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biffhofosho · 2 years ago

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I'm just curious about why do you not like writing in second person? Why do you prefer third? I see most fanfictions written in second person so I was just wondering why you made the decision to write your work in third person? And I see you posted a new Hyungwon piece, I can't wait for work to get over so I can read it cause I love all your work so much!

Thank you for this ask! I will try and edit my fiery lion as I answer even though I know I can't lol.

I don't dislike second person; I actively hate it. :D

This is really for a lot of reasons, but I will limit myself to three and then explain what I mean.

It's pointless.

It's usually disingenous.

It doesn't make any logical sense.

To point one: All writers in all of history create characters when they write. It is impossible to write an actual reader. Impossible. Period.

It doesn't matter if those annoying hair color, eye color, Y/L/N or Y/B/F acronyms are there. It will never, ever be every nebulous reader out there. Why? Because by writing the story, the author is making choices for that character that will inevitably rule out part of their audience. (Side note: authors, please don't call it a "named reader" either--that's just a character lol. Own it.)

The moment I read about Y/N drinking her morning coffee, my brain screams "Nope! Not me!" I hate coffee, can't even stand the smell. What if I'm shy and awkward (I'm neither lol), but I'm reading about Y/N trading sexual innuendos with Minhyuk? What if I don’t like wearing dresses, but Y/N is wearing a strapless ass-hugger in the club? I can’t walk in heels either. Uh-oh. What if my hair is short, but Joohoney is supposed to be running his fingers through my tresses? You get the drift. But taking out those descriptors feels like stage directions, and that’s boring af to read, which is why authors put in the details in the first place.

For a beloved friend, I once fired out a second person drabble (which feels more acceptable to me because it's like a conversation at that point), and even though I know her well, I put her character in a situation which, later, she teasingly said, "I would never ride a rollercoaster, but I would for you." Ha ha, cute, but also, see? Even intimately knowing my "you" character, I still made an untrue rendition of her.

None of that would prompt me to stop reading (nor did it take out my friend who enjoyed my drabble regardless), but I have seen some very solid pieces with borderline flame comments that say, "yOu sAiD Y/N HaS BrOwN HaIr. I DoN'T HaVe bRoWn hAiR. tHiS ToOk mE OuT Of tHe sToRy aNd i cOuLdN'T FiNiSh. YoU ShOuLd cHaNgE ThAt!"

Yeah, that was an actual comment I once saw (though the style choice is me just emphasizing my scathing tone). Rude af, and, yeah, I wanted to punch that reader in the boob for demanding something so unreasonable (ever heard of a commission???), but it underscores my point.

We don't complain about movies and television and published novels being in first and third. Why not? Nothing's ever stopped us from imagining ourselves in those OC roles before, so why the shift? A different discussion maybe, but it's something to think about.

To point two: Most writers don't even like writing in it! To those that do, I would never begrudge them their voice, but I don't think the average fic reader really knows how much authors don't like writing second person--they simply feel they have to because that's where the demand has moved.

I commission a lot of writers I enjoy, and before we strike up a deal, I always ask if they're comfortable creating an OC and writing in 1st or 3rd. Every single last writer I've commissioned (I think it's six at this point?) has said the exact same thing to me.

"I don't like writing in second, but it's what gets notes."

>:(

The thought of a writer sacrificing their artistic integrity for a heart-smash sets my teeth on edge. If you're going to go to all the effort to create an alternate universe (and, let's be real, that takes, at the minimum, hours or, in my case, years), let it be true to your voice. That's why I say, if you love writing second, do it. But I know that's not true for the vast majority of fic writers, and it aches my artistic soul.

To point three: Simply put, second person makes no actual sense at all???

If the goal is for me (the reader) to be the main character in the story, how is that to work? I don't think of myself as "you". I think of myself as "I". So shouldn't it be written in first person? Otherwise, it sounds more like I'm reading a stranger as the MC...

I don't know where this commitment to second started, but I wish I could time travel back and undo it. I've been writing third person established character/OC fanfiction since I was sixteen. I just turned 40. I will never write anything else. My preference is third for the freedom it affords (between the limited and omniscient and objective focuses, I find something tailored to suit every piece I create), but at least I understand first because I live it every day lol.

In conclusion: I have no idea how this turned out. I was trying to be equal parts tongue-in-cheek and serious, but maybe it's just kinda bitchy? My first draft was exactly the way I wanted, and I accidentally closed the tab and had to start over. :( Maybe my next rant should be on how Tumblr should have an auto-save feature...

Also, weirdly, I don't ever insert myself in a second person fic anyway. I usually put one of my OCs in (generally my bae, Wally, from "Idol Thieves" because I might be in love with that stubborn bitch). There's something weird to me about copy-pasting myself into a story, but is that just me?

In the end, I guess I'm just grateful that there are still people who can appreciate my craft the way I craft it. I'm different. I like to be so. Read second person if you want to, write it if you want to (but only if you WANT to, not because you feel you have to, pleaseeeeeeeeeeee). Either way, you will never ever find it here, and maybe that's why you're here anyway. :D

So, anyway, thanks for asking (and I'm sorry if you regret it lol)! I hope you enjoy the new story. I love it and feel like I've lived it, even if the OC is not me lol.

(Also, I already had this second pov tag in my tag list lol.)

#q&a #asks #writing talk #second person is the devil and no one will convince me otherwise #this is my alamo #shots fired

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years ago

Text

Dangerous Love (Pt. 11 of 13)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Batman) X Harley Quinn's sister!Reader

Word count: 3K

Summary: You're Harley Quinn's sister, Havoc, one of the many villain's of Gotham. But you've been caught, and has been tortured constantly for an year in Belle Reve. But when your think your life can't be anything else than the nightmare you find yourself into, Bruce Wayne, the Batman, takes you in for a project. He has a program to rehabilitate villains, and you're his lab rat. But soon enough confusing feelings start getting in the way. You know falling for Bruce is stupid. But can you keep your heart under control?

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{Justice League - DC Masterlist}

Plans For The Future

You're seated on your knees, on the floor, before the coffee table where several sheets of paper are scattered around. The possibilities for your future. You left the League in the cave to discuss their business and came up here to do this. But it's been twenty minutes since you wrote down the last option, and you're still clueless.

“Any luck?” Barry is suddenly seated across from you, the wind he makes with he's speed messing with the papers. But he quickly gathers them again.

“No,” you mutter, feeling a little defeated. Seconds later the others are here too, and as if they were told to, they sit all around the coffee table, on the floor. Expect for Bruce, who sits on the couch, his legs near you.

“Isn't there anything you would like to do?”

“I can't really picture myself doing anything.” Running a hand through your hair, you sigh.

“You were so excited about it in the cave. What changed?" Diana asks, and you notice how everyone seems focused on you. In the last week, since they got back from Washington, the League seems very interested in you. There's a lot of effort to make you feel comfortable, and engage you in their conversations.

“Am I going crazy or are you guys like... Trying to make me get used to normal human interaction again?” Crossing your arms, you have your answer by the way they all exchange a glance and then stare at Bruce. “I knew it.”

“How did you find out?”

“Well, right now everyone is literally seated around the coffee table with me. Except for this weirdo here.” You elbow Bruce's leg, making Barry and Arthur giggle. “You're planning to take me out, aren't you?”

“You're very perceptive.” He says as he moves to seat on the floor with you, an arm around your shoulders. “I've been thinking about it for a while.”

“Do you think I can deal with the real world?” You ask him in a lower voice. You haven't been on the streets yet, and you're not sure how you'll feel among the people.

“Yes, I do.”

“You know people will think Bruce Wayne has a girlfriend, right? If we go out and you do things like hold my hand...” You bet it won't take half an hour for his name to be on the headlines again, and the news channels will talk about it. The world will know about your existence, and every girl who has her eyes on Bruce will know they lost their chance. “You'll have to keep a distance.”

“(Y/N), we're dating. I won't keep that a secret so yes, people will have to find out eventually.” He places a soft kiss on your nose before his lips connect to yours.

“Uhm... We're still here...” Barry mutters, reminding you of the public.

Weird how it only took half a second for you to forget you have company. “So... Now that I know why you guys are still around, help me find something to major in.”

“Let's see what you have here.” Diana starts, and everyone takes a piece of paper or two. “Doctor?”

“Nope. That was just a joke.” Bending over the table a little, you take the paper from her hand. “Moving on.”

“Nurse," Arthur says.

“Vet.” Clark reads.

“All jokes.” Wanting something isn't enough, you have to feel like you can do it. And you don't think you can.

“If you become a nurse you could patch him up.” Arthur gestures at Bruce who nods.

“Sweetheart if this is what you want you just need to say and I'll help you.”

“Me? A nurse? No way, it's too much for me. I need something easier.” You're not saying you're stupid, but why put effort into something on which you'll probably fail? No need to hurt your feelings.

“So you don't think you're smart enough?” Clark asks and you nod.

“If you weren't smart you wouldn't have survived this long as a criminal. And wouldn't have escaped the prison twice. Or fooled the Joker so many times.” Bruce says, and you tilt your head to the side a little, thinking. It did take some brain to do this stuff, calculations, memorization, and some random knowledge.

“It looks like this is what you want,” Arthur mumbles, elbows on the coffee table.

Nurses help people, and that's the exact opposite of what you did. You never really enjoyed hurting people though, at least not normal civilians.

“Yeah... I've been thinking about being a practitioner nurse.”

“You've been doing some research on the subject then.” Wonder Woman raises an eyebrow.

“Yes. They can diagnose diseases, initiate treatments, and prescribe medications. They're more independent.” Shrugging your shoulders, you lean closer to Bruce. “But I don't know. Maybe we should keep looking into the other options.” Pretending you're not insecure is useless. Building a life is both exciting and terrifying.

“No. I guess we found what you want to do.” Bruce says and kisses your cheek. You bite back a smile, but it escapes anyway. “Anything as long as you're happy.”

“I can die in peace now,” Arthur says, and everyone turns their heads to look at him. He simply gestures at you and Bruce as if it would explain everything. “I lived enough to see Batman being soft with someone. The rest of my life will be dull.”

It took long enough for the funny comments to start. “Let the man be, Arthur. Everyone softens when they find love.” Diana adds.

“Aren't you a little too young to be dating Bruce actually?” Barry asks, shrugging his shoulders. “Just-just saying.”

“I haven't really thought about that,” you say.

“I have,” Bruce admits.

“Obviously. In this relationship you're the morals part.” You start gathering the sheets of paper, making a small pile. “I'm the impulse part.”

“Impulse part?”

“I did kiss you out of impulse. I was trying to control myself for quite a while but the thought of another suicide mission finally made me give in.” Looking at him, you smirk. “What would you do if I didn't kiss you before the mission? Were you planning to tell me about your feelings?”

“Shouldn't we discuss that in private?” He raises an eyebrow, and you give the guys a glance before looking back at Bruce.

“We don't mind. Go on.” Barry mutters, getting an annoyed stare from Diana.

“Let's give them some time." She says before getting up. The others soon follow, but Barry is the last.

“The fast one seems very curious about Batman's love life,” you say in a sassy tone when you're left alone.

“He turned the mission in Washington a nightmare the moment I mentioned you.” Bruce moves closer, caressing your cheek.

“And how was that?”

“I told them we had to make it as quick as possible because I had someone to go back to.” He places a soft kiss on your lips and you can't help but smile. You can't believe that someone was you. “Then he just wouldn't let it go. And yes, I was planning on telling you how I felt.”

“What would you do if the feeling wasn't mutual?” Wrapping your arms around his neck, you move to sit on his lap.

“I was pretty sure you felt something for me.”

“Really? I was trying so hard to hide it.”

“Miss Quinzel. Master Bruce. Dinner is served.” Alfred announces and you're just about to stand up when Bruce lifts you up with him.

“Because that will make Barry stop sassing at you,” you tell him, not even bothering to ask him to put you down. He can carry you all the way he wants. It feels funny though, and good to float like this. But the best part is how close your faces are, so you take the chance to kiss him as he takes you to the dining room.

Dinner goes on very well. The chattering is constant, and you manage to get into the conversations. You do feel like you're getting along with the League. Maybe you'll do well with other people too. If you can deal with the supers, you can deal with regular humans. It gives you hope, makes you a little more excited to go out. For dessert, you have brownies, one of your favorites, with vanilla ice cream.

“(Y/N), you said something about a suicide mission?” Barry asks after Diana gives you more details about the Washington mission. “What was that about?”

“Yeah... It was a terrorist attack in New Mexico. They mounted a base there but we never knew their plans.”

“They send you in a mission completely in the dark?” Diana furrows her eyebrows.

“We're the Suicide Squad. Well, that's what we call ourselves. The official name is Task Force X.” You move in the chair a little, but you notice you're not as uncomfortable as you were before talking about it. Bruce says you have to accept who you were in order to be free to restart. Trying to ignore it will only allow the past to haunt you. “When the soldiers can't deal with it but it's still not bad enough to call the heroes, they send us. The whole point is that it doesn't matter if we die in the process. The order is to finish the mission. We're... Spendable.”

“I never heard of anything like that,” Clark says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Nobody is supposed to know. But it doesn't matter anymore. The mission was a success and I'd be fine with it if the guards didn't beat me up on my way back here.” You say it without really noticing what it means, but by the way they exchange glances with each other, there are questions in their heads. “Some of them knew me from Belle Reve. So they knew I was going back somewhere they wouldn't be able to punish me for my crimes. They said it was a taste from home.”

“Everyone who was in that van was fired.” Bruce's voice is heavy with anger. “And I doubt they'll get any other job in Gotham.”

“If you're in prison to pay for your crimes, why did they beat you? Isn't the confinement the punishment?” Barry raises his eyebrows, and Arthur nods.

“Uhm... Yes. In any other prison, yes. But Belle Reve is different. It's like we're not on Earth anymore they... They can do pretty much anything they want. Every man and woman who acts as our guards are military or ex-military. Soldiers... And they have so much hate for us.” The memories come back in flashes of lightning, flooding your mind. The pain is still a vivid dream, the darkness is still terrorizing. “I can only speak for myself but I'm sure almost everyone who gets there tries to fight, to run away. I did. And maybe... Maybe I deserved it, maybe what they did was right.”

“(Y/N), don't you think for a second that you deserved what they did to you. Just because someone is a criminal doesn't give them the reason to treat you like an animal.” Bruce takes your hand over the table, and you smile to feel his fingers brushing against the soft skin of the back on your hand.

“They don't treat animals like they treat us.” The acknowledgment is dark and heavy, and you feel as the atmosphere gets tense. The League seems uncomfortable, perplexed.

“What the hell happens in that place?” Diana is the first to speak up after several seconds of deep silence.

“I can only tell what happened to me. By the rumors, it depends on who we are. Killercroc, for example, is left alone in a hole on the ground. Me... I always fought back.” Taking a deep breath, you revisit the endless days you spent in hell. The longest year of your life. The terror was usually suffocated by anger, burning rage, but it was always there, creeping through the walls. “I was kept in the dark. The only light source came from the small gap under the door. It had a blueish glow. My cell was open three times a day, at 10 a.m., 04 p.m., and 08 p.m. The two first were to feed me. They put a straw through my nose all the way down to my throat and fed me with some kind yogurt.” You cringe at the memory, a shiver rolling down your spine. “The last one was the shower. If you can call that a shower... They made me take my clothes off and back up into a concrete wall and blast me with water from a hose. If the weather was hot, the water was ice cold... If it was cold, the water was so hot that it burned my skin.” As you speak, Bruce moves his chair closer to you, putting an arm around your shoulders.

“You don't have to tell us anything if it makes you feel uncomfortable,” Clark says in a low voice.

“No, it's ok... It's good to say it. To... Let it out.” Holding it inside has only screwed you up over and over again. Dealing with it alone has isolated you. And you don't want to be alone anymore. “Before or after the shower was usually when the beat me. Men, women... They didn't really mind if they were a 6ft tall man kicking me. The drugs, the... Several different kids of drugs they gave me numbed the pain, but it was worse, at least to me.” The tears are rolling down now, as you're looking at the table, holding Bruce's hand as if he's your anchor. “I knew my body was being broken, sliced, bones being fractured but I only felt the impact. It's a psychological torture they play alongside the physical one. They liked to know that I was feeling my body being hurt, but I could never feel it... The drugs never wore off, so they never treated to my wounds. I was always left there, in my cell, as the blood dried, as the darkness threatened to suffocate me but I always told myself I was Havoc. I was freaking Havoc and I did not only deserve that, but I also could deal with it. That I was used to the pain...”

“Alright, that's enough.” Bruce raises his voice, and you notice you were yelling. He pulls you close and you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

“I speak for everyone here when I say we're very sorry for everything you've been through,” Diana says, and you feel a hand on your shoulder. When you look up, you see that not only her but all the others are standing around you and Bruce. “And I'm sorry I brought up such terrible memories.”

“Thank you.” Your voice sounds terribly weak, and Bruce dries off some of the tears with his thumb. When you get up, Diana holds both your hands on hers.

“I want you to know that you have me now. To talk, to ask for help, anything.” Your eyes quickly fly through the others when they nod.

“More than Bruce's friend, you're our friend now,” Arthur says.

“So now you not only have friends but superfriends.” Barry steps ahead and pulls you into a hug. You're surprised at the sudden affection, but it feels nice. The others join you soon, and you're in the middle of a group hug.

Not for a single moment in your life you thought you'd ever had anything like this. “Guys, you know you don't have to do this,” you mutter because you can't help but think you don't deserve it, that you're not the victim. Guess you still have a lot to work on, and Bruce is right to still give you some therapy sessions.

“Of course we do. You're an incredible woman who overcame so much. And you truly seem to want to leave the past behind.”

“Clark's right. You're the proof that villains aren't too far beyond repair.” Arthur says with a smile.

“Thanks again.” You're blushing a little because you think they see you as more than what you are now. But it's good to know they believe you.

An hour later, you're on Bruce's bedroom, getting ready to sleep. You're reading about Gotham's University as Bruce brushes his teeth, getting a little confused by how complicated it seems to be accepted there.

“Bruce, all these papers... I don't know if I have them.” You complain, suddenly losing hope.

“I'll deal with them, don't worry.” He comes to the bed, sitting beside you and resting his back against the pillowy headrest. “Worry about studying.”

“And about the fact I'll be surrounded by people all the time.” You sigh, putting the tablet on the nightstand. “It's still confusing, you know. Terrifying sometimes.” You're used to making people fear you, and when that's not possible, they just hate you. Hurt you. You're not sure how you'd manage to stay in between. To be normal.

“The classes only start next semester, so you'll have some months to get used to people.” Bruce pulls you to lie down, and you lay your head on his chest. “Tomorrow we're going out.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. We'll walk around, buy you some new clothes, eat at a nice restaurant...” He caresses your hair, making it hard to keep your eyes open. “I'll be right there with you, so no need to get anxious.”

“Okay...” Noticing you're a little thirsty, you roll your eyes as you get up. “I need water. Do you want some?”

“No, thanks.”

“I'll be right back.” Crawling out of the bed, you make your way downstairs, straight to the kitchen. You hear low voices, so you walk slower, making sure you won't interrupt anything. When you get there, you see it's Diana and Barry, who's eating your ice cream. “Hey, guys,” you announce yourself.

“Hi, (Y/N),” Diana says as Barry waves with the spoon.

“You know this ice cream is mine, right?” Raising an eyebrow, you try to look mad. It apparently works because he gives an apologetic look and lowers the spoon.

“Sorry.” He mutters as you walk around the island, getting a spoon for yourself, sitting beside him and starting to eat too.

“Relax. It seems that I have to share now.” You keep the sarcastic tone, but Barry still doesn't seem to understand. “I'm joking. You can eat it, it's just ice cream.” You smile when he starts eating again. “Don't you want some, Diana?”

“No, thank you.” She raises the mug she's holding. “I usually just drink some tea before going to sleep.”

“Yeah. I just eat. I need a lot of calories.” Barry says with his mouth full of ice cream. “What about you?”

“Actually I just came to get some water. Bruce is waiting for me upstairs.” You forgot about the water, but now you feel thirsty again, so you get a glass and head to the fridge.

“You guys sleep together?” He asks.

“Barry.” Diana reprimands him, and that makes you giggle a little.

“We share the bed.” Shrugging your shoulders, you speak as you pour some cold water on the glass, closing the fridge and making your way back to where you were seated. “I have... Nightmares. They were more often before, but they still come. But when I'm with Bruce it's just... It's better.” You feel safe, secure, but you're too shy to tell them that. It's too much that you're telling about the nightmares, but it's a good sign that you're able to open up, even if it's just a little bit.

“You love Bruce, don't you?” Diana asks in a low voice.

Looking down at your half-full glass of water, you nod. Love isn't the word you use to express your feelings for Bruce, but that's just because you're way too scared to let those three words flow out. ‘I love you.’ You've been biting your tongue for quite a while now. Those words hold power, you know it, and you're scared that he doesn't feel the same way. “Don't tell him,” you beg, looking up at Diana.

“Why?” As she asks, Barry takes the ice cream and gets up, leaving the kitchen.

“Girl talk.” He mumbles on his way out. And yes, you feel a little more comfortable knowing it's just Diana.

“Because maybe it's too soon and... If he doesn't feel the same I'm afraid it'll push him away.” Your feelings for Bruce only grow, and even though being in love with someone is something new, you know how things should play out. Or you think you do. The fact that he's Batman and you're Havoc, a villain he tried to catch before, only makes everything worse.

“I know Bruce. He would never officialize a relationship if he wasn't one hundred and ten percent sure of his feelings.” She moves from her place at the table to seat across from you on the island. “And I understand that what you did before may get in the way but it only makes me even more sure about his feelings towards you. So yes, I think he loves you and there's no reason for you to be so scared.”

Taking a deep breath, you try to accept that. “How could he love me?” You inquire in a low voice because you can't help but go back, to remember who you were and what you did. You do regret it, and you do want different things now, to have a whole new life. But... Sometimes the fear of losing Bruce hits hard, and you start going back to your shell.

“Why don't you let me answer that?” His voice makes you jump, and you stand up abruptly. Your heart beats so fast that you can hear it on your ears, like drums.

“I'll get some sleep. Good night, (Y/N). Bruce.” Diana stands up and leaves the kitchen, as you stand there, looking at Bruce.

“You weren't supposed to hear any of that,” you mumble.

“But I'm glad I did. Let's head upstairs. We need to talk.” Nodding, you start following Bruce. “I need to make things clear with you, sweetheart.”

@fionanovasleftnut @glitterypinkkitty @mybabyboytony @chipster-21 @agustdpeach @yaakimoon2 @chloe-skywalker

#bruce wayne #imagine bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #ben affleck batman #batman x reader #batman imagine #imagine batman #justice league imagine

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spicycreativity · 3 years ago

Text

Howl - Ch 2

Chapter: 2/10

Add'l Notes: As usual, fic is like 6 chapters ahead on my AO3, WizardGlick

Chapter Content Warnings: N/A, ask to tag

Trying a new thing where I force you to read the first paragraph by not including it under the cut 😇

Virgil slept soundly and woke up unharmed in his bed. The relative cold of the morning air bit into his face, the only part of him that wasn't buried under his duvet. Still laying down, he wriggled into his hoodie and got up to make coffee. He mentally checked himself over while he waited for it to brew, staring blankly at the French press with stinging eyes. Damn, he must not have gotten all his vampire makeup off. Ah, well. His own absentmindedness was not a curse. Maybe he had escaped unscathed. Nothing hurt, save a normal soreness in his legs from standing around watching the Halloween parade, and a quick look in one of the many ornate mirrors decorating his walls revealed nothing abnormal with his face (well, except for the smudgy remnants of last night's eyeliner).

Despite this reassuring examination, he still spent the morning jumping at shadows. He rode his moped extra slowly and took time adjusting the straps of his helmet to make sure it fit perfectly. He examined the hanging sign ("Mystick Earth: ephemera for all ages") outside his workplace to make sure it wouldn't fall and kill him. He even took high steps on his way to the register to make sure he wouldn't trip over anything unseen.

But nothing bad happened.

In fact, nothing much happened at all until just past noon, when the brass bells on the door jangled and Logan stepped in, wafting the smell of warm bread and something sweet in with him.

Virgil didn't even realize he was smiling until his cheeks began to ache. "Hi," he said.

"Hello, Virgil." Logan wasn't looking at him; he was focusing on the paper bag hooked around one wrist and the drink carrier balanced in his other arm. "Forgive me for not asking first, but I wanted to surprise you."

"Here, you can set that on the counter." Virgil already knew what Logan had brought: banh mi, pho, and bubble tea from Sunrise, Virgil's favorite café.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Virgil pressed his hands on the counter and levered himself up to give Logan a kiss. He had always known that Logan was courteous and sweet under that somewhat stiff exterior; this wasn't even the first time he had done something kind for Virgil out of nowhere. But Virgil never could get used to being doted on. "Thank you, Logan."

Logan dropped his gaze, one hand coming up to fidget with his tie. "You're quite welcome."

The bells chimed again. Virgil looked up and caught sight of Roman, who had frozen in place. Catching Virgil's gaze, he straightened as though offended. "Well," he said, "I just came by to make sure Count Virgila survived the night, but it looks as though Casanova here beat me to the punch."

Logan turned. "Roman. I hope you've already eaten, because I only brought enough food for two people."

"I can take a hint," Roman said. Virgil raised his eyebrows at him expectantly, but Roman only raised his own eyebrows back, strode over to the counter, and stole a sip of Virgil's milk tea.

"I thought you said you could take a hint," Virgil said.

"I can," Roman said, "but I'm choosing not to."

Logan sighed through his nose and passed Virgil his sandwich. "I see no need to insist upon politeness if Roman is not going to return the favor."

Roman bumped Logan with his hip. "Really, I just came by to make sure Virgil's okay "

The bells jangled. Virgil looked up again, half-surprised and half-annoyed to see Janus, clad in the extravagant tailcoat he had to wear for work, pretending rather transparently to examine the display of tarot card-themed posters by the door. "Hi, Janus," he said, making no effort to hide his annoyance. Maybe this was the curse, to never get any alone time with Logan.

"Let me guess," said Roman, "you're here to check on Virgil."

"Of course not," Janus said, now pawing through the discount t-shirt display. Ugh, Virgil had just finished re-folding those. "Virgil's a big boy; he knows how to handle himself."

"Oh, yeah?" Virgil raised an eyebrow. "For all the money in the register, tell me what you came to buy and what you plan to use it for."

For the brief moment that Janus hesitated, Virgil allowed himself to hope that he had gotten one over on Janus. In all their years of friendship, he had admitted to being wrong exactly once. Virgil kept the date saved in his phone calendar and made sure to send Janus a card on the anniversary. But a moment's hesitation was all the satisfaction he got this time; Janus faced him properly, adjusted his tie, and said, "I don't know. I'm looking for a gift for Remus."

"Nice save," Virgil said. "We'll see about that."

"Oh, I don't know why you bother trying to hide it." Roman beckoned Janus over to the counter. "Look with your own eyes: he's fine."

"I combined like five different rituals last night," Virgil said. "And I'm doing another one once I get off work." He had already paid for the bottle and the string, knowing he had a hand trowel somewhere in the depths of his spider-infested shed.

Roman quick-drew his phone from his pocket and had himself posed for a selfie with Virgil almost before Virgil could process what was happening. "Smile," he said. "Patton made me promise I'd send him a picture."

Virgil flashed a peace sign. It was better to just go with it. Despite his bravado, Roman got his feelings hurt easily, and it was never fun to try to bounce back from that. "Are we done now?"

"Pardon us for caring about you," Roman said, sticking his nose into the air. It was such a Remus thing to do that Virgil nearly laughed, but he managed to hold himself together.

"Yeah, yeah, my friends love and cherish me, blah, blah, blah."

"Also," Roman read from his phone, "Patton says to tell Janus to come over soon so they can make cutting boards together."

"He was serious about that?" Janus looked helplessly at Virgil. Ah, yes, Patton had made the invitation last night and Janus, leaning back on social niceties, had agreed. "I thought he was just being nice."

"Nope." Virgil leaned forward across the counter and grinned. "Not only is Patton gonna make you make yourself a cutting board, you're going to enjoy it."

"We'll see about that," Janus said. He shook up his sleeve so he could glance at his watch. "Well, I should get back to Bienvenue. Those suits won't sell themselves."

He turned on his heel and made for the door so quickly that Virgil knew he was forgetting something. Ding. "Wait, but weren't you going to buy something for Remus?" he called.

"Sorry," said Janus, one hand already on the door. "Can't hear you, bye." And he was gone.

Roman bounced on his toes. "Alright, alright, I'll leave you two to it, too."

"Thank you kindly," Virgil said, metering the sardonic bite in his tone so that Roman wouldn't get offended.

Roman tipped an imaginary hat first to Virgil, then to Logan, and sauntered out.

"Finally," Virgil sighed. He looked up to find Logan staring at him with evident concern. "What?"

"Are you alright?" Logan asked. "I know you take this kind of thing seriously and I would hate for you to feel like I'm not supporting you just because I don't share your belief."

Virgil couldn't help but smile as an unfamiliar feeling spread from his stomach to his chest. Ah, the warm fuzzies. He couldn't even be mad about the damage to his dark and brooding image. "I'm okay, Lo. I did my stuff."

Logan smiled back: a small, shy thing. "I'm glad."

They were quiet for a moment. Virgil took small bites of his banh mi, careful to keep one eye on the door. It had been an unusually slow day, especially given that it was the day after Halloween. The denizens of Vaillant were superstitious enough that Virgil was rarely idle behind the counter of Mystick Earth. A few groups of people paused by the door, some even going so far as to peer in through the glass storefront windows, but no one came in. Virgil relaxed a little. "How's work? Catch anyone embezzling?"

"Not yet," Logan said, pushing his sleeves further up his elbows. Virgil tried not to stare at the few additional centimeters of skin this action exposed. What was he, a repressed Victorian? "I did notice a discrepancy in the amount we spent on office supplies, but it was only because someone had miswritten a 'seven' as a 'two.'"

"No office drama?" Virgil ribbed him. "Nobody stealing pens or making out in supply closets?"

"Unfortunately, we are a building of professionals." Logan paused, straightened his tie. "The light above my cubicle went out and I had to put in an email to maintenance to get it fixed."

"Man, I could never work in an office," Virgil said.

"Did anything interesting happen to you this morning?"

"Eh, I had someone looking to curse an ex, and I had to explain why that's not acceptable. I won't bore you with the details." Virgil took another bite of his sandwich and bounced the toe of his shoe against the floor. Was he doing this right? It had been so long since his last real relationship, and everyone knew what a disaster that had been. He liked Logan, liked being with Logan, but… Well, maybe he was freaking out over nothing. He just had to remember how to do it right, and then everything would be okay.

"Ordinarily, I would challenge the notion that you could ever bore me," Logan said, "but I do have to leave soon."

"Finish your pho," Virgil said, smiling. "I can tell you later."

They finished eating and Virgil again leaned up to give Logan a kiss, balancing his weight on his hands. His heart wasn't in it, his brain a few seconds ahead. Should he come over the counter and walk Logan to the door? What should he say? ‘I love you’? Should he grab Logan's ass?

"Did you hear me?" Logan asked.

Virgil feet hit the floor, the impact driving tingles up to his knees. "Huh?"

"Just saying goodbye," Logan said.

"See you soon?"

"Let's make plans."

Logan left. Virgil stared at the door for a while, happiness ebbing away into loneliness and doubt. A small, childish part of him wanted to insist that Logan stay. Forget work. They could go to the movies and get ice cream, have a proper date. And Virgil would find some way to communicate just how much he appreciated Logan.

Virgil: Thanks for lunch, Lo

Logan: You're welcome

Logan: <3

Virgil hadn't gathered up the guts to respond to Logan's text message yet. It was really pathetic, how a single emoticon heart had him blushing and panicking like a teenager.

He swung one leg over his moped, but kept his weight mostly on the ground. Hating the way his heart pounded, he pulled out his phone.

Logan: <3

Virgil: <3

Before he could freak himself out any further, Virgil got on his moped properly and nearly peeled out of his parking spot. He rode home in silence, shivering a little in the wind chill and dodging potholes.

The sinking sun lit up the thunderheads on the horizon until the whole sky on Virgil's left was blue-gray and luminescent. He stared, admiring the bald cypress and tupelo trees silhouetted against the dying light, until the road turned and faced him toward the darkness. By the time he got home, it was full dark. He parked his moped in the carport and settled in for a lonely evening of curse-breaking.

Virgil wasn't usually lonely. As an introvert with several boisterous extroverts in his friend circle, he usually jumped at the chance for some alone time. But suddenly Logan's absence felt like loss in a way it never had before, and Virgil longed to have him near. Even if he just sat quietly and watched while Virgil put his own spin on constructing a witch bottle.

He went to bed early that night, earlier than usual, unable to stand the emptiness of his old house. Even the creaks and groans, even the ambient sounds of outside, even the ticking of his mantle clock, seemed to fade away into intolerable lonely silence. So Virgil crawled into bed before midnight, clutching his hoodie to his chest.

He didn't sleep well.

Strange visions haunted his dreams, almost primal in their intensity. He was rage, he was fear, he was power. He knew the earth beneath his feet, knew the deep, rich smells of the forest. He knew the moon above. It was bright but waning, pale silver struggling through the clouds that smelled of rain. So unlike Virgil, whose strength was eternal and agonizing and all. He howled.

He woke up all at once, all his senses alight. Even without opening his eyes, it was obvious: He was outside. Not only that, he was naked in the dirt.

He opened his eyes and rolled over, sitting up slowly to examine himself. Clammy soil clung to his exposed skin. He brushed it off with a shaking hand. His nails were stained with it too, all muddy and broken. And he was sore, almost as bad as the time he'd try to go jogging with Logan.

Virgil let the panic wash over him and pulled his legs in close to his chest, wrapped his arms around them. Wrong, wrong, wrong, he had nothing, knew nothing and he was all alone in the woods.

He crested the worst of the attack and clenched his trembling hands into fists, resentful of the adrenaline still ruling him. At least he seemed unharmed; his skin was free of bruises and scratches. He was just dirty. He raised a shaking hand to his left ear, feeling along the back of it for any strange marks. Finding nothing, he checked his right ear. The skin seemed wholly undisturbed, but he would see about that later. Right now, he had more pressing things to worry about than potential alien abduction. For one, there was the matter of his clothes… He got to his feet, covering his groin with his hands despite the solitude. All that surrounded him were the early-morning birdsong and the rustle of the wind in the leaves.

Spinning in a circle, Virgil found a place where branches had been broken and the underbrush had been thoroughly trampled by something much, much bigger than he. With no other leads, he steeled himself and followed the trail. It was difficult going. He had to keep his head down to make sure he didn’t step on anything sharp, and his heartbeat remained sharp and painful and panicked, beating out what-ifs beneath his skin. What if he couldn’t find his way home? What if he got arrested for public nudity? What if he tripped and broke his leg and got stranded? What if something attacked him?

The morning breeze picked up and made him shiver, drawing him out of his panicked thoughts. He just needed to keep walking. He might not even have been that far from home. He lived on the edge of the woods, so it made sense that he was within walking distance of home, right? Well, maybe not, but the belief was all he had. So he believed that he was close to home, believed that he would be fine, and continued to tread the path of destruction through the woods.

He was closer than he’d thought. Soon, the sound of tires over asphalt reached his ears and he picked up the pace. Crossing the road was a nerve-wracking endeavor, not least because the speed limit was 55 mph. He hadn’t seen any of his clothes on the trek. What would people say if they caught him darting naked across the road like some kind of feral mountain man? Traffic was sparse, it was true, but with Virgil’s luck, a pickup full of country boys would plow into him and leave him in the ditch. What a pleasant thought for a Friday morning. Pushing his fear aside, Virgil sprinted across the road as fast as his abused feet and sore muscles would let him. The trail of trampled bushes and broken branches led directly to his house, as he had feared it might, and the destruction didn’t stop there. His front door was open, bugs buzzing around the light over his kitchen sink. Several of his end tables had been knocked over and various trinkets from his many floating shelves littered the floor. His ceramic incense holder lay in pieces by the magazine rack filled with his collection of old tabloids-- the tabloids were okay, thank goodness.

“Hello?” Virgil called. No one answered, and the house was silent. He crept into the bedroom. Ah, there were his clothes. The t-shirt he slept in had split at the seams and his boxers hadn’t fared much better. At least his hoodie was okay. He pulled it on and slipped into a new pair of boxers, exhaustion finally catching up with him. He needed to deal with this, like, really needed to deal with this, but his bed…

He face-planted into it, not even bothering to straighten out or pull his legs onto the mattress. Sleep now, unpack terrifying potential supernatural encounter later.

#the formatting on this seems off but i can't figure out why-- let me know if you figure it out #sanders sides #analogical #virgil sanders #logan sanders #spicywrites #spicywrites howl

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