his neck, and his skin began to darken. 

My eyes searched the crowd, Did anyone else see this? 

His eyes shot open, burning and completely red, “What were you saying?” 

I had to get out! “Uh, gotta go!” I turned to leave, but his fingers quickly closed around my arm. “Not so fast,” he warned. He was strong, superhuman strong. I should have easily been able to break his hold on me but his grasp was like chains of solid iron. 

Just then Willow approached. The mysterious man released my arm, but not before Willow saw him holding it. 

“What’s going on here, Loki?” She asked, a concerned look on her face. 

I answered instead. “I’m so sorry Willow, I got a call. I’ll try to see if I can make it next time.” I ducked my head not wanting her to see the lie. 

Her face fell, disappointment covering it, “Well, okay, if you have to go, I understand.”

I began to walk away, towards the door, towards freedom, “I’ll call you!” I called out over my shoulder and the door slammed behind me. I never looked back to see what the man was doing or if he was watching me, but every fiber of me felt like it was the sugar cube still sitting on the absinthe, on fire, burning brightly-- a flame that would never extinguish. I knew he was watching me as I walked away. 

Usually, I don’t have this kind of reaction, but my body screamed at me to get away as fast as I could. It was as if my brain knew, from all the strength and training that I had, even I could not hold my own against the man in the art studio-- Loki was it? What an odd name. I shoved my arms, hurriedly into my cloak and quickly flipped up the hood. I carried around a thin cloak oftentimes, it helped keep my pheromones in one place and not billowing all about-- plus it looked kinda cool. 

With each step I took, my anxiety increased. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being followed. I sped up my pace only to hear what sounded like footsteps approaching at the same speed as my own. I glanced back, the wind tugging ruthlessly at my hood. No one was there. It was only me, the echo of my footsteps. I was alone and so close to home. I would be safe soon. 

My heart was racing and my blood was pumping, making a whooshing sound that filled my ears and pounded around my head. Every few moments I would glance back only to see an empty sidewalk and a few dried leaves skirt by, pushed on by the wind. 

Dusk had settled, not doing anything to help my nerves, and street lamps flickered to life. The harsh light pooled down at the sidewalk interrupting any chances I had at using my night vision. I would try to peer out past the bright lights towards the edge of the trees or across the sidewalk from where I loped, but all I could see were shadows with hunger in their eyes and saliva dripping from their teeth. None of it was real, my fear was making it all up. My imagination was running wild and I knew that as soon as I made it back home and my locks were in place everything would be right in the world. 

Wait… There, what was that? Footsteps not matching my own approaching from behind, my breath caught in my throat and I opened my mouth in case I needed all the air possible for a scream. I was so close, so close to home-- just around the corner and I could rush up the steps, past the lonely, naked lady fountain, past the gardenias making the night smell aromatic, past the garden bed, past the empty swing that often rocked back and forth in the cool night air as it creaked out a forlorn tune, all the way up seven steps to the threshold of my *home*.

I opened the old iron gate, tossing it shut behind me without ever looking back. My hood flew off in my hurry to get inside and I skipped up the steps taking two at a time. The keys were already in my hand and I forced them into the latch turning while I simultaneously twisted the knob. 

The smell of the sage I had burnt early trickled out. I inhaled deeply, the sigh that left my parted lips was one of triumph. I had made it. I shrugged out of my cloak, exposing the skin on my shoulders. I tossed the keys towards the stand near the door and they landed with a sharp clack. The house was dark, but it didn’t matter. I let the darkness of my home envelop me like a warm blanket. I teased my arm along the wall feeling towards the light switch, bracing myself for the moment the lights would come on when I heard a low rumble as someone across from me cleared their throat-- a growl from a hunter. 

Panic choked me, my eyes grew wide with fear and I could acutely see myself from somewhere else in the room. I stood, frozen with terror, unable to move.

“You’re wondering how I came to be here. How I knew this humble abode was yours.” Loki’s sultry voice purred at me from the shadows, just above a whisper. “The fountain out front is a nice touch.” He stalked towards me, the shadows sliding away from him to expose his predatory form. The blue tendrils that had begun to crawl up his skin in the art studio had taken full effect. His skin was now a deep blue hue with exotic markings and his eyes were a violent red. They glowed and cut through the darkness. Had he been bitten by some ghastly bug that had bestowed this monstrous, yet alluring form upon him?

Suddenly, my brain jump-started. I pushed away from the wall, running down the hallway and towards the kitchen. I needed a weapon! Anything. 

It was no use! Somehow the devil named, “Loki” was there-- it was as if he appeared from thin air. 

“There is no use in fighting it. You will soon tire, and I will not soon grow bored.” He glanced at me, his eyes glowing feverishly. 

I reached for a large knife, serrated and as long as my forearm. *This would do the trick*, I thought, right before it turned into a snake within my grasp. I yelped dropping it before running off again towards the dining room. Had something been slipped into my drink to make me have delusions?

I stopped, my back against the wall, my shoulder blades hurting. My chest rose and fell as I heaved. Loki walked, smooth as a water dancer, into the dining room. His chin was tilted down and a deranged smile was on his lips. He was beautiful-- there was no denying it. 

When he reached the rug under the table, I pushed off the wall, my palms lifting and shoving the solid oak table towards Loki. 

But with a simple wave of his hand, it stopped in thin air, never touching him. He moved his hand to the side as if swatting at a lazy fly and it smashed against the wall next to me. How? How was he doing this?

He laughed and I wanted to smile in response, I would do anything to hear that sultry laughter again. “You are clever. I like that about you,” he said as he moved towards me. I stayed against the wall. Clearly, running was useless. I clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes. 

“Ooo-- you plan to fight me then?” his eyes went up and down my body, lingering on my hips and my heaving, sweat glistening breasts. “How,” he paused a smile spreading to his face again, “...admirable.” 

He stopped inches from me and part of me wanted to reach out to touch the lines etched on his skin. Were they scars? Had they ever caused him pain? I bit my lip.

“I wouldn’t,” he warned, his voice causing goosebumps to race across my skin and my nipples to tighten. 

I lifted my hand, reeling it back to hit him with all of my strength. It would stun him, for sure. Anything I could do to get out of this situation. 

Too quick, and he saw it coming. My wrist hitting his hand made a loud smacking sound and Loki laughed as if he was amused by my animosity. 

“You are a feral thing aren’t you?”

I grunted, getting ready to slam my forehead against his. He managed to see that one too! His other hand went to my throat, his cool fingers closing around my windpipe. 

He was too strong-- it was incredible. His power was immense. 

Loki leaned towards me, his fingers sliding up my throat to push my jawline. I tried to withstand him, but at last, I submitted. I turned my head to the side and he slid his pointed nose up my neck, inhaling deeply. 

“I can’t possibly help myself,” Loki said aloud, though more to himself than to me. 

“Any reservations, my delightful pet?” he asked, polite as ever, as if he wasn’t holding me against my will. 

“Yes,” I spat, “Go fuck yourse--”.

Loki’s finger went to my lips, shushing me. “My, my, what a foul mouth you have.”

Stupidly, I opened my mouth, taking his finger between my teeth as I bit down. Loki didn’t flinch, instead, he chuckled and removed his now slick finger from my mouth. Though he was smiling, I could feel dark rage rolling from him in waves. “Watch me,” he commanded, and compelled, I couldn’t look away from him.  

His hand slid down to the hem of my dress, pushed past it and pulled gently at my thong, exposing my weeping, wet opening. His masterful fingers plunged within me forcefully, and I cried out in pleasure and in surprise. 

“Ohoho, you like that don’t you? You have wanted this since you first laid eyes on me. Haven’t you?” Loki asked. 

I looked away from him, not wanting to admit what I had in truth felt from the beginning. I wasn’t ready to admit it. 

“Answer me!” he growled as he curled his fingers within and without faster, his thumb rubbing around my aching clit in tight circles. 

The more he rubbed his finger pads upon the spongy tissue of my g-spot, the more I lost the ability to speak-- to form coherent thoughts. I moaned in response. 

“Very well, Pet. That is answer enough. I need to hear you speak for me again.”

*Speak for him again?* What did he mean by that? 

I leaned closer to him, drawing him towards me. My lips closed on his own, and my tongue pried at his lips, coaxing him to part them. He did as I bid, an unspoken communication taking place. And when he opened them I bit down, tasting his blood in my mouth-- it was cool and tasted of the darkest berries. Poisonous yet delicious. 

I had surprised him and a hiss escaped his lips as he pulled away from me. He had recovered quickly, regaining his composure. 

“Fool me once…” His strong arm closed around my waist, and I cried out. “You shouldn’t have done that, Pet.”

He threw me down, effortlessly and I hit the couch, the springs bouncing against my weight. 

He removed his clothes and his body met mine, his soul touched mine. His skin covered me like the waves of the sea that caress the sand of the beach. 

Loki pulled back from me, looking at me hungrily. His hand came up to graze at my breast. I could tell he wanted to slow down, to take all of me in, but something in him or the beast in me made him rush on. 

He pushed his way into me, and I whimpered, his length filling me entirely. 

I rolled my eyes back in my head as visions danced behind my eyelids. A lightning strike met a lone tree, igniting it, making it burn brilliantly. A fox took down a hare, killing it as its narrow jaws closed down around its neck. A herd of wild horses, free and unbroken, stirred the dry-packed earth of a desert-- their mouths open in a song that echoed throughout a canyon. A bird plummeting down, wind flowing through its outstretched wings, 10,000ft. down. 

Loki’s deep moan aroused me further. I opened my eyes to find his muscled form taken in the throes of ecstasy. For a moment, I wondered if he had seen what I had seen, but the thought was gone as quickly as it came. 

Loki’s body stilled as if he was trying to slow down and savor me, but my hips continued to move and buck. I grabbed his narrow hips, pushing and pulling at him, fascinated by the blue tint his skin had against mine. His hand grabbed at both of my wrists, bringing them up easily to rest in confinement above my head. 

“Fuck it,” he breathed raggedly and he sped up his pace, his fingers closing harshly around the bones in my wrist.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming, oh.” Loki thrust into me, his cum pumping against the opening of my cervix.

In response to Loki’s words, my body came without warning and my back arched, legs shaking as I cried out, my walls clenching down around him. 

Loki’s breath was cool against my neck, a welcome sensation. He stilled above me before turning to lay beside me. I watched his every move, my eyes full of wonder.

“What?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” I replied, “Well, I guess I’m just surprised.”

Loki read my mind, “In the manner things played out? I must admit, I am surprised by this myself.”

I shook my head, “It’s normal. For you... Anyone else, really. I have a curse or an ability. When I was young I was forcibly given a serum that creates a pheromone that causes an irresistible attraction towards me.”

“I knew you were special, but even regardless of that, you are special because you were created for me.” He nodded, knowingly. 

I glanced at him, surprised, “How do you mean?”

“You saw my skin change to blue, my red eyes-- the lines upon my skin. I am part Jotun-- something I can explain more later. Without any control, my true mate will force me into Jotun form without my consent. Something that will not placate until my sexual needs and union with the mate is fulfilled.” 

I was speechless. I needed time to process this. 

After a few moments of silence, Loki muttered, “Mushrooms.”

“Huh?” 

“Mushroom stew. A writer friend of mine recently taught me how to make it.”

“Oh-- uh, cool,” I responded, confused and unimpressed.

“Are you hungry? I am completely famished. I’ll make it for us.” He looked at me, his green eyes shining like stars in the dark. It took me a moment to realize he was waiting for me to say something. 

 I smiled, it was evident he wanted things to work. “Sure, Loki, that sounds delicious.”

“Perfect.” He bent his neck, his face coming towards me and he placed a shy kiss on my lips. 

***** Hope you all enjoyed this and it made you slide to the edge of your seat! There is so much about this one I am proud of, and I cannot wait to hear your thoughts! Send me an ask or leave me a comment and like and reblog! It is the most helpful thing you can do. 

If you would like to be on the Taglist please send me an ASK.  Until next time,  Loki’s Pet Tiger

[cannabisblog03]

5 Recommendations FOR USING CANNABIS FOR CHRONIC PAIN

Serious pain would be that the number only supply of handicap in the United States affecting more than 100 million Americas daily, with ladies affected significantly. According to your patient surveys, over 60 percentage of people within our clinic are making use of cannabis to tackle chronic soreness. Therefore what precisely is continual pain? Chronic pain can be defined as pain persisting a couple of months or even more. The experience of persistent pain affects a lot more than only the actual world - which is exceptionally stressful. Patients who have persistent pain tend to be high rates of depressive disorders, stress, and insomnia. Traditional pain management strategies, such as opiates, overwhelmingly dot work and usually come with unwanted negative results and dangers. Luckily in Florida (and 3 2 other states) cannabis can be still an available alternative for sufferers. DOT IGNORE CBD. Patients often jump into THC dominant services and products for persistent pain, assuming the higherpotenc way better pain relief, yet this ist always true. Including in CBD and your THC might help achieve better pain alleviation. In many cases patients find honing within their CBD:THC ratio will probably require them to use less THC to receive exactly the exact positive aspects, as CBD will help to grow the therapeutic window. CBD also includes antibacterial properties that are powerful, with inflammation within a underlying approach in most persistent pain syndromes. If you aret now taking some, try adding at a cannabis derived oral CBD tincture (with excess fat ) 2-3x daily. CBD has cumulative effects, with the majority of patients discovering advantage within 4-6 months of regular ingestion. Mo-Re IST Usually Superior. Some people, and also some research, also suggests that consistently microdosing cannabis may function as the ideal approach to restraining anxiety. Cannabinoid receptors can become overstimulated by recurrent high doses of cannabis, causing them to become less tender and more responsive. As endurance improves, so will the possibility of the recurrence of uncomfortable symptoms. Microdosing, or carrying very tiny, non psychoactive doses of cannabishelps to keep these cells from getting oversaturated, although offering a regular curative baseline. This enables individuals to reserve larger doses because of intense flareups just, without the identical potential for a fast rising tolerance. Finding out How to TUNE INTO YOUR BODY IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN PRODUCTS THAT WORK BEST FOR the Others. Being being a cannabis individual isn't difficult to become overrun with each one the accessible strains, products, and shipping techniques in the marketplace. If you ask 10 people the very best cannabis item for pain, you are likely to be fulfilled with 10 different responses. Instead of emphasizing monitoring the greatest medicine, learn to tune to your entire body and use it as an instrument for directing your cannabis choices forward. Utilizing cannabis business social network or taking routine inner inventories are helpful methods for improving human anatomy comprehension. Pay Attention to Your Slumber. Sleep is still among the most debilitating components your along with chronic ache. When wre in ache is tough to slumber well and once we scatter sleep pain increases. Is definitely an endless cycle. Fortunately, snooze is actually a relatively simple place for most patients to dial in when it has to do with cannabis. THC wealthy breeds dominant in the terpenes myrcene and linalool (usually labelled indica) tend to make the best health effects results. They are generally soothing, even though helping muscles and mind to unwind and relax. Lots of patients prefer oral dosing for its very long behaving (6-8 hours) effects. Strains or services and products rich from the cannabinoid CBN can also help with slumber because is understood to get is sedating, strolling through mud, type effect.

Utilize A VARIETY OF DELIVERY METHODS. Chronic discomfort contains many layers along with different kinds. Taking a multi-faceted strategy, either inside cannabis and out it, helps patients better control their soreness while feeling improved complete. Many patients locate great relief adding in cannabis topicals for break through discomfort or vaginal patches throughout severe flare ups. You may even integrate cannabi psycho-activity and relaxation facets to yoga, meditation, and other mind body pain control practices. Try out a wide range of products and methods and soon you discover the very best combination for the requirements.

[friendfromdsmp]

Social Anxiety: What Happens In Our Minds

I’ve decided to compile some problems I typically face that flare up my social anxiety, then provided what will usually go through my brain when this happens, then what could have been done instead to prevent the increased anxiety followed by why that’ll help me

Problem: “Can you come here for a minute?”/”I need to talk to you”/”I need to ask you something”

Reaction: ‘Oh crap! Did I do something wrong?! Am I in trouble?! Are they mad at me? Did someone get sick or hurt?! It has to be bad news! I’m so scared! What’s happening?!

Solution: “Can you come here for a minute so we can X?”/”I need to talk to you about X”/”I need to ask you about X”

Explanation: People with social anxiety like to know beforehand what to expect when walking into a conversation or moving into a new topic; we tend to have difficulty reading the room so it’s reassuring to have an idea of what attitude fits the conversation. We also are likely to jump to conclusions quickly and so a very open-ended question/statement like the examples will make us panic and assume the worst. With me and all three of my siblings, we always get scared when our parents call us all downstairs because usually that means we’re in trouble or someone has died or gotten severely ill. Just that quick clarification on the topic of conversation makes all the difference; we know everybody is fine and nobody is mad at us that way

Problem: “You can order yourself”/”Just go up and ask”

Reaction: ‘What?! But what am I supposed to say?! I know there’s some kind of unspoken social laws about what I’m meant to say but they’re not specific enough! What if I say it and it comes out wrong?! What if I take too long and the people behind me get annoyed and start yelling at me?! I don’t want to bother this poor person, their work probably sucks enough as it is! What do I say, what do I say?! What sounds the most natural so I don’t sound weird?! Do I need to make eye contact?! Oh god, where am I supposed to look?! Will it be rude to not look at them?! If I try to make eye contact I’ll just stare the entire time and it’ll be so creepy and uncomfortable!’

Solution: “I’ll say it for you, but you need to come with me and listen”/”Here, I’ll tell you exactly what to say”/”Would you like to practice on me first?”

Explanation: Surprisingly, socialising is hard for someone with social anxiety. Who’d have thought? We understand that we can’t always have someone handle ordering or asking or help on our behalf and it is definitely important for us to get that experience ourselves so we’re a little more used to it in future, but at the same time just forcing us to leap into the ocean without testing the waters will only make things worse. If you’re happy to do it on someone’s behalf, please do, but make sure they go with you and listen to the interaction so they can get an idea of what exactly needs to be said and how to do it so casually. If you’re not going to do it for them, helping them work out exactly what to say or letting them practice first will help them out a good bit, even if it doesn’t solve too much. Always be there to support them through their anxiety and take as much pressure off as you can

Problem: “That’s, uh, cool... So anyway, I did X and Y and Z and then-!”

Reaction: ‘Oh no, they hated it! Did I ramble and talk for too long?! Was it boring?! Was it random?! Was it inappropriate?! Are we not close enough yet that I can say stuff like that around them?! I never should’ve brought it up! They’re probably mad at me for wasting their time!’

Solution: “That’s interesting!”/”Yeah, that’s a good point!”/”So how did X go?”

Explanation: Never ever try to silence someone with social anxiety who felt comfortable enough around you to ramble! That is one of the most special things they can do for you to show how much you mean to them! Silencing them or acting disinterested will only make them less open to you and push them right back to square one! Even if they said something weird, just smile and nod, maybe encourage them to continue if you notice them beginning to clam up again. Let them know that they’re appreciated and that you care about them, their day, their interests and everything else they have to say. If you really want to be great, ask a follow-up question to show that you’re fully engaged in what they have to say and want to hear more. Trust me, it’ll make their day to feel heard by their friend/family member/partner

[mssapphire]

The personal is political, and the political is personal

One of the reasons why Choice Feminism (which is the bases for current Pop Feminism) is so persistent, is because it is so difficult to understand how the political and the personal coexist.

Choice Feminism will tell you that any choice a woman makes is a feminist choice, and an empowering one, just by sake of being a woman’s choice. The problem with that, as we see in today’s culture, is that it allows space for internalized misogyny to be washed clean and legitimized. Most importantly, it keeps us from actually looking at and pointing at the power structures at play - and we end up falling deeper into patriarchy’s clutch, all the while thinking we are breaking free.

But the real question we need to ask is: why do we feel the need to do that? why don’t we, when faced with arguments that point towards our own harmful behavior just stop? why do we insist in perpetuating oppression towards ourselves and others? 

Because it’s not that easy. The cliché answer is to say: because we live in a society - but that doesn’t really explain away why we fall into this dynamic.

And I think the reason why is deeply personal and emotional. It’s because facing ourselves with our own (self)harmful behavior is, simply put, painful and uncomfortable. So we immediately get defensive. We immediately try to justify it. We quickly jump to say: ‘my life, my choice!’ and leave it at that.

Because we also like to think that we’re deeply rational beings. But we’re not. We’re emotional - we just don’t want to admit our contradictions and we want to save face and find a way to make it right through our words, just so we don’t have to acknowledge to ourselves that we, in all our human imperfection, are, and will continue to be, some way or another, problematic. And we end up justifying the craziest shit.

Let me explain with a personal example.

I have studied Feminism actively for about a decade. I understand the patriarchal structures of power. I understand why the objectification of women is oppressive. I understand why the beauty industry creates and preys on women’s insecurities and operates under the patriarchal values that a woman’s job is to be beautiful - and a woman who isn’t, is somehow ‘less than’. I understand our cultural constructions of taste and how we have a rigid knowledge of what is beautiful and what isn’t, and how that is harshly applied to women.

But at the same time, I have struggled with my self-image and my self-esteem. I have struggled with weight and eating disorders, and I still battle excoriation - which coexists with having very sensitive skin which flares up over the slightest change in conditions. And I know that, beyond this compulsion, women tend to suffer from anxiety a lot more than men, and also struggle a lot more with body image because of the context we live in, which places female beauty at an impossible standard.

Understanding the power dynamics at play has been something that has helped me immensely in my healing. It has allowed me to say to myself: my body is mine, and it doesn’t belong to the Patriarchy, and I’m allowed to be and exist even if I’m not a perfect beauty and I am also worthy of love beyond how desirable I am. And I think internalizing this is profoundly important and empowering to everyone (and it’s all of us) who has to struggle with this anxiety of having to perform femininity under the threat of having our entire existence questioned.

But, at the same time, I can’t help to feel soothed, content, and even happy, when my skin is clear. When I try my clothes on and they still fit me fine. When I decide to go out and then do my hair and put some make up on, and think I look nice when I look in the mirror.

And these two are not incompatible. Understanding why we do things is the real work we have to do. I understand that putting on make up is not particularly feminist, and I know that it is playing to patriarchal standards. But beating myself up over being a ‘Bad Feminist” wouldn’t do me any good. It wouldn’t do anyone any good. But making ridiculous leaps of logic as to explain why that is empowering and not playing under Patriarchal rules would be a disservice to women everywhere too.

We don’t exist in a vacuum. The way we perpetuate or change values is through inheritance - you learn what you see and what you grow up with. You can unlearn a lot, but not everything. You can’t change your visceral feelings just because you understand things logically (ask anyone who’s gone through trauma and is having a panic attack). Internalizing that learning process is a life long process.

And yes, we will catch ourselves doing things that are not holier than thou and problem free. And that’s ok... as long as we catch ourselves doing it and require ourselves to do just a little bit better next time. Because, here’s the trap: the minute we convince ourselves that we are non-oppressive (and this includes internalized oppression), we start missing the ways that we are and we miss the opportunities to learn and grow.

This also applies to our behaviors with others. I have been thinking about writing about the use of the word ‘toxic’ (edit: here it is), and also about how we can be nice people and still be assholes. I haven’t decided if I’ll write the posts separately or together. 

Instead of having that knee jerk reaction and saying: but I’m a Feminist! but I’m not racist! I’m not transphobic! I’m not homophobic! etc, etc., we need to stop for a moment and think.

Sometimes it’s better to tell ourselves: ‘I am not, or I don’t want to be, (oppressive), but these actions/words/thoughts were. Let me go ahead and learn why that was, and how I can improve on this’. Because that is infinitely more productive than shutting down completely and failing to see why our behaviors are problematic.

I follow Your Fat Friend on Insta, an account dedicated to educating about fatphobia and celebrating fat bodies. And I remember she once posted some stories explaining how she didn’t care what people thought about her but, instead, she definitely cared about how people treated her. I hope to be paraphrasing correctly (and I’m doing all of this from memory), but she then went on to explain how she’s aware about how difficult it is to actually change people’s minds and instinctual gut reaction - but that she definitely could address how people acted and treated her because or despite those gut reactions.

And I think it’s a way more realistic approach. Oppressive behavior is something deeply ingrained in all of us. It takes up a lot of active education and engaging and messy work for us to change it - and expecting people to do a 180 the second you point out shit to them is a bit unrealistic.

This doesn’t mean we don’t have to call out people when we see them engaging in oppressive behavior, because we absolutely do. But just as we understand that our own learning journey is complex, we must understand that other people’s are too.

Speaking of which - burn out is real. We can’t expect people to be engaged activists and teachers all the time. We’re allowed not to educate others. We are allowed to take ourselves away from a situation that is exhausting us. Believe it or not, we’re allowed to say: ‘I’m not responsible for this person’s learning’. We’re allowed to do things that are not 100% for the cause (like being Feminists and wearing make up and heels). And that doesn’t make us any less politically conscious. It just makes us humans with feelings, who get tired and emotionally drained.

We need to give ourselves space to be problematic, space to learn how we’re being problematic, and space to learn how not to be problematic. And accept that we all must find a balance between our mental health and our activism because we can’t simply drop off of the face of the earth and live in a parallel, unproblematic dimension.

None of us is perfect. But the least we can do is try to be a little better tomorrow than we were today.