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crowsent · 4 years

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👶,⭐,💘, and💻. Love you!!

thank you for ask anon! writer ask game is here if yall wanna send in something. still taking asks for these btw

👶- advice for new writers =

yall this is hella fucking generic but PRACTISE. theres a reason almost literally every writer on tumblr gives the advise of “practise practise practise” and that reason is it works. practise doesnt mean ‘oh just write bc youll automatically get better over time’ it means ‘write bc if you dont, you wont figure out what you need to improve.’ did yall know that i literally had no sentence variation in the past? i started every sentence with [character name] or [character pronoun] and i didnt realise until i was 15/16 and i only realised bc i started writing a lot.

i think there’s a fear of failure with new writers. there’s this lingering doubt of “what if its not good?” and boy howdy i will answer that question right fucking now. it wont be good. when i compare my current work to my earlier work, my earlier work sucked fucking shit. i spelled soldier with a fucking ‘j’ and i had no idea what the hell a point of view was. and thats okay. whoever tells you that youre going to perfect writing is a fucking liar. there is no perfecting writing. 20 years from now, imma look at the writing from today and im gonna think it sucks shit. writing is a process. its a craft. you get better and better over time and the way you get better is by experimenting w different styles, different genres, different ways of writing.

and the only way you can experiment and improve is through practise. in video games, especially rpgs (which are my favourite kind of video games), you struggle in the early game. youre at a low level, you dont have good equipment, you have a hard time moving to the next area. but the only way you progress is by grinding, gaining levels, and getting stronger. same w writing. if youre a level 1 writer, just starting out, no idea what to do, just experiment. fuck around a bit. write crackships, write rarepairs, write niche self-indulgent reader/character fics. at the end of the day, you should write for yourself. its good and cool if other people like your stuff and validate all your hard work, but at the end of the day, the one who should enjoy your writing the most is yourself.

you WILL mess up and you WILL struggle, but thats the only way you can improve. i struggle with pacing the most. still do. but others might have pacing down pat and struggle instead with word choice or pov or something else. cant figure out where you need to improve if you dont write, so just practise and worry about all the fine print later

⭐️- how do you get your inspiration? =

this is definitely not universal, but i just sit on my bed, close my eyes, and meditate. cycle through all my emotions and thoughts and filter them out. then i just toss everything out the damn window. like. id just meditate for a while, focus on breathing, on experiencing the present, picture a field and a tree and myself and breathe. thoughts fly by and i let them happen but dont focus on it.

meditating gives me some semblance of emotional control bc i normally have none, and it gives me kind of this space. this safe space that only exists for me and me alone. so i use that space to let the world drift away. just me and my thoughts and sometimes, those thoughts end up being good writing ideas. but i usually meditate for a set amount of time. like 15 minutes or 30 minutes so i dont write until i finish meditating.

then when i get out of my headspace, i open up my laptop and see what i remember. thinking too hard about something causes it to muddy up. same with art. in digital art, artists flip the canvas to refresh their eyes, see if there’s anything weird or wonky about the illustration that they normally dont see bc theyve gotten used to it. flipping the canvas is like giving our eyes a jumpstart and lets us see what we could do better. in traditional art, its turning the canvas this way and that or repositioning yourself. meditating is like that. a break. a cleanse. a kind of pause where you dont think about anything and just try to process what you already have. you relax and kind of let yourself float down a river of thoughts and sometimes, a fish would jump out of that river and youd go “hey, thats a good idea. i should try that” so when you get out of the river, youre refreshed and ready to go.

same principle with showers. more ideas come to you in the shower when you dont have anything to write with bc youre not thinking about it. youre not focusing on finding inspiration or motivation so ideas naturally flow through you. you know that feeling when you want to do x then someone comes along and says “hey you should do x” and suddenly all motivation to do x leaves? same w your brain. focus too much on “i should be writing” or “i want inspiration” and its never gonna come. just let things happen. at least, thats how i do it. some people might get inspiration by reading or watching tv. everyones different so if thats not what works out for you, dont feel pressured to try my method

💘- what’s your favorite AU? Least favorite? =

magic au. specifically fantasy au set in like a pre-modern era. shows like avatar where theres all this magic and fantastical beasts and so on and so forth. semi-modern like six of crows and nevernight are great too. i want that magic to be woven into people’s lives. harry potter is okay but there’s like this separation between magic and muggle. there’s this feeling of “magic” but like as a tool. like a spoon or a gun or a shovel. i want magic au’s that are INTEGRATED with the world its set in.

like in atla, earth kingdom people have trains they move with bending while fire nation people have machines powered by heat and steam. both correspond to their bending and makes sense for the world they live in. but if your plot is like harry potter and its less worldbuilding and more action, then there’s this book series called seasons rising (read it. so good) where there’s a bunch of spells but the spells have character. the people using the spells GIVE it character and it feels much more intimate. pokemon does the whole fantasy mixed w reality better. give two trainers the exact same pokemon and by the time that pokemon reaches lvl 50, its gonna have a different moveset, different fight style, etc bc it was shaped by the world and people around it. i like harry potter but tbh it could have been so much better

for the least favourite au, it’s A/B/O i dont like the whole “omegas are only good for breeding hurr durr” and “alphas are violent and aggressive and cant control themselves around omegas” thing and it squicks me out. major squick. i read the original harry potter squick (THAT one. yeah. you know the one) and i still hate a/b/o more. i get why people like it, and there are one or two fics set in a/b/o au that i enjoy reading, but as a whole, i severely dislike a/b/o fics.

the themes are squick, the character dynamics get so messed up, and shipping dynamics (bc a/b/o fics usually have shipping) just get so blown out of proportion. there are so many a/b/o fics that turn ooc or the character interpretations radically change or something else. no hate against a/b/o fans bc yall are amazing for writing/drawing yalls au. there are things that you can only do in this setting and exploring those things can be incredibly fun for people, but for me personally, its not an au i like to visit.

💻- three works of yours that are must reads =

i. dont know what fandom youre in anon or your genre preferences. so ill just rec you one fic for a different fandom each with kind of different genres. ts masterlist is on my side @hufflepuff-deceit and regular fanfic masterlist is on my writing blog @crownonymous

(BNHA) Viper. its my first serious attempt at fanfic in YEARS and its my baby. currently has 7 chapters, i havent updated it in a while bc im hyperfocused on ts rn, but i love it to bits. its just all of my fav bnha fics crammed into one fic. quirkless kind of villain izuku with stain as a mentor as they work together to bring light to the injustices of hero society and where bakugos bullying has visible and long-lasting repercussions? sign me the fuck up. you can read it on ao3 HERE bc its not on tumblr. kind of fast-paced, has a lot more action scenes than anything else ive written. heavy plot-wise but has a lot of humour and comedy to break things up

(Kimetsu no Yaiba) I Pray To God He Hears You. not related to my other kny fic oleander which is a multichap retelling au. iptghhy is a standalone one-shot and kind of a character study on one giyuu tomioka. i love him so much. giyuu is my baby and i adore him. so of course i wrote a sad fic focusing on him. well technically, the fic focuses on giyuu AND his relationships. SPOILERS for chapters 130 and 131 of the manga. focuses mostly on giyuu and sabito, but there’s a fair bit of giyuu and tanjiro and urokodaki. you can read it HERE bc this is also not on tumblr. also deals with heavy things but more emotion-wise since it doesnt have that much of a plot. loss. grief. moving on. survivors guilt. that kind of stuff. very sad. hurt but with comfort, especially at the end.

(Sanders Sides) Logan’s Birthday Fic: Logicality. just what the title says. i wrote 5 different fics and published them all on logans bday but the logicality one received the most feedback and honestly? the cutest of the bunch. its gonna be crossposted onto ao3 but for now, you can read it HERE on my ts sideblog. theres no plot since its literally just domestic and relationship fluff. and puns. patton is in the fic, theres gonna be puns. nothing but good things and warm feelings bc logan deserves it.

thank you so much for such interesting asks anon! i enjoyed answering these. have a lovely day!

#crowsas answers #kny #bnha #sanders sides

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fearfilledvirgil · 6 years

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Ivity and Anx: part fourteen

Summary: Virgil listends to the song that Princey posted in his living room. Things go to hell.

Warnings: accidental self isolation, breif mention of migraines, parental abuse, attempt of muder, a knife, self-blame, self-depreciation, guilt

Word count: 5130

Pairing: Slowburn Prinxiety, lots of platonic Analogical

A/N: HI I RECORDED A SONG FOR THIS PART AND I’M SHAKING. Anyways listen to this song which is a recording of the song that Princey sings. But with my voice. And yes, I made Roman have the same guitar as I do because I’m emoTIONALLY ATTACHED okay? The video is bad, but just pretty please listen to it and read the chapter or both at once I don’t know. If you know how it sounds it gives the words a bit more meaning than just random poetry. Anyways. This chapter is very emotionally taxing and sad. It made several beta readers cry. Good luck. Taglist under the cut.

masterlist

Taglist: @rileyfirstname @verymuchanidiot @definentlynotjustanotherlemon @silversmith-91 @kanejandkruge @sander-fander-sides @lovecrazyjennybear @the-incedible-sulk @hexdream18243 @crows-with-hats @monikastec @definenormalifyoucan @i-am-absolute-fandom-trash @applecannibal @cats-with-blogs @bubblycricket @witchcraft--and--wizardry @bunnyartie @quietlypondering @elusivefalsehoods @hghrules @royallyanxious @quietwords-loudthoughts @squishynonbinarytwink @sortablue @illogical-anxieties @savingshae @a-fander-named-skittles @thelowlysatsuma @ughthatsprettygay @im-so-infinitesimal @certifiedtrashxx @karmels-stuff @littlelogicstillcounts @musicqueen1239 @nicological1 @the-average-loner

Today had been a long day, but that wasn’t unusual. Long days were a common thing for Logan since he moved into his college dorm, but that was mostly his fault. Classes hadn’t started yet, for either Logan or his friends going into their junior year, but that didn’t mean that Logan hadn’t started studying yet. The seventeen-almost-eighteen year old would spend several hours a day at the library, reading his textbooks and teaching himself the material for the classes to come. He also kept detailed and clean notes, something that made him happy.

His notes served a few purposes for Logan. It was a way to destress, it let out his creativity in a productive way, it helped him remember what he studied, and it provided him something to put on his Tumblr along with his bullet journal. He had what was called a studyblr, and was fairly popular. When he followed Virgil without telling him what his blog was, the younger nearly had a heart attack.

Logan’s pen stopped in the middle of the sentence he was writing. Virgil. He hadn’t talked to the younger in a while, which honestly scared him. The two used to be inseparable, considering that both were on the outskirts of the social game. Logan was always diving into books, and Virgil was always avoiding people at all costs. Now, though, with Logan off at college and burying himself in his books again, the two weren’t talking as much. Come to think of it, he hadn’t talked to Patton in a while. That was an oddity as well, since the excitable man loved talking to him. Logan loved talking to him. The college student felt a dip in his stomach, probably because of guilt. He was so busy studying at the library that he had begun to forget his friends.

A text tone interrupted the classical music streaming through his headphones, making him pause. A light of hope flickered inside his mind, because just maybe, it was one of his friends deciding to break the silence. He didn’t even realize how much he missed them these past few months until now.

Patton Heart <3: Hey Logan! I think you probably should check this out. It’s totally about Virgil, but you know more about the situation then I do.

After the first text, Patton sent with it a link to a video on YouTube. Logan was certainly confused, but once he clicked the link to preview the video, he understood. Roman posted a video, most likely unedited, of a song about Virgil.

Logos Brain: Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will alert Virgil. How have you been, Patton? I apologize for my momentary absence. I have been settling in here and regrettably forgot to talk.

Patton Heart <3: It’s okay!! I’m glad you’re settling in well. Make any friends?

Logos Brain: No one could replace you, Heart

Logan could not see, but Patton was flapping his arms everywhere at that comment. It gave him peace of mind knowing that Logan felt so strongly about him, even though he was known for not having any feelings. It made Patton warm and fuzzy inside, like most things that Logan said. What Logan could see, though, was his own phone pulling up Virgil’s contact and sending him the link to the video.

Pocket Protector: Virgil, Roman wrote a song about you. You may want to check it out.

Honorary Brother: Oh. Okay. Thank you Lo Sorry we haven't been texting

Pocket Protector: Its my fault. I was neglecting my friends in favor of studying

Honorary Brother: This is why I usually am the buffer. Taking ten minute breaks every half an hour? For your head?

Pocket Protector: Yes, Virgil. I promise.

Virgil was usually the one causing Logan to worry, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t worry about him too. The elder had an skill for getting headaches after reading or concentrating for too long. If he let the headache go without treating it, there was a more than likely chance that he would get a migraine. If it got to that point, little would stop the pain, and the migraine would persist for hours, or even days. That’s why Virgil made Logan have the ten for thirty rule.

Virgil shifted on the couch, trying to get more comfortable as he clicked on the YouTube link. He knew it was Roman, but he didn’t know how he could write a song about him of all people and be able to pass it by the record label. As soon as the video loaded, though, Virgil understood.

The title of the video was ‘Psychic, an Original Song by Roman Prince’ and opened with Roman pulling his arm away from the camera. He was sitting in a mostly dark room, fairy lights behind him, with his guitar resting on his legs. His head was almost out of frame, but the bottom half of his face was visible. Virgil sucked in a breath as Roman started talking on the video.

“I just want to start out with saying that this video is currently in no way related to Vidomen Records or any of it’s associates. I actually just wrote this song like… ten minutes ago, but I just.... I need to get this out. So. This is called Psychic.” Roman’s voice was soft, spoken with care and in his lower register. Virgil suddenly became aware that he did not, in fact, have his headphones in, and was making a loud commotion in the living room by playing the video.

Be seen not heard. Or, better yet, don’t be fucking seen either, but don’t leave this house, ya hear? The booming echo of the memory of his father’s voice made a shiver fall down Virgil’s spine. He quickly turned down the volume as low as it could go without being off. He then put the phone up to his ear, closed his eyes, and listened to Roman’s smooth voice begin to sing.

It’s almost like he can read by thoughts But I wish you could too All these emotions and things inside That I’m trying to get through to you.

Virgil’s heart plunged into his gut at the sheer emotion in the words that Roman sang. They were taken straight from Princey’s own heart, which made Virgil understand why he put the disclaimer at the beginning of the video. It was nothing like his usual, peppy, flamboyant songs. This song was pure Roman. Virgil held onto the phone harder as the slower chorus played through the small speakers.

If you could be inside my mind Then I wouldn’t have to try To put my pride aside And tell you the truth But the truth is hard to get out When it falls on closed ears So can you be psychic for me? Can you be psychic for me?

Roman took another breath to continue singing, but Virgil’s phone was knocked away from him. Fear stabbed him in the heart and gripped his lungs to make it hard to breath. His eyes widened, adrenaline pumping through his veins as his father grabbed his wrist. He was pulled off the couch, tossed down to the floor.

Vaguely, he could hear Roman continue singing with, “I know that you’re terrified.”

“What did I tell you about making noise?” Virgil’s father growled as he stepped closer to his son, who was now on the floor.

A little ways away, Roman continued singing with, “Because you’ve been cast aside.”

“I-I’m sorry, sir.” Virgil started to stutter, but was stopped from further apology by a kick to his side. The fear inside his chest was pushing at his rib cage, almost begging to be released. It was pounding, hard and fast like nothing he had ever felt before. He didn’t understand the difference in this punishment. It had started out just like all the others, so why was his adrenaline at an all time high? Why was he so scared, but not of the man leaning over him?

“Tell me what I told you!” the father figure yelled, his fists clenching as he stepped on Virgil’s wrist.

In the distance, Roman finished the chorus with, “Your feelings were twisted for fun. Words like bullets from my gun.”

It was at this moment that Virgil finally came to a screeching halt. Roman’s voice flowed into his ears as he sang the bridge again, somehow becoming louder with every passing second. Everything around him dimbed, the loudness of his father screaming his sentence again diminishing as his ears started ringing. The world was starting to go into some sort of slow motion, allowing Virgil to rethink over the decision that his mind had already made the moment that the phone was slapped out of his hand. Now he realised why this time was different. This time, he had Roman’s voice with him, a voice that he had once hated but learned to love. It was the soft tone that the singer used to comfort the other on those late night calls, and it was with him in this moment. This time was different because Roman unintentionally just accidently gave him hope. He didn’t understand why the lying boy would write this song, but it struck a chord inside Virgil. He didn’t register the dryness of his mouth or the pain in his wrist. All Virgil could think about was the word stuck in his throat, leaning off the tip of his tongue.

“No.”

“What?” Virgil’s father took a step back in shock. He hadn’t heard that word pass from his son’s lips since before his mother died. “What the fuck did you say?’”

“I said,” Virgil sat up from the floor, his hand finding his phone that was still playing the song and placing it in his back pocket. He was standing now, straightening his back with a slight bit of pain to be taller than his father. He was working on auto pilot, the world still fuzzy. “No.”

Thanks to the odd sensation of not actually being in his body that Virgil was experiencing, everything that followed was a blur. There were loud words, dodged punches, and spit flying everywhere. That much was processed in his head. Virgil was vaguely aware that he was also yelling, but what of, he didn’t have a solid grip. The words passing off his tongue felt like he was calling his dad out about being a drunk, and calling him out on how he treated his own son, but he couldn’t be exactly sure.

Before Virgil could acknowledge it, he had screamed his throat raw. His father’s eyes were glaring daggers at him, wide and seething. He could only see red. Virgil, on the other hand, was coming back down to earth, and the hope in his stomach was washing away. Every ounce of confidence that may had been left fully disappeared when his father reached over the kitchen counter. He didn’t realize that they had moved so close to the kitchen in their fighting, and Virgil was going to pay for that.

Mr. Sanders drew his hand back, revealing a long silver kitchen knife. Virgil’s heart rate suddenly skyrocketed, his hands beginning to shake even more than they were. His father took a step closer, which made Virgil take a step back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t mean…” His eyes were glued onto the knife. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry won’t fucking cut it,” His father was advancing quicker. He adjusted his grip on the knife. “You need to be taught a lesson.”

Virgil attempted to back away again, but instead fumbled over the couch. His back hit the cushions, but he was immediately attempting to scramble away. His father was still approaching with some sort of sick gleam in his eyes. Was this his plan all along? To get him to fight back, only to stab his chest to hear him scream and see the light leave his eyes? Did he hate him that much, that he’d kill him? Virgil fell off the couch, too caught up in the dark thoughts to notice the end of the sofa. The floor came up too quickly, and suddenly he was eating carpet. He heard his dad snicker behind him, dark and menacing. This was too much, this was too much and Virgil could not take it.

Somehow, he managed to get up off the floor. It was messy and ungraceful, but he grabbed his hoodie laying on the ground while getting up from the floor. With his hoodie in hand, and his phone in his back pocket, now all he had to do was get the fuck out of the apartment. Of course, Mr. Sanders had other plans than to let his son escape that easily. He follows Virgil menacingly, the glint in his eye growing as he started to raise the knife.

“I’ve been too lenient to you. It’s time you get what you deserve.” he said, looking at the knife and looking toward his son. Virgil’s vision swarmed in and out, his breathing all but stopped.

The next few moments would stay in Virgil’s mind the rest of his days. They played out in slow motion, frame by frame, as it happened.

Mr. Sanders lunged quite quickly, but it didn’t feel quick at all. Virgil eyed the knife, sharp and threatening, as it darted toward his chest. Before he could think, Virgil began to turn to the side, his eyes never leaving the intentional divits in the glinting silver. As he was trying to get away from the plunging knife, Virgil put his arms out in front of him. While he turned, his arms did too, which was both a good thing and a bad thing. The knife missed its mark on Virgil’s chest, but it still sliced through his upper arm. A small scream ripped from Virgil’s throat as it did so, but he pressed on. Since his arms were moving forward as he twisted, the knife was pressed deeper into his arm. But after it passed through his flesh, Virgil’s arms connected with his father’s body and pushed away.

Afterward, time sped up.

Virgil was running. His breathing was quick, coming in bigger gasps then before. He fumbled with the door for only a moment before it was open and he was running. He was going down the concrete stairs ten times faster than he usually did, only bent on getting away from the apartment. He needed to get away, even though he knew that he would eventually have to return. But for tonight, he ran like there was no tomorrow.

That was, at least, until his panic driven state began to wash away. His lungs burned, as did his legs, but at least he was away. Virgil took a second to gauge where he was. Upon looking around, he concluded that he was in Logan’s neighborhood. His legs must have carried him here due to muscle memory. Virgil thought that was okay for the moment until he realized something very important. Logan was not here. Without Logan, Virgil had no one. And, now that the fight or flight response had eased up, he just realized how much pain his arm was in.

So Virgil did the only thing he knew how to do: call Logan.

Once seated semi-comfortably on a bench in the neighborhood park nearby, Virgil attempted to pull his jacket on to attempt to keep the chill of night at bay. He took out his phone and sighed. More cracks had formed when he fell over the couch.

“Please still fucking work.” Virgil pushed the button to unlock his phone and let out a sigh of relief when it still turned on. He went to Logan’s contact number and hit the call button.

Logan picked up after two rings. “Good evening, Virgil.”

“Hey Lo.”

Logan could hear in Virgil’s voice that he was crashing from the adrenaline. “Is everything alright?”

Virgil considered lying for a moment. He knew that Logan could read him like a book, even over the phone, so he decided against it. “No. It’s not. It fucking sucks.”

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” When he didn’t get an answer, Logan decided to try something different. “Gauge?”

Virgil sighed. He was simultaneously grateful and hateful at just how well his friend knew him. “Eight and a half.”

“What happened?”

Virgil took a breath, his grip on his phone tightening. “Knife.”

There was shuffling at the other side of the line. “Virgil, Virgil, you need to get it looked at. It’s not something that I can help you with where I am.”

“I know that, Logan, but you know I can’t go to the hospital.”

“I know. There is someone else you can go to,” There was a pause, then the opening and closing of a door. “Someone who has helped you through a lot.”

“Don’t fucking say it.”

“Virgil.” The tone was testing, but Virgil didn’t care at the moment.

“No, Logan. I can’t.” Virgil shook his head even though he knew Logan couldn’t see. “Not after this long of time. He probably fucking hates me. He’s probably planning how to make next year a living hell.”

“He misses you.”

Three simple words. Something Virgil never thought he’d hear about Roman. Did Patton talk to Logan about it? Is that how Logan knew that Roman missed him? Logan wasn’t one to say or do anything without some facts behind it so it wasn’t a gut feeling.

“You don’t know that, Logan.”

“Yes I do. Patton’s said so. Several times.” At the moment, it sounded as though Logan was walking rather quickly. “Patton even told me that Roman’s tried reaching out to you.”

“Roman hates me. He’s out to make my life a living hell.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, but kept walking. “Do I honestly need to read to you a list of reasons for you to go to him?”

“You don’t have one of those ready, Pocket Protector.”

“Actually, I do. Give me a moment.”

Virgil shouldn’t have been surprised, considering that Logan was crazy over lists and notes. He would comprise one full of pros and cons about Roman. Sighing, Virgil put a little pressure on the cut, hoping to stop a little of the bleeding. There was a sound on the other end of the line of a door opening and closing again. Then came the ruffling of papers.

“Are you ready, Virgil?” Logan asked a few moments later.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. List away.”

“I’m ignoring that. Some of the pros of going and talking to Roman include: He knows about your past and would be least likely to completely, um, ‘lose it’ if you showed up bleeding. Roman also has been able to help keep you calm in moments of excessive alarm. Occasionally even more capable at it than I am. You are also very comfortable with him. At least you were before you realized who he was. You trust him to some extent. And I believe that he has no intention of hurting you.”

“Wait. Did you just say ‘I believe’?” Virgil couldn’t help but point that out.

“Based off of evidence I have collected, yes.”

“And what evidence would that be?” As much as he hated to admit it, he was curious about what would cause Logan to say that.

“One example would be that he told Patton that he ‘had ruined everything’ and ‘it was all his fault.’”

Virgil didn’t know how to respond to that. It was the last thing that he expected Roman Prince to say about him. He never thought that Roman would go so far as to blame himself. He thought that Roman would laugh about the experience and use it as more fuel against him.

“Virgil?” Logan’s voice broke Virgil out of his thoughts.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said would you like more evidence?”

“No, thank you. I don’t want want to hear the page and a half of evidence you probably have on that one point.”

“It is a page and a quarter.”

“Whatever you say.” Virgil couldn’t help the slight smile that was on his face. He missed talking with Logan so much.

“Anyway. Roman would also find a way to help you without making you go to the hospital. And just talking to him would be enough to, uh, pay him back.”

“Based off what Patton said I’m guessing?”

“Precisely. Though it is a possible con in he may not want to talk to you. It was a few months ago that Patton told me this.”

“Any other cons?”

Virgil heard the shuffling of pages from the other line again. “He could be upset that you didn’t let him explain himself. He could be upset that you broke off all ties. However it’s hypothesized that sitting down and talking to him about why will rectify that. Actually almost all of the cons I have written could be corrected by just talking to him.”

“Almost all?” Virgil’s curiosity got the better of him.

“The one outcome that wouldn’t be corrected is if he truly never cared for you, which seems highly illogical. I believe that there is an infinitesimal chance that talking to him will work.”

“Logan. Buddy. That’s not encouraging.”

“Why not? I am simply saying that there is a great chance that if you talk to him things will be alright.”

“Not that ‘infinitesimal’ means Lo.”

Virgil couldn’t help but chuckle when he heard Logan typing away quickly at his computer. He could almost imagine the look of disbelief on the other’s face. The sputtering from the other line proved that Logan was at a loss for words at misusing the term.

“I...deeply apologize for that, Virgil.”

“‘S all good. I knew you didn’t mean it.” There was a pause. “So you really believe it’s a good idea to go to Roman?”

“I truly do. While he may be arrogant, I do not believe that he will turn you away. He’s prideful but he still has a heart.”

“Alright. If he does I expect a major apology.”

“I promise.”

Virgil took a deep breath and was about to hit the end call button when something stopped him. It was some emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time. After pondering it for a minute, Virgil realized it was pride. He was proud of what he was going to tell Logan.

“I stood up to him.” Virgil whispered as he got up from the bench.

“What do you mean?” Logan asked, fearing the answer.

“My father. I... I stood up to him”.

“That’s… That’s good, Vee. If you did, I think it’s all the mor--”

“That’s not it, Logan.” Virgil cut off his friend. He was now standing near the bench, not ready to leave the familiar place yet.

“What’s not ‘it?’” Logan sounded worried. There was another shift on the other side of the line, signifying that he put down his papers.

“It all happened so fast, or slow, I don’t know. He may not have but... I turned and the-the-the blade went deep into my arm and…” Virgil took a deep breath to attempt to steady his heavily beating heart. He couldn't get it out. He couldn’t.

“You’re probably bleeding far worse than I anticipated because of, of your bravery,” Logan moved the phone to his other ear. “You did stand up to him, that’s what matters. And I’m.. I’m extremely proud of you.”

“Yeah but now my jacket is going to be soaked in blood.” Virgil joked as he started walking again. He heard a muffled ‘Jesus Christ’ on the other end of the line which made him crack a smile.

“If you do not go to Roman I will fly home and personally drag you kicking and screaming to the hospital and then to his house.” Concern was clear in Logan’s voice.

Virgil knew Logan well enough to know he meant it. “I’m already off the bench and out of the park. You’re just lucky the two of you don’t live that far apart.”

“We what now?”

“I ran into your neighborhood. Muscle memory I guess.”

“I am… sorry that I am not there to help you.” Regret was clear in Logan’s voice. He wished the world that he could be there to help protect his friend.

“Its okay. You’ve got collage, and… Like I said, he only lives a few blocks away.” Virgil was lying. He was lying so hard that it hurt. But he had to, because he couldn’t spend his entire life dependant on Logan. He had enough of Virgil’s bullshit and pain. He deserved a normal life full of learning, possibly love, without Virgil weighing him down. That’s all he ever did, really, was weigh him down. If Virgil hadn’t been so stupid as to go to his house all those years ago, hurt and afraid, then Logan’s life could have been free from pain. The most he had to worry about was love and knowledge. But no, Virgil had to ruin all of that.

“Virgil, talk to me.” Logan cut through Virgil’s internal thoughts. He seemed to do that a lot.

“What? Sorry, spaced out.”

“You worry me. I asked if you want me to stay on the phone with you?” Worry was even more evident in Logan’s voice than before.

Virgil pulled his hood up to hopefully block some of the wind as he turned onto the main street. It was late, past midnight at least, so there wasn’t too many cars to disturb the call. “Maybe? I don’t know. It sounded like I took you away from something.”

“That was… nothing really important. A dorm activity.”

“That you liked or not?” You fucking idiot Virgil. He was doing normal college stuff and you couldn’t even let him do that. Stupid.

“It was okay. I met this mess of a man, Nate, who scares me with how much he procrastinates.”

“So… ProcrastiNATE.”

“I hate you.” Logan couldn’t help the slightly fond smile despite his annoyance at the pun.

“Come on, you love me.”

“You’re right. I do. A lot, honorary little bro.”

“Did you just call me ‘bro?’ What has college done to you?” Virgil teased his best friend. No, that wasn’t right. Logan was his brother. They were closer than blood could ever make them.

“I tried! But honestly, you’re still Honorary Brother in my contacts.”

Virgil was silent for a few moments before he regained himself. “That means a lot to me, Lo.”

“I know it does, Virge.”

Virgil was still concerned that he messed up an important part of Logan’s experience at college. “Are you sure that I’m not taking you away from anyone right now?”

A knock on a door at Logan’s end of the call gave him his answer. “One moment.”

“Sure.”

Logan removed the phone from his ear and covered the speaker to hopefully minimize what Virgil could hear. He sat up from the chair at his desk to approach the door. Upon opening it, the man that he talked about to Virgil was standing there. Logan furrowed his eyebrows in confusion before raising one as to ask ‘what are you doing here?’

“Oh, good, this is your dorm. Okay.” Nate pushed up his sunglasses and leaned against the doorframe.

“What do you want? I’m a bit preoccupied.” Logan was annoyed, that much was clear. Virgil was just able to make out his words, which made him feel even more guilty than he already was.

“Dude, you left right in the middle of a conversation. And said something about a hospital. We worried.” the concern in Nate’s voice actually seemed genuine, at least to Logan.

“I’m helping out a friend of mine, its-” Logan was promptly cut off by Virgil on the other end of the line.

“Logan! Go back to the meeting thing!” Virgil half-yelled into the phone, hoping that his friend would hear him. “I’m almost there anyway.” That wasn’t the full truth, but it was close enough to the truth that Logan wouldn’t mind anyway.

Nate looked down at Logan’s phone, then back up to the younger with a smirk. “And the friend agrees with me. Come on, tell ‘em goodbye and come back! Brian’s about to talk school stuff and by the looks of ya, you’d like that.”

“Go, Logan!” Virgil yelled again. Logan brought his phone back up to his ear for the second part of Virgil’s sentence. “Besides, a dude named Brian? That’s gotta be cool. He has your last name as a name.”

“Yeah, well, you’re more important,” Nate gave him a goofy smile, to which Logan responded by tearing the phone away from his face and saying, “Not like that, you, uh, you...”

“Buffoon?” Virgil supplied.

“Buffoon! Wait, Vee, what does that even mean?” Nate watched these two sortof interact with a happy glint in his eye. They were good friends. Even he could tell.

“Dunno. Now go.”

“Fine. Goodbye, Virgil. Please call me if you need more assistance. Text me when you get there.”

“Will do, Lo. Talk to you later.” Virgil’s grip on his phone tightened. They were doing the dance of who will hang up again.

“Good luck.” Neither wanted to do it. Logan wanted to provide support, while Virgil didn’t want to let go of familiarity and the comfort of Logan’s voice. But he had to.

“You too.” Virgil said with finality before removing the phone from his face and pressing the end call button. Just like that, his fate was sealed.

Not only that, but Virgil knew that his phone was dying. He didn’t have time to grab anything other than his sweatshirt. No charger, no change of clothes, no wallet, no earbuds, no nothing. Virgil took a look at the time, and his battery, before placing it in his back pocket again. No earbuds meant no music, and no music meant that his mind was free to wander.

This was not a good thing, despite what some people might think. Virgil’s mind wandering was never good. Now he had the chance to think over all the reasons why Roman hated him, and why he would definitely turn him away. Virgil walked on like this, pain in his upper arm and worrying thoughts in his mind. It took everything in his being not to think himself creepy for knowing the way. The boy had given the younger his address willingly at some point after their split. Virgil saved it, most likely because of the lingering hope in his heart. Soon enough, he would reach the one place he never thought he’d actually go: Roman Prince’s house.

next part

Shoutout to the amazing @lovecrazyjennybear! She helped me a ton with this chapter (specifically most of Logan and Virgil’s conversation), and even more chapters to come. You are an amazing beta reader and an even more amazing friend! (and writer, and editer, and all the ideas you have. you are amazing all around)

#fail’s writing #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides incorrect quotes #virgil angst #tw abuse #tw murder #so yeah you all get to hear my singing voice and see part of my face #cool

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viralhottopics · 7 years

Text

Neil Gaiman: I like being British. Even when Imashamed, Im fascinated

The books interview: The award-winning author on his new book of Norse mythology, Brexit and being an Englishman in New York

Neil Gaiman wanders into the Crosby Hotels colourful parlour in lower Manhattan looking like the Platonic ideal of himself. Hes all wild hair and gracious manners, dressed in a lived-in black wool coat, which he keeps on throughout. He loves this hotel, he says, not least because the concierge writes a comic about Houdini with the former concierge.

Gaiman started out in comics, reading them as a child and eventually writing them too, including his famous Sandman series. So does this happen to him often, his very presence tempting out underground comics enthusiasts all over the globe? I wish I could say yes. It would be a much more interesting and sort of Pynchon-esque world. But no, its just here.

Gaiman looks a little tired. He has just come from feeding breakfast to his toddler youngest son, the progeny of his second marriage to the singer-songwriter Amanda Palmer. (He has three children with his first wife, Mary McGrath.) His creative life is a whirlwind of projects. The television version of his 2001 novel American Gods is to air in the US in April. He has also been at work on an adaptation of his 1990 collaboration with Terry Pratchett, Good Omens, for Amazon and the BBC, on which he is serving as showrunner. Meanwhile, there is the matter of writing books, the latest of which is Gaimans retelling of Norse myths in the straightforwardly titled Norse Mythology, out this week.

It has clearly been a struggle to find the time. I would look up every now and again and go, OK, I have a week. Good, I will retell a story. These are drawn from the 13th-century source texts for many Norse myths, the Prose Edda and Poetic Edda, which he first read in his 30s, after absorbing the superhero stories inspired by them in Marvel comics as a child growing up in West Sussex. With such a haphazard schedule, it has taken around eight years to write the book, the idea for which was first floated by his American editor at Gaimans birthday lunch in 2008.

Listing all of Gaimans achievements could fill a book on its own. In addition to the comics, he is the author of novels for adults and children including Neverwhere, The Graveyard Book and The Ocean at the End of the Lane. He has written original screenplays and seen his work adapted by others, too, such as the 2009 stop-motion version of Coraline. He has been nominated for and won countless awards, including the Hugos, Nebulas and Eisners.

An illustration from Neil Gaimans The Graveyard Book

Gaimans love of Norse mythology surfaces frequently in his work, not least in American Gods, which captures a battle between Odin and Loki. But in embarking on the retellings in Norse Mythology, Gaiman found himself faced with new limitations, as much information about the gods is missing. On Greeks and Romans, for example, we have scads of stuff, but the Norse werent writing it down, he explains. They were telling the stories, so everything we have was written down after the event. The holes and the contradictions that result from the oral tradition presented creative choices, but he felt an acute responsibility to be faithful to the traditional versions.

I have to play fair with the Norse scholars and I have to play fair with kids who pick up the book and read it and think they know the stories. And so I may add colour, I may add motivation, Id go and put in my own dialogue. I may draw inferences, he says. All that stuff Im allowed to do, but I feel like Im not allowed to just go, OK, theres a patch of canvas missing here. Im going to draw something in

Even so, Gaimans personal sensibility is apparent in the text. His affection for Loki, for instance, shines through: Loki is very handsome. He is plausible, convincing, likable, and far and away the most wily, subtle and shrewd of all the inhabitants of Asgard. It is a pity, then, that there is so much darkness inside him: so much anger, so much envy, so much lust.

Gaiman attributes his love of Loki to his novelists eye. You always end up fascinated by who changed, and how they change, because the engine of fiction is who are you at the beginning of the story and who are you at the end. Thor, bless his heart, has no narrative arc: he is the same person all the way through. He is not the brightest hammer in the room, but hes good hearted, and you know he will die at the end, but he dies the same person hes been all the way through. In contrast, Loki is both the devil and the saviour of the gods. Almost every story where theyre in trouble, its because Loki got them into it. Also, an awful lot of the time, hes the only one smart enough to get them out of it.

He declares a real joy in passing these things on. Its like being given something that belongs to humanity and polishing it and cleaning it up and putting it back out there.

Gaimans enthusiasm for myths also extends to the Egyptians and the Greeks. He can reel off similarities between ancient stories, and says he doesnt just tell the stories, he feels them on some emotional level. The glory of some of these myths is that they feel right, he explains, although he also concedes that every now and then youll hit a myth and go, No, I cant really get behind that. Really, we get licked out of the ice by a cow? OK, if you say so. (Hes referring there to the myth of Audhumla, which he includes in Norse Mythology, despite his scepticism.)

As Gaiman wrestled with these stories, he says, he had no idea he was writing a topical book. But then, as political events unfolded in the second half of 2016, he could not help but draw parallels. For me, it was Ragnark, he says, referring to the apocalyptic end of the gods. It begins with a long winter, continues with earthquakes and flooding, and then the sky splits apart.

The view that Brexit and the election of President Trump have brought about chaos and even a sense of impending doom is widely held, but Gaimans version of it is particularly eloquent. I remember the 80s and the nuclear clock and the cold war and Russia and America and [thinking] I hope you guys dont press buttons and it would be very nice to not live in the shadow of everything ending, he says. But at least at that point, what you were scared of was just one action. Now one is scared of the accretion of a million actions and a million inactions.

He says there is a strange kind of magical thinking afoot and tells me about waking up the morning after Brexit in a hotel in Scotland and checking the result, then having that sort of moment at the end of Planet of the Apes where Charlton Heston sees the Statue of Liberty … I was going, Oh, no. Are you really

Gaiman has, in recent years, divided his time between the UK and the US, but he is not an American citizen and has fallen off the electoral roll in the UK, so he wasnt able to vote in either the Brexit referendum or the US election. Im frustrated not being able to vote over here, he says. Im like, well, I pay lots of taxes to the US and the UK, but I dont want to become an American citizen. I like being English. I like being British. Even when Im ashamed, Im fascinated.

Indeed, he clearly is. He does a very good imitation of the cab drivers he encountered in London leading up to the Brexit vote, who seemed to believe that, ultimately, the thing they were about to do was of no consequence: The EUs not going to let us go … . Regarding the Trump vote, he says: At the end of the day, what I think was being voted for was change. People were saying Were fed up and were not being listened to, and unfortunately that wasnt being offered by the other side. The appeal of Bernie Sanders was he was standing up there saying This thing is fucked, and the problem with Hillary was she was standing up there and saying Things are good, theyre getting better.

Genuine worry furrows Gaimans brow, but he has plans to respond to current events. His following is huge, including 2.5 million people on Twitter and the millions who read his books and his blog and watch his television shows. He intends to use that platform to highlight the plight of refugees. He hopes, too, to double down on his longstanding activism to promote freedom of speech. I wrote an essay on my blog in 2009 called Why Defend Freedom of Icky Speech?, he says, Which just becomes more and more timely. I have a 14-month-old son, and a four-month-old grandson. I have no idea what kind of world theyre going to grow up in. Im going to do my best with the time and the intellectual effort remaining to me to do whatever I can to give them a good world, he says.

Ragnark, as Gaiman writes in Norse Mythology, is of course the end of something. But there is also what will come after the end, he adds. In his version the sun comes out. Something glitters in the grass. The gods children find a set of golden chess pieces waiting for them. They arrange them on a board, and then one of them makes a move. And, Gaiman concludes, the game begins anew.