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Lucius, in Azkaban, has a visitor. And oh, the Ministry is angry.
Virgil only wants to protect those he loves at all costs. What happens when he can't hide it anymore?
What is up everybody?! Just a heads up, this fic is graphic and gets DARK (but I fix it!). Please heed the tags and if there's something in there that could be triggering for you, please take care of yourselves! I want to assure you that I have this whole thing outlined, so it won't get abandoned!
EDIT: I've now gone through and shortened all scene break lines (tildes and dashes) to five symbols, so it's now more accessible to folks who use screenreaders! If you see any I missed plz lmk!!
I try to keep my stuff accessible, including keeping chapters not much longer than 3500 words, so if you have ideas to make my fic more accessible plz lmk!
Also, this fic is not used to represent D.I.D. (Dissociative Identity Disorder). If you want resources on D.I.D., yell at me in the comments section or on Tumblr!
I now have an amazing beta by the name of Jasper01! She's so awesome!!!
Basically I project onto mostly Virgil, so what he experiences I experienced myself, just so you know where this fic is coming from.
-_-Cannibalism warning. Graphic Cannibalism within-_-
Maluma is sent to a house by his agent expecting to be told he's let go after the minimal success in recent times but comes face to face with a man wanting to cook and eat him or use him as a sex toy after eating parts of him...
Fandoms: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
18 Nov 2019
Virgil had three “soulmates.” Or, as he liked to call it, no soulmates.
Three different colored pens, (which were not) writing on his body, leaving the tingling sensation one would usually associate with a soulmate trying to communicate- or in a non-favorable situation, getting hurt. But that wasn’t what this feeling was. Because Virgil did not have soulmates.
He did not have one, he did not have two, and he certainly did not have three. And if in some alternate, fucked up reality, someone out there was unlucky enough to get him as a soulmate, then they were screwed. Because even if he had a soulmate, (which he didn’t) he would make sure they didn’t know he existed. And he would pretend they didn’t. He would shower in the dark and wear baggy clothing. That was that.
But he wouldn’t be able to avoid the injuries on his skin. They wouldn’t feel it, aside from the light tingling, and that was hardly noticeable anyway. And besides, that’s what makeup was for, wasn’t it?
Virgil Dawson did not have soulmates.
And he didn’t need them either.
...If only his not-soulmates could be less fucking annoying.
(fic title from ‘cathedral’ by jade bird.)