#bitter virgil answers

[kieraelieson]

Mercy

Someone was in his circle. A human by the feel of it.

Virgil sighed. Humans were always pains to deal with. If it were a werewolf or something he could be certain it was an accident, and end up with a nice favor to cash in someday.

Virgil loved favors. They were so perfectly vague. Who knew what kind of trouble he’d be in someday? And favors could save his ass. Or even could brighten a sucky day, if he felt inclined to spend them on something so small.

He had 53 now. 53 favors from other fae or magical creatures, waiting in his back pocket for whenever he might need them.

But humans. Humans weren’t good at favors. There wasn’t all that much they could do, if they were a singular one, and even if they could’ve done more if given time and effort, a favor only went so far. And a group of humans? Virgil had never known something as awful as a group of humans could be.

Though sometimes, groups of fae could compete.

Most fae enjoyed humans more than Virgil did. There was a sort of… of power, to a fae, from taking in the wild emotions of a human. It was available in all creatures, even other fae, but it was so much more raw and intense from a human.

Other fae adored teasing and tricking humans, pulling from them the reactions and emotions that would fill that gaping need within. Groups of fae could be especially cruel, spinning glamours and casting spells over entire towns.

But it was for food, in a way. Not too different from the wolf eating the rabbit. Virgil could understand it, even when he himself disliked it.

When humans became cruel? There was no such need being filled. There was no necessity to it. It was pure evil pleasure.

Even when they stumbled into his circle, Virgil preferred to avoid humans. He didn’t want their cruelty to taint him. He already had impulses and desires, even needs that made him a natural enemy to many. If he took in the human’s cruelty, made it his own, he couldn’t live with himself.

His sense of his circle returned. Destruction. Something was ruining his circle.

Virgil growled, pulling the shadows of the forest around him as he walked towards the circle. Creatures fled from his anger as he walked, the animals and other people of the forest giving him a wide berth.

He didn’t own the forest, but he was certainly the strongest being within it. He had a few circles where he claimed ownership, just a few little patches of forest to be untouched, to be his. And this human ignored that. Or flaunted it.

Virgil didn’t hide his approach. Shadows roiled at his feet, pouring ahead of him like a wave. He made himself taller, more inhuman, more obviously fae.

He finally reached the circle. A human was crumpled on the ground on one side, gouges through the soil surrounding him, the mushrooms that marked the border of the circle torn to pieces. It was as if he’d kicked and dug at the ground, trying to break the circle enough to escape.

And judging by the fear rolling off of him in waves, that may well have been his motive. Not that Virgil cared. If the human didn’t want to be caught in a faerie circle, the simplest and most obvious answer was to not enter one.

Virgil was neither appeased nor tempted by the fear either, as many other fae might be. The flavor of it was bitter, sour running down his tongue and curdling in his stomach. He felt a hint of satisfaction, of vengeance, but no desire to prolong the human’s suffering. He’d dispose of him, and then repair his garden—

“W-wait!” The human shouted, pushing his boots into the ground again to propel himself backwards, away from Virgil’s approach. “Please! I want to make a deal!”

“And what do you think you have that I might be at all interested in?” Virgil growled.

The human blanched at the cold tone. “I— I’ll give you my name.”

Now that brought Virgil a moment of pause. A name. A name was a lifetime of favors. Granted, it was a human’s lifetime, much shorter than his own. But still. This was an offer that tempted him. Now to see what the human dared to ask for.

“I’m listening,” Virgil said. “What is it you hope for?”

The human straightened slightly, an intriguing mix of boldness and humility washing from him. “Mercy.”

Virgil cocked his head. “Mercy? The mercy of a fae will hardly seem a kindness to a human. Much less one bound by his name.”

The human gulped, but didn’t crumble. Virgil was becoming interested, despite himself. He looked over the human more closely, bothering to notice details. The human wore clothes that were brightly colored, reds and golds. They were torn, and stained dark with… well, from this distance it seemed like blood. His arms were bound behind his back. This was becoming stranger and more confusing every second.

Virgil was beginning to feel inclined to accept the deal, if only to get to the bottom of why the human was here.

“I must fall on your mercy anyway,” the human said. “Caught in your circle, I know I’ll be bound for a year and a day. I know what it’s like, to be in power. To have mercy asked of you.”

Virgil watched the human closely. He was trembling slightly, but rather than mere blinding fear, he was giving off a light taste of hope. His boldness and humility mingled with the flavor, creating something truly intriguing. Especially to Virgil, rather starved of emotion. He preferred living alone, but he couldn’t deny that it left him weaker than was smart.

And the human was smart too. Mercy was just as vague as a favor, could be flattering to the one asked, was difficult to twist into something negative to the human.

“Deal,” Virgil agreed, smirking. “Now give me your name.”

“My name is Prince Roman Antonio Marcus Ellory of Enteria.”

Virgil shivered as the rush of power flowed through him. A prince, hmm? Perhaps he’d made a more interesting catch after all.

“Roman,” Virgil said firmly. “Sleep.”

The human crumpled to the ground. Virgil scooped him up and carried the man home.

[pareidoliaonthemove]

The Question

“Did you even think of us?”

Jeff Tracy had though his heart couldn’t hurt any more than it had for the past however-many-days he had been sat beside this hospital bed.

He had been wrong.

Virgil lay weakly in the bed, his flushed and sweaty face seemed to radiate heat, his limp hair plastered in sweaty strings to his forehead. Fever bright, glazed eyes focused on his father, seeming to recognise the man in the chair beside him for the first time in days.

That recognition should be reason to celebrate.

The question was not.

“Every day, Virgil. I thought of you boys every day –”

“Did you think of us at all?”

Virgil was obviously not hearing his reply, and as Jeff looked again, Virgil’s gaze was directed towards him, but not focused as he had originally thought.

“Why didn’t you take a second to work through the consequences? Because there were so many consequences …” Virgil’s voice faded out as Jeff stared, baffled.

“Consequences?” he asked, not expecting an answer. Virgil remained silent, eyes closed.

They were obviously coming at this from different angles, but for the life of him, Jeff couldn’t fathom what Virgil was asking. He’d spent eight years stuck alone on that rock, with no real hope of rescue, longing for the family half a solar system away. What consequence …?

“One was there. Could have bailed out and remote flew her to intercept.”

Realisation slammed into Jeff like a freight train, dropping his stomach to the level of the basement, while the bitter stale coffee he’d managed to swallow surged up his throat, burning and choking him. The roaring of blood in his ears seemed impossible as his heart convulsed, seeming so squeeze into the smallest possible space in his chest, radiating physical pain in every direction.

The train would have hurt less.

And, perfectly timed to rub salt into his wounds, Virgil opened his eyes. “Did you even think of us? Or was this just an opportunity to be the great hero again?”

“I …” Jeff’s voice failed him, as the door opened and his mother slipped into the room.

“How’s …?” Apparently it was the day for sentences trailing off into nothingness, Jeff thought bitterly. Although, his mother didn’t remain silent for long. There was the sound of fabric rustling, and then she spoke again, “Scott, Virgil’s awake, but not coherent. I need you to come and sit with him, while I deal with your father.”

There was a muffled noise that could only be Scott’s acknowledgement of the instruction, and then footsteps as his mother approached the bed.

“Whatever he’s said, he doesn’t mean it.”

“Oh, he meant it,” the words tasted like bile on his tongue. “He just wouldn’t normally say it.”

There was a soft knock on the door, before it opened, and Scott slid in, still breathing heavily from his flat-out sprint to get here, before firmly closing the door behind him.

“What’s the situation?” Scott asked softly, eyeing both his brother and father.

Jeff smiled wryly. “Virgil’s lost his mind to mouth filter.” The smile dropped. “He … blames me.”

Sally wrapped a comforting arm around her son’s shoulder. “I sincerely doubt it, whatever you think this is about.” She dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “Virgil’s very sick with the fever. You know how fever can cause people to hallucinate, say things they don’t mean.”

Scott stepped up. “We’ve been here before, Dad,” he said softly. “Virg …” he sighed. “Fevers really do a number on Virgil. He spouts all sorts of nonsense.”

Virgil stirred again. “Could have prevented so much …” he faded back into sleep. And the very-much-not retired Dr Sally Tracy examined the readings from the bed’s built-in med-scanner.

“He’s condition’s improving, this is just a phase to be ridden out. He’s still disorientated from the hallucinations, and reacting to whatever it is he ‘saw’.”

Jeff wasn’t placated, but he allowed his mother to pull him to his feet, and lead him out the door, Scott taking his place by the bed.

Jeff glanced over his shoulder as the door slid shut, Virgil’s eyes were open again, and his mouth was moving. Jeff didn’t have the heart to make the effort to lip read his son’s words.

Notes:

It’s often said that the real victims of a suicide are the people who are left behind. I know that Jeff’s big damn hero moment wasn’t strictly suicide, but it wasn’t a textbook example of self-preservation, either. So I’m all in for the idea that the boys' grief process was complicated by the same kind of questions that follow on from a suicide.

And that complicated grieving process was always going to complicate ‘the return’.

I don’t subscribe generally to the ‘Jeff is a bad dad’ idea (except in a couple of particularly well executed instances), but nobody is perfect, and sometimes there are no good choices.

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

[5eraphim]

Is it ok if you do yandere classic heavy x reader? The reader could be from his team or someone like a Miss Pauling for their team

I decided to answer this request with a oneshot, I wasn't certain if this was what you had in mind, (As in I didn't know for sure if you wanted this or headcanons.) but I hope you enjoy

Title: Backstabber

Character: Classic Heavy (Team Fortress 2)

Rating: X (MINORS DNI, GO PLAY OUTSIDE)

Content Warnings: yandere, AFAB reader/female terms of affection used (good girl/my girl), abuse of power, dubcon, boss x employee dynamic, TOXIC RELATIONSIHP, possessiveness, rough, degradation, toxic masculinity/sexist cheavy big time, technically hurt/comfort but more accurately hurt/hurt the other person, arguing but it's basically foreplay

Word Count: 5.5k

Master List

Tip Jar

"Desire gradually took over- not simple need, like hunger, but a taut elastic compulsion. It took all my energy to stand it, this urge to ravage." Jenefer Shute, Life Sized

@teufortwriting (asked to be tagged in classic heavy fics, this one's 4 u nd the anons hope you lot enjoy!!)

(post 1/31 of my version of kinktober where i write whatever i want for every day of october <3)

It was late; it was your day off, and yet here you were, working well into the night. At least when you worked from your quarters, you had the luxury of staying in pajamas all day. But warm gray sweatpants and a thin cotton tank top were little comfort from the real distress of work. You were in a rough situation. Virgil, the team Sniper, was missing in action, and you'd spent all day messaging with other mercenary groups from your laptop, messaging anyone you could think of, asking if anyone'd seen your Sniper. 

Despite the entire day's effort, you had a bad feeling it would be all in vain. No one had seen a thing. At least no one who bothered to respond had. You were hardly surprised most of your messages went ignored. Just about everyone in the business knew of the growing bitterness among your team members, and no one wanted to get involved. No one was surprised to hear people were starting to abandon the team altogether. You shut your laptop, rubbing your temples, wondering if you were just one bad week away from the entire group falling apart.

A knock at the door disrupted your train of thought, as well as causing you to jolt slightly in your seat. You checked the clock; it was almost 10 p.m. Not only was today supposed to be a day off, but you couldn't imagine who would need to contact you at such an odd hour.

Needless to say, you were caught entirely by surprise when you saw your boss, of all people, looming overhead, clutching his side with one hand and leaning his weight on the door frame. For a moment, you just stared, unable to understand what he was doing here. Creasing your brow, you squinted, looking up at him, trying to see a bit better in the low light. "Cheavy?"

His head dipped forward slightly, and you could see his shoulders rising and falling with each jerky breath he took. "No shit. Let me in."

Only then did you notice the dank smell of blood wafting from Cheavy, and you found it a lot harder to avoid looking at the hand at his side, catching the dampness of the fabric he clenched between his fingers. 

Faltering for a moment, you nodded, pushing the door wider and stepping out of the way. He didn't say anything as he pushed his way inside, keeping one hand against the wall to brace his weight against as he shuffled forward on unsteady legs. You watched for your position at the door as he trudged to the bed, making the box spring creak slightly as he sat down on the edge, curling forward as he took a deep breath. 

After shutting and re-locking the door, you lingered awkwardly in the doorway, feeling suddenly quite out of place in your own bedroom. Cheavy looked like hell. You'd never seen him look so beat up. It was so out of character to see him like this. "Cheavy, what happened to you?"

"Stabbed." He grumbled.

You crept closer on shaky legs as if approaching a rabid dog. "Why did you come all the way here? Shouldn't you go check in with Medic?"

He pulled off his goggles, wiping the sweat from his brow with his clean hand, "I know you've got a first aid kit in here, now come patch me up." Despite his command, you were too scared to get any closer.

"Alright, um- I'll get right on it. Just get comfortable, and I'll go grab some painkillers for you. I'll be right-"

He interrupted with a gruff bark before you could finish your thought, "You're not going anywhere! Not until I'm patched up."

"Cheavy, I'm not gonna leave you, c'mon I'll just be one minute." You replied in a much quieter voice.

"I'll tell you one more time- you're not going anywhere!" He didn't need to waste his breath with a threat. You got the message loud and clear, after whatever happened to him earlier, he was in no mood for you to test his patience. 

"Understood." You replied curtly. Cheavy was scaring the shit out of you, but you tried to reason with yourself. The sooner you got him patched up, the sooner he'd be out. He was clearly in a lot of pain, but at least he was responsive; he could move on his own, and if it was just one stab wound, you were confident it shouldn't be too hard to patch up. 

Everyone on the team had a first aid kit in their dorm, even though you weren't technically on the team. Even if you couldn't remember ever actually using it. While you weren't as trained as a Medic to treat combat injuries, it didn't take a genius to clean and patch a wound. Gathering your supplies, you pulled on some disposable gloves, bringing a bowl of water and a clean rag, having no idea if it would be enough to clean him up, mentally praying the wound wasn't deep enough to need stitches.

When you returned with your supplies, Cheavy was already on his back, his shirt and harness in a bloodied heap beside his boots on the floor. Drawing a little closer, you realized pulling off his shirt must've agitated his cut, causing fresh blood to fall directly onto your sheets. 

Steeling your resolve, you tiptoed closer with your first aid kit tucked under your elbow, the rag draped over your shoulder using both hands to keep the bowl balanced. When you finally got to his bedside, standing over him, "I'm going to clean you up first. Can you move your hand for me?" 

Cheavy winced slightly but was able to comply, staining the bed with even more blood as his wet hand white-knuckled your bedding. Now that you could get a good look at the wound, you thanked God it wasn't deep enough to require stitches. Fortunately for Cheavy, no severe damage was done to his muscles or bones, but it was one of the last places anyone would want to cut because of the thinner skin and all the nerve endings. The cut ran over his ribs in an angry red streak from the side of his lower ribs, arching up and ending a bit below his pec. It would need an awful lot of bandages but no stitches.

"I'm going to clean the dried blood up first. This is going to feel a bit cold." 

Cheavy didn't respond, just nodded with his eyes still closed, preemptively curling a pillow under the bend in his arm. He obviously wasn't comfortable, but at least he didn't look so infuriated. He hardly reacted when you pressed the damp to his lower belly, using one hand to gently scrub and the other to push into his gut to keep yourself from accidentally tugging at the wound. 

It was going to take a while to fully clean him, and you couldn't stop wondering why the hell he came to you, of all people, to take care of him. Wringing out the rag, you inquired, "So… The Medicine just disappeared? Did he say anything odd the last time you saw him?"

Cheavy huffed, "Obviously not. If you didn't know, deserters don't leave with 2-week notices."

"Right, sorry…" You responded. Gingerly, you began to dab the rag a little further up his chest, already dreading when you'd have to sterilize his wound. Cleaning up his upper body alone would take long enough. You felt so small bedside Cheavy, your hands absolutely tiny and ineffective trying to aid the titan before you. Even in this state, he could snap your arm like a twig if he wanted to. 

So much blood had clotted in his chest hair as you timidly worked away; your fingers were wrinkling from the water, and yet there was still so much work to be done. At least he looked comfortable. You could vaguely feel his heart beating deep inside his chest as his breathing slowed and deepened. The tension finally left his face. Had you ever seen him so relaxed before? It was a pity to disrupt it, "I'm going to disinfect the wound now; it's going to sting pretty bad."

He practically groaned, "Like I haven't had worse today." Cheavy was right. Given what he must've been through, a slight stinging was nothing; all the same, it was impossible to steady your hand as you raised an iodine-soaked cotton ball to the wound's hideous gaping wound. He hardly flinched when the cotton dabbed against his side. At first, you felt guilty for not getting him something to numb the pain before getting started, but you were feeling pretty sure he'd snagged something before he got here.

You stopped counting the cotton balls you had to use to finish cleaning him up. The scent of blood hung thick in the air, radiating from the used cotton balls in the wastebasket, the bedsheets, and his ruined shirt, and you knew your fingers probably wrecked his blood, too. 

But at last, he was cleaned, the bleeding stopped, all there was left to do was tape the gauze over the wound, and you'd be all done. As you suspected, you had to tape no less than 4 gauze pads together to fully cover the injury. The hardest part was over; all you had to do now was pat dry the rest of the water from his chest. You almost thought he'd fallen asleep, startling slightly when you heard him speak, "You find Virgil yet?"

So much for seeing him calm, "Sorry, I haven't." 

"Figures." And just like that, he was pissed again.

As you pat the last section of his abdomen dry, you immediately retracted your hands, wringing them anxiously as you took a few steps back from the bed. "I have found a couple leads, though! It's not much, but I was exchanging messages with some other mercenary groups and-"

In the blink of an eye, he was propped upright on his elbow, leaning to the side to glare at you. He was pissed, but you could tell he was still hurting pretty bad as he balled his hands into fists, forcing himself to stand his ground and show no weakness, "Other mercenary groups? And what the hell are you trying to contact them for? You gonna abandon the team, too?"

"No! Of course not! I just thought maybe if more people were looking for Virgil, we might have a better shot of tracking him down, you know?" If you had any idea you could set him off so quickly, you'd never opened your mouth in the first place, and you knew backtracking like this was getting you nowhere. Once he decided he was mad at you, that was it. He had a short fuse with a hell of a fiery temper.

"You need other people to do your damn job for you? Is that it? Can't you do anything right yourself?"

You were too scared to get any closer to the bed, but you tried to keep your voice level as though it would be enough to convince him you weren't frightened. "Cheavy, will you please lay down, your wound will open up again. All I did was ask around if anyone's seen him recently- that's all. No one is doing my job for me."

His eyes narrowed, "No if you could do your damn job, he wouldn't be missing!"

You opened your mouth to speak, but he was acting so vicious, taking all his aggression out on you, knowing you couldn't do a thing to defend yourself. "Just let him get it out of his system. He'll want to be back in his own bed eventually." You thought, swallowing the lump in your throat, you muttered, "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Well, thank God for that." He shifted in bed, laying down on his back, gritting his teeth, "Is this gonna hold up tomorrow in battle?"

You stared at the white patch of gauze and tape at his side, suddenly feeling quite meek, ashamed a patch job was the best you could do, as though this was your responsibility in the first place. "It's not perfect, but so long as you don't overexert yourself, you'll be all set soon."

He almost laughed, "We're losing men left and right, and you think I have the choice not to overexert myself? Is that the best you can do?"

At this point, you could tell Cheavy was just being cruel, he wanted you to feel small and humiliated, and it was working, and you could already feel the sting of tears in the corners of your eyes, "You think it's my fault our men are going missing?"

"Is it not your job to find them? You expect me to believe you've been corresponding with all these other mercenary groups, and what do you have to show for it? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were looking to follow Virgil and Medic out the door."

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could, he interrupted, "I want to see the correspondence, all of it. If you're so innocent, surely you got nothing to hide, right?"

You felt your stomach drop, "I don't have it… I didn't hear anything promising back… I didn't keep any records."

His voice lowered, "How convenient."

"Cheavy, I know this looks bad, but you must believe me! I would never abandon the team!"

With that sinister, low voice, Cheavy spoke again, "You're nothing without loyalty. I hope you aren't dumb enough to forget something so obvious."

"Cheavy, I'm not going anywhere, for God's sake, you're paranoid."

"So I'm just an idiot then? Is that it?" 

"That's not what I said! Of course, I'm loyal to you- to the entire team!" It was getting harder and harder to keep the tears down. God, you hated dealing with him when he was in a bad mood.

"Forget about them. You're nothing without me- you know that, right? You're only alive now because you're useful- and if you double cross me- bitch, you're dead." He was absolutely seething. "Get over here. I want you to look me in the eye and tell me you're innocent."

Your instincts told you to run and get out while you could, but something unnamable drew you closer: some subliminal obedience. Pacing closer, you stood an arm's length from the bed, "I-I know, Cheavy, this looks bad… But you gotta believe me, I'm on your side! I've always been on your side!"

A chill ran up your spine as he grinned up at you; the sight of a smile on his face was beyond unnatural. "You women love saying that shit, don't you? But I know how it is, you bitches think you're so clever, so charming. You look for the strongest guy to leech off of and hide behind. But the second you see someone else- it's all over. I know your type. You don't give a fuck about anyone but yourself!"

"It's not like that, Cheavy! It's not like that at all!" It made too much sense listening to Cheavy exposing such sexism.

"Must be nice, huh? Leaving all the real work for the men while you get to take it easy?"

After the day of stress you just suffered, that comment stung, but he didn't give you a chance to respond or defend yourself. "You can't track down a few runaways- you can hardly patch up a wound. I can't even trust you alone for one day without me!"

"I'm sorry I let you down. I'm sorry everything's going wrong… but please, I don't know what more you want from me!"

"Don't play dumb bitch, you know why I came here." He couldn't be serious. He just called you worthless and detestable. How could he possibly want you after all that? But the look across his face told you he was dead serious.

"No, Cheavy- please, not like this. God, anything but that." Just thinking about him taking his aggression out on you verbally was enough, but the thought of him doing it physically was so much worse. 

"Do you need me to spell it out for you because you've got one choice here. You can get on the bed and fucking earn your place here for once, or I'll snap your neck."

Cheavy had been nothing but cold, abrasive, and blunt working with you, and while he was still a man with needs like any other, the idea of someone like himself considering taking mercy on you, even just to use your body, confounded you. 

You felt your blood turn to ice in your veins, "You wouldn't…" 

Cheavy watched the color drain from your face with an odd expression somewhere between hatred and amusement. "I wouldn't? Killing you wouldn't cost me a damn thing." 

While you wanted to resist, to argue your way out of the situation, the words died in your throat before you could say a thing. It was impossible to tell what he wanted more, to kill or fuck. Cheavy watched from the bed with sadistic pleasure, watching your confidence crumble like he could smell your fear. Staring at you more like a wild animal than a human. 

"How can I trust you not to kill me once I give you what you want?" You were past resistance at this point; you knew what was about to happen, and he knew it, too.

"You can't. Now c'mere. I want you to prove you belong." Cheavy was past shouting at you. He knew he'd won. Now he was cold and still, expecting you to be the one to make the next move. You were too terrified to even try to come off as sexy. The most you could offer was compliance. Slinking into the bed, crawling in from the foot of the bed before padding over silently, sliding into place between his body and the wall, laying on your side. He took up so much space in the bed that you felt like you had no choice but to cower to fit. 

Stilling momentarily as though waiting for an order, you realized it was your job to turn him on tonight. Looking directly at his lips, you reached over, cupping the side of his face with your palm, smoothing your thumb over the stubble. "So far, so good. Maybe he wants me to act scared?" You thought to yourself. That sounded like something he would want from you. Starting slow was your safest bet. 

Leaning your face closer to his, you closed the distance between your lips, pecking him shyly as he followed your slow pace. While he lay flat on his back, you found his hand with yours, cradling it between both hands, rubbing the toughened skin with your thumbs, warming them slightly. His other hand found the back of your neck, pushing your head closer to deepen the kiss, to which you complied, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth, his teeth grazing against your lips.

It was a bit of an awkward position, having to lay on your side, one arm caressing the side of his face, one leg wrapped over his, while Cheavy laid on his back, forcing you to crawl closer. He was trying to urge you to keep going, but you were too nervous to get too close, terrified of accidentally pressing against his fresh injury.

Cheavy, on the other hand, wasn't so cautious, "Get on top."

It took you some time until you were properly situated, shifting from his side to between his legs, straddling his waist, leaning forward carefully, avoiding his abdomen as much as possible. Once you were within arms reach, his hands were at your waist, trying to pull your body even closer with a hardly concealed neediness. You complied, kissing him, cupping his cheeks with your hands, pulling apart briefly to whisper, "Cheavy, you gotta take it easy. Your wound could split back open."

He grinned, "So what? You'll still be here to patch it up for me, right?"

You weren't sure if he was making a joke or if he wanted an honest answer. Trying to acquiesce to either demand, your face softened, and you nodded, your thumb slid over his lip as you continued to stroke his face, "Right."

"Good girl." You weren't sure what caught you more by surprise, the use of a pet name or the feeling of his right hand groping against your ass through your sweatpants. You allowed Cheavy another open-mouthed kiss, feeling him suck your lower lip between his teeth, nibbling it in an almost playful manner. 

When you first laid hands on him earlier in the evening, his skin was cold to the touch, but now he felt so warm beneath your chest and between your thighs. And you could feel his legs spreading further as you finally felt comfortable enough to press your body against his broad chest. "Take your top off, I wanna watch."

He watched with lazy half-lid eyes as you nodded, pulling away enough to hook your fingers under the hem of your tank top, feeling a questionable arousal as you pulled the thin fabric away, now looming bare-chested just a breath away. You watched as he slid his massive hands up the length of your torso, groaning in pleasure at the feeling of precious, soft skin underneath his fingertips. The warm feeling deep in the base of your stomach increased when his hands reached your tits, wasting no time before kneading them with his palms, watching the fatty tissue squish between his fingers. "Come closer."

Bracing your weight on your elbows on either side of his head, you nuzzled against the side of his head as his hands squeezed just a bit tighter. For a split-second, you almost wondered if he would be gentler than you expected until you felt him grind his thumb harshly against your nipple, making you yelp and fruitlessly try to arch away from his hands. 

"Does that hurt?"

"Yeah!" Before you could try to pull away again, you felt Heavy's face separate from yours before biting down on the side of your neck, no doubt drawing blood as he did so. You hardly had time to react to the pain when you felt your body moving without your control. Cheavy detached from your tits to dig his fingernails against your back, forcing your body to flatten against his own, his lower body grinding his semi-erection against your limp body. The pain began to dwarf your rising fear as your arms and legs began to flap and push against Cheavy uselessly in resistance. 

Cheavy was moving so fast, but you felt too weak and helpless to stop him as he greedily continued to bite and suckle against your sensitive neck. You had to force your head from the mattress; it was getting too hard to breathe, and you could feel yourself beginning to breathe rapidly, your heart beating so fast, making it impossible to think. 

You could feel Cheavy disconnect from your neck, and you winced, keeping your eyes shut in fear of feeling him lash out again. Instead, he stilled, keeping your trembling body forcefully close to his own, "God, you're sexy when you cry." Confused, you blinked your eyes open, only then registering the tears clinging to your lashes. Instinctively, you moved your hands to brush them away, but Cheavy shook his head, giving you an odd look, which you interpreted as him telling you to stop. Laying your hands back down, he used his grip on your back to push you forward, but rather than forcing you into another deep kiss, his tongue slid out, flicking against your cheeks, the weird feeling making you shut your eyes as he continued to lap up your tears, kissing your eyelid when he was finished. 

"You feel so good when you're mine."

Cheavy released you from his hold, allowing you to push away slightly, wondering what he wanted next.

"Take the rest of your clothes off. Mine too." You complied. Kicking off your bottoms and underwear at once, followed by your socks, before turning your attention to his heavy-duty work pants, visibly strained by his erection. Settling between his legs, your hands found his belt, undoing the clasp and top button. Cheavy sighed with relief at the feeling of the zipper finally coming undone, the erotic sounds distracting you momentarily before you turned your attention back to your task. 

He moved with you, helping you pull his pants down and off before your fingers found the waistband of his boxers. The sight of his tented clothing distracted you and forced you to acknowledge that once this last bit of fabric was gone, there would be nothing separating your bodies. Rather than pulling them down as quickly as you'd done to his pants, you curiously palmed over the swell, making him hiss between grit teeth. He was obviously impatient, but he didn't tell you to stop. 

Partially to delay the inevitable, partially out of curiosity, you traced the outline of his bulge with your finger, dipping lower, feeling the shape of his balls between his spread legs. Even with feather-light touches, Cheavy reacted with vigor, bucking upwards as though it would do anything to satisfy him.

"C'mon, quit messing around already!" He ordered, no longer looking at you. His head had rolled back while you were playing with him, and he was still facing upwards when he spoke. Sighing through your nose, you complied, using both hands to fully undress him before forcing yourself to crawl back on top.

"You're so eager." You didn't think anything of your words but felt unnerved when he smiled in response, "And it's all your fault." You stiffened over his massive body, shutting your eyes, half-expecting him to just force his way inside of you, but to your surprise, you heard him spitting, followed by the feeling of two thick fingers tapping at the outer edge of your sex. The unexpectedness surprised you, making you gasp and look down at what he was doing. Teasing you, forcing you to get a feel for him as he dragged his fingers against you, making you throb against nothing. 

"That's my girl, don't fight it. Just let it happen." It was easier to handle the situation with your eyes closed, not having to look at the loathsome man while he violated you. Resting your forehead on his shoulder, you felt your hips stirred to movement, trying to match his slow rhythm, hitching up anytime you felt him brushing against your clit. His fingers, already wet with his spit, gathered more wetness as he slipped inside you, making you groan as you were forced to stretch against his fingers. 

You tried to catch your breath when he eventually retracted his fingers, smearing the lubrication against his cock. It was just a trace of your warmth, but the promise of the real thing so close had him rock-hard and aligned right where he needed to be, getting a good grip on your hips to ensure you wouldn't try to squirm away. He pushed his head inside, going mercifully slow, allowing you time to adjust to his size before going further. "Does it feel good? Does it feel good to feel my cock inside you while I hold you down?"

It did, it shouldn't have, but it did. You realized Cheavy wasn't going to move until you responded, and you forced yourself to croak out, "It's not like I'm going anywhere."

"Is that so?" Was all the warning you got from him before he pushed deeper inside you, forcing you to keep stretching around his shaft. It hurt as you expected, but something about how he held you down and teased you had you wet, silently begging him to go even deeper. 

By the time he bottomed out inside, you were shaking like a leaf against Cheavy, who relished in your fear in the way he would force you to behave so well for him. "Good thing I got here before you ran away." He snickered to himself before snapping his hips against yours, watching your body tense, your hands gripping much harder against his shoulders than you intended. 

You whimpered, "Cheavy, I'd never abandon the team, you know that- You know I'll be here forever!" Whether it was listening to you whimpering, sounding so pathetic, or the line, "here forever," something about what you said set him off. Making him grunt in satisfaction, continuing to grind against you.

"Forever?" His voice was a bit deeper now, making you shudder.

"Forever! On your side, I swear!" He must've been much more pent up than you realized because he was hammering into you with reckless abandon, already turned on and wanting more. Rather than responding to your words, he sort of grunted in approval. He was too close to climaxing to bother with complete sentences. His eyes were shut, his face tense with anticipation, both hands on the swell of your ass, forcing you to grind against him as he continued to pound inside, treating you like nothing but a piece of meat for him to tear into. He was all lust and no love, fucking like an animal. All his blood was rushing south; you knew the moment he could think clearly, he'd be done with you. 

You should've been revolted. Cheavy hated your guts and saw you as nothing but a body. But how could you remember all that when it felt so good to feel his cock stretching you out, feeling his sweat mixing with your own, his hands pushing you forward until your clit ground against his lower belly. No doubt he could feel you were getting off on being rough-handled like this. You could even hear the sound of your own slick mixing with his spit and precum between thrusts.

Between heavy, labored breathing, you pushed your face right up against his to moan in his ear, "I'm yours; I'm all yours." Almost as soon as the words left your mouth, you gasped before gritting your teeth in pain as Cheavy thrust all the way inside you, coming as deep inside as he could, accidentally clawing at your rear as he mindlessly forced you forward. The brutalism made you lightheaded, feeling so weak and broken down in his arms.

After a few more agonizing seconds, you felt his hands slip from your hips, sliding down your thighs, kneading his fingertips gently into the flesh of your outer thighs, allowing you to disconnect, feeling traces of him clinging and running between your thighs, making you sick. Obviously, he expected you to share the bed with him and wouldn't take kindly to you leaving to get cleaned up. It's not like you had anywhere else to go anyway. The best you could do was dabbing at the mess with a sheet, trying not to think about how filthy it made you feel. The sheets were likely stained with cum and blood, just like you. 

Slotting yourself back into place beside him, facing the wall, you felt a hairy arm wrap around your upper body, pulling you possessively into Cheavy's chest. He'd taken the liberty of turning off the bedside lamp, allowing a merciful darkness to settle over the room.

Without turning your head to speak to him, you whispered, "You believe me now, don't you?"

Cheavy kissed the top of your head, pulling you closer, "We'll see. You've earned your stay here, but just for tonight."

You couldn't help but moan under your breath, somehow feeling even more broken down, "I don't understand- for God's sake, Cheavy! I've done all you've asked of me! What more do you want from me!?"

"Until we find where our real Medic went- you're gonna fill in for him." He sounded tired, almost bored, as though he'd come to this decision before even showing up. 

You had to bite your lower lip to try and keep as quiet as you could, to keep from crying out loud and irritating him, "But I don't know how-" 

"Then you'd better learn fast." Whatever reservations you had were clearly of no concern to him. As far as Cheavy cared, the decision was made. He'd gotten what he wanted and was due for some much needed rest. 

How desperately you wished you could just roll over and let sleep take you like he could, but as you lay frozen in place, your mind racing, imagining yourself forced to follow the team into battle, risking your own skin to protect the man you hated more than anyone. 

Cheavy leaned down slightly to breathe in your ear before tucking your head under his chin and drifting off, "And if you ever try to go behind my back again, I'll blow your damn head off."

[hebuiltfive]

In Light Of Recent Events

2004 Jeff and Penny have been living rent-free in my mind.

Not sure if I'll go further with this one at the moment, but it was prompted by this post here.

Tagging @firstonthescene because it was also prompted by our discussion the other day and I thought you might like to see it!

AO3 link here, but the full fic is below the cut!

--------------------------------

“You look as though you’ve hardly slept a wink. Have you been awake all night?”

Jeff grumbled in response to Penelope’s questioning. Did he really look as terrible as he felt? He yawned, maundering down to the breakfast bar and ruffling his hair, which only served to make it even more untidy and unkempt than before. He slid onto the stool beside Penelope’s.

“Good morning to you too, Penny. Here I thought you Brits had more manners.”

Without skipping a beat she poured him a coffee from the cafetière and slid it over to him with a smile.

Another yawn, this time stifled, and Jeff raised the cup to his lips. The scent was strong, helping to alert his senses far before the taste could. Bitter and potent; whoever made this batch was certainly a coffee lover.

That ruled Penny out.

“You haven’t yet answered the question, Jeff.” She no-so-subtly prompted as she returned to her newspaper. Only Penny would have possession of the latest copy while on retreat on a private island. Perhaps Parker had done a quick supplies run before sunrise for her…

“It’s fine.” Jeff claimed, though doubt laced his words.

He cast a quick glance out of the veranda, at the still pools that lay beyond. In spite of the early hour, he realised it was far too quiet considering the amount of people the villa was currently host to. “Where is everyone?”

“I believe most of them are down at the beach, though Brains could still be cooped up in his lab.” Penelope folded the paper and lowered it. She twirled in her seat to better face Jeff. “If I were you, I would try and get a few more hours of rest.”

From above the crease where Penny had folded the paper glared the unmistakable eyes of the Hood. Jeff stared back with a scowl.

Manicured nails clicked in front of his face. “Don’t look at that. It’s over now.”

“Is it?”

Jeff was reluctant to believe it. He tore his gaze away from the printed photo.

“I don’t know, Penny, something tells me we’ll be seeing him again, sooner than any of us would like.”

“That is out of any of our hands and a hurdle we shall jump if it gets to it. Right now, Jeff, you need sleep.”

“Can’t.” He replied stubbornly, jumping off the stool with a large stretch. Something in his lower back clicked. He was getting too old for this. “I’ve got to run a post-mission report by the President.”

“Let Scott or Virgil handle it.”

“They’ve already been through enough. They deserve a break.”

“As do you.”

As they all did, Jeff thought to himself. International Rescue’s work very rarely led them into dealing, first-hand, with criminals who sought to obliterate them where they stood. Jeff found himself eternally grateful for Penelope’s unwavering support. Without her, they’d all be… well, he’d rather not think of that.

“I’ll try and get some nap time in after the call.”

“Nonsense! You’ll go for a nap right now.”

“Yes, mom.” The quick quip was thrown before Jeff could rein it back in.

Penny, though she pretended to be unimpressed by his jibe, elegantly slid off her perch with an amused smirk. “Your mother would tell you the same as I, Jeff, as well you know. Now, get yourself back to bed.”

Jeff chuckled. He observed the sun, now fully risen over the horizon. He had come so close to never seeing it again. His boys had come so close to never seeing it again. Now, in the distance, he could hear the laughter and cheers of the family as they played on the beach below the villa, under the warmth of that radiant star.

They were home, but it had been close.

Too close.

For a moment, Jeff acknowledged the truth behind his lack of wanting to sleep. It did not solely lie with the report he was due to give. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the face of that tyrant, of the man who had tried to take everything away from him. The man who had so very nearly succeeded.

He saw his boys suffocating.

He saw his youngest almost fall to an early, gruesome demise.

He saw Lucille’s disappointed face from beyond the grave as she scrutinised his actions that had nearly led all of them to the point of no return.

Jeff hadn’t slept — didn’t want to sleep — simply because he couldn’t.

Penny’s expectant curiosity caught his attention. She was good at reading people. It was what made her an expert field agent, but rarely did Jeff find it comforting when the skill was used on him.

Today, for once, he did.

Her hand gently lay upon his arm. “It will pass, Jeff.”

“Will it?”

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that made Jeff feel like he was on the verge of crumbling. The weight of all that had passed had begun to press down upon him heavily.

“These things take time.”

“What if I don’t have time, Penny?” Desperation overtook his normal ability to suppress those nagging worries. “He knows who we are, where we are! A man like that might have no end of friends who would happily pick up his dirty work while he’s locked away. What’s to say he hasn’t already tattled? What’s to say we’re not already being targeted again? What’s to say we’re not just sitting ducks?”

“Jeff.” Penelope gently coaxed him back from the threat of his spiral.

He felt ridiculous, almost embarrassed to be so worked up over something that, as Penelope had already claimed, was now in the past. It didn’t stop his fear. John, arguably the member of the team who was the least likely to get into any peril from their actions on Earth, had been the sitting duck yesterday. Who was to say one of his other boys wouldn’t be a target tomorrow?

A sigh passed between his lips. Perhaps there was an argument to be made regarding his lack of sleep after all.

Determined to not appear overwhelmed, despite his feelings on the contrary, Jeff offered his best smile. “I know, I know. Listen, I need to go and make this call. I’ll be up in the Round House. If the boys ask, tell them I’ll be down for lunch.”

“That is unless sleep gets the better of you, of course.”

Her eyes did not pity him but sympathy was evidently present. Jeff knew that, for as long as Tracy Island needed her, for as long as he needed her, she’d remain, no matter how long it took to clean up the mess.

“Thank you, Penny.”

“What ever for?”

“All of it.”

The morning passed by easier with the help of Penelope’s words.

She did not need to know about the thirty minutes of catch-up sleep Jeff sought when he reached the Round House, nor did she need to be aware of the extra forty minutes he caught after he’d finished his call with the President, but he knew, as he returned to that kitchen at lunch, that she would correctly surmise it.

[ferindencadash]

Six Song Soundtrack Playlist

Tagged by @average-mako-enjoyer (this was so fun, thank you!)

I'm going with Jessie Shepard from Stockholm since she has the most fleshed out back story (don't actually read the story, it's in desperate need of a rewrite and extremely dead dove 😅 so why did I link it? Shush, nobody asked you).

If you're tagged, make a new post with links to music and/or lyrics describing the following:

1. An event that defines your character's past

You probably thought that I'd never escape I'd be a rat in a cage, I'd be a slave to this place You don't know how hard I fought to survive Waking up alone when I was left to die

2. How your character sees themselves

Don't you breathe for me Undeserving of your sympathy 'Cause there ain't no way that I'm sorry for what I did And through it all How could you cry for me? 'Cause I don't feel bad about it

3. How others view them

She burns like the sun And I can't look away

4. Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic)

You're everything I want And I am everything you need This night is cutting in to me You tie me down, you watch me bleed And we risk everything

5. A major fight scene

My fruit is bruised and borrowed You thieving bastards You have turned my blood cold and bitter Beat my compassion black and blue Hope this is what you wanted Hope this is what you had in mind 'Cause this is what you're getting I hope you choke on this

6. End credits song

And I can hear her sing And I know she's giving up And I don't know what to do, how to help her How to bring her home And I can hear him break And he doesn't understand And I wish that I could take his hand But where I'm going is for me and me alone And I can her sing "If I don't make it back from where I've gone Just know I loved you all along"

It was really hard not to use In This Moment for every answer, because Jessie was literally built around the Blood album. 😅 But I tried to branch out!

I spent WAY too much time on this, so I'm going to be specific in my tags, and ask about some of my favourite OCs 🥺🙏 (if you're up for it of course).

@samuelroukin Any of your boys, I love them all (though you know my favourite 😌)

@marbobar for Mrinthyr please!

@s3rnielsen Horgrim!!! 🙏

@aleksxo Velen ❤️

@swordbisexual any iteration of Vissenta!

@gravedigg Virgil, if you're so inclined! 🙏

@rowansnaps Briar, of course!

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 7 - Reject

A little more Virg POV following on from all this.

He is… somewhat confused and very much peeved.

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

Virgil hadn’t felt this furious in a long, long time.

Normally things that made him angry required practical action - stemming blood flow, ensure an injured brother was safe from the threat, if not, get brother away from the threat. Then there was the task of watching over them as they recovered, monitoring stats.

He would quietly mourn the souls they couldn’t save, making a note of names and dates. Calmly write engineering reports that would ensure particular persons found themselves unable to take such risks again. Maybe go on a design binge with Brains to find ways of making next time better.

The remaining rage he couldn’t expunge through practical, constructive solutions he threw into art or music, forcing the bitterness and pain out through his arms on to canvas or keys before collapsing, empty and exhausted, into bed in the small hours.

But this… this anger had come out of nowhere. It had, he realised been lurking there for years, unacknowledged, perhaps even unnoticed. It filled his veins with a bitter, stinging substance and he had to battle to keep it in check. He was the calm one. Scotty needed him to keep his head.

Scotty needed him.

“Can I come in, Virgie?”

Virgil glanced at Scotty who was no longer happy and smiling and didn’t show any sign of having heard what Dad said. He had gone quiet and was fiddling with some of Shadow’s switches with a worried expression on his face. So, even though he wasn’t the pilot in charge, Virgil answered for the both of them.

“There isn’t room. We’ve gotta go.”

“It’s ok, you’ve… you’ve got plenty of time. Look I’m just going to slip in here so we can chat alright?”

His father had clambered into the pilot’s seat before he could shout at him not to squash Scotty and then… no. NO!

“Where did you send Scotty? Dad! Please, no, don’t let him leave without me. Not this time!”

His blood was fizzing violently and he knew his voice was shaking but he tried not to shout. He mustn’t shout. Dad shouted when he was cross. Scott shouted when he was cross. Virgil was the calm, logical one. Virgil made it better.

“Um… Virgil I think… uh… Scotty is needed inside, for uh, a briefing. Ok? Can… can you come too? I’ll give you a lift down?”

Dad sounded oddly unsure of himself and Virgil knew he was lying and he… he couldn’t be calm Virgil anymore. Everything burned.

“You’ve upset him and he’s run away! How can you not see what you’ve done to him? All these years you just won’t stop asking and asking. He’s killing himself trying to please you Dad and I can’t make him see. I can’t make him stop. He won’t stop. He… can’t stop. Because of YOU! But this would have made him happy, if he can save his friends and I was going to make it work for him! You can’t just waltz back in here and take over and send him away! Not again!”

Those blue eyes, so very much like his brother’s, were wide and sad and… scared.

Dad was never scared.

Dad was scared… of him?

Virgil didn’t know what to do with that because people shouldn’t be scared of him because he was the calm kind one. He felt dizzy and sick.

With an effort he unclenched his fists, closed his eyes and pressed his face against the cool plexiglass window, trying to find his balance, trying to bury the confused but overwhelming memories of when he’d last been so angry that he’d hurt his father.

Everything fizzed and buzzed and burned but then something scratched his neck and the fizz started to become fuzz and there was a voice and he strained to hear but couldn’t make out what Dad was saying anymore…

[pas-de-duex]

Prinxiety Week: Extra Prompts!

You all voted, and Mythical Creatures was the winner! So here you are, the first of the final three extra prompts.

The rest you can read on ao3 here!

This is a retelling of the story Titeliture, which in itself is a Swedish retelling of the story Rumpelstiltskin.

Virgil is the miller (changed to an old woman in this specific retelling) ‘s son.

Roman is the prince

@prinxietyweek

There was once a poor woman who had only a son, and the boy was so lazy that he refused to do any work whatsoever. This caused his mother no end of grief. The woman tried time and again to teach her son how to spin, but it was of no use. Finally, the mother made the boy sit on the thatched roof of their cottage with a spinning wheel. "Now the whole world can see what a lazy, good-for-nothing son you are," said the woman.

That very afternoon, the king's son came riding by the house on his way home from the hunt. He was surprised to see such a beautiful young man sitting on a cottage roof. He asked the boys mother why he was there.

The woman was tongue-tied. How could she tell him the truth? "O-o-oh," she stammered. "My son, Virgil, is on the roof because ... because he is such a clever boy, that he can spin the long straw on the roof into pure gold."

"Aha!" cried the prince. "If what you say is true, and your son can spin gold from straw, he must come to the palace and be my bride." So Virgil came down from the roof and mounted the prince's horse behind him, and off they rode.

When they reached the palace, Roman led Virgil to a small tower room, and gave him a spinning wheel and a great tall pile of straw, and said, "If you can spin this into gold by the time the sun rises, you shall be my bride. But if you have deceived me, you will pay with your life."

The poor boy was terribly afraid, for of course he had never learned to spin thread, let alone gold. There he sat, his head in his hands, crying bitter tears, when the door to the room slowly opened and in walked an odd-looking little man. He greeted him in a friendly way and asked why he was crying.

"I have good reason to cry," answered Virgil.. "The Prince has ordered me to spin this straw into gold before dawn, or I shall pay with my life. No one can spin straw into gold."

"No one?" asked the little man. He held out a glove that sparkled and shimmered in the candlelight. "As long as you wear this, you will be able to spin it all into gold. But there is a price for using my glove. Tomorrow night I shall return and ask you to guess my name. If you cannot guess it, you must marry me and be my wife."

In his despair, Virgil made the bargain. As soon as the little man disappeared, he put on the glove, and sat and spun as if he had been spinning his whole life. By sunrise he had spun all the straw into the finest gold.

Great was the joy of everyone in the palace that the prince had found a bride who was so beautiful and so skillful. The boy did not rejoice, though, but sat by the window and strained to think what the little man's name might be.

When the prince returned from a hunt, he sat down, and to amuse his bride, Roman began to tell him of his adventures that day. "I saw the strangest thing in the forest," he said. "I came to a clear-ing, and there was a little old man dancing round and round a juniper bush, singing the most peculiar song."

"What did he sing?" asked Virgil.

Roman replied,

"My bride must sew a wedding dress,for he used my magic glove, and he will never, ever guess Titeliture's the name of his love."

Virgil smiled and clapped his hands, and asked the prince to sing the little man's song over and over so that he wouldn't forget. And when the prince left him alone, and night fell, the door to his chamber opened. There stood the little old man, grinning from ear to ear. Before he could say a word, Virgil held out the glove, saying, "Here is your glove ... Titeliture!"

When the little man heard Virgil speak his name, he shrieked and he spun around and around, and then, with a bang and a great puff of smoke, he shot up through the air and dis-appeared, taking part of the tower roof with him.

Virgil and Roman were married, and never again did he have to spin, because, of course, spinning is not proper work for a princess.

[journal-number-3]

SPOILERS FOR BOTH BDW AND EOM BELOW THE CUT

So. I finally got answers on how Zurn became the weird gross crow. And it makes sense. But what's he up to now during EOM?

Because presumably the BDW party succeeds in at least stopping the end of the world because prime, EOM, and OUAW all take place in the future. And stopping the chained god was like his whole life's purpose. That and fucking Felixs mom I guess.

So what's Virgil up to, especially in the newer episodes trying to possess Jericho more frequently without him knowing? Why does he hate Jericho so much? Is he just so bitter and corrupted about what happened to him? Is he more demon now than man?

Also shout out Pazuzu for loving Irony. Man who worships Raven goddess turning into a crow? Man who hated devils/demons being turned into a demon? Man who was obsessed with secrets needing to literally consume them to survive? Absolutely hilarious. He may end the world but hats off to Pazuzu for his comedic genius

[nullshocked]

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜💗💖💕💘🤎🤍🖤 sorry i mean uhhhhhhhhhhhh dealers choice

Send a Heart + a Ship For a Brief Snippet 💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft

He’s waiting outside the bar, chainsmoking through a pack of cigarettes when someone asks: “Are you Jean?”

The name always makes him tense. He only lets two people call him Jean anymore: Promise because she’s known him long enough that she’s allowed to, and Virgil because that’s his partner. The only other people who know that name that are people he doesn’t want to talk to, and frankly? Jack has no clue who the fuck this man is. Some older human, made haggard by too much alcohol and the late hour. No names or memories spring to mind.

“Sorry,” Jack grunts. “Wrong guy.”

“You don’t remember me?” The man asks. “I came by so many times.”

And looking at him, Jack thinks he might sort of recognize him. Or rather, he recognizes the kind of man he is. There were a lot of men like him back then, their faces rendered foggy and incomprehensible by the shit he was using. And that just means he has even less reason to talk to him. He takes a drag off his cigarette and blows smoke in his face.

“Fuck off.”

The man doesn’t like that. Beer makes him as mean as it makes Jack stupid enough to pick a fight. He grabs Jack’s arm and Jack stops listening to anything he has to say. Panic seizes him the way it does when anyone suddenly grabs him, kicking and shouting, trying to twist himself out of his own jacket just to get away.

He nearly tumbles over when something slams into the man and knocks him over, wobbly knees struggling against the momentum of the man hitting the pavement. It takes Jack a few seconds to register Virgil, the taller man placing himself between Jack and the man. The elf doesn’t even have to say anything. The man takes one look at him, scrambles to his feet, and staggers down the street away from them.

Jack works his jaw and leans against the wall. “Asshole.”

“You okay?” Virgil asks quietly.

“Couldn’t take no for an answer, that’s all.” Jack fishes out another cigarette from the dwindling pack, fingers shaking as he goes to light it. He feels sick to his stomach. More nicotine isn’t likely to help that, but if he doesn’t keep his hands busy he’ll just end up tearing at his own skin.

“Can we go home?”

“Yeah.”

His free hand finds Virgil’s arm, fingers tangling in the sleeve of his coat. Jack always feels strange showing any outward affection to him in public, feeling ridiculous and clingy for doing so. But right now he doesn’t want to stray too far from the other man. His nerves ease a little more with Virgil close to his side.

When they get back to the apartment, he finally breaks down and cries—angry, bitter tears, frustration and sorrow melding together until it overwhelms him. He presses his palms into his eyes and starts to sink to the floor, but Virgil catches him in his arms and pulls him in.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” He feels pathetic and weak, that somehow all this time can pass and yet it never stops. Something finds him, sometimes a man and sometimes a memory, and it all comes flooding back again.

Virgil doesn’t waste words. He holds Jack in his arms and lets him cry, his fingers massaging the base of his neck. And when Jack runs out of tears to cry, he bends down and kisses the corner of his eye, then his forehead, then the tip of his nose. And then he takes Jack’s face on his hands and kisses his lips, long and slow and gentle.

“You’ve got me?” Jack murmurs, more statement than question.

“I’ve got you,” Virgil responds softly.

[annaizscribbling]

Ch 2.

Wordcount: 3504

Content warnings: Hallucinations. Paranoia. Blood More horror.

He is draped over the couch as Virgil walks in through the front door. His every limb seems to have been carefully arranged, with crossed legs artfully angled, hands pretending to have been thrown haphazardly in his lap, like the wind could have blown them into that careless position.

But Virgil knew better. The air of faux casualness, the way his half-lidded eyes may appear to be lazy but are watching with the intensity of a predator watching its prey. There’s a coolness to a lion resting high above its territory, sunbathing on a rock. It lays with its throat exposed as if vulnerable, but all the creatures on God’s green earth know better.

Internally, Virgil paces the walls of his mind like a prisoner in a too small cage. He’s running so fast without going anywhere, like sprinting in a hamster wheel. 

Virgil didn’t leave the waters in time, that thing was happening again. The cave sharpens Virgil’s senses. It makes the world known to him, in all of its uncovered, unjust glory. The armored shell that is protective deception, Virgil feels as if he has pried his fingers below the edge and pulled up, out, tearing it from the vulnerable, pale flesh hiding below. Truth. Sight. Wisdom.

The cave is sight.

And at the head of the harbor is a slender-leaved olive and near by it a lovely and murky cave. 

It takes time to dull those sharpened senses again. It is like adjusting to being in the dark again, his mind reels as he slowly loses that extra instinct. So for now, Virgil is cursed with eyes. True eyes. Eyes that peer past the thin deceptive membrane that usually veils his blunt judgment. Like a breath of life being pushed into dead lungs, Virgil’s tired, dirty eyes are touched by the benevolent hand of the water.

And now he can see.

What a blessing and a curse it is to truly see.

Eyes that stay unclouded. Eyes that no man may restrain and veil. Eyes that do not fall for the folly of hell and its relentless attempt to deceive him. He will not be deceived.

At least not by him.

His yellow gloved hands are laying over top one another. The base of one palm sits over the end of his wrist. Black dress pants don’t quite conceal black socks that run beneath his leather dress shoes. The shoes are polished to perfection, shined enough to see a warped reflection of oneself if peered into long enough.

Virgil’s churning hatred grows. His black shirt is perfectly pressed, save the slight crease where the third button from the top is strained. It’s subtle. He liked his shirts just a touch too tight there. When the capelet is gone, one’s gaze is naturally drawn to his lean chest instead of the watching eyes shifting in his sockets. The vain bastard.

Mismatched eyes roll to the side, looking him over with that ever-present smugness. Virgil watches as the eyes swivel down, then up, taking in every flaw he has. He feels raw, like his skin has been torn up from his flesh, pulling his protection from his fat like pulling on a loose thread to unravel a worn out sweater.

“Evening, Virgil,” he says. The way his name rolls off that forked tongue, like he’s playing with it. Playing with his meal before he ends it all. Swishing it around like one does at a wine tasting before spitting it into a bucket.

Virgil doesn’t answer, he just glares. There’s a bitter resentment brewing in his chest and he wills it into bleeding through his eyes. Tears can be of sorrow but Virgil’s are so often hot with fury.

“We’ve missed you,” he continues, the slightest tilt of his head accompanying the movement. His thin lips point down in a small frown. The lower eyelid on his good eye comes up in an analytical squint, but only barely. The twitch is so slight. He’s feigning that lopsided concern again, but it’s a cover. Careful deductions are being made rapidly, coming as natural as breathing. He has been fashioned from nothing but the underhanded and unseen sly deliberations of a sinner.

Not to fall for it, Virgil hardens his heart, or perhaps it has been hardened for him. “Don’t speak for them,” his mouth is laced with iron like a property gate, sharpened at the top and too tall to climb.

There’s a pause designed to shame him. He exhales slowly, eyes lightly closing for a second as if in pained patience. It's a trap, even closed eyes can be watching. With the weary good naturedness of the wise and kind, he smiles bitterly. Lies. Lies. Lies.

“Fine, Virgil. Then maybe I missed you. How’s that, hmm?” His voice drips like honey out his mouth down his lips, running to his chin and clinging to the soft tissue of his exposed neck.

Virgil runs his tongue across the back of his teeth, they feel sharper in his mouth, like he could cut his own gums just by biting down. He glares unyieldingly.

“Is that really so hard to believe?” He presses, as if he’s caught Virgil in a web. That damned smug smile plays and toys on his lips like a top spinning along the edge of a table. His yellow eye seems brighter, like he’s caught a piece of the sun for his own. “I just care,” he says as he uncrosses his legs and adjusts the cuff of his dress pants. Perfectly elegant.

“Liar,” Virgil spat out, angrily thrusting his hands in his pockets. It was a lie. He doesn’t ‘just’ do anything. He’s a two-faced conniving snake.

Just like the cave reveals to him.

There’s a weighty pause, as he seems to spin Virgil in his mind, looking for a new angle. Virgil can see the way his eyes scan him, those perceptive pupils prick him.

“We’re concerned,” he tells him gently. It’s not quite a delicate voice, but the type one uses when breaking bad news to a child. Virgil isn’t focused on the tone though. No. His blood boils.

‘We’re.’

As in ‘me and Patton.’ As in ‘remember how he betrayed you?’ As in ‘we are against you together.’ As in ‘who’s on the outside now, Virgil?’

Virgil felt water begin to drip down his face, falling from the imaginary heavens. Not tears. No. Too cold for that. The water is more than cold, it’s icy water like an ocean wave crashing against a shore in the dead of a winter night. Refreshing but startling as it sprays his pale skin. The temperature is so low it seems to burn him before the cold starts to set in. The frigidness sends a shiver across his body, goosebumps rise up as the shock takes him off guard.

Water. Water. Why is he getting drenched in the middle of the living room?

Why?

Why would it–

The cave wants to help.

The rush of unbearable dizziness nearly knocks Virgil off his feet as he is hit with it. The room spins and he stumbles before catching himself.

Blink.

There is no sense but the gift of sight. If the nerves within his body still function, they do not do him the decency of cooperating. He is no physical being, not even the crudely shaped pretense of a body he usually resembles. His is simply an understanding detached from any form, and the aftertaste of adrenaline hovering above the ground in a cloud. He isn’t a body.

Yet he can see.

In the center of a faded pink desert there is a yellow sun. The sand pale like blood that has been watered down and left to dry. The sand is parched and desperate to take where it can, be it greed or simple animalistic desperation one may not say. It sucks the lifeforce of whatever wander’s legs are unlucky enough to find themselves trekking across its rolling hills and sloping mountains. 

In the center of a sickly sky there is a yellow sun suspended in a cruel expanse.

The sun is watching, always, it is watching. For there is no night and no moon. No respite from the fiery beam of light. There is no world of stars to look upon in the dead of night. It is eternal. The black slit down the center of the yellow sun is an unyielding shade of darkness, with no discernable end to the inky void. The yellow sun turns and rolls in its paper dry residence in the sky, unwaveringly following any poor fool of a traveler unlucky enough to have caught its piercing attention. 

The yellow sun never missed a thing, for all things resided below, uncovered.

What goes on below the inch of flesh that covers one’s corporeal form is not hidden from all eyes. What sounds does one’s body make that even the owner does not get the privilege of listening to? What shapes do one’s mouth form while they lie? 

The yellow eye doesn’t have to wonder. It knows.

When it blinks, if it ever does, that will be the opportunity to weep. To stare into the face of its eye and sob is to tear one’s own chest in half, displaying a beating heart slowly cooking under the heat. Don’t let it win in the last ways it has yet to conquer you. Do not falter.

Don’t do it.

Don’t do it, Virgil.

He won’t. He won’t let him win.

“Virgil?”

He forgot about the fangs. Oh god.

How could he forget the fangs?

Sweet smelling breath like syrupy antifreeze coats the inside of a raw pink maw. A trail of saliva runs from the side of the mouth to a canine. Teeth sharp as daggers glint in the warm low light. Maybe they pierce, puncture, then drain the blood from an unsuspecting neck. Maybe they just tear you to shreds. Maybe in a passionate bout of heat, lips are slipping and sliding across one another, and in a shocking turn of unforeseen terror, the fangs are locked around your mouth, ripping, pulling. There may be passion, but there is no love in such things.

The forked tongue reaches out like a finger hooking your chin. Your face is jerked upward.

Your eyes meet and you are lost to the vast sky.

Still, there are no stars.

Blink.

A yellow man is standing by a stark white hospital bed in a dim room.

The sickly colored light cast shadows in the little corners of the large room. The man’s shadow is warped and too long, twisting along the waxed floor.

There’s a frail child nestled into the cold white sheets. He’s so much smaller than the bed, so much smaller than the gray world he has been brought into. His gaunt face is nearly as sickly pale as the bedding. Doe eyes like melted chocolate, robbed of what warmth they may have once held. Shaky smiles that smell like weakness, taste like vulnerability.

The yellow man holds the child’s tiny hand. He is somber. His gentle touch is a lifeline more so than anything the hospital may provide. He slowly brings up a soft glove to delicately rest over the child’s eyes, blocking the little boy’s vision.

“Don’t look.” The yellow man whispers, a small, reassuring smile on his thin lips that the boy cannot see, but can manage to hear. That’s what matters.

And the boy obeys. There is apprehension in his weary little face, but trust doesn’t always thrive in absolute security. Fear of the outside, the below, and the above often fosters a stronger faith than any peace ever could. With no one else’s hand to hold, any hold could be considered warm.

There is a burden, a weight unlike he’d previously known upon the man’s shoulders, like large hands are slowly pressing him into the ground, holding his shoulders and pushing. Pushing and pushing in the hopes he will finally lay down and accept his defeat.

But the child anchors him to this world. Nothing matters more than the sickly boy on the too large bed, whose eyes he hides from the stark cold room they’re residing in. His precious eyes need not be subjected to its hopelessness.

The medical equipment begins to grow angry, frustrated, uneasy, like spooked animals in a herd. It furiously beeps and blares, urgent noises filling the sterile little room. Panicked footsteps thunder down the echoey linoleum halls outside. The boy stiffens and tries to gently pull the man’s wrist down, to see what is going on. What will become of him? What is coming?

The yellow man whispers a sweet reassurance, keeping his hand over the boy’s eyes. He knows that it is not time for the boy to see. Only the yellow man’s eyes are strong enough to know, and he will carefully ensure that it stays that way for now.

As if a professional, the man reaches over the boy’s head with his free hand, carefully retrieving one of two small clear masks attached to a variety of things the boy doesn’t understand. Sometimes the boy is frustrated by how little he understands about his own little room. Gently, the yellow man slides it over the boy’s mouth, securing it safely.

The boy blinks slowly beneath the man’s hand. He doesn’t fight it as he feels his body lull, going to sleep. The yellow man’s face is impassive, but he is not infallible. The back of one of his gloves tenderly traces the side of the boy’s sleeping face, and there is a tangible shake in his fingers. It is painful. It is real. He may not be infallible, but he is strong. The boy is asleep, deeply once again. 

Such a peaceful expression.

He enjoys the moment for barely longer than the span of a breath.

The man knows he is a hypocrite at times, such things come with the job, he supposes. He adjusts his gloves, slowly walking away from the side of the bed. He then walks to the door and opens it, staring out into the vast expanse in the form of the sea.

He lowers his eyes.

Blink.

Virgil stares at him. He feels strange now, finding himself back in the living room he’s so comfortable in yet so agitated by all at once. It doesn’t look right, though. Because the carpet is gone. There is no real floor, even.

Oh, and he is frozen still. Like a statue, he doesn’t so much as breathe. He has one foot barely touching the ground, like he was stuck in a photograph, one catching him just beginning to run forward. Strange, so very strange.

The ground is a few inches covered in water, and it’s beautiful, like a mirror it is so still. The living room is reflected in the darkness. The water gently ripples around his legs, gentle, so very gentle. Virgil’s grungy tennis shoes and the cuffs of his skinny jeans are soaked. It’s cold.

The water does not touch him. It skirts around him, lapping at an invisible border. It angers the water to not be able to lick his dress shoes, wet his skin, engulf his ankles. The air is damp and heavy, but his skin is still dry, almost flaky. A shed is approaching. Virgil used to care.

He looks tense, his scales glimmer coldly in the light. His jaw is tightened in some amount of restrained distress. One hand concealed in a glove is outstretched as if to catch something.

Virgil is on edge, he’s awkward and uncomfortable. When is he not? No, he knows the answer to that. When he’s angry, he is sure of himself, but it’s a fleeting feeling before the doubt creeps back in to haunt him. But at least the water is there. The water is a comfort, even if it isn’t enough to fully soothe him. The water around his ankles laps at him in a gentle, rocking rhythm. It’s tender, like a melody not meant to be heard but felt, sensations on his skin approaching and receding like a chorus that swells but never dwells long in any one way.

Virgil comes a little closer to the frozen snake, his calloused fingers worrying his left hoodie string. It’s a habit that has left the strings ratty and worn. He probably noticed the habit. Of course he did. He sees too much. The water detests him. He has his own eyes, his own sick perceptions. The water hates him. He is shrouded in a dry haze of stupid deception. The water hates him. Virgil hates him. He thinks he hates him. It’s hard.

The silent sound of the water is beginning to get to him. Like when he’s down in the cave, but he’s not in his cave. Ah, but his mind longs to return. It’s where he belongs, isn’t it? Maybe his mind never truly left the cave. Maybe he never should have left at all.

Oh. Oh, he’s getting so dizzy. The water is beckoning.

Virgil slowly sinks to the floor, onto his haunches, then about to half fall into a sitting position. The water is soaking through his pants. That’s okay. It’s alright with him. The water may go where it pleases.

From where he’s so low on the ground Virgil notices that it looks almost as if his hand is reaching for him now. Like a desperate attempt to snatch him away.

Blink.

The world goes back to normal so quickly that the air feels ripped out of Virgil’s lungs. Like he’s been thrown against the ground and had the wind knocked out of him. The water is gone like it never existed. Like as if the tide could recede, taking the dampness of the sand with it.

“Virgil!”

Virgil looks up as the gloves hand grasps his shoulder as Virgil finds himself hitting the ground. Did he fall? He sure doesn’t remember falling.

“Let go, Janus,” Virgil finds himself snapping. He harshly shoves the gloves off him.

“You collapsed. Calm down, take it easy. Here,” Janus extends a hand to help him back up to his feet. Worry swims in his eyes like tadpoles in a pond of tears. No.

He doesn’t accept the help, instead sending a glare brimming with hatred. Janus doesn’t know what Virgil saw, what he still sees. He knows better than to trust a snake. “Get off me.”

Janus sighs again. He does that often. It makes his blood boil hotter. “I’m not the reason you fell, there’s no need to be upset with me, now come on. Up you come,” he reached out again.

“Just shut up, and move your hands before you lose them,” Virgil growls.

What’s gotten into you?” Janus shakes his head like a tired parent, the conniving, infuriating, slimy bastard. “Stay put then, I’ll call Patton, since you’d likely throw a tantrum if I dared look you over.”

“You’re not calling anyone, you bitch. Leave me alone. You shouldn’t be up here anyway, you don’t belong here,” Virgil says through his teeth. He feels like a caged animal, biting and growling through a chain-link fence. He feels like his blood has been replaced with an aimless vitriol.

Janus raises an eyebrow, not nearly as offended as Virgil craved him to be. No. He’s seeing again. He knows. Virgil feels sick. He knows. He knows. He knows.

“… you’ve been going again, haven’t you?” he realizes, and it’s hardly a real question, because he knows, they both do. “Or did you ever really stop?” he murmurs, more to himself.

Panic, dread, fury, it all comes together in a horrible concoction that burns red in his belly. Virgil feels his hackles rise, his spine hardening and his teeth begging to be uncovered by his lips. “That isn’t any of your fucking business.”

There is a graveness in Janus’ disgusting, poisonous, yellow-colored eye. “You know what it does to you. Why do you keep letting it—”

“Shut up! I am not falling for this,” Virgil hisses, clumsily yet aggressively getting to his feet. “I hate you. I hate you and I know what you’re doing. To me. To Patton. To Thomas. I know. I can see. So don’t you dare try me again because I swear that I will tear you to shreds with my teeth.”

Janus does not get angry. Nor does he look afraid. Instead, he looks more sad than Virgil can recall seeing him in a very long, long time. A soft expression of a bittersweet fondness lines his face like faded smile lines. His shoulders slump in a disappointed tiredness. There’s a tiny shake of his head.

“Oh, Virgil,” he says softly, “what has it done to you?”

Virgil flees. He runs. He sprints off to his room without looking back. Up the stairs, his sneakers thundering loudly against the carpet. He can’t stand to look at that snake any longer.

The water flows unceasingly.

Ch 2. Ch 3.

[anxiousgaypanicking]

Oreo

Synopsis:  As a joke, Roman's forced to ask Virgil out after losing an oreo. Flustered, and somewhat embarrassed and humiliated by the connotation that dating him would be such a bad thing, he says yes out of impulse, and must now deal with what being Roman's "boyfriend" entails. Taglist: @renys @falsemood

Part Five: Oversleeping Masterlist

Does he even have a reason to despise Roman? A real reason? 

He knows he hates Remus, but he can’t drag Roman into his brother’s bullying. Well, technically he could, but it’d be immature. 

Huffing, Virgil tries to think of a reason - perhaps an annoying interaction they’ve had or teasing that was taken too far - but he ultimately comes up short. He just seemingly decided one day after seeing him around Remus that he didn’t like the man. Overlooking the fact they’re brothers in order to justify his bitterness. 

Virgil squeezes his eyes shut. 

Okay, he’ll admit that was a bit unfair of him. Deciding that he didn’t like Roman just because of who he’s related to was silly. 

But, at the same time, Remus harassed him and his friends constantly. How could someone as wonderful and caring as Roman be related to someone who’s so pathetic that he picks on other people to feel some semblance of self worth? 

Virgil’s fists roughly hit against his pillows, letting out a frustrated groan as he struggles to sift through the thoughts flooding within his mind like unruly waves crashing against a beach. He can’t focus on anything for more than a few seconds; a thought would come, he’d feel guilt or justification, and then a new thought would take its place. 

He sits back up, adjusting his position on the couch, before he turns and presses his face into a new cushion. Closing his eyes once again, the “date” he’d just gone on plays in his mind like a movie. 

Roman’s smile… The ease by which he talked... 

And his laughter. 

Virgil pulls his knees up to his chest, sighing as he urges himself to relax. The sweet taste of a milkshake on his tongue seems to linger. A wave of exhaustion overtakes him as the exertion of today finally catches up. He’s not an extrovert by any means, and spending the entire day out with Roman was taking a toll. 

He leans back on the couch, yawning dramatically, before pushing his face hard into one of the cushions. He lets his eyes close. The date seems to play in his mind like a movie, and he lets the memory of Roman’s soft chuckle lull him to sleep. 

***

He wakes up the next morning with a headache. 

His phone is beeping repeatedly, and when Virgil looks at him, he’s quick to push himself onto his feet. 

Groaning as a wave of vertigo overtakes him, he watches a call from Janus suddenly end, adding to a culmination of missed calls currently capped at “16,” but still threatening to increase. He doesn’t bother answering, instead quickly unlocking his phone as he stumbles towards his room, being met with a barrage of texts including ‘where are you?’ and ‘class started fifteen minutes ago!’

Fifteen minutes. And to make matters worse, Virgil can tell he’d overslept, meaning he feels exhausted as ever. Next time he gets home early from a date, he’ll try to keep himself up until ten. 

Quickly, Virgil sends an ‘i overslept’ text to the group chat, met with the singular reaction of a thumbs-down emoji from Logan. Truly helpful. 

He quickly gets ready, shrugging off his dirty clothes in favor of a different hoodie and another pair of black jeans, before patting his pocket to make sure he has his house key. He throws his backpack over his shoulders, and nearly trips down the stairs. 

Under his breath he curses himself for putting off getting his driver’s license. It’s not a long walk by any means, but with him already being late, having a quicker mode of transportation would definitely help. 

Essentially sprinting, he can feel himself getting sweaty, and he shakes his head and groans as he realizes he forgot deodorant or toothpaste. Gross. 

When he finally hauls his ass into school, he desperately explains his situation to the main office, and is given a late pass which he shamefully carries as he makes his way to his first class. He looks a mess, and he knows it, and so tries to keep his head down as he walks inside. 

Every head raises to stare at him, including Janus’s, and the teachers. He shifts uncomfortably where he stands. 

"Mr. Addams," she addresses him, sounding rather annoyed. "Glad to see you're finally joining us. Do you have a pass?” 

Virgil raises her arm to hand her the slip, and she reads over it before nodding and setting it on her desk. 

“The office will adjust your attendance,” she says, dismissively, and Virgil walks to his desk in the back of the room. His chest aches as he feels everyone’s eyes following him. How stupid does he look? Did he remember to lock the front door?

He collapses into his seat, feeling his legs throb as he keeps a hand on his chest, trying to steady his breathing. Running here took so much effort, and keeping his eyes open wasn’t proving to be any easier. He feels as though he’s going to fall to the ground unconscious at any moment. 

He resists the urge to lay his head down on his desk, and tries his best to pay attention, not wanting to upset his teacher any further. She already wasn’t pleased with him; he’d hate to do something that would result in a stern talking-to, or even worse, a referral. 

In the corner of his eye, Virgil watches Janus type on his phone under the desk, though his head stays straight. His eyes look between Virgil and the teacher. Though he’s curious, Virgil doesn’t bother to check the vibrating phone in his pocket, not wanting to risk fumbling and dropping it. He’d already drawn enough attention toward himself today. 

Thankfully, the bell rings after just a short while for Virgil, and he trudges out of the room, Janus at his side.

“Geez, you look like shit,” he comments, making Virgil roll his eyes. He rubs at his face, focusing around his eyes, as he tries to wake himself up more. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I might pass out,” Virgil groggily responds, before forcing himself to stretch. As he reaches his arms over his head, he lets out a slight groan, and then relaxes again. It didn’t help much, but his body feels less strained. 

Janus sets a hand on his back. It’s a light touch, but it’s clear he’s helping guide Virgil, if only a bit. 

That doesn’t keep Janus from grinning, though. “Don’t worry. All you have to do is stay alive until lunch, and then you can fall asleep on that hunk of a boyfriend you have.” Janus wiggles his eyebrows, attempting to entice some bitter or embarrassed refute from Virgil, but all he gets is a slight hum in response. 

Janus whistles. “You must really be tired, hm? Not a glare? No shoulder punch?” He stops their walking to set the back of his hand against Virgil’s forehead. “Are you sure you’re just feeling tired? You’re not running a fever or anything, are you?” 

Virgil finally scoffs, and pushes Janus’s hand away. Janus was right in a sense though. He just had to make it to lunch. Then, he could take a quick nap! Hopefully, he’d feel better after that.

Thank god tomorrow was Friday.

Virgil sleepwalks through his next few classes, but it doesn’t seem like any of his teachers notice. Janus and Logan accompany him through a few of them, but he hardly notices. With his head down, he struggles to keep awake, and resorts to kicking his leg in order to stay awake.

Finally, after what seems like centuries to Virgil, lunch comes around. 

His eyes burn, and he feels like he’s shaking with every step he takes. He just needs to make it to the cafeteria. Then, he’ll be okay. 

As he’s walking - rather slowly - towards the loud chatter and open double-doors, an arm wraps around his shoulders. Virgil jumps, and stiffens as he cranes his neck upwards, only to see Roman. 

“Lacking the pep in your step, I see,” Roman jokes, and Virgil can’t help the small smile that graces his lips. 

“I’m tired,” Virgil clarifies, as he lets Roman guide him forward.

Roman chuckles. "You shouldn't be; you told the teacher you overslept.”

Virgil rolls his eyes, but Roman suggests “you can nap at lunch. I don’t think all the screaming would make the greatest white noise, but to each their own.” 

Virgil laughs softly. “Janus told me a similar thing.” He leaves out the bit where Janus joked about Virgil falling asleep against Roman. Being reminded of that, he’s quick to pull himself away from Roman, who eases his grip and allows Virgil to do so. 

People whisper as they pass. It was still big news that Roman decided to date some social outcast! Virgil still needed to ask how people found out about that, though, with Roman’s love for affection and his brother’s big mouth, he definitely had a few guesses. 

Once they sit down at their table, Virgil immediately slumps over it, and tucks his head into his arms. Roman, who’s apparently decided this was his new table as well, pats Virgil’s back comfortingly. 

“I take it you’re no longer completely against dating Roman?” Janus teases, alluding to the fact they walked in together. 

Virgil just shrugs, too lethargic to care at the moment. 

Janus laughs. “Better watch out, Roman! Virgil might actually be falling in love with you.” He winks, and Roman smiles, but Virgil lets out a string of muffled words at Janus’s teasing. 

They’re mostly incoherent, but Janus can just assume the obvious; Virgil was obviously saying something along the lines of “I could never fall in love with someone like him.” 

Roman has no qualms laughing at Janus’s words, though, cheeks a nice pink at the idea. Virgil actually falling in love with him? Never. And Roman becoming equally smitten? He doesn’t see it happening. 

There were no real romantic feelings between them, and Roman knew that. But he’s not a quitter, and if Virgil insists on being in this “relationship,” then Roman will make sure it’s the best relationship Virgil’s ever partaken in. 

Sneaking a glance downwards, Roman’s met with Virgil’s (supposedly) sleeping figure. He was breathing rhythmically, so Roman assumes he’s finally managed to drift off. 

Out of courtesy, Roman lowers his voice, and when Logan finally comes over to join them, he does the same. Logan has a book out as he eats, but he has no problem talking while reading, as if that wasn’t an impressive task. And as lunch carries on, Logan and Janus become more invested in each other, leaving Roman to eat his lunch quietly, side-by-side with Virgil. 

When the bell rings, Janus and Logan get up and walk off together, leaving Roman with a sleeping Virgil. 

With a sigh, Roman gently shakes Virgil awake. Virgil groans, before weakly swatting at Roman’s hands. His accuracy is horrid, but Roman’s arms retreat anyway, giving Virgil space to stretch. 

“Don’t touch me… you heathen….” Virgil yawns, blinking his eyes open. 

Roman grins. “Heathen? That’s an awfully mean thing to call somebody who’s looking out for you. Here I am, selflessly making sure you get to your next class on time, and you insult me.” Roman sets a hand on his chest, feigning being struck, as if Virgil’s insult had punched him square in the torso. 

Virgil stands, yawning again, before cracking his back. Then, he begins walking. Roman walks with him. They don’t share the same class this period, but it’s in the same general direction.

“Believe me, Roman, I could call you worse,” Virgil threatens, voice gravelly. He still sounds exhausted, but he looks a bit better. Hopefully, with a quick cat-nap, he’d be better suited to finish the rest of the day. 

Roman laughs, but doesn’t respond. Silently, they head to Virgil’s class, before Roman waves and turns away to walk to his own, leaving Virgil to settle himself at his desk. 

Their afternoon classes are uneventful, and the two are both fairly happy when the dismissal bell rings. Roman runs to his locker, which is already swarmed with fellow football players, other boys trying to associate with the “cool” jocks, and girls desperate to talk to them. 

He manages to worm his way to his locker, but in attempting to grab his stuff and leave, he’s stopped by Remus. 

“Hey, loser,” Remus greets him, with a wide smile. He’s leaning against the locker next to Roman’s. “Have you convinced that outcast to break up with you yet?” Remus picks at his teeth with his pinky as he waits for an answer, seemingly intrigued. 

“No,” Roman replies, as he shuts his locker a bit louder than necessary. “I haven’t been trying.” 

Remus looks a little surprised. “Why not? Don’t tell me you actually caught feelings for that accident?” 

Roman narrows his eyes, turning to Remus with comically red cheeks. He was frustrated, but such a look could easily be mistaken for fluster. A strange compulsion to defend Virgil wells up in his chest. Maybe it was because Virgil wasn’t here to stick up for himself. 

“So what if I have?” is his immediate jest, threatening Remus to raise any sort of objection. “Is that such a problem?” There’s a glare not normally present in his soft green eyes, and it makes Remus jut his chin out in a mixture of curiosity, and amusement. 

Roman doesn’t actually have feelings for Virgil, but he has respect and basic decency. Unlike Remus, apparently.

“You barely know him,” Roman continues, as the increasing volume of his voice draws the attention of the people around them, “and from what I’ve seen, he’s a better person than you are.” 

“That’s not a hard bar to surpass.” 

Roman groans, before stomping his foot dramatically. “Whatever, Remus! Get out of my way; I’m going to see my boyfriend.” 

He pushes past Remus, purposely bumping his shoulder against his brother’s, before stomping off, leaving Remus there, intrigued. 

Roman takes deep breaths as he makes his way to Virgil’s locker, where he hopes the latter is. And he’s pleased when he sees Virgil there, though Virgil looks exhausted. 

His forehead is pressed against his locker, eyes closed. He was holding his bag by his strap, though it hangs down, being drawn to the floor. 

Roman sets a hand on Virgil’s shoulder, and apologizes immediately when Virgil jumps. His eyes are wide as he stares at Roman, before sighing out a short “what do you want?” Ever so polite, Virgil wastes no time getting straight to the point.

Roman smiles. “I came to ask if you wanted to come over!” 

“Why?” Virgil responds, voice sounding tired. It’s enough to make Roman shift his weight from one leg to the other, debating whether or not he should just drop the topic. 

“You mentioned earlier that you didn’t like being alone,” Roman replies, smile faltering slightly. “I came to provide you an alternate option!”

“Who said I’d want to spend time with you instead?” 

Roman lets out a sigh, adjusting the bag on his back. “I guess you have a point. I’ll take that as a no, then.” He turns to leave. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow-” 

His hand is immediately grabbed, and Roman turns to see Virgil looking a little anxious. He quickly masks it when they make eye contact, and releases Roman’s hand just as quickly.

“I never said no,” Virgil replies, wiping his hand on his pants as though Roman had infected it with germs. “I’ll come over. Are your parents okay with this?” 

Roman just shrugs in response, but he smiles wide. “I’m sure they won’t mind.” 

He takes hold of Virgil’s hand, pulling him through the school and out the front door. He pulls a pair of car keys out of his pocket, and leads Virgil to a slick, white car. Not a single splatter of mud or pile of bird shit over it. Roman unlocks it, and even opens the passenger side door for him.

The seats are comfy, and Virgil settles into his with a pleased groan, as Roman gets into the driver’s side and starts the car. 

“I could fall asleep right now,” Virgil comments, making Roman laugh. 

“It’s a short drive,” he assures Virgil. “I have a comfy bed you can fall asleep on at home instead.” 

Virgil lets his head fall to the side, staring at the window as Roman drives them out of the school parking lot, and down the street. They go straight for a while, before Roman turns down a certain street. The houses lining the sidewalk were giant, and looked incredibly old. 

Virgil’s eyes go wide. 

“The historical district?” Virgil exclaims, pressing his forehead against the window. “But… but the houses here are super expensive! Do you really live here?” 

Roman nods, and slows his car as he turns and drives up a nice paved driveway, leaving Virgil to stare at the large house they’re pulling up to. It’s white with many, many windows, and a faded blue roof. Large pillars act as support, and a giant yard is freshly trimmed, with marble decorations. Flowers grow along the driveway and the path to the front door. 

Roman parks the car on the driveway, behind two black cars parked side by side. He pulls a key out of his pocket and walks Virgil to the front door, before unlocking it. He shuts the door behind them, and then interlocks his arm with Virgil’s. 

“Dad, Papa, I’m home!” Roman then calls, giving Virgil’s arm an assuring squeeze. “And I brought somebody you might want to meet!”

[forgottenroderick]

What would be Roderick's last words be if they died right now?

ok so, the short answer is...i don't know, but i have ideas! lkasjdflkjdsf

ok soooooo it would def depend on circumstances like i can def see him tryna say smth but he can't quite get it out and forever after ppl are tryna figure it out and like its causing wars somehow like...that feels v on brand! other options, to steal from louis xv and alexander the great, are 'after me, the flood/disaster' or -- when asked who his empire should go to -- 'the strongest' all also feel suuuuuper on brand too lakjdsfkldsjf but i can also see him whispering smth like 'my love' at the end and ppl being like was it one of his wives??? his empire?????

if assassinated, caligula's last words, 'i am still alive!' just after being fatally stabbed by an assassin feel pr on point, or tius': "My life is taken from me, though I have done nothing to deserve it; for there is no action of mine of which I should repent, but one." or, if betrayed, smth ironic like wat tyler's "Because they are all under my command, they are sworn to do what I bid them," (bc like ~roderick'd ever die! he's got this all under control! *drops dead*) or just straight up pulling a richard iii and screaming 'treason! treason!' when his troops abandon him to be slaughtered by the enemy

tbh i do think he's the sort of person who, even if he had a terminal disease or whatever, would deny the possibility that he might die right up to the bitter end so i lowkey think you might just get smth like 'no, no, not yet' or 'it can't be' or even 'stop' bc its like a shock and he cant w this!!!!!! he can't die!!!!!! he's roderick the gods own champion!!!!! etc!!!!! or even pull a phocas and shockedly remark 'who will govern it any better?' re: the empire or even him resigning himself (but in his case def in a dismissive kinda way bc ~he's way more important!) like henry ii's "Now let the world go as it will; I care for nothing more."

but also i can see like some sort of delusion taking over and him playing out a scene in his head and like acting out his part in it so like basically him muttering nonsense information like 'the yellow one' or smth bc in his brain his mother is asking him which vase to use for the wildflower bouquet he just brought her or whatever but no one knows that they just ~think they heard him say 'the yellow one' but that couldn't have been right???? klajsfkljsdf idk!!!!

if he knew and accepted that he was dying tho he'd deffff want it to be smth prfound and epic!!!!!!!! some examples of the sort of last words he'd like to utter:

"Death twitches my ear. 'Live,' he says. 'I am coming.'" - virgil

"Woe, I think I'm turning into a god... An emperor should die on his feet." - vespasian

"Fortune favors the bold." - pliny the elder

"Go to the rising sun, for I am setting." (without the ending which is 'think more of death than of me' -- roderick would ~never say that lakjdsfklsjdf) - marcus aurelius

"How am I advanced, despising you that are upon the earth!" - marcus of arethusa

"Carry my bones before you on your march, for the rebels will not be able to endure the sight of me, alive or dead." - edward i of england

[valleyfthdolls]

I got 3 you can answer with any particular oc you like :) (for ask game)

1: what flavor would you consider any of your ocs personalities to be?

2: have any of them had any meaningful encounters with an animal?

3:What element(s) best represent any of your ocs?

1: As in food flavors? For Amaya, it’d be sweet but not super sweet, like green tea mochi (the mildness of the tea flavor + the slight creamy sweetness of ice cream). Virgil’s I think is like straight up ice. Cold and crunchy. Tārā’s world probably be best described as bittersweet. Like coffee flavored ice cream. Cody’s is like. Y’know when you buy store brand saltine crackers and you put it upside down in your mouth and it’s so salty you start coughing and your tongue is dry for hours. Not necessarily that Cody is a salty person but that best describes the weird combination of pleasant quietness and abrasiveness he has going on. Rina’s is coffee (hot and bitter), Antonio’s is salted caramel (sweet + salty), and Lori’s is like if you were to try to eat a cassette tape. Just a strange experience all around, but not necessarily unpleasant because you totally signed up for it.

2: When Rian was 11-12, his family dog ran away and they never found him. He didn’t learn until years later that the dog had been poisoned, but that was like, his best friend. Part of the reason he’s so doglike now is because part of that provided him comfort after his dog “ran away”- representing someone he had loved through himself.

Antonio’s first lost tooth happened when his mom, lover of animals that she was, swerved in the road to avoid hitting a deer and it happened so fast he hit his face against the window and it knocked out a loose tooth. His mom thought it was hilarious. She was not a very careful person.

3: Assuming this means the basic alchemical elements:

Fire- Amaya (passionate, intense, generally fiery, destroys and hurts with good intentions, associated with gunfire and bombs due to familial trauma and her fear of disaster), Rina (hard to control, intense, passionate, everything she comes in contact with ends up destroyed)

Earth- Tārā (occultist and witch which involves a lot of the natural world, has a whole thing about rot and dirt), Lori (grounded/down to earth, has a different thing about rot and dirt unrelated to Tārā’s thing), The Monster of Salem (rot, dirt, decay, bugs and worms, the earth is trying to reclaim the flesh it puppets and it will not go down), Jane Doe (found in the woods, and also some other stuff I can’t get into), Cody (vibes), Antonio (they like plants + snake motif)

Water- Virgil (ice motif, also yk how sharks die if they stop moving. Yeah)

Air- Mandy (vibes)

Send me an ask from this oc ask game and I’ll be your best friend forever

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

To Make a Heaven of Hell (5/?)

----

Virgil gets coffee and helps a few souls. He's really settled nicely into the Hellp desk setting.

----

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Chapter warnings: talk of religious indoctrination, homophobia and racism for the second soul Virgil is talking to, a tiny bit of negative perception about therapy for the third.

Notes:

Honestly this chapter went in like four different directions than where I thought it would, and ended up around 3k words. Aside from the very end, this is almost entirely filler. I don't know where this came from.

Picani just pushed his way into this plot and I'll tell you guys now I have absolutely no idea how to write him so y'all are in for an OOC t r e a t. (I'm probably not going to actually write him talking that much LOL)

I know what I'm doing with the plot I swear~

----

About a week passed before Virgil was able to finally get his bearings. At least enough to feel comfortable exploring and less terrified of talking to anyone who wasn’t Judy or Lily. Up until that point he’d been terrified of getting lost, the space was so massive and unfamiliar that he had no idea how to find his way. Up until now he’d made a point of asking to walk with Lily or one of the others when going over to Hell or back to Lily’s Paradise. He’d also finally been tasked to visit the coffee shop in the main hallway along with Angel - whom he’d hidden behind when someone who he was fairly certain was a greek goddess came over to start a conversation. 

Luckily, he’d made it out of that encounter alive, with only a little light teasing from Angel and a sweet monstrosity of an iced coffee that had gotten him a side-eye from both Angel and the barista and a nod of approval from the person stood beside them waiting - a person with leaf green skin and bird wings who Virgil was pretty sure was some flavour of fae. 

“You know,” Angel said as they walked back towards Hell, holders full of coffee cups and bags of pastries in hand, “I didn’t peg you for a - how much cream is in that again?”

“A lot,” Virgil answered, vaguely.

“A guy who has enough fucking cream and caramel in their iced coffee to kill a faerie,” Angel finished. rolling His eyes, Virgil took a long sip of his coffee through the straw, just to make a point. 

“Well normal coffee tastes too bitter.” He said with a shrug, “Besides I could never get this stuff in the mortal world, and the Common Grounds coffee is amazing.”

She shrugged, laughing “Well if that’s what you like, I think you’d get on really well with my brother - you have very similar coffee tastes.”

“Your brother?” Virgil asked as they turned into the entrance to Hell and began down the stairs. It was odd how much this had stopped bothering him in such a short time. 

“Oh! Right! You haven’t met Roman yet, have you? The other twin.” Angel said, glancing at him before looking back at the coffees to make sure they didn’t spill. 

Virgil frowned, thinking for a second, he’d met… a lot of people, in the last week, “i don’t think so, no.”

Angel groaned, “Me and Remus have been trying to persuade him to get up here to come meet you, but he doesn’t like coming to the lobby. I’m sure you’ll meet him eventually.”

“It’s fine,” Virgil nods his head to wave her off though his hands are full, “He’s welcome to hide away if he wants, less faces for me to remember.”

Laughing, Angel placed down her holders and bags on the desk, already handing out the coffees to their recipients. Virgil followed her lead and did the same before taking his croissant and flopping into his new chair behind the desk. 

“How’s my favourite Emo today?” Said an annoying voice Virgil had become used to especially in the last few days. Remus came around the back of his chair and plucked his coffee cup from his hand, hopping up - though ae didn’t have to hop far, ze was almost seven feet tall. Virgil just watched with a slightly irritated look on his face as Remus removed the lid of his coffee and took a sip, before making a face. 

“Ew,” Remus huffed, passing the cup back, Virgil rolled their eyes, “Your coffee order stinks, dude.”

“Thanks,” Virgil said, putting the lid back ond drinking enough that he almost choked all while maintaining eye contact, “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Remus grinned brightly, showing all his jaggedly sharp teeth, “I’m going up to the Front Death-k! The cute nerd said he had sugar cookies for me, just thought I’d stop by and see my favouite Emo on the way, heh?”

“Remus,” Lily sighed, having just finished dealing with a soul, “You know they don’t like you going up there.”

“What? Because I scare a few souls?” Remus groaned dramatically, “I think they should get over themselves, I’m going to see Logan whether they like me or not.”

“Logan?” Virgil asked, perking up at the name he recognised.

“That’s what I said, aint it?” Remus turned back to him, “You know ‘im?”

Virgil hesitated for a second, frowning, “Yeah uh- he was- the one I talked to when I got here?”

“Neat,” Remus said, “Want me to tell him you said hi?”

For a moment, Virgil actually considered asking if he could go up with Remus and say hi himself. Eventually he chickened out and just nodded. He didn’t want to get in the way of Remus’ flirting. 

“Coolio,” Remus huffed, hopping back off the desk with a grin and starting to walk away with a wave “See you round Emo!”

Virgil waited until Remus was out of earshot, before turning to the Hellp Desk’s intern - Dante - who he’d met two days ago, “Do you think he even actually knows my name?”

“I think you’ve actually been renamed ‘emo’,” Dante shrugged, “Whether he knows your name or not doesn’t matter.”

—-

“Hey!” Yelled someone from the other side of the desk. Virgil sipped his coffee, not looking up from his phone and trying not to smile as he ignored her. She snapped her fingers next to his ear, but other than flinching slightly at the noise, he remained resolute. Tumblr wasn’t exactly a thing in the afterlife, but they did have pretty cool social media - nothing like the mortal bullshit, too. And right now he was texting Sharkie, so Karen could wait. 

“Hey! I’m talking to you!” She yelled, clapping her hands, Virgil just hummed, putting on a confused face. 

‘Hey can you hear that?’ He texted to Sharkie - who sat a few desks away, they started cackling, ‘sounds like theres a bug in here or something, can’t quite tell’. He took special effort to angle their phone so that Karen could see the text. She scoffed, and went to say something else before being interrupted. 

“Hey Vee!” Sharkie called, “You need me to call pest control? You’ve got a big one there!”

The woman made a noise of great offence, slamming her hand down on the desk, “I have never felt more disrespected in my life! How dare you-”

Sharkie walked over and sprayed her in the face with a spritz bottle of what Virgil was pretty sure was just water, but she screamed and started jumping around as though she’d just been sprayed with acid.

“Begone, pest!” Sharkie yelled, Virgil laughed, waving her off as she ran towards the stairs. Both of them burst into fits of giggles once she was gone. 

“Good one,” Sharkie told him, offering a high five which Virgil returned quickly.

—-

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Said the perky middle aged woman in front of him. He could practically picture on the PTA stirring up shit. 

“Sure,” Virgil said, “Except, you are.”

“I’n not, though.”

“You are,” Virgil nodded, glancing at her bright pink file. It almost hurt his eyes to look at for too long, “Your file’s here.”

“Well then clearly something’s wrong with the system,” She rolled her eyes, “Because I’m not supposed to be here! I was a religious studies teacher! I helped those poor misguided children back down the path of God-”

“Dude you taught at a diverse school,” Virgil rolled his eyes as he slipped his fingers between the pages of the file - the information download was a little overwhelming, but useful, “And you didn’t actually teach shit, you just tried to force a bunch of kids to pray to a god they didn’t believe in, and even the ones who did believe in your god didn’t want to join in your racist and homophobic prayers most of the time, fucking hell.”

“I was just trying to lead these lost children down the right path! What’s so wrong with that?” She practically whined. Virgil must have made a face, because Danta poked his arm.

“Hey Vee, pull the lever, trust me,” Dante whispered to him as the woman fumed - now about being ignored. 

Virgil raised an eyebrow at him, but reached over to pull the lever anyway. He gasped in delight when the floor opened beneath her and she fell with a squeal of terror. 

“Ooh,” Lily said from across the desk, “A squealer, nice trapdoor!”

“Was that your first trapdoor?” Penny asked, looking excited as Virgil nodded, “It’s cool, right? Dante made the lever for us.”

“It’s great,” Virgil said, glancing back as the floor closed back up, “I think every customer service desk should have a trapdoor to dunk those who displease you.”

“Oh aboolutely,” Lily nodded, picking up her book again. Virgil took a deep breath, preparing to deal with the man approaching his desk. This should be so much easier now that he had the trapdoor at his disposal. 

—-

“Hi welcome to hell this is the hellp… desk… oh-” Virgil said staring wide eyed at the sould in front of him. She looked barely older than fifteen, and seemed to be nearly vibrating out of her skin with sheer panic. Virgil immediately felt like his lungs and heart were being crushed, because God knows he’d been there, many, many times.

Her file appeared on the desk, but when Virgil glanced at it - not taking a look inside, it felt weirdly like intruding, in this particular situation - he saw that she was only going to level one. Virgil glanced quickly around - because surely one of the others would be better equipped for this - but there were only three of them there today, including Virgil, and everyone else was busy. 

Alright, he could handle this. Just fine. 

Quickly he darted around the desk to the girl, who seemed to be trying very hard to stutter her way through… something, though Virgil could tell she could barely breathe.

“Hey,” Virgil said, trying to get her attention, “Okay, I’m definitely not qualified for this, but I need you to breathe for me while I count, okay?”

She nodded, a little frantic, and Virgil started counting out a rhythm, instructing her to breath in and then out every few counts until she was breathing more evenly, and then for a little longer to make sure she was good.

“Okay,” He said, trying to keep his voice gentle, “How’re you doing?”

“Fi-fine” She mumbled, taking another, deeper breath and quickly brushing away tears, “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Virgil asked, “I can get you a cup of water, or give you a hug, if you want it.”

He had no idea why he offered that, he usually tried to avoid most physical contact, but it just… felt right, in this situation. 

She took a long time to respond, but eventually she said - almost quietly enough that Virgil didn’t hear - “Is… both okay?”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, “Both is good.”

The hug was mostly short lived, but even though she pulled away quickly, it seemed quite reluctant.

“Sorry,” She mumbled, “Your jacket just feels really nice.”

Virgil chuckled, making a split second decision and shrugging it off his shoulders, glad he’d worn a turtleneck today, “Here, borrow it while I grab you some water from the break room.”

“Really?” She asked, hesitantly, though she was already reaching out. No, not really! His mind yelled, that was his jacket, the jacket! He stomped down his rising anxiety quickly and smiled, putting the jacket in her hand. He could part with it for ten minutes, he’d get it back, and besides, it was just Hell, he’d been here almost every day for two weeks, no big deal. 

“I’ll be right back,” He said, as she put on his jacket like a blanket - without putting her arms in the sleeves. It went down to her mid thigh. She visibly relaxed and Virgil smiled, she definitely needed it more than him right now.

—-

“Level one isn’t bad, you know,” Virgil said quietly as she sipped the water he’d given her, “It’s just therapy.”

She tensed up again, “But… doesn’t it mean I’m… bad? Only bad girls go to Hell-”

Virgil shook his head so violently that she stopped talking, a shocked look on her face, “No, definitely not - I’ve… been here two weeks, so I’m not - definitely not the most knowledgable about the system, but the lower levels - especially one and two - aren’t for bad people, they’re for… healing, for people who’ve done bad things and regret it, and people who just need a bit of help, it doesn’t mean you’re… bad.”

She took a deep breath, “But… it’s therapy.”

“Yeah?” Virgil said, slightly confused by that, “They’re going to help you, that’s what it’s… for.”

“I’ve been to therapy before,” She said quietly, “And it wasn’t like that.”

“Oh…” Virgil said, he’d never been to therapy - though he admittedly probably needed to - but he’d certainly heard horror stories from friends who had bad therapists, “This - won’t be anything like what you’ve experienced before, I promise, the people here are really here to help you, and that’s it.”

“You’re sure?” She asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Virgil nodded, before frowning as a thought crossed his mind, “One second.”

He quickly ducked away, hurrying over to where Lily was dealing with some soul who didn’t seem important enough to bother with, “Hey Lily?”

“Yeah?” She asked, looking up with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ve um, got a soul, are we… allowed to walk with them to their level?” Virgil asked quietly, “She’s just level one - I was also wondering…. If they did walk-ins?”

Lily smiled, a smile that was knowing, and kind, “Yes, to both your questions, good luck,”

Virgil nodded, returning to his desk and picking up the girl’s file, before turning and offering it to her, she simply stared him down. “Wha-?”

“It’s yours to share, I didn’t look at it,” Virgil told her, before she carefully took it, he took a deep breath, “Would you like me to walk you to level one?”

Once again she took a long time to respond, but eventually she nodded, “Yeah uh - I think I’d like that.”

“Neat,” Virgil said, taking a deep breath, he was totally prepared to walk down to level one of Hell, and get this girl to therapy, and maybe ask for therapy himself, without his jacket, “Lets go, then.”

She nodded firmly, clutching her file tight and almost burying herself in Virgil’s jacket, and followed his lead towards the tunnel that would take them down to level one and two. He hoped he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. In the two weeks he’d been here so far - he’d been keeping track, dutifully, in a notebook - he’d never once gone further than the Lobby. 

Lily and Judy had explained the levels of Hell to him, and told him how to get to each one. They’d also told him about the demonic levels - training levels, admin levels, residential levels - but it had mostly just flown over his head, he’d been a little overwhelmed by all the information at the time. Besides, he was still just slightly terrified that he’d get stuck if he came down here. Right now, though, he was resolutely not worrying about that. 

When they arrived after what seemed like an eternity, though, they were approached by an extremely friendly looking demon. He had pastel pink skin and horns that resembled a buffalo, though they were decorated with twines of flowers that also decorated his rose-gold hair - tied back in a thick braid. He wore wire-frame glasses that seemed to be struggling to hold onto his pointed ears, and his eyes behind them were an inviting shade of blue. Not to mention the way his tail ended in a plume of darker pink fur, rather than the pointed tails he’d mostly seen on demons so far. 

“Hi! Welcome to level one!” He said with a grin, doing jazz hands as though he were announcing a show, "New arrivals?” 

Virgil clammed up, in that moment, a lump formed in his throat that was so familiar, yet he hadn’t felt it in the last few days - not once while dealing with the souls at the desk, but as soon as it really mattered. 

“Just me,” The girl said after a long pause, hesitantly offering her file to the demon, “Um, he just walked me down from the… the Hellp Desk?”

“Oh neato!” He smiled, offering her a hand to shake, “Well I’m Emile Picani, and I’m in charge down here on level one! it’s absolutely freakin’ fantastic to meet you! Give me a tick and I’ll see who can take you from here, kay?”

She nodded and took a relieved breath with a smile as Emile hurried off, glancing back at Virgil and slowly slipping off the jacket before offering it back.

“Thank you for your help…” She said, trailing off at the end of her sentence, Virgil realised after a second of staring that she was waiting for his name.

“Oh- Virgil,” He said, taking his jacket with a sigh of relief of his own, “I’m happy to help…?”

“Linda,” She said with a smile, as Emile hurried back over with another equally friendly - though calmer looking - demon in tow, “See you round?”

“Seeya,” He nodded with a chuckle and a solute as the second demon waved her over and they began to walk off. She turned and soluted back at him. 

Virgil smiled, taking a deep breath. He’d ask about therapy another time, probably, this was definitely enough stress for one day. 

Where he’d expected to turn and go, however, he found that Emile was still hanging around, watching him almost as though he expected something. Virgil frowned and tilted his head, one eyebrow raised in question. The demon laughed. 

“So,” He said, taking a few steps closer, “You’re the new kid at the Hellp Desk? I’ve been hoping to meet you since I heard there was someone new! Virgil, was it?”

----

General tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @reptilianrapscallion420 @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)

Hell's Belles AU tags: @awitchbravestheverge @twoalpacas @goldnskyart @anxious-mess19 @doteddestroyer :)

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[tss-storytime-summaries]

13

Expected Rating: Mature

Warnings: Depression, child abuse, trauma, disassociation, death, violence, disturbing imagery, fantasy discrimination, guilt, child neglect.

Characters: Logan Sanders, Remus Sanders, Roman Sanders, Patton Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Janus Sanders.

Romantic Relationships: none

Summary: Summary: Logan’s family is unique. They live far away from the safe borders of the local kingdom, aware that they would never be welcomed there. Janus, Virgil, Patton, and the twins had no choice but to live as outcasts. Each of them had been unfairly banished from civilization due to their enchantment, an underserved punishment, as they had only been collateral damage in the war against those who wield magic. The outlawed witches retaliated against unjust laws, but often times, children were caught in the crossfire. It was the story of their family, for all of them had been unfairly cursed.

All of them, but Logan.

Their family consisted of a scaled superhuman, an arachnid-man hybrid, a werewolf, two winged twins with unnatural abilities, and the peculiar Logan.

As they come upon the 10-year anniversary of Logan’s adoption into the family, Janus begins to worry. He has his hands full caring for their strange family of 6, but he grows distraught as his 19 year old Logan continues to pull away. He hopes the answer to the problem is simple, but deep down, he knows Logan is anything but.

Logan has a past, a bitter story, and dangerous secrets that he keeps close to his chest. Will he finally dare to share those?

[brandstifter-sys]

The Dutchman

For @dukexietyweek Day 4: Pirates                (Ao3)(login required)

Word Count: 1540

Rating: T

Characters: Remus, Virgil

Warnings: Character Death, ghosts, murder mention, hypothermia, ftm Remus

A disgraced duke sets sail with pirates to find his lover’s watery grave, in search of the Flying Dutchman and her captain so he can find Virgil, no matter what the cost.

---

Remus stared out at the sea, letting the salty wind blow through his hair. He shivered and rubbed his hands to keep them warm and wondered if it would snow. He doubted it, it was so calm on the water, unlike in his mind. 

He could still see those eyes staring up at him from the line of prisoners. He could see the hopelessness burning behind them from worlds away. He could still recall the day that they took his Virgil away from him. 

"Your Grace," someone muttered and stood next to him. He didn't have to look to know that the ship's navigator was going to interrupt his brooding.

"You know I left that title behind," he sighed, "Is something wrong?" 

"The captain and the crew are getting suspicious." 

"Then stop calling me 'Your Grace' around these pirates. I'm fighting dirty on raids and talking like them, so it's not on me."

"I am not referring to that." 

"My tits are hidden perfectly and I haven't bled in years."

"They suspect that you're looking to find the supernatural." 

"You don't believe it's real. As far as you're concerned, I'm a lunatic trying to find a sunken ship that we lost three years ago. As far as everyone else, I'm a servant boy following a crooked cartographer looking to make a quick buck to fund his research." 

"What was on that ship?" 

"A treasure, a diamond in the rough."

"It was a prison ship." 

"My treasure could breathe," Remus said and glanced at the sky. That wall of dark clouds came out of nowhere and it was kissing the waves. 

"How odd." 

"Better tell the captain and turn this ship toward the nearest port," Remus said as the wind picked up. The navigator ran to do his duties. 

Remus tied his hair back and cracked his neck. This time, he would have answers. 

He would know exactly what happened to Virgil when that ship sank. He would fight Davy Jones himself if he had to. He would know Virgil's fate for daring to love the wily Duchess. 

His eyes went wide when a ship floated through the clouds. It was eerie with tattered black sails and a wispy glow around it. He could hear the strange song the ghost crew was singing. 

This was his chance. 

Remus dove into the icy sea before anyone could stop him. This crew didn't have to die for him! He just needed to reach Davy Jones and fight him for information. 

He swam to the ghost ship, fighting back the rising waves and the bitter storm. His mind was set on reminding him of Virgil, his deep sultry voice, his gentle smile, his wit, everything Remus wanted to have and hold, in sickness and in health, not parting even for death. 

He could still feel those long fingers tracing his curves. He could hear the crash of skin and the soft growls coming from his partner. He could still smell the musky sweat dripping down that heaving chest. He could still taste those lips pressed against his own. The pure ecstasy flooding his veins was just as potent as the night Virgil gave into him. Remus couldn't forget the night they took him away. He needed to get answers.

He had no idea how long he had been swimming. He was battered by the storm. His limbs felt like lead. But he refused to give up. He needed to know what happened to Virgil.

He was freezing. His head was spinning. Breathing was a challenge. This was the end wasn't it? Remus was ready to sink to the abyss. He could rest by his lover's watery grave.

"Captain!" 

"Pull him on!" 

Remus whined pitifully when he was pulled into a lifeboat. He didn't want to be back on the ship to get yelled at. 

He blinked and saw two faces he didn't recognize. He was disoriented and cold. He couldn't feel his heartbeat. Remus just closed his eyes again. 

And then he was thrown in the deck with no ceremony. His hands hit the wood and he swore, no longer able to shiver.

What did he do to deserve this? All the failures in his life bombarded him. He was never demure enough for his parents. He fell in love with a commoner. He killed them both and got exiled instead of executed. And he dove into the ocean in the winter, chasing a hallucination. Was he just hallucinating?

Through his tears he saw a pair of black boots in front of him. They didn't belong to anyone on the crew. Did he make it? 

"You have to be an idiot to do that. Or did you just want to die?" a cold but familiar voice said. 

"Am I dead?" he grumbled.

"What do you think?"

"Depends. What ship am I on?" 

"The Flying Dutchman." 

"I'm on the ghost ship," Remus laughed bitterly, "And that means you're dead." 

He looked up at the man in front of him. He was fit and firm, dressed in all black and his skin was colorless. But that face, those eyes—Remus wished he wasn't seeing them.  

"We all are. Except you, for now." 

"If I die, can I stay here?" 

"Why would you want to do that?" 

"Because I spent too long trying to find you, Virgil." 

Virgil knelt down and tilted his chin up with those cold fingers. He studied that face and smiled sadly. 

"You should've moved on, you have so much to live for. A duchess like you is more important than a lowly merchant."

"I'm not a duchess. I'm Remus," Remus huffed and sat on his haunches, "And you're not a merchant. You're a ghost pirate." 

"I always preferred men anyway." 

"Are you going to try to save my life and get me back on the ship you're chasing?" Remus pouted, wobbling as his blood pressure dropped. He wasn't sure if he wanted to strip because of his hypothermia or because Virgil was there and he looked good.

"You don't want me to, do you?" Virgil asked. 

"I want to be with you. It's been years and I don't want anyone else. You're the only one who ever cared about the real me."

"You're lucky there's an open position on the ship," Virgil said and picked him up, cradling him to his chest. 

"Position?" Remus mumbled and closed his eyes. 

"Yeah, the captain's personal bed mate," Virgil said softly and made his way to his quarters, ignoring the crew rushing around the ship, preparing for their raid.

"I'm cold." 

"Just relax," Virgil said and brought him into a furnished room with a desk and a large bed. 

"Virgil?" 

"If you want to stay, you need to offer me your service to clean your soul," he sighed and set Remus on the bed, "It's part of the Davy Jones thing."

"Take it," Remus muttered as breathing became harder, "it's dirty as fuck!" 

Vigil chuckled softly and tenderly grabbed Remus' hand, making sure to feel his fading pulse. 

"I missed you, Cuddlefish," he said right before Remus stopped breathing. He let go and stepped back, anticipating the inevitable. 

Remus sat up, slipping away from his body. It took all of two seconds for him to pounce and tackle Virgil to the floor. 

Virgil grunted on impact and let Remus cover his face in smooches and bites. He was clinging to the captain with his arms and legs, unwilling to let go. 

"Scare Bear!" Remus giggled between each loving assault. He didn't stop, even when Virgil got to his feet, holding Remus up by the thighs. 

"We can do whatever you want after the raid. And after we get rid of the body." 

"Raid a different ship and catapult my body over to that one. The crew could use the reward money!" Remus said and leaned back. 

"Reward money?" 

"Yeah, there's been a bounty out for me since I killed the king and queen. Pissy wants to see me hang for that but he let me escape before he found out." 

"You killed your parents?" 

"They sent you to your death. It was the last straw. You have no idea how far I will go for the people and things I love!" 

"You jumped into freezing water and swam to the Dutchman to find me. I have a pretty good idea of how far you'll go," Virgil jeered and kissed his forehead. 

"My lips are lower than that—and if you want to go even lower—" 

"After the raid. The Kraken is hunting and we have to ferry the souls to the afterlife. Your idea is good but out of the question." 

"How is that a raid? You're not looting anything!" 

"I'm taking people against their will. They always put up a fight." 

"Do I get to fight?" Remus gasped, completely forgetting his rejected plan, "Do I get to go ape shit and show off my skills that will make you crave me carnally?" 

"Yeah, and then I'm all yours," Virgil hummed and cupped his cheek, "We have so much catching up to do." 

Remus squeaked when Virgil leaned in and kissed him. Remus could have melted right there. He had his Scare Bear for an eternity and could love him without restraint!