#mute virgil

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Muted/Unmuted

Summary: A visit to his brother's university doesn't go as planned - but it's what was needed.

Characters: Virgil, John

Words: 3K

Warnings: depression, hinted.

A/N: I have a small contribution. Look, it's been so long, I'm going to drop this and run. Have 3K of Virgil playing piano.

Or, Read on Ao3

~*~

Muted/Unmuted

The restaurant had a coat check, and that’s how John knew he’d have to use the Tracy name to get himself a table coming in without a reservation like he was. Taking advantage of their privilege wasn’t among his favorite things to do - or any of theirs really - but he made a mental note to donate to a local food kitchen, deciding the time with Virgil was worth him using his name for personal reasons.

“Near the music, if available,” he advised the hostess once he’d handed over his gray overcoat. Though it looked flat on the hanger, it was specially tailored to his silhouette. Around his neck, he continued to wear the long, wide scarf he’d walked in with. It had kept him warm walking through the campus of Denver Tech. Though it was warmer inside the building, he’d carried some of the outside chill with him. He’d been out walking a lot longer than he’d intended - once he’d managed to find the Edwards building from Virgil’s scrawl, one of his suitemates had redirected him into town, here, where Virgil had apparently picked up a last minute shift. 

John hadn’t even known that Virgil was working, not with the coursework he had on his plate to keep up with his two majors. But Virgil was like Scott, like John himself, and like their father before them: a man of action. He liked to keep his hands busy. 

He couldn’t deny the skip in his step, for it had been too long since he’d had a chance to visit Virgil in person, let alone had the chance to listen to his music live. Gordon or Alan or even Scott would’ve lamented the time lost, especially when the weekend was already so short to begin with, before finding something else to keep themselves busy. But John had arrived earlier than expected and it made him smile to know nothing had really changed about his brother since going their separate ways to University. Virgil would always step up when he was needed. 

There was nothing John would rather be doing with his first evening visiting than spending a few hours listening to his brother play the piano. The large textbook adding weight to his satchel reminded him he had his own studying he could do. It would be just like old times -  him lounging in the armchair deep in a book and Virgil practicing his scales and arpeggios before launching immediately into whichever piece was his current creative outlet. Sometimes it was the school play, sometimes a competition piece, and for a while his Juilliard entry, back when he thought he might apply. 

“I’ll likely settle down here for a while,” he advised the woman seating him as he relieved himself of the weight on his shoulder and placed his bag on the private booth before sliding in himself. 

“Of course, Mr. Tracy.” 

Privacy curtains blocked out the tables in his periphery, and though he wasn’t directly in front of where Virgil would play, they had secured him a space adjacent to the small stage space with two pianos, currently empty. 

He worried not about the clientele, letting the people fade away from his mind. But he was curious about the place his brother spent so much of his time, noting the soft, warm lighting, swirls of cloudy marble for each table counter, and seating cushioned with velvet. The kind of luxury they’d grown up with. 

Movement at his left caught his eye as Virgil situated himself at the piano. A black suit, slimming, but not among those specially tailored to his form, gave him the appearance of similar elegance. John recognized it for what it was, a uniform just as much as those worn by the other employees. A tie, nondescript enough that he couldn’t make out its coloring in this light. Though his hair was gelled into his usual coif. 

When he noticed John's eyes on him, Virgil gave him a small smile in acknowledgement from across the tables as he flexed his wrists in preparation for his set. John waved back, then opened his textbook to the latest chapter.

The piano keys, pliant under Virgil's capable fingertips, fluttered familiar melodies with the accompaniment of gently clinking glassware and the hum of dinner chatter. For awhile, John lost himself in physics, math, possibility, and theory. A glass of amber, cooled by stone, opened his mind to think a little looser and with a little less pressure sitting behind his brow. 

He thanked the server for bringing out his first course and used the opportunity to glance around the room. For as much as he liked to keep to himself, people-watching was among his favorite pastimes. When they were younger, he and Virgil used to make up backstories for the people they encountered. It had been a simple form of entertainment and yet great practice for their respective creative endeavors where they both relied on their powers of observation and expression. 

But for all the exercises in years past, his brother stole his gaze this evening, so familiar and yet changed in the months since they'd seen each other last. His face had filled out a little around his high cheekbones, five o'clock shadow a bit more prominent in the evening light. The suit squared his strong shoulders, and it made him seem bigger behind the instrument. Not that Virgil ever seemed small sitting at the piano keys, not with the way he enchanted audiences and conjured emotions in tones. 

Virgil was unaware of his prying eyes, his expression locked on the space where his sheet music usually rested. It was blank. Where his fingers flew over the keys with ease, the music itself was beautiful. Light and ever so gentle. But looking over the crowd, enamored with their respective dining partners or focused on the business portions of their dealings that evening, not one gave a care to the direction of the music. So much so that Virgil was practically background; when he paused between songs, there was no applause or acknowledgement to his performance. 

John’s antipasto turned in his stomach, the silverware suddenly loudening in his ears in a moment where Virgil paused and caught him looking, no doubt his expression bewildered. Barely a breath, and his brother was back in his set. And this time, with his mind less divided with his schoolwork set to the side, John heard it. 

The music was beautiful. That hadn’t changed, and Virgil was as precise as ever.

But it was soulless, as lifeless as the chestnut eyes that refused to meet his. 

~*~

Virgil performed two more sets after the first finished, three in total spanning from six to half after nine, with short breaks in between where he scurried somewhere in the back. John tried both times to catch him on his way to the restroom, but both times his brother had eluded him. After the second, a part of him wondered if the disappearing act was intentional. 

“Would you like a refill, Mr. Tracy?” a server asked, a gloved hand reaching for his glass of water before he could answer. “Do you know him, sir?” she asked, noticing his gaze during the final set. “The pianist?”

The more he watched, the more he noticed. There was a lack of embellishment, and his heart pounded over the lack of flourishes in the melodies. After a while, every tune started to sound like the same song repeated, Virgil’s movements rote and uninspired. 

“No.” 

“Oh, well, if you are into music, we have dueling pianos every Thursday night. It’s a bit more lively with two of them.”  

“Does V- he ever play?” 

“Oh, yes, sometimes he’s on the schedule. But you’ll want to come for Monsieur Allard. Should I see about securing you a reservation this upcoming week, Mr. Tracy?” 

John shook his head and broke the news that he was just in town for the weekend, waiting until she’d left to hiss out the breath he’d been holding. It wasn’t the server’s fault that Virgil was playing at barely half his talent, stifled and muted in this space of opulent luxury. It was apparent they didn’t know who Virgil really was, otherwise she wouldn’t have asked. And if John knew his brother, that had been intentional, a place to unwind where he could just play and not be his father’s son with their name marketed for the clientele. 

But, oh, the cost. He didn't know everything, yet. He intended to find out, but one thing he knew - this place was bleeding the life from him. 

He paid his check long before Virgil finished, loath to linger any longer than he needed to in the restaurant. His meal had been as luxurious as their menu boasted, and though the decadent flavors had turned flavorless in his observations, he sent his compliments to the chef and left a generous tip nonetheless. 

Out front, he received in message form. And with that he slung his messenger bag back over his shoulder, retrieved his coat, and happily left the building behind him.

Virgil beamed when he saw him, his arms laden with a garment bag and struggling with his phone. He'd since changed into casual jeans and flannel where the collar peeked through a similar overcoat. 

"You made it!" he laughed, pushing off the wall he was leaning on and slinging his free arm around John's thin shoulders. 

"A bit early," John admitted, the excitement infectious. 

"Come on," Virgil gestured In the direction of campus. "A short walk then we can get you out of the cold." 

They walked in step, and Virgil voiced the directions as they went. John had memorized them on his way in the first time, but there was no reason for him to tell Virgil that, especially when the instructions came with storytelling about which classes he had in the buildings they passed or which dormitories had the most drama. 

"The arts building is to your left." 

John didn't know what to say. He knew Virgil didn't have any classes there; they'd discussed their respective semesters at length this past summer. 

Virgil smiled at him, and it seemed genuine. 

But those eyes. John couldn't ease the turn in his stomach left by the way they looked through him. The glassiness he'd witnessed was long gone, but that didn't mean whatever was doing that to his brother was resolved. 

And they'd seen this before. 

"Are you okay?" The words burst out of him. "You'd tell one of us if you weren't, right?" 

Virgil's expression crumpled. 

John stopped in his tracks, a tentative hand reaching for his elbow "Virgil?"

"Why do you ask?" he replied, spinning toward him. 

“You - you just didn’t seem like yourself.” John dropped his hold on him.

Virgil sighed, wincing as the instinct to tug at his hair left residue on his fingers. He rubbed them anxiously on his jeans. “I guess I owe you an explanation.”

“It’s who they want you to be.”

He bowed his head. “I’m Vince Tanner there; I really thought I’d be doing right by mom’s name. I’d be playing after all. Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t come say hello; they have rules around us approaching the dinner patrons.” 

“They what?!”

“Anything on the set list has to be pre-approved, all these crowd pleasers. They all sound the same after a while, you know? And I’m not normally so irritated by repetition; but I can’t even -”

Virgil reached out his hands before him, as if invisible keys had sprung out to answer where the words couldn’t, and he played a tune John couldn’t hear. “I tried once. They said I was too disruptive to the guests.” 

John hummed. “What about this Allard person? He any good?”

Virgil snorted. “He sounds sophisticated and smart.”

“Do you get to release any of that,” - he didn’t have the music theory knowledge for the right descriptions, but he knew Virgil understood what he meant - “during the dueling piano nights?”

“No. That whole thing is a joke, and we’re supposed to be there to make Andre sound good. That’s all.”

“Virgil!” At this time of night, the campus was still busy with night owls like themselves or those returning from evening festivities at their party or tavern of choice -  some even on their way to. John didn’t care how his voice raised. There was no visible wound, but Virgil was being bled dry nonetheless. “Why do you even show up?”

“Diego called out sick.” 

“Not just today. Any day. Why are you letting them do this?”

For that, if Virgil had an answer he didn’t share it, his jaw tight. In the yellow light of the street lamps, his skin turned sallow, and he’d crossed his arms over his chest. To protect himself from the cold or from the conversation, John didn’t know fully. But Virgil always did wear his heart on his sleeve. 

“You’ve given me an explanation. Thank you,” John stepped in front of him and grasped him by the shoulders. “But that’s still not an answer.” 

“Can you let it go?” Virgil pleaded, his voice small and deflated. “I don’t want to bring this visit down anymore than it has been.”

“No, I can’t.”  

He glanced up, his eyes welling. “I’m fi-”

“You’re not.”

“No,” Virgil shook his head finally, “I’m really not.” He tightened his arms around himself, breathing deep to push back the swell of tears threatening to fall. “I’m not okay. I’m not.”

This would be the moment big brother would have wrapped him in a hug, Gordon would’ve done the same long before, and Alan wouldn’t have known to push that hard. But John? John had a different answer. Keeping his hands firmly on his brother’s heaving shoulders, he urged them both out of the walkway and toward the building they’d just passed. 

~*~

John let Virgil believe the door had just been open; his rule-abiding would’ve had him running all the way back to Kansas if he’d known they’d broken into the music and arts building. The lock jammer built into his watch was a gift from Parker upon John’s graduation. He hadn’t known if it would work on its own; he’d only had his hope that Denver was as unaware of their security issues as Cambridge. But sure enough, John budged the door open easily and ushered his older brother through the threshold. 

After admitting his struggles Virgil had gone silent. That was ok, John knew. At this stage, the music would speak where Virgil couldn’t yet. 

“Do you know where the music room is?” he asked him. “That’s ok,” he continued when Virgil shook his head mutedly. “We’ll find it.” To the center seemed to be a concert hall, with a gallery lined along the walls of the surrounding hallways. Likely the classrooms would be further back. John stepped further into the left hall, looking for any indication of whether it was approaching the art wing or the music one. 

“Here.” John cocked his head at his brother’s voice, where Virgil was holding the door to the concert hall open and gesturing for John to come back the way he came. “They have a few performances this weekend,” Virgil explained thinly. “I figured the piano might still be here.” 

The theater was Virgil’s space, not John’s, and within a few minutes, Virgil had found the controls he needed to give them a bit of light. The grand piano was situated stage right, facing towards the orchestra seating to provide the audience a side view of the instrument and the pianist. 

While the audience seating looked much more comfortable, John opted for grabbing one of the chairs set up for the back violins and pulled it closer to Virgil’s side. He wanted to stay close. Virgil hands hovered over the keys. Bright eyes looked over to him, unsure.

 “I don’t know where to start.” 

“Play something you wanted to play tonight. Something not on the approved setlist.” John couldn’t help the condemnation laced in his words, nor did he try to. 

Virgil’s flat smile twitched at the edges, and he huffed in agreement, though the sound was shadowed by a trickle of tones that molded into an elaborate musical story. 

Angry and somber, the melody from Virgil’s hands was familiar and the instinct to fill in the poetry of the words overtook him - not enough for John to sing out loud, but with each progressing chord he felt a jolt to his gut. 

It was a cry, a song lamenting the loss of times of war. 

“It feels so wrong to feel the way I feel when there’s this happening. Every day, when I wake up my thoughts drift to Scott, and I wonder what he’s seen that day. How much worse it must be to be in the thick of all this violence.” 

His breath hitched. 

“I want to play something that matters.” 

A harsh crescendo of notes from Virgil’s left hand. The right continuing the melody, softly while the chord bounced along the auditorium and faded. 

“Something mom would be proud of.” 

He stopped. 

“You know,” John tried. “Others’ experiences don’t negate your own just by being worse. I’m worried for Scott too.” 

A flicker of life with a trill, and his hands fell to his sides. 

He looked at John. “Every day my decisions feel like mistakes. Would dad be proud of the path I’ve chosen? Would mom understand? I feel so wrong and worthless. All the time.”

“Oh, Virgil.” 

He sucked in a breath and turned away, hands poised back above the ivory. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”

“Doesn’t need to be, just make it real.” John leaned forward, then asked if Virgil wanted him to go.

Virgil shook his head. “No. You can stay.”

Vulnerable with the cover of night, in a space sacred to Virgil, emotion poured from him, fragmented at first - anger, sadness, jubilance quieted all too quickly - before they converged into a jumble of sound and frustration. 

His soul bled beat after beat. A refrain of Juilliard’s audition pounded from the heart. 

Slashed with another, until it was the two melodies speaking to each other before one assimilated the other.

The cry of war mashed with the trill from earlier, turned minor with panic and worry, persisting. Unrelenting - soulless and lifeless. 

And then it built back up from a singular note, repeated into a quickened pulse, blurred with discordance, then the themes came back, louder, fiercer. Crescendoed while Virgil’s heart purged itself upon the keys.

Songs from the restaurant cascaded around them, the pretty made furious as it washed over them.

Virgil pushed back from the piano stool, standing, his whole self looming over the the movement of his hands, while he borrowed from the strength of his trembling arms and shoulders and back as he pounded on the instrument - and pounded until the music left them breathless, choked of air until there was only heat and noise. Until -

He broke.

A sob slashed the last chord, and Virgil fell to the stage with a thump of his large form. John tumbled forward to his knees in front of him, the pressure behind his own eyes released from watching. But at least Virgil hadn’t been alone. And as soon as he was near enough, Virgil launched himself at the closest brother he had while John gathered him close and whispered not that he was ok, but that he wouldn't be alone.

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn't do) (6)

warnings: captivity, restraints, panic attacks, unethical science, experimentation, wounds, injury and blood mention, character being kind of an ass, fear, bird ex machina, lmk if i missed any  

-

Virgil woke up to find he was surrounded by darkness and completely unable to move.

Seeing as the last thing he remembered was being poisoned into unconsciousness by a demon slayer with mad scientist leanings, this was about as far from reassuring as an awakening could be.

For a disoriented moment, he tried to check for the baby crow, which mostly just involved him listening closely for any loud, raspy-voiced swearing. Naturally, there wasn’t any, because he’d blacked out and the slayer very clearly hadn’t wanted Roman’s bird anywhere near him.

Bizarrely enough, he felt a little morose at the baby crow’s absence. Maybe because she was the only creature who had figured out that despite being a monster, he wasn’t actually a threat to humanity.

Or maybe it was just because being immobilized in a dark, silent place was totally freaking him out, and he would have taken any company so long as it meant he hadn’t been locked away forever or buried alive.

(Could he still die from a lack of oxygen? Would he be stuck underground, conscious and alone, for the rest of time? He couldn’t even call out for help.)

His body was unresponsive, and nothing his brain was coming up with was remotely helpful, so Virgil focused on his breathing, trying to keep his count steady as he inhaled and exhaled air that could be rapidly running out—

By the time the slayer entered the room, Virgil had already hyperventilated himself into unconsciousness a few times, each time utterly convinced he was dying.

The man didn’t bother saying anything to him or even sparing him anything more than a glance, simply walking around the space and lighting several lamps at a brisk pace, but Virgil felt a vast, sweeping sense of relief fall over him regardless.

He wasn’t buried. He hadn’t been left alone to rot away in the dark.

He was… extensively strapped down to a waist-high table in the center of the room?

A significant amount of his relief started to fade. Right. He’d been caught by a slayer who wanted him dead or worse, and was now entirely at his mercy— assuming he even had any for demons.

There was another person in the room, too, and they scurried about so quickly that it took Virgil a few moments to identify them as the wary stranger who had sent him to go find their brother. They were wearing the same uniform as the slayer, now, which answered basically all of Virgil’s potential questions about the situation.

“Subject ABN-V3, Log 1,” the slayer started, and Virgil’s eyes flicked over to him curiously. “The subject regained consciousness approximately half an hour after halting the regular wisteria toxin doses, indicating remarkable poison resilience, comparable to a Lower Rank.”

There was the distinct scratch of hurried writing, but the slayer’s hands were unoccupied as he circled Virgil’s prone form. The younger slayer must have been an assistant.

There was a muted pressure on his hand, which refused to even twitch, even as the pressure grew heavier. The slayer hummed, pulling away. “In contrast, regeneration ability appears relatively slow. Internal organ function has resumed, but exterior nerves and muscles remain paralyzed.”

His organs had been paralyzed?! Virgil’s breathing stuttered, and he wrestled with the instinctual panic for a moment. His lungs were clearly working now, so he should just keep breathing and not pass out again.

When he looked back over, it was to the sight of the slayer staring directly at his face with a detached sort of curiosity. That composed mask of his may have dropped for a few moments in the clearing, but it was fully repaired and glued in place now.

“Do you have anything to say?” he asked, which was a little startling.

Virgil blinked at him for a moment, and then very quickly recalled that blinking was about all he could do. His hands weren’t cooperating with him, and even his head felt too heavy to shake or nod at the moment.

An irritated rumble started up in his chest for a moment before dying out, and he heaved a low sigh, already exhausted. He’d burnt through all his default terror while panicking in the dark, and now there was barely anything left to scrape up for his impending dehumanizing death.

The slayer only watched him impassively for another long, silent stretch of seconds before turning his attention away.

“Subject’s nonverbal behavior remains consistent with previous encounter,” he narrated, which succinctly explained why he’d bothered to verbally prod Virgil in the first place. “No secondary manifestations present in the room. We’ll proceed with direct regeneration testing while the paralytic is still in effect.”

There was a metallic clink, and Virgil’s gaze flicked over to a tray covered with tools he could only guess at the purpose of. Most of them were sharp-edged.

At least he wouldn’t be able to feel them. Yet.

The slayer picked up a thin blade, and Virgil squeezed his eyes shut, in an attempt to not have to see whatever was being done to him.

The narration of that calm, clinical voice couldn’t be as easily blocked out, so he found out regardless.

—

His healing factor had improved a lot since being turned into a monster, but it wasn’t anywhere close to the level he’d seen from some of the other demons he’d fought, so he wasn’t surprised to find that the first thing he felt when the paralysis began to wear fully off was pain.

The wounds weren’t serious, at least. He hoped that didn’t mean they were saving more lethal ones for when he could actually feel them, but he wasn’t optimistic about his odds.

(Unsurprisingly, it seemed like most demon slayers really hated demons.)

The slayer seemed strangely perturbed by the way the methodical injuries he’d inflicted hadn’t healed yet. Apparently, vastly accelerated healing was the norm for most demons, so this was just another way in which Virgil was a freaky outlier. Virgil could have told the slayer as much himself if he’d been able to sign.

Not to say that he’d regained all his vocabulary. With his limbs strapped firmly down, his post-poison communication was limited to signs that he could form with just his hands, and no accompanying movements. Fingerspelling was tedious, but at least it was possible.

“S-L-E-E-P,” he’d signed when the slayer had been theorizing on his apparently deeply unusual slow healing. “L-O-N-G.”

It took a few repetitions for his captor to pay it any mind, but once he did, his expression immediately creased with doubt. Virgil let himself look irritated about the reaction, because really, what was the point in pretending? He was screwed either way.

“If hibernation periods could heal demons, there would be longer stretches of inactivity between attacks,” the slayer said, frowning down at him. “It would make my job much easier if that were the case, but it isn’t.”

Since when was Virgil the representative for all of demonkind? He’d barely even spoken to other demons, since generally their interactions tended to start and end with them trying to kill each other. This was his supernatural sleeping schedule, not theirs.

Generally, he only slept like that when he was injured. If he wasn’t hurt in a fight, he didn’t get tired. He signed as much to the slayer, and earned a disbelieving scoff for his efforts.

Virgil had only been dozing lightly so far, seeing as he was currently trapped and about as far from safety as he could possibly get, but the disbelief rankled, and he huffed before pointedly closing his eyes as though to prove it.

He thought maybe the slayer wouldn’t allow it— there probably wasn’t much to scientifically observe when your subject is sleeping— but to his surprise, the man only noted down the behavior and then left.

It took a good part of the first day to force himself down into genuine sleep, but being left alone in a quiet space was close enough to his usual cave naps that he eventually managed to sink into the heavy unconsciousness of one of his impromptu hibernation sessions.

A full week later, he snorted into wakefulness to see the slayer had unstrapped one arm and was inspecting the smooth skin where the incisions had been previously.

This must not have been the first time he’d removed a restraint to see if Virgil was faking his beauty rest, because his head shot up with keen alarm the moment Virgil’s eyes fluttered open.

He released Virgil’s hand and drew a thin, needle-like dagger from his side in the same moment, presumably a breath away from poisoning him back into temporary organ failure.

Virgil barely even registered the movement, his eyes still crusted over with sleep. Half-awake and triumphant, he blearily inspected his completely-healed arm and then promptly signed, “I told you so.”

“Return your arm to the restraint,” the slayer instructed, his voice brooking no argument and his gaze assessing.

Virgil made a sour face, rubbing at his eyes. “Don’t you have cuffs?” he asked, turning slightly so he could tap his free wrist to his strapped down one for the last sign. “I could at least sign in those.”

“The restraint. Immediately,” the slayer replied, firm as stone.

A low grumbling growl of complaint started up in Virgil’s chest, but there was no way he could get free of the other restraints quickly enough to try and escape, and he really wasn’t looking to get his organs shut down again for no reason.

Besides, the assistant kid was still there in the corner, watching him with wide eyes, and he didn’t like the idea of scaring them.

Fine. He’d go back to his stupid nap then.

With a petulant scowl, he closed his eyes and stuck his arm back out and allowed the slayer to pin it back into place and tighten the straps over it. He flipped him off afterwards, though, just to make things clear.

It was quiet for long enough that he pried his eyes back open suspiciously. Both of the slayers were staring at him like he’d just started abruptly juggling fish or something, and he raised his eyebrows in a display of irritated bewilderment.

For once, the slayer didn’t have some snappy annotation to spout, only glaring down at Virgil with his jaw working like he was gritting his teeth.

Was he really that pissed off that Virgil had been telling the truth about his healing? Why?

“Professor Logan—,” the baby slayer whispered, faltering when Virgil’s gaze flicked their way.

“That’s enough for today,” ‘Logan’ answered, stepping away from the table. “We’ll speak elsewhere.”

Virgil only barely managed to stifle an incredulous noise as the two of them left, putting the lights out as they went. They’d never bothered to take their rude and often horrifying conversations about him elsewhere before. Maybe he should try being right about things more often.

—

“Bastard!”

Virgil’s eyes flew open at the muffled call, his head feeling much clearer after sleeping off the last of the poison’s symptoms.

It was quiet and dark all around him, as always, and for a moment, he nearly convinced himself that he’d imagined the noise entirely.

Then, from outside the door, there was a raspy squawk and an audible ruffling of feathers. “Fiend! Fiend?”

… Just how determined to swear at him was this bird?!

He couldn’t exactly respond, and he wasn’t sure why he would want to. Logan had reacted extremely negatively to the bird existing in the same space as him last time, and he wouldn’t wager that the slayer’s attitude had changed in the past however many days.

Still, the crow was clearly looking for someone, possibly even him. He could hear the distinctive pitter-patter of little taloned feet scurrying back and forth on the floor, with the occasional inquisitive swear thrown in.

After a few long minutes of this, Virgil gave up on trying to go back to sleep, unable to tune the little creature out. He may as well try to answer in the limited way he could.

It took entirely too long, but he managed to purse his lips and whistle a long, low note.

The clicking of steps stopped dead, and then grew abruptly louder, the bird’s faux-speech taking on an excited tone.

The baby crow audibly scrabbled at the doorway for a few seconds, before evidently managing to worm her way under the door gap. From there, she made short work of the flight up to the table, where she immediately perched directly on Virgil’s forehead and peered upside down at him.

“Scourge!” she announced gleefully.

Someone certainly hadn’t learned her lesson about fraternizing with big scary demons. He whistled an amused note at her, fingers twitching in an impulse to reach up and ruffle her feathers before he remembered his situation.

Right. No bird-petting for monsters, he guessed.

The crow— wasn’t her name Fluffbutt or something?— seemed to notice the movement, though, and she traversed down Virgil’s arm in little hops. He still couldn’t really reach her scruff of downy baby feathers from this angle, but he gave it his best attempt.

Fluffbutt pecked him harshly, which, rude, and then she turned around and started picking at the straps holding his forearm down.

… No fucking way.

Virgil craned his neck to look over at the bird, his disbelief slowly melting away as he saw that yes, the crow really was tugging and prying at the corded knot holding the restraints in place like her life depended on it.

It was slow going, but as she steadily worked at it, Virgil could tell that progress was being made. He wiggled his arm testingly every so often, usually getting bit for his efforts, and after what felt like hours of agonizing waiting, he finally managed to pull through the last threads of the restraints.

He only had one arm free, but that and some time was all he really needed. Fluffbutt reclaimed her spot on his forehead, watching as he quickly tore at the restraints on his other limbs.

As it turned out, quickly sitting up for the first time in days was a bad idea. Virgil rode out the surge of dizziness and pushed to his feet, pacing back and forth in the small room until he was confident that his legs had remembered how to function well enough to get him out of there.

A simple test of the handle revealed the room had been locked, and Virgil wasted a few minutes poking through the unsettling number of medical tools in the room before realizing there was no way they’d left the key in here with him.

He could probably kick the door down if given a few tries, but the more noise he made, the more likely it was that Logan would find him mid-escape and put him right back in those restraints. Virgil had no illusions on how a second match between him and the uncannily quick slayer would turn out, which meant that stealth was currently his best friend.

He turned his gaze to the wall, wondering if they were flimsy enough that it would be better to try and punch a hole through one of those, but before he could decide further, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

Shit. Plastering himself against the wall, he waited tensely for them to pass by— only for them to pause right outside the doorway. There was the distinct click of a key being inserted into a lock. Double shit.

The door swung open, and the assistant slayer had just enough time to look up and see the empty specimen table before Virgil leapt at them.

Don’t freak out, he would have said if his hands weren’t currently occupied with covering the slayer’s mouth and dragging them bodily into the room. Instead, he made a series of low chuffing sounds from deep in his chest, which helped absolutely nothing about the current situation.

“Scourge!” Fluffbutt crowed, her contribution equally as unhelpful.

Hurriedly booting the door shut with his foot, Virgil only had a moment before the baby slayer gave up on trying to pry his hand away and instead went for the sword sheathed at their side.

Since letting them do that was basically a one-way street to getting decapitated, he risked releasing them for long enough to tear his claws through their belt and yank the sword free, sheathe and all, before tossing it into a corner with a muted thud.

“PRO—,” they started, and Virgil slapped his hand back over their mouth, hissing lowly in the closest approximation to a shush that he could manage. They responded by glaring and biting him, which he really should have expected after living with teenagers for a few months.

It only took a glance around the room to find a suitable cloth from the cache of cleaning supplies, and Virgil wrangled the baby slayer into a headlock for the handful of seconds it took him to assemble a makeshift gag and shove it in their mouth.

With the slayer now unable to raise the alarm, Virgil paused for a moment to think, his whole body jittering with sudden adrenaline. The easiest solution would obviously be to strap the slayer into the convenient demon-proof restraints readily available on the specimen table, but he really didn’t want to do that. The kid was already panicking hard enough, the last thing he wanted was to make them think he was going to experiment on them or something.

Instead, he tore a larger piece of linen into strips and wound them around the slayer’s wrists a few times before knotting the end of the faux-ropes intensively around one of the table legs.

The slayer started yanking against the makeshift restraints the moment Virgil stepped away, their cries muffled but still audible enough that he should really be escaping sooner rather than later.

Luckily, his cloak had been dumped on a nearby shelf with the rest of the meager belongings he carried with him, mostly ignored after Logan had finished snooping through it for bones or something. Virgil ignored Fluffbutt swooping noisily around his head as he slung the comforting weight back around his shoulders and pulled the hood up, and then stepped back around the table towards the door.

The baby slayer seemed to think he was headed for them instead, their gaze very obviously wide with terror as they scrambled ineffectively to get away from him. He stopped short, guilt swamping him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he signed, backing up a few paces to try and give them some space. “I just want to get out of here, okay?”

The kid stared at him, chest rising and falling as rapidly as a sparrow’s. He sort of wished he had heard their name at some point, but it probably wouldn’t have made a difference. As it was, he didn’t even know if they knew sign, let alone how to calm them down.

He sighed, lifting his hands up to his shoulders in a gesture of nonaggression, and edged around them to finally get to the door. Fluffbutt settled on his shoulder, apparently content to be identified as a little feathered demon-associating traitor. 

The hall was blessedly empty when he stuck his head out to check, and so he waved a small farewell to the kid— almost certain that they would wriggle out of those haphazard bonds within the hour— and closed the door after himself.

The key was still sitting there in the lock, so he twisted it to relock the room, and after a moment of thought, dropped the key and kicked it under the door so that the kid wouldn’t be stuck if nobody else came by in the next few hours.

He’d done it. He was out— mostly, anyhow.

Now, all he had to do was stay out.

[wordy-little-witch]

I am now hip deep in the Edge of Midnight campaign from legends of avantris and lemme tell you some shit -

1) I would lay down my life for Jericho Sticks without any hesitation. Torbek and Jericho are my sons now, no takesies backsies.

2) Lethica and Marius are so perfectly aligned to be end game lovers but I personally adore the idea of them being queerplatonic if only bc it's funny to watch people be confused and I think Lethica would adore that.

3) you can pry the concept of Briggsy having a some kind of magical fantasy cellphone equivalent from my cold dead hands - sending stone or smth idfk - and he's been keeping his buddy/boyfriend Torbek updated on all this like "Becky you would not BELIEVE what happened today-" ((listen I know the flirting bit between them in the yuletide one-shot was a feycurse but leave me alone it's funny as fuck))

4) briggsy @ jericho in ep 24 appropos nothing: Jerry, maybe we have to kiss ((sad, silly twinks with Literal Darksides are his type /j))

5) I have a friend-crush on Nikkie and I will never recover

6) I have an unyielding NEED to have Jericho get a final hit on a boss and yell yeehaw

7) I know stylistically Jericho doesn't have "skin" but I personally hc that his clothes aren't effectively his skin, he has a burlap body - and he has "tattoos" in the form of embroidery. It started when he had to stitch up his own cuts and stuff and he just kept it up.

8) Only Yorgrim has any constant sense of cooking in an actual kitchen-like setting. Farryn, Marius, and Briggsy can do journey or on-the-road cooking, but it's never.... great. Lethica burns everything somehow or gets the bright idea to 'experiment', and it's never good - she's fine if she's got clear end goals. Jericho is understandably skittish around fire due to his body and straw, but he is the closest to being able to cook well and do so semi regularly.

9) Virgil is a weird mix of a hater and lowkey overprotective. He does hate being imprisoned, but also he's kinda bound here so he HAS to keep this disaster of a bard safe. He refuses to admit he might have a soft spot. He is Stressed.

10) Farryn doesn't get the appeal of Girls Nights, but Jericho does!!! They join Lethica for some fun relaxation. Briggsy once asked why Jericho was allowed since he's also a dude, and Lethica just responded "he's allowed to be there - on account of him being a scarecrow and not a literal man after all." It's an inside joke which later has to be explained - Jericho is nonbinary but doesn't rightly care about stuff like that.

11) Yorgrim is the group dad, no I will not explain.

12) sometimes after a battle, Lethica and Marius will help stitch up some of Jericho's tears. Farryn may also add in random flowers she finds around because it makes him happy.

13) Briggsy is small but mighty. The only person he has yet to pick up and carry is Yorgrim - he swears that one day that tombstone will be gone and he'll be able to do it. It's all the rock's fault, he's sure of it.

Spoilers under the cut (caught up to present)

OKAY so I am caught up completely and have decided that Canon is not important leave me alone

• Yorgrim did not die - he got wounded heavily but survived.

• Farryn almost got taken but they got to her in time. She is mute for a time due to injuries and trauma - idk if she ever talks again bc we could use more sign language in the world. Maybe it comes and goes, fuck if I know, idk and idc

ONWARDS TO SILLIES

• Lethica strong armed her way into giving Jericho The Talk after he revealed he had no idea what a penis was. Scarecrows cannot blush, but apparently his fiendish glow can ebb and flow and he glows much MUCH brighter when he's embarrassed - she tries so hard not to laugh.

• Adella and Jericho btw are simply besties. His "crush" on her is a friend crush and Phillip just finds it painfully cute. ((Also -> Jericho has mommy issues and Adella always wanted a son/nephew/little brother. Peaceful alignment))

• Dark Mode Marius is a colossal flirt but still a giant dweeb. He's cool and suave until someone flirts back - then he's a mess.

• Briggsy is very happy with his Kannon & makes "shooting my shot" jokes at every and any opportunity

• Yorgrim, with his reward, manages to finally lay many souls tonrest but he still carries the tombstone on journeys - just not constantly now. He still believes he must pay penance, but it's a little easier to share the burden.

• Farryn, with her own reward, has not chosen to activate it yet. Something tells her to wait, to bide her time and remain. She does, however, get a little more at ease with the others. She and Jericho have come to an understanding, too - that being they they are a package deal, no takesies backsies, and they refer to each other as twin, much to the confusion of many, many, many people. WLW and NBLM solidarity.

• Jericho is pining HARD for Marius, but he's absolutely terrified of damaging the friendship so everyone is watching two oblivious dummies look longingly into each other.

• POLYAMORY POLYAMORY POLYAMORY

• Marius grows rather fond of Virgil, and the sentiment is very much NOT reciprocated bc this angry knight vampire is not good enough for his vessel and he's mad about it.

• Yorgrim: I've only had my friends for a few days, but if anything happened to them, I'd kill everyone in Druskenvald and then myself.

• I fully expect for Jericho to somehow befriend an enemy in disguise, not realize, and accidentally fuck up the evil plan with the powers of puns, music and friendship (/j)

• the first time the party sees Jericho presenting more feminine, he's been lended one of Lethica's dresses after his own clothes got torn up and the rest are being washed. Marius has a nosebleed and faints. Briggsy is staring somewhat respectfully. Lethica is trying valiantly not to laugh. Farryn and Yorgrim regret not dying when they had the chance.

• Marius: i cannot have a relationship because I have sworn to follow the duchess of sin

Lillith: whoa hold up, Do Not use me as an excuse to avoid the cutie pie over there. Besides, he has a demon. I'm queen of hell. I can make a small exception.

Marius: shit

• Briggsy Bi Icon: OH if ONLY Jerry here had a DASHING KNIGHT to SAVE THEM from this PERILOUS INCIDENT

Jericho: captain, I'm just getting off of a horse??

Marius: no no Briggsy has a point, no maiden should be unaccompanied or unassisted. Allow me-

Lethica&Farryn: We Know What You Are

• Yorgrim is watching all this inter party flirting and is definitely wondering if he's gonna have to have an aside with everyone about flirting tactics and communication skills. Briggsy is making it worse by enabling everyone.

• Farryn gets some sweet, succulent healing, that is all.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

aita for not inviting a friend of mine into my dnd campaign?

so i (18nb) have a friend (18nb, Martin) who i play in a main dnd campaign with with all our other friends (Ill name them Dan, Virgil, Mark, and Ray). Dan is our DM after we kicked out the old one bc she was horrible. We're a pretty close group of friends, but lately we've all been really busy with respective school & work, ect. so we didnt play dnd for a solid, like,, 4 months. I DMed a one shot for everyone besides Ray cause she was flaky anyway, and added in my boyfriend Zeke for it.

Everyone had a really fun time w it and I loved everyones characters, especially Dan's. I watch a lot of dnd shows, so i just keep getting more ideas- but while the one shot was fun it was messy as hell. Ive been wanting to write a campaign for a smaller group for a while, (because when i tried making a campaign with the whole group the character creations were... disappointing to say the least. this sounds mean but i created a fairy world that was very magical & told everyone to go crazy on character creation in a world with few/no humans, and like 5/6 people opted to be a human with a fighting class :/ )

ive been writing a campaign that im really proud of and have a good vision for, and decided to include Mark (because we're best friends) Zeke (because he wants to play dnd more and has no opportunities) Dan (bc he never gets to be a player) and then another close friend of mine outside the group named Gabe (who i love but never get to see) I love their characters & we're all super excited.

Thing is. I was briefly talking with Dan, Zeke and Mark about it at school bc I'd sent everyone a little intro message for the world and they were all super excited and wanted to talk to me about their classes. Virgil had no problem with this and was excitedly asking abt the world + characters along with some other friends from school, but Martin got quiet and went and sat by himself. I could tell they were off, but Martin is generally a quiet person anyway and is often sad + doesnt want to talk for like a hundred different reasons, so i left her alone. Later that day in a different class I have with Virgil he showed me his phone where Martin had sent him a message saying she was really disappointed & felt left out that i hadnt invited them to my campaign.

i instantly felt bad and started to text him, but,,,, to be honest, i dont think im at all responsible for this.

i have reasons for leaving Martin out, the main one being that they just..... arent a very active player. Hes soft spoken and doesnt actually like rping their characters- her character in our main campaign is/was literally mute bc they said they didnt want to have to speak as him. (theyve since taken this back and went through with a curse breaking thing to be able to speak, but her character,,, still doesnt talk much.) he writes really good, sad backstories but doesnt actually play or do anything with them and gets uncomfortable acting. Their characters are not only emotional, but like. crazy. they play a bunch of cool tieflings with insane magic classes & features and then, again,,,, dont roleplay them. I didnt want the group to be big and had a good reason for including everyone that i did, and our other friends that arent in it (Virgil, Ray who is Martins sister btw, all our other d&d interested friends at school) literally dont mind at all. i just wrote a campaign that theyre not in. Martin also has their feelings hurt very easily, so to be honest i just find her being sad about not being in it just... stupid. id never say that to his face & i get that he feels bad, but like....cmon.

im aware im a very very incredibly low empathy person- to be honest i struggle with depression and bpd very heavily and am often mean to my friends & loved ones without really processing why or how much it affects them. i told Virgil that i thought Martins reaction was stupid, and he said that that wasnt fair bc Martin had always been in my campaigns before (which is, yknow, one. Martin and I were even in a campaign with a completely different group a while back and Martin willingly left it very early because the group was loud & their character wasnt doing anything (yeah)). Every time Martins expressed (or i guess not expressed) sorrow for not being invited to it ive just sort of ignored them. this again isnt that uncommon cuz when shes sad he doesnt like to talk about it, and also they havent directly confronted me with this at all.

ive been talking about the campaign a lot because it occupies frankly a lot of my brain because i have so much to write, and i especially talk to the people that arent in it bc theres no risk of slipping up and telling them something they arent supposed to know. The other friend, Gabe, is friends with Zeke and Mark and I, and Dan is good around new people,, but Martins really quiet around people he doesnt know well, so if i invited her anyway they'd probably play the game even less than they already do.

again, im really bad at having an actual perspecitve on this. Virgil said he feels bad for Martin but not for himself, as far as i know Dan doesnt know about the situation, and i literally just dont wanna involve Mark and Zeke (Zeke HATES conflict and when people fight so he really doesnt have to be involved.) Mark Martin and I have all been really close friends since literally 7th grade and I guess Martin especially feels left out that I involved Mark and not them but Marks both really good at character creation and also talking in character, and like, hes my best friend who i do everything with.

I dont wanna blow off Martins emotions but but i truly dont give a shit that they feel betrayed by my not inviting him. especially because they havent bothered actually telling me this. objectively i dont think its my fault even a little, and Martin is really horrible at handling their emotions anyway (this isnt an insult, just a fact. i am too). aita for not inviting him + not caring that shes upset by it and acting like they arent?

sorry this is so long i really like providing context

What are these acronyms?

[forest-falcon]

The Butterfly Effect

Chpr 9

⚠️ Trigger Warning for whump and angst.

🧡💙🩵

John brought the space elevator to a smooth halt just above the caldera.

He wanted to get a birds-eye view of One before he touched down.

The elevator door opened, and the astronaut made a conscious effort to coordinate his limbs; the additional gravity about as welcome as a new Fischler Enterprise venture.

John cracked his joints.

"Alright. Time to fly."

The astronaut leapt from the elevator and his jetpack deployed.

*. *. *.

Kayo flailed midair.

There was no time to think, only feel.

Her stomach seemed to drop faster than terminal velocity.

Darkness was swallowing her as light flew from view.

A hand grasped her wrist.

"Kayo. Glad I caught you!"

"John!" Kayo gave an incredulous half-laugh.

"Am I glad to see you!"

"Hold on..."

John guided the two of them back to the relative safety of the poolside.

As soon as his boots touched the ground, Kayo wrapped her brother in a Virgil-esque hug.

"K-ay!"

Kayo indulged herself the human contact a moment longer, before the sound of a jet engine could be heard approaching the island.

"Protocol Phoenix."

John had practically exhaled the words. Relief and disbelief was etched in his features, as though he had forgotten that he himself had summoned them.

"Here. Help Scott."

John shed his jetpack and ran to meet the carrier approaching the beach.

With feline accuracy, Kayo caught the pack.

Hold on Scott, I'm coming.

*. *. *

"Scott? Scott? You with me?"

Scott stirred, his brain registering the noise, but not the name.

"Scott, it's Kayo. Come on, sleepy head, no snoozing on the job. Can you open your eyes for me?"

A muted moan rattled around his ribcage.

His head hurt.

He was vaguely aware of his eyelashes flickering. Jeez...the last time his head felt this bad, he'd sampled some of Gordon's homemade moonshine. The memory curdled his stomach and he whimpered.

"You're okay. You're okay. I'm with you."

Kayo's slender fingers were resting on his face...on grazed cheekbones. It didn't hurt, not really. Not compared to the other injuries his body sported; but there was something in the sensation that registered as uncomfortable; an invasion of personal space that had him pulling away from her touch.

"Scott, try not to move for me, okay? It's very important that we keep your neck and head still."

His eyes finally opened.

"There you are."

Kayo offered him a warm smile. A smile saturated in love and reassurance. A smile that told him that he was going to be okay.

"-ay?"

Eurgh, his mouth was dry.

"I've been called worse," her expression shrugged, but her hands remained steady.

"Head."

It hurt. He still didn't know why. Where were they? Building collapse?

"You've been in an accident."

"Air?"

"Air?" Kayo parroted.

"I'm not sure I follow. Your oxygen stats look good... Or do you mean you were flying in the air?"

"Wh-w-where?"

His lungs felt like they were out of sync from the other muscles it took to breathe.

"Oh! You're home Scott. Well, the pool...kinda."

Scott blinked at her.

"Not your finest landing."

Landing.

Like a circuit finally completed, the jigsaw fell in place.

He'd been fixing One's overhead locker when the call came in.

Some pot-holers had managed to get themselves wedged in a remote location and needed assistance.

Gordon and Alan were already out in Four, and Virgil was off rota, so; One was required to safely extract the group.

His mind had switched to rescue mode. Muscle memory fulfilling the required procedures to launch his Bird. Truth be told, he couldn't remember stashing the Toolbox he was using in the very locker he had been fixing, but his head injury attested to the fact that he had.

The mission proved to be a straightforward one. Honestly, the GDF could have taken it; but given the limited information they had to go on, they weren't to know.

With no visible injuries and paramedics having arrived on scene; Scott fired One, and headed home. It wasn't until she made the switch to horizontal flight that the toolbox had shifted. In any other locker it would have been fine, but...stupid is as stupid does. He'd shoved it in the faulty one.

...which promptly opened.

...allowing the contents to rain down on top of him.

Judging on colour alone; the wrench was the offending item that had clipped him. The grease rags had mercifully missed.

What happened next was all a bit of a blur.

All he could really remember was wanting to make it home to Virgil.

"Vir-gil?"

"We'll get to Virgil. Right now, you're my priority."

"Pri-rity?"

"Yes. John and the rest of Phoenix are heading to him now."

Scott felt his veins turn to ice.

"No, no, no... Virg-l!"

Kayo's hands were fussing around him.

He pushed the aid away. This was his fault.

He did this.

Kayo attempted to thwart his thrashing.

"Geroff me and help Vir-"

"Sco-"

"VIRGIL!"

"-Shut the hell up Scott and listen!"

Two cat-green eyes pinned him.

"One is compromised. You not listening endangers us both, get it? I'm not leaving you, so either you let me do my job, or we both die here."

Scott's brain cowered. She meant every word. Kayo, like the rest of them, was loyal to a fault. She wouldn't leave him.

Sensing his outburst had passed; Kayo began fastening the foam blocks around his head.

She was staring him dead in the face.

"Help is coming."

Now he understood. First responders make for the worst patients. Best he could do was to trust her.

"Okay."

"Good."

Kayo exhaled slowly.

“John's activated Protocol Phoenix. The carrier has already arrived and John's gone to meet them.”

Scott blinked groggily. If Protocol Phoenix had been activated, then this was an even bigger fuck-up than he'd first thought.

“Phoe-nix?”

“Yes Scott. We rise from the ashes.”

"God, that's cheesy."

"Attaboy. Now let's get out of here."

[not-your-average-highschool-au]

✨Dynamics✨

Okay so👏 Character dynamics at the “start/beginning” of the au:

Patton, Logan, and Roman are a tiny best friend group. They don’t really have many friends outside of this group since Roman finds it hard to mesh well with people, Patton finds it hard to even talk to new people, and not many people appreciate Logan and his fandom talks. So they don’t have too many friends outside the group but they don’t mind.

Remus and Janus are super close. They’re the best of friends and constantly are spending time together, only not being seen together when they’re off doing their respective school activities (ex: Janus’s practices, Remus’s academic activities, etc). Aside from that, they’re basically attached at the hip.

Virgil is apart of a completely separate friend group and is kinda detached from everyone at first. Since he’s super popular, he’s got a huge friend group and they’re who he mostly hangs out with. However, he knows of the other sides and they know of him.

In terms of groups crossing paths with each other (idk how else to word it lol); Patton, Logan, and Roman do end up hanging out with Janus and Remus since… you know, Roman and Remus are brothers. Since Janus and Remus are older though, they kinda lovingly make fun of/tease the group. They don’t think badly of them but they still tease them a bit. Logan and Patton don’t really mind but it really can get under Roman’s skin for sure.

With Virgil, Janus and Remus respect him due to how popular he is and they do sometimes hang out when the opportunity arises. As for Patton, Roman, and Logan, the dynamic with Virgil is a tad different for each pair individually.

With Virgil and Patton, they both had a mutual respect for each other. Patton admires how kind Virgil is to him and others while Virgil thinks that Patton is super cool (he’s a huge fan of Patton’s aesthetic). Currently working on a drawing to show off a bit of this dynamic so keep an eye on for that haha

With Virgil and Roman, Virgil thinks Roman’s pretty cool but Roman can’t really stand Virgil. Roman doesn’t hate him exactly but he is a little annoyed whenever he shows up. Roman can’t really explain why he has this kinda distain towards Virgil. Maybe it’s cause deep down, Roman’s a bit jealous of how popular Virgil is; idk👀

With Virgil and Logan, there’s also a kinda mutual respect. It’s not in the same way as Patton and Virgil though; it’s a bit more of a muted and chill respect, if that makes sense. Logan thinks that Virgil’s generally pretty cool and has more of a neutral, positive leaning feeling towards him. Virgil feels a similar way towards Logan; he admires how open he is about his interests but he doesn’t really admire it as much as he admires Patton.

Anyways, I think that’s everyone!! Thanks for reading!

[analogicalreasoning]

Another Analogical ramble

Am I ORIGINAL?, in my opinion, seems to be where Virgil starts to take a liking to Logan. He likes that Logan is opposing Roman's idea of pure originality, he's impressed by his rapping, he smirks when Logan remarks "this is what we get for making [Roman] the leader", etc

He starts to feel a sense of affection for Logan, despite it being very muted, because he doesn't feel alone anymore. He's not the only one who opposes Roman, he's not the only one getting insulted and put down.

That's why when Logan calls Virgil a defeatist at the end of the episode, Virgil really seems to take it to heart. He doesn't say anything after that and sinks out in silence. He's hurt that the person he thought he could relate to was never actually on his side like he thought he was.

Cut to My NEGATIVE Thinking, and Virgil is SOUR. As soon as Logan starts to oppose Virgil's ideas about Thomas' performance, he claims that he's taking Roman's side. Logan makes it a point to underline that he's not on Roman's side and never said that he was. That says to me that Virgil is so stuck in the idea that he's alone again that he jumps to accuse Logan without substantial evidence.

It's obvious that when Logan begins to compliment Virgil he's shocked. He thought that Logan didn't like him not only because he called him a defeatist, but also because he felt isolated by him at the end of Am I ORIGINAL?. Logan telling him that he did good for participating despite not wanting to, claiming that he doesn't mind his company because the other two are overwhelming, and even saying (albeit not outright) that he thinks Virgil is capable of sophisticated thinking is surprising.

That's the springboard for their relationship. In previous episodes they had a very weak connection (including Logan saying that Virgil was the antagonist and Virgil just kind of weakly defending himself) but obviously there's more to My NEGATIVE Thinking than just a debate between the two characters.

I love them so much, AnalogicalReasoning ramble over <3

[amazing-spiderlad]

Aperture definitely made some of those super cheesy corporate videos. I'm picturing a pride month video that just opens with Cave Johnson and Caroline standing in his office like

"Here at Aperture, we fully support the lgbt community. Isn't that right, Caroline?"

Caroline, holding a pride flag: Yes sir, Mr Johnson!

"Just ask one of our many homosexual employees!"

Then it cuts to Wheatley reading off a piece of paper without having been told what it's for

Wheatley: I feel accepted and supported at Aperture, my low intelligence and liking men won't stop me from being a part of science-

"At Aperture, we're fully committed to diversity. From our test subjects-"

Then there's just a shot of Chell standing there with a subtitle saying "mute lesbian"

"To our maintenance team-"

Virgil, holding a pride flag and literally the only one who looks like he's participating willingly: I like men, and that's okay!

Then it just shows the company logo but rainbow coloured

[plaquerat]

Tell me about your Copia. 👀

Ah Copia.... Sister Copia.... Mama Emeritus...... Cici, even.

under the cut bc it's long hehe

So obviously I am. A big proponent of trans woman Copia. Obvious if you look at her or listen to me talk about her for like 15 seconds.

She started transitioning before the Prequelle era, though she definitely didn't figure it out until adulthood. She's still front man (front woman?) though obviously she's a nun and instead of papa she's mother superior.

Straight woman so much but she can't get a date. Not for lack of people liking her she just. Fumbles. Constantly. She talks to Aether like he's an ex that she had a weird breakup with even though they never dated.

Grew up thinking she was orphaned but she kind of like.. always kind of had the vibe that she was related to those Emeritus guys. Very quiet as a child, not necessarily mute but she tended to chitter and talk more to vermin than actual people. Rats were her only friends growing up and she kind of still feels that way.

Has only summoned one ghoul successfully: a very young quintessence ghoul resembling a rat. Very quickly got attached and saw him as more of a son than anything and well... that's Phantom.

A few years after that she kind of had a relationship with a sister of sin that didn't work out (Copia turned out to not be into women, that sister turned out to not be into the whole satan thing). Things didn't end great and Copia never heard from her again. Months later, though, an infant is left at the Ministry on a cold winter night and that was Virgil, the result of the short-lived relationship.

Despite being super not great with people, she loves her kids a whole lot. Maybe it's from growing up so isolated and alone and not wanting that for them, maybe it's just all the love she holds in her heart. She's very proud of both of them now that they're adults (though sometimes she babies them a little too much)

[sleepyvirgilprompts]

Sitting there, finally, Virgil was warm and full and safe. And, he noticed with muted surprise, absolutely fucking exhausted.

How had he not realized until then? Well, it made sense. Of course he was tired. Still, though, to not notice at all... But for once, he didn't worry about it for long. No, before long, he had fallen fast asleep.

[thebrickinbrick]

What Is To Be Done In the Abyss if One Does Not Converse? Part 2

About two o’clock in the morning, they reckoned up their strength. There were still thirty-seven of them.

The day began to dawn. The torch, which had been replaced in its cavity in the pavement, had just been extinguished. The interior of the barricade, that species of tiny courtyard appropriated from the street, was bathed in shadows, and resembled, athwart the vague, twilight horror, the deck of a disabled ship. The combatants, as they went and came, moved about there like black forms. Above that terrible nesting-place of gloom the stories of the mute houses were lividly outlined; at the very top, the chimneys stood palely out. The sky was of that charming, undecided hue, which may be white and may be blue. Birds flew about in it with cries of joy. The lofty house which formed the back of the barricade, being turned to the East, had upon its roof a rosy reflection. The morning breeze ruffled the gray hair on the head of the dead man at the third-story window.

“I am delighted that the torch has been extinguished,” said Courfeyrac to Feuilly. “That torch flickering in the wind annoyed me. It had the appearance of being afraid. The light of torches resembles the wisdom of cowards; it gives a bad light because it trembles.”

Dawn awakens minds as it does the birds; all began to talk.

Joly, perceiving a cat prowling on a gutter, extracted philosophy from it.

“What is the cat?” he exclaimed. “It is a corrective. The good God, having made the mouse, said: ‘Hullo! I have committed a blunder.’ And so he made the cat. The cat is the erratum of the mouse. The mouse, plus the cat, is the proof of creation revised and corrected.”

Combeferre, surrounded by students and artisans, was speaking of the dead, of Jean Prouvaire, of Bahorel, of Mabeuf, and even of Cabuc, and of Enjolras’ sad severity. He said:—

“Harmodius and Aristogiton, Brutus, Chereas, Stephanus, Cromwell, Charlotte Corday, Sand, have all had their moment of agony when it was too late. Our hearts quiver so, and human life is such a mystery that, even in the case of a civic murder, even in a murder for liberation, if there be such a thing, the remorse for having struck a man surpasses the joy of having served the human race.”

And, such are the windings of the exchange of speech, that, a moment later, by a transition brought about through Jean Prouvaire’s verses, Combeferre was comparing the translators of the Georgics, Raux with Cournand, Cournand with Delille, pointing out the passages translated by Malfilâtre, particularly the prodigies of Cæsar’s death; and at that word, Cæsar, the conversation reverted to Brutus.

“Cæsar,” said Combeferre, “fell justly. Cicero was severe towards Cæsar, and he was right. That severity is not diatribe. When Zoïlus insults Homer, when Mævius insults Virgil, when Visé insults Molière, when Pope insults Shakspeare, when Frederic insults Voltaire, it is an old law of envy and hatred which is being carried out; genius attracts insult, great men are always more or less barked at. But Zoïlus and Cicero are two different persons. Cicero is an arbiter in thought, just as Brutus is an arbiter by the sword. For my own part, I blame that last justice, the blade; but, antiquity admitted it. Cæsar, the violator of the Rubicon, conferring, as though they came from him, the dignities which emanated from the people, not rising at the entrance of the senate, committed the acts of a king and almost of a tyrant, regia ac pene tyrannica. He was a great man; so much the worse, or so much the better; the lesson is but the more exalted. His twenty-three wounds touch me less than the spitting in the face of Jesus Christ. Cæsar is stabbed by the senators; Christ is cuffed by lackeys. One feels the God through the greater outrage.”

Bossuet, who towered above the interlocutors from the summit of a heap of paving-stones, exclaimed, rifle in hand:—

“Oh Cydathenæum, Oh Myrrhinus, Oh Probalinthus, Oh graces of the Æantides! Oh! Who will grant me to pronounce the verses of Homer like a Greek of Laurium or of Edapteon?”

[danganronpadedication]

DAY 7: DANGANTOBER

Day 7: Fandom Crossover

Once again, I was inspired by another person here on this wonderful hellsite I call home, @lobotoboy and their post about a Ride the Cyclone x Danganronpa AU, so that's what I will discuss.

Fun fact for all of you, I am a recovering theater kid. Yes, I manage to get more cringe each and every day. One day, I shall absorb all the cringe in the world and ascend to godhood. I was not one of the crazier ones, I wasn't talented enough to be in the inner circle and actually do shows after a while. But I was engrossed in certain shows, mainly horror ones like the Hatchetfield series, Jekyll and Hyde, Carrie, and We Are The Tigers (this one is underrated, it's Bring It On meets Scream). The musical that managed to get me to relapse a while ago, is Ride the Cyclone, whose soundtrack I'm listening to as I write this.

Without spoiling the show, because I highly recommend it to anybody with even a little bit of interest in it, here is the general plot. It follows a group of choir kids, consisting of two girls, Ocean O'Connell Rosenburg, a go-getter girl with big dreams and a superiority complex, and Constance Blackwood, a sweet girl who's spent her whole life in Uranium City with no plans on leaving. The boys of the group are Noel Gruber, a nihilist with a...certainly unique method of escapism, Mischa Bachinski, a Ukranian rapper with an online lover he met in the YouTube comment section, and Ricky Potts, a disabled boy who, despite being mute, has a certain love for cats.

These five get their fortunes read by an animatronic fortune teller, named The Amazing Karnak, before getting on the Cyclone rollercoaster. The rollercoaster derails at the apex of the loop, and they fall to their deaths. They wake up in purgatory, in a game ran by Karnak, who actually has the ability to predict people's deaths. He wants to give them another chance at life, and decides to have them each plead their case to him for who deserves that chance the most. Of course, what's a game without a twist? Karnak introduces a new character, dubbed Jane Doe, since no one was able to identify her headless body in the accident. She was supposedly another member of the choir, but no one knows for sure. The show is each of them pleading their case to Karnak and learning more about each other, until it is decided who gets another chance.

In the original post being discussed here, the cast was as follows: Junko Enoshima as The Amazing Karnak

Monokuma as Virgil the Rat (a rat buddy of Karnak's that will one day lead to their mutual destruction)

Nagito Komaeda as Noel Gruber

Leon Kuwata as Mischa Bachinski

Kaito Momota as Ricky Potts

Hajime Hinata/Izuru Kamukura as Jane Doe

Ruruka Ando as Ocean O'Connell Rosenburg

Chiaki Nanami as Constance Blackwood

No notes, none at all. This a perfect casting in my eyes. I think that, for the most part, all the characters fit.

Let's start with the easiest one, Monokuma as Virgil the Rat. It simply just makes sense in my monkey brain. Virgil is a rat that is slowly chewing through Karnak's power cords, and will one day bite down on a live wire, killing both of them. Karnak chooses to depict Virgil as a super cool bass player. I would KILL to see Monokuma absolutely wrecking it on bass, or really any sort of instrument. Someone needs to give Ibuki a fanmade execution, and it's just Monokuma absolutely SHREDDING an electric guitar, ala Guitar Hero. Next up, Junko as Karnak. Karnak is a lot kinder than Junko would be in this position. I feel like she would relish the despair of knowing when other people would die, including when she herself would die. In this AU, she'd probably set this little game up, not out of the want to give someone another chance at life, but in order to see the other's desperation. She'd still give that chance to whoever won, but I could totally see her just adding new rules to spite the contestants. It'd be like one big trial 6, where everyone else is having a crisis, and she's just being silly.

These two are a dynamic duo and would absolutely ruin everyone's days, lmao.

Next to be discussed, Nagito as Noel Gruber. One look at this guy, and if you're familiar with Noel, there's really no analysis needed. I can see it in my mind's eye, Nagito in his little Remnant get-up, doing the absolute MOST for Noel's Lament. He's a little diva, and we love him for that.

I know I teased it, and I swear this really isn't a spoiler, but Noel, given the title of 'the most romantic boy in town', is gay, a nihilist, and has fantasies of being a hooker named Monique Gibeau in post-war France. Like Noel, Nagito is very hung up on his particular ideals, to an near infamous degree. Nagito definitely goes further with his devotion to hope, but in all fairness, Noel also isn't a war criminal. In this AU, I could totally see Nagito absolutely just rolling with whatever is happening, no matter how absurd. He probably wouldn't even want to win the second chance at life, believing someone else is probably more deserving of it. He'd have fun with the whole situation, and be an absolute showstopper.

The more I rant about Nagito, the more I understand how much he needs some serious therapy, STAT.

Next up, Kaito as Ricky Potts. Ricky is disabled, having been mute while alive, and used crutches to help him walk. Despite this, he's 'the most imaginative boy in town', and he has a wonderful fascination with outer space, as described in 'Space Age Bachelor Man'. Yep, that song is only about space, nothing else, please believe me, I'm totally not lying to you.

Obviously, Kaito is all about space. I've also seen people equate Kaito's illness when comparing him to Ricky, but I will not comment further, as I do not feel like I have the knowledge to accurately do so. Jumping more to character, Kaito is a very encouraging and friendly presence in v3. He takes Shuichi under his wing, being his close friend and helping him get better and more confident. Ricky does something similar with Jane, not treating her as a monster like the others, and seeming to really try and understand her as a peer. Ricky is a very selfless character (for reasons I will not spoil) and so is Kaito. Kaito participated in Kokichi's plan in chapter 5, without the intent to survive for himself, but in order to help the others. He got the last laugh in death, passing away from his illness and not Monokuma's execution, and effectively setting off a chain of events that led to the end of v3's game. In this AU, I don't see there being many changes, just maybe more confidence and brashness like Kaito.

Leon as Mischa is a really fun choice. Mischa, a Soundcloud rapper, and known as 'the angriest boy in town', is a very fun fit for Leon. Admittedly, I'm not the biggest Leon expert, but I really liked him in THH, and I think his voice actor did a phenomenal job the entire time he was on my screen. The only acceptable ginger /j

Leon has aspirations of being a musician, and so does Mischa. Leon admits in a free-time event that he's pursuing that pathway to get more girls, and Mischa is a self-described 'passionate lover'. However, like Mischa, I think Leon has a genuine desire to pursue music, as School Mode suggests that he sees baseball as a launching point for his music career.

The songs he'd get would be 'This Song Is Awesome', and 'Talia', which could be about whatever Leon ship you want. For my purposes, I will assume it's Sayaka, since I don't really ship him with anyone. Leon can be both aggressive and passionate, as well as friendly. Both characters can also be seen as stereotypically aggressive, but underneath those more intimidating surfaces, they're really nice people. Mischa is supportive of the other contestants, and makes the effort to make everyone feel included and happy. In this AU, Leon would still fight for that second chance, but I could also see some chivalry in how he handles himself.

When Leon died in the anime, I was near tears, give that voice actor an Oscar. No matter your opinion on Danganronpa, you must admit that the voice actors bring their A-game.

I think pulling Ruruka from the anime as Ocean is an INSPIRED choice. I'll be honest, first time around, I did not like Ruruka. She reminded me of every self-centered, fake person I've ever come into contact with. Second time around however, I found myself really seeing her, and understanding her mindset. Yes, she's still a bad friend, certified, but everything leading up to her death later-on in the anime really made her impactful. I know that I have felt similar sentiments regarding the friends I've made, and I do see where she's coming from in certain areas.

Same with Ocean, as much as Ocean is self-centered, she's also just a kid. A kid who died only a few hours ago, and is being faced with the chance to get a second chance to do all that she wanted to do. She's only seventeen, and didn't even leave her hometown, it's sad and I can see how potent her desperation is. Granted, she doesn't go about it in the best way, Social Darwinism is not a take I can get behind. Ocean's desperation is reminiscent of late-anime Ruruka, willing to betray the people closest to her in order to ensure her own safety. Like Ruruka in earlier episodes, such as ones where she's shown as a little girl, you can see how kind she sees herself as. I think her and Seiko's relationship was one that could've thrived and been great, if Ruruka respected boundaries. Ocean eventually starts to get better through the show, apologizing genuinely to her friends, and even towards Jane, who she'd been very wary of.

I wish we could've seen more of Ruruka, I think she has the seeds of a very nuanced character within her, and it's just underutilized. Though, I doubt she's 'What The World Needs'.

Uh oh, it's big rant time. I haven't talked about Chiaki during Dangantober yet, but Chiaki is my friend's favorite character, so of course I know a lot about her. I also really like Constance, she's my second favorite, after Jane. Constance, called 'the nicest girl in town', is a girl who had grown bored of life. She had no aspirations to go anywhere beyond Uranium, but also didn't want to stay in her hometown. Over the course of the story, she gains an appreciation for the little things in life, like pizza nights, holidays, hanging out with her family, and most notably, how pretty the sky looked when she was falling to her death.

Chiaki, mainly talking about her when she's alive, not an AI, is definitely one of the kinder characters in Danganronpa. She's the only one who seems to take an interest in hanging out with Hajime, who's merely a reserve course student in the anime. Despite his lack of an ultimate, she still looks forward to hanging out with him at the school fountain, and playing video games. As an AI, Chiaki grows to have an appreciation for all the things in life, and grows to love the people around her. Imagine being the Chiaki AI, knowing what these people have done, and yet still caring for them.

Constance, despite being mistreated by her best friend Ocean, can't really bring herself to hate Ocean. She eventually tells her off in the show, but she never cuts anything off. Constance grew to appreciate life, which harkens back to the most heartbreaking Chiaki moment for me.

''All I wanted, was to play video games with you, one last time..."

Curse you Kodaka, for making me hear that at 2AM on a Thursday night.

Constance's song is what makes me the closest to crying, that and the ending. Sugar Cloud is a celebration of her realization of the beauty of life, and how she now appreciates what she had and got to experience. I could talk about Chiaki all day, let's be real here.

I can hear you all already. "WE GET IT MOD TSUMUGI, YOU LIKE HAJIME!" Yeah well, he's my favorite, and so is Jane Doe. Told you guys he'd get talked about over and over again.

Anyways, Hajime is a very good fit for Jane. I'll try not to spoil, but it may be difficult from here on out, so proceed with caution. First of all, it's heavily implied that Jane was part of the choir, yet no one remembered her. This is like Hajime being a reserve course student, he's at Hope's Peak with everyone else, but he's more on the outside looking in. Very few people actually take note of him. He wants a talent so badly that he undergoes the Kamukura Project, and effectively, Hajime is erased to make way for Izuru. Like Jane, that original identity is forgotten, for this new one that people regard as a bit more intimidating, despite not inherently being so.

I'm referring to this one comic where Izuru is just a helpful guy who just so happens to be helping the wrong side in the canon timeline of events.

This is an image from an official, I believe non-canon or semi-canon comic.

Jane wants to know who she was originally, mourning the fact that she will never know in "The Ballad of Jane Doe" (which actually isn't a ballad, it's a lament, and Noel's Lament is actually a ballad). Over the course of the show, everyone begins to warm up to her, as much as they can when she's got a headless doll in her arms and the doll's head perched on her neck but hey.

This initially looks like a surface level choice, they both entirely lose themselves and they're the only ones in common like that. But both Izuru and Jane can be considered shells of people, as the very things that made them who they were originally, are just gone, with no real way of retrieving them.

As much as you can claim Hajime comes back to himself at the end of SDR2, technically, he's merely an amalgamation of what could be recovered and remembered about him. The original Hajime is truly gone, and what's left are the bits and pieces that could be found. Jane and Hajime, through circumstances largely not in their plan, had everything taken from them.

They both make my heart sad, and yet, I love both Jane and Hajime/Izuru. There's literally so much that could be said, but my fingers are going NUMB so better wrap this up. Please send asks if you want more elaboration.

THIS IS A SPOILER --->: Also they both have their stories end similarly too, with Jane getting a second chance at life, and Hajime/Izuru getting to sort of meld together, both become people again.

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When I first watched RTC by myself on a Saturday night instead of being out with friends, I didn't expect it to really be worth my time. I had heard a lot of the songs already from TikTok, so I believed the show was pure, unadulterated nonsense. I was very wrong, and the show made me laugh, cry, and stare at my wall with existential dread. I definitely recommend it for those of you out there who haven't seen or listened to RTC. You may THINK you know what to expect, but trust me, it's a rollercoaster of emotions. Teehee, I made a pun. Anyways, here is my ranking of the songs in RTC, that literally no one asked for <3

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera Ch 34 - Anniversary

What went before

Four whole chapters of 90% proof fluff?

Pfffft, can’t be letting that streak continue… 😂

I know what’ll fix it, some good old Scotty inner-monologue.

But lest he get too angst-ridden, there’ll be some puppy piling and some Babs to fluffen things out…

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Hey, how’s things? Fancy a chat?

Always. Give me 2 mins to escape.

Scott carefully extracted his legs from under a pile of snoozing younger brothers and shuffled his way off the couch, staggering slightly as the blood rushed back into his tingling feet.

As much as he loved the traditional puppy pile, he knew he was never going to sleep tonight - too many thoughts were circling like vultures over a half dead sheep. If he let himself relax they’d swoop and… let’s just say it wouldn’t be pretty.

It was best he stayed awake.

This particular day of the year was always tricky, for all his family’s cunning attempts to distract him from it (and Virgil really had outdone himself this year). But it was the anniversary of the date he’d been shot down. The date everything had gone to hell. The date his life had split in two and there was a before-Scott and an After-Scott. Because despite his best efforts, he’d never been the same since.

And nor had they.

He paused and looked back at them, peacefully jigsawed together - Alan sprawled across the laps of John and Virgil, Kayo curled like a cat on Virgil’s opposite side and Gordon had somehow entwined himself between their legs. He would swear he could actually taste the bitterness of the regret that surged up, yet again, for having been the reason they’d experienced so much pain at that time...

Little Allie had been too young to understand that his Scotty wasn’t mad at him, hadn’t deliberately chosen not to come home to him… he’d apparently gone mute for weeks. John had been in the middle of exams and had just stopped sleeping. He’d aced them, sure, in the eyes of the rest of the world at least, but Scott knew the eventual scores hadn’t been what John had wanted or expected. Gordon had ended up suspended from school for trashing the library, until Virgil had met the headmaster to explain the situation and the suspension was replaced by authorised compassionate leave until the end of term. That should have been his job, not Virgil’s. Well… maybe Dad’s. But he’d sworn to be there when their father couldn’t be and the fact that on that occasion it was because of Scott himself that their father was unavailable… it felt like a double failure.

And then his Virgil… It had nearly destroyed him.

Scott didn’t know the detail. He only knew what he knew about the others because he’d overheard conversations, seen school records, noticed the twitch in John’s jaw when he’d belatedly congratulated him on his results. But his closest brother… all he knew was that it had been bad. Really bad. There was nothing more to overhear, because people just didn’t talk about it. Ever.

Kayo, thankfully, hadn’t been around at the time, but he still worried about what she knew and what impact that had. She knew a lot of things nobody else did… it was her job after all… and it shouldn’t matter. But occasionally when certain parts of the world, certain organisations came up he would catch her looking at him in a way that… well, worried him.

He really wished mind bleach was a thing.

He shook his foot impatiently and limped out of the lounge. His left shoulder twinged insistently and he tried to ignore it. It was purely psychological, he knew that very well. The scans had been clear for years and it only bothered him at this time of year. Ironic really, that this was the only phantom pain that remained. After all the violence that had been inflicted on him… all the fractures and internal damage… the only thing that still bothered him was the injury that had been his own fault. The one he’d given himself when he finally gave into despair and tried to smash his way through a steel door.

He shivered. This wasn’t a great line of thought to be pursuing. He mouthed the lines he’d been grounding himself with all day:

Sunward I’ve climbed and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds…

He was free. He was loved.

It was all in the past.

All except for the bits that still managed to hurt them all.

Recent events had dispelled the illusion that, with time, his brothers might forget that for too long their strong eldest brother had been the weakest of them all. His bout of illness had given them a little refresher in why loving him would cause them pain. He wished it didn’t. It was too unfair that the people he most wanted to protect from his fallibility were the ones was most likely to be hurt by it.

The little voice that often sounded a lot like Patricia’s questioned whether it made any sense to feel guilty merely for being loved that much and pointed out that loving them back didn’t require shielding them from every kind of pain the world could inflict either. He was trying to believe it. Really. But the need to protect had always been so central to who he was… it was easy enough for Patricia to say these things because she didn’t have to live in his head.

Estera had made a similar point. He’d found that harder to shrug off, though, perhaps because she wasn’t being paid to make him feel better.

After a few weeks of respite the same old dream had returned with a vengeance this morning, almost unchanged, and he’d woken in a cold sweat, nauseous and confused. He’d spent most of the day wanting to call her, to reassure himself it wasn’t real, that the invisible thread was intact… that she was ok. He knew she was… and that his memories were false. But sometimes they could still be so vivid.

And today he just couldn’t get the memory of her screaming out of his head.

Except, of course, he’d never heard it. Not really. He stopped for a moment to let that fact sink in, tracing his fingertips across the stone walls of the stairwell.

He made it to the privacy of his room and called as he walked through the door, feeling a little as though he could actually, finally relax as she answered:

“Hi Blue, how are you?”

He wasn’t sure when the nickname had crept into use, and he wasn’t unaware that she was now effectively referring to him by the same name as the damn hellhound, but he found he didn’t dislike it at all. In fact it made him feel kind of warm inside. It was so very her.

“Hey! Nice to hear from you! Not a lot going on here, everyone else fell asleep during movie night so I’m just chilling on the balcony now. What are you up to?”

“Having a little lunchtime walk. Just sent the kids off to lunch and managed to persuade Barbara to switch my playground duty to Monday as I just cannot mediate any more battles this week.”

“Ah, dear old Babs, she doing alright?”

Estera chuckled “Well the reception desk collection of news-clippings featuring your face is increasing on an almost daily basis. She keeps asking when you’re coming back to visit us again.”

“Good to know someone out there appreciates the Scott Tracy. Send her my love.”

“You are a ridiculous creature.”

“Guilty as charged.” Scott grinned to himself.

She snorted and then hummed thoughtfully.

“You didn’t answer my question you know, don’t think I didn’t spot that.”

“I didn’t? What question?”

“I asked how you were and you told me what you were doing. That’s not the same thing.”

“Ah… Huh. Nothing gets past you does it?”

“Nope.” Scott could picture the raised eyebrow that would likely have been deployed in the brief pause that followed. He sighed.

“I’m… mixed? It’s ridiculous really because I’m perfectly aware it’s just a calendar date, an arbitrary system imposed by some ancient guys, and it’s not as if we’re even in the same point in space or anything… so just because the number is the same it doesn’t make the day particularly special… but…”

“It’s an anniversary?”

“Yeah. It is.” He fidgeted absent-mindedly with the mechanism of the lounger and only narrowly avoided trapping his fingers as it shifted suddenly. He pinned his free hand between his knees and cleared his throat, continuing: “Virgil and co have been trying to distract me all day.”

“Did it work?”

“Not really… but we had a nice time anyway.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Scott thought about this. He probably should. Ten minutes beforehand he thought he did. But now… he didn’t actually want to. The compulsion to overanalyse every memory that had been swirling through his head had eased, the cycling thoughts dissipated and, for now, he was happy to let them go. It was enough that she knew and understood.

“Actually… no. Is that ok? I’ve been thinking about it a lot all day and would rather just focus on something else for a bit?”

“Of course it’s ok. As long as you talk to someone when you need to.”

She and Virgil could be tag-teaming. He briefly wondered if his brother had tipped her off, but then realised she would have a similar date this weekend and probably didn’t need prompting.

“I’m getting better at that, I promise.

“I’m always here if that helps.”

“Noted, thank you. Really.”

He let his shoulders relax into the backrest and his hand fall to rest at his side. He could hear seabirds - such a familiar sound yet a bizarre experience when he was looking out over a quiet moonlight ocean himself. Given his ship could have him by her side in less than an hour, it always made him feel a little unbalanced to remember how topsy turvy their days were.

“So, lunch with Penny tomorrow, you excited?”

“Yes! I mean, I think so? Or slightly terrified?”

They talked of Penny-Event survival tactics and Scott heard the word “shenanigans” in context for the first time, vowing to use it constantly from now on. Estera expressed doubts about his tried and tested methods of upper class social engagement which she unfairly summarised as “flirting outrageously with everything that moves” and suggested she might need another less “Scott Tracy” approach. He feigned outrage and offence. She called him ridiculous again and laughed wholeheartedly. Mission accomplished. He closed his eyes and tried to fix in his memory that sound he realised he’d needed to hear so badly… hoping it would at some point become the stronger one. She was happy. She was ok. All of them were ok.

He realised he’d drifted, listening to the melody of her voice but not the words. Mentally slapping himself he refocused and realised she was now talking about a mixed martial arts competition she was thinking about entering.

“You should do it.”

“You think so?”

“If you’d enjoy it, why not?”

“I might not win…”

“Ha! Competitive much?”

“Isn’t everyone? Wait, what time is it?”

“Here it’s about ten to midnight, what are you, 11 hours behind?”

“Ok, good. I have time, will just walk a little quicker. Ugh my watch just won’t hold a charge anymore, I swear I plugged it in last night... why don’t they make things to last anymore?”

“Oh that’s frustrating, is it still in warranty? They should replace the battery for you?”

She mumbled something.

“Sorry, E, I didn’t catch that.”

“Don’t worry. Hey, I’m nearly back, so I’ll have to go in a minute… maybe you should actually get some sleep, Scott? I’d put money on you not having had a decent chunk of shut eye for a week at least.”

He laughed again but slightly awkwardly this time.

“Yes, Miss.”

He heard the jangling of the school entrance buzzer and Estera quietly greeting someone.

“Hey, before you go…”

He’d had a sudden idea but before he could get any further he heard a familiar voice calling “Hellooooo Scott Tracy!” in the background.

He could tell Estera was smothering the giggles and then she muttered quietly “Oh dear I’m sorry, there’s really no point denying it, my poker face is awful… could you do me a favour and say hello? If this works I’ll get the best rota slots for a month.” He heard the phone being passed over and braced himself before adopting the voice:

“Well hey there Babs, my dear, how are you keeping?”

A peal of tittering before she returned the greeting and informed him she was keeping very well and had been following his progress. He was then mildly scolded for being so silly as to fall off a skyscraper. He found himself apologising. Then promising to come back and visit again soon. Eventually the phone was handed back and Estera’s voice was a blessed relief to hear.

“I owe you one. She’s just concluded Alastair hasn’t coordinated sports day in a long time and I’m sure she had me lined up for that this morning.”

“Happy to be of assistance, I think? Although sports day sounds like a fun thing…”

“Not the planning part, Scott. It’s like building a bridge out of jellyfish. Anyway, you were going to ask something?”

Had he? Oh! He had… perhaps it wasn’t a good idea, she probably had things to do but he couldn’t think of anything else to say on the spot so cleared his throat and asked anyway:

“Um, it was just… did you have any plans for Sunday? I know it will be… a day… for you but maybe did you want to do something together? Ten years since we met and all? You could update me on the lunch… schenanigans? But… of course I totally understand if you’d rather be on your own, I wouldn’t want to interfere with whatever you… might… have um…” he was rambling now, suddenly unsure of himself.

“No, I… it would be nice not to be alone. That would be good.”

“Great, I’ll get Alan to cover for me. Your choice as to what we do, I’ll turn up where you tell me.”

“I think I have an idea. How about my place at 8am? Bring your running shoes.”

“F-A-B”

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He smiled as she hung up and lay back for a minute, enjoying the slower pace of his thoughts. His eyelids drooped and he startled - he couldn’t fall asleep here, they’d miss him. But maybe now he could have a little doze out there, in the company of his precious family. He quickly switched his habitual jeans for more comfortable sweatpants and quietly opened the door with the intention of sneaking back downstairs. Then nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Vee! What…?”

Virgil sat on the floor opposite the doorway, head leaning back, eyes heavy with sleep. He jolted awake, slightly headbutting the wall as he did so and struggled to his feet.

“Y’rite Scotty?”

Bleary eyed as Virgil was, Scott could almost feel the assessment in his brother’s gaze, more probing than any of his beloved medi-scanners. Scott suddenly realised how waking to find him gone might have felt.

“Yeah, I’m ok. Sorry to disappear. Was chatting to Estera and didn’t want to disturb you all.”

“No problem. Just didn’t want you to…” Virgil paused to yawn so widely it made Scott wince, sure he must have dislocated his jaw in the process. His little brother then blinked rapidly and looked around as if trying to locate his train of thought. Scott threw an arm around his shoulders and steered them both back in the direction of the lounge.

“You didn’t want me to what?”

“Oh. Right… Be alone. Feel alone. Think that you had to be alone… if you didn’t want to… be alone… you know?”

Virgil yawned again and Scott squeezed his shoulder a little tighter.

“I do know. And I don’t feel alone. It’s ok. I know I always have you.”

Virgil smirked “And not just us anymore… right?” Even his sleepy eyebrows were capable of behaving outrageously it seemed.

“I’m going to assume you’re too tired to know what you’re saying which would make it unsporting to throw you in the pool.”

Virgil snorted “You could try!”

“Ssssh, you’ll wake the others.”

They’d reached the lounge. Alan had shuffled into the space Virgil had vacated and John had pivoted to the horizontal and was drooling elegantly into the couch cushions. Scott made the speedy situational assessment that reintegrating into the original pile was going to be excessively complicated and thus setting up camp afresh on the other couch would be a better bet.

“Sit” he ordered in as commanding big brother a whisper as he could manage. Virgil obeyed and immediately lost the ability to sit upright. By the time Scott returned with a heap of blankets his head was resting on the arm rest and he was adding his bass rumble to the familiar symphony of Tracy sleep noises.

Scott distributed his stash, ensuring the whole family was adequately tucked in and took a moment to thank God, the universe, whoever it was that finally brought him home to them. Then he lifted Virgil’s legs, acknowledging privately he might have had a point about the pool-throwing thing, and carefully manoeuvred his way on to the couch, snuggling under his own blue blanket. He leant back and allowed his eyes to finally close, enjoying the sense of security the weight of his brother’s feet across his lap provided. As he drifted off he mused on that metaphor… how what an onlooker might see as a burden, could in fact be the most spectacular privilege he could ever ask for.

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Chapter 35…

[edutainer2022]

I'm in a very complicated (non)relationship with faith and religion. Loss, grief, and war do a number on that. And I'm in a weird mood (also insanely busy). I would assume the Tracies too have a complicated (and different for each) relationship with faith and spirituality, in their line of work. It's Easter time. So here's a little Earth and Sky piece centered around that time of the year, memories, fears, and love, of course. All blatant parallels with religious symbolism are all on my agnostic self, I mean no disrespect whatsoever!

EASTER

Christmas was easy. Approachable. Christmas was always about family and snuggling, comfy pijamas and Lord of the Rings rewatch maraphons, and gifts for everyone, cinnamon, cocoa, decorations and garlands. Christmas was manageable even after Mom. Then after Dad. Never the same, but manageable.

Easter was weird... In their childhood Easter was always a whirl of colors and activities - egg die on every surface besides the eggshells, egg hunts on the farm and ranch, chocolate prizes, bright baskets, and laughter. And Mom. Always Mom at the center of it all, orchestrating and directing the colorful chaos. Mom told them stories. An Irish Catholic, Mom made a point to go to mass on Easter morning, although she didn't insist they go with. They usually did, dressed in Sunday best, even Gordie on his best behavior. There would be waffles and ice-cream on the way back from the church, and sprinkles in John's hair. With Mom gone the colors muted. The whirlwind stopped. The spring lost its promise. It felt almost a blasphemy to celebrate a resurrection after a loss they suffered. Scott tried to uphold the egghunts for Gordie, who barely remembered his with Mom, and for Allie, who didn't, but it fell flat.

Dad never much discussed spirituality with them. An astronaut, a war veteran, a widower, he held certain cards close to his soul. They grew up with boundless belief in scientific knowledge and answers to be pursued by scientific methods. If there were no answers this side of known universe, that meant the science was yet to catch up. They all helped with catching up a lot. As much as they grew up with boundless belief in each other (that and an elaborate array of superstitions, given their respective specializations). And a firm conviction Mom was an angel up in heaven, watching over them. It all made sense when a brother's comms were silent in the danger zone or a brother's hand was limp and cold over hospital covers. Unbeknowest to them, through the endless night alone in outer space, their father always had but one prayer: "Look after them, my love! Keep them all safe as I can't!"

In a rare arrangement of circumstances, they were all at the farm for Easter weekend, for a change. Some issues needed to be dealt with the estate. And it was an unspoken opportunity to visit Mom's grave. (And Dad's headstone over an empty casket, right next to her). Virgil found Scott at the backporch, seated on the stairs overlooking the meadow. Alone. As he suspected he would. Virgil would have been happy to just plop down and sit it out with biggest brother shoulder to shoulder till dusk, giving him room to just be and a friendly ear, should he want one. Scott had been in a mood all day, maybe all week. So much so even John was worried, who didn't get to observe Scott in his natural brooding state up close often. Biggest brother was obviously not forthcoming with any conversation starters. Virgil took his chances and nudged a flannel clad shoulder to his right. In their childhood home Scott always dug out old, broken in flannel, albeit in blue.

"I think about going to Mom's church tomorrow morning. You wanna come with?"

It was a multi-layered invitation and Virgil knew it. It would imply quality time away from the general mayhem for just the two of them, a chance to gather one's thoughts and to connect to Mom in a way that was special to her, even a chance to bring home a decent breakfast from the diner in the town, across the church. They would then all pack up in two cars, make a trip to the cemetery, pay their respects, and have an Easter dinner all together as a family. Virgil nudged his brother's shoulder again, looking up with hope. Scott's gaze was still far away.

"You wanna go to Easter mass?"

Virgil felt self-conscious suddenly. He loved the music and the spirit of celebration. Generally loved the idea of connecting to something bigger. Connecting to Mom. He tried another angle.

"You don't believe?"

Mom did - left unspoken over the evening meadow. Scott hummed at that, blue eyes finally landing on his brother. The sadness there left Virgil breathless.

"What? Whether a guy could resurrect in three days? I don't honestly know if I believe that, Virg. But I do believe one could die for all of himanity."

Dad did - another silent echo over the meadow.

That, right there, was Virgil's deepest fear. That one day Scott would leave him behind, crying and helpless, on the sideway of his own via dolorosa, dragging a crucifix through the dust and grime of a danger zone. By Dad's unspoken command.

"Please go with me to Mom's church tomorrow! We can have waffles after."

That was blatant food bribery (aka a tried and true way to get Scott to go to concerts and art galleries). But desperate times called for desperate measures.

Scott responded with an amused chuckle and lifted an arm to invite his brother into a hug. Virgil didn't need to be asked twice. Scott's old flannel shirt smelled of old machine oil from the farm tractor, fabric softener and the inextinguishable odor of his very first, hideous aftershave from way back in basic training. Virgil closed his eyes against the steady heartbeat. "My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from him."

[thedryswan]

Scott scowled in the direction of the pile of rubble which had been a shopping mall. The damned building was nearly new, built using the latest technology and materials so architect and construction companies arses would be hanging from sharp, painful walls if he had anything to do with it.

Beside him, Virgil was discussing with the local fire chief who had led the rescue, finalizing their comments for the report while Gordon packed up the last of their equipment in the pod.

It had been a bloody mess, they'd rescued more survivors than expected but as always, each person the teams failed to bring out alive was one person too many.

Chief Halford tugged his helmet off and ran a hand through his grey, sweaty hair.

"My guys are bringing out the last pair they could find." he said, groaning at the stiff cramp in his neck.

There were calls for extra hands as firefighters slowly emerged carrying a stretcher with a young woman strapped to it.

They had immobilised her neck with a brace and she had cuts on her face and arms, her dark jeans had traces of concrete and plaster dust and dark patches here and there which were likely more bleeding injuries.

Her shoulder length hair was brown but the ends had been bleached and dyed blue and around her right wrist was a charm bracelet.

"What?" murmured Scott under his breath. "No." he said a little louder, starting to walk towards the group, then running. "No-no-no-No-no!"

"Scott?" Virgil called after him.

Stopping next to the stretcher, Scott looked down in horror at a familiar face.

"Is she alive?" he asked, fighting a wave of nausea, brushing blood stained hair from her pale, lifeless face.

"Yes, but we need to evac her now."

As the paramedics took the stretcher and moved towards the ambulance, Scott kept pace with them, grabbing Hannah's hand. Virgil had caught up with him and was surprised not only to see who the injured woman was but also his brother's reaction.

"We're taking her to Pearce Memorial Hospital, if you wanna meet us there?"

Scott nodded mutely, watching as the doors slammed shut and the driver fired up the engine and their sirens, pulling away and speeding for the hospital.

"What the hell?" Scott groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. "Why was she even here? This isn't her neighborhood, she's supposed to be working today! She told me she was working the lunch shift."

"Was that Havoc?" asked Gordon.

"Her name's Hannah!" snapped Scott, without thinking, digging his phone out and plotting the quickest route to the hospital. He needed to be there when she woke up. When, not if. Because she had to. She had to wake up, if she didn't... Well, that was a possibility Scott didn't want to consider.

[crrative]

New Year - Sanders Sides

It's like 2am and it's appropriate. Prinxiety nation, human roommate au. You know the drill.

Having a community of young people who look to you and your work for comfort and feeling unable to provide when you didn't expect the pressure in the first place sounds heavy to shoulder alone. It makes sense that the last few years have been unstructured with the context. Because I know there's a chance Sanders himself is seeing this: you did something great.

Happy New Year, fuckbags

It's a tame environment. There are only six of them and everyone would rather be in bed, but the year has been so taxing that it feels right to sign it off with a huge middle finger and then go to bed. All there is to do is wait.

Barely a minute left until New York lights up on the TV and Logan has finished his second glass of wine in the last five. Patton is hunched with his obnoxiously long fingers against his temple, resisting the temptation of accepting yet another offer for a glass and opting to nurse the sleep-deprived headache in stead. Roman has put himself on the couch, fiddling with a pen and its lid from the coffee table. Virgil is on the arm of the couch, crouched like an obnoxious prick in an attempt to express his edge, which only really serves to make him look like a dork and unintentionally lightens the mood a smidge.

"Where are the chuckle twins?" Logan poses, observing the swirl in his drink as it settles from being poured.

"Janus said 'surprise' when he went into his room," Patton answers.

"Remus went with him," Virgil grumbles.

The silence reignites as a door opens from down the hall. Remus walks out with a tray of six shot glasses, brimming with syrupy liqueur. Janus walks a metre behind him, head held high.

"We'll all sleep better after this," he insists proudly as Remus parades the tray around, face blank and ashy as slate. He doesn't take sleep deprevation particularly well, but he handles it better than Roman copes with Janus sitting beside him. Where Virgil has turned and planted his feet on the couch seat, Roman parks himself, arms curling around his waist as the countdown starts. The crowd on the street chants and the six watch, breath held.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" It screeches, fireworks filling the screen with a blinding light, flooding the living room with a rectangular explosion of warm white. The group heaves a collective sigh.

Before the festivities can draw themselves out too long, Virgil leans down and over Roman, placing his fingers flat and sideways beneath his chin. In compliance with a rhythm long established, Roman closes his eyes and allows Virgil control. Their lips part, connect, and close around the other's in a chaste display of commitment and affection. Roman seasons the display by running his hand up Virgil's outer thigh.

"Oh! Well, if we're getting crazy," Patton posits with a muted smile, skirting the breakfast bar he'd been slumped on and bending over the couch. Janus looks up and to the side to recieve and return what he had rightly expected to be a sweet, tired peck. It brings a modest and satisfied smile out of the shadow that was his bored expression.

"This does not constitute crazy," Logan commented, unbeknownst to the presence lurking behind him. It makes first contact with his waist, cold fingers slid beneath his sleep shirt. He sucks in a shocked breath as the ice burns his skin. "You do."

"Love you, too."

Janus sits up and addresses the three behind them with a raise of his glass. "Are we ready?"

"Affirmative."

"Yeah."

"Okay..."

"Indeed!"

"I don't have to, do I?"

"No, dear, but it's not ordinary spirit. I think you'll like it." Patton grimaces at his glass and observes the others. A beat passes, Janus gestures to the room with his drink and everyone follows his lead in taking the shot.

"It's almost unbearably sweet."

"I did not expect that coming from you, Logan," Roman comments as he inspects his cup. "Do you not like toffee?"

"I didn't say that."

"No need for the defenses, Doc, I only asked."

"He just wants us to know to save him some whenever it's goin' 'round," Virgil swoops in, smile on his face, voice raspy. Roman takes his glass and hands it to Patton.

"I wonder why you chose something so sweet," Roman implicates. Janus turns around and looks up at Patton, who is smiling with such soulful conviction that it hurts.

"I loved it."

'Score,' Janus thinks as he settles into the couch and joins the others in watching the screen.