#wish I could at least scroll through tumblr but no the phone signal is far too bad for that in my room

[running-in-the-dark]

I'm not feeling well today, so I'm in bed, and it's so fucking boring. I wish I at least had my Switch but of course this happens to be the day my husband took it to work with him to download some of my games for me (since we don't have internet yet) 😭

[momentofmemory]

FICTOBER 2020 - day twenty-five

Prompt #25: “Sometimes you can even see.”

Fandom: The Old Guard

Characters: Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani

Words: 1937

Author’s Note: In the aftermath of a rough mission and all the philosophical questions it entails, Joe takes Nile to the Aarhus Art Museum in Denmark. All pieces mentioned were displayed in the Objects of Wonder: From Pedestal to Interaction exhibit, which ran from Oct. 2019- March 2020. Nile POV.

>> the sweetness remains

Nile scrolls mindlessly through Pinterest, wishing for not the first time that she’d been allowed to recreate her socials.

Copley had barred her from practically all of the actually useful ones, but she’d bullied him down to just having an account on Pinterest, with the argument being that no one cared about the site. Granted, she doesn’t really want to be on Pinterest either, but sometimes the comfort of an app with infinite scroll is all she’s looking for in a distraction.

And right now, she really, really needs to be distracted.

Overly photoshopped cat pics.

Memes ripped straight from tumblr or twitter.

The most white girl aesthetic imaginable.

Three slugs ripping through her abdomen and spitting her liver out the other side—

Nile breathes in sharply. Exhales.

Her thumb resumes scrolling.

Photos of downtown that feel like home.

Recipes for harvest butternut squash soup.

Tips for keeping braids fresh longer.

Nile scrolls, and scrolls, and breathes.

Her abdomen still aches every time her lungs expand, even though she knows it really doesn’t. It’s perfectly healed; not even a scar for her troubles. But it’s hard to forget how her instincts had screamed that a gut shot like that shouldn’t be survivable, even as she pushed herself towards the next target.

(She didn’t survive it.)

(She didn’t survive the next half dozen times it happened, either.)

“Did that phone of yours do something to offend you?”

“Whoa!” Joe’s sudden appearance next to her only makes her clench her phone tighter. She forces out a laugh and eases the tension out of her fingers. “Feel like you should know better than to sneak up on someone that’s part of a bunch of immortal warriors.”

“Most of them would have caught me coming long before you did.”

Nile snorts. She scrolls a few more seconds, then closes the app and opens Temple Run. The game’s ridiculously old, but she’s a millennial. Sue her for being nostalgic.

She can feel Joe watching her as she starts the round.

“Am I correct in thinking you enjoy the arts, Nile?”

It’s not the question she was expecting, and she winds up tilting the screen to the left a half second late, and her character falls off the bridge.

It’s okay though, because she can just use a gem and respawn in the same place, so it’s basically like not dying at all.

Right?

“Uh, yeah,” she says. She winds up restarting the round entirely. “The military was supposed to pay for my degree, but I don’t think I can cash that if I’m technically KIA.”

“That would present a certain set of problems,” Joe agrees. “Andy talk to you about that?”

“Yeah.” Nile’s stomach twists. “Guess it depends on how easy it is to schedule classes between firefights.”

She’s practically laying the opening for a talk out herself, but Joe seems uninterested in taking it.

Instead, he shifts beside her, propping an elbow on his knee. “What kinds of art did you want to specialize in?”

She dies again. This time, she begrudgingly uses the in-game save. "I prefer classic sculpture, but I’m not against modern.”

“You like what was modern art for me, then.”

Nile rolls her eyes. “I dread the day I become as weird as you guys.”

He laughs, patting her on the shoulder as he stands. “I suspect by that time you’ll be too busy tormenting our next recruit. But unfortunately, the exhibit we’re going to will be more in the contemporary style.”

It takes Nile a half second to register his words. “Wait, what?”

“The description said it would be 1960s to the present only. If it suits you, we could hold off on our discussion of it for another thousand years or so. I’m sure we can claim it as classic at that point.”

“What?” Nile locks her phone and zeros her attention on him, registering the mischievous glint in his eyes this time. “Museum?”

“The Aarhus Art Museum has a special exhibit on loan from the Tate Modern at the moment.” He glances down at her phone, the corner of his mouth forming a grin. “I’m told its purpose is to help move its audience’s attention from their devices.”

Nile scowls and looks back down at her phone. “I died a dozen times yesterday. I’m allowed my coping mechanisms of choice.”

And.

Whoops.

“Of course you are,” Joe says, offering his hand to her, and she’s once again surprised he doesn’t force the conversation. “But phones are portable. You can take it with you to the museum.”

Nile worries at the edge of her lip with her teeth. She doesn’t really want to go anywhere right now, but…

But Joe’s brown eyes are warm and welcoming, and his callouses help steady her when she takes his hand.

“You said contemporary sculpture?”

The grin he gives her is blinding. “For now.”

_________________

It’s a twenty-five minute drive from their safe house to the museum, and the route takes them next to the Bay of Aarhus for most of it.

Nile stares out at the water, determined to not give Joe any more ammunition for making fun of her regarding her phone.

It’s hard. She’d never considered herself a technology addict—never had enough time to be one—but she really, really wants to stop thinking about the fact that she knows what the inside of her liver looks like.

Or did look like, she guesses.

Nope, nuh-uh, not going there—

“D'you know about the Ship of Theseus?” She spits it out before she can decide against it. She figures if she’s thinking about it, she might as well talk about it. “And don’t say you were there for it. You’re not Andy and I at least know enough about you to know when you’re lying.”

The grin on his face tells her that he was very much intending to before she called him out on it. “It’s a thought experiment. The character Theseus owns a ship that, over a long span of time, has all of its parts replaced, until nothing of the original still remains.”

“Yeah, and so then the question is, is it even the same ship,” Nile finishes.

Joe weaves in and out of traffic, a pensive look on his face. “I assume you aren’t asking simply to test my knowledge of early western philosophy.”

“No.”

Nile looks down at her hands. She can still remember how horrifically mangled they were from her impromptu dive off a skyscraper, but at least—at least she’s pretty sure they’re the same ones she had before.

Though that might not last long.

“In your opinion,” she says, cautiously, “if—if there’s nothing left of the original—if you have to rebuild something that many times—”

“Nile.” The sound of the car’s turn signal distracts her spiraling thoughts. Joe nods towards the windshield. “We’re here.”

It’s a large, red brick square building, fairly nondescript but for the circular and multi-colored glass walking track at its top.

“Come on, he says, parking the car. “I find physical objects superior to mental ones for solving such issues.”

Nile doesn’t understand why the one time she wants to talk about something like this is the one time Joe decides to go full mysterious.

She climbs out of the car and follows him inside.

Despite her misgivings, she quickly discovers Joe was right. The exhibit is genuinely incredible, and there are pieces from multiple names she recognizes—Anish Kapoor, Donald Judd, Rasheed Araeen—and pieces she finds herself strangely moved by, such as Damian Hirst’s Away from the Flock, Richard Long’s Red Slate Circle, Rachel Whiteread’s Airbed II. Nile stares at that last one in particular for a long time: a concrete casting of an airbed, the artist’s presence made known in the negative space where her body had pressed the material down.

Joe, however, seems to be moving with a specific purpose in mind, and it’s not until they round one of the walls of the orange-pink room that Nile has a guess as to what it is.

In the far corner, bathed in the additional light of a single fill light, is a massive pile of multicolored cellophane wrapped hard candies.

Joe walks her over to it, an almost reverence to his steps.

“Untitled: Portrait of Ross in LA,” he says. “Are you familiar with the piece?”

She shakes her head, bending down to inspect it. It doesn’t look like much more than what she’d seen from a distance—candy, multicolored, on the floor. She looks to Joe for an explanation.

“Felix Gonzalez-Torres’s partner died from AIDS,” Joe says. The grief on his face is hard to look at. “To honor him, he made this as a portrait—one hundred and seventy-five pounds of candy, representing Ross’s weight from when he was still healthy.”

Nile looks at the pile—it’s a lot, but it’s not a hundred and seventy-five pounds worth of a lot.

Joe notices her confusion and smiles. “Take one.”

“What?”

“Take one,” he repeats. “The purpose of the work is to invite you to partake in both enjoying his presence and lamenting the lack of it. A sort of communion—choosing to take part of his body into your own. It was a powerful statement when so many were afraid to even be in our presence at the time.”

Nile looks at the pile again, and just like with Airbed II, her heart aches at what isn’t there, rather than what is. She selects a red piece and brings it out of the pile, cupping it in her hand and considering its weight.

“What happens when it runs out?”

Joe selects his own piece—a green one—and it rolls around in the palm of his hand. “It has. Many times. But that’s the beauty of it—it’s the curator’s responsibility to replenish the pile, metaphorically granting immortality and new life to the loss.”

The cellophane crinkles in Nile’s hand as she unwraps the piece. “How do they decide where to get the candy from?”

“The only firm rule is the original weight. Outside of that, there are no set instructions for the candies themselves.” He chuckles, threading his fingers behind his neck and leaning back against the wall. “Sometimes you can even see these strange combinations of greens, oranges, and purples.”

Nile considers the candy. “Not your favorite?”

“It has an almost Halloween quality to it. I tend to prefer the rainbow.”

The candy in her hand feels heavier than it did before—weighed down with the knowledge of what it represents, what it’s taking away.

She slips the candy into her mouth and her eyebrows raise in surprise. “It’s sweet?”

“It’s candy,” Joe says, unwrapping his own piece. “Did you expect something else?”

“I thought it’d be…” She pauses, trying to parse out her feelings. “Bitter. Or sad, somehow. Considering.”

“It could have been,” Joe agrees. “But the portrait isn’t meant to represent just grief and loss. Candy is a happy thing—a reward for yourself, or a lover’s gift on Valentine’s. And even when it’s gone, the sweetness remains. Still lingering on the tongue, or dwelling in the mind. It is the love of friends and partners that keeps the memory alive—and what keeps this the same portrait, even though its pieces have been cycled through many times.”

The candy melts away on her tongue, and she closes her eyes in grief for its loss, appreciation for what it was, and hope for the pieces that would come after it.

She swallows the last piece of it down.

Her stomach settles.

[phil-and-a-corgi]

highschool bandfic in a nutshell - chapter 2

chapter 1

rating: t/m (swearing and also irene’s writing.)

word count: um i dont know a lot ( 2083 )

summary: uhh we have that on the first page

here if you want to read it here then here you go materinos(doesn’t include behind the scenes bants though

here read it on google docs yeah i know so professional(this one has behind the scenes banter)

SECOND CHAPTER (2)

(written by renee @dan-and-a-shibe - pete’s pov)

after finally putting on my eyeliner (i had no time to do it this morning and i looked like a garbage can filled with shit on fire) i hopped off the sink counter. sighing and putting my MAC charcoal liner back into my bag.i dabbed just a wee bit of eyeshadow because WHY THE FUCK NOT. the bell rang, signalling that i was late for first period. why do i let a bell, a mere beep for 5 seconds control where i go and when i go. it just shows how even though everyone tries to be themselves that everyone ends up being dragged by the trends of society. so i decided to sit in the background and look through tumblr. on my phone. ten minutes of scrolling through poetry and kittens. i should get going now. so i did. i walked into mr armstrong’s class.

“mr wentz may i ask why you’re late.” he asked, jokingly in a teacher’s voice. “sorry it’s required to ask that” he whispered, winking at the class.

“i know why, because he was busy being a GAYLORD”(dh quote) that try hard kid justin bieber teased.

“ok justin please explain how your bleached hair isn’t gayer than his amazing eyeliner.” mr amstrong retorted back as the whole class “oohed” at justin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(written by Irene - @feckboy69-aol - frank’s pov)

Fuck Ms. O-Conner. Fuck her class. It's the only class that I don't have with my beloved Gee and the rest of the guys I hung out with and the only class where the teacher actually expects me to do shit. Like okay, maybe there’s some nice chicks in this class and I sit in the back next to a window where I can stare out of and think of my beloved, beautiful Gee, but so what? Lorde’s (yeah, that's what her preferred name was, what a joke) a fucking bore. Honestly, so would this school be, if not for my beloved, precious, beautiful Gee and the shit going on with Ryan and Beebs’ tea drama. Oh, that and the whole of Beaver’s crowd; it was fun watching them get owned by literally everyone here.

Anyway, English class. Lorde Bitchface was screaming about the importance of “putting emotion into your poems” and using “meaningful symbolism” to give your writing “depth” like the edgy bitch she was, so I just tuned her ugly mug out as usual, grabbing my notebook and turning to a fresh page. I gripped the #2 mechanical pencil in my hands and let my mind wander and think about my beloved, adorable, precious, and beautiful Gee, which wasn't very hard. I thought about the last time we had made out (in the bathroom near Bitchface’s class in the stall that no one used) and let my hand draw what I thought. I never was a good artist, but my beloved, handsome, adorable, precious, and beautiful Gee had taught me a couple things (some about art, some about other things), so I had become pretty good. I concentrated for a good 5-7 minutes on the drawing, making every line count, and then smirked to myself at the finished masterpiece. It was stunning; well Gee was.

“Ah… Mr. Iero, why don't you tell us?” said Lorde Bitchface, looking at me with that stupid fucking teacher look that Mr. Armstrong had copied perfectly from her and would use to joke around. But I, being me, tried to pass it off with a smartass answer, something I always did that got on the bitch’s nerves.

“See now I would, but I don't do things like that for free,” I said, giving her a mischievous look. Several girls in front of me (except Hayley, that sassy lassy, who just rolled her eyes and went back the crap that Bitchface was teaching) turned around and giggled, playing with their hair in a vain attempt to try and get my attention. They knew about Gee and me; the whole school did (that's a story for another time), but they still thought they could get me. But I played along anyway, winking at them and giving them the Frank Iero Famous smoulder. The girls seemed impressed, but Bitchface clearly wasn't, her ugly face (okay, I knew she wasn't ugly, she probably got a lot of action actually with that figure, but I despised her so fuck off) morphing into one of disgusting bitch anger, her nose and eyebrows scrunched up and her lips pursed into a tight, white line. I knew she was about to blow, when a kid sitting all the way up in the front who I didn't even know existed until he spoke his next words (that would definitely be his last if I ever found him alone in a dark hallway, by the way) said, “He's being inappropriate and drawing repulsing images in his notebook, Ms. Lorde. I saw him when I went to sharpen my pencil, Ms. Lorde,”

He then turned around and smirked at me, his wavy ginger hair following him as he did, an aura of smugness about him that I did not appreciate.

I saw the anger drain from Lorde Bitchface’s face and have it replaced with a look of calmness that was actually more efficient in scaring people than her anger.

Fucking asshole, I thought, momentarily losing my cool before reminding myself that I was Frank Iero and bitches wished they could kiss the ground I walked on with their crusty-ass, chapped as fuck lips.

So when that fucking whore of a teacher gave me detention, I simply smiled and said a cheeky, “Can't get enough of me as it is, Lorde? Not that I can't see why you wouldn't want more of this,” running my hands through my hair, knowing that this was definitely gonna make the ugly hag throw a fit, which would be far more amusing than if I had just accepted the offer of yet another detention.

It worked; I got sent to the principal's office, but like hell I was actually gonna go there. I smiled to myself as I walked outside the door, giving Bitchface a cheeky salute as I went out, not staying long enough for her to scream more shit at me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(written by renee @dan-and-a-shibe - ray’s pov)

geez well this is frank's seventh detention this week and it's only wednesday. how is that even possible. well, lorde's most recent detention got him a saturday detention for the whole day and i knew he was supposed to go hang out with gee. gerard would be heartbroken if he couldn't make it to their next date. they have date night in saturday. i had to convince lorde to get him out of detention. she hadn't hated me yet, so i had a chance. while we were supposed to be writing deep poetry, i went up to her desk.

                 “hey um, ms lorde, uh sorry about frank. his family isn't really okay at the moment, and well, he's been acting up. more than usual. his parents have been really hard on him, especially with the detentions. i hope you can withdraw the multiple detentions from the past three days. don't mention this to him, or anyone else. please.” truth was that franks family wasn't doing to well but they weren't being hard on him, they didn't care anymore.

          lorde paused for a moment. “ok then, ill withdraw the detentions. only for this week. why don't you go down to the office and tell him this detentions are withdrawn.” i knew i could do it. most ladies have more vulnerable emotions, they’re more sensitive. and that's why women are so great. and now he only had three after school detentions..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(written by Irene - @feckboy69-aol - tyler’s pov)

It was lunch for the Sophomores, so as usual, I was trying to find my best fren Josh Dun. It was strange, he wasn't anywhere to be seen, when usually I could spot his vibrant colored hair in any crowd (it was a bright yellow today). So when I entered the large circular shaped cafeteria, and didn't see him, I started to panic a bit.

He was there in the morning, we walked here together, he was there in first period, I saw him when I went to go to the bathroom, he was there during third period because I was there with him, oh no, he got kidnaped… he got bullied he's in a locker somewhere stuck I have to go, he's hurt I have to sav-

“Tyler!” I heard someone scream from behind me, interrupting my very important thoughts about Jishwa. I turned around in pure panic, ready for the news that was going to be solemnly sorrowful; news about Jishwa’s untimely death.

Alas, it was only Jenna Joseph Black, a pleasant surprise at that. I smiled in spite of my internal mental struggle, watching Jenna smiling and running up to me. The cafeteria was now starting to fill up, with cliques of people banding together in their own respectable tables, as usual.

Jenna grinned at me, giving me a friendly greeting. I didn't want her to get worried for my stupid overthinking habit. She wrapped her arm around my shoulder, leading me to our lunch table which consisted of me, Jish, her, Hayley (Kiyoko) Adam, Jack, and Ryan. The others weren't there yet, me and Jen usually arrived early, Josh not too far behind us, with the rest walking together, usually bringing some mundane news about whatever they considered important in their lives. Usual conversations involved Jack and his frens coming in with their loud but awkward selves, Hayley not too far behind them, her hands crossed in silent disapprovement at almost everyone and everything. They all would then come in to our table, interrupting the meaningful conversations that Jen, Jish and I would be having, usually conversations about the possibility (or plausibility) of whether coconut sharks could or not exist, (if they did exist, where would they be swimming?) with talk about the latest song from so-and-so’s band or whether Ryan and Brendon would ever get back together, or at least make up.

But that's not what exactly happened today because Jen, ever the one to notice and care, gave me a caring concerned look that depicted exactly how much she cared and was concerned about me and Jish, her eyes gleaming in the bright-lighted cafeteria, her mouth morphing into a depressing frown.

“Where's Jish?” She inquired, the proportions of her face perfectly in line, to the point where she made everyday curiosity look like it was the epitome of perfection, suddenly standing up, probably (or plausibly) realizing that if Jish were here, he would be right now.

I slouched further into my seat, gulping, my throat feeling dry, “I don't Jen… I don't know…”  

[sidesstories]

Virgil’s Birthday Pt. 1

I wrote this in response to this post: http://randomslasher.tumblr.com/post/173269072386/depressedandunderdressed-randomslasher

Virgil was nervous, to say the least. So nervous, in fact, that he found himself wide awake before any of the other sides, or even Thomas himself. Being awake so early was never something Virgil liked to experience, especially since everything tended to function a bit... weirdly while Thomas was still asleep, but Virgil couldn't help it. Today was his birthday, and he had no idea what to expect.

This wasn't the first time he had had a birthday, of course, but it was the first one he'd had since his name reveal, which meant that... maybe... he could actually look forward to it?

He was hopeful, and that was terrifying.

The others had been very accepting of him since the incident, and so now it stood to reason that they would, at the very least, be nice to him on this day, this day that he usually spent alone, isolated. But no, he didn't want to think about the past. Thinking about the past just made him feel worse, reminded of how he used to be, and that just made him feel guilty.

So instead Virgil sat in his room, headphones blasting Evanescence while he scrolled through tumblr. This was another reason he was hopeful, the fan community was also celebrating his birthday. The fanart they created was truly stunning, and more than once brought tears to his eyes (not that he would ever admit it). He felt honestly cared about, and while that was both surprising and scary, it was also comforting in its own way.

Virgil could tell when the others woke up because the hazy cloud that had been hanging over his room and blurring the outlines of everything slowly faded. As his room came into focus, Virgil lowered his headphones and listened, hearing distant sounds of someone moving metal objects in the kitchen. Probably Patton, starting on breakfast. Which meant that... yup, he could hear the water running which meant that Logan was taking a shower before Roman commandeered the bathroom. They both had their own personal bathrooms, of course, but both sides insisted that the bathroom that existed in the shared space was far superior to the ones in their personal rooms. Virgil didn't understand it, but left it be, amused by the arguments the two sides would engage in at least once a month over it.

With the other sides moving around, Virgil figured he might as well prepare for the day as well. Not that it entailed all that much, since Virgil wore the same kinds of clothes every day and he showered at nights (it was easier to wash the makeup off that way). But still, he wanted to make sure he looked perhaps a bit more presentable today than usual, especially since he had no idea what the others had planned. And so it was with a careful hand that Virgil applied his eyeliner, taking a moment to wonder if the others would even notice.

Virgil waited until he heard a loud banging on a distant door that signaled Roman's appearance in the shared area to leave his room. It wouldn't do well to arrive before the others, as they would see it as unusual and start asking questions he didn't want to answer. So he materialized in his typical space, on the staircase, and casually made his way over to the kitchen, where the smell of fresh pancakes was thickest. He made a point to ignore the raised voices coming from the bathroom as Roman complained that Logan was taking too long.

As soon as he sat down Patton was there, placing a plate before him with a flourish. Two pancakes sat next a large pile of bacon, bananas and whipped cream adorning the fluffy disks in order to make a smiling face. There was even a bit of whipped cream under the banana eyes, which Virgil was sure was meant to symbolize him with his dark eyeliner. Virgil looked up at the beaming Patton with wide eyes and a shy smile, his breath catching a bit in his chest. Maybe it hadn't been so foolish for him to hope after all.

“Th-Thank you Patton. For the breakfast. I uh-” Virgil coughed into his sleeved hand and broke eye contact. “I really appreciate it.”

Patton looked down at Virgil with mild confusion. “Of course, kiddo! I hope you like it. And remember, there is plenty more where that came from is you are still hungry.” With that he turned back to the stove to continue cooking food for the others. Virgil had seemed especially happy about his breakfast this morning, which confused him. Patton made sure to make Mr Pancake Man at least once a week. Sure, this time he might have been struck with inspiration and made the face a little more Virgil-eque, but he didn't think it would have made his anxious kiddo so happy.

It wasn't long before Logan joined Virgil at the table, wiping the steam from his glasses and looking more than a little put out. Virgil made sure to keep his face neutral, as a smirk threatened to turn the corners of his mouth. He knew that, while the two sides would at peeved at each other, their bickering actually meant the two were in relatively good moods. Something Virgil preferred, as that meant there was less to be truly anxious about.

As Logan put his glasses back on, pushing his wet hair out of his face, Patton set a plate before him, featuring a similar pancake face to the one Virgil had, although the pile of bacon on the plate was smaller than Virgil's own. Had Patton given him extra bacon?

“Thank you, Patton,” Logan nodded to the fatherly figure before turning back to his breakfast. “It looks exceptionally well made, as always. I am sure the taste will be more than satisfactory. Also, this reminds me.” Logan glanced up from his food to lock eyes with Virgil. The anxious side resisted the urge to look away, knowing that Logan didn't mean to make him uncomfortable, it was just his way. “Virgil, there is something I wish to loan to you after we have finished consuming our meal. I am sure you will find it to be something that aligns with your particular tastes.” Logan said no more as he carefully cut into his pancakes, making sure not to make a mess as he ate.

Virgil finished his food quickly, which upset his stomach since he was also feeling anxious, but he couldn't help it with the idea that he would be getting a present. His first ever birthday present! It was all Virgil could do to contain himself, shaking slightly in his chair, though the other two didn't seem to notice. As soon as he was done, he quickly stood, plate clutched tightly in his hands as he made his way over to the sink. He turned on the faucet, in order to begin cleaning dishes, when I gentle hand landed on Virgil's shoulder, making his head snap to the side. Patton stood there with a gentle and semi-apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry I startled you, but I can take care of the dishes. Why don't you go relax in the living room, hm?” Patton, well, patted Virgil's shoulder before turning back to his most recent batch of pancakes. “I'm sure it will get crowded over here in a moment when Roman comes out of the bathroom.”

“Y-Yeah, alright. Thanks Patton,” Virgil ducked his head, bangs falling over his face so Patton couldn't see him blush. “And thanks again, for the food. It was... It was really nice.” Without waiting for any sort of reaction or reply, Virgil quickly vacated the area, bringing his headphones up to his ears as he turned on Green Day.

“Virgil, I would like to speak with you, if that would be agreeable.”

Virgil glanced from his phone and quickly tucked it away, not wanting to Logan to see the flattering and somewhat embarrassing pictures the fans had put up on tumblr.

“Uhm, sure Logan, what's up?”

Logan took his hand out from behind his back, which had been hiding a thick book with no title. Virgil reverently took it, making sure to keep a gentle but firm grip on it. The book was certainly old, bound with leather with the image of a wendigo carved into the cover.

“I found this in an older collection of mine and I thought you would appreciate it.” Virgil looked up with glistening eyes as Logan spoke. “It is a sort of history and anthology of cryptids, something you expressed interest for in the past. My only request would be that you avoid reading it at night, as Thomas would likely have quite a bit of trouble falling asleep if you did.”

“Thank you,” Virgil breathed, looking back down at the book. “I’ll take care of it, I promise. Thank you so much.”

Logan nodded his approval and turned away, noticing nothing out of the ordinary with Virgil. The anxious side often behaved unusually, and so his excessive thanks was not something to be concerned about. Virgil would enjoy the book, and that was all that mattered.

Virgil had spend the rest of the day curled into a corner of the couch, headphones hanging around his neck as he read his new, and first ever, birthday present. It could be a bit dry at times; it was written in a very technical manner, which was unsurprising seeing as it had come from Logan's personal library. But Virgil enjoyed it all the same. Logan had been right, cryptids were something he enjoyed a lot. The mysteries of the world and what had yet to be discovered by people interested both of them, and Virgil was excited at the thought that maybe Logan and him could have a conversation about the book once he finished.

He was so intent upon reading the book that he never even noticed that night had fallen. Patton had been leaving him food next to the couch as meal times came around, and Virgil has simply been eating it absentmindedly, so it was quite a jolt when Roman approached him mentioning movie night.

“Virgil, you have been sitting in this corner away from us all day,” Roman said in a slightly whiny voice, hands on his hips. “I demand that you come and join the rest of us for a movie. Surely that book cannot be more interesting than me.” He ended his statement by bringing a hand up to his chest, looking affronted. Virgil just smirked, holding back a chuckle, knowing that Roman was just being dramatic and this was in fact his way asking Virgil to hang out.

“Yeah, sure, I'll join you guys,” Virgil murmured as he placed a black ribbon between the pages to mark his place. “What are we watching?”

“Well we figured you could pick out the movie,” Roman stated as he made his way back to his spot in the middle of couch, practically throwing himself into the cushions. “So decide what you want. It honestly doesn't matter to me.”

Roman must have been in a good mood if he was saying he didn't care what they watched. And he was letting Virgil decide. So even Roman was doing something special for his birthday. Virgil made his way over to the stack of DVDs, a big smile (well, big for Virgil) on his face. He would let it stay there for the moment, while he was turned in such a way that the others couldn't see. He appreciated everything they had done for him, more than he would ever be able to tell them.

He decided that he was in the mood for The Nightmare Before Christmas; Christmas was just around the corner after all. After popping in the movie, Virgil took a seat next to Roman, something unusual as he typically avoided the center of the couch at all times. But this time, he wanted to show Roman that he was grateful for his birthday surprise.

Roman turned to look at Virgil with a big grin as the protective side surprised him by sitting next to him. What had he done to be honored with Virgil's company? He didn't know, but he wasn't going to complain. He worried that if he said anything, the emo would retreat back into his shell and move away, denying everything. So Roman instead remained silent, taking the bowl of popcorn Patton handed him and offering some to Virgil, who took some with a muttered thanks.

Virgil had to keep himself from bouncing while he watched the movie. He kept shooting glances at the other sides, thankful that they didn't seem to notice as all their attention was trained on the movie. They had all been so nice to him, each one making his birthday special in a way only they could. So this is what he had been missing for so long.

Truly, this was his best birthday ever.

---

I think I am going to make two more parts to this. Hope you liked it.

@randomslasher @raiseafuckingglass