on the topic of disabled characters, though, i think a LOT of artists give characters mobility aids that their character wouldn't actually benefit from using.
i'm sort of having a mild brain fog moment rn so i can't fully articulate what i'm on about, but i think a lot of able-bodied artists view things like canes and crutches as interchangeable. and they often don't know enough about the wide range of mobility aids to make an informed decision about what their character might actually use based on their disability
i also think that aids like walkers and rollators are sort of viewed as "cringe" on some level, and many people view them to be "just for old people," so many artists will opt for giving a character who has full-body pain and fatigue a cane (which, in many cases, can potentially WORSEN full-body pain) instead. and a lot of people don't realize that most wheelchair users are able to walk, so they don't consider it an option for characters with chronic pain
idk it's kind of frustrating. i've genuinely never, ever seen a character that uses a rollator before. not once. i cannot name a single one. i know of multiple ocs who are described to have full-body pain, dizziness, and fatigue that are drawn as cane users and are never shown with wheelchairs or walkers, though
it's also sort of sad? i've been diagnosed since i was twelve years old, and i only heard of rollators LAST YEAR. and that was only because i saw one irl and immediately asked what it was. i wonder how many disabled people out there don't even know it's an option solely because they're completely underrepresented online and in media
if you're a creative with a disabled oc, PLEASEEE check out this link. it's a very nice and detailed guide for telling which mobility aids suit someone's needs best. it's incredibly important to make the right choice for your character! mobility aids tell you a LOT about someone's lived experience. picking the right one will communicate to your audience #1 what your character goes through #2 that you UNDERSTAND what your character goes through!
Virgil won the games, now he has to battle his way through the victory tour.
The party on the final night will be the worst, but at least there's a few friendly faces in the crowd too.
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| Ao3 | Next ->
| Masterpost |
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Warnings: Overstimulation, accidental consumption of alcohol
Pairings: none
Word Count: 2329
Notes:
Hello!!! It's been way too long since this au has been written for xP I hope you guys like this chapter <3
This au is being written super out of order lekfjds so Just know that Janus and Roman won their games before Virgil (Roman was 18, Janus was 17 the year later, they're now 24 and 22). This takes place after 'Red Rose'.
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Virgil was, frankly, more terrified than he'd ever been in his life. And that was saying something after he'd faced the arena.
But blizzards and caves and wolves and tributes were one thing. He was about to be thrown to a whole different kind of wolf, and have to deal with a whole different kind of Snow, too.
At thirteen years old, Virgil never once imagined himself on a victory tour for the hunger games. He never imagined himself getting reaped for the games full stop, let alone winning them. Winning had never been on the cards for him. He'd been given speeches to say in each of the districts. He'd muttered his way through every single one of them, pushing his voice to his limit every time even though no-one could really ever hear him.
In district twelve he'd ended up getting freaked out by the snow covering the ground in the town square where he was supposed to do his speech. He'd barely been able to stammer his way through a few words before falling silent for long enough that his mentor had come out to help with the speech before dragging him back inside.
The other districts had been easier. He still couldn't really speak well enough to be heard, but that seemed to be come more expected as time went on.
He'd thought Twelve would be the worst of the districts, after his freak out, but it turned out that it was nothing compared to Three.
He'd laid eyes on the giant projected face of Bug, his ally, the only even sort of friend Virgil had ever had as he walked out of District 3's justice building and he'd stopped dead. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, he felt his breath quicken and tears form in his eyes as he looked at her, memories of her death - right in front of him - and how he'd acted afterwards flooding his mind as he squeezed his eyes shut.
His hands shook so badly on the notecards that he couldn't hold them up, and when he attempted to start the speech all that came out was a miserable, choking sob, his breathing quickening and sharpening until it felt like every breath was driving a knife into his throat as his eyes swept across the large crowd.
It took him collapsing on the stage from his panic attack for the peacekeepers to grab him by the elbows and drag him back inside. It took twenty minutes after that for his mentor and escort to calm him down enough to get him back onto the train, and he hadn't said a word the entire way to district two.
He'd gotten through the last two districts with his head bowed, and then they were on their way to the capitol.
As much as he had been dreading the districts, he'd been dreading the Capitol even more. His escort had been yapping away about how they were to be headed to the Presidential mansion for the party concluding the tour.
He was all dressed up again, just like interviews. At this point, he was used to the prep team and stylist, and knew not to protest when they pinned back his hair and took away the comfort that baggy clothing provided and put him in clothes that better suited the Capitol people. Virgil hated the scarce amount of material covering his top half, especially when juxtaposed with the layers on layers of thick colourful fabric that made up the back of the pants he was wearing that flowed around him more like a skirt.
He did everything he could to keep his chin up proudly as he followed his escort, but so many people were were there, gawking and whooping and taking photos, some of them tried to touch him, and Virgil couldn't stop himself from flinching away from their hands no matter how he knew it would be easier if he just let it happen.
For a brief moment, he thought that the inside of the house must be like a refuge compared to the hell that was going on outside. Somehow it just turned out to be worse.
People in here were eating like they were starving from seemingly endless platters of buffet food. They drank something Virgil couldn't name from tall flutes. They were laughing. They were talking. It was all so loud. Virgil couldn't hear himself think.
He was introduced to people, but non of their names registered in his mind. People tried to talk to him and he stood there blankly long enough for them to give up. Someone asked him to dance and he was swept away in a blur he didn't remember through the panic. He was offered food and he ate it. He was offered a drink and it made him feel so disgusting he had to excuse himself and gulp down fresh air from a window in the hall until his head stopped spinning and his chest didn't feel so much like he was on fire.
"Hey, are you alright?"
Virgil jumped, badly, enough that he tripped on the dramatic cape people had kept stepping on. He probably would've fallen if the stranger hadn't darted to catch him by the wrist, giving him the chance to regain his footing.
"I'm fine," Virgil said reflexively before even looking up at the stranger's face, "Thanks- I mean, thank you."
"it's alright, you don't have to be all formal with me," He said, joining Virgil at the window and allowing him to get a decent look at the guy's face.
He had dark, walnut skin that glowed with some kind of shimmery but subtle makeup. His coiled hair was done up without a single piece out of place to look almost like a fluffy rose. His ears tapered to sharp points, but that was the only physical alteration Virgil could see on him. His amber eyes seemed to reflect the glitter in his eyelashes. There was no doubt about the fact that he was beautiful. Whoever this guy is, Virgil was sure just from laying eyes on him that everyone must love him.
"Who are you?" Virgil asked the only question that would come to his mind, his voice was barely a whisper.
"My name's Roman Sierra," He said, "I'm a victor, like you, from District 11."
Hearing that this guy was district immediately had Virgil's shoulders relaxing. It made the lack of alterations make more sense. Not only that, but it immediately made Virgil trust this guy far more than any of the Capitol people in there. Not that that was a very high bar to cross, nor did it mean that Virgil trusted this guy enough for much.
"Nice to meet you," Virgil mumbled. Roman smiled softly.
"Are you alright?" He asked again, "I saw you stumble out here."
"I drank something and it made me feel funny, that's all." Virgil glanced around, as if merely saying it would have peacekeepers jumping out of the shadows to gun him down.
"Oh dear," Roman said softly, "Some things in there are definitely hard to swallow when you're not used to them - I have to ask, was it vomit sick?"
Virgil shook his head, "No, just - dizzy and like my body was on fire."
"Okay, that's good," Roman nodded, before looking over his shoulder, "Jay, could you get us some water and some kind of plain carb, if you can find one?"
A physical flinch ran through Virgil. He hadn't realised there was anyone else out here with them, but as he looked past Roman, he did see someone slipping back through the doors. All he caught a glimpse of was long blonde hair, though.
"Hey, it's okay," Roman said quickly, Virgil tried to take a deep breath, "That was just my friend Janus, he didn't want to scare you, so he was just making sure no-one else came in. He's a victor too."
"Okay," Virgil near whispered. His hands were shaking as they clutched the windowsill.
Roman didn't say anything else, but he didn't need to. Just staying with Virgil was enough to make him feel at least a little bit better. Being even just a door away from the massive party was already starting to make him feel so much better.
When the door opened again after a few minutes, Virgil flinched again. Roman immediately went to reassure him, but Virgil's eyes were locked on the person who had emerged. He had such thick, platinum blonde hair that reached the whole way down his back that looked as though it glittered. His face was covered in glittering golden scales and one of his pupils were slitted. His eyelashes were unnaturally long. He looked exactly like every other Capitol citizen on the runway and in that room. Virgil couldn't believe this man could've possibly been like him.
"Hello," Janus said, offering Virgil one of the flutes and a bread roll, "It's only water, and the bread is as plain as I could find in there."
Virgil hesitated, and Roman gently put a hand on his shoulder.
"It's alright, neither of us want to hurt you. We've both been there."
"You don't look it," Virgil whispered. He might trust Roman more than this creature, but even Roman had been changed by the Capitol. Janus hummed.
"I use my appearance as a method of self expression," Janus admitted, "I know it makes it seem like I was never district, but I am. I wouldn't want to cause you harm."
Virgil took a deep breath, nodded, and took the flute. Roman encouraged him to sip on it between small nibbles of bread. Virgil hadn't eaten much all evening, too afraid of the unfamiliar Capitol food to touch it without it being offered, and not eating anything since breakfast on the train after months of having the money to feed himself well - no matter how miserable and lonely it was - was messing with him and definitely hadn't helped with the nausea from that drink.
"Do you feel any better?" Roman asked once he'd finished the bread and almost drained the glass. Virgil considered, and then nodded. He did feel a bit better.
"I don't like it in there," Virgil said quietly. Roman sighed softly and squeezed his shoulders.
"Me and Janus don't normally come, though we're invited every year for our own reasons," Roman admitted.
"Why are you here this year?" Virgil asked, tilting his head. It was nice to have a conversation topic that wasn't how horrible he felt. Roman laughed.
"We wanted to meet you," Roman said, plain as day. He didn't even seem hesitant to say it - nor did he need to think about it.
"Really?" Virgil asked, tilting his head, "Why would you want to see me?"
"Not only are you the youngest person to have ever won the games," Janus said, "Roman here has made a habit out of taking other victors under his wing. He had you in his sights from his first interview."
"What does that mean?" Virgil asked, looking between the two of them.
"Mostly that I want to be friends," Roman admitted, "I like to befriend victors, it's become sort of a habit, and I saw how small you were and I just... wanted to keep you safe, that's all."
"Speaking of safe," Janus said, glancing back towards the door, "We'd better get you back to the party before people start to notice your absence."
"...Oh," Virgil said softly.
"If we stay out here for too long, people will start to think you're planning something - or otherwise something bad is going on," Roman said, "We can stick with you when we're in there, though."
Virgil nodded, "that might be nice."
"Yeah?" Roman said with a smile.
"Mhm," Virgil nodded.
"Wonderful, come on then, I can show you what food at the buffet won't make your stomach upset," Janus said with a wink. Virgil couldn't help but smile a little bit at the playful tone, though he absolutely wanted to try some of the food. Now that he'd had the bread he felt as though he was practically starving.
The party was much more easy to navigate with Roman and Janus practically flanking him. People talked to Roman weirdly, in a way that Virgil didn't quite understand but made him particularly uncomfortable. And when people came over to talk with him, Janus gently steered Virgil away to something else, whether it was the banquet or the music and dancing. Virgil didn't know what to make of it.
People talked to Janus like he was someone important - about fashion, mostly, and Virgil could tell why. He wouldn't complain, everyone talking to Janus and Roman stopped them from talking to him. Barely being able to muster one word answers really didn't seem to sit well with these people, so he was grateful to not have to give any at all.
At a few points, he couldn't avoid a conversation, but even during those, Janus or Roman stayed close, a reassuring hand on his shoulder encouraging him to talk. It made it easier to take a deep breath and give an answer that would actually be accepted. It was easier to talk when there was someone there to back him up.
When the party ended and Virgil's escort found him to lead him back to the train, Virgil didn't want to say goodbye to his new friends. He didn't want to go back to being painfully alone back in his district when he'd actually managed to make some decent friends here. At least he thought he had.
"We'll see you if you end up mentoring, okay?" Roman said softly, "We'll find you, and we can talk about something more permanent, okay?"
"...Okay," Virgil said softly. There was absolutely nothing that could make him excited to mentor the next games, but if it meant Virgil could see Roman and Janus again, Virgil would do it.
----
Taglist:
@full-of-roman-angst-trash @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @scalesfeathersnfur @oatmealdaydrea ms @littlerat2 @goldnskyart @virgeandhis-pocket-protector @amateurmasksmith @sleepy-nova-tea @queer-and-fearful (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)
Roman has only been away from home for a set before he gets taken. It's a long time after that that he gets to be free again.
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| Ao3 | Next -> |
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Warnings: Kidnapping, injuries, needles, medical malpractice, murder, forced violence/fighitng, food issues, starvation, near death experiences, broken bones. Please lmk if there's anything else I need to say.
Pairings: Prinxiety
Word Count: 7631
Notes:
I'm a few days late, but to be fair I didn't anticipate this fic being 7.6k words long lmao. Heres my fic for @prinxietyweek day 6, distance and roadtrip - I think this counts as a roadtrip, don't you?
I keep going further and further into the past, don't I? I can't help but wonder what happens in the future....
>:)
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Roman's first thought when he woke up in a cell was that he should've listened to Remus.
His second thought was just how damn annoying Remus would be when Roman told him he was right. How annoying it was that Remus was right in the first place.
His third thought, maybe a little late, was wondering where the hell was he?
Last he remembered, he'd been exploring a bustling trade sector on a planet he'd touched down on on a whim. The strange people there had been selling all kinds of strange wares. all sorts of hings that Roman had never seen before. People there had gawked at him too, with his glowing feathers and fronds, his two sets of wings, brightly coloured fur, his canine teeth that protruded from his mouth and his slitted eyes. All of the shapes and sizes of people here were completely unfamiliar to him. Though they seemed to all be familiar with each other while he was as alien to them as they were to him.
He'd been asking about the wares of a person with bright transparent wings and shells layered over each other that rattled when she moved. A memory of shattering glass surfaced - he'd knocked something over with a wing and then fumbled badly to apologise, forgetting all of his royal etiquette. Someone in the shop in a covering black robe had quietly calmed the shop keep and then started talking to him in the standard Galactic language he was still struggling with. He'd managed to stammer through an introduction 'I'm Prince Roman, fifteen universal years old, from Avamiere', and that seemed to satisfy them even if he couldn't answer any other questions.
Roman didn't remember walking out of that store.
Now he was here, in a dingy little room on a hard metal floor that was not at all fit for a prince like himself. If his eyes weren't so well suited to seeing in the darkness, he wouldn't be able to see a thing. Though there wasn't really much to see anyway.
Clearly something had happened to him in that shop. When Roman tried to stand up, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck, flashing blinding lights onto the backs of his eyes that had him doubling over again with a whine of pain. What the hell had happened to him?
He tried to take stock of himself as he sat on the cold floor. There was whatever injury he had on his back, of course. His feathers were ruffled and out of place but that was nothing a gentle preen couldn't fix. There were a few broken feathers that Roman couldn't remember breaking, but those would grow back in time, even though they hurt like a bitch when he found them.
Next - getting up much more carefully this time - Roman tried to find the door out of this place.
He found one, eventually. It wouldn't budge when Roman pushed or pulled it, though, so he presumed someone would come to get him in the morning.
He did wish he had been provided somewhere to sleep. After a more tactile investigation of this room he found he had been provided with no bed or comforts. Which was odd. Why would they keep him in a room with nothing?
Sleeping on the hard floor proved to be impossible, so Roman ended up waiting. Sitting against the cold wall was honestly doing wonders to numb the pain in his back anyway.
At some point, after Roman had started spacing out, a light came on in the hallway outside. It shone into his little room though a tiny glass window on the door. No lights came on in the room, though. Perhaps they were letting him sleep in.
When the door was eventually opened, Roman had gotten up to address the people who came in, bowing respectfully and asking what was going on.
Neither of them deigned him with answers he could understand, speaking quickly to each other in standard Galactic before marching forward and grabbing him by the arms. Roman was shocked still at the action. Unable to comprehend what exactly had just happened.
They were both big, bigger than him by about a foot each, and their whole bodies were scaled. They had giant maws filled with razor sharp teeth. Their clawed hands were cold against his furred upper arms, and their claws dig into his skin a little. Roman felt like he was aware of every hair and feather on his body at that moment. Someone was touching him. They were touching his bare fur. They hadn't even hesitated, nor were they even being gentle. He felt sick.
Roman was too astounded to even try to pull away, his eyes darting between their large hands and their faces in muted panic. Why were they touching him? Didn't they know they couldn't? He was a prince, after all, no-one could touch him. It was against every rule of propriety there was. Had they no respect?
And yet Roman couldn't even move to shake them off as they began to march him away. Roman found his feet moved by themselves - after he was snapped at to move faster left he be dragged, at least - leaving his eyes to dart quickly around the passageways they moved through.
His breath quickened the longer they didn't let go of him, their hands felt like blocks of ice against his skin, and Roman was starting to wonder if they'd ever let him go.
At first, he'd tried to take in his surroundings, but his mind was screaming far too much for him to remember anything useful. He wanted them to let him go, he wanted to shake them off and run far, far away from this cursed metal place and people who had no sense of respect. He wanted back on his comfortable little ship, he wanted back home.
He was shoved into a room hard, making him yip in surprise before he was grabbed by two different people and led over to a large, flat table, onto which he was pushed by the shoulder to sit. The manhandling was so new to him, it all made him want to start screaming and tearing at these people who dared to lay a hand on him. His skin felt like it was burning in every place they touched.
Another approached with a pair of pliers and a thick needle that made Roman's eyes widen when he saw it. The one still pushing him down by the shoulder said something to him that he didn't understand, and the one with the needle took hold of his arm.
Roman's instincts finally, finally kicked in and he lashed out with his claws, pure instinct taking over before he could be stabbed with that thing. The scientist reared backwards as Roman snarled at them, throwing himself off of the table and dislodging the other's grip. Now that there were no hands on him, Roman could breath much easier, but the sense of wrongness still plagued him. The two of them had a quick conversation before they began to advance on him, and Roman could only shove himself backwards, splaying his wings in a display of power while letting out a low, threatening hiss, his lips pulled back to show his sharp teeth.
They weren't intimidated by his threats. The one with the needle was back in front of him, reaching for him. Roman went to swipe again with his sharp, talon-like claws, only to be struck in the back when he did.
He went lurching towards the floor, crashing down heard. He saw stars for a long moment, before a stabbing pain shot through his arm and Roman screeched, trying to recoil and only making the pain worse.
Moments later, he began to feel like the world around him start to spin. His bones began to feel heavier than they ever had and he collapsed to the floor, the world fading to black once again.
----
When Roman woke up next, he was back in that room.
Was this some kind of cruel joke? Or strange dream? His arm was throbbing, and when he looked down at it he reeled back at what he saw. A large chunk of his fur was simply missing, and on the skin underneath was an angry looking bruise and a small scab over the hole where the needle had gone in. Not a dream then, Roman thought as he carefully ran the pad of his finger over the wound. What had they done to him? Had they injected something? Taken something out? Would he ever know?
The door was opened, and Roman scrambled to get away, his instincts kicking in to protect him from the touch he'd received last time.
No-one entered, though. Only a plate of what could almost be described as food was tossed through the door, half spilling onto the floor as it landed.
Roman really hoped that wasn't his regular meal in this place.
----
The routine continued like that, and slowly Roman got used to their careless touching and dragging. He even eventually got used to the scientists and their exams. They took parts of him - his feathers or his fronds - and Roman felt violated every time. After he'd attacked the scientists the first time, though, they'd started strapping him down for the exams, so he couldn't bite or scratch or defend himself. There was no point, anyway. It was always worse if he fought.
It all started to get familar, days blurring into one, as Roman ate the disgusting food they gave him and finally got exhausted enough to sleep on the cold metal floor.
And then, the spacecraft he was on had taken a stop at a planet.
They came into Roman's cell - because that's what it really was - carrying cuffs and chains. He'd let them put the things on him, knowing where resistance would get him by now, and then let them drag him along via a collar around his neck that made him choke and gag if he moved too slowly. His hands and wings were rightly bound, and they'd forced a muzzle over his head like he was some kind of animal, so he couldn't even really speak. If there was any dignity left in Roman, it was certainly gone now.
He was dragged down a ramp from the ship, and then he was met by roaring crowds. People were gawking at him, jeering and yelling and prodding in a way that made Roman's skin itch. People were reaching over the barriers to touch him and then laughing when he tried to snap at them. He didn't know what was to be happening to him here, but he did at least know that it couldn't be anything good at all.
----
He was in an arena.
The chains and muzzle had been removed and he'd been shoved out of a gate which had been swiftly pulled closed when he'd attempted to run back.
The floor here was sandy, and the walls rose to easily double his height. Above them, a dome of netting prevented what could've been his escape via the sky, and outside of the dome sat rows upon rows upon rows of people of all different shapes, sizes and features.
On the opposite side of the arena, stood a quadrupedal being. she was furred like him, though the markings on her coat were of an intricate pattern Roman had never seen before. All of her features were sleek and angular, and the claws and teeth she sported were enough to make Roman shudder, especially with them advancing towards him, already snarling like a wild animal. Roman didn't think he was in much of a better position right now.
"Wait-" Roman said, trying to use the little Galactic he knew looking up at the cheering crowds, trying to get his bearings and back away from the being who clearly meant to hurt him, "This is all a mistake - I don't know what's going on, please-"
"Stop," the being snapped, voice low and hissing, "If you want any chance of getting out of here, you'd better fight, 'cause its you or me, kid, and I'll rip you to pretty pieces if it means getting out of here."
Roman didn't know what she'd said. But he knew she'd ran at him afterwards, he knew he'd fought back. He knew he'd only been allowed out once he was covered in her blood and she was dead on the ground.
----
The first fight he'd won had been the hardest.
And not because his opponent was strong, fast and agile - though she had been all three - but because to win he'd had to take a life.
She'd told him he'd earned it before he struck the killing blow, like being dragged off in more chains and shown off to the roaring crowds had been an honour he deserved for murder. He'd understood that much. He hadn't known her. He wondered if she'd had family. Had she been captured and forced to do this, like him? Had she enjoyed the fighting?
He'd never know. And he'd never know for any of the opponents he faced after her, either.
Forcing food down was difficult. Keeping himself from thinking about the horrible things he'd had to do was even harder. He'd developed a nervous habit of preening his feathers often enough that they began to fall out, leaving unsightly bald patches on his wings. His fur was starting to lose its rich colour from stress and he couldn't remember the last time his tendrils had glowed. When he'd run out of easily accessible feathers to preen he'd started doing it with his fur instead. And that was when he didn't have wounds to care for or nightmares to deal with.
The doctors here didn't do much to heal him, so Roman was left to lick his own wounds and do his best to fix himself up with what little he was offered. At this point, he'd gotten used to hurting.
He thought, sets ago when he first came here, he would've thrown a fit seeing what he looked like now.
Roman couldn't bring himself to care anymore, though, What he looked like didn't matter if he was never going to get out of here. Nothing did. And then he began to wonder: was this miserable existence really worth the lives he was forced to take?
He was starting to think that maybe it wasn't. Maybe it would be better for them all if in the next battle he just... gave up.
----
It had been a few weeks since his last fight. Roman had been taken out of his cell a total of four times. He'd been counting the cycles as best as he could, and in his spare time he'd been practising the little standard Galactic he'd been able to learn before he'd gotten here. Any words he could parse the meanings of from his captors he'd attempted to retain in his mind. Maybe one day it would be useful.
It had been far too long since he'd gotten any sort of freedom from this cell, longer than usual between fights and Roman wondered what could be happening out there.
One night, two of the guards stopped outside of his cell, talking quickly in standard Galactic.
"We'll have to get rid of this one soon, it's getting slower."
"One last fight, maybe? We can put it against one of the new guys." The other one said, "Hopefully it'll lose, if it doesn't we'll say it died from it's wounds and kill it ourselves."
The words Roman could understand flickered through his mind.
Not much of it was understandable to him, but what he could make out made him cower. Were they done with him? Did they want him gone?
It sounded like no matter whether he won or not, the next fight would be his last.
Roman leaned back against the cell wall, trying not to let the wave of dread and despair crush him.
He really hoped Remus would make a good king for their people in his stead.
He wished he'd listened to Remus and stayed. He wished he'd been more careful, he wished he could talk to Remus again, one more time.
He wanted to go home.
----
Roman had all but given up.
He hadn't bothered forcing the food down. What was the point if he was going to die anyway? He was hungry, sure, but that slop barely did a thing for him anyway and it was just so hard. The condition of his feathers had gotten worse. He'd collected a few that had fallen out and he could see just how dull they actually were now, where they'd been bright reds and yellows and oranges before he'd been taken.
He'd spent multiple nights curled up in a ball as though he was playing dead. His body itself was starting to give up on him. He could feel it, even though his species were fairly hardy and extremely stubborn, they could only withstand so much. The constant injuries and terrible food had put such a strain on his body that Roman worried it might give up even before the fight they deemed to be his last. He knew he didn't have long left.
Every night, Roman fell asleep wondering if he would actually get to wake up the next day.
----
One day, Roman woke up from fitful sleep to screaming.
He could hear it distantly, shrieks from what he guessed to be other prisoners, yells and barked orders from their captors. He heard running, something slammed into a wall nearby. His ears pricked up, but he couldn't bring himself to raise his head. Maybe someone had managed to escape. Good for them, he thought.
The metal floors were cold and grating under his arms, but he couldn't force them to move to push himself up. His wings draped over his body provided the tiniest amount of trapped body heat. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he was really only just hanging onto consciousness right now.
The door to his cell crashed open, and Roman thought if he had any energy in him he would've jolted in surprise. A beam of light passed over him, and Roman tried to move.
Through his squinted eyes, he could see the hazy outline of someone dressed in a thick suit of bulky fabric. He teetered on the edge of consciousness as they yelled, backing out of his room and waving to someone else.
Help me, Roman thought, trying to force himself to move. Those weren't their captors. He didn't know what they were here for, but he couldn't imagine it was anything worse than him dying here. Please.
"This one's dead," The first one said, as another joined him at the door, gesturing in. They nodded, and continued past the door and down the hall. It was a sentence Roman could understand, and he wanted to yell and scream and protest that he wasn't. Not yet. But by the time he'd been able to shakily move his wing and push himself over, they were already gone.
"Come back," Roman whispered to the empty air, "Please..."
Time passed, things got quieter. Roman's door was still open. If he had the strength he could just leave. He could fight, get out, get a ship, get home. But all he had managed was to drag his heavy body across the floor to the middle of the room and shift so he was sat up. It took all of his energy just hold himself upright with his arms. There was no way he could get off this ship alone when he couldn't even get off of the floor. He might as well just give up now.
Giving up wasn't in his blood, though. He couldn't just lay down and die without trying. But what was he really supposed to do? Those people were probably all gone, now.
As Roman tried to make it to the door, a dark mass rounded the corner in a way that looked like liquid filling up a container. For a moment, he was terrified the place had flooded with oil or tar, and then he saw it coil it's way round the door with tendrils of fluid darkness, saw wide purple eyes open amongst the mass and Roman suddenly became even more terrified that this was death itself come to get him.
There were all sorts of beliefs amongst his people about what happened when one died. None of them involved a being made of pure shadow, but Roman couldn't think of anything else with the fog currently invading his mind.
A voice came from the thing, though Roman couldn't see any discernible mouth, nor could he understand what was said, though he thought it sounded like some kind of curse.
When the thing moved forwards, Roman's adrenaline finally took over and he threw himself backwards, landing hard on his wing and crying out pathetically as he felt something snap.
He didn't want to die, he didn't want to die, he didn't want to die.
The creature stopped moving, before slowly folding into itself to become smaller and bowing it's head.
"I'm Virgil," It said, the name was in a foreign tongue, but he recognised the introduction as Galactic, "They said no-one else was alive. I'm here to help."
Help. It- Virgil - was here to help.
"Help?" Roman said, his voice coming out a hoarse whisper.
"Yes, help," Virgil said, quickly bobbing up and down. Roman's eyes tracked him blearily, he couldn't tell if he was seeing double or if that was just how Virgil moved, "Can you walk?"
Roman stared blankly, the final word a mystery to him eventually he just shrugged, tilting his head.
"Um- up?" Virgil tried, raising his body from the ground, Roman was grateful for his attempts to communicate as he slowly shook his head. Virgil let out a quiet hum, "Can I help?"
Roman nodded slowly and Virgil came closer. This time he didn't try to get away, even as Virgil flattened to get underneath him and push him him to his feet. The shadowy mass was solid, Roman realised as Virgil used himself like a lever to get Roman off of the ground, but as soon as he was leaning against the wall, the shadows started to go right through him like smoke. Could Virgil choose if he was solid or not? Roman thought he would be fascinated if his whole focus wasn't on trying to survive.
Luckily he was able to lean on Virgil as he was helped out of the room and into the hallway he'd seen enough to last a lifetime. It hurt so much just to keep taking steps forward, but they went slowly and carefully, with Virgil giving him the time he needed to shuffle forwards. He was scared he'd pass out, and then what would Virgil do? Roman didn't know if the shadow creature was strong enough to hold him up by himself.
"No sleep," Virgil told him, voice sterner, "Hurt."
Roman made a miserable noise. He knew it, but that didn't change the way his eyelids tried to droop. They felt so heavy.
After what felt like an eternity they reached the slope they always used to drag Roman to the fighting rings. Virgil tried what he could to keep them steady as they descended it, but one stumble sent Roman crashing to the ground on the cold metal. His ears rang with the sound, his vision swam, and Roman couldn't move his hands, let alone get them under himself to get up again.
Virgil was at his side in an instant, switching between reassuring him and yelling to someone Roman couldn't see.
"-Alive, but hurt-"
"-Going to die anyway, it's not worth our resources, just leave him- "
A string of yelling and curses Roman didn't know came out of Virgil, before someone came over and hissed something at him that had the shadow creature shrinking down. They pointed off somewhere in the distance, and Virgil said something back, angry, but the ringing in Roman's ears had grown loud enough that he wouldn't have been able to understand what they were saying even if the language had been one he'd known. He was struggling to cling onto consciousness now more then ever, and Virgil seemed to be able to tell.
"Come on, up, please," Virgil said to him after the other stomped away, steps heavy enough to vibrate the metal underneath Roman and make him whine at the pain it shot through every part of his body. Virgil sounded desperate. Roman didn't want to let him down.
"Can't," Roman breathed, reaching blindly for the shadows with his hand. Something cupped it, "Help..."
Virgil was clearly panicking, the shadows Roman could see were pulsing rapidly, and suddenly Roman was engulfed in black. He could feel something wrap itself around him, though now he wasn't sure if he was dead or dreaming. Maybe he'd finally fallen asleep.
He was jostled a few times, but the feeling was distant. He could hear a rhythmic beat, four beats, then pause, then four again, and he focused on the strange rhythm as everything else around him faded.
As his eyes slipped closed, he breathed a final apology to Remus, to his people, and then everything was gone.
----
Virgil didn't know what to do.
Panicking definitely wasn't it, but when he had a dying being pressed against his core that no-one would fucking help him with he thought maybe it was a reasonable response.
He didn't think he'd ever hated anyone as strongly as he did in that moment. Not only did he hate the horrible people who'd caused all of this in the first place, but he hated the assholes who were willing to leave this being for dead when he was still breathing.
The winged person had been in terrible shape when Virgil had found him. He'd been sitting on the ground, mouth half open and panting for breath with the effort it seemed to take just to stay up. Virgil knew he'd been injured when he'd flung himself away - he'd heard the crack - and he could see so many things wrong just from looking at him. The poor being was missing so many feathers his wings were near bare, and his fur was patchy in places Virgil was certain it shouldn't be. His eyes were dull, and it had tendrils that wilted like a sickly plant. Virgil couldn't have left him.
He'd almost thought it would be okay. They'd been able to walk all the way through the ship, albeit slowly enough that the aid patrol were starting to pack up by the time they got out, and then the creature had tripped and hadn't gotten back up.
It was dire. He knew it was dire the moment he'd seen the him in the cell. They'd already written him off as dead - when Virgil yelled for help they'd said they'd found him in his cell not moving. Virgil had argued that clearly he was moving now. They'd said it would be a strain on their already limited resources to take a creature that was so clearly going to die anyway. He'd argued more, and they'd told him to take the creature onto his own ship and leave, if he cared so much.
Virgil knew he didn't have the resources to properly care for him. He knew he wouldn't be able to give this creature the best chance. He also knew that by refusing, he'd be giving this poor guy no chance at all.
He had to try.
Honestly, fuck them. Fuck them and everyone else who was doing this. Fuck them for their discriminatory decisions on who deserved the chance to live and who deserved to be left behind. They called themselves an aid organisation and yet they wouldn't help a being who was still breathing just because he was in bad shape.
"I'm not letting you die here, you hear me," Virgil mumbled, even though he thought the poor thing was beyond listening. Virgil wouldn't be able to carry him normally. The other was far too big, The only other way he knew felt intrusive, both to himself and to the other being who he could no longer ask for permission.
Better intrusive than dead, Virgil thought.
His shadows had wrapped themselves around the other, pulling him close to Virgil's core - the only part of him that was consistently solid. his core could act like a cradle for the other. Usually being within his protective mass would be reserved for family, or future partners, but Virgil thought that saving a life should be an exception.
"Please hold on for me," Virgil mumbled as they got closer to his ship. It was something that had bothered him when he signed up - that he'd been required to bring his own ship for the troop - but now he was grateful for it, because he was sure as hell never helping these assholes again.
They were the only ones who would hire him given his age - he was only fifteen in universal rotations - but he'd needed to get away from his home, and to stay away he'd need work. But he'd find somewhere else once he got this being back to health.
On his ship, he went straight for the sleeping quarters, only to discover that it would be much too cramped in here with two bunks half the size of this being to do anything.
Back in the living quarters, Virgil carefully laid the being on the large, plush seat, ever so carefully laying out his wings so they wouldn't be crushed. Though the being was unconscious, Virgil was relieved to feel him still breathing. Maybe if he patched him up, he'd have enough time to get them to a doctor. Someone who could really help.
Virgil hoped, beyond all things, that he would make it.
----
When Roman regained consciousness, it was slow. Sensations came to him in waves, and every moment felt overwhelming.
He was laying on his back, which was unfamiliar and strange to him in the first place. His wings had been stretched out, though, so he wasn't crushing them with his body. The first proper realisation he had was that it meant someone had been touching his wings.
Whatever. It's not like he was unfamiliar with touch by now. Losing that tradition was something he'd mourned sets ago.
When he tried to move, his whole body felt so stiff. Everything hurt. When he tried to move his head, it started to pound painfully, so he rested it back down on the cushion he was laying on. Looking around instead, he tried to figure out what had happened, or where he was.
The lighting in the room he was in was dim, but it wasn't dark like the cell he was used to. The ceiling was a nice, gentle shade of lavender, with a strip of light set into the curved edge of the wall that had been dimmed down to the point where it wasn't glaring on his eyes.
He was laying on something soft, the fabric was nice and smooth on his fingers, and it made him feel a little like he was floating.
Slowly, Roman stretched out his arms, taking a deep breath as his joins popped and ached and screamed at him. Roman held his arms above him until they shook before he brought them down again. Next, he attempted to stretch his wings, only for a searing pain to shoot along the nerves in his top right wing. He made a noise that was half a cry and half a whine at the pain. It felt like someone had stabbed straight through the wing. What the fuck had happened to him before he got here?
"Fuck," Roman whispered, bringing his hand up to his neck to massage it gently as he turned his head to look down at his wing. He winced at the state of his feathers - the ones that remained were dull and brittle looking, though there were hardly any of those. The wing that was in pain was tightly bandaged, with a strange harness like contraption locking it in place. This was making him wonder more and more what had happened to him this time.
Slowly, he pushed himself with shaky hands into a sitting position. He looked down at himself. to find that one of his arms was attached with a thin tube to a strange machine that was softly humming. Roman tried not to jostle that arm too much, though the clearly medical contraption sent a jolt of fear through him as he took it in. His mind flickered back to the scientists lab, though he was reassured by the fact that this place looked nothing like that at all.
Roman hadn't been able to get a look at himself in good lighting since before he ended up captured. The lighting had always either been too dark or he'd been in too much danger to think about how he looked. Now, though in this empty, peaceful room on a comfortable surface, he could actually look down at his fur.
He was a total mess. His fur was patchy in places, and completely gone in others where he tended to scratch or pull at it. There were patches on his arms and thighs that looked like they'd been shaved off, and underneath were scars from medical incisions and needles he didn't remember. There were scars across his forearms, a big patch of fur missing from his chest over a large scar and he could feel ones that were hidden under his fur from past injuries that didn't really heal properly. Roman tried to keep taking deep breaths to stay calm no matter how horrid he looked. He had to remind himself that vanity really didn't matter in the face of survival.
Along with the hum of the machine, there was a quiet, constant rumble that reminded him of his own ship from so long ago. He wondered what had happened to that thing. The whole room was empty of other beings, despite it's size.
This room was a quarter circle in shape, on the two straight edges were closed doors, and a curved wall was set into the far edge with an open archway leading into a rounded hall that left the rest of the ship to his imagination. On the opposite side of the room to him was a kitchen that curved around the wall, sectioned off by a slatted divider, and a dining table outfitted with two chairs set nearby. The sofa Roman was on was set into the floor, with a gentle bowl-like slope down to the centre. The sofa itself was shaped like a semi-circle, and took up about a third of the bowl. Something he did pick up on, was that everything here was a lot smaller than him
Even the sofa he was laying on barely fit him. He was sure too that if he tried to stand his fronds would brush the ceiling.
The moment he placed his feet on the floor, ready to try and stand, something came around the corner.
The being brought a sense of familiarity with it. Roman thought that maybe he recognised this person, but he couldn't place them. His memories were so fuzzy at the moment, and whenever he tried to think about it he just got more of a headache. Something about their presence was relaxing to him, though. So he would believe this person to be a friend, for now.
They startled when they saw him, whole body rippling backwards like a wave. Romans eyes widened as their eyes met.
"Oh fuck you're awake-" They said, Roman didn't understand the words, but he did understand the fact that they quickly rushed towards him, "How are you feeling?"
Roman threw his hands up, hissing sharply in warning and poised to strike if they did. Friend or not, someone running at him usually meant danger. On top of that, he still had that blazing headache, and trying to figure out just what this being was saying to him was proving incredibly difficult.
"Right, sorry, you don't speak Galactic," He said backing away and letting Roman relax, Roman could understand some of that, at least. It was a phrase he'd learned so he could tell people he didn't speak the common language. Nonsensically, the being turned around and rushed off back the way he'd came, leaving Roman alone again for all of a few minutes to try and figure out who the fuck that was and why they were familiar.
Just as he was starting to wonder if the shadow being would come back, he appeared around the corner, carrying a tablet in a few tendrils of shadow. The device was offered to him and Roman took it carefully with shaking hands. On the screen was some kind of translator - from his language into common Galactic, and common Galactic back to his.
The shadow being reached over and pressed a button. before speaking.
"I got this whilst you were being treated - I took you to see a proper doctor - it should be able to translate anything we say so we can understand each other."
Roman looked from his expectant gaze down to the screen and gasped, seeing the words written out in the looping, beautiful language he actually understood rather than the blocky symbols of Galactic. He was sure he would be flapping his wings in excitement at this new development if it didn't send shooting pain up his spine whenever he moved.
"So... if I speak, it'll..." Roman started, seeing the words come up in galactic, he immediately brightened, "Oh! This is wonderful, um, hello! My name is Roman, I'm... well, I'm not sure if I'd be fifteen or sixteen now, it's been so long, but it's a pleasure to meet you, I think, assuming you didn't kidnap me, my instincts tell me you're good, though."
The shadow being made a trilling noise when Roman turned the tablet so he could read, and Roman had no idea how to interpret that.
"I didn't kidnap you," he said, "Do you... remember getting off of that ship?"
Getting off of that ship... the fighting ring's ship? That must be what he was referring to, considering he clearly wasn't there anymore. He remembered... what did he remember?
Screaming, banging, being left behind.
But he wasn't left behind, was he?
Someone helping him up, more yelling, everything going dark.
"Did you... save me?"
"Yes," He said, "I wasn't sure how much you'd remember - I barely got you to a doctor in time, no-one else would help, but I couldn't just leave you - uh, I'm Virgil, I'm fifteen - it's uh, the eleventh set of a rotation, if that helps."
The name clicked in his head, familiar. But the information... it had been the fifth set when he'd touched down on that planet.
"So I would be sixteen then. But... I remember you, I think?" Roman said, looking over Virgil again, this time with memories flooding back, "You saved me - you- you really saved me- I owe you a great debt for this service."
Roman quickly bowed his head between his knees, raising his hands to clasp them above his head as he spoke in a sacred promise.
"If you ever need my help, now or in five hundred rotations time, I will do everything in my power to give it, I promise you, Virgil, my people are indebted to you."
"Shit- uh, you don't have to do that," Virgil said, shifting from side to side as he stared at Roman. He had to break his position in order to check the tablet to see what he'd said.
"I do," Roman said, "It's important to me, and my people, that a great service like this doesn't go unrecognised, if it weren't for you, I would have died in that miserable cell and my people would've been left without a future monarch, you've saved more than just me, Virgil."
"Oh," Virgil said, voice ever so soft that Roman almost didn't hear it, "Then... uh, thank you, I- monarch?"
Roman flapped his hands a little, since he couldn't move his wings, he had to get the energy out somehow.
"Yes- I'm a prince, the heir to the throne of my people, my younger brother Remus is still at home, but he isn't truly fit to rule, so if I didn't return they would be in a lot of trouble," Roman explained, while Virgil watched him with wide eyes, "But you don't have to treat me any differently, I've already lost all of my dignity and you've more than earned my respect."
"Wow, okay," Virgil said, rattling a little, "That's uh- that's a lot, but um, I appreciate the gratitude, you really don't have to treat me any differently either, though, okay?"
"Okay," Roman said, nodding, "I'm grateful to have a friend out here... so how long was I out? Oh it's so nice to be able to talk to someone again, you must tell me everything."
Slowly, Virgil came to sit - as much as a blobby shadow thing could sit - beside him. They spent the evening with Virgil catching him up on everything that had happened after they'd left that planet. He'd been out for about three weeks. Virgil had taken him to a well known doctor on a different planet and traded various things in return for getting Roman help, and whilst he'd been in the hospital Virgil had learned everything he could about Roman's species - which was hardly anything at all.
In all honesty, Roman was shocked Virgil had even been able to find something capable of translating into his people's primary language. He'd mentioned it had been an incredibly difficult find - and a rare thing in general. He'd given up a lot of his supplies to get it.
Roman, honestly, felt a little bad that Virgil had given up so much for his sake. He'd done everything he could to save Roman, and there really was nothing at all Roman could do to pay him back for it. Even when he'd tried to offer help around the ship, Virgil had insisted that he was recovering and needed to rest
Things were still hard, especially at first. Eating was easier now, after whatever they'd done to give him nutrients whilst he was out and now that he had proper food and not just slop. But that didn't mean it was back to the normality he remembered immediately either. He still found himself terrified. He'd have nightmares when he slept that he was back there, being pitted against Virgil or someone from home. He'd wake up panting and curled up and shaking. When Virgil had found him one night he'd taught him some ways of grounding himself - reminding himself that he wasn't back there, and that everything was okay.
Roman was grateful that a lot of Virgil's ship was open space. Although a lot of places were behind doors, the main living space was open, allowing Roman to avoid feeling horrifically trapped.
The one time he had gone into the pantry he'd panicked. It had been so stupid - at least he thought so - when he wasn't even trapped. Virgil had opened the door and gotten him out with the press of a button. and yet he'd still been terrified.
They'd worked on it. Virgil had brought him other places in the ship - the hangar bay, the navigation room, the storage room - and slowly his fear of being trapped had lessened enough to go from room to room alone.
He still refused to step foot off of the ship whenever they had to land, even if they were there for an extended period of time while Virgil found work. He absolutely hated it whenever Virgil needed to come near him with the medical equipment he'd been taught to use by the doctor. Virgil had talked him through everything as they did it - nutrient supplements, painkillers, checking the levels of all sorts of things in his blood, checking his fur and feathers to see if there was any progress in them growing back, making sure his wing was healing. Virgil was nothing like the scientists back in that place, and though it had taken far too many times for Roman to stop jumping and trying to squirm away, he'd gotten there eventually.
Once the break in his wing had healed and Roman found himself a little less scared of being behind a closed door, Virgil had offered to let him have the bedroom for the sake of privacy. It likely wouldn't be as comfortable as the sofa, but he'd have his own room and with the two bunks pushed together it would be almost big enough for him to sleep comfortably. A place to be if he was overwhelmed or scared, or if someone else needed to board the ship for whatever reason. Virgil promised never to go in there without Roman's permission, even after Roman had emphasised just how much promises meant to their people.
It was many sets before Roman had started feeling like himself again. It was even longer than that before his feathers started to grow back in their proper colours, and far longer still before he felt at all ready to go home and face his people. But Virgil was with him every step of the way, and Roman couldn't have asked for a better friend.
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Taglist:
@full-of-roman-angst-trash @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @scalesfeathersnfur @oatmealdaydrea ms @littlerat2 @goldnskyart @virgeandhis-pocket-protector @amateurmasksmith @sleepy-nova-tea @queer-and-fearful (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)
Hello to all! A masterpost with the rules and info for this event has arrived! This post will be pinned for easy reference, and feel free to send asks if anything is unclear! This post will be updated as necessary.
The dates for this event: June 1st - June 7th!!!
Prompts:
Storms | Karma
Museum | Spirit
Sunshower | Reincarnation
Roman's Birthday! | Pride | Cliché
Picnic | Devotion
Distance | Roadtrip
Married life | Lavender
Setting Prompts: Mecha, Omegaverse, Historical, Post-apocalyptic, 1960s, Fantasy, Space
Rules/Info:
1. This account will be SFW only. No NSFW works will get reblogged, but feel free to still create them and tag my main! NSFW works may still be added to the AO3 collection, as long as they are correctly tagged.
2. Please do your best to tag correctly, especially with TW/CWs,
3. Make sure to mention this account ( @prinxietyweek ) in any posts and tag #prinxietyweek2024 in your posts so that I don't miss anything
4. Any kind of fanwork is accepted! Writing, art, video/photo editing animations, cosplay, etc, as long as it centres around prinxiety.
5. Have fun, use common sense, and respect everyone else!
Introduction:
Hi! I'm the mod/organiser here! You can call me Rowan or Prince. I'm 20+ and use any pronouns. My main blog is @prince-rowan-of-the-forest , and I'm super excited to be running this!!!
Other stuff:
If this post seems familiar it's because I stole it from @anaroceitweek , which I'm also running, go check that out if you like Anaroceit, by the way.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Written by @deadskeletallemons and @syrcaljirk for @sleepy-nova-tea as part of the Camp Cartoon Dynamic Duos writing event.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Dark Creativity | Remus “The Duke” Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus “The Duke” Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders
Characters: Logic | Logan Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus “The Duke” Sanders
Additional Tags: Amusement Parks, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Phobias, Roller Coasters, Chronic Pain, Summer, Developing Relationship, Comfort, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Summary:
This trip is going to be Logan’s downfall and he knows it. It’s just him and the friend he’s been silently pining for on a trip alone after their friends flaked on them. Now, Logan has to face both his feelings and his fears simultaneously. Will he crack under the pressure, or will something beautiful bloom in adversity? Click to find out.
Written for Camp Cartoon 2026 with the help of Lemonade_bones for sleepy.novatea using the prompt below:
Intrulogical goes to a theme park with romantic Intrulogical and Remus and Logan as the main characters
i saw a post on twitter by a european saying americans are fake for their random compliments to strangers and their general cheery demeanor and like no. no no no you don’t understand. if you get a random compliment from an american on the street about your outfit or whatever, that is 100% genuine. we mean it. we aren’t lying we are making a small but fleeting connection with you because our lives are shitty but the human condition is enduring. oh god i’m clutching my chest
If you get a compliment from a random American on the street, know that they tried their best to keep from saying a peep to you but they literally could not hold it in. They HAD to say something.
The other day a tiny gay man in a hurry bumped me on the Metro escalator and said "Sorry, great dress by the way" and then he stopped at the top of the escalator and turned around and said "AND a great hat. THAT is how we do summer!" and SPRINTED for his bus and I coasted on that for the rest of the day.
I am so happy that we have an American co-worker at work now, she completely changed the entire atmosphere at work because she does things like this. It's made everyone at work a little more warm and friendly with each other.
Had the idea that after Thomas pierced his ears Remus wanted more so he would use random things like nails, thumb tacks, safety pins, etc. as earrings, and I came up with the little comic between him and Janus
Hello back fanders! After a year long hiatus we're happy to announce that we're back with a big small bang! The timeline this year will be slightly different then the previous ones. We will also be shrinking down the minimum world amount to 3000 words.
We will be back soon with more information and the sign up form.
