#more in-depth tw descriptions on ao3

[guardian-of-da-gay]

Throw It All Away

Read it on Ao3

Description:

It’s Tails who finds it. An old owl legend that says the Master Emerald has the power to alter its guardians. Granting them unnatural long life, slowly mutating their bodies and altering their minds. Is it really true? Tom, Maddie, and Sonic all try to brush it off, but multiple sources confirm the Master Emerald’s power to corrupt. They talk among themselves and decide an intervention may be in order.

They bring their concerns to Knuckles and find that not only did he already know of all this, but he’s wholly unconcerned. Just because the Master can change his body and mortality doesn’t mean it’s corrupting him. Do not be so quick to fear what you don’t understand!

That’s when Sonic ‘if I throw the bomb out the window, that’s problem solved’ Wachowski makes a snap decision that will change their family forever.

tw angst, miscommunication, panic attacks, hurt no comfort, betrayal, bad decision making skills all around

The Master Emerald hit the water and sank immediately.  Knuckles watched as the last thing left to him of his family, his tribe, his entire species vanished into the depths of the ocean.  The warp ring closed and his world narrowed with it.  The Wachowskis and the back deck faded out.  Knuckles could see nothing but that little ring of ocean growing smaller and smaller before it vanished all together.

Reforming the Emerald all those months ago had kindled a small nest of warm energy inside of him.  When the ring vanished he felt that energy gutter.  It wasn’t a physical pain, but his mind knew of no other way to process it.  He squeezed his eyes shut tight, trying to ride it out.  He had withstood horrible pain in his life and shown no weakness, but he had no barriers against this agony.

He felt as he did after a nightmare.  Ears ringing, breathing fast and wrong.  Usually he would rise from his bed and sit before the Master and allow the soft flutter of its power to soothe him.  But it was gone.  Only a faint echo remained, a distant voice he couldn’t hear.  He couldn’t stop shaking.  Why couldn’t he breathe?  Why wouldn’t the pain fade?

There were many voices around him, but he struggled to pick them apart.

“I thought we agreed…”

“Knuckles?”

“... better to ask forgiveness than permission!”

“This wasn’t the plan!”

The plan?

“Uh, pretty sure we talked at length …”

“Knuckles!”

“...the best idea!”

“I mean, at least this way…”

“Honey, can you hear…”

“...it’s too late now!”

“Tom!”

“... really freaking out…”

“Sonic!”

“...deep breaths.  Like when we do yoga?”

What was ‘the plan’?

“Knux?  … You okay?”

Knuckles’ focus was slow to return.  He became aware of his family around him.  They’d been talking about something.  Before.  Called him out to his favorite spot on the back deck to sit and talk about…  The Emerald.  And Him.  He hadn’t liked what they’d said.  They’d argued.  And then Sonic…

He turned to Sonic beside him, feeling as though he were half-asleep.  His brother watched him with soft concern.  It took a moment for Knuckles to remember how to speak:

“You are playing a joke on me?”  His voice sounded strange.

Sonic’s ears flattened, answering before his mouth could.  “No, Knuckles.  I uh… I really threw it away.”

The plan.

Knuckles gasped like he was coming up from drowning.  Everything snapped into stark clarity.

“You!”  He snarled, backing away.  “You liar!”   He raised his fists, ready for the turn.  The confrontation.

The soft concern shifted to something more alarmed.  “What–”

“This was all a trick to steal the Emerald!”

“Sweetie–” Healer Maddie’s hand touched his shoulder and he darted away, leaping off the deck stairs and whirling to snarl up at them.

“I should have known Longclaw’s apprentice would never leave the Emerald in the hands of an echidna !”  He yelled.  “You have been scheming this from the beginning!”

He was met with a chorus of predictable denials:

“Woah, hey!  That’s not what happened–”

“Sweetie, no .  We were just worried–”

“We would never do that to you–”

But it made perfect sense.  All the Wachowkis’ attempts to get him to ‘open up’?  They were searching for weaknesses.  Their urging to do things other than guarding the Master Emerald?  Distractions.  Trying to get him to relax, to indulge in games and desserts and ‘coziness’?  They’d just wanted him soft and weak!

“Don’t lie to me!  I know your game!”  He roared.  “You did all this–made up this lie that we were a family! – all so that one day you could take the Emerald from me and I would allow it!”

At least Robotnik had confessed his treachery as soon as he could.  Not like these traitors who professed to love him even as they stabbed him in the back.  And then they acted like they expected him to fall into their arms for comfort over the harm they caused!   If their shocked reactions were anything to go by, they certainly expected his forgiveness.

“Bro,” Sonic moved with speed to stand before him. “You are coming to all the wrong conclusions.”  He seemed more frustrated than upset by Knuckles’ accusation.  Further proof their brotherhood was a sham.  

“Sonic, dial it back,” Maddie said, hurrying down the steps.  Tom trailed after her.  “We knew he wasn’t going to like this!  Cut him some slack.”  She turned to Knuckles like she hadn’t just confirmed they’d been conspiring against him.  “Knuckles, honey, I know this is hard.  You deserve to be upset, but I promise you we haven’t been lying.  We love you.”

“If you loved me, you would not have done this!”  His anger was undermined by a crack in his voice.

She paused, having the gall to look at him with pity.  “Oh, honey, I’m so–”

“NO!”  He snapped.  “I am not your ‘honey’ and I am not your ‘bro’!  You are not understanding: I have found you out!  You can’t pretend this is some family squabble.  This is an act of war!”

That finally gave them pause.  Tails cowered by the deck chairs, looking quickly between all of them.  Tom and Maddie exchanged concerned glances.  The silence was of course broken by Sonic: “Okay, you’re being really dramatic right now!  I think we just need to simmer down–”

White hot rage filled him.  He advanced on the hedgehog, but Tom stepped between them.

The rage fled him immediately, replaced by a cold focus.  The human reached out toward him–to continue the charade of the caring paternal figure or to drop it and attack.  Knuckles didn’t know.  He didn’t wait to find out.

Humans were so pathetically fragile.  The slightest shove with an open palm sent Tom flying.  Not lethal, but he wouldn’t get up again soon.

One threat neutralized.

Sonic was the far greater concern.  Sturdier than the humans and infinitely faster.

Maddie hadn’t even finished her sharp gasp before Knuckles’ next attack.  He struck the ground hard .  Earth exploded around them.  The back windows shattered.  This was a strategic move: disrupt the terrain, blast everyone away from him and off their feet, throw up a blinding dust cloud.  Instill chaos.

One thing Knuckles had learned with the Wachowskis: In the years Sonic and Tails had lived alone, they had still lived ‘civilized’ lives as best they could.  They relied on fragile gadgets and useless trinkets, never honing their natural abilities.  Knuckles could hear their breath.  Feel the vibrations of their footsteps.  Smell their fear.

With Sonic’s speed hampered, Knuckles set his eyes on the next threat: Tails.  The fox was carrying several devices.  Knuckles could sense their electricity.  He wouldn’t kill a child, but he couldn’t let the fox get in his way.  Luckily he had one warp ring on him.

He attacked from behind.  Grabbed the fox by his tails.  Thought of that cold mountain where they’d found the compass all those months ago.  He threw the ring and flung the fox through the opening gate.  The kit’s scream was cut off as he crashed into a snow drift.

Another threat neutralized.

“Tails!”  Sonic yelled.  Giving his position away like a fool.

“Tails!”  Maddie coughed.  “Where are you?  Sonic?”

“Hang on,” Sonic cried back.  “I’m gonna clear this dust–”

Knuckles swung.

Sonic dodged.  “Woah!”

He swung again.

The hedgehog ducked.  “Knuckles!  Cut it out!  Seriously–”  He leapt back and avoided a kick to the face.  “You are not doing a good job convincing me you don’t have some Gollum-y dependence on the freakin’ Emerald of Power!”

Pointless jokes!  His brother ( not his brother!) had never had any respect for him!  Knuckles snarled as he leapt forward, again and again, swiping each time and each time missing.

“There’s gotta be something wrong with you–attacking Dad like that?  Me?  I get!  But he’s never been anything but nice to you!”

His blows slowed as the words sunk in.  Tom had always been good to him.  And he had no allegiance to Longclaw, no stakes in the war over the Emerald.  Neither had Tails.  Why had they taken Sonic’s side?  Why was no one ever on Knuckles’ side?

Sonic’s evasion slowed along with Knuckles’ blows, but his mouth kept going.  “You’re attacking your family over some stupid rock.  Don’t you see how messed up that is?”

That stopped Knuckles dead.  Sonic’s ears twitched forward in interest.  But his words certainly weren’t hitting the way he’d hoped.

Stupid rock.  Stupid rock?!  So many of Knuckles’ people had died, for centuries, for that ‘stupid rock’.  Knuckles had devoted his childhood to finding–and sworn his whole life to guarding–the Master Emerald.  He had suffered grief and violence and slavery and treachery for one purpose and Sonic took it.  Threw it away.  Called it stupid .

Sonic, who had brought him into his home.  Given him a family, a warm place to sleep and food to eat–a world of kind words and soft touches and urging to relax, to let his walls down, to share the bad memories and painful broken pieces in his heart.  

It was messed up that he had made up that colossal lie just to trick him.  To continue the work Longclaw gave her life for.  Knuckles should have known better.  But now he was going to continue the work his tribe had given their lives for.

Sonic was so confident his manipulations were successful, for once he didn’t react fast enough.  The crack of Knuckles’ fist against the hedgehogs’ jaw was satisfying.  The blow was strong enough to take Sonic off his feet, his body nearly horizontal.  Knuckles snatched his ankle before he could go flying away.  He swung him around and smashed him into the earth.  Then whipped him back the other way, over his head.

A cell phone cracked on the ground as coins and random bits of candy fell from the hedgehog’s spines.  A few high metallic pings told him he’d shaken loose Sonic’s stash of spare rings.  He bashed the hedgehog into the ground once more.  Lifted him up, let go.  Punched hard.

Sonic yelped as he was sent flying.  Knuckles launched himself after.

Sonic crashed into a tree.

Knuckles’ hand crashed into his throat.

This was familiar.  But Tails wasn’t here.  There was no one to stop him this time.

Knuckles squeezed.  Not his full strength.  He never used that against living things.  But the constant thought of how much strength to use rose within him and gave him pause.  Was this it?  Was he going to kill Sonic?  He was one of the greatest threats Knuckles had ever faced (and he had faced plenty).  But it wasn’t necessary, was it?  He would get the Master Emerald back and he didn’t need to kill Sonic to do it, did he?

“Knuckles!”  Maddie screamed.  Her voice was far too close.

He dropped the hedgehog and whirled, snarling.  His quills flared and he let the chaos energy enter his eyes so even in the lingering dust she could see them glowingand know he was not to be trifled with.  She stopped immediately.  Took a step back.  Empty hands up in front of her.  Her eyes were wide and fearful as they flit between him and where Sonic slumped, coughing and gasping for breath.  She looked as pained as if he’d attacked her instead.

A pathetic part of him shrank at the sight.  This was the only mother he’d ever known.  The one he’d grown closest to since he’d joined the Wachowski tribe.  He would have done anything to protect her, to please her, to make her proud.  He’d loved her.  He still loved her.

He tried to chase the feeling from his heart.  She’d lied to him.  They’d all lied to him.  Played on his naivety and the pathetic need for companionship that he couldn’t seem to choke out of himself.  All to steal what was most important to him–his reason for living for the past ten years.

“Oh Knuckles… Honey, this… this isn’t what you think I promise you– I promise you –” She stepped toward him, arms out, entreating.  “We love you.  That’s not a lie.”

He shook his head like he could shake the words out.  “Stay back!”  He took a step back himself.  Pitiful.

She paused, holding her empty hands higher as if to emphasize how unarmed she was.  She bent slightly, making herself smaller.  She didn’t need to, he knew she was no threat.

“Please, baby… let’s just… let’s just take a minute, okay?  Just a minute to calm down.  I know you’re hurting, I’m so sorry.  Please–”

“I will hurt you!”  He warned, but his voice came out wrong.

Maddie shook her head gently and looked at him with that same softness that had once made him feel so warm.  “I know you Knuckles,” she said.  “I trust you’re not going to hurt me.”

Knuckles drew in a ragged breath at her words.  “I trusted you not to hurt me.”

Maddie’s eyes watered as she drew in a shaky breath.  She blinked and her tears slipped free.

The sight made him want to take it all back.  To beg her forgiveness and fall into her arms and let her soothe him and ask her please, please let’s get the Emerald and she would agree and everything would go back to how it was.  Back to those peaceful, ignorant days meditating with her on the porch, overlooking his garden while Tails tinkered in the garage and Tom played with Ozzie and Sonic flitted around doing a little of everything.

But that could never be again.  It had never been real to begin with.  

Maddie wasn’t crying because she loved him and felt his pain.  She was crying because he loved her and knew her tears would chain him into compliance.  He could not let himself be caged by their lies any longer.

A gleam caught his eye.  Sonic’s warp rings.

He leapt away from the human, snatching three rings off the ground.  He threw one and a portal opened high in the air above a field of lava, towering cliffs in the distance.  A place he knew well.  Perfect for evading potential pursuers.

“Knuckles!”  Maddie screamed.  “No!”

“Knux–” Sonic croaked as he jerked to his feet.  He stumbled. “Don’t–!”

Knuckles leapt through without a second glance.

For a moment he was weightless, his strength carrying him far through the sweltering air.  Nothing could reach him here.  His jump gradually shifted to falling and he spread his body and spines, gliding easily.  Familiar thermals caught him and he was lifted high along the cliff face.  He saw a skeletal bush and collapsed his spines, catching himself on the cliffside with his spurs.  Only then did he look back.

The portal had closed.  His former family left behind.  He didn’t know how he felt about that.  And he didn’t care.  It was the Wachowskis who had tried to get him to draw out his emotions and examine them–a useless distraction.  Look where it had led him!  He’d lost the Emerald through his own stupidity.

Knuckles climbed.

After crawling along the cliff face a few moments he found a narrow crevice.  Even the greatest warrior in the galaxy needed a place to lick his wounds.  This was one of his boltholes.  It was smaller than he remembered, but he squeezed through.  There were no foreign scents to greet him, just his own faded smell.

He meant to start planning his next move.  Instead, as the calm focus of battle fled him, the strange breathing from before started again.  Why?  Was this something the Wachowskis had done?  Had they poisoned him?  Some sort of mind control that made him panic at the thought of losing them?  Knuckles gasped for air, thoughts racing, body shaking, ears ringing, eyes blurring–no.  No, that was because he was crying.

But why?  He’d faced all manner of horrors and pain that still left him waking from sleep in a cold sweat–but he'd come away without shedding a tear.  He didn’t cry!  He hadn’t cried since he lost his tribe…  This wasn’t the same as then though.  The Wachowski’s had never truly been his tribe.  They had only been pretending!  Why should he mourn?

His eyes weren’t listening though.  He choked as the shameful tears stained his fur.

Later… Later he would pick himself back up and resume his old mission.  The ocean was far too deep for him to swim.  He would need some sort of submarine to scour the bottom.  He would either need a machine of his own and then lessons in how to use it, or he’d have to hire someone else and use theirs.  And he would need more than the few rings he had now.  Regardless, he would need money.  So the first thing he would need to do was get some… Perhaps he would need to return to the arenas.  The thought made him sick, but so did the thought of never finding the Emerald again after his own weakness lost it.

Later he would bury that weak fool ‘Knuckles Wachowski’ and return to himself: Knuckles the Greatest Warrior in the Galaxy.  The Last of the Echidna.

Later he would swear not to waste another moment on the Wachowski tribe.  If he met them again… If they got in his way again.  Then he would remove them with extreme prejudice.

But that was for later.  For now, he allowed himself one last moment of weakness.  He was safe here.  Far away from anyone and impossible to reach.  There was no one to see him cover his face with his fists.  No one to hear him scream out his pain.  No one to care if he cried.

[thateldribitch]

A Red Sky's Interlude

Chapter One: Blood in the Water

TW: Blood, Gore, Horror, Yandere (and everything that comes with it), desecrating a corpse, Dead Dove.

Continuing on with the Ocatrio Yandere poly! Here's the AO3 link.

Clouds of depth-stained blood hang low, like an acid-green fog against the stone. Azul grits his teeth and picks up the corpse again. Where to start? Gore filters onto his tongue, settles in his siphon. He can taste the bastard that’d done this to his darling, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Of course, there’s some reassurance in the crunched patterns in the cracked bone; Jade did not make his death an easy one. But…. His brain breaks through the anger, as he stares contemplatively… and then his gaze drags to the bastard’s fingers. Crack. Crunch. The digit hangs limply in the current, bent like a lightning bolt from the sheer force of his grip. Yet, no matter how many times he repeats his action—

Crack, crack, crack!

–it doesn’t change the fact that these hands touched what’s his. He snarls. In a single, smooth motion, he crushes the rest of those pitiful fingers. The former appendage blooms like some twisted anemone, some floral purple alien. All twisted every which way, perfectly planed to cradle the white scavenger crabs already picking at the flesh. 

But perhaps an anemone is too generous of a description. Still, it’s not enough. Azul yanks up a handful of stained hair, twisting… oh. Jade broke the bastard’s neck already. 

He numbly rolls the crushed vertebrae in a single tendril. Digs his fingers into the crown of the bloodied skull. Fissures form beneath the points of his claws. Bursts of flesh erupt from the fractures. A slow give, until the cracks connect. Grey matter scatters. Bone shards sink. Dismissively, he tosses the body into a deep dark pit. Corpse crabs drift down like little snowflakes… and disappear to do their work in the dark. 

Azul stares for a long moment, before vaguely acknowledging a shift in the current. He sinks back into Jade’s waiting arms. He doesn’t have to look to know which of his mates is holding him. Floyd would have tackled him; Jade’s far more subtle when it comes to cornering his prey. He shivers as a hand curls in his own, pretty pointed teeth dipping down to prince-kiss his knuckles. A long tongue drags across his fingers, taking some of the viscera with it.

“...How are they?” His head thumps back to rest against Jade’s heartbeat. 

“Clinging to Floyd,” Jade murmurs against crimson painted knuckles. Nigh worshipfully, he thoroughly cleans Azul’s hands, wrists, then up his arm to linger at his shoulder. His teeth carefully scrape at the delicate skin of the octomer’s neck. He relaxes… just a little, unfurling his tentacles as he leans back into Jade’s arms. Good. His darling isn’t alone. Safe. His mates are comforting each other. And his newest is just… fine. Just fine. And that’s not enough. They need to be happy and sparkling and relaxing in his arms, no, in a pile of tangled tails and limbs and plied with kisses and— he jolts as tender claws comb through his hair. 

“The aphrodisiac?”

“Burned out of their system.”

“Mental state?”

“...They’re sleeping now, at least.” Jade’s teeth scrape gently against his hairline. A reply freezes in his throat. But what do you say to something like that? To the fact that one of your loves suffered under your care? Was so convinced that you’d do the unthinkable, that they looked at you like a real monster? He would never. Never. But the instinctive call to assist his suffering mate had been there. And their fear… mixed with that…? He shivers, ashamed. 

“...I wanted to help them so badly,” Azul buries his face in his hands. Tendrils curl around his body, as if trying to hide him from the world. But Jade gently constricts him. He shifts, instead, to hide his face in the eel mer’s chest. His tentacles wrap entirely around his mate, nearly consuming his body. But Jade simply shifts to nuzzle the other side of his neck. They lie in a tender, tangled ball. “They were so scared and hurting and the solution was so….”

“Easy?”

“...Complicated.”

He sighs as Jade hums soothingly—a deep sea pitch, eerie as a whale’s song and soft as a summer current. He burrows closer to the sound, face pressing right into Jade’s chest. There’s something soothing about Jade’s constrictions. He’s no less enthusiastic about burying his squishy little mate in his chest, pressing him close as if to absorb him into his body. Hungry hands stroke his shoulders; eager teeth groom through the gore. Though, Azul nips him as he tries to coax him into something more.

“...Are you angry?” Jade blinks, leaning back slightly. When Azul follows the retreating warmth, burying himself back into him, a certain tension between them eases. He appreciates the comfort… just doesn’t want more than that now. An apologetic tongue swipes over his cheek. He nibbles some dead skin off of Jade’s neck. A shared croon settles between them as they sink into the soft sand.

“Not at you,” Azul answers after the misunderstanding clears, rubbing their cheeks together in a sudden burst of affection. A few clicks escape him as he rolls them over and wraps his lengthy tentacles around a very amused Jade. He pecks the mating mark against that tough, teal skin. “Never at any of you.”

Jade sighs in the comfortable silence. “...Humans are such delicate creatures.”

“...I thought they’d adjust by now.”

“We all did.”

“I’ve tried to make the transition as comfortable as possible, but—” He chokes back a small dot of bitter ink. Trembling, he buries his pinched features in Jade’s chest. “But why can’t they understand that they’re mine?”

“Ours.” Jade lightly nips him. 

“Always,” Azul nods, immediately. “But you get my point.”

“Of course~”

The silence settles between them like a cloud of detritus—stale and hard to breathe. At least for Azul. Maybe not for Jade. He’s not sure. How can he be sure? His tentacles curl restlessly, popping across slick skin and leaving circular stamps behind like a thousand little brands. “...You and Floyd are fine?”

“Completely unharmed.” Jade murmurs. “...Worried about you two, of course. But we are fine.”

“I’m sorry,” the words bolt out because they feel like they must. His poor eels shouldn’t have to pick up the pieces. Protect their mates, yes, but nothing happened to Azul. He’s just burning in his vicious lack of vindication. He doesn’t have an excuse. Not after what their darling just went through. Shaking his head, he looks up at Jade desperately. “I’m just— so angry. And I don’t want to take it out on any of you—”

“We know,” Jade threads their fingers together. And it’s hard to not relax when a purr rumbles up between them. The frequency matches into a thundering drum of reassurance. Azul can’t help but melt. Guilt still sparks through his veins; restless rage lurks in the corner of his mind. “...I do have something that may make you feel better, if you are interested.”

He hesitates. Of course he would like to calm down and burn some energy off, but he’s not sure he’s in the mood for what Jade has in mind. He doesn’t want to deny his mate; Jade has to be going through the same instincts, needing to provide comfort and safety. “I— don’t know if—”

A chuckle cuts him off. He quirks a brow as a sharp smirk nuzzles against his hairline. “Come now, Darling…. Did you really think I wouldn’t leave something behind for you?” 

The smirk drifts down to whisper in his ear….

Azul’s pupils dilate.

Man I spent way too much time on making these posts pretty XD Pretty sure most of my readers are on AO3 though. Anyway, I promise I love Cater, buuuuuuuut he's a plot device in this fic. <3

[auroracalisto]

aurora's 2022 fic pick

hello, and welcome to my first post of the new year—my 2022 fic pick! i will be compiling some of the fics i read and loved from this past year below!! to make it harder on myself, i've resorted to choosing only three for each month. i guarantee i've read hundreds more.

TOTAL FICS: 36

included fandoms: marvel, american horror story, the last kingdom, the 100, the witcher, peaky blinders, law and order: svu, the umbrella academy, gotham, stranger things, the princess bride, top gun, hetalia, timewasters, original work

DISCLAIMER: SOME OF THESE FICS MAY CONSIST OF NSFW. please be aware before clicking on them. also, please read responsibly—i have not included all triggers to the fics, only major ones, so please be sure to check those before you read the fics.

there is one month (october) in which i only reblogged two fics, and i checked my ao3 history as well. i didn't read a single fic on ao3 that month. to try and make up for it, i have posted an extra for the month of december.

JANUARY

words left unspoken by adorin on ao3 - doc ock x reader - fluff and angst, character death, gn!reader - this fic was *chefs kiss* no joke i love it and i recently went back to re-read it. it gets better every time. Heartbeat by HanakoSpiritoftheToliet on ao3 - matt murdock x reader - pregnant!reader, fluff - this was so sweet. i am a sucker for fluff. Terrible Two's by writeyouin on ao3 - charles xavier x reader - parent!reader, fluff - like i said. a sucker for fluff. i can't help it.

FEBRUARY

Soulmark by @dyns33 - matt murdock x reader - a little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff; happy ending - i remember reading this for the first time and absolutely crying when i read the ending. it was SO good. Lost In the Shadows by @7-wonders - vampire!michael langdon x fem!reader - part of a collection of fics, kind of spicy towards the end, but nothing serious - the series is seriously so good. i am 100% prepared to re-read it. Chivalry's Death by e_n_silvermane on ao3 - 2p!prussia x reader - hetalia, gore, mute!character - LISTEN. EVEN IF YOU DON'T LIKE HETALIA. this is SUCH a good fic. literally it is so good. there's so much depth to the story itself, and i absolutely love every part of it. like... the description, the guilt the characters feel—it's literally a piece of art and i will stand by that until the day i die.

MARCH

For a moment by @disasterofastory - finan x fem!reader - hurt/comfort, gore - LOVE. love this fic. all her fics are so good. almost like praying by @imaginearyparties - steve rogers x bucky barnes - gore, gay religious angst - i fell in love with this fic with the first paragraph. i knew i was in for a magnificent piece, and ilana never fails to provide. There are monsters and there are men by silverwolf7850 on ao3 - vampire!matt murdock x reader x werewolf!frank castle - fluff and angst, canon-typical violence, supernatural themes - this fic FUELED my love for both matt and frank. i literally loved every second of it and i wish there was more to it.

APRIL

Rescuing You by @violetrainbow412-blog - vampire!eddie munson x fem!reader - angst, kind of villain!eddie - bro this was IT. this was the fic that fueled my love for vampire eddie, and i've never been the same since. unnamed by @000ficlets otto x reader - fluff - this fic is literally only five paragraphs long but i loved it so much. like,,, you know how you just read something about you can just feel the love coming from it? yeah. this fic. beautiful. against all odds by @twistnet dmitri antonov x fem!reader - angst, fluff, possible tw due to violence - this was one of the first dmitri fics i read after becoming attached to the character... brb gonna re-read it AGAIN.

MAY

A Surprise Guest by JaskiersWolf on ao3 modern!jaskier x reader - first meetings, alcohol - bro. BRO. when i say this fic is so good, i absolutely love it. it's so soft and makes me feel all warm on the inside. 6 Meters Under and Back Part 1 by @onesaltyhunter - vampire!sihtric x fem!reader fluff? bloody vampire stuff - oh my gosh when i found this, i jumped on the opportunity to read it. i love vampires, and i LOVE sihtric. is there a part 3? i don't know if there's a part 3. It's good to see you! by @disasterofastory alfie solomons x reader - technically first meetings, anxious reader, being followed - disasterofastory always has amazing fics and this one,,, idk there's just something about it that i love to read. it's totally alfie and it's written well!!

JUNE

Scarrification by BruisesAndBuzzaxes on ao3 victor zsasz x fem!reader - fluff, meeting family, character backstory - this is a long fic, but it's *oh* so good. like it's literally worth every last word. i've read it a few times through already. i might go back again and read it one more time. Where Our Pieces Fall in Place by anotherwinchesterfangirl on ao3 - finan x fem!reader x sihtric NSFW, time travel, polyamory - so good. SO GOOD. i love time travel tropes and this one hits the spot, every time i read it. Imagine being chosen to join Wonkru in the bunker before Praimfaya [...] by @fanficimagery roan x reader, past!echo x reader - angst to fluff, typical canonical violence - ohhhh my gosh in a world of so little roan x reader fics, this one is a diamond in the rough. it's so good.

JULY

Peanut Butter Cookies by @eddie-van-munson eddie munson x reader - slight angst with a happy ending, jealousy, allergies - jealousy fics are so good and this one was just,,, too good. i love eddie. i love domestic eddie. please don't cry by @sickoherd john murphy x reader - comfort fic - short comfort fic with john murphy <33 it was sweet and simple and so good with just a few words. Selfish Jerk by @imamotherfuckingstar-lord jim hopper x reader - fluff, a little angst, taking place during season 2 - i looove hopper. this was the first fic i read in july that was jim hopper, and it definitely wasn't the last.

AUGUST

IF I DIE YOUNG by @imgoingtofreakoutnow steve harrington - finale-based fic; major character death. lots of angst. - this fic is so good. i remember reading it for the first time and i actually cried. multiple times. i loved getting to read how steve may have felt in the days after the season 4 finale. annie's writing is so good regardless. Darling by @no-mercy-bby ralph timewasters x reader - short fluff fic - one of the first fics i read of ralph and i absolutely fell in love with him. bby is an amazing writer and they've definitely captured my attention on more than one occasion. want me to kill him for you? by @froggywritesstuff diego hargreeves x gn!reader - short fluff fic - diego is amazing and the characterization in this fic is just as incredible.

SEPTEMBER

That Guy by YouGotThatWrite on ao3 rafael barba x gn!reader - fluff, meet-cute over coffee - my mom and step-dad watched the entirety of law and order: svu and i just so happened to watch most of the episodes with rafael in them. i already loved him. and then i read this fic. it's so good. The Eddie Munson Collection by Edtease on ao3 eddie munson x reader - blurb collection; somewhat nsfw - these were so good and i loved getting to read about a somewhat domestic eddie munson. some of them are a little on the nsfw side, so please be aware before reading. Imagine finding out that Rafael sometimes worries about your age difference by @svubloods rafael barba x reader - age difference, established relationships - okay so i'm not even gonna lie i love fics that take valid concerns and makes the characters live through it. that being said, i also love rafael. there's no questioning as to why i loved this fic.

OCTOBER

City Nights by @thebirdybrigade allen f. jones x gn!reader - possible tw for attempted s/a, violence, etc. slight angst to a bit on the fluffier side?? - oh boy the first hetalia fic i've included on this list. i genuinely loved this fic. it was written well, and i love to re-read this. the ending kills me, every time. goodnight, my love by eliwashere on ao3 original character/reader - major NSFW warning, vampires, original character, pwp - i don't even remember how i found this fic. i think i clicked on the vampire tag on ao3 and came across this. it's so good?? like i fell in love with the plot of the story, and then the smut itself was a bonus. AND THEN the author included a sketch of the character in the next chapter, and boom, i fell in love, AGAIN. i literally do not have another fic for this month. i was off of social media well until the middle of the month. i will include an extra one on december because i know i have enough for that month.

NOVEMBER

THOSE WHO ARE LEFT BEHIND by @imgoingtofreakoutnow steve harrington x gn!reader - platonic, mentions of death and mourning - the second of annie's fics i've listed. it's sad, but it's so good. it's the budding of a relationship and i absolutely adore every bit of it. attention by @imaginearyparties namor x reader - okay but let's talk about the fact that ilana ALWAYS has good fics, and this one just proves it?? it's so good. i hadn't even watched the new black panther yet and i had already fallen in love with namor because of how he was written in this fic. are you thanking me or your god? by @lazypeachsoul uhtred ragnarsson x fem!reader - meeting, budding relationship - uhtred is a babe and the way lazypeachsoul writes him is magnificent. i love him and this fic so much.

DECEMBER

Nobody But Me by @ohthatstragic tom "iceman" kazansky x fem!reader - jealousy, established relationship - THIS was the first iceman fic i read after watching top gun maverick for the first time and i fell in love with him. not to mention the writer did well with characterization. gonna come back to this fic at some point and re-read. Concussed by @topgun-imagines mickey "fanboy" garcia x fem!reader - slight angst, injury - fanboy is adorable and this fic (other than the injury he sustains) is so cute. i loved reading it. Dating Westley Would Include... by @bowieandqueen11 the princess bride westley x reader - dating headcanons - i need more princess bride fanfics. i've talked to a few mutuals about it before and i might just do it. this fic is so good, though. i'm so glad it's out there. extra since i only had two for october: Strong people aren't born they're built by meowmeowpumpkin on ao3 jake "hangman" seresin x fem!reader - angst, a bit of violence, major tw for some things; please be sure to read the author's warnings before you read. - bobbbb in this fic. i love it. and the 180 jake does when he realizes that something isn't right with his wife. it was good.

and a reminder for everyone reading:

[paodocinh]

A small analysis on 3 'Can't You See Me?' Characters: Giselle, Six, Mono.

TW: Mentions of alcohol abuse, hospitals/pills y etc, blood?, religion, traumas.

Small context: This is me elaborating a bit on my thought process in a few characters of my Little Nightmares AU. It is on Ao3, with 10 chapters, and you can find it in my pinned post!

> Giselle.

I have yet to make her character sheet — But one thing about Giselle:

She doesn't have a set nationality. The thing about nationalities in CYSM is that they don't exactly interfere on the character's plots, but they help to bring in more depth to their designs through actual real-life cultures that they'd be a part of, or are inspired by, if the countries said cultures are a part of even existed in CYSM.

In a technical level, they do, but not explicitly —A Brazillian-inspired place isn't going to be called Brazil but readers would eventually find out it is basically the in-universe Brazil equivalent ig

So, with Giselle: She doensn't have a set nationality.

Giselle's nationality is a mystery because i personally thought it'd be cool if the girl who worships a alien god from somewhere from outer space, also decided to keep her roots hidden — It makes her more similar to her god and more mysterious in a way.

However, she's highly inspired by vampires and Rosaria from Genshin Impact.

Giselle is a character that's very in line with toxic religion — not a specific one in mind, but just the obsessive faith one might have that they think they're entitled to something just because they believe on a certain god, even if the decisions they make around their faith might harm the people surrounding them, even if they don't hold the same beliefs.

I tend to be as light as possible on topics as these, to be honest — I don't think a Little Nightmares fanfiction is the place to discuss real-life serious issues, though with brevity and creativity, I think Giselle's concept/idea as a character works balances things out quite well — it doesn't go too deep on said topics but it also goes far enough for the storyline to progress while sending a message across.

> Six:

Okay so brace yourselves — Six is kind of a doozy.

Six is... well, she's a mix. I think she encapsulates well the aesthetic appeal of games like Silent Hill — when i think of Six, I think of something like that, believe it or not.

Blood splatters on the snow, cloudy skies on a windy day, open bottle pills — Six's personality and even her concept board(Sorry i can't show it :( Has spoilers) is very intertwined with hospital imagery. It could be because she herself feels ill, even if her own body is seemingly fine. There's a lot to Six, and obviously the themes of lost childhood are very present on her entire characterization in CYSM.

She looks like the kind of girl who'd stitch up creepy teddy bears and plush bunnies, the kind of girl who'd still play with and cherish her dolls even if she's past the age of playing with toys (perhaps once everything's normal again, she could become a collector?), and the kind of girl who enjoys cute and morbid things alike.

I think, if i had to choose a description for her — I'd probably call her a fallen angel or something along these lines. She has a unreal beauty and tragedy to her, and such a specific personality I often find myself having difficulty explaining how much thought went into her characterization with just words. She's much deeper than how I've written her so far.

Here's a small look into her pinterest board:

> Mono:

Mono, or also known as Mauricio — He's brazillian! — Is an artist. He's the definition of the word; a creative young man who isn't afraid to use his talents to change the world, the boy is afraid of life, but presses fowards even if he's terrified of what the future may hold for him. I mean, after nine years of doing nothing, it was about time he'd start exploring the world around him, yes?

And as he explores, he brings messages of hope and kindness for other survivors, through his art! Mono is the kind of relaxed, laid-back artist who enjoys scribbling in his notebook while drinking something, so he can eventually bring those drawings to life by replicating them on the walls everywhere he goes, may it be cities, broken houses, forgotten towns and village or even random rocks he finds in the wilderness — The world is his canvas, his home, and he's determined to try and fix it.

So it's not a surprise, as seen though his entire personality, that Mono is the kind of artist who enjoys making critics about the world they live in — He doesn't consider himself a hero, but he feels pride in sending the messages and criticism he believes the others need to hear.

hes also kind of a drunkard lmfao

(i couldn't find any credits for the art of the wolf on the print below, please tell me if you know so i can properly credit!)

[mellybaggins]

Oathbreaker Chapter 65

Vampiros

Astarion leads Morwen into the depths of Cazador's dungeons.

TW: I took what the game gave us and made it a little worse, so...warning for descriptions of some awful shit and a ton of angst.

Author Note: I've decided that I'm going to take a writing break for the month of November (No Write November instead of NaNoWriMo.) November 1st will be the 1 year anniversary of my starting to write this story, so it's time I take a little break. I will be posting at least one (hopefully two) more chapters in October, and then the next will go up December 1st. I'll still be writing, but at a slower pace so I can go Christmas shopping and catch up on shows I missed and clean my apartment. I'm so grateful for everyone who reads this little passion project of mine, and want to assure you I will be back to finish the story. This is going to be my deep breath before diving in to the end.

(Yes, I'm aware they should be wearing armour in the screencaps, I didn't feel like going back to fix it. Also, they're pretty!)

AO3 Link

[iceshard1011]

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

“You are a demon,” he realised.

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

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

19k fic below the cut, too :)

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

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

Janus and Virgil had been fighting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil opened his mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil was not returning to the house.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, goodness!”

Virgil’s eyes snapped open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want?” he demanded.

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

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

“What’s your name, kiddo?”

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

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

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

“You are very weird,” he decided.

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

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

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

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

“You are a demon,” he realised.

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

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

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

He shuddered, and more feathers floated down.

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

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

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

Virgil looked away and did not answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is!” Patton said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lips hedged on the beginnings of a smile.

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

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

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

Virgil swallowed. How many demons lived here?

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil stared at him blankly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quite right.”

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

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

“Roman!” Patton snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roman grumbled but subsided obediently.

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

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

“Goats and pigs?” Virgil echoed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it good?” Patton asked expectantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You all speak strange,” he said honestly.

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

“Roman.” Logan frowned at him.

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

Logan and Roman stared at him uncomprehendingly.

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

Virgil frowned. “Apostrophes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil tilted his head, almost trying to study them.

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

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

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

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

“But you are so... touchy.”

Finally, the laughter died down again.

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

“Not for us,” Roman said fiercely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You had a nap,” Logan said.

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

Virgil blanched, but the others did not react badly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil did not know how to explain his question.

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course you are!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Meat,” offered Patton.

“Food,” grumbled Roman.

“It is crocodile,” answered Logan.

Virgil almost dropped the plate. “What?”

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

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

Patton’s face fell. “Oh.”

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

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

He held up the fork. “What... I...”

“You eat with it,” Patton said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A... door?” Patton asked slowly.

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

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

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

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

“Demons have picnics?” Virgil asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” the gluttonous demon asked.

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil felt, frankly, quite faint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s showing off,” Logan said.

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

Virgil frowned. “Why?”

Patton ducked his head.

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

Virgil gaze down at the smooth ground beneath his legs. 

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

Logan hummed in agreement. “Yes, especially—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your laugh is... is...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Demons  have animal traits,” Virgil corrected.

The three demons glanced at each other.

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

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

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

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

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

He turned away, hugging himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” Virgil said again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Demons can,” Logan confirmed.

“Angels can’t,” Patton said softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Indeed.” Logan dipped his head.

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

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

Patton and Logan exchanged looks.

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

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

“Should I go after him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, thank—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A hyena?” Virgil squawked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry. Just, uh... pointy.”

Virgil frowned. “What?”

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

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

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

Patton’s eyes flooded with sympathy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” he said faintly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They...?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil’s head spun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t speak.

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

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

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

The angel stepped aside, taking their sword with them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Janus started.

Patton lunged.

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

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

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

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

Virgil got there first.

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

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

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

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

And Virgil wasn’t going to have that.

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

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

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

Janus flipped to his feet. “Virgil—”

Virgil bared his fangs. “No.”

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

“No.”

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

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

Soft Wings.

Kiddo.

Patient Angel.

Honey. Sweetheart.

Coward. City slicker.

Kiddo.

Angel of Practice.

Kiddo, kiddo, kiddo.

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

Virgil erupted with anger.

Literally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Janus visibly swallowed. “And then—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he croaked finally. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay to feel things, sweetie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virgil frowned.

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

Virgil suppressed a groan. “Patton—”

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

Virgil blinked, then blinked again.

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

Virgil’s breath vanished from his lungs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most of the night was filled with this sleepless routine.

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

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

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

“What?”

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

Virgil fumbled, a little, at this revelation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That next morning, Virgil walked into Logan’s room to find the Demon of Pride trying to stand from his bed.

“Hey!” he barked, darting forward to grab Logan’s shoulders and shove him back onto the bed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Logan had the audacity to give him an incredulous look. “Standing up?”

“After taking that sort of damage, fat chance,” Virgil snarled at him. “Lie back down.”

Logan blinked, then squinted. Virgil paused, feeling vulnerable under the scrutiny.

Though, then he suddenly realised his tail was flicking with anticipation and his ears had folded backwards in confusion, and he realised.

“I’m uh... I suppose I ran out of time,” he said, only a little sheepishly. “I’m a demon, now.”

“I can see that,” Logan said mildly, but Virgil could tell he was pleased. “I can’t exactly stay in bed all day, Virgil. Can you help me up?”

Virgil scowled down at him. “Do you promise to take everything slow and easy for the day?”

Logan sighed. “If that’s what it takes.”

Virgil thought for a minute, but seemingly satisfied, Vigil gripped his (now warm again) hand and helped him stand. To Logan’s complete credit, he barely even swayed. Still, Virgil couldn’t force himself to relax. He kept his grip firm but gentle on Logan’s arm and circled him. Logan stood still, looking mildly amused, and let Virgil finish his examination.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Virgil asked, leaning forward to squint at Logan’s face, thoroughly inspecting his smooth throat and bright eyes.

So when their lips knocked together, at first Virgil assumed it had been his fault, but then Logan’s expression morphed from dazed to horrified, and he took a step back.

“Apologies,” he said quickly. “I— that’s—”

Virgil didn’t know what his face was doing until his cheeks started to ache, and he realised he was smiling so wide his dimples were probably on full display (ugh).

He reached forward, sharp fingers lightly trailing the edges of Logan’s lips, which had previously just been pressed into a thin line.

“Feeling okay?” Virgil asked. Logan visibly swallowed, then nodded. Virgil pulled his hand back and Logan adjusted his shirt primly.

“Quite.”

Virgil grinned, and the tip of his tail twitched happily.

“Again, Virgil, my apologies, I—”

“Hey,” Virgil, fixing him with a patient look. “Do I look mad?”

“But— you and Patton—”

“Eh.” Virgil shrugged. “You’re all pretty likeable, for demons.” He shared a grin with Logan, who finally relaxed.

They both heard the thumping on carpet and the excited babbling long before Roman careened into Logan’s open doorway and stared, gaping, at Virgil.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, and Virgil was almost confused before Patton came up behind Roman. “Oh my god, you really weren’t kidding.”

“I told you I wasn’t!” Patton laughed.

“Unholy SHIT,” Roman cried. He shot forward and circled Virgil, who glared at him challengingly and dared him to say something. He paused in front of Virgil and bit his lip, looking abashed. “Can... Can I...?” He gestured to the top of Virgil’s head.

Virgil relaxed and ducked his head compliantly. Roman attentively brushed over his ears. 

“How does it feel?” Logan asked curiously. Roman pulled back and Virgil straightened. “Being a demon?”

“Yeah,” scoffed Roman, not unkindly, “you’re not the superior being anymore. How does it feel to be longer above us? I have to know, it’s for science.”

Logan shot him a bemused look. “How on earth does that have anything remotely to do with—”

“SILENCE, GUINEA-FOUL,” Roman interrupted. “Let the Siberian Forest Cat talk.”

Patton frowned disapprovingly. “Ro—”

He was cut off by a chortling snort, and with a surprise, they turned to see Virgil covered his face with his hands, laughing into his palms.

“S-sorry,” he gasped out, waving his hand, and shaking his head. After a moment he composed himself and smiled down at Roman. “That was terrible.”

It seemed it was a day of unusual behaviour: Roman didn’t act offended at this. He only grinned brightly.

Then his face dropped into a scowl and he crossed his arms.

“God, that’s so unfair,” he muttered. “You got to be a tiger. I’m just a goat.”

Virgil tilted his head, thinking about his previously private conversation with Logan. A smirk creeping along his face, Virgil decided: fuck it.

He leaned down and planted his lips firmly on Roman’s.

“I don’t know,” he said as he pulled back, grinning smugly at Roman’s stupefied face. “I think they’re pretty great.”

Roman’s breath shuddered as he inhaled. His smile was a little star-struck when he said, “R-right.”

Patton giggled and looped his elbows through both Roman and Virgil’s arms.

“I have to admit I am curious as well,” Logan said slowly, and Virgil wondered if they just weren’t going to talk about any of… ‘it’. “About your certainty of your decision — staying here, beneath the rest of your people?”

“They’re not my people,” Virgil said, and it sounded familiar to something he’d already heard. He shook his head. “They’re not even my family.” Patton looked horrified at this, but Virgil grinned and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him into a side hug. “You guys are.”

Patton and Logan smiled. Roman made a face. “That was cheesier than Patton’s puns.”

“Or sappier than your nicknames,” Logan countered, and Virgil sighed. Sentimental moment over, he supposed, as Roman bleated in outrage.

“Hey!”

Six months later

Virgil, realistically, wanted to ask for a single day of normality.

A relaxed day, maybe an uneventful one. Maybe where he could take a nap without the anxiety of the house falling to pieces without him around to keep the order. (Honestly, how had these morons survived this long without him?) A day of bliss.

Not one where Roman wanted to try cooking for a change and forgot about it, causing the fireplace to explode and almost burn down the house, or where Patton tried to cheer Logan up after his feathers were burnt from Roman’s food mishap with an endless stream of puns and bad dad jokes that made even Virgil groan.

So of course, it was on this particular disastrous day that Fate decided to mess with Virgil personally some more.

He was reading over Roman’s most recent work, having successfully achieved attention from some in-city demons after some of Virgil’s tweaks to his work. (When Roman had found that the potential publishers had disregarded their groundedness because of how much the work had improved, he had hugged Virgil so hard he was fairly sure at least two ribs had popped out of place.) The story wasn’t bad; Roman was obviously trying some new avenues, now that he was more confident that demons would consider looking at what he made.

He was just circling a word and suggesting a better alternative when he heard it: the flapping, signifying approaching wings, too large to be an animal, yet not big enough to warrant panic. Although, the fluttering around the edges of the sound, indicating wings made of feathers made a small pit of anxiety grow in Virgil’s gut.

The others heard it too, but Virgil was already standing and making for the door before they could say anything. Patton tried to call for him to stop, but he exploded out of the house just as Janus landed.

He looked as formidably professional as ever, not a strand of hair out of place, his wings perfectly folded at his back. Face an expressionless mask. Eyes carefully blank and unreadable.

The only thing different this time around, was the gashed scars slicing down the side of his face, trailing over his eye running down the side of his cheek to reach the edge of his lip.

Virgil glowered at him, hunching his shoulders. He unfurled his wings, the feathers unkempt and so dirty the white was almost black, now, but still as glorious and empowering as ever. He blocked the entrance of the house with them, keeping both his possessions in, and Janus out. (He could hear impatient bustling as Roman paced at his back, wanting to get past.)

“What do you want?” Virgil demanded. He heard shuffling behind him, and the sound of Logan’s tailfeathers brushing in alarm. Distantly, he remembered that he and Roman hadn’t heard his tempest tongue before.

Janus visibly composed himself. “You told me that once I had done as you required, I would-”

“I told you I would consider forgiving you,” Virgil spat. “Not that you could return here.”

Janus seemed to be at a bit of a loss at this, closing his mouth and blinking.

“Ah,” he said finally. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Should I... I suppose... I’ll... be leaving, then.”

“Good.” Virgil snarled, baring his teeth for good measure.

“Wait!” a little voice cried, and Patton burst between the doorframe and Virgil’s wing. The Angel of Anger gave him a chagrined look. “Wait, maybe— maybe we can hear him out.”

“Sure.” Roman scrambled out behind Patton, and Virgil sighed, exasperated. What was the point in trying to protect them if they didn’t get the hint? “Right after I dig something sharp into  his back.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Patton, distressed, grabbed Roman’s arms.

“Let’s see how he likes it!” Roman snarled. “What if we slit his throat as well, while we’re at it?”

“Perhaps we should think this through,” Logan piped up. At least  he  was being sensible and staying behind Virgil, where it was  safe.  “I doubt he came here for a fight.”

“No,” said Roman fiercely, and he almost shaking, “but we can sure give him one.”

“Stop it,” Virgil growled, his voice losing its unnatural tone. Silence fell and he tried to swallow guilt. “Go inside.”

“What?” Roman demanded, whirling on him. “But he—!”

“Roman.” Virgil stared him down, unwaveringly. Roman growled.

“We’re not helpless, Virgil,” he said.

Virgil sighed and moved from the doorway, cupping Roman’s face in his hands. “This is less of me being worried about what he’ll do to you, and more of me being worried about what  you  will do to  him.  You are quite a formidable foe when you want to be.”

Roman squinted suspiciously. “Flattery isn’t going to get me to relax.”

“But it’ll make you listen,” Virgil countered smoothly, and Roman finally relented. He shuffled back, but Patton slipped his hand into Virgil’s and peered up at him.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked in a whisper. Virgil smiled down at him.

“I’ve got it,” he reassured him. Patton nodded and stepped back. Virgil’s palm burned as he strode forward.

It was strange. They were... together, now, all four of them. Apparently, the trio of demons had been before Virgil had even arrived, but despite Virgil having been head over heels for Patton first, the pair of them still hadn’t exactly... made moves. Virgil wasn’t sure why. He hoped it wasn’t something he’d done to make Patton second guess anything.

He shook those thoughts from his head. That wasn’t what he needed to focus on.

The glare he fixed on Janus made him blurt, without pause, “I came to see you.”

Virgil’s eyebrows arched. His blackened wings twitched. His tail swished warningly behind him.

Janus looked like he understood the unspoken message clearly:  you see me, and I am a demon.

“I... wanted to inform you that—” Janus’ voice became a little uneven, and he cleared his throat and straightened himself — “that I did as you asked.”

Virgil glowered.

“Started to do as you asked,” Janus corrected himself. “It’s... a work in progress?”

Virgil tried not to let his surprise show on his face. Janus was smug, and cunning, and insufferable, and he didn’t ever show any sign of weakness, and he certainly didn’t act so unsure of himself.

“I approached... many other angels, and... the majority of the Ancient Angels have been confronted about the community’s... opinions.”

Virgil’s lip twitched in disgust and Janus winced. “They... have considered my suggestions of changing a select number of rules. I... have the heads of Humility and Abstinence aiding me. And Remus, too, of course. I think I can sway Head of Kindness with a little more time, too. Emile does not like me very much.”

Virgil realised with an inward jolt that his face had gone slack from his tight scowl.

He resisted the urge to clear his throat. There were countless things he could say. He could growl a deep, “Good.” He could bare his teeth and snap a sharp,  “Get out.”  He could snarl and slash at the other side of Janus’ face, give him a matching set of scars, and roar that he didn’t care what Janus had done or would do.

The truth was: Virgil could say a lot.

The truth was: Virgil said nothing.

Virgil stared at this angel and refused to admit that he really did just want to see him as his brother once again.

He stared at Janus and nodded once.

“You can... always return,” Janus went on. “There are rules about demons and angels coexisting, and I doubt I will be able to change those ones as swiftly, though... I believe I can be convincing enough for an expectation to be made.”

Virgil’s ears flicked.

“Remus misses you, I think.” Because of course, Janus wasn’t going to admit to any weakness, and missing someone was certainly a weakness. “You... know that you can return to your family, no matter what, right?”

Virgil narrowed his eyes as he said, “I am with my family.”

Janus’ face didn’t betray any emotions, and Virgil wondered if he had seen that coming, and had been prepared. For a long moment of silence, he said nothing. His eyes darted over Virgil’s tensing shoulder. Virgil’s ears swivelled to listen as Roman shuffled on his feet anxiously, and Patton’s hands brushed over his shoulder, and Logan’s feathers fluttering as he strained to overhear their conversation.

“So you have,” Janus admitted faintly.

Virgil lifted his chin. Similarly, Janus lowered his gaze.

“I... will return, now.” The angel stepped back.

A quietly cleared throat made Virgil glanced over his shoulder. Patton, between Logan’s curious eyes and Roman’s deep frown, made a face that Virgil couldn’t make out. He blinked uncomprehendingly, and Patton gestured, a little wildly desperate, to Janus, who had turned to leave.

Virgil almost ignored him. Almost said nothing.

But then he was blurting out a jumbled, “Wait.”

Janus went rigid, but he paused. He didn’t turn, and didn’t speak up, obviously waiting for Virgil to speak.

“You... you may return,” Virgil said haltingly. “Once... once there are... more developments.”

For a long time, Janus said nothing.

When he turned, it was only a slight tilt of his head. The scars on that side of his face glistened in the heat of the Demonic Kingdom’s landscape.

“Only for updates,” he agreed without a hint of bitterness or malice. “Understood.”

With that, he flared his wings and shot into the sky. Virgil watched until the clouds swivelling around his disappearing form and he vanished.

Well,  Virgil thought in a voice that was almost painfully reminiscently Patton’s.  That could have gone worse.

“Are you going to stand there all day, you striped shorthair?” Roman called, still obviously impatient.

With a jump, Virgil turned and returned to them.

“How did it go?” Logan inquired.

Virgil tried to think on that, but all that his mind provided was static.

Logan smiled and rubbed his arms reassuringly. “That’s a perfectly normal reaction, Virgil. Don’t worry.”

Virgil nodded. Another warm hand brushed against the side of his face, and he looked down at Patton.

“Are you okay?” Patton asked with that soft, light voice of his, those gorgeous, caring eyes staring up at him. Virgil decided that after a long time, he really was.

In answer, Virgil grinned, and kissed him.

[piggy-i-broke-the-conch]

LotF Iceberg Meme

I haven't seen one of these before so I decided to make my own. Full explanation under the cut! (art on second tier is by@/sinnamonralph and art on third tier is by admin huck of @/ask-jalph )

tw- brief non-descriptive mentions of rape/sexual assault

Surface:

jalph memes- kind of self explanatory, also just lotf memes in general

maurice is a memelord- the popular headcanon that maurice is a dank memer

character name puns- the many puns you see in lotf fans' usernames, e.g.- memerice, jackass merridick, etc

simon deserved better- he really did

1963 and 1990 movies- i think most people know about these two film adaptations. the 1963 version is objectively better

c sharp jokes- i just thought of this one while i was writing out the explanation and couldn't be bothered to go back and add it, sorry. jokes based around jack bragging that he can sing c sharp in chapter 1

Shallow:

lotf 100 minifics- a popular series of oneshots on AO3 by the user queencrank, largely centred around smut

roger x rocks- popular (?) crack ship, sadly i have been subjected to rule 34 of this

surname headcanons- since only jack and percival have canon surnames, lots of fans make up surnames for the other characters, e.g.- maurice hall, roger moore (both my headcanons)

magic conch- the subject of a spongebob episode which parodies lotf, appears in a lot of memes outside the fandom

lotf rejected by 17 publishers- lotf was initially rejected many times before eventually being published, i think this one is common knowledge

lotf based on william golding's time in ww2- his exposure to the horrors of human nature during his time in the war inspired the core themes of the novel, again probably common knowledge for those who have studied the book

simon is jesus- simon is heavily implied to be an allegorical figure representing jesus (the link is much more explicit in earlier drafts of the novel). william golding expands on this idea in his essay 'fable', i'd recommend reading it if you're curious.

roger and simon are canonically POC- i added this one because i often see fanart of them (mainly roger tbf, though i have seen some of simon as well) as white so figured it wasn't completely common knowledge. both are described as having darker skin tones in the novel.

all female lotf- the controversial all-female film adaptation of lotf announced back in 2017. the idea was scrapped (presumably due to backlash and staff changes) and it is now going to be an all-male adaptation directed by luca guadagnino! i'm so hyped for it!!!

pig's head is satan- the eponymous 'lord of the flies' is based on beelzebub, another title for satan (or sometimes a separate demon depending on who you ask)

piggy's real name is charles- not sure how common this is tbf but i often see people stating piggy's real name as charles in fanfiction. there isn't evidence for this in canon so i assume it is just a popular fan headcanon

Mid-Depth:

nopeimnotrussian art- i see art by this person literally everywhere when i'm looking up lotf fanart and i only found out who they were today. they make a ton of jalph content and generally seem pretty cool.

EDIT- ok so the art for this tier was supposed to be something by nopeimnotrussian but I messed up and used a picture that was drawn by someone else (aka sinnamon ralph, also a very cool artist with a nice username)! apologies, i'll make sure to be more careful in the future when using fanart. and thank you to the commenter who corrected me!

ask jalph- an ask blog i also see art from everywhere (particularly art by one of their admins, admin huck). also applies to lotf ask blogs in general, there are a lot of very cool and creative ones out there!

lotf stageplays/musicals- i was going to list a specific example but there are so many of these it was difficult to choose one. i really want to see one someday

retribution- another popular lotf fanfic written by circadian lily on fanfiction.net/AmRye on AO3. i'd highly recommend reading this one, it's so good

lotf is a fanfic- lotf is partially a satire of 'the coral island' by r.m. ballantyne and other similar coming-of-age adventure stories for boys which were popular at the time. the main characters are called ralph and jack in both works, and some phrases in lotf are taken almost word for word from the coral island.

piggy's real name is peterkin- the character peterkin in the coral island (see above) seems to have partially been the inspiration for both simon and piggy. the name simon may have been based on peterkin (as peter from the bible later took on the name simon), but i like to consider piggy's real name to be peterkin since it isn't already being used by another character as it is.

eastern bunny- an artist who made several popular fanarts i often see being reposted (such as one of jack and ralph holding child versions of the other major characters, and one of jack holding a spear up to ralph's neck). sadly i'm fairly certain their tumblr has been deleted, but they are very talented and i love their work.

ralph's mum- ralph's mother is mentioned to have been absent from ralph's life in the book but it is unclear whether she left her family voluntarily or died. i've seen different interpretations in fanfiction.

characters that only appear in the 1990s movie- there are several characters mentioned by name in the 1990s movies that did not appear in the original book, such as dominic. i always feel excited when i see people mention them (same for obscure characters from the book itself like stanley and walter)

irl lotf- there are actually multiple cases of events similar to lotf occurring in real life, the most well-known one being this one i believe

Deep:

1963 movie deleted scenes- there are around 2 hours of additional footage which were cut from the 1963 film adaptation of lotf, including several important scenes which were key to ralph's character development such as the interaction between jack and ralph in chapter 3 of the novel. while i sadly haven't been able to find a lot of these deleted scenes, you can see some of them online such as the one i just mentioned, which is available here.

fable essay- this essay was written as part of a larger collection of essays entitled 'dreams'. it is included in the back of the education edition of lotf which is widely available in bookstores in my country (england), although i imagine you can find it elsewhere if you want to read it. it provides some interesting insights into golding's thought process while writing the novel as well as some extra details on characters and themes.

original first chapter- lotf originally had an extra chapter at the start which expanded more on the nuclear war occurring in the background of the present novel and the circumstances behind the plane crash which triggered the novel's events. this chapter was later cut as many of the publishers who rejected the novel particularly disliked it. the original draft of lotf is currently being held by the university of exeter in england. it's my dream to go and read it one day.

living lord of the flies- a 2013 mini-documentary narrated by tom gaman (who played simon in the 1963 movie) about the production of the movie and his experiences during filming.

alkitrang dugo- a lesser-known filipino lotf movie adaptation from 1975. i haven't been able to find this anywhere so i haven't seen it sadly, but i know it had both male and female characters stranded on the island.

jack is based on younger william golding- i don't remember where i read this so admittedly i'm not sure how reliable it is, but i feel that there is some basis to jack being based on william golding himself. golding was fairly problematic when he was younger (and in general actually), having once attempted to rape a 15 year old when he was 18, for example.

continuity errors- i thought i made a post on this a while back but i can't find it for the life of me (it might have been on the since-deleted lotf amino actually)- essentially, there a couple of continuity errors in the novel which i think about excessively even now, i.e.- henry is referred to as a littlun and a bigun at different points in the novel, maurice's height is inconsistent, and bill is simultaneously in both ralph and jack's tribes for a bit.

Mariana Trench:

lotf is set in 1952- i've seen a lot of debate about when exactly lotf is set, and there is technically a canon answer to this. in the original draft of lotf, the novel ends with the time and date: '16.00, 2nd October, 1952.' however, it's possible that this would have been changed in the final version of the novel. i personally headcanon the year lotf is set in as 1954, the same year it was published.

beating scene in 1963 movie was real- this scene was based on the scene in the novel where jack orders wilfred to be beaten for essentially no reason. in the movie, the actor volunteered to actually be beaten for this scene.

irl roger- the actor who played roger in the 1963 movie, roger (!!!) elwin, was basically just his character in real life. apparently he used to throw live lizards into fans while on set. when the production staff asked him why he was doing it, he answered that he wanted to see how many pieces they would be cut into.

rape scene- the scene in the novel where the boys hunt and kill the sow that later becomes the lord of the flies is apparently supposed to resemble a rape, illustrated by phrases such as 'wedded to her in lust' and by the place roger stabs her in. i was pretty freaked out when i first saw this interpretation of that scene, it gives an already disturbing scene an even darker context.

william golding performed social experiments on his students- golding was a teacher at bishop wordsworth school in salisbury, england while he was writing lotf. during this time he frequently ran experiments on his students in which he split them into groups and set them against each other, much like in lotf. some of the characters in lotf may also have been based on golding's students.

deleted jalph ending- while the lotf fandom wiki seems to be a bit better maintained now, when i first joined the fandom about 4 years ago it was super chaotic and filled with random edits. one of these was a claim that there william golding initially wrote an alternate ending to the novel in which jack and ralph get together, which was later removed. i just thought it was funny so i decided to add it here.

Well, that's everything! This post took me like 2 and a half hours to make, so I hope it was at least somewhat interesting/entertaining. Sorry for my sporadic posting schedule as always, I've been really busy with university lately (that and I seem to only end up posting when I'm hit with a sudden deluge of lotf brainrot, like now). I do have another meme I started making and then didn't finish, I might post that at some point if I do actually finish it. Anyway, thank you if you managed to read all of this and I hope you have a great day/night!

[heroinejinx]

‘Sore subject?’ - Advices and Vices, part 6 of ? (CaitJinx Modern AU)

AO3 link.

Remember when I said things would get darker? Yeah, they sure did. 

Jinx & fancy parties do not mix. Neither do Jinx and most people. Love that for her lol enjoy the melodrama <3

Note: I’ve previously referred to Jinx taking Shimmer & Ketamine, but have now replaced Ketamine with a drug I’ve made up called ‘Fade.’ It has similar downer/opioid properties but is *not real* which gives me a bit more freedom to experiment with it. Hope the change isn’t too confusing!

TW: mature content, explicit drug use, description of a panic attack, suicidal ideation... all that fun stuff. 

(9,679 words)

Loaded on Shimmer, Jinx ambled down the street towards the party, her mind a web of questions and theories about the evening ahead. Would she see Caitlyn? Would Vi notice how high she was? Would there be cake?

If she knew Seraphine, there’d be a rainbow cake with sprinkles and strawberries. Mmmmm… Jinx imagined eating it as she skipped along.

Seraphine’s parents were Zaunites with new money. They’d made a name for themselves by owning a chain of factories, selling their wears across the bridge and throughout Runeterra, rubbing shoulders with the rich snobs of Piltover and corrupt wannabes of Zaun alike. Their so-called mansion looked out on the Pilt, about a mile upstream from Caitlyn’s place. The houses along that stretch of river were all built in the last decade, the only ‘fancy’ part of Zaun.  

Jinx had tolerated enough of Silco’s rants on the subject to know that the area was designed with the intent of extending Piltover’s influence across the bridge rather than bettering the undercity. She despised it; lost count of the dreams she’d had of burning it all to the ground. Every single house, including Caitlyn’s. Might’ve even lit the first match right on the entitled Piltie princess’ doorstep.  

For Seraphine’s parents to have bought into the fantasy showed several gross traits: they were gullible, spineless, greedy, delusional… the list went on and on. Their daughter wasn’t much better, but at least she knew how to slum it like a true Zaunite. Seraphine embraced where she came from. Sure, she was privileged and blind to the suffering and darkness that plagued Zaun’s depths, but she wasn’t cruel or arrogant about it. The bar was low.

Did Seraphine still party the way she used to? Jinx first met her years ago at a secret rave by the docks. Her long, bubble-gum pink hair flailed in the wind as she danced like a manic ballerina, and Jinx had to have her. Several shots and snorts of Shimmer later, they were all over each other in a blur of tongues and limbs and giggles.

Given her engagement to Vi, the ultimate Debbie Downer when it came to drugs, Seraphine’s fun days were probably behind her. Bummer.

Finally at the house, Jinx double checked she had the correct address. The place was huge. Much grander than she remembered. Not a mansion, but undoubtedly impressive.

She traipsed up the gravel drive, surrounded by fellow partygoers in their finery. Compared to their designer suits and gowns, her leather jacket, black skater dress, knee-high socks and gothic platform boots looked… well, kinda trashy.

Should’ve asked Vi about the dress code. But it was Vi, for fuck sake. Since when did her punk big sister give a shit about dress codes? Even Caitlyn didn’t care about things like that. Sure, the Kirammans did, but Caitlyn didn’t listen to them. Serrie and her pretentious parents must’ve really gotten under Vi’s skin.  

A lady Jinx didn’t recognise stood by the double-doored entrance, dressed in blue silk, champagne flute in one hand and scrawny cigarillo in the other. Her silver bob was coiffed and sexy, dark red lipstick flawlessly applied. As Jinx drew closer, she stared, both enamoured by the stranger’s beauty and feeling shitty about her lack thereof.

The woman caught Jinx’s eye, flickered a smug smile, and the spell was broken.

Okay, she was hot, but she didn’t have to be such a bitch about it. Rich snobs like that could never just be nice, could they?

Jinx flicked the woman a hostile glare and shoved past her to get inside, spilling champagne down the silk dress.

‘Excuse me!?’ The woman yelled after her. ‘This is couture!’

Jinx tossed her head over her shoulder and giggled at the outburst. Lingered long enough to see another woman rush over, making a fuss.

‘Oh my god, Evelynn! Are you alright?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ the woman, apparently called Evelynn, grunted.

‘What the hell is that girl’s problem?’

Oh, if only they knew.

Flipping them a playful little wave for good measure, Jinx properly entered the party.

Classical music serenaded her into the main room, like walking into a funeral. The decorations were modest, colour-coordinated, tasteful. Nothing like the crude banners and plastic bunting she was used to.

It gave her whiplash. Where was the keg, the beer pong, the buffet of beige carbs and neon candy, the red plastic cups filled with cheap booze? Why wasn’t she drowning in obnoxiously loud, heavy music, and that glorious ever-present smell of weed and body odour? Where was the fucking party!?

She wasn’t ready for this. She’d spent so much time obsessing over seeing Vi, and the vexing possibility of bumping into Caitlyn, that she’d forgotten to worry about the party itself.

People fenced her in from every direction. The Shimmer she’d taken before venturing out had waned enough to make her feel raw. A shockwave of overlapping voices hit her like a kick in the head. Hard enough to concave her skull. If she didn’t top up soon, she’d have to find a place to hide and curl into a ball. Maybe a nice closet upstairs, somewhere quiet. Out of the way.

‘Jinx!’

Seraphine’s flute-like voice knocked her out of her tailspin and into people mode. She smiled as a defence mechanism, while her ex gleefully bounded up to her and embraced her with a hug and a kiss to her cheek.

‘I’m so happy you came!’

Jinx wanted to ask why but kept it to herself. Seraphine was, of course, just being friendly. No need to scrutinise and dig out the truth. Not straight away, at least.

Seraphine pulled away to properly look at her guest. ‘Ugh, you look so pretty! That eyeliner!?’ She kissed her fingers to imitate a chef, ‘perfection!’

A beaming smile remained glued to her face, and Jinx matched it as best she could. It hurt her cheeks.

‘Heh, thanks,’ Jinx replied through a forced grin. ‘Didn’t get the memo about the dress code though. Whoops.’

‘Pfft, that’s okay!’ Seraphine waved her hand across her face to emphasise how okay it was. ‘It’s totally optional. You look great! Don’t worry about it!’

‘Okay…’

Jinx widened her grin even further. Might as well have split her face open. But she believed Seraphine’s hype; she did look great. Fuck it.

‘Where’s Vi?’

‘She’s in the kitchen,’ Seraphine replied. ‘I’ll take you; need to get you a drink!’

Seraphine linked her arm through Jinx’s jacket and marched onwards, but Jinx pulled back.

Nope, her racing heart cried out. Shimmer, stat.

‘I gotta pee first,’ she lied.

‘Oh, of course,’ Seraphine’s beam remained intact, oblivious to the deception. Naïve idiot. ‘D’you remember where the restroom is?’

‘Uh huh.’ She slipped out of Seraphine’s reach, melting into the crowd. ‘In a bit.’

***

Alone in the confined space, Jinx breathed in deep. The floral air freshener almost made her gag. She clutched the sink to ground herself. Didn’t dare look in the mirror. No time to let her nausea creep in or check her make-up and whisper self-loathing.

She fumbled around inside the breast pocket of her jacket. Baggies of Fade and Shimmer sat side by side, kept separate by the dollar bill she’d brought to snort them. She retrieved the Shimmer, saving the Fade for later.

With a steady hand and dry mouth, she tapped three rough lines onto the rim of the sink. It wasn’t a flat surface, but short of sniffing off of the damn toilet cistern, what choice did she have? She swiped her Jericho’s loyalty card from a different pocket and neatened the lines.

On some level, she must’ve known she’d start using like this again. Why else would she bring that card with her wherever she went? Something about its weight and thickness always produced the straightest lines. Her own brand of fucked-up safety blanket.

The pink powder glittered under the LED lights overhead. She didn’t dwell on how pretty it looked. Rolled up the dollar bill and took the first hit.

 ***

Three lines and however many minutes later, she left the restroom and made her way to the kitchen in an elated blur. Danced to the peppy violins of some vaguely familiar tune as she slipped through the rabble.  

The main room of the party branched out into a large dining area, separated from the kitchen by a broad, marble pillar. If what Seraphine said was true, Vi was right on the other side.

Jinx braced herself. Sure, they’d had a phone call the other day, but seeing her sister in person after so long was a different story. Harder to escape in person.

She bit the bullet and crept around the cold marble.

Vi stood behind an island countertop, kitted out in a suave burgundy suit and matching shirt, short cherry red hair smartly slicked back. Party mode.

Her face hadn’t changed a bit. No shred of make-up in sight. She didn’t even look older. She was just… Vi. Same big sis with the steely eyes, firm jaw and cheekbone tattoo that said she could do anything. And the scars on her bottom lip and left brow, reminders that even she wasn’t invincible.

She embraced Seraphine with that cocky grin of hers. Kissed the top of her head. Bubble-gum pink and cherry red; cute combination. They looked good together, like a team. Who’d have thought?

Jinx smiled to herself, giddy and bursting with nervous energy. She almost skipped forth to join them, but they had company.

Tall, beautiful company…

Soft, strong hands rested on the countertop across from Vi, adorned with several silver rings and an expensive-looking watch. Midnight blue, poker-straight hair pulled up in a neat, high ponytail exposed a slender, alabaster neck and silver filigree earrings. A killer dark mauve dress hugged her body like a second skin, making her boobs look like the best fucking boobs imaginable.

Jinx would’ve known that profile anywhere. Those hands alone. Long, supple fingers. All the things they could do. Places they could reach.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

All thought of reuniting with Vi abandoned her. Her knees almost buckled. Gut plummeted. She needed to get out of there. ASAP.

They hadn’t noticed her yet. A few steps back behind the pillar and she could’ve disappeared into the rest of the party without a fuss. But something compelled her to stay.

Conversation flowed between Caitlyn and Vi like water. The natural back-and-forth of two people who really knew each other. Seraphine’s interjections trickled in where they could, but she didn’t say much. The longer she listened, the more bored she looked.

What were they talking about?  

A fourth, unknown voice chimed in, swimming against their current. The tension of debate tinged the air, but over the din of the party, Jinx could only identify tones, not words.

She inched closer to the sound, picked out a few phrases. Politics was on the menu; no wonder Seraphine had disengaged.

The mystery voice mentioned something about the history of the bridge, how it divided people, how the council tried to undo the damage but struggled to enforce real change. Vi scoffed out something about enforcers being glorified attack dogs who encouraged the council’s prejudices.

Jinx agreed with her sister.

Caitlyn pushed her tongue against her bottom lip in silent protest but didn’t argue back. The whole enforcer thing was one of the many issues that polluted the reservoir during her marriage to Vi. Must’ve hurt to discuss it casually like that.

Jinx subconsciously lurched towards Caitlyn but stopped herself before getting too close. Stupid feet, thinking on their own.

More of the kitchen came into view, as did the owner of the fourth voice. Mel Medarda. Hard to forget the face of Piltover’s youngest and best-looking councillor. Her posters were all over Zaun, graffitied to shit. Some by Jinx’s own hand. Ha!

Propped against the inner wall, next to Caitlyn, the Noxian prodigy nursed a glass of white wine. She was ethereally gorgeous, even more so in person, face not sprayed across and spoiled. Her understated style oozed old money and class. Made that bitch Evelynn’s whole schtick look tacky.

What did that make Jinx, by comparison? Sump scum. Trencher trash. Not worth a cent.

Envy swarmed and multiplied like wasps preparing to defend the hive. Buzzed around her as she spied.

Medarda slid a manicured hand down Caitlyn’s arm and onto the small of her back. Too intimate for comfort. Her black and gold nail polish was perfect, unspoiled by any kind of frequent use of her hands. The only similarity with Jinx’s own bitten and chipped nails was the length: short.

For a woman with Medarda’s glamour to have nails that length meant one thing. Jinx envisioned those immaculate fingers gliding along Caitlyn’s smooth skin, in and out of her cunt. No doubt Medarda played the role of loyal, supportive girlfriend better than Jinx ever could.

The wasps became hornets, beastly and vicious.

It made sense, of course. Caitlyn had her fun chasing Zaunites over the years, and now she’d moved on to the type of woman befitting her station. The type of woman her mother would’ve adored and fawned over. Cassandra Kiramman never warmed to Vi, but Medarda…?  

Jinx scowled at the two of them. Heat prickled her skin. Disgust tugged her lip upwards in a snarl.

How dare they stand there like that, flaunting their relationship at Vi’s engagement party? What the fuck!? Why were Vi and Seraphine acting so okay with it?

Arms crossed and brows knotted, Jinx announced herself with a laugh of pure spite.

The silly political dispute stopped dead and all four of them looked towards the sound. The social smile Caitlyn wore in conversation dropped in an instant. Vi’s eyes lit up with a grin. Seraphine rested her head on Vi’s shoulder and tossed Jinx a small wave, none the wiser but no longer bored, while Medarda’s unnervingly pretty face frowned in confusion.

‘What’s this, the lesbian convention?’ Jinx sniped.

‘I’m sorry, who are you?’ Medarda cut to the bone with a voice as smooth as honey.

‘Jinx…’ Vi’s eyes dulled with disappointment, already done with her shit.

Didn’t take long for big sis to turn on her, did it? Some things never changed. Jinx gritted her teeth.

Caitlyn stared; face unreadable. What was on her mind?

‘Are you okay?’ Seraphine asked. ‘You took a while… Do you still want that drink?’

A while? How long did she spend in the restroom? Ten minutes? Twenty? Longer?

Were any of them close enough to see Shimmer’s tell-tale pink glow orbiting her blown-out pupils? Would they care?

She darted her gaze between them, met with judgement and icky concern. And worse, Caitlyn’s complete lack of expression.

Did Jinx’s presence mean nothing to her?

Too far up Medarda’s ass to notice.

‘Wait… Jinx?’ Medarda turned to Vi, brow raised in question. ‘As in Powder, your sister? The one who—’

‘Jinx as in Jinx,’ Caitlyn sternly interjected.

What? What was that?

In some small, poignant way, Caitlyn had stuck up for her. Why would she do that?

Caitlyn shifted away from Medarda’s touch and looked directly, unflinchingly, at Jinx.

It took a nano-second for Jinx to blink away.

Too long. The contact stung.

‘Whatever,’ she huffed and barged past them.

‘Jinx!’ Vi called after her. ‘Wait!’

She ignored her sister’s plea and moved faster, beyond the kitchen. Snatched someone’s drink as she made a beeline for the sliding doors leading out to the veranda and the garden.

A gentle summer breeze greeted her. Bliss. So much better than the stifling air inside. Ignoring the cluster of people near the door, she downed the sweet remnants of mimosa from the stolen glass. Lit a cigarette and descended the veranda’s wooden steps onto the overgrown path beneath.

Like everything about that stupid place, the garden was bigger than she remembered. Perhaps they’d extended it? And didn’t they used to have a pool? They must’ve redesigned.

Haphazard shoots of grass jutted out of the stone, softened the tread of her boots as she strolled along. A bird of prey flew overhead, momentarily eclipsing the sun with its wingspan. Down on the ground, the path became a small set of steps, then path again, as she followed it out towards a hedgerow. Hues of pink shone in the distance, but she couldn’t tell where they came from.

‘Jinx…?’ Came a curious male voice.

She turned towards it, but once she saw who the voice belonged to, nearly turned back around. Jayce Talis, dressed in all white, sauntered up to her.

‘Jayce.’

She twisted her grimace into a grin. Stared at him a few seconds too long. Was it the Shimmer, or were his eyebrows freakishly huge?

‘Have you always looked like this?’ She poked his cheek, investigating.

‘Uh…’ He smiled tightly and stepped back, out of poking distance. ‘I guess it’s been a while. I’m surprised to see you.’

‘Snap,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you s’posed to be Cait’s bestie? Whatcha doing here?’

‘Actually, Vi and I grew pretty close over the years,’ he said. ‘Cait’s here too, though… somewhere.’

And didn’t she fucking know it.

Before she could interrogate Jayce on how he’d convinced Vi to be his friend, another man cosied up next to him and handed him a glass of red wine.

‘Ah, Viktor!’ Jayce exclaimed, glad for the extra company. Somebody, save him from the weirdo! ‘You’ve met Jinx, right? Vi’s little sister.’

‘Less of the little,’ Jinx frowned. ‘Condescending dick.’

Jayce snickered at her hushed insult. She hadn’t meant to be funny; he really was the worst. Why the fuck was Caitlyn friends with him? Childhood nostalgia, familial obligation, charity, what?

‘Hmm,’ Viktor studied her in thought. ‘I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, no.’ Balancing on an awesome set of customised black and silver crutches, he held out a bony hand.

She shook it with aplomb. Studied the veins bulging beneath his skin, mottled purple and blue from the repetitive strain of his disability.

What caused it? Had he been like that his whole life, or was it recent?

‘Why the crutches?’ She blurted out. Damn shimmer. ‘Sorry. That question was meant to stay in my head.’

‘Oh, heh, no need to apologise.’ He took her rudeness in his stride. Good sign. ‘I’ve, uh… I’ve been sick for a long time… I won’t bore you with the details.’

Bore her? He fascinated her. But she could take a hint.

‘Sore subject?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Hmm.’

Tilting her head, she studied the peculiar man before her. His accent was tricky to describe. It reminded her of someone… someone she didn’t want to remember. Kinda creepy. His hair was floppy and dark, skin sickly pale, eyes sharp and sparkling with intelligence. He wore a suit, but not the typical Piltie garb. Rather than a refined tailored piece, like Jayce’s, his was mismatched tweed, relaxed from years of wear. Tweed, in the summer? If he turned around, she bet she’d find patches sewn on at the elbows where the fabric had thinned and torn. She couldn’t tell if he'd owned it for years or if it was second-hand, bought on the fly for the party. She liked that she couldn’t tell.

This dude seemed way too cool and way too much of an oddball to hang around with a dorky poser like Jayce.

‘How d’you two know each other?’ She asked, genuinely curious.

‘Viktor’s my partner,’ Jayce said with pride.

‘In business, and in life,’ Viktor added.

‘Ohhhhh.’

Jayce was gay? Finally, something she could respect him for.

‘So, you and Jayce do the science together, huh?’ She wiggled her brows suggestively.

‘Something like that,’ Viktor said. He hunched over as he spoke, shying away from scrutiny by making himself smaller.

‘Parties aren’t yer thing,’ she observed.

Viktor winced and shook his head.

‘Don’t sweat it.’ She flashed what she hoped was a reassuring wink. ‘I don’t think parties like this are anyone’s thing. Nobody cool, anyway.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Jayce said, oblivious. ‘This is a pretty swell turnout.’

Viktor cringed with quiet embarrassment for his partner, and Jinx giggled.

‘Pretty swell?’ She mimicked. ‘Dude, are you sixty?’

‘What?’ Jayce looked to Viktor for support. ‘People still say swell, right? Young people…?’

Viktor shrugged, helpless to stop Jayce from digging his hole. A small smirk brightened his wan face and made his eyes twinkle even brighter.

Ah, if only he wasn’t gay and didn’t have terrible taste in men… they could’ve had fun together. But Jayce and his assholery stifled Viktor’s allure. Boring.

She bowed out of their chat and meandered further down the garden.

Where the path ended, bordered by hedgerow, stood a stone archway laced with creeping ivy and purple clematis. She crossed its threshold into a pristinely mowed stretch of grass. A cherry blossom tree grew at its centre. The pink hues. Beautiful.

Leaning against the rough stone, she slumped down until her bum hit damp grass with a light plonk. After another, much-needed Shimmer boost, she gazed up at the cherry blossom as it swayed and danced. Pinks and reds and whites swirled with the harsh yellow of the afternoon sun and the crisp blue of the sky.

Zooming in like a camera, she tried to focus on one blossom at a time. She’d return to the party, as soon as she’d captured and counted every tiny blossom in sight.

‘Hey, have you guys seen Jinx?’

God fucking dammit, Vi.

‘Down there,’ Jayce said.

In typical Vi fashion, she steamed ahead to find her sister, not stopping to wonder if said sister actually wanted to be found. The thud of footsteps grew louder and louder, then stopped altogether. A shadow loomed.

With a frustrated groan, Jinx took a long drag of her cigarette.

Here goes nothing.

‘Hey, sis,’ Jinx drawled and glanced up at Vi. Held out her cigarette as a token of good will.

‘Uh huh.’

Okay, Vi was angry. Understandable. Still took the olive branch, though.

She scratched at her temple. Sank one tattooed hand into the pocket of her tailored trousers, while the other brought the cigarette to her lips and held it there. She inhaled. Stepped in front of Jinx, blocking her view of the tree. Exhaled a plume of dark grey smoke.

‘Thanks.’ Vi handed the little death stick back to its owner. ‘I needed that.’

Jinx’s fingers grazed her sister’s calloused knuckles. She took another drag.

Vi hovered, watching over her. Discomfort lodged in her spine and made her shiver.

Breathing nicotine felt like air. Like nothing. She wanted more Shimmer but if Vi ever saw her using again…

Her collection of well-tuned defence mechanisms battled for dominance. Which would the wheel of her brain land on? Avoidance? Aggression? A sycophantic need for acceptance? All to play for.

‘Look at you in that suit,’ she praised. Okay, so, sycophantic need for acceptance. ‘Lil Serrie’s gotcha looking sharp.’

‘Lil Serrie?’ Vi shook her head and scoffed. ‘Would it kill you to say something nice?’

‘…didn’t I just pay you a compliment?’ Uh-oh. Aggression, standing by.

‘Yeah, at my fiancée’s expense.’ Vi paced on the spot. Flecks of soil and grass flew into Jinx’s lap.

She let the dirt sit there. She deserved it. Bury her alive and she wouldn’t have fought.

‘Come on,’ Vi urged. ‘This is an engagement party. Can’t you be happy for me?’

‘Happy for you?’ Jinx didn’t understand. ‘Because you found someone else to cling to?’

‘You don’t have to word it like that.’

‘Alright.’ She searched for something else to say. Something honest. ‘I don’t feel happy for you.’ Stubby cigarette between her lips, she breathed deep for the last hit. Relished in the heat of the smoke in her lungs and at the back of her throat. ‘I don’t feel anything, one way or the other.’ She exhaled hard and tossed the butt to the grass. Stomped it out with her boot. ‘Better?’

Vi snorted. Maybe Jinx’s answer wasn’t good enough, but it was the truth.

‘All I know about your relationship with Seraphine is that she somehow convinced you to wear a suit today,’ Jinx elaborated. ‘You look cute together, sure, but so did you and the C-word, so… doesn’t mean much.’

Vi flinched at the reference to Caitlyn. ‘What was that back there?’ She asked, tonguing her cheek in frustration. ‘That fucking stunt you pulled. What was that?’

‘What stunt?’

‘Is it because Caitlyn’s here?’ Vi demanded. ‘You don’t have to be around her if you don’t want. I told you that. It’s a big house. You could’ve just walked away.’

‘…isn’t that what I did?’

‘Sure, yeah, in the rudest way possible.’ Vi’s pacing increased; fists clenched in the bowels of her pockets. ‘Cait stuck up for you back there. And not for the first time, by the way. But you still treated her like the goddamn plague.’

Not for the first time? ‘What d’you mean?’

‘I mean you treat her like garbage, even when she’s the only person sticking up for you!’ Vi said. Yelled, actually. ‘Caitlyn correcting someone on your name at a party is a drop in the fucking ocean. She’s had your back more often than you know… mostly against me.’ Her expression fractured with shame.

Okay, too much. Stop. Stop talking about Caitlyn. Please stop.

‘You don’t get on as people?’ Vi persisted. ‘Fine. But she’s always respected you, and you’ve never done her the same courtesy. Even now. You can’t stomach being in the same room as her. Just had to make it a big deal and storm off, didn’t you!?’

‘Sheesh!’ A low chuckle rattled through Jinx’s ribcage. ‘Guess I’m the villain here, huh?’ Her aggression put on its marching boots, and out into battle it went. ‘And then there’s you: Vi, the White Knight… Defending Caitlyn’s honour like that, anyone’d think you were still married.’

‘Jinx,’ Vi warned, puppy dog face ready to bite. ‘Don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’

Unleashing a wide grin that didn’t reach her eyes, she stared up at her sister. A challenge. If Vi dared to stare back, Jinx would see her sister’s conflicting tenderness for Caitlyn and the love she’d lost. The love Seraphine, with all her sweet smiles and naïve sentiments, could never replace. In turn, Vi would see Jinx’s Shimmer eyes. The failure they held.

Vi looked away. Challenge lost.

‘I’m only pointing out the facts,’ Jinx said. ‘Seraphine was in that kitchen, just like Caitlyn, yet whose defence did White Knight Vi instantly jump to?’

‘Jinx.’ Vi said her name like a broken prayer. ‘Stop.’

‘Not your precious fiancée’s,’ she pouted. ‘Nope. You’re still stuck on Caitlyn… Caitlyn, Caitlyn, Caitlyn.’

‘Stop!’

‘Why? Because I’m right?’

‘No. You’re wrong.’

‘Whatever you say, sis.’

She leaned back, gazed up at the cherry blossoms. They framed Vi’s head like a halo. Like her sister was an angel.

Angel. Caitlyn called Jinx that. Like she didn’t know her at all. Jinx was so fucking far from angelic. And she could prove it.

‘Did you know there used to be a pool out here?’ A cruel delight bubbled at the back of her throat. ‘Pretty sure your Serrie first went down on me by that pool…’ She narrowed her eyes at the pained frown creasing Vi’s face. ‘What a memory, huh?’

A lie. She remembered no such thing, just wanted to see Vi’s reaction when she said it. You know. Because she was such an angel.

With sombre eyes and a clenched jaw, brewing with fury, Vi looked Jinx dead on.

‘Are you…’ Vi glared. ‘Are you high right now?’

And there it was, that all-important question, at long fucking last.

No point denying it. Someone needed to see. Someone who might’ve tried to stop her. Shame it had to be Vi. But Vi was her big sister. She cared… right?

Maybe, if she told Vi how she felt, how she’d spiralled in the past months, Vi could help her get back on track? She’d force her to go cold turkey on the drugs and drag her back to Heimerdinger, and everything would be okay. Sure, it wouldn’t be easy, but she wanted to get better. Vi could help her get better, couldn’t she?

‘Guess the cat’s out of the bag.’ Jinx played it careless, but Vi would see. Vi would see her act, and she would know, and she would help. ‘Did you really think I’d survive this party sober?’  

‘Wow, I, I can’t…’ Vi’s tone flatlined, icy and detached. ‘I can’t believe this.’

Her nostrils flared in anguish. Hands flew to her head, clawed at her hair, messed it up, nearly ripped it out. Typical Vi meltdown. The only thing missing was violence. Vi liked to break stuff. Plates, chairs, noses. Whatever her fists found first.

‘I can’t put up with that shit again.’ Vi’s voice shrivelled into hopelessness, gearing towards an explosion. ‘I can’t… I can’t.’

Jinx brought her knees to her chest and cradled herself.

‘It’s not gonna be like before,’ she tried to argue. A pathetic, futile sentiment. ‘Things’re… weird for me… right now.’ Her voice sounded brittle, like she had a chest infection. ‘I… I need help…’

‘Save it. I don’t wanna hear it.’ Vi lowered her hands to her sides and half-snickered with scorn. ‘It’s always the same with you.’

Before Jinx could utter another word, Vi left. Off to find a good place to sulk and work off her temper.

Jinx cackled at the sight. Vi, twenty-nine going on twelve, brooding at her own damn party. Abandoning her troubled little sister for the umpteenth time. Vander would’ve been so proud. What a fighter. Ha! The more jarring and upsetting the moment became, the more erratic Jinx’s giggling fit. Tears flew down her cheeks as she belted out furious, broken rasps of twisted glee.

Time to go home. Avoidance. The only real choice all along. There was nothing left for her there but more of the same bullshit. Never should’ve gone in the first place.

She tore up the path, scanning the green for an easier exit. A high fence surrounded the garden, blocking it off form the street out front. The only way out was through. Fuck.

She leapt onto the veranda, skipping the steps. Her legs itched with adrenaline. Cheeks flared hot. Braids whipped at her back.

The revellers inside chuckled and drank and slow-danced like everything was fine. Like there wasn’t a tornado ripping its way through them.

She pinched another drink. Something dark and carbonated left idle by the buffet table, next to a bowl of cheese puffs. Cheese puffs at a stuck-up event like that? Vi had some sway, after all. She grabbed a handful. Stuffed them into her mouth and downed the drink. Wood smoke and syrupy soda flooded her tongue. Whisky and coke. Not her favourite, but it did the trick. Satiated, she carried on through the throng.

The room seemed smaller. Packed to the gills. Were there more people or was she more out of it? Her breaths came quick and tight. Couldn’t inhale enough air to make a difference. Stumbling through the fog of faces and bodies, she clutched at her chest.

Shimmer. She needed Shimmer. But she couldn’t focus. Couldn’t escape. Couldn’t remember where the exit was.

‘Jinx?’ Ekko. Where had he come from? ‘Jinx? Hey. Look at me.’

She did as he asked. Focused on the walnut brown of his eyes. The shock of peroxide in his brows and locs. The warmth of his face, the kindness held there.

Boy Saviour to the rescue, like old times.

She glanced down at the rest of him. Huh. He hadn’t worn a suit. Classic Ekko. His oversized t-shirt and jeans with chains hanging off them stood out just as much as she did. Thank fuck. He felt like home. Like the real Zaun. She leaned into him, letting him support most of her weight.

‘I’ve got you,’ he said. ‘You’re having a panic attack, but you’re going to be okay.’

He lay his hands flat on her shoulders. Him and his grounding techniques. Her own, shaking hands found his forearms and squeezed. Muscle and bone held firm beneath her grip.

‘Try to steady your breathing. In… out. In… out.’

The party dissolved into background static as she tried to follow his lead. In through her nose, out through her mouth. Always took a while to work. Rapid breaths and tears were all she had.

Her nails dug into his arm. Must’ve hurt, but he didn’t let it show.

After a shuddery start, her breathing levelled out a bit.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘You’re doing good.’

She kept on. Measured breaths.

He guided her away from the crowd, into an empty chair. Her clunky boots poked off the edge of the seat as her body constricted around itself like a snake.

‘What happened?’ He asked, crouching to her line of sight.

Too soon. She shook her head. Couldn’t talk. Buried her face in her knees.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘It’s gonna be okay, Jinx. Breathe… I’ve got you.’

‘Is she alright?’ A soft voice from the fray whispered. Or was it a yell?

Jinx couldn’t decipher. Probably some nosy randomer. Didn’t matter.

Breathe.

‘She will be,’ Ekko told the voice. Sounded like he knew them.

‘What’s wrong with her?’

Why did everyone always ask that?

Wait, that voice was different. Slick. Like honey.

‘Jinx?’ The first voice spoke louder. Closer to her.

‘She’ll be fine, Cait.’

Caitlyn?

Her heart rate doubled. She slapped her hands over her ears.

Not her. Not now. No, no, no, no, no, no, no—

‘Don’t crowd her,’ Ekko said. ‘She needs time… You’re here with someone?’

‘Mel Medarda, Caitlyn’s plus-one.’ Searing syrup dripped like lava into Jinx’s ears. ‘And you are?’

‘A friend of Vi’s.’ Ekko spoke with tight-fisted reservation. Animosity simmered.

Him and the upper-crust didn’t mix. He only stomached Caitlyn because of Vi, and even then, they’d had their fair share of disagreements.

‘Plus-one, huh?’

‘Platonically, of course.’ // ‘We’re just friends.’

Caitlyn and Medarda spoke in unison, spinning their little lies. They could deny it all they wanted, but Jinx knew what she saw in that kitchen. Where Medarda’s hands freely roamed. Friends didn’t touch like that.

‘Okay, well, whoever you are, you should go. I’ve got this.’

‘Ekko—’

‘Cait, I’ve got this.’ His voice raised an octave. Resolute. Protective. ‘Enjoy the party.’

‘He’s right,’ Medarda said. ‘She’s in good hands. Come on.’

A beat passed. Then another.

‘Come on, Cait.’

‘No. No, I’m staying.’ Caitlyn really was stubborn, huh? ‘Mel, go and find Jayce and Viktor. Tell them I’ve gone home early. Shouldn’t be too hard to convince them.’

‘…what?’

‘Please.’

‘Cait—’

‘Just do it,’ Caitlyn insisted. ‘I’ll make it up to you. Lunch, or something.’

‘You’d better.’

Heels clicked away into the distant din. Only Caitlyn and Ekko left.

Why didn’t Caitlyn leave with Mel? What kept her there?

‘Let’s go.’ The words came fast and sweet.

Go? Go where? With her!?

‘What?’ Ekko asked, equally confused.

‘My house is a few minutes down the road,’ Caitlyn explained.

No, no, no.

‘It’s quiet there. No people, no stimulation.’

Oh.

‘I won’t bother her. She’ll be able to relax, be alone.’

Shimmer! Maybe even Fade and a long nap? Oh, the possibilities!

‘If she feels better later, she can easily come back here to see Vi… if she wants.’

Nope. Never again, thanks.

Ekko sighed. Loud. Unimpressed.

‘It makes more sense than taking her all the way back to The Lanes, that’s all,’ Caitlyn reasoned. ‘I’ll look after her, Ekko. You’re the one who needs to stay; you’re best man.’

Oh, sure. Caitlyn was so practical and thoughtful. Nothing in it for her. Nothing she might’ve wanted from Jinx, just the two of them in that big gross house of hers.

Did she still want her after last time? How desperate was she?

Whatever. Didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Not even Vi.

In fact, Vi topped the goddamn list of things that didn’t matter.

Was there a prize for being the worst fucking sister in the world? Was there some competition Jinx didn’t know about? How many times did Vi plan on letting her down and bailing when she needed her most? They’d hummed along to that tune for way too long. Decades. It was a fucking hobby at that point. Recreational abandonment. Drilled into her brain.

Vi left. Vi always left. Jinx thought for once she might’ve stayed. Might’ve tried. Might’ve helped. But no. Of course not. That wasn’t their song. Their song was Vi leaving.

Why did Jinx always let her go?

Sing a different song, Jinx. Sing a different song. Without Vi. Just Jinx. Alone. Carefree. High as a cloud.

As long as Jinx could get good and high once they’d left, Caitlyn could do as she pleased. Argue with her. Fuck her. Chop her up and dump her in the Pilt. Whatever the lady wished. Hell, Jinx would take requests. As long as she got what she wanted out of it.

‘Cait, I appreciate your concern for my best friend, but with the greatest of respect—’

‘I’ll go.’ Did she say that? Was that her voice? The words flew out before she thought them.

‘You’ll go?’ Ekko asked in disbelief. ‘With her…? Jinx, I can easily take you.’

‘I said I’ll go.’

She unfurled like a cat stretching awake. Stood and enveloped Ekko in the biggest goodbye hug her small arms could manage.

‘You gonna be okay?’ He worried into her hair. ‘It’s Caitlyn. Kiramman…’

‘Yeah, I know who it is,’ she snickered into his ear. ‘I’ll be fine. She’s right. Makes more sense this way.’

‘I guess, but… you really wanna go?’

Of everyone in her life, Ekko would’ve understood her reasoning even less than Vi. She couldn’t explain why she was willing to leave with the enemy. Tightened her hold around him instead.

‘You really need to stop worrying about me.’ She pulled away and squished his cheeks, just like she did when they were kids. ‘But thanks, dude… I owe you.’

‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Just answer the next time I call, okay? I miss you.’

They didn’t usually speak so openly. She didn’t know what to do with his feelings. He missed her. Okay. Why? What did he expect her to do about that? She couldn’t change. Couldn’t answer his calls or reply to his texts. Not lately. Never consistently. His feelings on the issue just seemed… redundant.

Maybe that made her heartless, or a bitch. She’d done and thought worse. Much worse. Not concerning Ekko, though. He was good to her.

She swallowed her apathy and smiled. ‘Miss you too. We’ll hang out soon.’

Did he know she didn’t mean it?

Ekko opened his mouth to reply but she left before the words came. Gathered her bearings enough to find the exit.

When Caitlyn joined her outside, Jinx studied the ground. The glare of the tarmac. The obsidian black of her boots. She couldn’t look up. Couldn’t risk the sight of Caitlyn’s face in the blinding evening sun.

They walked on.

 ***

 ‘Jinx?’

She didn’t reply. Bolted ahead. Walked and walked and walked. Too fast for Caitlyn to keep up. Not in her heels, at least.

‘Jinx, please… slow down!’

Caitlyn’s whines propelled Jinx forwards. Faster and faster.

‘Why are you constantly running or pushing me away?’

Jinx barrelled down the road like a missile cutting through the sky.

‘I just want to help you,’ Caitlyn protested. ‘Let me help you!’

‘Help me!?’ Jinx exploded with a fierce screech. Stopped still in the street and turned to confront the source of the complaints. ‘Why!? You think I need to be looked after like I’m some dumb kid?’

In her rage, she dared to look at that face. The low-hanging sun obscured most of it, but Caitlyn’s lips remained visible, open, imploring mercy.

Caitlyn moved forward a few paces, out of the light’s path, and the rest of her features came clear. Jinx couldn’t look away, but she wanted to. Needed to.

‘No,’ Caitlyn urged. ‘Of course not, I—’

‘I can take care of myself,’ Jinx spat. ‘Been doing it since I was eighteen.’ Since they took Silco away. ‘Didn’t need anybody back then, and I sure as shit don’t now. Especially not you.’

‘I, I didn’t mean—’

‘Save it. We both know the real reason you swept in tonight. Taking me back to your place because it’s so close by?’ She snorted in disgust. ‘You’re pathetic.’

Jinx spun back around and resumed her strides. Caitlyn’s footsteps followed, more quickly this time, a fresh determination in her gait.

‘If that’s what you think, why agree to come with me?’

Jinx smirked at the question. ‘I dunno. Maybe I’m pathetic too? Maybe I don’t give a fuck?’

‘Bullshit.’

‘Bullshit!?’ She bit. Venom laced her tongue as she looked back at Caitlyn once again.

The gap between them grew smaller and smaller. Part of her ached to close it completely. To pull Caitlyn in by her neck and break it. Break her, like she’d broken Jinx.

‘You wanna know what’s really bullshit, Caitlyn? Your totally platonic plus-one. You and Mel Medarda are just friends, huh?’

‘We are just friends.’

‘Stop lying!’

‘I’m not!’

‘You were eye-fucking each other all night! She touched your back like she fucking owned you, and you only moved away when you saw me standing there. Caught in the act.’

‘The act? What act!?’

Oh, Jinx needed to get a proper glimpse of Caitlyn’s face. How it distorted and crumpled and lied, lied, lied. She needed to see it in vivid detail.

In a flash of speed, she lunged forwards, leaving just a few inches between their panting bodies. Caitlyn’s heavy breath ruffled the stray hairs on Jinx’s face. Her dark blue eyes shone, nervous and determined and furious. Her lips puckered, ready to fight.

‘Jinx, I don’t know what you think you saw, but—’

‘I told you. She touched you!’

Her hands moved in sync with her words and reached out, grabbed onto Caitlyn’s shoulders. The elastic straps of that killer mauve dress and the warmth of Caitlyn’s skin sizzled beneath her fingertips.

She flinched. Pulled away before she could adjust to the sensation. Met Caitlyn’s questioning gaze. Blinked off into the distance.

‘Sometimes friends are tactile with each other,’ Caitlyn reasoned. With a shiver, she wrapped her arms around her torso. ‘It doesn’t have to mean anything.’

‘And when we—’ Shut up, Jinx. Shut up. ‘Did that mean anything?’

‘…how can you ask me that?’ Caitlyn’s voice splintered. Wounded.

Good. She wanted Caitlyn to feel just as lost and hurt as she did.

‘I’m just a little confused, Cait,’ Jinx pressed, callous and taunting and insistent. ‘Which touches mean what? How many of your other so-called friends are all over you like that? I can tell you my answer. None. People don’t touch me intimately like that unless I’m fucking them.’

‘And Ekko?’ Caitlyn countered. Her words brimmed with a calm self-assurance. ‘When he held you… was that not intimate?’

‘That’s different.’

‘Is it? I don’t think so.’

‘He’s my best friend and I was having a panic attack.’

‘I know,’ Caitlyn maintained. ‘You needed support, and he was there to help you, to comfort you… what you witnessed with Mel was the exact same thing.’

Jinx’s head spun. Caitlyn could play her like a violin. She felt insane. She knew what she saw in that kitchen.

‘Liar!’ She screamed. ‘Why the fuck are you lying about this!? Just admit it!’

‘It’s the truth, Jinx. I’m not lying.’ Caitlyn stepped closer. Too close. Not close enough. ‘But even if I was dating Mel, why would you care?’

‘I wouldn’t.’ Her voice cracked.

‘No?’ Caitlyn half-smirked. ‘You’re not jealous then?’

‘Of Mel stuck-up bitch Medarda?’ Jinx’s mocking tone had nobody fooled. ‘As if,’ she added sheepishly.

Caitlyn snickered and bridged their distance even further. Took hold of the lapels on Jinx’s jacket, stared down at the leather in her grip and smiled.

‘I didn’t want to go tonight. I thought going with Mel—a friend—might help. I told her how shitty and weird I felt about it. She reassured me…’

Caitlyn’s tentative hands slipped under Jinx’s jacket. Clammy against Jinx’s skin, they slithered over the ridge of her collarbone, up to her neck.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Only feel. Hot, sticky feelings. She burnt up in Caitlyn’s orbit. A fever ignited her skin, obliterated her senses. Heat and discomfort were all she had left. She wanted to run away and never look back, but Caitlyn kept her still, transfixed.

‘In the kitchen,’ Caitlyn continued. ‘What you saw… Mel sensed my discomfort at the topic of conversation and reached out to help me through it.’

She cupped Jinx’s face like it was porcelain. Delicate and breakable and precious. Fingers ghosted over her jawline, hovered over her cheeks. Eyes darted between lips and pupils.

‘A friend supporting a friend… that’s all it was.’

‘And then?’ Jinx gulped. ‘When you saw me, you didn’t even react. You didn’t… you didn’t care.’

‘Jinx, I was in shock.’ Resentment flickered beneath Caitlyn’s mask of composure. She applied more pressure to the pads of her fingertips, holding Jinx’s face with more force, more gumption. ‘I had no idea you’d be there. It’s been six months. Six months since…’

Caitlyn didn’t complete her sentence, but Jinx got the gist.

‘Since the biggest mistake of your life.’ She gritted her teeth in a mad grin. ‘Must’ve been a really rough time for you, crying on Mel Medarda’s perfect golden shoulder.’

‘That’s not…’ Caitlyn’s eyes emptied. ‘It’s been hell.’

‘So dramatic,’ Jinx drawled. ‘Why? Can’t live with yourself knowing you fucked Vi’s crazy little sister?’

‘Oh, the guilt over Vi has been the easy part, believe me!’

Caitlyn lowered her hands, away from Jinx’s face. Not ready to lose contact, Jinx locked their fingers together and brought Caitlyn back to her. Held her hands fixed to her cheeks, so tight it might’ve bruised. Edging a fraction closer, Jinx tilted up on her tippy toes and bumped their noses together. Caitlyn shuddered and leaned into the embrace, closed her eyes.

‘And the hard part?’ Jinx muttered.

‘Take a wild guess.’

‘Tell me.’

‘We connected, Jinx.’ Caitlyn’s voice wobbled. Her eyes flickered back open. ‘Then you disappeared, and I didn’t know why. I still don’t know.’

How could Jinx describe it? Show Caitlyn the fucking DSM-5 and highlight all the relevant sections? Her myriad issues weren’t easy to explain, even if Caitlyn had a vague grasp on a few of them. In that moment, Jinx had neither the mental capacity nor the resolve to fill in the blanks or accept accountability for her fuck-up. Whether Caitlyn liked it or not, that conversation had to come later.

‘What did you mean?’ Caitlyn’s voice tremored, her lips shaking on the cusp of tears. ‘All those things you said to me before I left… what did you mean?’

‘I don’t have the words.’ She sighed. Twirled Caitlyn’s silky ponytail round and round in her idle fingers. ‘It’s complicated. Bad brain shit, y’know?’

‘Yeah. I know.’ For a second, Caitlyn’s gaze darted to Jinx’s lips. ‘Do you ever think about it…? That night.’

Their eyes met, willing the other to be gentle and honest.

‘…all the time,’ Jinx whispered.

A few tears broke the threshold of Caitlyn’s tight-lined lashes and rolled down her cheeks, clashing with her understated make-up.

‘Same,’ Caitlyn sniffed.

‘…do you think about me when you’re fucking Medarda?’ The question landed on the flirtatious side of sarcastic. Jinx chuckled, hoping Caitlyn would see the funny side before more tears fell.

‘Again: just friends,’ Caitlyn insisted for the hundredth time. But it did the trick. Suppressing laughter of her own, Caitlyn leant down and bumped Jinx’s nose again.

Their lips grazed slightly on impact. Jinx swallowed a moan at the full-body tingle that followed, fighting the urge to pounce and devour.

Out in the open like that, anyone could’ve walked past and seen them. People heading home from the party… Vi. Anyone.

She stepped back, reinstating personal space. Smiled meekly as Caitlyn’s face fell.

‘I almost told her, actually… about us,’ Caitlyn confessed.

‘Medarda? Why?’

‘I thought it might help.’ Caitlyn sidled up to the nearby hedgerow separating the street from someone’s front drive. Leant against the wall of tiny leaves and tiny branches. ‘I thought… maybe she’d understand and have some advice. I don’t know… something to help me sleep a bit better at night.’

‘Her pussy doesn’t help?’

‘Dear god, will these jokes never end?’

‘Who said they were jokes?’

‘They bloody better be!’

Caitlyn pushed away from the hedge. Swung her arms out wide and began pacing up and down the patch of street.

Jinx scoffed, digesting Caitlyn’s little outburst. Why did the concept of her and Mel hooking up bother her so much? If anyone should’ve been bothered, it was Jinx. But Caitlyn? Guilty conscience?

‘Why didn’t you tell Mel about us?’ Jinx had to ask. ‘Were you ashamed?’

‘No.’ Caitlyn folded her arms with another wave of hostility. Kept pacing. ‘We agreed. It’s no one else’s business.’

‘Right, so, you didn’t tell anyone?’

‘No one… Did you?’

‘Technically,’ she grimaced like a naughty school kid. ‘But my therapist doesn’t count.’

‘Your therapist,’ Caitlyn nodded in relief. ‘Of course.’

‘Who the fuck else would I have told?’ Jinx balked. ‘Have a little trust.’

‘Sorry, but it’s impossible to know with you sometimes.’ In contemplation, Caitlyn paused her steps. Stroked her hands over her smooth, slicked back hair. Held them in place above her head. ‘What did your therapist say?’

Staring at the armpits and side-boob on display, Jinx malfunctioned. Imagined burying her face in that flank of skin, biting down on the soft flesh and hard muscle. Her teeth would leave a red mark, glistening with saliva, spoiling the pallid landscape like blood on snow.

What did Heimerdinger say? Fuck, she couldn’t even remember her own damn name.

‘Sorry, I forgot.’ Caitlyn’s hands returned to her hips; trance broken. ‘No therapy talk.’

‘Oh… right…’ Jinx shook out her limbs. Bit her lips instead of Caitlyn’s body. ‘Well, doesn’t matter, anyway,’ she chuckled darkly. ‘I stopped going.’

‘Jinx.’

Caitlyn moved in closer again, reaching out for another embrace. Like all their problems could be solved by touching each other.

It didn’t work like that. Some issues could never be fixed.

‘Don’t.’ Jinx backed away, teetering on the kerb. ‘Don’t get all concerned and annoying. I’m fine.’

‘Yeah, you seem it.’

‘Ugh! If we’ve circled back to the whole wanting-to-help-me schtick, don’t fucking bother. You don’t know me, Caitlyn! Why the fuck d’you think you can help me!?’

Why was she still entertaining this? She needed Fade and a long bath, not the headache of a night spent one on one with this insufferable woman.

Once they reached the house, there’d be no chance to slink away, no alone time like Caitlyn had promised. They’d fall into bed and fuck until they passed out, or worse, stay up until dawn talking about their fucking feelings. The signs were all there. Desire and scrutiny manifested in sour words, blistering eye contact and enduring touches. A heady craving to consume and pick each other apart until only bones remained.

The road to Caitlyn’s only led to mistakes and pain. Before they left the party, Jinx thought she wanted it, or that she didn’t care, but the crisp evening air sobered her enough to make her doubt.

Maybe she’d call a cab and head home? Or walk? A couple hours’ exercise might’ve worked off the aching urge swimming low in her belly, teasing and wetting her core. Caitlyn sent her body into overdrive, chaotic and frenzied.

She needed calm. Quiet. Her own bed for the night. Her own space.

She shoved past Caitlyn. Tried to picture the route back to her apartment and block out the hurt and betrayal dashed across that beautiful Piltie face. Fuck. She had to pass the house, there was no other way. Unless she scaled the roofs and leapfrogged over the houses and buildings, there was no shortcut.

Wait, could she…? She’d always had a knack for climbing. Hmm. Maybe if she jacked up on Shimmer first? It would certainly make her bold enough to try.

Tempting… But nah. Jumping over the tops of buildings? Sounded like something from a fucking videogame. Whatever. She’d take her chances on the ground; couldn’t avoid it.

Onwards bound, right foot hovering mid-air, Caitlyn grabbed her wrist. Forced her to stay.

‘Okay,’ Caitlyn asserted. A tired rasp tugged at her voice.

‘Okay…?’

‘You’re right. I can’t help you.’

Caitlyn let go, and Jinx’s wrist flopped to her side. Free to run, she remained rooted.

She wanted to leave. Why the fuck couldn’t she leave?

‘But I care, Jinx. I care about you.’

Caitlyn cared? Even after Jinx fucked up. Had she forgiven her?

How much did she care? If Jinx ran, would she follow? Would she take off her heels and sprint barefoot across Zaun? If she saw Jinx getting high, would she stop her? Judge her? Storm off like Vi?

How far did that care extend? What could break it?

‘Please,’ Caitlyn urged. ‘Don’t push me away. Not again.’

‘Maybe I can’t help it? Ever think of that?’

‘No. You have more self-control than that.’

‘I really, really don’t.’

‘You can practice.’ God, Caitlyn really believed her own bullshit, didn’t she? ‘You can try. If you want to.’

‘Who’s to say I want to?’ Hands in her jacket pockets and a nasty scowl on her face, Jinx stepped into Caitlyn’s personal space. ‘Maybe I want nothing to do with you.’

‘Maybe.’ Caitlyn raised a sceptical brow, not intimidated in the least. ‘And maybe I’m fucking Mel.’

‘Why would you say that!?’ Jinx’s mouth fell open in shock at Caitlyn’s cruelty. She balled her fists and clenched her toes. She felt like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

‘Because it’s equally fucking ridiculous!’ Caitlyn laughed, shrill and abrupt.

‘What!?’

‘I swear to Janna, look at us, Jinx! What the fuck are we doing, arguing in the middle of the street like a couple of wankers!?’

‘Wankers? Speak for yourself.’ A new wind of sarcastic asshole ripped through her. She giggled, short and sharp. ‘…or not. I guess Mel’s been a real help in that area.’

‘Fucking hell!’ Caitlyn doubled over in a throaty cackle, hands on her knees. ‘I missed this. I actually missed this!’ The stream of chuckles continued as she straightened back up and started pacing again. ‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’

‘What d’you want? A list?’

‘What do I want?’ Caitlyn mimicked. ‘Well, I don’t fucking want Mel, for starters!’

‘You don’t?’ Jinx didn’t believe it. ‘You have eyes, right? They work?’

‘Shut the fuck up! Yes, they work!’

Jinx held her hands up in surrender. ‘Just asking.’

‘They work,’ Caitlyn repeated. Took a second to level out her breathing. ‘You just… you have no idea what they see.’ She clutched her hands to her head again. Squeezed her skull. Her gaze stuck on Jinx; eyed her up and down. ‘You haven’t got a clue, have you?’

Jinx couldn’t stand it. Looked back at her boots. ‘…about?’

‘About me! About how I feel!’

‘I’m sensing anger.’

‘Oh, my fucking god, I could strangle you! You’re infuriating, did you know that!?’

‘It’s been said.’

‘You are. You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met! You’re intolerable, rude, thoughtless, reckless… You treat everyone around you like pieces of shit!’

‘I know.’

Jinx throbbed at Caitlyn’s words. That ol’ degradation kink, working its magic. She glanced back up. Studied the blind fury and unquestionable lust of Caitlyn’s dilated, shaking pupils, flushed cheeks, neck and chest aflame. A wide grin bloomed.

‘And yet, you missed me.’ The grin became a breezy laugh.

‘Oh, I wish I didn’t!’ Caitlyn wailed.

Jinx’s laughter receded to silence. There was Caitlyn, offloading all this pain and frustration, and Jinx got off on it. God, she was such a fucked-up asshole.

‘I wish I didn’t miss you!’ Caitlyn continued. ‘I wish… I wish that just one day during these past six months wasn’t wasted on missing you.’ Ouch. ‘Fuck it, one hour. One minute… You’re all I’ve thought about.’

‘…why?’ Jinx fractured. Not quite there, not anymore.

‘Because I like you, you complete and utter dickhead!’

‘Caitlyn.’ A helpless snicker passed Jinx’s lips. She hugged her arms tight around her torso. Stared back down at her boots and the concrete below, more reluctant to look at that face than ever before. ‘You’re supposed to be smarter than that.’

‘Well, I’m not!’

‘Clearly.’

Fuck, she really needed to leave. Go. Just fucking go.

‘See, now, this would be the part where you say you like me back, you know… so I don’t feel like such an idiot.’

Move! ‘Yeah…’ Fucking move! Get out of there!

Jinx took one last glance at Caitlyn’s face, marred by tears. The water made her eyes infinitely bluer. They dazzled like crystals. Like the sea at sunrise reflecting light.

Her fingers itched to wipe the tears away, but the rest of her wailed and howled in protest.

She’s too perfect. Don’t do this again. Don’t ruin her. Just go!

Numbness welcomed her like a friend. She looked towards the road. The way back to herself.

Go home. Get safe. Get high. Forget this ever happened.

And so, she did. She walked so fast she almost sprinted. Caitlyn’s cries died with the distance.

The second she could, she filled her tub with hot water and her brain with Fade. She didn’t want to feel. Didn’t want to remember. Didn’t want to exist.

Asleep in the sanctuary of an endless bath, her head emptied to all but a few vital memories.

Her mother’s laugh… Vi’s piggy back rides… the warming tobacco of Silco’s cigars… Caitlyn’s infinite blue.

[thebigqueer]

Solangelo - "Promise?" - One-Shot

Summary: Will and Nico are in Tartarus, and Will's hurt.

TW: slightly graphic description (just cuts); SPOILERS: Tower of Nero

Word Count: 1595

Read on AO3

Heat pulses in the air, boils over Will’s skin, strips him of his stamina. The world is tilting around him, and he can’t find a place to keep himself steady. His knees fall to the ground. He’s helpless, tired, done. He just wants to lie down and never get up again.

Distantly, a desperate voice calls his name, but he can barely comprehend what it’s saying. He’s drifting from consciousness, drifting from reality. Exhaustion pulls at his eyes and he has to fight to keep himself awake. It’s possibly the hardest battle he’s had to deal with, even after going against a countless number of monsters.

The voice is louder now, calling to him, but he’s falling into unconsciousness. The ground rocks his body back and forth, but he doesn’t have the energy to stand up.

And soon he gives himself up to the darkness. He’s done.

~

Ever since Will’s collapse, anxiety and guilt has been eating at Nico’s heart like a parasite. He knows that Will will be alright - Bob and Damasen told him so - but even then, he can’t help the churning in his stomach, the nervousness in his blood. Every time he looks at Will lying in the bed, with his curls plastered to his forehead and gashes all over his body, with his eyes scrunched in pain, a spiked rope pulls at Nico’s heart and makes him lose his breath.

Lucky for both of them, Nico was able to fight off the dracanae just in time for Will to pass out. He tried to call the blond’s name, to keep him awake for just a few more moments, but he was falling too far. Just as the last dracanae fell, so did Will, and for a few very long moments, Nico almost believed he’d lost his boyfriend forever.

Then Bob leaned down and picked him up, checked up on his breathing, and assured Nico that he was alive - just barely.

So together, with Will dangling over the shoulder of the Titan, they ventured further through the boiling depths of Tartarus, down to the small house of Damasen. All the while, Nico’s heart thudded in his chest. He and Will had barely eaten anything, and while Nico didn’t even have the appetite, he knew that if he didn’t get something soon he’d be pretty much useless.

Now, as Will and Nico reside in Damsen’s house and Bob helps the other giant to make food for the boys, the son of Hades finally takes the time to destress. He knows that this relief from the depths of Tartarus will only be short-lived, but he’s grateful to have it anyway.

He just needs the time. He needs. He needs. What does he need? He needs space. He needs to think.

Being back in Tartarus hasn’t been easy on him. But Nico supposes he was expecting that anyway.

There’s a constant buzz underneath his skin, simmering over his muscles, and he just wants to run, run, run from here. Why is he here? Why did he do this? Oh, yes. It was Bob. He needs to save Bob. Bob. Bob. Bob.

Nico’s mind feels on edge, curling in over itself. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be here.

Taking a deep breath, he steps over to Will’s limp body, taking his pale hand into his own. Heat emanates from his body, and not the comfortable kind - it’s feverish, red, painful. Gazing up at Will’s face, Nico’s breath hitches. Sweat gleams over him in the firelight and a greenish tint has come over his skin. His curls no longer look soft and golden - they look pale and bleached, like he’s been dyeing it over and over. His body has thinned out so much that Nico is almost convinced even a puff of air will blow him away.

Will whimpers in his sleep, begging for mercy from all the new nightmares, all the new fears. He looks so pitiful. Tears prick Nico’s eyes.

The son of Hades runs his hands over the gashes on Will’s body, starting from the bandages on his shoulder and forearm. The blond flinches and hisses, so Nico lets go, afraid of causing him more harm than he needs to. Instead he turns to the slashes against his torso, running his fingers over the ripped fabric of his orange CHB T-shirt. Blood soaks through them, green tinging the edges of the wounds. Nico grimaces.

Nico sighs and rests his head against Will’s shoulder. The heat of his skin spreads into the son of Hades, down to his very core, and his heartbeat quickens even more. He sighs. “I’m sorry, my love,” Nico whispers softly, pulling his fingers into the dampened curls on Will’s head. “I hate seeing you like this. You don’t deserve any of this pain.”

Will doesn’t answer. But as Nico speaks, the crease between his eyebrows lessens its strain, just for a little bit, and a trickle of relief drops into Nico’s body. At least he’s still semi-conscious.

Nico stands and releases his hold on Will. He starts wandering around the little cottage, soaking up the terrifying familiarity of the place. The glow of the fire, the scorching heat, the scent of smoke and meat. His eyes land over Damasen and Bob, and suddenly he remembers why he’s here.

“Bob,” he says, but his voice is scratchy and dry. “Oh, gods, Bob.”

The Titan looks up, fixing his silver eyes on the son of Hades. Seeing him, a wave of emotions flows in Nico’s stomach, catches up to his chest, rises up his throat. He rushes over.

“Bob, listen,” he chokes out. “You have to come back with us. I… I’m sure that you’re the one who’s been calling to me. I’m here to take you out of here. You… you don’t deserve life in Tartarus.” Then Nico fixes his stare to Damsen, who’s watching Nico with pitiful eyes. “You either. You both deserve the outside world. You both deserve to see the sun, breathe fresh air, to… to live.” He staggers forward, forcing urgency into his voice. “You need to. You helped us, and now it’s our turn to help you. Will you come?”

Damasen and Bob turn to each other, carrying a conversation between their eyes. Bob’s mouth curls into a frown.

“Nico,” he says, almost as if tasting how familiar the name is in his mouth. “Tartarus is hard to get out of. Bob isn’t sure… The last two demigods tried and failed. It is not worth bringing Bob up.”

Dread trickles down Nico’s throat. He blinks. “What? But… weren’t you the one sending me the voices?” Confusion pricks his head, threading itself into his thoughts. “Who else could it have been?”

Before either Damasen or Bob can reply, though, a soft moan echoes from somewhere behind. With a start, Nico realizes it’s Will. He jumps and rushes over, anxiety pulling his hard into a chokehold.

“Will!” he exclaims, placing his hand over the blond’s bicep. “Hey, are you awake? Can you hear me?”

Will groans. “Pain,” he mutters. “Help.”

Nico presses his hands to Will’s curls in a hurried attempt to try something to soothe him. “Is there anything you want?” he asks. “Like, something you need?”

“I want… up.”

It takes a moment for Nico to realize he means to sit up. He entangles his right hand with one of Will’s own feverish ones and uses his other arm to guide him into a sitting position. With a lot of struggle and hissing from the blond, the boys manage to get him into a more comfortable position.

As soon as Will’s sitting up, he groans and holds a hand to his head. “Ow.”

Nico bends on his knees and balances his fingers over Will’s jaw, tilting his face just a little. “How are you feeling?”

Will only offers a hum of disagreement, which Nico takes to mean he doesn’t feel good. “Nico, it… hurts.”

“Your cuts?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah, I know. But we put salve on them the moment you got here. It’s much less now than it was then, trust me.”

A look of doubt flashes across Will’s eyebrows but he says nothing more. He only pulls into Nico’s body, looking for some kind of refuge from the cruelty around him. Nico wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s shoulders, and for a second Will’s found himself in bliss again, safe from the world around him. He rests his aching head against the son of Hades’ shoulder and sighs. Nico’s own skin feels feverishly warm, but at this point, Will doesn’t care. He just needs to know that he isn’t alone.

“Nico?” he whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry you had to go through any of this in the first place.”

Nico’s body flinches at his words. Then gentle fingers slide down Will’s back. “It’s okay. At least this time we’re together, right?”

“Nico?”

“Mhm?”

“Don’t let me go here. I promised you we’ll ride or die together, and that’s what I intend. Just… don’t leave me, okay? And I won’t leave you. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“One more promise.”

“What?”

Will raises his head, his glazed eyes trying to catch a hold of Nico’s. “We’re only riding. We’re not dying. Promise me that.”

Guilt flashes against Nico’s face. “Will, I-”

“Even if you can’t promise, at least lie. Make it sound like the truth.” Hot tears scorch Will’s eyes. “Please,” he urges.

Nico nods and pulls Will to him again. “We’re not dying. We’ll make it out of here, my love. I promise you that.”

[artificialqueens]

Thats Not Me (Inti/Arantxa) - Winter

a/n: this came about bc of a mix of love for drag race espana and the representation on that season, my love for arantxa and inti and my own experiences with dysphoria, TW for description of body issues, body and gender dysphoria. also sorry if it gets confusing, I use she/they pronouns for arantxa and they/them for inti :)

I hope people enjoy this, it's pretty personal to be posting something like this but hopefully it can be enjoyed :)

thanks to mina for betaing, couldn't do it without you :)

ao3 link

Inti stared ahead blankly, not sure what they were seeing anymore.

That wasn’t them, that couldn’t be them, absolutely nothing felt right. This body — it wasn’t theirs, it hurt to see. Things faded around them, the corners of their vision growing blurry and faded. The room felt like a black hole, sucking them deeper into torment at what they felt. It was uncomfortably constant, seeing that sent an otherwise good day into pure hell.

They wanted nothing more than to shed this prison, it felt like a punishment for something that they couldn’t help. How could one’s body be so wrong, nothing felt right it all was too much to cope with—

“Inti?” That angelic voice rang through the clouds, pulling them from the desperate depths, giving them the air they needed to survive. Arantxa looked worried, prodding their side trying to get any sign of life.

They breathed in, trying to steady themselves. It wouldn’t take much to veer her off the questions Inti could feel coming. Sometimes they envied their partner, so carefree most of the time, happy with their body and not craving to change it to feel like themself.

“Who is this?” They spoke shakily, staring back into the mirror at the person before them. They couldn’t recognise them as hard as they looked. Nothing felt right. Everything was overwhelming, plunging, sinking deeper into this burning dread.

“It doesn’t feel like you?” Arantxa questioned softly, hands slowly moving to rub their back. Inti blinked back at her, trying to sort through her thoughts.

How did she always know exactly what the problem was? It was as if they lived the same experience. They definitely dealt with similar things, but the smaller blonde just seemed to know what was happening without the torture of trying to verbalise it.

Inti could only nod, letting themself fall into the supportive grip of the one they loved. In their arms, they felt like they were floating though now it was mixed with the torment of reality.

It always came back to this, the lingering pain of existence. The promise it would get better feeling fleeting the more they saw of this tainted world.

They had a light, someone to cling to. It hurt, but she was always there, ready to support and loving no matter how they felt. Sometimes Inti wondered how the world could create someone as pure as Arantxa, she rarely seemed phased by any of life’s challenges, going along with things as they came and always smiling, even at their worst moments.

They’d asked before, how she stayed so bright in the painful depths Inti walked. She just shrugged, claiming to just not take things seriously, enjoying who she was without more to it.

There was a pang of jealousy, that someone could look at themselves and just accept it, no flaws hurting them, just going along with how they are and not feel detached and pained by their physical form. But just as they envied the blonde, they valued her even more. Having a force so very full of love right beside you, it was magical. She was etherial to their pained eyes, a creature that someone blessed the world she lived in while deserving so much more than it was capable of giving her.

That was their motivation during the darkest of times, wanting to give her a fraction of what she deserved. Hold her gently and be the one to kiss her goodnight, it kept them hanging on.

  “I love you.” Her voice barely above a whisper, Arantxa ran a hand through Inti’s hair before pressing a kiss to their forehead.

They could only let out a small hum, though their angel could still comprehend it.

Arantxa let Inti stay in her arms as long as they needed, knowing how much it hurt to feel this way. No one deserved to suffer this way, it hurt their heart to see someone they treasured so deeply in such pain. She felt powerless against it sometimes but resolved to stay by their side, offering whatever she could to help her beloved partner just as they had helped her figure out the complexities of identity.

Inti moved their head, facing the mirror once again with a sullen expression.

“This doesn’t feel right, where do I even start?”

Arantxa looked thoughtful for a second before her eyes lit up, at the best of times that was a sign to be wary but she looked so sure of herself that Inti couldn’t help but follow her lead and she grabbed their hand and pulled them into their room.

She sat them on the bed, away from the view of any reflections, and rushed to open a drawer, pulling out something with an accomplished huff as she puffed her chest out.

“We can get rid of it for now, though don’t sleep with it on, we can figure something else out for tonight.” Arantxa handed the binder to Inti, helping them through the right arm straps to compress their chest.

“Make sure you pull them up, so you don’t damage your chest.” She chimed as they just about got the binder on, Inti nodded, glancing down at their chest with a pained look.

Arantxa slowly moved her hands, making her actions clear as day if they needed to be stopped. She tilted Inti’s head up, kissing them to distract from her readjusting their breasts into a safer position.

“Does this look better?” She asked, watching as inti looked over themselves in the mirror, eyes scanning every inch of their body for all minor details

“That’s me.” They nodded, relief flooding through them at not having to see the cause of this panic. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but when the lights went out they could cope, especially with someone with them every step of the way always ready to help and shower them with love no matter how they felt about their body.

[alittlebitgoofy]

that’s not me. (inti/arantxa)

this came about bc of a mix of love for drag race espana and the representation on that season, my love for arantxa and inti and my own experiences with dysphoria, TW for description of body issues, body and gender dysphoria. also sorry if it gets confusing, I use she/they pronouns for arantxa and they/them for inti :)

I hope people enjoy this, it's pretty personal to be posting something like this but hopefully it can be enjoyed :)

thanks to @goodemornting for betaing, couldn't do it without you :) ao3 link

Inti stared ahead blankly, not sure what they were seeing anymore.

That wasn’t them, that couldn’t be them, absolutely nothing felt right. This body — it wasn’t theirs, it hurt to see. Things faded around them, the corners of their vision growing blurry and faded. The room felt like a black hole, sucking them deeper into torment at what they felt. It was uncomfortably constant, seeing that sent an otherwise good day into pure hell.

They wanted nothing more than to shed this prison, it felt like a punishment for something that they couldn’t help. How could one’s body be so wrong, nothing felt right it all was too much to cope with—

“Inti?” That angelic voice rang through the clouds, pulling them from the desperate depths, giving them the air they needed to survive. Arantxa looked worried, prodding their side trying to get any sign of life.

They breathed in, trying to steady themselves. It wouldn’t take much to veer her off the questions Inti could feel coming. Sometimes they envied their partner, so carefree most of the time, happy with their body and not craving to change it to feel like themself.

“Who is this?” They spoke shakily, staring back into the mirror at the person before them. They couldn’t recognise them as hard as they looked. Nothing felt right. Everything was overwhelming, plunging, sinking deeper into this burning dread.

“It doesn’t feel like you?” Arantxa questioned softly, hands slowly moving to rub their back. Inti blinked back at her, trying to sort through her thoughts.

How did she always know exactly what the problem was? It was as if they lived the same experience. They definitely dealt with similar things, but the smaller blonde just seemed to know what was happening without the torture of trying to verbalise it.

Inti could only nod, letting themself fall into the supportive grip of the one they loved. In their arms, they felt like they were floating though now it was mixed with the torment of reality.

It always came back to this, the lingering pain of existence. The promise it would get better feeling fleeting the more they saw of this tainted world.

They had a light, someone to cling to. It hurt, but she was always there, ready to support and loving no matter how they felt. Sometimes Inti wondered how the world could create someone as pure as Arantxa, she rarely seemed phased by any of life’s challenges, going along with things as they came and always smiling, even at their worst moments.

They’d asked before, how she stayed so bright in the painful depths Inti walked. She just shrugged, claiming to just not take things seriously, enjoying who she was without more to it.

There was a pang of jealousy, that someone could look at themselves and just accept it, no flaws hurting them, just going along with how they are and not feel detached and pained by their physical form. But just as they envied the blonde, they valued her even more. Having a force so very full of love right beside you, it was magical. She was etherial to their pained eyes, a creature that someone blessed the world she lived in while deserving so much more than it was capable of giving her.

That was their motivation during the darkest of times, wanting to give her a fraction of what she deserved. Hold her gently and be the one to kiss her goodnight, it kept them hanging on.

“I love you.” Her voice barely above a whisper, Arantxa ran a hand through Inti’s hair before pressing a kiss to their forehead.

They could only let out a small hum, though their angel could still comprehend it.

Arantxa let Inti stay in her arms as long as they needed, knowing how much it hurt to feel this way. No one deserved to suffer this way, it hurt their heart to see someone they treasured so deeply in such pain. She felt powerless against it sometimes but resolved to stay by their side, offering whatever she could to help her beloved partner just as they had helped her figure out the complexities of identity.

Inti moved their head, facing the mirror once again with a sullen expression.

“This doesn’t feel right, where do I even start?”

Arantxa looked thoughtful for a second before her eyes lit up, at the best of times that was a sign to be wary but she looked so sure of herself that Inti couldn’t help but follow her lead and she grabbed their hand and pulled them into their room.

She sat them on the bed, away from the view of any reflections, and rushed to open a drawer, pulling out something with an accomplished huff as she puffed her chest out.

“We can get rid of it for now, though don’t sleep with it on, we can figure something else out for tonight.” Arantxa handed the binder to Inti, helping them through the right arm straps to compress their chest.

“Make sure you pull them up, so you don’t damage your chest.” She chimed as they just about got the binder on, Inti nodded, glancing down at their chest with a pained look.

Arantxa slowly moved her hands, making her actions clear as day if they needed to be stopped. She tilted Inti’s head up, kissing them to distract from her readjusting their breasts into a safer position.

“Does this look better?” She asked, watching as inti looked over themselves in the mirror, eyes scanning every inch of their body for all minor details

“That’s me.” They nodded, relief flooding through them at not having to see the cause of this panic. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but when the lights went out they could cope, especially with someone with them every step of the way always ready to help and shower them with love no matter how they felt about their body.

[purkinje-effect]

Asking for Trouble

Cait gets a terrible first impression of Melancholy, my Sole.

This blurb has sat in my drafts for a few years now, and I decided to polish it up and finish the thought. Not sure if the encounter will be canon to Anatomy, but it’s here nonetheless. (For those curious to timeline placement, we’ll say this is roughly after the Park Street Station stuff in Fourth Instar, and sometime after his falling out with Mac.)

TWs: Heavy angst, injury and death, drug use and alcohol, explicit description of drug side effects, and violence-baiting.

Cross-posted on AO3 here if you’d rather. Likes, comments, kudos, etc. are all greatly, greatly appreciated.

_____________________________________

Someone at the Dugout Inn had mentioned this place. ‘Choly had come here with a vague recollection that the Combat Zone had once paraded skin. It only served to live up to its name now without any innuendo. Observing a little violence could be cathartic, too, and damn, if he couldn’t use some catharsis after his myriad missteps in Goodneighbor. All his life a spectator, vicarious in every regard.

He belonged here far before Goodneighbor or Diamond City, regardless of looking the part. Who could say a quavering, grey little man wearing a white three piece suit over head-to-toe leather orthotic braces didn’t fit right in among these earthly, physical misfits? He certainly couldn’t see any hackneyed political messes or territory wars erupting here: only people blowing off steam any way they could find it.

He couldn’t entirely say he minded that Angel’s compulsive cleaning habits almost always nettled the Hister Handy into picking up after social locations like this burlesque theater which now showcased cage fights. The possibility any of these raiders might hack it almost avoided him altogether, since he seemed like the only one with a Pip-Boy with which to do so. Such a worry would stick with him long-term after what he’d seen the Rust Devils do to Lowell.

His mind sang praises that Angel had allowed him to resume adding alkaloids to his meal replacement beverage, the Melancholia. Hubeine gave him negligible trouble compared to other options.

The fight unfolding before him was the billed spectacle for the night: for one hour, plus implicit encores, Cait would take down any body foolish enough to step foot into the cage to fistfight her unarmed. He swirled at some bourbon in a shot glass, from his bar seat to one side of the stage. His cataract eyes raised as he watched her continue through the athletic redhead’s performance. Somehow she managed restraint just shy of lethal blows, despite her precision and brute force. Any composure belied the depth of her murderous and bottomless rage. Glassy and lugubrious, he followed her bared teeth and retracted lips, her unblinking eyes, her adrenaline-wired and overworked musculature, her leaden instinctual footwork.

Despite having knocked out seven opponents in twenty minutes already, she wore more of their blood than they did.

In every mannerism, he recognized his enlisted in her. He stopped sipping at his liquor and threw the glass back, only to refill it.

Cait danced with the eighth opponent for about a minute before things escalated. The burly, hairy man pulled a switchblade on her, and managed to gouge her in the arm. In the physical sense, it didn’t faze her. In the mental sense, it had shattered the sanctity of her performance. She roared at him and lunged to sink her teeth into his face.

The crowd exploded. Her ghoul manager stepped in and attempted to stop the match-up, but he knew better than to get between her and the fool. She refused first aid, intent to fuck the guy up. The man kept his distance from her, knife still drawn, clutching at his gushing cheek. she voiced her displeasure to her manager, and he seemed to walk away and leave her again to her opponent... Only to bring her a baseball bat. A bloodied grin ripped across her face as she choked up on it like a familiar friend.

‘Choly smiled quaintly, head askew. The ghoul knew that the crowd demanded results--and more importantly, he knew that the crowd needed to see the consequences of forsaking what little honor they agreed upon in this dive.

She slugged him in the head. As he fell over, she proceeded to beat the shit out of him. The resultant din deafened much how ‘Choly might imagine Fenway Park during the World Series. Not that baseball had been his druthers. God, he wished that had been him on the receiving end. Between her hair, her leather corset, and the carnage, red was so very much her color. Head to toe, she was rage incarnate.

No one wanted to challenge her after that, especially not if they had to step around the bloody mess she’d splattered across the stage.

Time blurred a bit in ‘Choly’s shot glass. The next he looked up, he realized the champion sat beside him to drown herself in a fifth of vodka straight from the bottle. He straightened as coolly as he could, shifting to watch her. He adjusted his half-moon glasses, but could otherwise not obfuscate his alarm. He couldn’t leave alone the familiarity of the untethered ferocity with which she carried herself.

“Forgive me if this is forward of me, but I will get you any chems you want, if you will swear off cyclomorphine. The Psycho.”

“Bull shit,” came a potent Irish twang. She slammed down the bottle. Beneath the indignity in her glower, a tinge of fear felt more like the pressure of desperation. “You suggestin’ I couldn’t possibly fight as well as I do, weren’t I doped up? Your stupid mug hasn’t been here before. I’d remember. Who the hell do you think you are, to go around insultin’ the talent?”

His heart begged hot for her to retaliate. His gloved fingers tapped gingerly at the barely varnished countertop.

“I mean it. Name it. Med-X. Calmex. Anything but Psycho. I’ll even get dirty and brew you the most potent Jet you’ve ever had, if what you really need is escapism and not a low. CM isn’t a chem. It’s a death sentence. And... even if that’s the desired end result, that’s just about as gruesome and painful as it gets.”

She swiveled on the bar stool, resting both hands squarely on her spread knees. Her dead gaze bored through him.

“The fuck do you care so much about this wild theory of yours? You go around cold readin’ everybody’s vices tryin’ to hock your snake oil? Some salesman you are. You’ve got the Charisma of a Mirelurk egg that’s been in the sun.”

He raised his hands in defense, and then said what he meant sooner than meaning what he said.

“I’m not trying to sell you anything. I keep trying to offer solutions to the people I’ve hurt with my life choices, fix the damage rather than enterprise on it. Please let me get you chasing a different devil. Anything but that.”

“You’ve never met me in your life, and I don’t know your name or face from a Molerat in the floorboards. Don’t you try and bullshit me into believing you’re capable of fixing what ails me--and don’t you dare try to take credit for anyone that’s wronged me.”

“I’m the reason Psycho exists in the quantities it does in the Commonwealth. So yes, your pain IS my fault, at least part--”

His jaw seared. ‘Choly found himself sprawled in the floor. He felt around for his glasses, and as they returned to his face, he smiled up at her imploringly from where she stood over him. She cracked her knuckles sourly.

“I don’t have time for this nonsense. Tryin’ t’say I’m the one’s got a chem problem. What color is the sky for you? Forget you.”

Her hard exterior began to show signs of crumblign, in a series of stifled tics, most noticeably a corner of her mouth and the same ear. He could only begin to speculate to what exactly it was she’d taken exception, but he had to keep her attention, hold her contempt. Charm had never come naturally to him, so instead he had to sound the part of insisting at all costs that he was right.

“--Fine, you don’t want to quit. That’s a choice, too. I’ll make however much Psycho you want. You want to go out like that, I can help you with that. But I want you to know just exactly what that death looks like. Abscessed injection sites. Your gums and cuticles bleed. Your tear ducts bleed. It weakens all your capillaries, the tiniest blood vessels in your body. Internal bleeding. Organ deterioration. The numbness doesn’t turn off the pain--it only makes it so you don’t care. Is the anger easier than the hurt? If that’s how you want to go out, I’m not in any position to question it. But you might as well have an expert supplying you with it.”

Rather than help him up, she bore a heel down on his right hand. With an anxious chuckle, he winced, but welcomed being pinned in place. She glared down at him, seething. She didn’t want to hear another word from him, but she had to. Something about him surely sounded more deranged than intoxicated, and it threatened to haunt her.

“Do you know why cyclomorphine exists?” he continued, breath stuttering all the while. “Do you know what it is? Of course not. It was a prewar chemical--I can’t even comfortably endear it a chem--that the military developed so its soldiers no longer felt injury or fatigue. They endeavored to engineer soldiers who wouldn’t quit when hurt, even fatally. And it was only one of a dozen projects of its kind, to exploit the different aspects of human limits. Nothing human came from refining Psycho. It destroys something fundamental to a sense of humanity. The perfect formula didn’t concern itself with whether the patient came back in one piece, or alive at all. The Deenwood Project wasn’t poetic, wasn’t artistic, didn’t make a single beautiful thing. The fact that CM fell into paramilitary use after my tenure ended with the Army... and the fact it now as a result flows freely throughout the country as holdovers from... from the police attempting to keep the peace through intense and consistent violence... The fact is, I’m one of the chemists responsible for cyclomorphine’s end product. Responsible for it being one of the devices of America’s victory at Anchorage... So yes, yes I am. Responsible for what ails you. You’re civilian collateral of the United States Army.”

Her posture shifted slowly from anger to bitterness. She ground her heel into his palm. He pretended the token of her grief got through the reinforced officer’s glove.

“It’s not my place to question the source of your pain, and it’s not my place to insist that I be the one to take it away. I simply know that no matter how great the pain you’re in... Psycho dissolves parts of you, every time you use it to numb you. It begins physically, then advances to spiritually. It robs you of who you are.”

“That’s just the thing. I can’t handle bein’ me. This is the only part I’m fit to play. Besides, Tommy only cares if his juggernaut brings in the caps. I’m beholden to a contract. And the way I see it, you’re tryin’ to come between a man and his money, pokin’ around where your nose doesn’t belong! You’re lucky we’re out here and not in the cage, creep. Either I’m paid to beat your arse, or you’re askin’ to get blackballed.”

He sighed dreamily up at her, almost regretting that she let up on his hand. She drew her fists when his hand went to the lining pocket of his vest, but he chuckled producing a sack of caps.

“I thought you’d never ask. I admire one who rests their agency in someone else’s hands--or pockets, as it were. Surely, this is to the tune of you doing the honors. Add a black eye to the busted jaw. Tack on whatever you like. Ladies’ choice.”

She snatched the sack from him, frowning incredulously.

“What kind of sick flirting game is this? You tryin’ to buy me into bed? I know I’m easy on the eyes, but this isn’t a brothel these days, in case your damaged brain can’t tell the difference.”

He knew he wouldn’t be getting back the sack, but at least he’d tricked her into accepting some fleck of reparations from him.

“How many caps would it take to break your contract? To get you out of here?”

A broken sarcastic laugh crackled out of her. He’d long since surpassed overstepping, having moved on to stepping on toes.

“You’re insane if you think I’d ever want to leave the Combat Zone, especially not on the arm of the likes of you. I’ve got everything I could want here--except right now, not a place without you. You’re the one who needs to lay off the chems. Get your stupid brain-damaged arse out of here before I ask Tommy what I can do with you.”

He whistled for Angel, then retrieved his cane to stand.

“I suppose if you won’t let me help you, obliging you is the least I can do.”

With his Handy by his side, the two left without further question.

On his walk back to Hotel Rexford, he accepted that he’d probably never know the answer, but still he wondered if he had the same or opposite trouble as Cait: Were the two chasing a perpetual numbness, or were they chasing the futility of trying to feel anything again, at any cost?

[candied-peach]

ao3: “through a funhouse mirror” rating: T warnings: arguments, suicidal thoughts, self hatred, sympathetic remus, sympathetic deceit, creativitwins genre: hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending description: Remus accidentally confesses something to his brother. (anon prompt:  "(suicide tw) could you possibly write something where Remus accidentally tells someone (not Patton please) he’s suicidal? Totally okay if you don’t want to! Have a good day!") (lyrics are from shinedown’s “monsters”)

Leave your weapon on the table Wrapped in burlap, barely able Don't get angry, don't discourage Take a shot of liquid courage Leave a light on if you're able 'Cause we both know you're unstable Call a doctor, say a prayer Choose a god you think is fair

"I heard you," Remus's voice floats through the darkness, giving him the brief satisfaction of watching his brother jump and look wildly around the auditorium. Perhaps it was part of being Creativity that drew them both there, Remus thinks. He doesn't give a fuck.

"Remus?" Roman asks, squinting in his direction. "What are you doing here?"

"Sorry, I forgot the Imagination only belongs to you," Remus says bitterly, flopping over on his back and staring into the dusty depths of the lofted ceiling.

"What?" Roman asks. "No, that- I didn't mean it like that, I just- You haven't been here in a while."

"I wonder why," Remus says. His voice is dull. He can't bring himself to care. "Don't worry. I won't stay."

"Remus, you-" Roman starts in frustration, then stops. "What has gotten into you?"

"A herd of feral cats that want to play with my intestines, what do you think?" Remus snaps. "I heard you. Funhouse mirror, am I? Sorry I can't bring a funny face, I must have left it in my other ass."

"That isn't what I meant," Roman says, coming closer. Remus has the irrational impulse to kick him. He promptly kicks Roman in the shin, enjoying the little oof of breath.

"Then what did you mean, Ro Ro, because it sure sounded like what I'm thinking to me," Remus says. Now his voice is sharp, like broken glass, like his words can cut his brother. Maybe they do. He can't make himself care about that, either.

"We're...different," Roman says lamely. "That's- that's all."

"No shit, Sherlock, leave the deductions to Logan," Remus advises. "If I knew I had to knock you out in order to figure that particular nugget of wisdom out, I'd have done it years ago."

"Are you done trying to score points off me or can we have an actual conversation?" Roman blurts out. Remus huffs a sigh.

"I don't know," he says. "Maybe you'd want to score points, too, if you heard your one and lonely brother talk about you like you might as well be a handful of disease-ridden maggots."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Roman says, shoving a hand through his hair. "I- I didn't expect you. You knocked me out."

"For like a minute," Remus says. "You and I both know you weren't unconscious that entire time, you just didn't want to fess up to Thomas you had an evil brother."

"You aren't evil," Roman protests. Remus arches his eyebrows, as high as they can go.

"Really?" He says. "News to me."

"You aren't evil," Roman repeats, insistent. "If- if Thomas wants to explore more mature themes in his content, then, well..." He sighs. "Although I don't see how 'juicy butthole' is mature in any way," he mutters.

"You don't see how sexual themes are mature?" Remus asks, skeptical. "Wow, Logan was right, you really are Netflix Kids and Family. Here you go, Ro Ro, when two people love each other very much..." Roman glares at him.

"I know that much," Roman snaps at him. "This is why you-" He stops.

"Why you don't listen to me? Why I don't get any input into Thomas's creative process? Why I'm one of the 'Dark Sides?'" Remus finishes for him, hooking his fingers in the air to make air quotes around the term 'Dark Sides.'

"Well, yes," Roman says, clearly uncomfortable.

"Whatever," Remus says, closing his eyes, like he can shut out Roman the same way. "You want to be Thomas's only Creativity, fine, let's make that happen."

"Uh, Remus, we can't fuse back together," Roman starts to say. Remus's bitter laugh cuts him short.

"That's not, in the slightest, what I meant."

"Then what did you-" Now it's Roman's turn to cut himself off. Panic saws through Remus's stomach and he sits upright, his hands crumpled into fists.

"Please tell me you didn't mean that," Roman whispers, nearly begging. "Please tell me you didn't mean you're suicidal."

"Fine, let's go with that," Remus says, his own voice threadbare. "I'm- I'm not. Just silly, stupid Remus, that's all, blurts out everything that comes into my head, I'm fine, okay? I'm fine."

He bursts into tears.

"Remus-" Roman's arms come around him, tentative at first, and Remus clings to him like an octopus, soaking his ridiculous white shirt and red sash in tears as he buries his face in his brother's shoulder. Roman keeps up a constant stream of reassuring nothings, soothing him until finally he's able to draw away a little, nose stuffy and eyes red and swollen.

"Sorry," Remus croaks. Roman shakes his head.

"Don't- please don't apologize for that," Roman says. "You don't need to apologize for that. How- er, how long?"

Remus stares blankly at him until he realizes what Roman's asking.

"I can't remember," he admits. "It's been a while."

"Oh, Remus," Roman whispers. "I'm so sorry." Remus looks down into his lap, twisting the edge of his shirt. He feels both extremely uncomfortable and extremely relieved.

"I want to help you," Roman says. "Can- will you let me help you?" Remus hesitates, then nods slowly.

"Dee helps me, too," he warns. "You- he's important to me, too."

"I can handle that," Roman says slowly. "Because you're important to me."

Remus's answering smile is shaky but there.

Still there.

tag list: @k9cat @paravigilant-virgil @croftergamer @airiervessel @ambersky0319 @littlestliu @killjoy-3000 @matthindavick @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @yalltookmyurlideas @bexxbeauty @the-sunshine-dims

[birdhouse-of-shadows]

   If I’m going to angst jail, I’m gonna go for a good reason. Buckle your seat belts and prepare for some real angst. Also half way through this I came up with a title for this so maybe I’ll put this on Ao3. Also I managed to use the word assfuck for the stupidest reason so I’m happy. 

Side note: HCDISHBKFJ I KEPT FORGETTING THIS WAS HERE BUT ITS FINALLY DONE SO- 

“The Ghost and the Moon God” 

TW: panic attack, mentions of abuse 

It was only two weeks after the war had ended. Many pros were still recovering from their injuries, and Hawks was no exception. His back was healed, but he suffered some severe nerve damage. It was going to take months of therapy to relearn how to fully use the left side of his body. However, the ex pro hardly cared about rehabilitation. Since he had been in the hospital he had not been allowed to see his intern, or rather, his intern was not allowed to see him. 

Tokoyami had to endure questioning about what had happened to Hawks, and whatever else he knew about the villain, Dabi. It took a long time for the teen to say anything at all. He had internalized so much, and would only give broad descriptions of the event. He was so conflicted about what he had done, was it really right to save a murderer? It was his job as a hero to save his mentor, right? Aizawa was busy recovering, so he couldn’t help in coaxing the answers from his student until a week into the investigation. The teacher knew well that Tokoyami would need comfort before he could answer any questions. They were only together for 5 minutes before Tokoyami was crying and spilling his heart out to his teacher. 

Once the Commission got wind of what Tokoyami had seen, they knew that had to do something about him. They decided it would be a waste of potential to simply get rid of him. The HPSC decided instead to invite him to join their program. They thought that the young boy would be absolutely honored to have the opportunity to receive the same training as his mentor. Unfortunately, they were completely right. 

Tokoyami received the invitation personally. He had finally gotten to talk to Hawks and catch up. They 3 hours just talking to each other, venting, crying, apologizing, making jokes, laughing, with just each other. They would always be bros, even if one of them had lost their feathers and couldn’t be considered much of a bird. After he finally departed Tokoyami was met outside of the hospital by the president of the HPSC and principal Nezu. The meeting was a total coincidence, the two were originally going to speak to Hawks. It was quite the stroke of luck because they’d be able to get two birds with one stone. 

“Tokoyami Fumikage, am I correct?” The president was the first to greet Tokoyami. Principal Nezu was next to speak.

“My dear student, I’d like to introduce you to somebody! This is the president of the Hero Public Safety Commission! I assume you’ve spoken to Hawks, yes? We came here to speak to him, but it’s good that we ran into you. We’ve got a proposition for you!” Tokoyami wasn’t surprised when he wasn’t able to get much of a word in, the principal was known for his ramblings after all. Principal Nezu explained that the Commission was grateful for Tokoyami’s involvement in saving Hawks and they wanted to offer him private hero training. It would be the same training that Hawks was given, the training that helped him rise to the top so quickly. 

The young hero was absolutely astonished and humbled at the offer. However he was still hesitant. What about UA? Would he be able to get the same quality education? He would also have to speak to his family about this. The president assured him that the education would be an even higher quality than UA. Nezu agreed, albeit losing a little pride in the process. Tokoyami happily agreed to inform his parent and get a meeting setup. With that, the three went their separate ways. ‘

Hawks was tense when he saw the president entering, but confused when he saw the small mouse creature. No, wait, that’s Tokoyami’s principal. Why would these two be together. Hawks’ mind immediately began racing with thoughts and theories. He was stopped mid-thought when the his intern’s principal climbed onto his hospital bed. Nezu seemed to have a reassuring smile on his face, which brought down Hawks’ anxiety a bit. He opened his mouth to greet the pair, but was interrupted by the small principal. 

“Hello there Hawks! My name is Nezu, though I’m sure you already know that from Tokoyami! We actually ran into him on the way in. I have come here with the HPSC president to propose an offer! I’ll let her take from here.” The cheery little animal swung his feet over the side of the bed, and looked over to the president. She cleared her throat and began to speak.

“Hawks, as I’m sure you know, your injuries are going to prevent you from returning to your hero work. While you could return to your office and simply do paperwork, we believe that would be a waste of your talent and knowledge. We would believe that it would be in the best interest of the future that you pass your knowledge onto the next generation.” She paused and looked back over to the principal. 

“So I am offering you a position as a teacher at my school!” Hawks was a bit shocked at the proposition. A teacher at UA? He could be around Tokoyami and watch him grow. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement. He could create more bonds, similar to the one he has with Tokoyami. The ability to help children see their true potential. As soon as Hawks came to this conclusion, he accepted the position. The joyful tone was not meant to last. 

“Principal Nezu, would you mind letting me have a word with Hawks on my own?” The president joyfully agreed let the president have her moment alone and exchanged his farewells with his new employee. The President watched the small creature leave before approaching the side of the bed. 

“Hawks, I am sure that you already picked up on the fact that I am not here just to tell you about a new job position.”

“Yes ma’am. I’m almost excited to hear the news.” Hawks tried to let out a small laugh to cover his fear. He already knew what this would be about. The boy who had saved his life, but in the process got far too close. 

“Its about your former inter, Tokoyami Fumikage. We both know that he knows far too much about you and your position with the league. He will need to be taken care of. It would be a waste to prevent him from being a hero, so we’ve decided to be merciful. We have invited him to join our training program to become a top hero just like you, just like his mentor.” Hawks could only listen as she spoke, he knew that he had no opinion on the matter. His heart sank as she continued, he wanted so badly to protest, to cry, to scream, but he couldn’t. With or without him, with consent or not, Tokoyami would be going through that training program. She finally began to conclude her lecture. 

“Hawks, do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am”

“Oh, I have one last thing to inform you of. Since you are no longer a hero, you are no longer Hawks. Keigo Takami, I am looking forward to seeing your work as a teacher. Have a good day.” With that, she was gone. Takami let out the breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding in. After that sigh, he could hardly breathe. His kid was going to go through that same hell that he went through as a child. Takami began getting flashbacks to the training. He remembered the blood, the injuries, the abuse, the punishments. He spent hours just crying in that hospital room by himself. 

- 3 weeks later - 

It was finally time for them to go their separate ways. UA was holding a large scale party celebrating those who fought in the war. Here it was announced that Takami would be joining the staff, here it would be the last time he saw Tokoyami Fumikage. They sat outside together, away from everyone else, simply watching the sun go down. That was until Takami broke the silence

“Tokoyami, I’m proud of you. I am looking forward to the hero you’ll become”

“Thank you, but why say this so suddenly?”

Takami looked over to the confused face of his friend. He was hoping the next thing he said would be the last time he would have to lie to Tokoyami. 

“I just wanted to...” He didn't just want to, he needed to.

“...I might not see you for a while. With you going off to that private training and all. It was pretty tough when I was there, and I’m proud of you for stepping up to the challenge.” He knew he wouldn’t be seeing Tokoyami again. It wasn’t just tough, it was hell, no child should endure it. Takami realized that maybe that last part wasn’t a lie. He was proud of his little bro, but he was also terrified. There was a slim chance that maybe, just maybe since Tokoyami already had some hero training, the commission would go easy on him. There was also a possibility that since Tokoyami only had a year and a half left of school, that the Commission would be harsh, in order to make Tokoyami a top hero in a matter of months. 

“Well again I thank you Ha-, I mean Takami Sensei” 

“Don’t call me that, kid.  Its way to damn formal. Remember, we’re still bros.” Takami smiles, he hadn’t done so genuinely in such a long time. Maybe it was all of the memories that he had with the bird headed kid, maybe it was the fact that he was happy to be near somebody he cared for. He didn’t care about the reason, he was just happy to be happy. 

“Are you two done?” Takami almost fell off of the bench he and Tokoyami were currently sitting on. Aizawa has come out of the very depths of assfuck nowhere and scared him. Tokoyami, as one of Aizawa’s previous students, was used to these sneak attacks. The ninja teacher spoke again, 

“Ah, sorry, you’re gonna have to get used to that. Tokoyami, the Commission is here to pick you up.  Hurry and say bye to everyone before you leave” Aizawa jumped in his sleeping bag and disappeared again.

 “D-does he always do that?”

“Yes, Aizawa-Sensei is known for it. You are never quite alone here at UA. That fact could be good or bad depending on the type of individual you are”

“Great, that’s great.” Takami couldn’t help but feel nervous about working with somebody like that. He didn’t have long to feel nervous about that though, he remembered why his fellow teacher had come in the first place. It was finally time. He had to say goodbye.

Takami looked up to his friend, who had already stood to leave. He wasn’t sure what to say. This goodbye is only hard for him, he’s the only one who really knows what is happening. He could stop this now, couldn’t he? Why not stop it before it starts? That’s right, he’s not allowed to, if he does things could be worse off. He let out a soft sigh as he stood, hoping that maybe it would cause some kind of butterfly effect, and save Tokoyami. 

“So, I guess that’s that. My time at UA is over. It was fun while it lasted, and I met many great souls.”

“Are you sad to be leaving?”

“Dark Shadow more so than I, he says he’s going to miss all of the affection he gets here. I believe I will miss people, but I am not sad. I will see them again, even if it’s not within UA’s walls.” The soft sigh that followed seemed both sad and reminiscent. Tokoyami began to speak again, but was interrupted by something warm. It was a hug. Takami was holding him tightly, and didn’t seem to want to let go. The teen hugged back in a moment of understanding. They knew that wouldn’t be seeing each other again for a very long time. The two stood there for a long time before finally letting go. 

“So I guess this is goodbye for now, little moon god”

“Moon god? That’s a new one.” Tokoyami chuckled “But I don’t consider this goodbye. It’s not like the Commission is going to kill me. I mean, you’re not dead. Unless you are a ghost and I didn’t know that. Are you a ghost Takami?”

Takami couldn’t help but laugh. He knew that Tokoyami had been trying to lighten the mood. 

“As far as I know, I am not a ghost. I might just die if you leave me for too long Mr. Moon God.”

“Oh goodness, you seem adamant about this new nickname. Fine then, ghosty. 

“Ghosty?”

“I am convinced that you are a ghost and I’ll be joining you in the afterlife once I am done with my training” The word training snapped Takami back to the reality of the situation. Tokoyami also seemed to come back to reality. There was a small silence before the older of the two spoke up. 

“Seriously Tokoyami, I am going to miss you. I’m not the only one whose gonna miss you though. Your classmates are waiting for you.”

“Right then. I’ll be seeing you then, ghosty.” With that Tokoyami finally turned around and opened the door to go back inside. With one last parting look, he went inside. There was a small black feather that was sitting on the ground next to the door. Takami could only watch as the wind caught it and floated it away. 

- 3 Years Later - 

“All right everyone, that's all I’ve got for you today. You’ve got English with Mikey next. Bye now”. Takami began to leave his class when the sliding door slammed open. 

“TAKAMI! I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT!” Present Mic managed to sound cheery and angry at the same time. “I’VE HAD TO TELL YOU THAT SINCE YOU STARTED WORKING HERE!” 

“Okay, okay sorry” Takami seemed to be genuinely apologetic until he finally made it safely out the door “Mikey” 

“TAKAMI I SWEAR TO G-” Takami had already shut the classroom door in Mic’s face. He let out a slight chuckle before turning around to head to the faculty lounge. A voice came from behind him. 

“Takami.” 

“CHRIST! AIZAWA STOP DOING THAT. You know I hate that”

“Well, I recall that somebody told you to get used to that years ago. That person is also here to see you.”

Takami turned to face Aizawa with a confused look on his face. “Who? There have been far too many people who have warned me about you.” 

“I would assume he was the first person to have told you” 

Takami seemed to be even more confused. Who was the first person to tell him? How was he supposed to remember who told him something over three years ago? Three years ago was when he had become a teacher for the old class 2-A, Tokoyami’s class. They had all graduated a year ago. Wait, wait a minute, Tokoyami’s class. 

“TOKOYAMI? IS HE HERE?”

Aizawa simply spressed himself against the wall and prepared for Hawks to bolt down the hallway. 

“Meeting room 2-A, please don’t run anybody over on the way there.” Aizawa’s plea went completely ignored seeing as Takami had already bolted down the hallway. He was on the fourth floor, and on the wrong side of the building. He quickly calculated the quickest route to Tokoyami. Left, right, down the south hall, another left, avoid All Might, remember to apologize later, down the stairs. His mind ran on simple instructions. There it was, 3-A! One of the few things Hawks had retained was his ability to move quickly without running out of breath. He stood straight and composed himself, tears nearly slipping out. He took a deep breath and slid the door open. 

The sight that awaited him was something he hadn’t been prepared for. Tokoyami sat looking at him, his eyes dead. There was a large scar across the bridge of his beak. The typical black shirt of his hero costume was replaced with one with the Commission’s emblem. It was the same branding that he had to wear when he had been a hero. Upon seeing the young hero, Takami knew that was no longer the kid he used to know. 

The President sat next to him, as serious as ever. There was a glint of curiosity in her eyes. It was obvious that she wanted to know what Takami’s reaction would be to this new version of Tokoyami. The sick curiosity made Takami’s heart sink. He knew what had happened to Tokoyami, he knew that the teen would never be the same. 

“Hey there, you two. Its been a while, hasn’t it?” Takami moved to sit down. 

“Yes it has, and in this long while Tsukuyomi here has become a wonderful young hero.” 

Tokoyami said absolutely nothing. 

“We’ve come to visit you because next week Tsukuyomi will be having his debut as a hero. We would have done it sooner, when the rest of his class had graduated, but creating a hero is like making a fine wine. More time results in higher quality, wouldn’t you say?” 

“Of course” Takami knew that she didn’t mean that. He assumed that the Comission had issues with getting rid of Tokoyami’s emotions and previous training education. There may have also been issues with how complex Dark Shadow was. Usually the shadow was around whenever Tokoyami was greeting somebody familiar. There was no sign of him, meaning that there was a high possibility that Dark Shadow was only allowed out for combat reasons.

“I have nothing else to talk to you about. I am going to leave you two to catch up, alright?” The president just left without saying anything else. At this point Takami could hardly think. After his peaceful 3 years of teaching, he would have to face Tokoyami and his 3 years of hell. 

“Tokoya-”

“Don’t call me that. You and I both know that is no longer my name.” Tsukuyomi’s voice was dry and harsh. It was obvious that the training had destroyed his personality. He spoke up again, 

“I don’t have much to talk to you about. You already know what the training was like. While I am quite please to be seeing you alive and well, I can’t help but feel betrayed when I look at you. You knew exactly what I would be put through, and you did nothing to warn me. I remember the last interaction we had. You had so many chances to say something, and yet you didn’t. I remember how we joked about how the Commission's training had killed you, and maybe you were a ghost. I almost wish that you were dead, then I never would have met you. However, you did help me with some things, so your life has some value. I hope that my training does not become a waste. That’s all I have to say. Goodbye, Takami.” 

Takami couldn’t get a single word in before Tsukuyomi left. There were absolutely no words to say. Tokoyami Fumikage had been killed by the Comission’s training. The only thing that was left was the vengeful moon god, Tsukuyomi. 

[chillahead-bridge]

grave mistakes

inspired by @arrival-layne‘s good good angst art for jim, a mini-au about a what-if scenario about the grave sand having some... side effects on humans. (AO3 version)

TWs: body-horror, mouth horror, blood, description of injuries and violence. enjoy and stay safe!

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

Grave sand burns.

It’s bare seconds, passing in a painful flash- but Jim feels the grit scrape against his sinuses, leaving his airways raw as he hacks, lungs struggling to supply him air. And then it’s over, just like that, and a surge of energy washes over him. Like stepping into the cold depths of a pool, diving deep downwards.

“How do you feel?” Strickler asks him, watching him with sharp eyes.

“Angrier,” Jim replies, voice rough. He feels himself smile. The energy- the emotion- it’s pulsing through his veins. It’s incredible. It’s intoxicating.

“Good,” Strickler says, bursting into brilliant green arcs of light as his body twists and changes, horns curving over his skull as he raises his head. “Use that anger,” he encourages with a grin of deadly fangs.

Jim can feel himself shivering, deep inside, at the blatant challenge. An invitation to fight. The Amulet responds to his silent call- wrapping him in its armor and power, forming Daylight in his grip. Another flash of light and Jim glances over his shoulder, seeing Nomura stalk predatorily towards him with her blades.

Two highly skilled opponents. Both of whom have fought him to a standstill before. Jim feels no fear. He snarls right back at the changelings, reveling in the way he feels. He’s stronger, he’s faster, his heart races and his throat aches, and he meets his mentors’ attacks with zero hesitation.

It’s a blur, for a few euphoric moments, where there’s nothing but Jim, his weapon, and the changelings he’s beating back. Jim growls, shouts wordlessly- he kicks the larger, heavier changelings across the floor more than once, keeping up and surpassing them as they clash. Strickler has no close-range weapon, he falls back all too quickly. Nomura is brutal and unyielding, but she doesn’t expect the strength Jim has now. Her swords clatter against stone, her skull impacts against the wall he shoves her into, her claws shriek over the metal of his shield and Jim presses harder-

The interruption that comes will be something he’s grateful for, later. In the moment, however, Jim steps back from Nomura and turns to his first and dearest mentor, and all he sees is someone interfering with his victory.

Jim points his blade at Blinky. He takes swings at him, though they’re not truly meant to harm. Just intimidate. His words come between coughs, the energy in his body beginning to hum fiercely, urging him to fight more, to give it outlet-

“Master Jim, look at me,” Blinky says, holding him carefully but firmly. Jim tries to pull away, but the troll keeps talking, keeps him close and still. The words that come are warm, soothing, “-for your human heart,” and it pulls him back up from the depths.

Jim steps back, coughing harder as the corrosive enhancer in his body shifts. The Amulet’s power recedes, the armor vanishing; releasing him from the bloodthirst. He’s sickened, as his head clears, by the fact that he’d fallen so deeply into that desire.

“I’m- sorry,” Jim rasps, coughing still, “I- I lost myself.” He tries to say thank you, but the coughing won’t stop and he bends, pounding a fist against his chest.

Blinky turns on Strickler, launching into an angry conversation with him. Their clash of mentalities grows distant as Jim keeps coughing. His ears are starting to ring. His throat aches.

“Jim?” Nomura’s voice asks, a hand touching his back. Jim tries to respond but can’t get a single word out. He’s beginning to hyperventilate, but he can’t stop, coughing as the grave sand does something- else. Before it’d been flowing through him, circulating the unnatural aggression and energy. Now it’s- it feels like it’s seeping into something deeper, like it’s forcing itself into the rest of his body-

A lightning strike of agony abruptly explodes in his chest. Jim can’t even cry out, robbed of air.

“Jim!” shouts Blinky, but Jim can’t raise his head and look to him. The pain radiating from his ribcage is climbing, spreading outwards.

His fingers, his jaw, his eyes- Jim only hears the thundering of his own heart as he clutches at his mouth, deaf to whatever is happening around him. Oh god, the pressure is building, pushing to escape, make it stop, he’ll do anything, just make it STOP-

Something gives, a sweet relief of pressure for a split second, and then iron liquid fills his mouth and a new kind of throbbing pain takes the other’s place. Jim doubles over completely and heaves, red and spit splattering the stone. Jim coughs and shudders, tears blurring his vision as he gasps raggedly.

Little white pearls fall into the slurry, one by one.

Those are teeth, Jim thinks outside the pain, just as his eyes roll back and he passes out.

 -/-

 “For what it’s worth, young Atlas… we were unaware these particular side effects could occur.”

Jim doesn’t look at Strickler or Nomura. He keeps his eyes fixed on a corner of the room, focused on the rough-hewn walls of it.

“We’re already looking into a way to reverse it,” Nomura adds in a subdued tone. Jim still doesn’t answer, or acknowledge their presence.

“I swear it,” Strickler says, low and sad, “we will fix this for you, and I am deeply, deeply sorry for allowing this- to happen, to you.”

Jim curls his fists into the blanket covering his legs.

“Leave,” he manages to say, throat hoarse. “W- we’ll talk. Later. But for now…”

“Of course,” Strickler says softly, and that’s the end of it. The two changelings walk out, drawing the curtain closed; leaving Jim to sit in Blinky and Arrrgh’s bedroom, wrapped in an overlarge blanket and shadows to hide within.

Gingerly, with a hesitant hand, Jim reaches to poke at his aching jawline. The claw that’d burst from under his nail throbs in time with the teeth he presses against.

Jim hasn’t looked in a mirror, but he knows. He’s already searched his face and body- he knows about the teeth, the claws, the point to his ears, the way his vision is perfectly suited to the dark room he’s in… He knows what it all means, what it all looks like.

He drops his hands to the blanket and twists them into fists again, hunching over his knees and shaking. Tears drop onto the fabric not for the first time today, an echo of his teeth falling out of his mouth.

The parallel forces him to unlock his clenched jaw and let out a wounded cry. His voice wavers and cracks, the internal damage done by the grave sand persisting still. Jim doesn’t spare a thought of concern that he might worsen the injuries; the noise pours out of him and he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to.

The curtain is suddenly yanked open and he hisses, flinching and covering his sensitive eyes. “Oh- shit, shit, I’m sorry Jimbo,” says a more than familiar voice, and the curtain is hastily closed again. Jim doesn’t even have time to blink the spots out of his vision before two sets of arms are thrown around him.

“Blinky told us what happened,” Claire rushes out, fingers already shifting to touch the ruined parts of him, searching, caressing- “Oh, Jim, how could they? Why- god- I’ll, I’ll strangle them both-”

“Should’ve never left you alone with them,” Toby says to the crook of Jim’s shoulder, squeezing his middle so tightly it hurts, but in a good way. “I should’ve- we should’ve been there, maybe then we’d’ve been able to steer you off this fucking- this horrible idea, what were you thinking?”

“I- I just-” Jim stutters, trying to answer both of them. His hands hover, not quite touching them, keeping the claws away from their human skin. “I need to get stronger,” he says, the mantra he’s been repeating for what feels like ages now. “They were just helping me, I asked them to, and- I’m the one who, who let Strickler- it’s my own fault.”

“Bullshit,” Claire curses, eyes blazing. “They did this, they hurt you and I’m going to- to-”

“Drop them into the shadow dimension forever?” Toby suggests in a dark tone.

“Yes,” Claire hisses vindictively.

“Guys, no, we need them, they were just doing what I- what I asked them-” Jim breaks off as he loses his voice, biting his lip and slicing into the thin skin immediately. Right, he has fangs, small but sharp fangs that jut up over his lip in an overtly inhuman way, something nothing short of removing them can fix, and oh god how will he hide this from his mom? How is he supposed to hide his ears? His eyes?

“What am I gonna tell my mom?” Jim whispers harshly, and starts crying in earnest.

Claire makes a wordless noise of anger and sadness, carding her fingers through his hair and letting a few of her own tears slip free. A tissue is pressed gently to his bleeding lip, held in place by Toby as he looks at Jim, brushing away his tears while ignoring the ones on his own face.

Jim wants to curl up and hide himself, cover up the pieces of himself he tainted, cheating for power. But he’s held between his two closest confidants and he can’t bring himself to pull away, instead slumping into the hold, burrowing into their comfort and care and clinging to that safety.

 -/-

 Sometime later: Claire holds his hand without fear of the claws that’ve grown there; Toby pokes the tips of his ears and jokes about Lord of the Rings. They beam at him pointedly until Jim will nervously smile back, not letting him sink further into his mire of self-loathing.

The adults shuffle back and forth behind the curtained entrance, unsubtly checking on the three of them. Sooner than later, they’ll be pulled out of the safely shadowed nest they’re huddling in. But not yet, as stated firmly by Claire when Blinky comes to ask after them.

Jim huffs, embarrassed by the fuss everyone is making over him, pressing his face into the softness of Toby’s sweater vest to hide his flush. Claire’s lithe arms wind around his waist and hold him like wrought iron, refusing to let him slip away even a little. Toby’s arms are warmer, stronger, wrapping around both of them best he can and helping their trio lower themselves gently onto the wide pillows that make up the bed.

Jim’s future has become even more uncertain, another trial added to his seemingly endless path to their ultimate goal. But for a moment between the three of them, tangled up and shielding themselves from that uncertain future, he can breathe easy.

[latent-thoughts]

First lines of last 10 fics

Post the first line of your last 10 published fics, then tag 10 people. (I was tagged by the lovely @philosopherking1887.)

This post made me aware of the fact that I have, in fact, more than 10 published fics now. Ha! And I’m obviously presenting more than a line, to give it more context. The link to my AO3 page can be found in my profile’s description.

1. Loki and the Minion (Loki/OFC, romance, humor, UST)

Victory… Conquest… Subjugation…

Merely words concluding the struggle between two parties in opposition. A simple enough concept, but a rather difficult accomplishment. You win at it once, and everyone thinks you invincible. You fail at it once, and everyone takes you for granted.

2. Fear and Other Related Emotions (Loki/OFC, romance, drama, erotica, angst, action)

When Tony Stark contacted Reva Anderson, a young psychologist, she was rather stunned. He had been cryptic about the reason, only telling her that he needed a 'session'. 

3. Thirst (Loki/OFC, romance, humor, erotica some angst)

“I have no more of either food or water.”

Loki hunkered down at the mouth of the cave they had found to take shelter from the harsh heat of the realm. If not for its shaded location and depth, they’d have been baked under the intense twin suns.

4. Ravished by a God (Loki/Reader, erotica, noncon play, kink galore, romance, action)

It was a bright, sunny day, and you were making the most of it by going out and enjoying it. It was also your day off, an added advantage. You went for a walk in the park, had lunch at an outdoor café and finally did some much needed shopping with a friend.

5. Closure (Gen, Endgame fix-it fic, Loki centric, angst, fraternal love)

Not for the first time in the last few years, Loki stared into the Tesseract, agonizing over what it had revealed to him. It wasn’t the first time he was seeing it all, and he knew that it wouldn’t be the last.

6. Magic Potion of Mischief (Gen, humor, family, Loki being a true mischief maker) (Co-authored with @lokilover9)

Loki arrived in his private chambers within the palace via a portal generated by his magic. He had kept himself consistently concealed from Heimdall, for no other reason than having his privacy. Ever since he had entered his youth, the fact that Heimdall could see all of his activities had rubbed him the wrong way.

7. Dead Letters (Gen, Loki centric, heavy angst, filial love and rejection)

Mother,

My memories fail me. It is not clear what is real and what is not. I want to remember… I want to keep memories of you, but they’re being stolen from me.

I know you loved me. This, I somehow remember.

8. With a Greeting (Loki/Jane (mainly) + Loki/Jane/Thor, erotica, kinks galore, taboo)

"Hello Jane..." is his usual, perfunctory greeting with her, always. And her response is almost always to give an equally unfeeling 'hi' back. This is like a tradition now, after months of her visiting and staying over in Asgard. Jane tries to steer clear of him, but inevitably, finds herself in a situation where she can't avoid him.

9. And Untamed Hunger (Loki/Reader, TW: noncon, erotica, kinks galore)

When the Tesseract exploded and brought the strange man in, you just knew that something very bad was about to go down.

As a guard, it was your duty to come forth and try to stop any hostile individuals, but this particular hostile individual was not any average goon or criminal. He had come from a different world, and he had, in a matter of seconds, taken down several SHIELD agents right in front of you.

10. Mischief in an Elevator (Tom/Reader, Loki/Reader, crack, humor, erotica)

Magical. Magical is the only way to describe it.

It’s an event that’s celebrating the Marvel movies. Two sisters are in attendance, exited to see their favorite characters in so many ways! And not just characters, but the wonderful people who played them as well!

I’m tagging @mastreworld @nildespirandum @ohhhmyloki @pedeka @nuggsmum @caffiend-queen @hurricanerin @lokispettigerr @lokilover9@iamhisgloriouspurpose @sabine-leo @queencfthestarsdrfoster